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

by Ulysses Troy

  “If you continue like this, you can never win.” In a world that is far from ideal.

  “Who cares about winning?” the Baron smiled. “Who cares about these empty wars of the fallen men? My war is different. In it, I am triumphant as long as I go after that path, Ser, the path of righteousness. It is my victory.”

  Instead of giving a response, Conrad thought about the things the Baron had said. Edmond is not the fool they take him for; he is very wise for his age, and he knows exactly what he has been doing, maybe even more than those who judge him.

  Then, their conversation stopped as a fresh wave of voices coming from the front got their attention and made them turn to the stage. There, a young bard with a fancy green coat was singing a song about a fallen king of old. Being an old friend of an at least mediocre bard and having had to listen to his pieces over and over again, Conrad could say this young bard was pretty good, yet no one seemed to care about his performance after listening to Ellessayn’s.

  The king shouted, his banners rose

  A whole army raised their swords

  To block the famous golden road

  Yet, the King’s mind occupied by a thought

  A thought of peace, for all men’s good

  But the emerald princess’s hair was gold

  And her glowing eyes were Jadha brown

  So, he rode his horse through the war

  While Conrad was still listening to the bard, the young the Baron took a sip from his glass of red wine, and then asked, “What do you plan to do next, Ser Conrad? Will you stay for the contest?”

  Conrad turned his attention to Edmond to answer his question. “I am sorry, but no. Tomorrow with the first light of the dawn, I will go after Veron to that castle the bandit had talked about.” The castle of Unac’h Dorn.

  Edmond hesitated for a moment, to be sure about his words. “Do you think they are still there?”

  “Yes, at least I hope so,” Conrad answered.

  Edmond put his glass on the table and looked into Conrad’s eyes with a much more serious expression. “If these vile bandits are there as you hope, you may not be able to stand against the odds on your own, Ser.”

  “I know that well,” Conrad spoke with a determined voice. “but it is a risk that I must take. I cannot leave Veron to his fate.”

  “No, Ser, you don’t understand. I am not suggesting you abandon your friend or give up on his life. I offer you my sword. If you allow me, I would like to fight alongside you against the odds.”

  Chapter Four

  The Search for the Castle

  “This is it, the village of Hoél. The one that the peasants talked to me about back at the road of LaPellás.” The Baron took a short look at the village’s small wooden houses, shacks, barns, and mills, all made by Nelles tree by the look of them, a tree species which was very common in the Northern and Western parts of Baltaire. Light and easy to cut, but also cheap and flimsy.

  “I hope we’ll be able to find some clues about the Brotherhood here,” The Baron continued to speak, while Conrad examined the village a bit more. It was a very small, underpopulated one and could not be inhabited by more than fifteen villagers. The village stood only a few miles away from the mysterious Jade forest, probably the closest settlement to it. On its nearby plains and small hills full of white-leaved daisies, Conrad saw a small sheep herd grazing on the village’s green grasses.

  “I hope so, too,” Conrad said to the Baron while patting his horse’s hairy head. “But I have a feeling this won’t be easy.” Then, he rode his horse towards the muddy small area which could be considered as the village’s center. Edmond and Merlon followed him too with their horses.

  When they finally arrived, the villagers met them with strange glances. They were apparently not accustomed to strangers coming to their village out of nowhere like this. While they were still looking at them in surprise, Edmond dismounted his horse and approached one villager among them, a middle-aged man with a light brown shirt and thin black hair.

  “Good afternoon.” The Young Baron was speaking with a respectful tone, even though it was a poor peasant, a lowborn without noble blood he was speaking with, “I and my companions have been traveling for hours and we would like to rest in a tavern.”

  The man was even more surprised than before to see the Baron talking to him directly. “I am sorry Ser, but our village does not have a tavern. We don’t have many visitors here, to speak the truth.”

  “I see.” Edmond turned to Conrad. “Then maybe we may directly get to the point, Ser Conrad?”

  Remaining silent, Conrad only nodded. Edmond turned to the man again. He was sitting on a bark, with three more villagers beside him. Yet it was not only three of them were here to witness this conversation. Apart from them, nearly every single eye in the village center was watching these strangers and their mysterious endeavor, made for an unknown cause. Their eyes were spying on the strangers from the windows of their wooden shacks, or behind the well they were standing nearby.

  Normally, Conrad would rather talk with the smallfolk then let the Baron struggle with their ways, as Conrad was one of them, a lowborn, and always had been. But, for a moment, he wanted to see Edmond’s approach to the common folk, maybe to see if Edmond was as humane a man as he seemed to be, or maybe it was just because Conrad was bored.

  “We are . . . going after a track.” Edmond de Gannát said. “And need information about something, in order to find this track.”

  A young man sitting in the lodge, very tall and slim, answered Edmond with a distinctive accent. “Yes, Ser. Please, if it is anything we can help with, we would like to.”

  Edmond nodded at him, indicating consent. “Somewhere nearby, under the woods, a band of dangerous outlaws reside, hoping to hide from the sharp sword of justice. You must have heard about them . . . The Brotherhood of the Dark Horse. A group of bandits like no one in Northern Baltaire has seen before. Well-armed with high-quality steel and armored with discipline, using advanced tactics like no other bandit or outlaw band has ever used. Rumors say they like killing, pillaging, spilling blood, and that one of their primary bases lies in the Jade Forest.” He looked at the villagers’ faces, one by one. “Our intent is to bring them to justice. But first, we need to find this base of theirs, and we hope to find some information about it here. From you.”

  There was a long and disturbing silence. Even more than Conrad has expected. Among the villagers, Edmond tried to find a couple of eyes to meet with his, to direct his words towards, yet all eyes escaped from his, with a strange expression of guilt. They are hiding something, something they don’t like to hide.

  “Didn’t you hear the Baron? You must answer his Baronship!” Merlon shouted towards the peasants, holding his large belly with both of his hands. And there he goes, Merlon, your good old servant who is more royalist than the King.

  Edmond quickly made a gesture with his left hand to Merlon, ordering him to slow down. When the servant stopped talking, the lord continued to speak. “You are obligated to help us. As it is my duty to end the Brotherhood, it is yours to make it easier for me.” He said while a new crowd of villagers was approaching the village’s muddy center from the Northern part of the village. It appeared that this group was working on the field, collecting herbs or simply farming, and had come there upon hearing the voice of the Baron.

  Silence ruled, as none of the villagers answered the Baron’s question until the other group’s arrival. From among them, an old, very old hag came forward. She was a short and heavy woman with very white, messy, and neglected hair. Her eyes were so light that Conrad mistook her to be blind at first. As the hag walked, the village folk quickly made way for her. Conrad understood from the folk’s expressions and gestures in her presence that they respected her greatly.

  “And why would we do that!” She shouted at the Baron without any sign of fear. “They gave us wheat and water, took care of our ill, and showed us the ways to forge. Thanks to them, we can forge plows
on our own to our ox, without paying one tourin to the greedy blacksmiths from LaPellás.” She was still walking towards Edmond. “Two lads from our village rode with them for a month and came with bags of gold! Shiny, precious, and real! Dermont joined them to get some, too. I bet he will bring more. The Brotherhood is assisting the folk. Theirs is not a wicked path, and they are not cutthroats as you claim them to be. They are protecting us . . .” She pointed at the Baron with her wrinkled, shaking finger. “ . . . from you.”

  What the hag said could easily be counted as treason in the eyes of the nobility, and a retainer of the authority could easily order her to be hanged for her treachery, but Edmond chose to ignore the woman’s daring speech and spare her for that.

  “They are bandits, old woman.” He said while looking to in the women’s light blue eyes. “They pillage the lands, slay noble knights and innocent folk, steal their wealth and stain these woods with their blood. And they must be dealt with.”

  “Your kind is not innocent!” She screamed with her shrill, slow voice. “The nobility takes all we have earned with our hard work from us, just to maltreat our people later!”

  Merlon stepped in in an instant. “Watch your tongue, woman! It is the legitimate Baron of Gannadár that you are speaking to!” as if it were not him who cursed the Baron every possible minute.

  “Take it easy, Merlon.” Edmond stopped his servant’s efforts to protect his regard one more time. “I will forgive her out of respect for her age.” He said.

  “No one asked for your forgiveness!” The hag said harshly. “You will find no help here!”

  If only I had a grandmother like this. Conrad thought, smiling. The woman was brave, maybe even braver than Conrad of Battum himself, as it was an exceptional rarity when Conrad had the guts to talk with the nobility like this, even though he was a famed adventurer and a master swordsman. Still, Edmond continued to ignore her, but this time completely. Turning his attention to the other villagers, the Baron of Gannadár played his last card. He reached out to his bag of coins and called out to the villagers. “I will reward generously the one who will help us track the Brotherhood!”

  There was silence again, but not long as the last time, as a young man stepped forward from among the crowd presently. He was wearing a grey coat with black shoes and was no older than twenty years. “I may know something about it, Ser . . .” He would have continued, but the hag silenced him with an enormous scream, advancing towards him angrily.

  “Pierre, you little cunt! How dare you give the Brotherhood’s location to these men when your brother is with them, and for bloody coins!” The hag yelled at the man over and over again and started to beat him with a large piece of stone she found on the ground. She was far too good at it for her age, as the crowd was barely able to keep her off the young peasant.

  After he clearly understood that the villagers would not help them at all, Conrad turned back towards his companions. “Then we’ll have to search the forest on our own.”

  The hag looked at him with pity. “It is a wicked place. You would be wise to stay away from there.” She said, with that cold breeze in her light blue eyes.

  “You mean the Jade forest?” Conrad asked.

  “Yes.” Her eyes . . . they were freezing Conrad’s heart. “We don’t speak her name here.”

  Conrad and the two men mounted their horses, turning their back to the villagers and starting to ride toward the end of the village, under the watch of the crowd. Now, I wonder what clue we have. They rode for some time in silence, but not for long. A man whispered to them when they were just about to go past the last few shacks in the village.

  “Hey, noble Sers!” He was standing behind a wooden shack, and his voice sounded like a Benovian, although he was just another villager from Hoél.

  “Yes?” Conrad said, looking at this stranger from the top of his horse.

  “Forgive me, but I cannot talk here.” He said. “Please, come with me to my house; there, we can talk in peace.” He pointed to a wooden lodge nearby, standing on a small hill of Hoél.

  Conrad looked at the faces of his companions. They seemed to be noncommittal, so the decision was up to him. Then let’s see what he is going to say. What harm could it bring to us? “Okay then.” He said. “Take us there.”

  The man nodded at him and made a gesture to them, meaning they should tail his back. Conrad, Edmond, and Merlon rode behind the man to the wooden lodge on the small hill he had just pointed to. While moving, the man was also combing his surroundings to be sure they were not caught by the villagers’ eyes.

  He brought them to a relatively isolated place, his wooden lodge on that small hill, to hide his words from his fellow neighbors. After three men dismounted their horses, Merlon tied them to a hedge, while the villager welcomed the men to his lodge and showed them to a medium-sized wooden armchair. Even though there were a lot of them in a small basket, he did not offer them any mastics, not even water, as he was in haste. It was an ancient custom in Baltaire and an unbreakable rule of hospitality to offer mastic to the guests in order to show the host’s goodwill. But Conrad was not there for mastics, anyway.

  “My name is Guillaume, noble Sers.” He said, then quickly got to the point. “Please noble Sers, for your own sake, don’t interfere with The Brotherhood’s business.” The man said in a pleading tone. He had to be in his fifties, with thinning gray hair. He had a big nose, round head, and light blue eyes similar to the hag’s, just not as cold as hers. And their similarity ended at that point, because unlike the hag, this man’s emotion over the bandits was fear, not admiration. It was obvious from the tone of his voice when he mentioned the Brotherhood’s name. “Just last month, a decent party led by three knights came to our village to follow their tracks, same as you. They seemed to be good and gallant men, armed with steel and courage. And they have never returned.”

  “It is a horrible event to know, but that’s obviously why you need to tell us about them. We may have a chance to put an end to this atrocity.” Edmond said to the peasant.

  “It’s not only that, noble Sers. As you witnessed in the first place, the Brotherhood has many sympathizers and even friends in our village. Some may have already informed them about you. Southpaw John or that Looney Wyles would gladly do it. Fat Berta would too; her nephew Dermot just joined their ranks last month. You must leave at once for your own good.”

  “If you fear The Brotherhood, why don’t you want us to end them?” Edmond asked.

  “Spare me, Ser, because I think you can’t, at least not on your own.” The man explained. “I fear you may share a similar fate to the last group of knights who tried to hunt them. And they had more men than you! You are only three . . .” He examined Merlon a little, especially his large belly and indulgent appearance. “ . . . I mean two men, against a band of fierce bandits.”

  “Do you know exactly how many of them there are out there?” Conrad asked.

  “No, Ser. No one knows it, but I bet they have plenty of men. As the Old Mellina said, sometimes they visit our village, to talk with the village’s elders, help us with things or accept our donations. At first, they were not more than four or five men, and they were hiding their true colors. But as time passed, the numbers grew, and they became . . . more visible. The last time they came, they came here to recruit from our village with more than thirty men, and all were armored like professional men-at-arms! Like the ones at the service of the Lady! They were even carrying a banner of dark and led by a Green Knight!”

  A tour de force to influence the folk. Conrad thought. The bandit we defeated said most of the Brotherhood’s forces departed for some destination. The outcome depends on the accuracy of his words. And if they are not accurate at all, we are doomed.

  “Did anybody in the village see the Brotherhood’s forces traveling in the woods, going somewhere?”

  He shook his head. “No, Ser. And I doubt if anyone knows about it. We stay away from the forest as much as possible. Our folk have not app
roached its woods and bushes more than a mile for generations.”

  “But why?” Edmond asked, wonder in his voice.

  “People tell the stories . . . Before she died of Red Syphilis, my grandmother would tell some too. Stories about folk missing in the woods, only to be found with their bloodless bodies, tormented to death. This forest . . . it is a wicked place, and we all know it as our ancestors did. Even our kids hum nursery rhymes about it: ‘Forest makes cold bodies walk, to hide the ascender’s light’. It has to be something like thi,s if I remember correctly.” He scratched his head. “And it’s not only us. Folk from the nearby villages fear these woods too. Something is wrong there, noble Ser.”

  “That much of it is clear,” Conrad said. Forest makes cold bodies walk, to hide the ascender’s light . . . Necromancy?

  “Why do you think ill of The Brotherhood while the others seem to admire it?” He asked the man.

  “Because unlike others, I know their rotten side.” He said. “My cousin Eddon witnessed their cruelty at first hand and told me a lot about it. He even claims to have seen the Vampire with his own eyes.”

  “The vampire? Surely you cannot be serious.” Conrad said, lifting his eyebrows. Vampires, werewolves, and nymphs, all were common tales in Baltaire which the folk of Baltaire loved to speak of in Taverns or beds. Yet, none of them appeared to be true.