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

by Ulysses Troy

  “Shouldn’t we attack, Ser?” the captain spoke again.

  “Yes, but not like cowards. Despite everything, we must still preserve honor.” The Green knight moved forwards while drawing his sword again. “We’ll face them in a fair fight.” He ordered his men to move forward, circling the two fighters with their every step. It could be fair if you were not surrounding us. While thinking, Conrad saw the dark shadow behind the bandits move disturbingly. He did not like what the Knight had done.

  Evrard was restless. He looked for one specific chair, where Chanel sat. “You know Baron, we can die here.” He said to Conrad.

  “Wasn’t that already your wish, Ser? Killing me in the first place?”

  “You are talking as if I have a grudge with you, Baron. It was nothing personal, just about the family and name.”

  “And honor.” Conrad said. It looks as if no one really cares about it.

  “Despite everything, you fought like a warrior,” Evrard said. “I respect that. If we die here, know that I am glad to have fought side by side with you.”

  “I am glad too, Ser, but I would rather stay alive.”

  Even though The Green Knight could just order his archers to send a volley towards them and take their lives with ease, he chose to fight like a man and grant them an honorable death. And an honorable death was all they could ask for, as there was no way they could survive this. Conrad and Evrard stood back-to-back, in the middle of a deadly circle that was closing in every second.

  And then, when Conrad started to think of a good last word to say, a small hope sparked. From the other entrance of the arena, a voice was heard. As the men of The Brotherhood quickly turned around to see the source of the voice, Conrad saw it. A Knight covered with steel and the color of blue was leading a group of knights and soldiers. The ones that had come with the guests. As there were very important guests right now at the plains who had come to watch the contest, the soldiers of LaPellás were not the only force in the area. The nobility would always prefer to take the roads in good company, and the plains were hosting many nobles right now. The nobles had come with their personal guards and even the Knights under their service. This contest had even attracted more people than Lady Chanel had expected, and there were not enough seats in the arena to host them all. So, outside the arena, there were many soldiers. Someone rallied them. This Knight of blue. As the Knight and his group got closer to the center of the arena, The Brotherhood’s Green Knight ordered his men to meet them.

  Conrad saw the shadow for one more time, he was even more restless now. While the men led by the Blue Knight, the one with the winged helmet, were approaching, the outlaws raised their shields and formed a defensive formation. The Winged Knight was leading at least fifteen men, larger than the Brotherhood’s numbers after all of the men they had lost.

  Conrad touched his steel, to feel it one more time. “Are you ready, Ser?” He asked the Black Knight.

  “Yes.” The Black Knight answered. “Let’s stay alive until they reach us.”

  Then, it started again. The Winged Knight gave the order, and the knights and soldiers attacked the Brotherhood’s ranks under his command, while the two fighters were still standing at the center of The Brotherhood’s men.

  “First, kill these fucking two!” One bandit said while the others moved towards the two to finish it once and for all. Just a few minutes more, and we will live. Conrad thought after besting a bandit in a short fight, who had just charged towards him. After he killed the bandit, he saw two more approaching. Conrad of Battum raised the Crimson Steel of Gannát and spoke to the bandits. “So be it.”

  Like an arrow of steel, Conrad rushed forward, toward the bandits. Sounds of clashing swords rose. While Conrad was dealing with two bandits at the same time, a gigantic man of The Brotherhood, holding a great ax as a weapon, attacked the Black Knight.

  “I will crush you!” He said while swinging his ax towards the Knight. Evrard was fast, fast enough to evade the bandit’s attack. Yet, his move made the bandit angrier. He released his left arm and punched the knight with it but it had no impact on the knight’s heavy steel armor.

  “You are a coward, man of steel!” He shouted with pain and anger to Evrard. “You are hiding behind the steel. I am not.” He showed his chest, which was naked.

  “No.” The Black Knight said. “We are both brave, yet instead of you, I am also smart.” In a glance, The Black Knight stuck his sword into the man’s chest. The gigantic man coughed, spitting blood, and swore to the Black Knight in his last words.

  Nearby, Conrad had just finished dealing with those two bandits and was searching for more to fight. He looked ahead, to the spot where the two forces were clashing. The Winged Knight’s men were giving hell to the bandits. His men . . . it almost looked as if they were born for this. They were ready, because they knew about the attack. Conrad thought while the men of the Brotherhood were being slain by the greater numbers of the Winged Knight’s soldiers. A man cried out, a guardsman swore, and Conrad saw a bandit on the ground, crying like a newborn baby. He no more had a leg.

  One bandit stood above him. He was armed with a good quality dark brigade, a kettle helmet, steel boots, and greaves. He was holding a shield in one hand, and a one-handed sword in the other. His ugly face had marks of smallpox. He charged shouting, “Die!”

  Conrad made a quick move and evaded the bandit’s charge, and then blew a strike upon him. The bandit blocked Conrad’s attack with his black wooden shield. Then, he swung his sword towards Conrad’s chest. Parrying the bandit’s attack, Conrad saw another was approaching him from behind. He had to be fast to defeat this bandit or he was about to be dragged into big trouble. After parrying the bandit’s attack, he blew a masterful strike to the man’s chest in an instant, but something went wrong: his sword got stuck in the dark brigade. As far as he could remember, Conrad had gotten anxious in only a few fighting incidents, no matter how dangerous the fights were. This was definitely one of them. As he tried to remove the stuck sword, fear gripped him. The bandit, recovering from the shock of the blow, raised his sword and struck Conrad’s shoulder. For a moment, Conrad thought he would face death for the first time.

  Yet, he was still fine after the blow, with only some physical pain in his shoulder, as the Baron’s steel armor had protected him. The bandit was surprised. He tried to deliver another blow but Conrad had managed to remove the stuck sword by this time. He parried the bandit’s attack with a masterful move and thrust his sword into the man’s face, as the Kettle helmet was not protecting it. Blood covered the bandit’s face as he fell to the ground, now only a body without life. Even though he had just evaded a great danger, Conrad was still not safe. He heard the steps of a bandit approaching, and quickly turning around, and saw the bandit as he charged towards him. Thanks to his skills and a bit of luck, Conrad dodged the attack and swung the man’s spear with his sword. I hope the dead bandit’s steel is good enough to cut wood. He thought as his sword touched the wooden body of the spear, slicing it into two pieces and felling its steelhead to the ground. Conrad thanked the Holy one; if the spear’s body were thicker, even the crimson steel would not be strong enough to break it. After his failed attack, the bandit tried to get a grip on himself. He threw his spear to the ground, as it was useless now, and reached to his scabbard to pull his sword. But Conrad was too fast of a fighter to let him have this chance. Before the bandit could even draw the short sword in his scabbard, Conrad took his life.

  Then, everything merged into a confused mess, and the lines of the two sides blurred. At this point, nearly the whole arena was filled with sweat, blood, and lifeless bodies. While fighting, men were also trying not to step on bodies lying in the arena. I wonder how much time it will take to clear up this mess.

  The Knight with the winged helmet led his men against the mercenaries. Again, sounds of clashing steel filled the arena. Men fought against men, toe to toe. The Winged Knight cut a Bandit’s unprotected left hand and another’s righ
t leg with his large, two-handed sword. As far as Conrad could tell from his position, he was not that great of a fighter, but his heavy plate armor and winged helmet gave him a presence powerful enough to intimidate the men of The Brotherhood. It also demotivated the men he faced and turned them into pathetic targets vulnerable to his great sword. Men under their dark coats were not as sure about their victory anymore as they were before this group of men surged in with a surprise move, although they fought as if they were.

  As the attention of the bandits shifted to the newcomers, the two fighters started fighting again. For a short while, they did everything they could to assist the men-at-arms in their fight against the men of the Brotherhood, even though they were on the other side of the arena.

  After Conrad drew the attention of a spearman who was about to charge a man-at-arms towards himself, he took a defensive stance. The spearman moved into his position to attack him with his long spear. Parrying the attack with his sword, Conrad made his own without a moment’s hesitation. As the spearman was not fast enough and the god of luck was not on his side, he couldn’t manage to defend himself and fell prey to Conrad’s sword. At the same time, the Black Knight threw himself towards a group of archers, who were preparing to send a volley to the gathering men-at-arms nearby with their Captain’s order. So much for honor, I guess.

  Evrard stabbed an archer on his back. As his friend fell with a scream, with blood and The Black Knight’s sword on his chest, the other bandit panicked. He threw his bow and tried to draw the short sword in his belt, yet his panic made the process much harder, hard enough to give The Black Knight the time he needed to kill him.

  The fight continued for minutes. The two sides were fighting with everything they had. They were all fighting for something they valued. Some were fighting for glory. While one’s motivation was money, another’s was duty. Conrad also knew some bandits were killing men, taking lives, and staining the ground with their opponent’s blood because they believed it was necessary for their freedom. He knew that in their point of view, killing was the price of decency, as they thought their fight was a fight against the cruel and tyrannical nobility.

  Some men, from both sides, were killing and dying for money. Men of the law were dying under the command of the ones with greater fortune, and men of woods were dying for the fortune they hoped to achieve, but never would. Some were fighting for honor, too. Few, but enough to keep up hope for this world, perhaps. The Black Knight, he was fighting for a heart, in a battle that he had nothing to do with. And Conrad of Battum, he was fighting to keep a promise, a promise which was made long ago, but still remembered. Yet, among these tens of men, one sole motive was shared by every man: they were all fighting for their lives.

  While the number of the bandits was constantly decreasing, the Green Knight was still holding his own. Conrad saw the men killing one soldier and knocking down another. He was good at fighting. Not too good, but enough to beat ordinary soldiers.

  However, it did not last long. A Knight, wearing a red coat and steel armor, approached to face the Green Knight, who saw his approach and took a defensive position. After the Knight with the red coat swung his sword, he made a move to defend himself. That was successful enough, yet the next one wasn’t. In a moment, the Green Knight’s belly was bleeding, and the other knight’s sword was colored red by his blood. The Green Knight fell to the ground.

  Now, one more commander of the Brotherhood is dead, but where is the Rider? Conrad thought while searching the arena with his eyes for the Dark Rider. Before he could find him, Ser Evrard gave his location.

  “Look!” He shouted. “The man with the dark horse . . . he is escaping!” And, finally, they were able to see the Rider in action. He was not a man, but a shadow. A fast and deadly shadow. Conrad saw a man die by his sword. His friends ran over to help him, but the Rider killed them too.

  “He is not going to the exit!” Conrad said. He is going after the red-coated Knight, who has killed the Green.

  The Rider’s red-eyed dark horse neighed, spreading a sound of terror. A soldier grabbed the Rider’s cape from behind, to make him fall off his horse, but the Rider’s horse kicked him, crushing his skull. Then, the Rider rode through the rank of soldiers, to take the lives of five of them. This Rider . . . he does not fight like a man. He fights like a terror.

  Finally, The Rider came face to face with the red-coated knight. The Knight was a brave one, he raised his sword and charged the Rider without any sign of fear. Yet, he was too slow to stay alive against the Rider. No, he was fast enough to defend himself from any man, but the Rider was not a man. Now, Conrad was sure, he was something more. Something darker.

  The Rider pierced his steel into the Knight’s chest. The steel blade cut the steel armor and took the Knight’s life by puncturing his heart. The Rider pushed the Knight’s lifeless body away and moved towards the Green Knight lying on the ground. He came near him, looked for a moment, but then, strangely returned to his horse, and rode out through the exit. Why?

  One of the Knights near the exit shouted towards his men. “He has killed Gillian! Form a fucking line and take his li . . .” but before he could finish his sentence, the Rider’s steel beheaded him. His horse was faster than any other, and his blade was even sharper than the Crimson Steel.

  The dead Knight’s men tried to form a line, but their efforts were in vain, and the Rider killed them all. One by one. As the Winged Knight saw it, he rallied his remaining forces to catch the Rider, but they were standing on the other side of the arena, far away from the Rider. It is too late. Conrad thought while the Rider of the Dark Horse rode out through the exit. He has escaped.

  The fight was over. No men of the Brotherhood seemed to be alive. Their lifeless bodies, with those of countless others, were lying on the arena ground. The Rider was gone, but this wicked attempt of his had made enough damage. Today, too many people died here. Conrad thought as an unarmored Knight with his blue clothes of velvet, covered with bandits’ blood, walked past the Black Knight, dropped his bloody sword to the ground, and stood beside Conrad. He grabbed Conrad’s arm and raised it up as the remaining crowd watched them. “Ser Edmond de Gannát, the Knight of Honor!” He shouted as a great roar from the crowd was heard everywhere in the arena.

  “The Knight of Honor!” So, that’s how you make a nickname.

  ***

  “There, Sers.” The man-at-arms pointed. There was a man there leaning on a dead horse. He was a man in his early forties with thinning brown hair, and a stern face that looked like it has seen many battles. In his chainmail and heraldic green coat, he looked like a knight. And so he was. The one who had led the Brotherhood against the forces of LaPellás just a few minutes ago. Conrad could not decide if it was the Holy One’s blessing or just pure luck to catch him alive like that, The Brotherhood’s commander. And The Rider’s, most close man, according to the bandit back at the road.

  His helmet, covered in soil and dust, stood on the ground next to him. He probably had taken it off to breathe more easily, as he was lethally injured, trying to stop the bleeding in his chest with his bloody hands. That is a lot of blood; he does not have much time. Conrad thought after examining the man’s wound.

  While they were approaching the bandit commander, Evrard strangely paused for a moment, only to speak with a surprising voice that would not at all be expected from someone as cold-blooded as him. “This face, it looks familiar. But . . . this cannot be possible.” He said, just after taking his helmet off, to see the one lying in front of him better. “Quenton de Terebaum?” His voice was shaken.

  “Who is Quenton de Terebaum exactly, Evrard?” The Knight in the blue velvet clothes asked. He took his winged helmet off too and held it in his hands.

  “He was the squire of my late uncle, Jacquard de Wellon,” Evrard explained. “He had traveled to LaPellás with my uncle, and as we were never able to hear from him later, we all thought he had died along with him.” Evrard took a deep breath and continued. �
�And he had to be killed by the Gannát, just like my uncle. They both vanished without a trace.”

  “Vanished?” Despite his serious bleeding and injuries, Terebaum still had enough strength to speak. His voice was regretful and seemed to belong to a tired man. Tired from all the fights and bloodshed he had been through, and all the deaths he had caused himself. “No. I am not lost, and I am alive, just like your uncle, Evrard.” He said. “If one can call that being alive.”

  “Jacquard is dead.” The Black Knight knitted his eyebrows and got closer to Terebaum.

  “I know what I’m saying. And it’s the only truth. Your uncle Jacquard is far from dead. He was here.”

  “The Dark Rider?” Conrad asked, trying to sound younger to match his voice with Edmond’s.

  “Yes." Terebaum smiled ugly. “The Dark Rider”.

  “He was supposed to be dead, the same as you.” Evrard spoke again, having a hard time accepting the truth. “How?”

  “If only we were,” Terebaum said spitting blood to the ground. “What you know is nothing but lies. The truth is harder to believe. Jacquard and I, we are both alive.” He looked at his injury. “Well, at least for now.”

  “Then why have you never returned?” Evrard asked.

  “I know the tales,” Terebaum spoke to the Black Knight. “People say Geoffrey killed Jacquard; on that wicked day we went to Unac’h Dorn. Some say he had bested him in a fair duel, while the others say he killed him in dishonesty. Yet, none of that was true.” Terebaum looked right into Evrard’s face, staring into his eyes. “Geoffrey was telling the truth. He had never faced Jacquard in a duel. It was Baron LaPellás’ men who took Jacquard’s life, to prevent him from rescuing his daughter, Lady Claudia.”

  “Yes, I said Jacquard is alive now, but never said he was.” He smiled sadly. “And he wasn’t, Evrard. He really died, only to return from death.” Terebaum continued to explain while everyone else was trying to suppress their astonishment. “Baron LaPellás never kept Claudia imprisoned because she had lost her chastity. He did this because his daughter was a user of magic. Blood magic.”