Baru spoke softly. “There is duty to one’s lord. There is duty to one’s clan and family. There is duty to one’s work, which provides an understanding of duty to one’s self. In sum they become the duty that is never satisfactorily discharged, even through the toil of a lifetime, the duty to attempt a perfect existence, to attain a higher place on the Wheel.”
Charles nodded once. “This is so.” He picked up a small felt hammer and rang a tiny gong. “Listen.” Baru closed his eyes in meditation, listening to the sound as it faded, diminishing, becoming fainter. When the sound was fully gone, Charles said, “Find where the sound ends and silence begins. Then exist in that moment, for there will you find your secret centre of being, the perfect place of peace within yourself. And recall the most ancient lesson of the Tsurani: duty is the weight of all things, as heavy as a burden can become, while death is nothing, lighter than air.”
The door opened and Martin slipped in. Both Baru and Charles began to rise, but Martin waved them back. He knelt between them, his eyes fixed on the censer upon the floor. “Pardon the interruption.”
“No interruption, Your Grace,” answered Charles.
Baru said, “For years I fought the Tsurani and found them honourable foemen. Now I learn more of them. Charles has allowed me to take instruction in the Code of the Warrior, in the fashion of his people.”
Martin did not appear surprised. “Have you learned much?”
“That they are like us,” said Baru with a faint smile. “I know little of such things, but I suspect we are as two saplings from the same root. They follow the Way and understand the Wheel as do the Hadati. They understand honour and duty as do the Hadati. We who live in Yabon had taken much from the Kingdom, the names of our gods, and most of our language, but there is much of the old ways we Hadati kept. The Tsurani belief in the Way is much like our own. This is strange, for until the coming of the Tsurani, no others we met shared our beliefs.”
Martin looked at Charles. The Tsurani shrugged slightly. “Perhaps we only find the same truth on both worlds. Who can say?”
Martin said, “That sounds the sort of thing to take up with Tully and Kulgan.” He was quiet a moment, then said, “Charles, will you accept the position of Swordmaster?”
The Tsurani blinked, the only sign of surprise. “You honour me, Your Grace. Yes.”
“Good, I am pleased. Fannon will begin your instruction after I’m gone.” Martin looked up at the door, then lowered his voice. “I want you both to do me a service.”
Charles didn’t hesitate in agreeing to serve. Baru studied Martin closely. They had forged a bond on the trip to Moraelin with Arutha. Baru had almost died there, but fate had spared him. Baru knew his fortune was intertwined in some way with those who had quested for Silverthorn. Something lay hidden behind the Duke’s eyes, but Baru would not question him. He would learn what it was in time. Finally he said, “As will I.”
Martin sat between the men. He began to speak.
Martin gathered his cloak about him. The afternoon breeze was chilly, blowing down from the north. He looked sternward as Crydee disappeared behind the headlands of Sailor’s Grief. With a nod to the ship’s captain, he descended the companionway from the quarterdeck. Entering the captain’s cabin, he locked the door behind. The man who waited there was one of Fannon’s soldiers, named Stefan, equal in height and general build to the Duke, and wearing a tunic and trousers of the same colour as Martin’s. He had been sneaked aboard in the early hours before dawn, dressed as a common sailor. Martin took off his cloak and handed it to the man. “Don’t come up on deck except after night until you’re well past Queg. Should anything force the ship ashore at Carse, Tulan, or the Free Cities, I don’t want sailors speaking of my disappearance.”
“Yes, Your Grace.”
“When you get to Krondor, there’ll be a carriage waiting for you, I expect. I don’t know how long you can continue the masquerade. Most of the nobles who’ve met me will already be en route to Rillanon, and we’re enough alike to casual observation that most of the servants won’t know you.” Martin studied his bogus counterpart. “If you keep your mouth closed, you might pass as me all the way to Rillanon.”
Stefan looked disquieted by the prospect of a long siege of playing nobility but said only, “I will try, Your Grace.”
The ship rocked as the captain ordered a change of course. Martin said, “That’s the first warning.” Quickly he stripped off his boots, tunic, and trousers, until all he wore was his underbreeches.
The captain’s cabin had a single, hinged window, which opened with a protest. Martin hung his legs over the edge. From above he heard the captain’s angry voice. “You’re coming too close to the shore! Hard a starboard!”
A confused-sounding helmsman answered, “Aye, captain, hard a starboard.”
Martin said, “Good fortune be with you, Stefan.”