The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  A woman with cheek bones like two pale cliffs and dagger eyes entered last and walked between the swords. The crown perched upon her head and the purple robes trailing in her wake were as cheap clothes draped upon a statue. It was the woman's cold, marble face proclaiming to all the world that she ruled our empire.

  I genuflected a heartbeat before the crowd stood as one, turned, and dropped to one knee. The statue of Empress Cordelia I cracked a smile and spread her arms stiffly, hampered by the heavy robes.

  “Please rise, Sir Corbin.” She chuckled. “For today it is I who have come to pay homage to you.” She offered her hand and I kissed it.

  Pay homage? And here I thought you came to capture mages. “I am honored, my empress. If you please, I had prepared a few short words to mark this occasion, but they say long, boring speeches are more the regimental tradition. Who am I to abolish such sacred traditions?” I released her hand. Abolishing our traditions is your job, isn't it, empress?

  Cordelia dismissed my self-effacement with a brusque wave. “Oh, I have heard much about you from a mutual friend, Sir Corbin. I find false modesty so unbecoming. Do not geld your speech on my account. That seat behind you looks most comfortable.”

  “As you wish.” I bowed and assumed my station behind the podium, watching the empress.

  Cordelia turned to the audience, who were all still on their knees, and wiggled her fingers at them. “Oh, do sit down.” She pointed to the woman in the purple dress and raised her arm, her fingers beckoning towards the ceiling. “Except Maven: Commander of the Mage Corps. You, my dear, shall stand and remain standing.”

  The empress draped her robes as she sat, crossed her legs, and turned to me, making a show of ignoring the old woman standing alone in the audience. “As you say, upholding tradition is very important, Sir Corbin. Do you know why the imperial royalty wears purple robes?” She snapped her fingers and gestured to the Black Guards. Two of them moved on either side of Maven, keeping their swords bared while the rest sheathed their blades and surrounded the room, standing at parade rest along the walls between the large black plinths.

  Pairs of guards closed the doors leading to the stairwell and the main room. The heavy clangs as each door shut echoed briefly from the high ceiling, then vanished into the silence below .

  I glanced at the doors, then back to Maven, who stood shivering, eyes flitting from one sword to the next. I turned towards Cordelia and gestured to her robes. “Forgive me. I am ignorant, my empress.”

  “There is a rare gastropod: a small snail that dwells high in the dragon country on the eastern mountains,” the empress said. “Collecting these snails is perilous and costly. It takes 500 crushed, pulverized shells to produce a single dram of purple dye.” She squeezed her fist and then ran one finger down the length of her dark hem line.

  “How fascinating,” I murmured. And what new garment will you stain with the blood of the mages when you crush them like tiny snails? I shook my head to clear such dark thoughts as I glanced at my papers on the podium. Maybe once she heard my pleas, woman to woman . . . hero to empress, Cordelia would go back to crushing snails instead of people.

  “Historically, such a magnificent color was used to represent wealth and power and reserved solely for members of the imperial line.” She glared at Maven. “One of the many traditions that faltered under my father's regime. Well, I shall brook no rebellion in my midst. Even a symbolic one. Black Guards, strip the Witch Queen of her false regalia.”

  One of the Black Guards snickered. He raised his sword. Maven raised her fists above her head and screamed. The four mage detectors mounted in the statues filled the room with harsh shrieks as their dials began spinning backwards in a wild blur. Nothing else happened. Maven lowered her arms and hung her head. The noise abated. The dials stopped.

  “So sorry, my dear,” the empress crowed. “Your dirty tricks won't save you today.”

  Everyone watched in hushed silence, mouths agape, as one might watch the tip of an avalanche or a runaway cart careening towards a wall. Maven's labored breathing rose above the silence as the guards began cutting her dress and small clothes. They moved around her like a barber's hands, the snicks and slices of their swords shearing the woman's dignity away. Maven stood quiet and quivering as tattered fabric drifted to the ground all around her.

  Nobody on either side of the aisle moved to help. Maven stared straight ahead, folded her arms across her breasts, and shivered.

  “Empress,” I cried, turning to face the cold-eyed woman, dropping to my knees, hands clasped. “I beg of you. This is my celebration. Allow me the honor of disciplining that offensive creature before I deliver my speech.”

  “What a marvelous idea.” Cordelia waved her hand at the two Black Guards surrounding Maven. The one with his sword raised grunted before sheathing his blade. They both bowed to the empress. One marched to join his companions while the other remained to stand guard over the prisoner. Cordelia turned to me and smirked. “You may proceed, Sir Corbin. Show me how a hero of the empire punishes rebel mages.”

  I bowed to the empress, wincing internally. How quickly hope crumbles. With a dusty bylaw and fragments of crushed snails, Cordelia has lumped the faithful leader of her Mage Corps with the rebellion. She won't settle for merely stripping the dignity from the rest of them. She will go after their hides and use their blood to dye another robe. Stay calm, Maven, the woman's trying to provoke you!

  I sauntered down the isle, aiming a kick at the Black Guard who still stood behind Maven. He frowned and backed away. I unfastened my red velvet cloak and snapped it in the air. Then, with a small flourish, I draped it over Maven's quivering body. I stepped away, turned, and bowed again to the empress.

  Cordelia sat watching the tableau, turning from me to Maven in short, little fits. She gripped the arm rests of her throne until her knuckles whitened. Finally, she exploded, “You are much too gentle with these mages, Sir Corbin. Much too gentle! Why do you not manhandle the witch or strike her as she deserves?”

  The army may slaughter our enemies, but we do not humiliate them. “I regret that I am blinkered by my honor. Not the sleek, practical honor of those people in night-colored armor,” I sneered at the Black Guards, “but a more old-fashioned code. I see neither an evil, horrible mage, which this wretch of a woman undoubtedly is, nor a vile traitor who deserves nothing less than the deepest, dank dungeon, my empress. Which she certainly does. My poor, knightly eyes merely see a woman in a state of dishabille who offends the world and my empress with her crass nudity.”

  “She is no woman,” the empress scoffed with a wave of her hand. “She is a mage. Whatever embarrassment she suffers from her . . . 'dishabille' . . . is of no concern to me. That quivering thing is beneath contempt. You would extend chivalry towards one such as that?”

  “Chivalry? For a mage?” I pretended to guffaw even as my heart quailed. How quickly she dismisses the old codes of honor. How could any speech redeem such a monster? Maven is still a person no matter what else she is, Empress Cordelia. “I merely wish to cover her like a ratty old chair and set her out of sight. A red throw cover of course.” I chuckled. “Blue is such an unbecoming color.” I pushed Maven down into her seat with a forceful shove. “Not a word,” I whispered in her ear. “Not one word as you value your life.”

  “Oh, I see.” The empress clapped. “You weren't abetting my political rival, you were merely covering a piece of human furniture. How glib. I look forward to hearing this speech of yours.” She hooked her finger. If stone could crack, I think she would have sneered. “Why don't you trot back to your little podium and deliver it?”

  “At once, my empress,” I said and assumed my place beside her throne. I shuffled my notes and glanced behind me.

  “Yes, yes,” she said irritably. “I already said you could begin.”

  “Friends, as my eyes take joy for what souls remain from the good old 110 Imperial Army Regiment, my heart weeps for those not with us today. But I am sure they are
sitting with us in spirit.” I raised my arms and smiled. “I come to you not as a hero, not as a soldier, but as a man. A simple man. A truly humble man.”

  A few members of the audience tittered. One brayed like a donkey.

  They laugh when you call yourself humble man , Kelsa's voice whispered. What would they say if they knew that 'man' was a lie, too?

  “Most amusing.” The empress chuckled. “A humble hero. A fine jest, Sir Corbin.”

  The titters from the audience swelling into an awkward, stilted laughter.

  I shook my head, wondering whether most of them could see the rueful grin even as I quirked my lips and mentally revised my speech, catering to the empress. I spread my arms to encompass the entire crowd. “Yes well, maybe not so humble. I look at the brave men and women seated before me today . . . and I see more shades of red and blue than I ever knew existed. I ask you to pause for a moment and consider what dyes stained that fabric.” I turned and bowed to Cordelia. “Nothing so grand as the purple mountain snails, I'm afraid.”

  The empress nodded and smiled, gesturing for me to continue.

  “Yet every one of us marched into our first battle with a pure, snowy white uniform. And every one of us came back stained.” I shuffled my notes. “These stains accumulate over the years until nothing pure is left. Is it the blood and entrails streaming from our fallen enemies that stains us?” I shook my head. “No, such things roll off us like water over wax. What stains us then?”

  I glanced around the room, still looking for Drake. I let the silence linger. A few audience members began to fidget. The empress coughed.

  “It is the blood of our friends. Those whom we failed to protect or those who threw themselves into the fray to protect us. The men and women who marched arm in arm to battle and did not march home. Their sacrifice is what dyes your uniforms, ladies and gentlemen, more than any plant sap or crushed bugs or even putrid, slimy snail juice.”

  I could hear Cordelia grind her teeth behind me. Piss on her snails. After the debacle with Maven, I didn't think words dipped in honey could sweeten that bitter heart. But maybe I could sway a few cavalrymen to side with their magic-wielding brothers and sisters when the axe dangling over our heads finally fell. Perhaps more of my grandfather's attitudes had stained my conscience than I was willing to admit. I pressed onwards.

  “Remember those who have died to defend our empire and safeguard our families, whose lives we cherish more than our own. Was the person who sacrificed their life for yours wielding magic or a sword? Does it matter? Does that knowledge somehow change their sacrifice? I ask you to look deeper than the color of your uniforms and embrace your shared history. In times such as these, we must all band together and remember that whatever else we may be, we are soldiers of the empire first.” I pumped my fist in the air. “Long live the army! Long live the regiment!”

  Not one word. Not one whisper of a cheer as every eye swiveled to stare behind me and to the left at the empress. I felt her eyes bore into the back of my skull. I glared at the audience and shook my head. Piss on them, too. Granfa would have approved.

  The room reeked of sweat. Or maybe that was just me. I glanced into the audience again, scanning all those anxious faces. Where was Drake? He should have heard this. I could hear the throne scraping the floor behind me and forced myself not to turn and face the wrath of the empress. I rushed to finish my speech. The axe was finally falling. Perhaps I might still blunt the edge with my words.

  “Be proud of our noble heritage and the dead men and women who paved the way for us: their legacy is the true glory of the Iron Empire. Together, mages and cavalrymen conquered half the continent marching side by side. Our combined strength was legendary. No foe could ever defeat us . . .” Except ourselves , I thought, as I felt rather than heard Empress Cordelia I rise to her feet.

  Still, I refused to turn. I would not give this horrible woman the satisfaction of acknowledging her fury. I would let it wash over the back of my shoulders like an icy wave. I could hear the woman's heavy snail-blood robe rustle against the chair as she stood. I could feel the heat of her breath as she hissed. I could smell the bile in her words when she screamed.

  “You are not here to serve the dead. You serve me. I am the Iron Empire! Black Guards, arrest this man. Throw that rebel sympathizer Corbin in a cell with those criminals he adores so much! Arrest the mages. All the mages.”

  The soldiers sat motionless in their seats, staring dumbfounded past me to the figure of the empress. A low murmur began to swell among the ranks, red and blue alike, but nobody dared to move.

  “Soldiers of the regiment! Rally to me,” Maven cried. The woman surged to her feet, knees popping in the silence as she threw the cape over her guard. She grabbed the shrouded Black Guard standing over her with two wrinkled fists, grunting as she braced her hips and heaved, and shoved the man to the ground.

  The sound of the sprawling guard clattering against the floorboards echoed off the walls. Maven pulled the sword and the cape off the fallen guard and wrapped the velvet garment around her shoulders. She looked marvelous in red. I wiped a tear away as she raised her sword, pointed the blade at the Black Guards lining the walls, and charged.

  The room erupted. A screaming, defiant chaos of red and blue uniforms flowed together like merging waves.

  The waves began to solidify, transforming into sheets of ice as cavalrymen mounted a concerted defense to protect their brethren in blue. Soldiers tore the blunted, mounted weapons off the wall as the Black Guards advanced from their fixed positions with bared swords.

  Several mages began erecting barricades of chairs, or throwing furniture at their black-clad enemies instead of spells, while the cavalry stood guard with swords and pole arms. I grinned. The regiment was fighting as a cohesive unit.

  An ominous mechanical hiss rumbled through the room. The battle paused for a moment and when nothing happened, resumed. I folded my arms and smiled.

  “Thank you, Empress Cordelia. Your blind arrogance has helped me bring them together again at last,” I murmured. “You don't face a few scared mages huddled in their homes. Tonight, you face the last true imperial regiment.”

  Her reply was a shrill, wordless screech. I grinned and surveyed the battlefield. Four guards ran past me to protect their empress from the fray. They didn't even glance at an old cavalryman like me.

  Maven had her own ideas of the proper duties of a retired soldier. The mage detectors were silent. Maven wasn't one to make the same mistake twice. Cape clasped around her bare breasts like an ancient barbarian shaman, the woman led an attack flanking the guards. Several of the younger mages followed her, striking the armored Black Guards with heavy cudgels made from broken wooden chairs. Mail and leather were a pitiful defense against such an attack and their unit cohesion was terrible.

  One of the dangers of forming a new military police corps with traitors and bullies from across the empire to smack a few rebel mages around , I thought with savage glee. Didn't think you'd be fighting veterans of the real army, did you? By the five gods, where was Drake? I was missing a splendid opportunity to rub his face in all this.

  With a shrill hiss of steam, the low rumbling intensified. The giant metal statues at the four corners of the room sprang to light and life. Several in the regiment screamed as the heavy metal arms swatted them aside like red and blue dolls before advancing into the fray. The strange machines belched noise and bursts of steam, moving with solid, clumsy steps. Two slowly marched to block the exit while the other two waddled to help their black-armored brethren.

  I could hear Drake's voice boom from one of the clumsy metal giants. “Round up all the mages. The empress wants them captured alive.”

  Clumsy, but their power makes up for the lack , I thought as the machine flung another soldier against the wall. The mage hit with a sickening crunch and then slumped to the ground. The giant, metal figure shuffled past the corpse with slow, heavy steps. Those things don't need to be graceful.

  �
�Alive! Take them alive.” Drake's voice echoed with a metallic hiss. “Our empress wants prisoners, not corpses.”

  The mechanical war machines broke through wooden barricades like people snapping match sticks and seized weapons like parents grabbing toys from unruly children. One by one, the soldiers lay down their weapons and surrendered. The last battle of the regiment was over in a trice. The Black Guards began to chivvy the survivors.

  I barely noticed as two Black Guards finally peeled from the main host, grabbed me, and shoved me against the podium. My notes scattered everywhere, coasting through the air like delicate, white birds. I stared, transfixed, at the monolithic armored machine speaking with Drake's voice. Thank the five gods. He heard my speech after all. For all the good it did.

  We had plucked defeat from the clutches of victory. All my vaunted clever schemes and heroic efforts had been crushed beneath those massive steel feet. The regiment was finished. I gaped at the tile-crushing, man-shaped war machine stomping through the room as the guards led me away. I hardly noticed as they manacled my hands in front of me and added me to the line of prisoners. All I saw was the traitor and his machine.

  Aha! Drake. At last, I have found you.

  15. CORBIN, YEAR 198

  My stupor continued as we left headquarters. My mind kept ignoring the charming metal bracelets on my wrists, insisting I was marching behind the walking statues in a grand parade through the capital. I could sense the victory in the soldiers dressed in black armor. But we had mixed up several cavalrymen with the mages. Questions kept floating to the surface, making ripples in my quiet delusion. Where were our horses? Where were the echo of the drums and the flair of the trumpets? Where were the snapping banners and the streamers and the cheering crowd?

  The only thing blowing in the wind was a tiny speck of trash. I reached for it and my wrists clanked. Someone glared at me. Was this a silent parade?