Free The Reign Of Istar by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman Page A

GREATEST SWORDSMAN SINCE BRIGHTBLADE, KILLED BY A THROWN AXE.”
    HE TURNED ON HER, SHAMED BY THE STING OF TEARS IN HIS EYES. “MEND THE ROBE, PATCH THE
     CAPE, GIVE HIM NEW LEGGINGS - EVERYTHING. HE'LL BE ENTOMBED WITH HIS FAMILY; HE'S NOBLE,
     AND A HERO, AND THE BEST - ” MORAN COULDN'T TALK ANYMORE. LORAINE, SURPRISINGLY STRONG, ROLLED THE CART INSIDE BY HERSELF. SHE QUICKLY MEASURED THE BODY AND FIGURED CLOTH AND LABOR COSTS
     WHILE MORAN STOOD BY, EMPTY WITH GRIEF.
    “COME BACK IN TWO DAYS,” SHE SAID.
    AS HE TURNED TO GO, SHE LAID HER HAND ON HIS ARM. “AND COME BACK OFTEN AFTER THAT.” HE
     NOTICED HOW CLEAR HER EYES WERE, HOW SOFT HER VOICE COULD BE. “YOU'LL NEED TO TALK, AND I
     - ” SHE LOOKED SUDDENLY EMBARRASSED AND STRAIGHTENED HER GOWN, PATTED HER HAIR OVER HER
     EARS. “YOU'RE LIKE NO ONE I'VE MET. I LOVE STRANGE PLACES AND STRANGE MEN.”
    AS HE LEFT, HE HEARD HER SINGING, IN A CLEAR, YOUNG VOICE, “ 'RETURN HIS SOUL TO HUMA'S
     BREAST ...' ” MORAN HAD SUNG THE SONG HIMSELF, IN A VOICE CRACKED WITH GRIEF, TWO DAYS AGO.
    TO HIS SURPRISE, HE CAME BACK TO SEE HER WITHIN A WEEK AFTER THE FUNERAL.
    *****
    On the front wall of the classroom hung a tapestry (on loan from the permanent gallery of
     the city fathers) picturing knights riding silver and gold dragons, aiming lances at red
     dragons and riders. The dragons, woven in metal thread, glittered disturbingly in the grim
     gray hall.
    The novices were excited. Two of them were leaping benches in mock swordplay, and almost
     all of the rest were ringed around the term's first fight: two boys, rolling on the floor.
    Moran strode into the room, carrying two breastplates. The boys froze in place, then
     drifted to seats. Tarli's lower lip was bleeding. Another novice - Saliak, Moran noted -
     had bloody knuckles.
    Oh-ho, Moran thought. It's starting already. He walked in silence to the flat table below
     the tapestry and turned to face the novices, who were now sitting quietly on the low
     wooden benches. Only Tarli, sitting apart from the others, was too short for his feet to touch the floor. Two other novices sat apart: the
     ungainly tall boy, and the fat one. Moran, from long experience, knew that the three would be targets in the
     barracks.
    He slammed one of the breastplates on the table. It clanged loudly. All the boys jumped.
    “This,” he said coldly, “is the armor of a Knight of the Sword. The hole you see was made
     in combat, by a lance.”
    This,“ he said, slamming the second breastplate on the table, ”was worn in the last week
     of drill by a novice, training to become a squire. The hole was made in practice, by a
     lance.
    “The holes are exactly alike. So were the wounds - both fatal.”
    In the silence that followed, a number of boys glanced at each other nervously.
    “Can a lance really go through armor like that?” Tarli asked with interest.
    Silently, Moran turned the breastplates around, showing the small exit holes the lance
     points had made. One of the novices gagged.
    Moran looked and found him. “Janeel. You have something to say?”
    The boy coughed, cleared his throat. “Sir, if it would help the training, my father knows
     a true healer.”
    Moran said flatly, “While you are training there will be no plate armor and no healers.”
    He let that sink in. “The greatest favor that I can do the Knights of Solamnia is to kill
     any of you who can't defend yourselves, before you fail in the field, where other knights
     are depending on you. When a novice dies, I offer thanks to Paladine that it happened here
     and not later. That is why” - he lowered his voice slightly - “I give you every chance to
     die that I can manufacture, before you are even squires.”
    Moran moved to the door at the back of the room. “I'll be back. If any of you want to
     leave, do it now.” He eyed Saliak, who already had the look of a leader. “Don't shame
     anyone into staying. That's a little like