by Peter David
I started to think about it. In point of fact, I had very little to lose. Considering the huge and boisterous point I had so foolishly made of “refusing” the money that had been offered me, the notion of now taking the funds was anathema to me. The sneering looks of contempt I would get from the knights, the validation they would receive for their own arrogant view of the lowborn … it grated on me fiercely.
“No,” I said, sounding far more confident than I felt. “I am not the type who shrinks from challenges.”
“Then it is settled,” and she slapped her open hands on her thighs as if indeed there wasn’t a single other thing that could possibly be discussed. “You will be given lodgings with the other squires. They will be instructed to treat you in all matters as their equal. You will be assigned a knight who will be your mentor. You will learn and grow. You will become skilled and knowledgeable in matters of honor, and in time, you will discover your destiny.”
I moaned softly. There was that damned word again.
But even as I heard it, I recalled the tapestry that hung on the wall, the one of a rider astride a phoenix. I asked her about it.
“That?” she said. “That tapestry was woven by a farweaver, years ago.”
That indeed caught my full attention. True farweavers—magic users who depicted scenes of the future with the combined skills of their hands and their sight—were among the rarest of all weavers. “And … what is it supposed to signify?” I asked.
“The coming of the greatest hero. The one who shall rule over all Isteria … indeed, some believe over all the known world, and unite the kingdoms into a golden age.” She cocked her head and looked at me with amused interest. “Why? Think you that you are that great hero?”
“Me?” I laughed. “Madam, if I am a great hero, you are the queen of Isteria.”
There was a knock at the chamber door. I saw that there was a woman-in-waiting standing near the door, but she made no move to open it. Instead she looked at Beatrice, clearly waiting for some sort of instruction. Obviously Beatrice was the head of the housekeeping staff. “Come,” called Beatrice.
The door swung open and the king entered, his great purple cape sweeping about him lightly on the floor.
The chamber woman immediately went down to one knee, bowing her head in the appropriate response. Since I was already reclining, and in a sickbed at that, protocol did not require that I immediately genuflect.
Beatrice, to my astonishment, rose to her feet and simply stood there, her hands placed daintily one atop the other, as she smiled at the king and nodded once in acknowledgment. The king crossed the room, took her hands in his, and gently kissed them on the knuckles. “How fares the young sir whose mouth outstrips his prudence?”
Confused, I said, “I … I … fine, Highness …”
Beatrice told him, “I had given him your offer, milord. He seems a bit … skeptical. Perhaps,” and she showed her pure white teeth, “perhaps he believes that a mere woman would not be privy to the king’s offers or business.”
He looked taken aback, although he reacted in such a mannered way that it was clear he was feigning outrage. “Say you what? He doubts the word of the queen herself? A saucy lad, this one.”
“The …” I looked from one to the other as if they were tossing a ball back and forth between themselves. “The … the queen?”
“Queen Bea, at your service, squire,” she said, and curtsied slightly.
“At my service?!” I was totally flummoxed, and now felt the need to leap to my feet and try and show proper respect. Unfortunately, leaping wasn’t exactly my forte. Furthermore, since I’d been lying unmoving for so long, most of my muscles were rather flaccid. So in my rush to try and display respect, all I wound up doing was tumbling weakly to the floor.
“Very dignified,” said Runcible, shaking his head.
Queen Bea automatically reached down to help me up, but I waved her off and Runcible, gently, but firmly, took her elbow to indicate to her that she should let me be. Slowly, summoning all the willpower I had at my disposal, I forced myself to stand. I was wavering slightly as I did so, but at least I wasn’t on my back. I was bare-chested, but I endeavored not to be deterred by my partial state of undress, even in the presence of the monarchs of the state of Isteria. I lowered my gaze so I was not staring either of them straight in the face. I had the uncanny feeling, however, that the queen was smiling.
“May I be so bold as to ask,” I queried, still without looking up, “why the queen herself would be tending to my bedside?”
“Because it amused me to do so,” she replied. “And believe it or not, Apropos, one of the main endeavors for a queen is to find ways of distracting herself from the boredom that is so frequently a part of her station.”
Not caring particularly about matters that were concerning me, Runcible asked brusquely, “Is he accepting my offer, yea or nay?”
I snuck a glance in their direction, and saw that Queen Bea was looking at me expectantly.
“I would be ten times of an ingrate, Your Highness, were I to turn away from such a tremendous opportunity to learn and grow.”
“Indeed,” said Runcible. “She did mention the counteroffer … ?”
“Counteroffer?” I looked at her in puzzlement. She shrugged.
“Yes,” continued Runcible. “Twenty dukes if you simply leave. That is nearly twice the amount you were offered.”
I felt my throat closing up. Nearly twice as much. I would have no problems, ever again. It was …
It was …
It was too perfect. Too pat.
As much as I wanted to lay claim to the coins—as happy as I would have been to take them and get the hell out of there—something stopped me. And that something was suspicion. It was too easy, too damned easy.
I bowed slightly at the waist and said, “Thank you … no. I will not sell my mother’s memory. It would not be … honorable,” I said, faking sincerity with great élan.
Beatrice nodded approvingly. “Well said, squire. I have no doubt that, had you tossed aside the opportunity to become a squire to the great knights of good king Runcible—taking instead the empty comfort of money—my majestic husband would have—”
“Thrown you out with nothing in your pocket save your hands,” Runcible was gracious enough to conclude for her. “Welcome, squire.” That was all he said, and then he turned and walked out of the room. He paused, however, just before he left, and said six words that struck cold to my spine:
“Report to Sir Justus for assignment.”
It was at that point that I was prepared to pull my clothes on and sneak out of the castle through the nearest exit, wherever that might be.
But then I envisioned the conversation that must have gone on between the king, or the queen, and Justus. You know that young fellow who nearly sliced off your privates, Justus? The one who made you look like a fool? Well, we’ve decided to put him on the training track toward knighthood.
Oh, how Justus must have paled. How disconcerted by that news he must have been. But … but Your Majesty, he probably stammered, you cannot be serious! He is lowborn! He is a threat to our sanctimonious little club! Why, for all I know, he’s the bastard son of somebody right here at the castle! Perhaps even my own little bastard!
What care I for your indiscretions, the king would have replied. I have given you an order, Sir Justus, and you will disobey it only at your extreme peril!
My, what a lovely little chat that must have been.
I could always depart the palace at some other time. Granted, there were guards, but I could likely slip out without much difficulty. This, on the other hand … this had the promise of providing amusement. No matter how much Sir Justus would bluster and complain, the bottom line was that he had to assign me to a knight, who would serve as mentor to me. For a moment my blood ran cold as the notion occurred to me that he might hold on to me himself, or perhaps—even worse—toss me over to Sir Coreolis. But somehow, I didn’t think he would. If
he were out for vengeance, I doubted he would do something quite that overt. In fact, he’d probably assign me to one of the better knights of the realm, someone for whom there’d be no excuse if I failed to succeed in my efforts.
I was certain that was to be the case.
More fool I.
I had never seen a knight quite like Sir Umbrage of the Flaming Nether Regions.
To say that he was not what I was expecting would be to understate it. In truth, I hadn’t been entirely certain what to expect when—sufficiently recovered from my illness—I had been conducted to the magistrate chambers of Sir Justus.
Justus was seated behind a very wide and impressive desk. This was clearly where he conducted private business, and when I was ushered into his presence, at first he gave me not so much as a glance. Instead he appeared to be totally involved in reading some piece of parchment. Truthfully, I had no idea whether the paper was really that damned interesting, or whether he was simply keeping me standing in order to try and annoy me. In either event, I gave no sign that I was remotely inconvenienced. Instead I simply leaned on my staff and waited for him to acknowledge my presence. If he was out to ignore me, he could probably keep it up all day. Then again, so could I, and besides, I was used to being ignored.
But the silence only lasted a minute or so, and then Sir Justus put the paper down and looked up at me. “Well, well … Squire Apropos. I am told you will be staying with us for some time.”
“So I was told as well, milord.”
“I think ‘sir’ will do at this point, rather than ‘milord.’ ” He seemed to consider the situation a moment, and then rested his hands flat on the table. “Obviously, squire, we got ourselves off on the wrong foot … no offense,” he amended, casting a glance at my infirmity.
“None taken, sir,” I replied. No reason not to be magnanimous.
“We are all on the same side, after all. Nothing is to be served by carrying a grudge, eh?”
“I would like to think not, sir.”
“It’s settled, then,” said Justus, and he certainly made it sound as if it were indeed settled. He even smiled in what appeared to be a most sincere manner. “So … if you are to be a squire here, then naturally you will need to be assigned to a knight who is, in turn, in need of a squire. Correct?”
“That is my understanding, sir.”
“Well, as it so happens,” and he leaned forward, gloved fingers interlaced, looking quite pleased to be passing the information on to me, “I have just the knight in mind for you. One of the most experienced in the king’s service. Been with him for years, in fact. Years and years.”
“And he does not presently have a squire?”
He sighed heavily, seeming a bit downcast that the subject had been broached. “Regretfully, no. Not at present. He is rather hard on them, I’m afraid.”
I should have expected as much. Justus was going to assign me to a taskmaster. Someone who he was sure would be able to break me. Well, I might just have a surprise or two for them up my sleeve. It was just like Justus and his ilk to believe that I would be disposed of that easily. I would not leave until such time that I chose to. “You mean he’s demanding of them?”
“Oh. No, not at all. They just, well …” and he shrugged apologetically, “have a habit of getting killed … usually in his defense.”
“What?” I didn’t quite understand … but then, a few moments later, I did.
For there was a clanking behind me that sounded more like tumbling chunks of armor spilling from a closet than the approach of a genuine knight who was fit to wear them. I turned and gawked at one of the most extraordinary knights I had ever seen.
He had thick white hair that grew from his head in all directions, as if it had exploded from his scalp. He sported a long white beard as well. His armor might once have fitted him properly, but apparently he had shrunk over time, and now seemed a bit lost in his own suit. He had tired eyes and a general air of fatigue about him. He was taller than I, but probably weighed about half of what I did. His sword hung low off his belt, his scabbard dragging on the floor, and consequently he was able to use his sword as a sort of walking stick, for he angled the hilt and leaned upon the scabbard every few feet to pull himself along.
“I give to you Sir Umbrage of the Flaming Nether Regions,” Justus said proudly. “Sir Umbrage … your new squire.”
Umbrage licked his chapped lips and stared at me with tilted head. When he spoke, it was with a voice that was reedy and quavering. For a moment the sound of it startled him slightly. He seemed surprised that he was still capable of speech.
“New squire?” he said, blinked at his own voice, and then continued, “What happened to my old squire?”
“You remember.” Sir Justus came around the desk and touched Umbrage gently on the arm. “That rather ugly business with the Blue Knight of the Marsh.” He looked at me and half-whispered, as if Umbrage were not in the room, “Poor devil. Never seen a human being cut into quite that many pieces before. But at least,” and he raised his voice for the latter part of the sentence, “at least Sir Umbrage got away.”
“At least I did,” said Umbrage agreeably, and then looked at Justus. “Away from what?”
“We have to talk, sir,” I said from between gritted teeth.
“We are talking,” Justus pointed out reasonably.
“Don’t you have someone who’s a bit …” I tried to find the most delicate word I could, and finally settled on ” … younger?”
“Certainly you’re not thinking of turning down this assignment,” Justus said in mock horror, overplaying it just enough that there was no longer the slightest chance of misunderstanding between us. This assignment was not remotely coincidence. I had underestimated him, however: He had not chosen to associate me with a brutal or difficult knight. Instead he’d tied me to an incompetent one.
“It had crossed my mind,” I said in a flat tone.
Justus squared his shoulders and turned to face me. “Sir Umbrage is one of the king’s oldest and proudest allies. I will grant you that he is not what he once was, but in his prime, no one could touch him. I have considered the options very carefully before deciding to assign you to the fine care of Sir Umbrage. I assure you, squire, that if you should turn down this offer, it will be nothing short of an insult to the king. And the king has very little patience where insults to his honor are concerned.”
“But … but I …” For once my normally glib tongue was at a loss.
“There will be no ‘buts,’ squire. If you do not desire the king to take offense, then you will have to take Umbrage. Do I make myself clear?”
Slowly I nodded. I was completely boxed in. “Yes, sir.”
“Very well, then. You may go.” He went back around his desk, picked up a new parchment, and began to read it as if I were no longer in the room. But I could see enough of the self-satisfied smirk on his face to know that he was enjoying every moment of my discomfiture.
I walked up to Sir Umbrage. The view regretfully did not get any better as I drew closer. “All right, Sir Umbrage,” I said. “Where do we start?”
He appeared to consider the question for a time, and then said in what actually sounded like a vaguely sage tone of voice, “The beginning is usually the best place.”
“Yes, sir.”
He waddled a bit as he headed for the door. I followed him slightly behind and to the right, as was proper for a squire. But just as we were leaving the room, he stopped, turned, and stared at me as if seeing me for the first time.
“And you are again … ?” he asked.
“Your squire, sir knight,” I said formally, doing everything I could to ignore what I thought to be snickering coming from the general direction of Justus’s table.
“I thought you were killed by the Blue Knight. Chopped to pieces.”
“I heard that too, sir knight.”
He nodded, apparently satisfied with the response, and moved on.
I had no option except to
try and deal with the situation the best I could … and hope that Sir Umbrage of the Flaming Nether Regions dropped dead before I did.
Chapter 10
Considering what my existence had been until that point, it is impressive to state that what followed was easily the worst period of my life.
Riches, potential camaraderie, and an existence of ease and wealth surrounded me but at the same time was denied me. As I had suspected from the start, Sir Umbrage provided me no help or guidance at all in terms of even the most minimal skills required to be a knight. Herewith, a typical day in my service to Umbrage.
As per his strict instructions, I would awaken him in the morning. Then I would awaken him again. And again. Each time he would assure me that he was awake, and then I would return an hour later to suggest yet again that this time it might be an excellent idea if he actually managed to haul himself out of bed. By the time he truly joined the land of the living, it was usually noon or slightly thereafter. In the meantime, I spent the morning polishing and honing his weapons, which he never used, and tending to his horse, which he never rode.
What a magnificent beast he had for a horse. The horse’s name was Titan, and an apt name it bore, for it was massive. Apparently the horse had been a gift to Umbrage from no less than the king himself.
After the noon hour, Umbrage would partake of his midafternoon meal. It was the only time he truly seemed alive, for the man could certainly put away food. Considering his frame, I could not quite figure out where he stashed it. But eat well he did, and with impressive alacrity. Barely was beef or fowl or mead put in front of him, and the next thing I knew, it was gone from the plate while Umbrage would sit there with a contented look upon his face. Whereupon, happily fed, Umbrage would then doze in his chair for another hour or two, digesting the meal like a languid snake.
In the late afternoon, Umbrage would be at his most active. During that time he would wander about in the great square, chat pleasantly with merchants, smile at passersby. It turned out that Umbrage was quite popular with the non-knight crowd, for he actually took the time to converse with them. Most knights, you see, had neither the time nor patience to converse with commoners. Umbrage did. The thing was, his conversations tended to go off on tangents, or perhaps even start over again since he forgot that he had begun them in the first place. The lower classes chose to find the disconcerting behavior charming.
