The cataclysm

deftly bound with a dean cloth. The bleeding soon stopped.

The night deepened, and the stars came out, one by one, like tiny jewels in the sky above. Matya sat by the fire to eat a supper of dried fruit, nuts, and bread, regarding the knight's sleeping form thoughtfully through the back of the wagon.

If he still lived when she reached Garnet the next day, she would leave him at one of the monasteries dedicated to the new gods — if the brethren would accept a Solamnic Knight into their sanctuary, she amended. There were many who frowned upon the Knights of Solamnia these days. Matya had heard tales that told how, long ago, the knights had been men of greatness and honor, who had protected all Solamnia against creatures like goblins. Matya, however, was not certain she believed such tales.

Most Solamnic Knights she had ever heard of were little more than fools who expected others to be impressed simply because they wore ridiculous suits of rusting armor. Some folk even said it was the knights themselves who brought about the Cataclysm, the fiery destruction that had rained down upon the face of Krynn more than half a century ago, bringing an end to the Age of Might.

'Not that I think the Cataclysm was really such a terrible thing,' Matya said to herself. 'I daresay I wouldn't make as good a living as I do if these self-important knights still patrolled the highways. And while times may be hard, it only means that people will spend more dearly for the sort of things I can bring them in my wagon. If anything, the Cataclysm has been good for business, and that's all that matters to me.'

With a start, Matya realized that the knight had heard her talking, was watching her. His eyes were pale, almost colorless.

'To whom do I owe my life?' he asked her.

Matya stared at him in surprise. Despite his unlikely looks, the knight's voice was resonant, deep and almost musical, like the sound of a hunting horn.

'My name is Matya,' she said briskly, recovering her wits. 'And as for what you owe me, we can discuss that later.'

The knight inclined his head politely. 'I am Trevarre, of the House of Navarre,' he said in his noble voice. 'For your assistance, I thank you, but if it is a reward you seek, I fear we must discuss it now, not later.' He gripped the wagon's side and tried to pull himself up, heedless of his injuries.

'What are you doing?' Matya cried.

'Leaving,' Trevarre said. A crooked smile touched his lips, and determination shone in his deep-set eyes. 'You have been more than kind, Matya, but I have traveled day and night to reach the end of my journey. I cannot stop, not yet.'

'Why, you knights are greater fools than the tales say,' Matya said angrily, hands on her hips. 'You'll only kill yourself'

'So be it,' Trevarre said, shrugging as if this prospect did not disturb him. He grimaced, breathing hard, as he slid from the wagon and balanced on his good leg. 'I must go on' He took a step onto his injured leg. His face went white with pain. He groaned and slumped to the ground.

Matya clucked her tongue, helped him sit back up against the wagon wheel. 'I don't think you're going anywhere, except to a monastery in Garnet — or the grave, if you try that again' She poured a cup of water from a goatskin and handed it to him. The knight nodded in thanks and drank it down.

'You do not understand, Matya,' Trevarre said, an intent look on his weathered face. 'I must journey to Tambor. I have received a plea for help. I cannot refuse it.'

Matya scowled. 'Why ever not?'

Trevarre sighed, stroking his scraggly moustache. 'I do not know if I can make you understand this, but I will try. I am a Knight of the Sword, Matya.' He rested his hand against his steel breastplate, decorated with the symbol of the sword. 'This means I cannot live my life as other men do. Instead, I must live by another, higher standard — by the Oath and the Measure. It is written in the Measure that there is honor in aiding those who cry out in need. And, by the Oath, I swore that my honor is my life. I will fulfill my quest, Matya.' A faint light glimmered in his pale eyes. 'Or die trying.'

'And what reward will you get for performing this 'honorable' task?' Matya asked with a scowl.

'My honor is reward enough.'

Matya sniffed. 'This 'Oath and Measure' hardly sounds practical. It's rather difficult to eat one's honor when one gets hungry.' She paused a moment. Her real interest was in the doll, but she couldn't think of how to ask about it without rousing the knight's suspicion. Maybe, if she could keep him talking about himself, he'd tell her what she wanted to know. 'And how is it you came to hear this plea for help, Knight? How do you know it's not simply a trick to lure you into a den of robbers?'

'I know.' The crooked smile touched Trevarre's lips once again. 'By this, I know.' He slipped the porcelain doll from the leather pouch.

Matya was thrilled. She had not thought to get another glimpse so easily. Seeing it closely now, Matya realized the doll was even more beautiful than she had thought. She clasped her hands behind her back so she would not be tempted to reach out and touch its smooth surface.

'Passing fair, would you not say?' Trevarre said softly. Matya could only nod. 'It is a most remarkable thing. I came upon it some days ago, by the banks of a stream that flows from the mountains. It lay in a small boat woven of rushes, caught in a snag by the shore.' He slipped the figurine back into its pouch. 'By it, I learned of a maiden who lives in a village called Tambor. She is in dire need. The code of the Measure is most clear on this. I must go to her.'

Matya raised an eyebrow. It was a peculiar tale. She guessed Trevarre had stolen the doll and simply was making up the story. After all, he looked more like a thief than a knight, despite his armor. If so, stolen goods were fair game. Ask any trader.

'How is it you learned of this maiden?' she asked, hoping to trip him in his lie. 'Was there a message in the boat?'

'No,' the knight replied, 'not as you mean, at least. You see, the doll is magical. Each night, when Solinari rises, the doll speaks with the maiden's voice. That is how I heard her call for help.'

Matya laughed aloud, slapping her knee. 'A wondrous tale indeed, Trevarre, but I believe you have taken up the wrong vocation. You should be a storyteller, not a knight.'

Trevarre's expression became grave, serious. 'You must know, Matya, that on his life a Knight of Solamnia cannot speak falsehood. I can understand why you do not trust in magic. We knights do not think much of sorcerous powers either. But wait until Solinari is on the rise. Perhaps you will change your mind.'

Matya studied the knight attentively. His was not exactly a trustworthy face, despite his pretty voice. Still, there was something about the intentness of his pale eyes.

'Perhaps I won't,' she said.

It was nearly midnight. The knight had slipped into a doze, less fitfully this time, and Matya rummaged through a wooden box in the back of her wagon. The light of a single candle illuminated scrolls and parchments. Finally, she found what she was searching for — a bundle of yellowed sheets of vellum.

Matya untied the bundle's silken ribbon and unrolled the sheets, spreading them out on the lid of the box. They were maps, rendered in fading ink. A kender had given them to Matya some years ago in exchange for a silver knife. It had proved to be one of the few unprofitable trades Matya had ever made. She soon had learned that the maps contained many mistakes. They showed land where there were seas, mountains where there were deserts, and populous cities in which no one lived. She should have known better than to trust a kender. They were little tricksters, all of them. Still, poor as the maps were, they were the only maps she had, and she was curious about something.

She shuffled through the maps until she found one that had SOLAMNIA written on the top. The mountains were missing, and the map showed Caergoth to be an inland city, while Matya knew very well that it stood on the coast. Some features had been added to the map in a bold, scrawling hand, and Matya suspected these were the kender's own additions. Among other things, the kender's scrawls showed the highways leading to Garnet and Caergoth, and the crossroads as well.

'Now where is it?' Matya muttered, running a finger over the yellowed, cracking vellum. 'It has to be here.' Then she found what she sought. Written in small, faded letters was the word TAMBOR. By the markings on the map, the village of Tambor was no more than ten miles north and east of the crossroads.