Deeds of Honor (19 page)

"Yes, sir. It is that in the vigil...I knew...I knew it was not for me."

"Which of the vigils, then?" Dorthan tried to remember what he had heard about Soldan as a boy from his father. Almost nothing, except that the boy had learned enough of the gnome language to impress Dattur, the gnome hesktak of Arcolinfulk, to his father's surprise. How that could relate to this...he had no idea. He wished his predecessor had lived long enough to tell him which of the candidates had concerned him.

"The first, sir. The one after...after the former Knight-Commander...the former Duke Verrakai died. I hoped...I prayed again, at the second vigil and the third...but it's not right."

"I have heard no complaints of you," Dorthan said. "Your record is good."

"Yes, sir, but that is not enough. I understand that now. It is how I feel about magery." Soldan glanced away then back at Dorthan. "I—during the duel—I was not watching the Knight-Commander for injuries, but to be sure he did not use magery. I worried about Semmis, not him, even though he was older. I did not notice how badly he was wounded until afterwards. And I know—from the vigil—in a crisis, sir, I would always trust someone without magery over someone with it. The Code says that is wrong. Maybe, someday I can change. I will try. But for now, I should not be knighted."

Dorthan nodded. "I believe you are right, Soldan. I will remove your name from the list, and I honor your truthfulness. Do you wish me to write your father?" He hoped that was the right protocol; his predecessor had left no instructions.

"I must tell him myself. May I go now? Tonight? I have...I have packed..." Soldan's face was rigid with misery and shame; his eyes glittered with unshed tears.

"Does your family keep a house here in Vérella?"

"No, sir."

"Then you certainly may not start a long journey in the dark in winter. You are not leaving in disgrace, Soldan. Your honor is unstained. Many good men are not Knights of the Bells."

Soldan started to shake his head; Dorthan held up his hand.

"I insist. You are withdrawn as a candidate for knighthood, yes, but you are still under my command until safely returned to your family. It's in the contract."

"That's—true—sir."

"In my judgment, you have shown courage; you have nothing to be ashamed of." Dorthan reached for paper and pen, poured a little water in the ink dish, rubbed an inkstick in it, and started writing. "You will spend this night—if you do not wish to stay here—in Duke Arcolin's city house, and you will have an escort from Arcolin for the journey north. I'm writing a note to the house-wards, and one to the Master of Horse, to issue you a mount and pack animal to take your things over there. And someone familiar with the route to help you find it since it's already dark—I don't think you've ever visited it."

"Thank you, sir, but I don't really need—"

"Orders, Soldan, remember. Now, this season, so close to Midwinter—I doubt you'll make it home in time for that. You should plan to stay in Duke's East until a break in the weather. I know you will be welcome to stay with Duke Arcolin."

Dorthan saw Soldan relax a bit, muscle by muscle, as he heard these arrangements being made. Clearly he trusted Dorthan, perhaps because an Arcolin was a known quality in the north. His own doubts about his readiness to command the Bells, one of the youngest ever named to that position, eased as well. As the king had said, his experience with troops had given him what these young men needed most. Here was proof of it. He completed the notes, handed them over, then came from behind his desk and sent Soldan off with a blessing.

When Soldan left his office, Dorthan shook his head as he sat down again, still baffled by what Beclan had told him about the dueling lesson. It made no obvious sense to him; his own first experience of mortal danger had been in battle. How could it have such effect on someone who had not been in personal danger?

And yet it had, on Soldan. How had Beclan come to think of it? What else did he know? Dorthan's father had told him much of Beclan, born a Mahieran, then forced into the Verrakai name. He was learning more from Beclan's own journals, kept in a secret drawer in this very desk, a secret Beclan had shared in the hand of days between the duel and his death.

He was tempted to pull one out and read it, but instead he started the longer letter to his brother, Duke Arcolin, explaining what had happened and why Soldan Masagar was coming. He had just completed the first page when another knock came on his door.

"Sir? I need to speak with you."

"Come in," he said.

The End

Some things young men learn only from old men, and only from old men willing to teach the hardest lessons the hardest way. I have been fascinated all my life by how people of different ages cope with the same challenges--how innate personality and experience interact to produce both wisdom and folly (and sometimes in the same individual.) A man whose own experience is both deep and complex, who has faced his own darkest desires and fears, who has lived past his failures and accepted the tragic outcomes of his own choices, is a man from whom the young can learn much, if they will. Some learn from a hint, others from a demonstration, still others need a clue-by-four upside the head. Some cannot, or will not, learn at all.

STANDALONE NOVELS

Speed of Dark

Remnant Population

THE DEED OF PAKSENARRION

Sheepfarmer's Daughter

Divided Allegiance

Oath of Gold

PALADIN'S LEGACY

Oath of Fealty

Kings of the North

Echoes of Betrayl

Limits of Power

Crown of Renewal

THE LEGACY OF GIRD

Surrender None

Liar's Oath

VATTA'S WAR

Trading in Danger

Marque and Reprisal

Engaging the Enemy

Command Decision

Victory Conditions

PLANET PIRATES (with Anne McCaffrey)

Sassinak

Generation Warriors

THE SERRANO LEGACY

Hunting Party

Sporting Chance

Winning Colors

Once a Hero

Rules of Engagement

Change of Command

Against the Dark

SHORT STORY COLLECTIONS

Lunar Activity

Phases

Deeds of Honor*

* available as Jabberwocky ebooks

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