The Reign Of Istar by Margaret Weis, Tracy Hickman Page B

“a nut cake! Made
     with real honey. Don't you want it? Or should I feed it to Kender Stew?” He held it to
     Tarli's nose. “Poor Kender Stew. Has to beg for treats.” He spun, and mashed it into
     Maglion's face. “Gully Gut gets them for nothing.”
    He pulled the fat boy's hair, forced open his mouth, and shoved the entire cake in. Then
     he mashed Maglion's jaw up and down on the cake. A single angry tear leaked from the fat
     boy's eyes.
    “Wait.” The voice sounded weary, embarrassed, and ashamed. To Moran's surprise, it was
     Saliak who spoke. “This is wrong. I've been wrong.”
    He wiped Maglion's face clean, using one of his shirts as a towel, then untied his arms.
     The fat boy took the shirt from him without a word and finished cleaning himself. “I thought it was fun.” Saliak bent
     down and undid the strap buckles on Steyan's knees and elbows. “I thought, they're strange, and we're not,
     and it's only ... fun.”
    Steyan, free of the trunk, stumbled and fell. Saliak massaged Steyan's arms and legs to
     bring the feeling back.
    “We all thought that.” Saliak looked around anxiously. “Didn't we? We all laughed.” He
     looked as far as Tarli and looked away, flushing. When Steyan groaned and rolled over,
     Saliak stepped to Tarli.
    “I never thought about the Oath.” Saliak unlatched the chain. “And the Measure was just,
     well, classroom stuff.” He unbuckled the muzzle and said, as he untied the gag, “I
     wouldn't blame you if you wanted to hit me.”
    “Fair enough,” Tarli said, and kicked Saliak in the groin.
    The others gasped, in surprise and in sympathetic pain. Maglion and Steyan looked as
     though, after a rainy spring, the sun had broken through.
    Saliak, when he could rise to his knees, gasped, “Is that any way for a knight to fight?”
    Tarli shrugged. “You'd rather fight face-to-face?” Saliak looked green. “I'd rather not
     fight just now” “But you insulted my honor. Repeatedly. And now you know it.” Saliak blinked several times; he was having trouble focusing. “The Measure says that if I choose not to fight, and have apologized, then you
     must accept my apology.” Tarli nodded. “So it does.” He added, so casually that Moran's heart froze within him, “But my own code is more important than the Measure.
     Face-to-face?”
    Saliak nodded, grunting with the effort.
    “Good.” Tarli tilted Saliak's head up. With the taller boy on his knees, the two boys were
     on eye level. Tarli clenched his hands together and swung them both into Saliak's face,
     knocking him backward.
    “This may hurt a little - ”
    After a few more punches, Tarli propped Saliak upright with the thonged stick and began a
     systematic top-to- bottom dismantling of Saliak, punches only. Moran, watching in dismay,
     had to admit that what Tarli did not know about mercy or the Measure, he clearly made up
     for with his knowledge of anatomy.
    At length, Tarli, staggering under the weight, carried the beaten Saliak to bed. Steyan
     and Maglion shook Tarli's hand several times. Then, to Moran's immense relief, the two
     larger boys dressed and bandaged Saliak. Everyone but Tarli seemed at last to understand
     what the Measure was, to a knight.
    *****
    Moran hated doing it.
    He could see Loraine's laughing face, quizzical and completely trusting. All that summer,
     she had never looked as though she thought anyone would hurt her, and he had tried very
     hard never to be the one who did.
    After breakfast, Rakiel, with every show of sympathy and every indication of smugness,
     went down the stairs and sent Tarli up.
    Moran argued with himself a final time. The best I could hope for, he said to himself, is
     that it would be many years before he failed. And then it would be trial, and conviction,
     and the black roses of guilt on the table.
    He sat quietly, rehearsing what he would say. As many years as he had sent squires from
     the manor, Moran always