Fire And Ice - 4. Aftermath

Paiolo and Kyrie snuggled under the stars. The weather was good, and after the battle, they didn’t want to be confined under a wagon. Kyrie felt Paiolo shaking. “What’s wrong? Please, you must tell me.” He paused, and then added, “You know I don’t have your talent for seeing others’ feelings. You must tell me.”

“I killed that man,” Paiolo said. “I know that, now. It was my voice, my…my power.”

“Did you try to kill him?”

“No, I just wanted him to run away, like those two men in the tunnel…But I did kill him!”

“What did you tell me was the First Maxim of Valeus?” Kyrie demanded.

“We are responsible for our actions; we are accountable for our intentions,” Paiolo replied.

“Do you remember when you served applejack, and we all got drunk?” Kyrie asked.

“Centurion said it wasn’t my fault!” Paiolo said, but there was a hint of a smile in his voice. “I didn’t know it had fermented, and that when it froze that would concentrate the alcohol!”

“You were responsible, but you know who Centurion held accountable, don’t you?” Kyrie asked.

“Yeah, you and two of the older boys. Said you should have known better, and not let me keep serving it, especially to the youngsters,” Paiolo said. “But you didn’t really get in trouble.”

“No, even though we lost the next training day since so many of us were sick,” Kyrie said. “It was worth it, though. We had a lot of fun.” Kyrie giggled at the memory.

“Hey,” Paiolo said, “I’m supposed to be the empath, you know.” He kissed Kyrie. “Thank you for reminding me of what should be blindingly obvious.”

*****

The single flag that flew over Paxunt bore the baronial escutcheon, argent, a chevron gules. The escutcheon was set in a square flag. The dexter half of the flag was black; the sinister half was white.

“Why’s the flag different?” the Decurion wondered aloud. “It’s usually all white.”

“The baron’s dead,” Kyrie said, his mind racing. After all these years. I arrive, and he’s dead. The boy continued, “If the dexter side were white, and the sinister side were black, it would mean the baroness was dead.”

“May he find the Light in his next life,” the Decurion said. “He certainly shunned it in this one.”

“What do you mean?” Kyrie asked. The boy was riding beside the Decurion, who had taken it upon himself to advise Kyrie and Paiolo on what to expect, and how to comport themselves in Paxunt.

“Perhaps I was a little harsh,” the Decurion said. “The baron served the Light. Had he not, King Oberon would have asked Prince Auric to replace him…if Auric hadn’t done so on his own. No, he wasn’t evil, but I’m sure he was behind the problems we elves have in this part of Arcadia.

“Didn’t used to be this way. Before the Battle of Derry, there was a lot of trade between Barbicana and Paxunt. They made a brandywine that…Well, that’s neither here nor there. But after the battle, when General Patermass took the baron’s daughter back to Elvenhold, nothing’s been the same.”

Kyrie looked stricken. Paiolo, who had been riding behind urged his horse to catch up. “What’s wrong?” he whispered to Paiolo, who had fallen a little behind the Decurion.

“My father! He was responsible!”

*****

Kyrie repeated the Decurion’s story. “It’s the same story I found in the letters…I never made the connection, though. It’s my fault that the people of Paxunt are hostile to elves!”

Paiolo argued passionately. “In the first place, it’s not your fault. Even if it were your father’s fault—which it isn’t—that wouldn’t make it your fault.”

“Okay,” Kyrie said, a little testily, “you’ve convinced me it’s not my fault. But it is my father’s fault, and just as a man’s debts rest on his son, so…”

“Where did you get that idea?” Paiolo interrupted. “A parent cannot indebt a child…not even a tween without his permission, and besides, you said you were still a boy when your father died.”

“I don’t mean that way,” Kyrie said. “But a debt of honor must be paid. If not by the debtor, then his son.”

“Is this, indeed, a debt of honor? Did your father kidnap your mother? Did he force her to accompany him?”

“Of course not!” Kyrie said, hotly.

“Did he cause her to break any oath?”

“Well, I don’t think so,” Kyrie said. “There was nothing in the letters…yes, there was! In one of the letters she protested that she was free by custom and law to make her own decision…I remember that, now.”

“So,” Paiolo said firmly, “there is no debt of honor. There is no debt of any kind.”

*****

Neither boy was aware of the hand of destiny guiding them toward this particular inn. Indeed, there may have been no guidance, merely coincidence that Paiolo and Kyrie were directed there.

“The Inn of the Five Gnomes is your best bet,” the Decurion had said. “You’ll encounter prejudice everywhere,” he added, looking at Kyrie. “But less at that inn. Still, I wish you’d reconsider…”

“Thank you for your concern,” Kyrie replied. “But we must…I have business here that outweighs any unpleasantness…or danger.”

******

Kyrie’s hair had been cut short. What was left was easily covered by a floppy cap that also served to conceal his ears. He kept his head down, and guided his steps by watching the hooves of Paiolo’s horse as they walked through the streets. As long as Kyrie didn’t look directly at anyone, they would be unlikely to see his eyes. He could probably pass unmolested through the busy streets.

*****

“Go, find Banks,” the tween instructed one of the boys who were playing in the stable. Turning to the two travelers, he added, “Banks is the best farrier. You’d not want to trust your horse to anyone else.”

*****

“My name is Banks,” the tween said. “Jojo said your horse had a loose shoe? Ah, he’s already in the trave. Let’s have a look.”

“I am Paiolo,” that boy said. “My companion is Kyrie.” On impulse he added, “Why did you call the stall a trave? That’s an elven word.”

“A fit place for an elven horse,” Banks said.

“How…what makes you think it’s an elven horse?” Kyrie asked. His face was shadowed by his cap. His voice was tight with apprehension.

“An elven rider, too,” Banks said. “Do not worry,” he hastened to add. “You are welcome, here.”

Paiolo nodded at Kyrie. Paiolo thinks it’s okay, Kyrie thought.

*****

“I love horses,” Banks chattered as he applied his tools to the horse’s hoof. “My family raises them. Oh, not here. Not in town. On a holt north of town. They bring in an elven stallion every seven generations. My horse…the bausond stallion over there…He’s great grandsire was elven. It wouldn’t do, you understand, for people to know. Of course, with the baron dead, things may change. You know they don’t like elves? You must. That’s why you’re disguised. Don’t worry,” he said again, “You are welcome, here.”

Paiolo looked around. The boys who had been playing in the stable had all left. He and Kyrie were alone with Banks. “You, too,” he said to Banks. Like your horse, you have elven blood.”

Banks did not pause in his task. “Thought you’d puzzle that out,” he said. “You’re… sharp, I guess. I saw the way you looked at me when I came in. You see more than most. You elven, too?”

“No,” Paiolo said, reluctant to say more. “Cautious. We were warned about Paxunt; but they said this inn…that its people weren’t like the others.”

“My uncle…he’s the publican…knows, of course. About me, that is. The tweens do, too. They’re not all blood relatives…but they respect my uncle. He won’t allow anyone to talk against elves. Won’t even tolerate customers doing it. He’s lost some business over it, but he’s careful.”

Banks did not add that the inn had for some few years been the unofficial headquarters of the Thieves Guild.

*****

The next morning, Kyrie and Paiolo presented themselves at the castle. “I am Squire Kyrie of Barbicana, son of Diana and Patermass. I have come to pay my respects to the baroness,” he paused, “my grandmother.”

The End