The Knight of Honor (The Arising Evil, Book 1)

by Ulysses Troy

  After dealing with the bandits, Conrad wasted no time. He looked around to see if there were any more bandits, but it appeared that there were just these two. He checked the one whose leg he had injured. The man was still screaming with pain and holding his wound with his hands. The cut was deep enough to detain him, but not enough to kill. Conrad walked past him and approached the Baron. He removed the cloth on his mouth, and as he began to untie the ropes, the Baron spoke.

  “Thank you, Ser,” he said with one of the most grateful voices Conrad had ever heard. “If you hadn’t been there, only the Holy One knows what they would have done with me.”

  “I am no Knight,” Conrad said after cutting off the last piece of rope on the man’s hands with his dagger. “Are you the Baron of Gannadár?” he asked as the young man gently stroked his bloody wrists.

  “Yes. I am Baron Edmond de Gannát of the Barony of Gannadár.” He thrust his hand out to shake Conrad’s. Then, he remembered that he was wearing steel gauntlets on his hands. He paused for a moment to remove one of his gauntlets, which surprised Conrad. In Baltarian culture, a Knight could only perform a handshake with his bare hand if he was greeting someone higher than himself in the hierarchy.

  “There is no need for this,” Conrad said, still surprised.

  “No Ser, there is. You saved my life,” the Baron said smiling. “And your name is?”

  Conrad shook the Baron’s hand, “Conrad, Conrad of Battum.”

  Now the Baron’s eyes were full of surprise. “You are the one Veron de Charn talked about!” he said. “I have heard much about your great deeds from him.”

  Veron de Charn? Who the hell is he? Conrad was just about to give him a response, but someone hit him from behind with a small but hard object. He lost his balance and fell to the ground.

  There were more than just two of them. Conrad thought as he saw two more bandits appear beside them, one standing above, pointing his sword at him. Conrad reached for his sword and tried to swing it towards the bandit’s leg while he was still lying in the ground, but this bandit was much faster than the former. He avoided Conrad’s move with a swift jump and kicked his head. Conrad was muddled after all the blows he had received but as the bandit sent another kick to his head, he was able to block it with one arm. He looked to his left to see if the Baron was still safe. He was trying to avoid the other bandit’s attacks, unarmed as he was. Then, he saw Conrad looking towards him.

  “The sword!” he called out to Conrad. “Throw it over!”

  Conrad had no choice but to trust the Baron’s skills and pray to the Holy One to prove Merlon right about the Baron’s finesse with the sword. He threw the sword towards the Baron. It was a poor attempt, as he was still trying to protect himself from Bandit’s furious kicks, but the Baron was able to catch the sword in the air. As soon as he caught it, the Baron attacked the other bandit. The sound of clashing steels filled the air. Then, a scream was heard, but it did not belong to the Baron. The bandit standing above Conrad turned back to help his friend but, in an instant, Conrad’s sword was on his chest. He is good, at least good enough to keep both of us alive, Conrad thought as the Baron approached him and reached out his hand one more time, to help him up.

  “Now we are even,” Conrad said, trying to get up with the Baron’s help. “We’d better check out this bandit.”

  Of the bandits, only one was alive, the one whole leg Conrad had injured. Conrad approached him, while the Baron of Gannadár went to fetch his sword back from the bandits’ tent.

  “Now,” he said with a threatening voice, “I need you to speak.”

  “Okay, okay! I will say anything you want! Just don’t kill me!” His wound was still bleeding, and he was terrified upon seeing the death of his companions.

  The Baron looked at him with great disgust. “Are you willing to betray your friends that easily? Just after their very death?”

  “Friends?” The bandit spat out to the ground. “I have been riding with the Brotherhood for only a month. I joined them to make some tourins, but these fuckers have been acting as if they have another fucking plan!”

  “What were you doing here?

  “Retlaff had ordered us to find some essence of Orellon!” he said. “We thought we could find some from that fucking Hern.” He pointed to a shack so far away that it could barely be seen from behind the woods. “People say he has the seeds.”

  Retlaff, another Vanheimian name. “Do you know about a man with fancy blue clothes and a southern accent?”

  The bandit thought for a moment, and then answered his question. “Some bard from the south joined us a while ago. His name was . . . Veron. He said he could help the commander infiltrate the contest.” This Veron looks like one of the disguises of Gavise. He always liked meaningless shit like this. Thanks to God, I know the bastard enough to understand that.

  “Veron?” the Baron was surprised, but Conrad had to continue his interrogation.

  “Your commander?” he asked the Bandit.

  “The man’s name is Retlaff.” The bandit’s hands on his leg were red now, covered in blood. “He is the Rider’s right hand. I did not see him too often, but they say he can even be ruthless towards his own men. But to give him credit, he is deadly with the sword.”

  “What does he look like?” Conrad asked, to get a picture so that he could distinguish the man if he encountered him.

  “You cannot mistake him for someone else when you see him,” the Bandit smiled sinisterly.

  “And how I am supposed to do that?”

  The bandit laughed despite the pain he felt, “because he looks like a fucking vampire with those red eyes and pale skin of his!”

  “A vampire? What the hell are you talking about?” Conrad asked the bandit. It must be a joke.

  “Believe it or not. I say what I have seen with my own eyes.”

  “You said Veron joined you?” the Baron was still curious about that matter.

  “Yes, as I said,” the bandit answered. “Retlaff seemed to trust him and kept him close.”

  “Why would he trust someone he has just met that easily?” Conrad asked.

  “Because that fucker said he could help us to catch a noble Baron.” He looked at the Baron’s face. “He was the one who told us were you were. The mission of gaining the essence was a set-up to catch you. The Brotherhood does not harm smallfolk unless it is necessary.” He looked at the Baron’s face. “It only harms your kind.”

  “Do you know where Veron and the rest of the Brotherhood are now?” Conrad asked.

  “Only a small portion of The Brotherhood remains in these lands. Most of them went to another land.”

  “For what?” asked the Baron.

  “Retlaff never told us why. He just ordered us to deal with you and find some Orellon essence.”

  “What the hell is that Orellon Essence?” Conrad asked.

  “I don’t fucking know,” the Bandit said. “We just thought Hern had it, and it turned out to be wrong after all.”

  “I have only one question left to ask you,” said Conrad, pointing his sword towards the bandit. “Where is your base?”

  “There is no need for more blood!” the bandit cried with fear. “I already said I would tell you everything I know! The remaining men of the Brotherhood . . . they are stationed in an old, ruined castle, standing in the heart of the Jade Forest.”

  “The Jade forest?” Conrad asked, waiting for the Bandit to correct him.

  “Yes. Cout said The Brotherhood has been using that place as a base for months. It is a hidden and creepy place. We call it as ‘Unac’h Dorn’.”

  “Unac’h Dorn? This word is not in any of the languages spoken on Bralon,” said the Baron suspiciously.

  “I don’t know which language the name belongs to,” the Bandit said. “The Dark Rider ordered all of us to call the place Unac’h Dorn, at least according to Retlaff. Cout once said an old man lived in the castle just before The Dark Rider found the place, and that he learned its name from
him.”

  “The Dark Rider, what more do you know about him?” asked Conrad, pointing his sword at the bandit again.

  “As I said, I am a fresh recruit, I don’t know anything! Even Cout and the others don’t know a damn thing about him. I only saw him once, at the castle. He was wearing dark leather armor with a hood and mask, covering his face. He did not even talk with us directly; he only communicated with his inner circle. Cout once said even Retlaff and Terebaum don’t know his true name.”

  “I have enough answers,” said Conrad, sheathing his sword.

  “What should we do with him?” the Baron asked.

  “Please, let me go! I swear I will not even use a harrow for the rest of my life,” begged the bandit. “Please, noble knight, forgive me! I have three kids to feed. I had to find tourins to keep them alive!”

  “A crime cannot go as unpunished . . .”

  The Baron reached to his sword as the fear in the bandit’s eyes grew. He is crying, Conrad thought as the Baron raised his sword above the man. Maybe I should stop him.

  “But the Holy One forgives those who repent.” Baron Edmond touched the Bandit’s head with the tip of the sword.

  “Do you swear not to take up arms against the folk of Baltaire?” he asked the man.

  “Yes! On my life!”

  “Do you swear not to kill, steal or destroy?”

  “Yes!”

  “Do you swear to start a new life and be an honest man from this day on?”

  “Yes, yes, I do!”

  The Baron sheathed his sword. “Then you may go. But if you continue to do your vile deeds,” he looked into the bandit’s eyes, “I will remember your face.”

  “But, my lord, how can I walk like this?” he showed his bleeding leg.

  Conrad cut a small piece of cloth from the bandits’ tent. “The cut is not lethal. Bandage the leg from above the injury. That will stop the bleeding. But you must put ointment on the injury to make sure it doesn’t get infected.”

  “Thank you,” the bandit said, as he began to bandage his leg with the cloth Conrad gave him.

  “Thank your kids. If you are still alive after the things you have done, it’s only because of them.”

  ***

  After they packed up the Baron’s belongings and finally found his horse, tied to a tree, Conrad led the two to the road, where they found Merlon, still anxiously waiting on top of his horse for Conrad’s return. When he finally saw his lord, an exaggerated expression of happiness spread over his face, as if it hadn’t been him who cursed his lord every ten minutes along the road. Even though he is not good at running, I can’t say the same thing about his acting.

  “My Lord! I am so happy to see you safe!” he cried with joy. “Thanks to the Holy One! Your mother would be brokenhearted if something . . .”

  “Enough, Merlon!” the Baron raised his hand to silence his servant. “As you can see, I am safe and sound, thanks to this man.” He pointed at Conrad with his finger and turned his face towards him. “Noble Ser, if I can do anything . . .”

  Conrad quickly got to the point, “You can help me find my friend.” He had already lost too much time.

  “Veron? I am still surprised to learn that he has betrayed me, fooling me into a trap of outlaws.” The Baron was concerned. “I thought he was an honorable man.”

  Even though Gavise could not be identified as an honorable man under any circumstances, cooperating with bloody bandits and betraying the Baron after riding beside him for days was still out of his character. This Veron was not Gavise, or else there was something else behind this mystery. “Gav . . . Veron, yes. I was surprised by the bandit’s words too. I think there may be some things we don’t know about the situation. Things to justify Veron’s actions.”

  “You are right, Ser Conrad,” the Baron nodded. “Your honorable acts have indeed proved the value that lies in Veron’s words. Maybe it was just that the bandit was lying.”

  “Maybe,” Conrad said.

  “My Baron, do you still intend to continue your journey to the contest?” Merlon asked, hoping this little unpleasantness was enough to change the Baron’s mind.

  “Of course,” the Baron said with assurance. “I gave my word to Antonin, Merlon. I will resume my journey immediately.” He turned towards Conrad again. “Ser Conrad, please join me to the feast on LaPellás as my special guest. At least let me have this honor.”

  Chapter Three

  A Night at Plains

  The interior of the tent was good enough and managed to give the comfort Conrad wanted to have for weeks. It was made of a quality blend of wool and linen, capable of shielding the interior from the cold night air and preserving the warmth.

  When the servants of LaPellás showed him this tent as the place he would sleep, he was surprised as he did not expect to be give such a good one. The tent could be considered as ‘small’ and it was decorated simply, but he was only one man, and the tent was good enough for a landless Knight, too good for a coinless lowborn like him.

  Moments later, he was lying on a bed of wool in his grey shirt and brown pants, thinking about his life. His dark and dense leather armor stood on the floor, under his black cape and gloves. For a moment, he touched his cheeks with his fingers and felt the firm hair on his face. Even though he tried, he couldn’t remember how much time had elapsed since the last time he shaved his beard. Conrad would always prefer a clean shave, but it was mostly a condition he did not have a say over. Often, he would be out of razors and not want to dull his dagger by using it in shaving.

  Conrad did not know any other life, but sometimes, when he had an empty bag of tourins and had to sleep in the bushes, even for a short amount of time, he would regret all the times he had denied coins or profitable opportunities that would bring him . . . eventually, coins. He wondered what it would have been like if he had been born in a rich castle, instead of that poor village house in Battum? What would change in his life, and what would remain the same? Which people would he have met, and which people would he not? Would he be a better man, or not? He did not know the answers to any of these questions and the only thing he knew was the life he had, the only life in his hands. Maybe he would never have chosen to be born as himself in the first place, but as another, and he knew what he wanted to be back on that dark day in Battum, under the endless raindrops and black clouds.

  One thought followed another as Conrad slowly fell into the hands of sweet and serene sleep. But the reality did not let him rest in peace in sleep, either, and a strange rustling from outside awakened him. Getting up slowly, he remembered the bandit’s words. He would help us with sneaking into the contest. He quickly grabbed the grip of his sword to defend himself from possible danger, but it was unnecessary. A soft voice spoke outside his tent.

  “Ser Conrad, please forgive us for disturbing you, but we are here to escort you to the feast on the Lady’s orders.”

  False alarm. “Give me a moment,” he answered, relaxing and lowering his sword.

  Conrad stood in the tent and quickly put on the only thing he had to wear, his leather armor and boots. He left his cape on the ground but picked up his sword again and lifted the flap that covered the door. There before him, he saw two servants carrying the rose of LaPellás on their clothes, one old, one young.

  “I am ready to go,” Conrad said to them. “And the Lady? I thought LaPellás was ruled by a man.” Merlon had already mentioned a lady, but it wouldn’t hurt to learn more about her.

  “It was,” the young servant said, “but last year Baron Jodeph de LaPellás passed away because of an unfortunate accident. Now, his younger sister Lady Chanel de LaPellás rules in the name of his little son and sole heir, Baron Theodore de LaPellás, as his legitimate regent until he comes of age.”

  This political structure of nobles and their little world. “Okay then, I’m ready to go.”

  The old servant’s eyes were fixed on his sword. “Sorry Ser, but I need to ask you to leave your steel in the tent. The L
ady made it very clear that weapons are not allowed on the feast.”

  “So be it.” As an adventurer roaming in the lands with little company, Conrad’s sword was his only security of life, so he was never comfortable without it. Still, he left his sword in the tent, hoping he wouldn’t need it anytime soon, and started to walk with the servants.

  As the servants led him to a large inn built in the heart of LaPellás’ famous and lush plains, Conrad studied the general environment. There were tents everywhere and one had to be deaf not to hear the joyful cries of the people that were gathered around them. Apart from the lights of the white moon and bright stars, torches and lamps lit up the place, creating a distinct ambiance. While walking, Conrad saw servants, merchants, farmers, wanderers, soldiers, knights, priests, whores, cooks, and nobles all around the plains. It was a big and very diverse crowd, at least for a contest.

  “There must be hundreds of people in here,” said Conrad, looking at the old servant’s face. “I thought it was not a tourney.”

  “Lady Chanel wanted to organize an unforgettable contest, Ser. By organizing this contest and feast, she also wants to honor her brother, the late Baron Jodeph, and celebrate the coming of the fall.”

  “How many guests does the Lady have?” asked Conrad.

  “Less than a hundred nobles, but they are coming with their guards and servants . . . and for the others, Lady Chanel allowed merchants to sell their goods and performers to display their talents. Farmers and butchers are constantly bringing food to the cooks, and smallfolk gather nearby for entertainment.”

  Conrad took a little breath and looked up at the sky. “So, people attract people.”

  “So to speak, Ser.”

  They continued to walk. On their way, they passed a large complex of trading booths, full of workers and customers alike. Interesting.

  “You said your Lady just allowed merchants to sell their goods, but it appears that there is a whole marketplace here.”

  “The Lady especially wanted to attract as many merchants as possible, Ser.”