The Knight's Blade (Realm of Lords Book 1)

by RG Long

  Rosha took one of her tools from her stablehand belt that hung in her room, a shoe chisel for removing broken horseshoes, and jabbed it into the frame of the window to force it open. It was just big enough to be a hassle to pry out, but it was still just a window, glass in a pane that was fitted into the wall. A privilege for some, which she was quick to abandon for better means. She let the glass down on her bed and felt the night breeze blow into her room.

  Darrion reached his hands up and found purchase on the hewn-out sill of her exposed window. "You should get a latched window like the inn has," he said with a strained voice.

  "I thought you were being punished," she said.

  "I didn't like it, so I stopped," he said with a false laugh. He was exhausted, she could tell. She reached her arm to help pull him in, but he didn't give her his weight. Instead, he tried pulling her out. "We're going."

  "Going where?" she asked. Then, she realized. The determination he had that afternoon was unmoved and unshaken. There was only one place he could be talking about. "Right now? Are you certain?"

  "There's no better time," he said. "I overheard the guards at the stable talking. They won't move out until morning, and hear this! They think they know where the thief is hiding."

  "They do?" she said.

  "The old fort across the vale," he said. He took a few panting breaths and wrapped his arm up and over for a better grip. "This would all be easier to talk about on the ground, I think."

  "I know we planned on it," she said, "but can we really just leave?"

  "I can," Darrion said, "but I won't go without you."

  Rosha felt a quick jump inside her chest. Suddenly, she was all in. She let his hand go, and he slid back out and down the rope. She carefully climbed out of the narrow opening and followed down. Before they left, she swung the rope back off and gathered it up. Their adventure began there, in the dark, unsupervised, with no food, no weapons, and only a length of corralling rope to help them on their way.

  Chapter 5

  DARRION AND ROSHA MADE a wide path to go around the rear of the stable toward the town. They still had many things to pick up and take with them. Their journey would be a decently long one, but with the head start, they hoped it would be over before the royal guard could properly mobilize themselves.

  Their supplies were too limited to leave all at once, so they had to stalk the town streets under the assumption that they wouldn't be missed until at least the next morning. Then it would be likely, for Darrion at least, that some guards would be diverted from their initial charge to search for him, only furthering their conspiracy of blame against him for their own failures. Then while they were out on their wild hunt for nothing, he'd return with the scepter in one hand, the thief in the other, and leave Oldrum forever with a bag of gold at his side.

  He stopped Rosha just behind a home with a small light flickering inside. They crept through the yard and were back in the town again, which had plenty of hiding places and blind alleys that the guards wouldn't bother patrolling. It was a town of merely a thousand , a sinkhole of one-way commerce and a royal stopgap between the more distant lands of the Granitewatch House's homeland territory. It was only made important when the first cycle of Lords established it as a place to raise new breeds of riding horses for its wide-open pastures and plaintive, eager farm folk natives.

  There was nothing there for them but heartache and boredom. Even if it cost them their reputations, they would break out on their own to fulfill their own ambitions. Against the world, the law and all impossibility. But even such heroics couldn't be performed on empty or wanting stomachs. Rosha's gut growled again as they stalked through the back streets between houses.

  "I think I know," he said, "where we can get some food fast."

  "Okay," she said.

  He led her to a particular house, unlit and seemingly locked down, but a door on the side was unbarred. Darrion opened it carefully and slowly. The inside was pitch black. Every window was covered, and only the slightest moonlight made a slim pillar of visible light inside.

  "Who's house is this?" Rosha whispered.

  "Avis Deenhead," Darrion said. "One of the guardsmen. He's quartered at the inn, and his wife is working in the castle gatehouse. He may not come back here for days."

  "That's not a fair reason to rob him," Rosha said.

  "Neither is vengeance," he said. His eyes started adjusting slowly to the dark, and he carefully reached for the handles of a pantry door. "But I won't be picky."

  Inside were many wrapped, bagged, and jarred foods and things to eat. Rosha found a cloak and made a bindle out of it. They put in a few pounds of jerky, preserves, a hinge-lid jar of crushed salt, and a deerskin for water.

  "That's supplies," Darrion said. He carefully left the house, making sure every way was clear and unobserved, then bid Rosha to follow.

  "Now we just need weapons," she said. Darrion hung his head.

  "Stealing those would be a day and a half's work," he said.

  "I meant to ask sir Garis privately," she admitted. "He seemed more occupied than normal."

  "How so?" he asked.

  "He, well," she said, "brought the blame to my parents over my failure."

  "Oh, that geezer," Darrion hissed. "Right. He'll just be one more bloke we prove wrong once we come back richer than any of them ever will be."

  "But without weapons?" she asked.

  "The farmhouse out of town," he said. "Last house on the right, bordered with the woods. A pitchfork and a sickle are as good as a spear and a sword, I think."

  "Are they though?" she asked, craning her neck incredulously.

  "It's better than nothing," he admitted, "and we can't leave with nothing."

  They went on, stalking and skulking, two shadows carrying a hunch of pilfered food between them, under the dark of each unlit house. The sun had set, and the day was done. The families who weren't sleeping likewise wouldn't leave their home and incur the wrath of a sleepless, judgmental guard on patrol. The town was locked down, but not sealed shut.

  They managed to break away from the inner boundaries of the town and left it behind. They reached the point where Rosha ended her chase yesterday, overlooking the long drop of the main road out into the countryside, past the farm and pasture below and into the rolling vale and hills of the outlands where the law of the House of Lords couldn't reach. Where the thieves and bandits and lawless men all gathered up to plan their wicked dealings against the honest common folk of the realm.

  Weapons were an absolute must. Failing that, any well-kept farm tool was the second-best bet. The break they made across the field was a daring one. There was no cover unless they went up the steep hill toward the forests and split away into the woods prematurely, but then they risked losing sight of their goal and losing their food to wild animals that stalked the night. They were better off staying in their brisk paced midnight job along the prairie with the confidence that no one would be awake or observant enough to catch them.

  "Just a bit further," Darrion huffed. "We can take some water, rest, and be in the woods before first light easily."

  "You're a fount of energy," Rosha said.

  "I've been holding back all my energy for years," he said. "There's nothing worth using it on back there."

  "Training horses seems worthwhile," she said, "but protecting people is much better."

  "Who better to start honoring than a prince?" Darrion said. "He'll acknowledge us, or bite his tongue off in shame. Either way, a fair accomplishment."

  "Let's not let that happen until he's paid us," Rosha said.

  They laughed coyly together, then hushed as they approached the perimeter fence of the sheep yard. There was even less cover between them, and the barn as the sheep of the field had grazed all the grass down to knuckle-deep nubs. They had to walk around it the whole way to find another decent opening.

  At last, they were nearly there, one gate and door away from a guaranteed victory. The thief, regardless of their p
ower or affiliation, would succumb to the greatest advantage of a surprise attack. Surely, Darrion thought, they were already wistfully waiting, high off their accomplishment, proud of the disaster they laid in their wake and cocksure of their evasion. They would be expecting royal guards to stomp into the woods and hunt them down with their noisy armor and clattering of spears. They wouldn't suspect two youths with informal training and a crazed lust for adventure to crash their carefully laid plans of riches and royal ransom.

  Darrion opened the barn door carefully. Inside was lit by a single lantern, and guarded by a single guard who sat in the middle of the floor on a shearing stool. His spear was propped up against a nearby wall. For all accounts, he seemed to be asleep. Darrion took advantage of the fortunate situation and crept up quietly, so not even the sheep were stirred in their pens. A spear outclassed whatever farming tools he could find. Let them be one spear short, he thought. They had numbers where the thief did not.

  "Oh?" the guard said. He stood up immediately and sent the stool clattering to the ground. "You got here slower than I expected."

  Darrion froze in place, not within reach of the spear against the wall, and too far away to start running. He couldn't see the guard's face in the dark of the barn with the light behind him.

  "Let's test that mettle of yours out against mine," the guard growled. He rapped his fist against his breastplate and dove in. Darrion stood firm to defend himself but was overwhelmed and grappled to a standstill. His adventure seemed to be at an end, surrounded by uncaring sheep who would not even raise their voices to help him.

  Chapter 6

  ROSHA WAS GETTING WORRIED. Darrion entered the barn while she stayed behind on the other side of the gate. One less person to hope a fence could run that much faster. The animals inside weren't making any noise, which she was thankful for, but she heard no sign of Darrion's success either way. Then, something appeared. A two-part figure, a man in armor with another body, clutched under his arm. It was a guard holding Darrion by the head. Rosha crawled over behind the barn wall and held her breath.

  "Where is she?" the guard asked. His voice rolled out, threatening and low.

  "This isn't funny," Darrion strained.

  "No, it very much isn't," he said. "Now, you came here with another. Where?"

  Rosha heard Darrion sigh. Even under that duress, in the grasp of a guard while under the suspicion of his life, he remained steadfast and rebellious against their authority. Then she heard steps growing closer with the slight clanking of metal joints of armor as the guard rounded the corner to see her sitting down.

  "Hello, young one," Garis said. He stepped forward with Darrion forcefully following behind, still in his underarm grip, and finally let him go by raising his arm up. Darrion gasped a bit and rubbed at his neck. "Well, well, it's a good thing they put me on border duty tonight."

  Darrion turned to face Garis with Rosha at his side. He stood in front of her, and she joined him, linking her arm over his, to protect their sack of food. He looked at her, confused until he saw the determination in her eyes. It revitalized his firm standing.

  "Don't try and stop us, Garis," Darrion said. "We have every reason to find that blaggard and bring the scepter back ourselves."

  "Yes, I'm sure you do," Garis said. "And that blaggard will have every reason to kill you if you try."

  "We need weapons," Rosha said. "I meant to tell you but you, and my parents...you..." Rosha's arms went down. "Why did you do that?"

  "I did think," Garis admitted, "against my better judgment, that you might stay home this time and leave this matter to the hands that have been tasked to handle it by a power even higher than ourselves. I hoped that. But, I can see that hope is dashed now, as you have come here of your own volition, exactly as I thought you would, to defy all standing orders for citizens to remain at home, and for suspects to remain under house arrest."

  "Bullshit," Darrion said. "I did what I could."

  "So I heard," Garis said. "I heard you lash out to one of the guardsmen as well. He was aggrieved about it. I dare say you hurt poor Avis' feelings."

  Rosha darted her eyes to the food sack. Darrion did the same, with less subtlety, and Garis stifled a laugh as he followed their actions.

  "Either way," Garis continued, "it's good I caught you now."

  "You haven't caught us until we've surrendered," Darrion said with confidence. Garis took out a scroll of paper and handed it to Rosha. She and Darrion unwound it. In the dark of night, they struggled to understand it but could tell it was some kind of layout for a fortress, an architect's document for the construction of the outpost they were bound for.

  "Rosha," Garis said, "I'm sorry we met as we did. If it had been earlier, and someplace else, this could have been done better. But now I think it's time you two learn proper skills in handling weapons."

  "What?" Darrion breathed.

  "Real skill?" Rosha said. They turned to each other with building excitement unbound and unable to hide it. "Real weapons?"

  "Don't be so surprised," Garis said. "Two hopefuls for joining the royal guard, and the King's Guard no less. Any help I can give you would not be enough."

  "You'll really teach us?" Darrion asked.

  "As much as I can for one night," Garis said, sternly. "It won't be enough, I fear, but I know you two. You are determined, and not as foolish as you may act. You are cunning and fast to act. What you lack is confidence in your follow-through, the necessary experience of what it means to take a human life, and the sense of justice to keep you morally just when the time comes to attack. I can only impart on you some skills before you leave now."

  "We'd be grateful," Rosha said. "Beyond that, even. We’ll repay you somehow."

  "You repay me by pretending this never happened," Garis said, returning to his kinder tone of voice.

  He ushered them along, down the pasture, and to the edge of a field. There, a few dummies were set up with arrows sticking out of them and in the ground around them. They were vaguely human-shaped with wood cores and baled up straw limbs. On various parts of the body were marked X's showing the lethal points of damage.

  "This is the farmhand's training ground," he said. "Border patrol uses it to destress while they're out here on the fringe of town. They say it helps ward off the planar madness incurred by staring out into the countryside for too long. It can make the mind wander, and you'll be lost right where you stand."

  Garis held up his spear and drew a narrow, bladeless knife from his belt. He moved the dagger toward Darrion and handed the spear carefully off to Rosha.

  "What kind of dagger is this?" Darrion asked. It was a solid metal shaft, four edges, but none sharpened. Only the tip was filed down to a point, with a slight twist of the metal from the base all the way up to where it ended.

  "It's an armor breaker," Garis said.

  He lifted up a banged up and dented breastplate from the ground and draped it over the wooden dummy. He patted the metal on the chest and invited Darrion closer.

  "It's made for piercing metal, you see. If you position it correctly, handle flat to the surface you want to puncture and push with all the force in your body," he took Darrion's hand and demonstrated his tactic, which pushed the dagger all the way to the hilt, through the armor, and into the wood beneath in a single motion, "you pierce. Most armors are not made with the curves outward and all around to make that harder. This dagger is designed to find the stopping points, the flat areas, and the joints of armor where the metal folds inward, where it's easiest to puncture."

  "How can I slash with it?" Darrion asked.

  Garis shook his head.

  "You won't," he said. "The wild swinging and swiping of a blade is a fool's tactic. There's only so much flesh to aim for that will cause a lethal wound in an instant. The neck, or the larger sections of the upper leg, that's where much of the blood flows through. Cutting a man across his chest or his arm or his back will surely hurt him, but if it's too shallow, he can rise up and take you down
. A puncture, a stabbing, is much harder to recover from."

  "I understand," Darrion said.

  "Remember," Garis added, "all your weight. Use your hands and arms to aim and then lean into it like you're holding your auntie back from the other side of a door."

  He smirked, but the reference just made Darrion grimace woefully. She'd be inconsolably upset once she discovered his disappearance. Garis went to Rosha next as she looked over the spear. She noticed the tip was flanged with small spikes sticking out of the sides.

  "What are those blades for?" she asked. Garis sighed like he was about to deliver a delicate and sensitive lecture. He positioned Rosha in front of the dummy and moved her arms forward, then bent with her as she leaned in from her hips until she had to reposition her legs out.

  "Memorize the distance," he said. "Use any trick, you know. Always make your reach look shorter than it really is by a hand's length. The same as with Darrion, you will lean in with your body and not only work the spear with your arms. The arms are for adjustment, the legs and the back do all the pushing."

  "Like a broom," she said.

  "A broom that kills," he said. "Now, angle it lower. This will work nearly every time."

  He had her aim the tip of the spear toward the ground between the dummy's legs. She looked on with horror as his physical instructions caused her to knock the spear up from the ground into the dummy's crotch. "That part is rarely well guarded. Even the best attempts will not stop the full force you can put behind it. Even if you don't angle the shaft-heads upward, the blade can nick into the thigh and hit an artery, causing deadly blood loss and a sharp panic to take over."

  "That's not very chivalrous," Darrion said, hesitation in his voice.

  Garis smirked and shook his head.

  "It's not all about living for ideals," Garis said "I too once wished for fame and glory in battle, but I learned that battle is a bloody thing, and protecting the peace where wars don't reach was a far nobler thing, even if it cost me the dreams I once aspired for. This thief you're hunting, and the bandits they may ally with will have no chivalry. They are killers and fiends who will not see you as I do, as two young ones ablaze with potential and passion. They'll see two children, strayed from their parents, too weak to fight and just innocent enough to kill. You have to prove them wrong."