Queen of all the Knowing World

by Jon Jacks

  As Desri had hoped, Barane visibly fumed when she finally rode out into the tilting yard.

  As she had surmised, Barane had donned the full set of heavy armour, in the expectation of a swift victory over her. Only his helmet was presently missing, this being held by the boy appointed to be his squire.

  Desri’s own squire didn’t have anything to hold. The only armour she had decided to wear were the two arm pieces, and these only because she needed them to help her support her shield and lance correctly and firmly.

  Apart from the sheath and belt for her sword, the rest of her body was naked. It was plain to anyone watching the tournament that she was a woman.

  And that, of course, was what Barane found so infuriating. She was a female: she had no right to be at the Academy. It was an insult to every cadet, to the long-standing honour of the Academy, that she had been allowed to join.

  Here, at last, was proof for everyone to see that she wasn’t the right material for the Academy. She obviously had no idea how a tournament fight should be conducted: no idea that to flout the rules was to mock them.

  His victory over her would be cheapened. She was a woman, not another equally experienced cadet. He would be laughed at rather than glorified: he had killed a virtually defenceless, naked woman!

  With a sharp jab of his knees into his mount’s sides, an angry twitch of the reins, he trotted over towards the main viewing box occupied by the queen and her courtiers.

  Desri smiled: she had expected him to complain.

  With a deft twitch of the reins of her own horse, she joined him in front of the box.

  ‘…making out she’s defenceless! Is she also intending to charge between the poles, going against every rule of the tournament?’

  Barane had wasted no time voicing his complaint. He had started before she drew up alongside him.

  The queen smiled, remained seated. It was a smile and pose that said she didn’t deign to speak to the competitors, let alone address these complaints about procedure. With a casual wave of a hand, she indicated that one of her nearby lords should take responsibility.

  The lord glared furiously at Desri.

  ‘Is this true?’ he demanded. ‘Do you intend to bring dishonour to everyone here by fighting like the worst peasant? With guile and trickery?’

  ‘No, this isn’t true, my lord!’

  Desri stood proudly in her saddle, her lance held rigidly and correctly upright.

  ‘She means to throw her lance then!’ Barane insisted petulantly. ‘Or at least to weave aside!’

  He glowered at Desri. Desri stared directly and confidently at the lord.

  ‘I intend to do none of these things, my lord! I’m aware of and will abide by the tournament rules!’

  ‘You do realise, girl, that to try and duck…?’

  He left unsaid the fatal consequences of such a foolish move, utilising instead raised eyebrows and a flowing hand movement to indicate a dead body being carried off the field.

  ‘I don’t intend to duck, my lord.’

  The queen watched all this as if bored and impatient for the fight to begin.

  ‘I must admit,’ she complained, ‘I had expected more of a fight before the girl died.’

  *

  Chapter 21

  1,000 Years Earlier

  The rain fell hard.

  It sent anyone who could do so, without leaving their post, running for cover. Otherwise, they were drenched within seconds.

  The darkness of the storm had added to the dim evening light, cutting the area of vision down. The falling rain itself gave everything an almost wraith-like appearance, slicing through the forms you would normally easily recognise, breaking them up into unfocused dreams.

  Every one of us has our habits.

  The self-imposed regularity that gives us a sense of stability, of reassurance, in an otherwise unpredictable world.

  These are the regular actions a trained assassin closely observes, turns them to his or her advantage.

  Lord Krag, even though a military man, had obviously recognised the foolishness of sticking to an itinerary that made your every move predictable. A timetable that makes your life easier also makes it easier for your potential killer.

  Constantly on guard against his assassination, Lord Krag looked forward to the relief of finally settling down with his family for the night. As he always did, as he always enjoyed doing – so that he’d be the first to greet her – he shouted for and called out to his daughter, letting her know they were all about to sit down for dinner.

  She ran through the rain from the stables. Lord Krag chuckled to himself: he Knew that she was still fuming over his refusal to buy her the racehorse she had desired. Over dinner, she was going to plead with him once again to purchase it for her.

  He always, eventually, let’s me have what I want, she was mischievously thinking.

  She loved him, he could see that. And he loved her, more than he loved anyone else, even his wife, his other daughters.

  Yes, he would let her have anything she wanted.

  He opened his arms to greet her, to hold her close and hug her.

  Imp struck so swiftly he thankfully died without realising his daughter already lay dead amongst her horses.

  *

  Chapter 21

  1,000 Years Later

  Desri’s long blonde hair flickered about her naked body, drifting upwards a little around her head, catching the light and bathing her in a glowing halo.

  Good, Desri thought: that was just what she wanted.

  He’s furious. He’ll want to aim for her face, her head.

  Destroy, as he saw it, her feminine beauty.

  The better she could predict where he might strike, the more chance she had of preventing it causing the most damage.

  The lord they had spoken to held the wooden ball that would be dropped to start the first – and, as Barane saw it, last – charge.

  The ball dropped, Barane anticipating it and setting off instantly into a full-on charge.

  Desri held her horse still.

  She couldn’t see Barane’s reaction beneath his heavily-visored helmet, but she presumed her inaction would only be enhancing his fury at her.

  It would unsettle him, she reasoned, for he wouldn’t have been expecting this. Moreover, it would set his carefully worked out timing wrong: this wasn’t how a tilt was supposed to work, how it had worked out time and time again whenever he had previously fought in a tournament.

  She held her horse back a little longer, hopefully giving him the impression that she was refusing to take part. The more he thought this, the more unsettled, and furious, he would become.

  At last, she urged her horse into a sudden charge. With her being so light, it was soon moving gracefully swiftly.

  Desri didn’t use the Knowing. It would be detected: an archer would probably be signalled to execute her immediately.

  She used, rather, the more instinctual senses that Cranden had revealed to her.

  They were strong enough, even in these strange circumstances, for her to determine Barane’s most basic intentions. He was so angry he was easily readable.

  He would aim for the head, but only after a feinted strike towards the chest. He would raise his shield to cover his own chest, expecting that to be Desri’s most likely striking point.

  As they hurtled towards each other, Barane aimed his lance towards her chest. Similarly, she aimed for his chest, as he was expecting.

  At almost the last moment, Barane raised his lance, positioning it to split Desri’s head. She brought up her shield to deflect the blow, pushing out as hard as she could as she did so. At the same time she bent forward and slightly to her right. Twisting a little as she did so, she jabbed low with her own lance.

  Her lance struck the thick armour running along the horse’s side. Guided by this thick plating of iron, the lance head slipped with great force beneath Barane’s thick wooded saddle.

  The harness holding the sa
ddle in place snapped. The wood of the saddle itself shattered, the huge splinters driven deep into Barane’s more poorly protected inner leg under the force of the impact.

  Combined with Desri’s deflection of his lance, which now completely unbalanced him, Barane slipped from his charging mount. In his heavy armour, he hit the ground with a tremendous clang of reverberating metal plates.

  Still wedged into his high-backed saddle, which itself was still attached to his galloping mount by what remained of the harness, Barane was dragged behind the horse across the ground. Even the slightest bump or hollow of unevenness sent him briefly flying into the air, twisting him partially around, letting him land with a raucous thud and clumping.

  Everyone in the crowd had risen to their feet, yet few were cheering Desri’s victory. They were groaning in dismay and horror at the punishment Barane was receiving.

  As the tiltyard’s attendants rushed to halt the charging horse, Desri brought her own mount to a sudden stop, causing it to rear slightly as she brought it around in a whirl on its hind legs.

  Raising the remnants of her shattered lance upright once more, she turned towards where the queen sat, not in the expectation to be hailed as the victor, but to see what was expected of her next.

  The queen wasn’t there.

  The queen had already left, at some point within the fight.

  The lord who had started the charge was urgently and nervously pointing to the fields stretching out behind Desri.

  ‘A buisoar!’ he cried fearfully. ‘A beast has been watching us from just across the fields!’

  *

  Chapter 22

  1,000 Years Earlier

  Hoak had been avenged.

  Her parents too, in a way, for she had removed one of the queen’s chief supporters.

  Imp felt a surge of satisfaction. She relished it only briefly however, being well aware that such feelings were dangerous while you were still out in the field.

  She had hoped, of course, that she could complete her plan without having to kill Krag’s daughter. Unfortunately, she’d had to utilise the Knowing to read the poor girl’s mind, intending to use these thoughts and longings as the perfect camouflage as she approached Krag himself.

  That part of it all had worked wonderfully. Where Imp had foolishly underestimated her opponent was her presumption that the poor girl’s own Knowing abilities would be too limited to detect the probing. The girl had reacted with a start as she’d sensed Imp’s presence within her.

  There had been no alternative but to kill her.

  The poor girl had had to die because Imp had made a simple, elementary mistake.

  Well, whoever said life was fair?

  These thoughts were quickly dealt with by Imp. She had her own life to look out for now.

  A poorly trained assassin would now be killing anyone getting in her way. That was a sure way to leave a track of where you were headed.

  Rather, Imp used her bow to kill a man set to guard a way out she had no intention of taking. The arrow had a tip like a throwing knife, a delicate shaft that deliberately snapped off and sprung reasonably clear on impact.

  When anyone discovered any of the bodies, that third kill would ensure they incorrectly assumed she was heading out across the rooftops, before taking to the woods lying beyond. Instead, she was keeping to the much barer fields, using the rain and the mud it produced as cover.

  It was a choice of route that allowed her a reasonable view of the road leading out from the house towards one of the nearer towns. A road that, in the distance, was clogged with a struggling, rain-drenched procession of riders, carts and richly decorated carriages.

  Even through the grey veil of driving rain, Imp recognised the flaming white banners and pennants of the queen.

  Perhaps, she thought, I can truly avenge my parents today.

  *

  Chapter 22

  1,000 Years Later

  Desri spurred her horse into a charge once more, this time heading across to the fields, following the direction of the lord’s nervously pointing finger.

  It was a course that took her through the crowds, the tables set out for the feast, the huge, elaborate tents.

  They no longer existed as far as she was concerned. She urged her mount on to barge past anyone or anything in its way, or forced him into a long jump across the food-strewn tables.

  The beast the queen had set off chasing was undoubtedly Cranden.

  What other buisoar would be hanging around such a hugely populated area, watching the tournament like some curious passer-by?

  Why hadn’t she sensed his presence earlier?

  Because all her senses had been attuned to taking part in and completing the battle with Barane. In fact, it was probably this very focusing of her senses into war-like tasks that Cranden himself had detected, persuading him to take the risk and watch her from afar – doubtlessly ready to rush in and save her, had anything gone wrong.

  He had had no need to worry, of course.

  Behind her, Barane was still laid out in the dirt, the attendants fearful of removing anything of his armour but the helmet. His breathing was heavy, his lips dry. Most of his bones were probably shattered, the attendants reasoned, and he would be badly bruised despite the armour’s extensive padding. Huge wooden splinters had completely gashed the inside of his leg.

  He would survive, one of the more-learned men surrounding him pronounced; but he would take a while to recover, and even then would be forever lame. Those experienced in use of the Knowing couldn’t fail to read the hatred for Desri that was the weft amongst the warp of his intense agony and humiliation.

  As soon as Desri was out of sight of everyone, she wheeled her mount into a tight turn.

  Cranden wouldn’t have continued running in this direction.

  He would have headed for the safety of their underground home.

  Unfortunately for Desri, someone else had also realised this: and they were already on their way to kill Cranden.

  *

  Chapter 23

  1,000 Years Earlier

  Imp didn’t waste any time working out a plan of attack.

  She didn’t even survey the situation, accumulating what knowledge she could to ensure the success of her mission.

  These were basics that had been ingrained within her. They had proved their worth countless times.

  She ignored her training. Her own sense of common sense.

  If she stopped to ponder the situation, she would be wasting time. Probably missing her chance to kill the queen.

  Besides, once she’d considered all the inherent problems facing her, she would have no choice but to conclude that her task was impossible, suicidal.

  Once again using the pouring rain as a veil, she gradually merged with the procession slowly winding its way along the poorly constructed road.

  Yes, she was covered in mud: but then so where most of the people around her. These were the more lowly attendants denied a place in the drier carts and carriages, and given the responsibility of keeping the procession moving. They had slipped countless times into the mud as they had sought to free trapped carts, or helped steady sliding horses.

  Fortunately, beneath the mud, Imp was dressed for her part as a court follower, the dress she had chosen to help her emulate Krag’s daughter being perfect. Her thoughts, too, were now those of a courtly attendant, for she once again allowed her complaints of inadequate horses to fill her mind.

  She swiftly worked her way through the procession, looking for clues that would lead her to the queen’s carriage. It would be the grandest there, surely? Insignia didn’t help: the queen’s emblem of the All Knowing Swan was everywhere. The queen’s colours of a bright, flaming white also graced most things she passed.

  She cast out her mind, seeking out the odd glimpses of careless thought that would lead her to the queen. A burst of anger from a lord, perhaps, or an attendant’s inner grumbles on being given a particularly onerous job to do.
<
br />   Desri smiled with satisfaction, a mix of wry disbelief.

  There was no need to seek out the unveiled thoughts of a disgruntled courtier or court follower.

  Tonight the queen herself had been foolish enough to briefly drop her guard, no doubt feeling secure within the middle of her great procession. She was in an exuberant, celebratory mood.

  She was drunk on success, on the wine being excitedly passed around between herself and the five courtiers she’d invited into her carriage.

  They were celebrating the long-awaited death of Lord Krag.

  *

  Chapter 23

  1,000 Years Later

  Desri had dismounted, urging her horse on to seek its freedom within the forest.

  She couldn’t be sure how even such a well-trained horse would react when confronted by a buisoar. Besides, it would leave a clear track for any hunt or dogs to follow.

  As Desri made her way to the underground home built by Cranden, she made sure she left no track herself. Behind her, she trailed a scent-be-spoiling mix of animal skins and faeces, all of which had been collected in one of a number of muslin bags Cranden had hung from the surrounding trees.

  She was surprised, also horrified, to find that Cranden was sitting outside the hideaway rather than already being inside.

  ‘Cranden! Why aren’t you in hiding?’

  ‘They’re not close yet,’ he explained, rising to his feet, stepping forward with his arms open to warmly embrace her. ‘I realised you’d know to come here; but I wanted to make sure you were safe!’

  Desri held him as he held her; thankful that he was safe, fearful for his safety.

  ‘You idiot! You shouldn’t be risking your life for me!’ she insisted.

  She felt his body move beneath her own naked body as he chuckled.

  ‘So you weren’t risking your life?’

  ‘I didn’t have any choice!’ She stepped back a little, raising her head from his chest but replacing it with a lightly placed hand. ‘Besides, what risk was I really taking, when I’ve had such a good teacher?’