"Est Sularus oth Mithas." The Oath of the Knights-"My honor is my life."

Today, on his battlefield, Sir Pirvan's honor was Sir Lewin's life.

Zephros reined in as soon as he was out of bow shot of Luferinus's men. This was partly to spare his horse, worn down like all his company's mounts by the desert journey. It was also partly to let whatever comrades were ready to escort him catch up, so he did not ride into the flanking column alone.

Or ride anywhere else alone, either. He shuddered at the memory of that thin, filth-spattered, and wholly deadly figure spewed up by the earth, seeking his death and achieving Luferinus's.

A little farther on, and he was in sight of Sir Lewin's column. But where was Sir Lewin? The compact mass of Solamnics was nowhere to be seen, let alone their leader. Zephros saw two-score horsemen and more cutting in and out of the ranks of the sell-swords like hot knives through cheese. But they wore no colors he recognized, and some of them were mounted archers, who had not been- Zephros had believed he was safely out of bow shot from the walls of the citadel. Had it not been for elven eyes and archery, he would have been right.

As it was, five long-range shafts suddenly filled the air about Zephros. One pierced his left arm, painfully tearing flesh. Two struck his horse, and one of those pierced through to its heart.

Zephros's wounded arm burned all the way up to his brain as he jarred it in falling. The dying horse screamed and sprayed blood all over its rider. Zephros himself wanted to shout in pain, rage, and frustration.

If Sir Lewin had not gone the way of Luferinus, he was somewhere amid that mob of horsemen, no longer in command of his own movements, let alone an attacking column. Meanwhile the attacking column had turned into a routed mob. They were stampeding for the cover of the forest like fly-beset cattle for the cool mud of a riverbank. They threw down weapons, trampled comrades, and generally forsook the name of soldier in the hope of remaining alive.

Even if Zephros had been mounted, he could have done nothing to stem the rout. On foot, all he could do was join it. But he did one thing to prove he had not abandoned the name of soldier.

He walked away from the citadel of Belkuthas. He expected every moment, for what seemed like hours, to feel an elven shaft in his back, the last thing he would ever feel. But he did not care. If the elves wanted to shoot a man in the back, that was between them and their gods.

Zephros would walk back to his men-if there were any left.

Pirvan's orders had reached more people than he had expected. Indeed, Sir Lewin was more mobbed than properly attacked. Two of Rynthala's people dismounted, slipped in close, and hobbled the knight's mount. Then Rynthala herself rode up to him on one side, and Eskaia rode up to him on the other.

"In the name of peace and virtue-"

"In the name of Sir Pirvan of Tirabot, Knight of the Sword-"

Lewin's glare would have made cows go dry at a distance of half a league. The women ignored him.

"The ladies want you to come into Belkuthas, sit down, and talk with some people," Tharash said.

Lewin looked down at the aged elf and reached for his sword.

"Not wise," Tharash said. He gripped Sir Lewin's foot with both hands and heaved.

In the next moment Sir Lewin learned that underestimating elven strength was as foolish as underestimating elven archery. He found himself in midair, then crashing to the ground, then supine while someone-he could not see who-held a lance point to his chest.

"Sorry I had to hurry," Tharash said, "but I thought you might want to wash and change before you met with Sir Pirvan."

Lewin found his voice. "What-is Pirvan really here?"

"Yes," a voice came from behind. Lewin twisted, pushed the lance point away, and sat up.

"I will not say well met, because we are not," said the figure, who looked more like a gutter-dwelling beggar than a knight. "But matters may mend, if you learn a few truths about Belkuthas. I pray you, accept the hospitality of Lord Krythis and Lady Tulia, which I offer to you by my authority as their war leader."

"A Knight of the Sword playing sell-sword to half-elves?" Lewin exclaimed. The lance point suddenly reappeared, not only at his throat but pricking his skin. He looked at the faces around him and realized that silence would have been more prudent.

Lewin said sourly, "Very well. But I insist that my men be permitted to join me, likewise Sir Esthazas, and that we receive honorable treatment."

Pirvan's face twisted for a moment, and Lewin knew he had scored a point. Bringing forty new mouths into the hungry, thirsty confines of the citadel of Belkuthas and leaving them armed was perilous. The alternatives were more so. Leave Lewin and his men free, and they could rejoin the sell-swords, for better or for worse. Kill them-but not even the gutter-sprung Pirvan the Wayward would contemplate that.

Lewin had wanted to enter the citadel of Belkuthas. Why should he turn down an invitation to do so, even one so informal as this?

He stood, and tried to brush dirt and less seemly matter off his clothes.

Chapter 15.

With the air of a prince visiting a petty noble, the Knight of the Rose rode into the citadel of Belkuthas. It almost seemed as if the heavy guard around him was an honor, rather than a precaution.

It was a precaution Pirvan would not have required if Lewin and his company had submitted to having their weapons peace-bonded, with leather or cloth thongs. The knight had refused, coming close to raising his voice in anger or at least offended dignity, and Pirvan had been forced to choose an alternative.

That alternative was to bring the Solamnic newcomers into Belkuthas surrounded by a guard of nearly every able-bodied mounted fighter the citadel could command. Pirvan hoped the sell-swords wouldn't regained their courage while he was appeasing Sir Lewin's dignity.

He had to admit, however, that the odds were long against that. The near-mob with whom Lewin had been riding had not only lost whatever leadership he gave it, it had lost near a hundred men killed or taken, never mind how many had limped off with wounds that would keep them out of the fighting for a while. None would be heard from today.

From prisoners' tales and scouts messages, one of the other two columns had lost its captain, to what was variously reported as a kender assassin or a plot by High Captain Zephros. Zephros, leader of the other column, was nowhere to be found. Again there were assorted rumors, that he was dead, fled, ensorcelled, or otherwise not where he could command his men.

Pirvan was of two minds about the tale of the assassin. On the one hand, it would account for the two kender, who had been missing since before dawn and who deserved to avenge for Edelthirb's death. On the other, such an assassination would hardly shrink the "lesser races" problem. Judging from remarks overheard from Sir Lewin's men-at-arms, this problem already was almost insuperable.

Within the courtyard, Sir Lewin dismounted, without waiting for Pirvan's permission, and began doing an arms ritual with his sword. Pirvan waited until Sir Lewin had-looking at the matter with charity-restored limberness to his body, then also dismounted.

"I must ask you and your men to give your word of honor to remain where we send you, until you and I have spoken," Pirvan said. "I do not command this, but the Measure speaks against hindering a fellow knight, even of lesser rank, in the performance of his duties. You will certainly be hindering me if you do not-to put it plainly-stay out of the way until certain matters are further forward."

Lewin drew himself up to his full height, which was considerable, if not as great as Darin's. "That provision of the Measure applies only to honorable and lawful duties to which a knight has been ordered by a superior. I permit myself to doubt that your commanding Belkuthas is such a duty."

"I permit myself," Pirvan replied, "to doubt that you know what my orders are. They came from Sir Marod, and they were to learn all I could about the tax soldiers and whether they would do justice or not." That was a free interpretation of what Sir Marod had said, but well short of a lie.

The mention of Sir Marod stopped Lewin, as Pirvan had prayed it might. Taking the silence for agreement, Pirvan embraced Lewin, although he would on the whole have as willingly embraced an ogre. "I rejoice in your safe journey, the valor you showed in battle, and your coming here to aid me in my duties. I am sure we shall see that justice is done once we have a moment together, but that must wait.

"Rynthala, Tharash. Find suitable quarters for these noble knights and their men-at-arms and provide them with food, water, and whatever else they may require after their journey and fighting."

"Water?" exclaimed Rynthala, in a tone of stark outrage. "We have-"

Pirvan and Tharash both raised their voices without much caring what they said, but it was too late. Pirvan saw a smile flicker on Sir Lewin's face.

The first impulse that swept through Pirvan was to have Sir Lewin disarmed, bound, and confined. That, of course, would lead nowhere save immediately to a brawl with Lewin's company, and in the end, to a tribunal of the knights. The second impulse was to pretend he had seen nothing, leaving Sir Lewin believing that the gutter-knight (a name Pirvan knew well, though none used it to his face) had been thoroughly deceived. On the whole, that seemed wiser.

As the new arrivals marched off under escort, Rugal Nis approached and saluted. He was, Pirvan noted, wearing his sword, but one of Pirvan's men-at-arms was with him.

"Wishing to report, my lord, that we lost no men in the attack. The lads are out picking up after the enemy. We met a dwarf, and he says he wants to talk to you."

"A dwarf?"

"Aye. He gives his name as Nuor of the Black Chisel and says he needs to speak to the chief of the citadel. That's you."

"The chief of the citadel is actually Krythis. I know you came against him in arms, but he doesn't eat honorable sell-swords. Neither does his lady."

"What about their daughter?" Nis said impudently.

Pirvan mock-glared. "Where did you find this dwarf?"

"Out to the other side of the walls, near the first of the outer wells. We were seeing that no one had heaved bodies down it to poison it, when all of a sudden this dwarf popped out."

"Out of the well?"

"So it looked."

"Thank you. Well done, Rugal Nis. Finish your work. I will see this dwarf."

Nuor of the Black Chisel was tall for a dwarf, and somewhat the worse for a long underground journey. He sat astride one of Pirvan's camp stools and, with a finger dipped in ashes from the fire, sketched a map on the floor. He could have used much fouler materials without Pirvan's protesting.

What the dwarf was offering was life itself, to Belkuthas and, above all, to those innocents who had sought the safety it could no longer provide.

"We couldn't be doing this if it wasn't for the wells feeding from two different underground waters," Nuor said. "That mage-Wilthur the Turd-Colored, or whatever-"

"Has he been working the spells against us?"

"Of course. Gran Axesharp had it from our own thane himself, so if you want to call all three of us liars besides interrupting me-"

Pirvan hastily assured Nuor that he would rather commit several gross crimes (he made the dwarf laugh describing them) than do any such thing. Mollified, the dwarf continued.

"We can cut a tunnel across from the outer well to the one inside. At night, so we can dump the spoil without anyone seeing. Of course, it will mean a deal of stoop work for your people, fetching water through the tunnel, but we'll size the tunnel for humans."

Pirvan looked at the map. "Couldn't you cut a new well?"

"I serve you venison and you want dressed beef as well?"

"Pardon, but-"

"Oh, I'll explain or you'll be fretting at me. Can't do a new well inside the citadel, without tapping into the same water as the old one. That water's gone, or if there's any left, most likely it's not fit to drink. Ask your Red Robe about that."

Pirvan started to return to the matter, then stopped. The dwarves' aid promised another possibility, and Pirvan would rather have cut out his tongue than foreclose it.

"Ah-pardon me again, if I'm asking for dwarven secrets-"

"Oh, we never mind being asked about our secrets. A mite flattering, even. Just don't expect answers."

Pirvan looked at the ceiling, trying to make a sensible choice of the words chasing themselves around in his mind. Finally he looked down at the dwarf.

"I suppose you got into the well you came out of-"

That was not going to work.

Pirvan took a deep breath and started over. "Suppose there was a tunnel from the far side of the outer well, leading clear out of Belkuthas. Anyone who wanted to come in or out of the citadel without being seen could use it."

"And suppose there was? Who would you be thinking to see using it, besides dwarves, as it might make humans a bit stoop-shouldered?"

Pirvan told his heart not to leap before time. "Well, there are some folk here in Belkuthas who would gladly crawl on hands and knees, to be away from here. They and their children."

"Aha. The refugees." Nuor seemed to be waiting for confirmation, so Pirvan nodded. The dwarf continued, "And where would they go, once they went through this tunnel?"

"I think your people would have done enough by then. Many of the refugees are able-bodied. They can forage, cut firewood and timber for shelters, and wait in the forest until the fighting's done."

"Or until the sell-swords track them down," Nuor said. "A bad business, that would be."

"They'd still have a better chance than staying here," Pirvan said. Pleading with a dwarf was like getting a kender to pay close attention: a near-miracle. But he was ready to try it.

"Well, if they didn't mind following a few dwarves, so they wouldn't see anything they shouldn't-"

Pirvan held his breath.

"There's caves aplenty we don't use much, so they're not connected to anything we wouldn't want humans to know. Or if they are, we could do a bit of masonry before the refugees came out."

"You'll shelter the refugees in the caves?"

Nuor glared. "Of course we will. Didn't I just say that we would? Of course there's a tunnel into the outer well! You were wandering all over the potato patch, so I couldn't be sure what you were driving at! You thought I walked to that well on the open ground, through all the sell-swords? I'd rather ride a pegasus!"

"I think we can spare you that," Pirvan said, once he'd regained the breath he let out in a sigh of relief. "Besides, Belot would have my blood if I let anyone but him ride his mount."

"Elves," Nuor said, shaking his head as some humans would have when they said, "kender."

Pirvan looked at the floor. While he had been watching Nuor, somehow the dwarf had contrived to add another tunnel, stretching from the outer well off into the distance."

"Well, I think we can make it worth the dwarves'-"

"Who is this 'we' of whom you speak?" came a voice that was about as welcome to Pirvan as a lewd proposition from Takhisis the Dark Queen. The knight turned, to see Sir Lewin standing in the chamber door.

"Who let you out?" leapt to his lips.

"None confined me. Rynthala and Tharash departed after they found us quarters-very damp and verminous, I fear-and I said to the guards remaining that I had to speak to you. They did not dispute my word of honor."

Strictly speaking, Lewin had broken his word, by not remaining in confinement. But if he argued before a tribunal that he had indeed desperately needed to speak to Pirvan, he would probably not be called foresworn.

Pirvan wished to call Lewin a number of things, but none would be to any purpose.

Then he noticed that Lewin was staring at the dwarf, who was returning the stare. "By Paladine! Nuor of the Black Shovel."

"Black Chisel, Knight. I see your tongue's as glib and your memory's as poor as ever."

"What are you doing here?"