Tristan paced across the room and back. “How many horses do they have?” “None. My master hired them all, and they are all now eaten or fled into the mountains.” Vithric raised his hands and let them drop again. “Were it morning, and the fast did not wait for the slow, some of these folk might reach safety—but it is night, and mothers will carry children, sons will prop their aged fathers on their shoulders and they will all of them die upon the road. Some of these creatures can move through the shadows at great speed.” “I know that.” A somber smile crossed Vithric’s face. “Then you no longer wish to play the wandering pilgrim? You were not at all convincing—sir knight.” “What use is there in hiding, if this is truly my last night in the world?” Tristan stared into the fire. Vithric watched with him. Neither man looked at the other. “Tell me,” said Vithric. “When you did fight, for what were you fighting?” “I once served a great lord,” said Tristan. “I thought I fought for honor, but in truth I fought for his greed. I killed good men; I made widows of their wives, I made orphans of their children so that I might hear my master say that I had done well.” “You score above the other knights I have known in your honesty, at least,” said Vithric. “There is nothing else?” “Once,” said Tristan, “long ago it seems, I wandered from village to village, throwing my shield over poor folk with no other hope. I never asked for more than they gave, and they
The Nethergr im
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