hiding their irritation at having to resume travel so soon. It would be a full two weeks or more before they were again in Krondor. Then, as a member of the peerage, their father would be hurrying to Rillanon for Arutha’s burial and state funeral.
Duke Miguel, a slight man of fine manners and dress, said, ‘It is tragic we must quit your wonderful home under such grim circumstances, Your Grace. If I may, I would gladly extend the hospitality of my own home to you should Your Grace wish to rest awhile after your brother’s funeral. Rodez is but a short journey from the capital.’
Martin’s first impulse was to beg off but, keeping Fannon’s words of the night before in mind, he said, ‘Should time and circumstances permit, Your Grace, I’ll be most happy to visit you. Thank you.’ He cast a glance at the two daughters and determined then and there that should Tully advise an alliance between Crydee and Rodez, it would be the quiet Miranda he would court. Inez was simply too much trouble gathered together in one place.
The Duke and his daughters rode out in a carriage toward the harbour. Martin thought back to when his father had been Duke. No one in Crydee had need of a carriage, which served poorly on the dirt roads of the Duchy, often turned to thick mud by the coastal rains. But with the increasing number of visitors to the West, Martin had ordered one built. It seemed the eastern ladies fared poorly on horseback while in court costume. He thought of Carline’s riding like a man during the Riftwar, in tight-fitting trousers and tunic, racing with Squire Roland, to the utter horror of her governess. Martin sighed. Neither of Miguel’s girls would ever ride like that. Martin wondered if there was a woman anywhere who shared his need for rough living. Perhaps the best he could hope for would be a woman who would accept that need in him and not complain over his long absences while he hunted or visited his friends in Elvandar.
Martin’s musing was interrupted by a soldier accompanying the Hawkmaster, who held out another small parchment. ‘This just arrived, your Grace.’
Martin took the parchment. Upon it was the crest of Salador. Martin waited until the Masterhawker had left to open it. Most likely it was a personal message from Carline. He opened it and read. He read again, then thoughtfully put the parchment in his belt pouch. After a long moment of reflection, he spoke to a soldier at post before the keep. ‘Fetch Swordmaster Fannon.’
Within minutes the Swordmaster was in the Duke’s presence. Martin said, ‘I’ve thought it over and I agree with you. I’ll offer the position of Swordmaster to Charles.’
‘Good,’ said Fannon. ‘I expect he will agree.’
‘Then after I’m gone, Fannon, begin at once to instruct Charles in his office.’
Fannon said, ‘Yes, Your Grace.’ He started to turn away but turned back toward Martin. ‘Your Grace?’
Martin halted as he had just begun to walk back to the keep. ‘Yes?’
‘Are you all right?’
Martin said, ‘Fine, Fannon. I’ve just received a note from Laurie informing me that Carline and Anita are well. Continue as you were.’ Without another word he returned to the keep, passing through the large doors.
Fannon hesitated before leaving. He was surprised at Martin’s tone and manner. There was something odd in the way he looked as he left.
Baru quietly faced Charles. Both men sat upon the floor, their legs crossed. A small gong rested to the left of Charles and a censer burned between them, filling the air with sweet pungency. Four candles illuminated the room. The only furnishings were a mat upon the floor, which Charles preferred to a bed, a small wooden chest, and a pile of cushions. Both men wore simple robes. Each had a sword across his knees. Baru waited while Charles kept his eyes focused upon some unseen point between them. Then the Tsurani said, ‘What is the Way?’
Baru answered. ‘The Way consists of discharging loyal service to one’s master, and of deep fidelity in associations with comrades. The Way, with consideration for one’s place upon the Wheel, consists of placing duty above all.’
Charles gave a single curt nod. ‘In the matter of duty, the code of the warrior is absolute. Duty above all. Unto death.’
‘This is understood.’
‘What, then, is the nature of duty?’
Baru spoke softly. ‘There is duty to one’s lord. There is duty to one’s clan and family. There is duty to one’s work, which provides an understanding of duty to one’s self. In sum they become the duty that is never satisfactorily discharged, even through the toil of a lifetime, the duty to attempt a perfect existence, to attain a higher place on the Wheel.’
Charles nodded once. ‘This is so.’ He picked up a small felt hammer and rang a tiny gong. ‘Listen.’ Baru closed his eyes in meditation, listening to the sound as it faded, diminishing, becoming fainter. When the sound was fully gone, Charles said, ‘Find where the sound ends and silence begins. Then exist in that moment, for there will you find your secret centre of being, the perfect place of peace within yourself. And recall the most ancient lesson of the Tsurani: duty is the weight of all things, as heavy as a burden can become, while death is nothing, lighter than air.’
The door opened and Martin slipped in. Both Baru and Charles began to rise, but Martin waved them back. He knelt between them, his eyes fixed on the censer upon the floor. ‘Pardon the interruption.’
‘No interruption, Your Grace,’ answered Charles.
Baru said, ‘For years I fought the Tsurani and found them honourable foemen. Now I learn more of them. Charles has allowed me to take instruction in the Code of the Warrior, in the fashion of his people.’
Martin did not appear surprised. ‘Have you learned much?’
‘That they are like us,’ said Baru with a faint smile. ‘I know little of such things, but I suspect we are as two saplings from the same root. They follow the Way and understand the Wheel as do the Hadati. They understand honour and duty as do the Hadati. We who live in Yabon had taken much from the Kingdom, the names of our gods, and most of our language, but there is much of the old ways we Hadati kept. The Tsurani belief in the Way is much like our own. This is strange, for until the coming of the Tsurani, no others we met shared our beliefs.’
Martin looked at Charles. The Tsurani shrugged slightly. ‘Perhaps we only find the same truth on both worlds. Who can say?’
Martin said, ‘That sounds the sort of thing to take up with Tully and Kulgan.’ He was quiet a moment, then said, ‘Charles, will you accept the position of Swordmaster?’
The Tsurani blinked, the only sign of surprise. ‘You honour me, Your Grace. Yes.’
‘Good, I am pleased. Fannon will begin your instruction after I’m gone.’ Martin looked up at the door, then lowered his voice. ‘I want you both to do me a service.’
Charles didn’t hesitate in agreeing to serve. Baru studied Martin closely. They had forged a bond on the trip to Moraelin with Arutha. Baru had almost died there, but fate had spared him. Baru knew his fortune was intertwined in some way with those who had quested for Silverthorn. Something lay hidden behind the Duke’s eyes, but Baru would not question him. He would learn what it was in time. Finally he said, ‘As will I.’
Martin sat between the men. He began to speak.
Martin gathered his cloak about him. The afternoon breeze was chilly, blowing down
