The Second Generation

“Once it did,” said Sara, “but no more. These knights have been raised together from childhood. They are a close-knit family. Every young paladin here would willingly sacrifice his life to save his brother ... or to further the Dark Queen’s ambitions.”

Tanis shook his head. “I find that hard to believe, Sara. It is the nature of evil to be selfish, to look out for oneself to the detriment of others. If this were not so ..."

He faltered, fell silent.

“Yes,” Sara urged him to continue. “What if it were not so?”

“If evil men were to act out of what they perceive to be noble cause and purpose, if they were willing to sacrifice themselves for such causes ...” Tanis looked grave. “Then, yes, I think the world might well be in trouble.”

He drew his cloak more closely about him. The chill, damp air made him shiver.

“But that just isn’t the way things work, thank the gods.”

“Reserve your judgment and your thanks,” Sara said in a soft, trembling voice. “You haven’t yet met Sturm’s son."

Chapter Seven Why have You never Asked?

Sara’s house was a two-room dwelling, one of a number huddled against the outside walls of the fortress, as if the house itself was frightened of the crashing waves beating on the rocks and sought the protection of stolid walls. Tanis could hear the boom of the waves, crashing with monotonous regularity less than a mile away from where they stood. Salt spray blew against their cheeks, left brine on their lips.

“Hurry,” Sara said, unlocking the door. “Steel will be off duty soon.”

She hustled them inside. The house was small, but snugly built, warm and dry. Furnishings were sparse. An iron pot hung in a large stone fireplace. A table and two chairs stood near the fire. Behind a curtain, in another room, was a bed and a large wooden chest.

“Steel lives in the barracks with the other knights,” Sara said, bustling about, hastily throwing meat and a few vegetables into the pot, while Caramon stirred up the fire. “But he is permitted to eat his meals with me.”

Tanis, lost in his own gloomy reflections, still haunted by that vision of his son, said nothing.

Sara poured water in the pot. Caramon had a roaring blaze going beneath it.

“You two hide back there, behind the curtain,” Sara instructed, pushing them toward the bedroom. “I don’t need to warn you to keep quiet. Fortunately, the wind and the waves generally make enough noise that it’s sometimes hard to hear ourselves talk.”

“What’s your plan?” Tanis asked.

In answer, Sara removed a small vial from her pocket, held it up for him to see.

“Sleeping potion,” she whispered. Tanis nodded in understanding. He was about to say — something more, but Sara shook her head warningly and drew the curtains shut with a snap. The two men, left in semi-darkness, backed up against a wall and stood opposite each other. In case the young man happened to thrust the curtain aside, all he would see at first glance was an empty room.

Caramon discovered a tear in the fabric, which permitted him to see what was going on. Tanis found his own peephole. Both looked and listened in wary, tense silence.

Sara stood near the pot. She held the vial—unstoppered—in her hand.

But she didn’t pour it.

Her face was pale. She bit her lip. Her hand shook.

Tanis cast a look of alarm at Caramon.

She’s not going to go through with it! the half-elf’s eyes conveyed warningly.

Caramon’s hand closed over his sword hilt. The two braced themselves, though neither had any very clear idea what they would do if she didn’t.

Suddenly, with a mutter that might have been a prayer, Sara poured the contents of the vial into the stew pot.

A thundering knock sounded on the door. She poured the vial into the heart of the blaze and wiped her hand hastily across her eyes.

“Come in,” she called.

Grabbing a broom, she began to sweep up water and mud that had been tracked across the floor.

The door opened. A young man entered. Caramon nearly fell through the curtain in an attempt to see. Tanis waved at the big man, urged him back, but the half-elf himself had his eye plastered to the hole.

The young man had his back to them. Taking off his wet cloak, he unbuckled his sword belt from around his waist. He leaned the sword, sheathed in its black scabbard—decorated with an axe, a skull, and the black lily—against the wall. He took off his breastplate, then removed his helm with a quick, impatient gesture that made Tanis’s heart constrict with painful memories.

He’d seen Kitiara remove her helm with that very gesture.

Leaning over Sara, the young man kissed her cheek and placed a hand on her shoulder. “How are you, Mother? You don’t look well. Have you been ill?”

Sara had trouble answering. She shook her head. “No, just busy. I’ll tell you later. You’re wet to the bone, Steel. Go warm yourself. You’ll catch your death.”