The Cataclysm by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman Page A

the grove of aspen by the road.
    She had tended to the knight's wounds as best she could. The cut on his scalp was shallow,
     but he had lost a good deal of blood from it. More troubling had been the wound in the
     knight's leg. She had found the broken shaft of an arrow embedded in the flesh behind his
     knee. Goblin arrows were wickedly barbed, Matya knew, and there was only one way for her
     to remove the arrow tip. Steeling her will, she had pushed the broken shaft completely
     through the flesh of his leg. Mercifully, the knight had not awakened. Blood flowed freely
     from the wound, which she had 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