The Cataclysm by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman Page B

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