The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom

by Pierre Pevel

  ‘He who controls Angborn,’ continued the duke, ‘controls the bay. And he who controls the bay dictates his law to the Free Cities. Believe me, Angborn is only the first step in a campaign of conquest.’

  He added:

  ‘Armed conquest. The Black Dragon …’

  Teogen ceased listening and raised his eyes towards a torn banner that hung on the wall. It was black and embroidered with a wolf’s head – seen face-on – in silver thread. The emblem of the High King. Not that of the High Kingdom, but the personal symbol of Erklant II. The king had given him that banner on the evening after a hard-fought battle and, since then, the count had kept it as a talisman.

  He was a warrior, an old warrior who knew the price of loyalty and the value of shed blood.

  ‘The Black Dragon,’ he murmured.

  He had never met her, or even seen her. On the other hand, he had fought one of her offspring. ‘Dragon-princes’, as they were called. They were human in appearance, but bore within them a part of their progenitor’s power. It made them formidable enemies, capable of releasing enough Dark force to mow down the front rows of an entire army.

  Realising he had lost his audience’s attention, Duncan of Feln had stopped speaking. He hesitated for an instant. More skilled at detecting emotions, his daughter took the initiative and stood, rousing Teogen from his reverie.

  ‘I see that my presence here is superfluous,’ said Eylinn with a ravishing smile. ‘Moreover, it’s late. Could you tell me the way to your altar? I should like to pray before we set forth again.’

  ‘Pray to whom?’ asked the Count of Argor.

  ‘An altar devoted to any one of the First Ancestrals will suit me. No doubt he will carry my prayers to Eth’ril.’

  ‘My wife also prayed to the Dragon of Dreams. I will open her chapel for you,’ said Teogen, without showing the emotion he felt at the memory of his wife.

  The young woman placed a hand upon her chest and bowed slightly.

  ‘Thank you very much, count.’

  Once they were alone, Teogen and Duncan remained silent for a moment. The count had risen to pour himself another glass of wine. He drained it in one gulp and, in a matter-of-fact tone, said:

  ‘It’s too late to prevent the cession of Angborn.’

  ‘True,’ admitted the Duke of Feln. ‘So we need to prepare for the future. Even if the High Kingdom were at the height of its power and glory, the prospect of a war with Yrgaard should worry us, but in our present state … We’d better pray too, if we don’t act …’

  Count Teogen was not the sort of man who looked to the First Ancestrals for rescue. Or to anyone, for that matter.

  ‘Pray!’ he exclaimed.

  ‘Yes, count. Let us pray that if the Black Dragon attacks, she attacks as late as possible. Let us pray that the tribute Yrgaard will pay suffices to replenish our treasury and, if not, let us pray that Vestfald continues to sell us grain on credit. Let us pray that the foreign bankers do not ask for an immediate reimbursement of the enormous sums they have loaned the Crown. Let us pray that the countryside is not set alight. Let us pray that the next winter is not too hard. And while we’re at it, let us pray that the king is cured of the illness that ails him and that the queen recovers a semblance of good sense. Let us pray, count.’

  Teogen heaved a sigh. He sat down, reflected for a moment, and then asked:

  ‘What do you expect of me?’

  The duke leaned forward and said:

  ‘Queen Celyane takes advantage of the king’s illness to exercise a regency that is not only disastrous but illegal. We have every reason to be opposed to her. If I stand against her, the great lords of the realm will follow me …’

  ‘For the sole good of the High Kingdom, of course,’ the Count of Argor commented ironically.

  Duncan gave him a faint smile.

  ‘It’s true that some will only aspire to regain the titles and the honours that were theirs before the queen excluded them, just as she excluded you. But what do their motives matter? It’s a question of saving the kingdom.’

  ‘However, although the great lords will follow your lead, the lesser nobles of the sword will follow mine. And you would also like to be able to count on my wyverners. That’s why you want me at your side.’

  In all of the High Kingdom, there were no better wyvern riders than those of the Argor Mountains. And only Argorians knew the secret of training the winged reptiles for combat.

  ‘Indeed,’ agreed the duke. ‘Except I do not want you at my side, but at our head.’

  Teogen chuckled.

  ‘At your head,’ he said. ‘Well, well …’

  He marked a pause and, looking Duncan straight in the eye, said:

  ‘So that my head will fall rather than yours if the little adventure you’re proposing goes sour …?’

  The duke stood up and protested:

  ‘Count! You can’t—’

  But Teogen cut him short by bursting into loud laughter.

  ‘I’m teasing you, Duncan. I’m teasing you … Sit down.’

  But he meant every word, even so. Becoming serious again, he added:

  ‘It remains the case that you are asking me to take up arms against the throne. It would mean plunging the kingdom into a civil war.’

  ‘No. If you were leading our troops, I doubt very much that a single drop of blood would be shed or a single cannon fired. When she sees the entire kingdom has risen against her, the queen will have no choice but to give in to our demands.’

  ‘Which are?’

  ‘A regency, this one legitimate, until the king recovers.’

  ‘If the king ever recovers. And who will exercise this regency?’

  ‘The Council.’

  ‘Where you will sit.’

  ‘As will you.’

  Thinking hard, Teogen nodded distractedly, his eyes lost in the distance.

  ‘If the queen does not give in,’ he said at last in a grave tone, ‘then it shall be war. And it will be a bloody one.’

  After his meeting with the count, Duncan of Feln found his daughter waiting for him in the courtyard with his horsemen. Wearing her great cloak, she was already in her saddle.

  ‘Since when do you pray to the Dragon of Dreams?’ asked the duke as he straddled his mount.

  ‘Since I learned the late countess did.’

  ‘Clever,’ conceded Duncan with a smile.

  He gave a slight kick of his heels and the troop moved off.

  ‘So?’ asked Eylinn before they picked up too much speed and the din of the ride drowned their words.

  ‘So I gave him food for thought.’

  ‘Only that?’

  ‘It’s what I was expecting. Teogen is a rock that can’t be easily moved. But all the same, this meeting was not in vain. After all, even the highest tower begins with a single stone, doesn’t it?’

  With a satisfied cluck of his tongue, the Duke of Feln urged his horse into a gallop.

  14

  Lorn grimaced upon waking.

  He was hurting, his body stiff and painful, a migraine boring into his temples and almost blinding him. He breathed with difficulty, his torso bound tightly to keep his ribs in place. He was lying in the room assigned to him within the prince’s apartment at the governor’s palace. How had he reached his bed? The drawn curtains maintained a gentle dimness in the room although it was sunny outside. Everything was quiet.

  Father Domnis prayed in silence, kneeling at his bedside. When he saw Lorn was conscious, he removed the hood of his white robe and stood up.

  ‘How are you feeling, my son?’ he asked in a soft voice.

  ‘Father?’

  Lorn attempted to sit up and groaned.

  ‘Try not to move, my son. Are you in pain?’

  ‘I’m thirsty.’

  ‘Of course.’

  The priest brought him a glass of water to which he added a few drops of amber liquid. Then he helped him drink it by propping up his head gently. Lorn recognised the taste
of kesh liqueur with satisfaction. There was nothing better to combat pain.

  While Lorn closed his eyes again, waiting for the drug to take effect, Father Domnis went to open the door slightly and said a few words to the guard in the hallway. Then he quietly shut the door and returned to the bed.

  Lorn felt his migraine diminish.

  ‘What happened?’ he asked, keeping his eyes closed.

  His voice, weak and hoarse, was that of a man on the point of sinking into slumber.

  ‘You don’t remember anything?’ asked the white priest.

  ‘I’m … so … tired …’

  ‘Then go back to sleep, my son. And let me pray for your soul …’

  Later, Alan joined Father Domnis at Lorn’s bedside. With all the waiting and vain searching, he had not slept a wink since his friend had disappeared.

  ‘No one seems to know who the girl Lorn left with was,’ he said quietly.

  ‘Perhaps she had nothing to with this.’

  ‘I doubt it …’

  ‘You should rest, my son.’

  Alan acted as though he had not heard and gazed bleakly at Lorn. Looking very pale, his face marked by blows, his friend was plunged into a sleep too deep to be reassuring. The priest wiped away a small drip of black bile that still leaked from between his closed lips

  ‘What happened to him, father?’

  ‘I fear he heard the Call of the Dark.’

  ‘The Call of the Dark? What’s that?’

  ‘Lorn has spent a long time in close company with the Dark. Too long …’

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘But if he survived it, it’s because … How should I put it?’ The white priest hunted for the right word. ‘It’s because the Dark has … accepted him rather than seeking to destroy him. It has spared him and allowed him into its bosom, as the mark on his hand bears witness.’

  ‘Spared him? You think so?’

  ‘I’m not explaining this well … You know of the ravages the Dark can wreak upon bodies and upon souls. Your friend has not become a raving lunatic. Nor a stammering idiot. And his body has not been corrupted.’

  ‘There is the matter of his eyes.’

  ‘That’s relatively minor, compared to the deformities suffered by some wretches …’

  ‘That’s true.’

  ‘Lorn is strong. No doubt that’s why the Dark has chosen him.’

  ‘And now it’s calling him.’

  ‘In a sense. He’s longing for it. At Dalroth, Lorn was exposed to an abundant source of the Dark. He became … habituated to it. And now, he misses it like …’ Embarrassed, Father Domnis cleared his throat. ‘Like …’

  ‘Like I missed kesh. Don’t trouble yourself on my account, father. I understand what you mean … Will he recover?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Answer me.’

  ‘Nothing is impossible, my son. But …’

  ‘What else?’ Alan asked impatiently, trying not to raise his voice. ‘Out with it!’

  Father Domnis nevertheless took his time choosing the right words.

  ‘Now there’s no doubt that the Dark is within him.’

  Lorn shifted restlessly in his sleep.

  Alan took the white priest by the arm and drew him away from the bed.

  ‘What are you trying to tell me, father? That there’s no hope?’

  ‘No! Lorn can purge himself of the Dark that is within him. But he has to want to.’

  ‘Want to? But of course he will! How could he not want to?’

  Father Domnis found it wiser not to contradict the prince on this point, for all that he knew the Dark could exercise an irresistible attraction. That for some, it was a terrible and lethal drug; one they could not do without despite the harm it caused them over time.

  ‘It will be long and painful, my son.’

  ‘Long?’

  ‘An entire lifetime might not be enough.’

  The morning came when, sitting up in his bed, Lorn could eat without assistance.

  It was the first real meal he’d had since a patrol had found him in Bejofa and brought him, still unconscious, to the governor’s palace.

  ‘Now this is a pleasant sight,’ said Alan as a servant took away the remains of the copious breakfast that Lorn had just wolfed down with appetite.

  As the servant was young and pretty, Alan could not prevent himself from following her with his eyes. No fool, she gave him a coy smile before closing the door.

  ‘How are you?’ asked Alan.

  ‘Much better, thank you.’

  ‘Would you allow me to let a little sunshine in? It’s a magnificent day outside and it’s like a vigil for the dead in here.’

  With the shutters half-closed, the room was plunged into dimness.

  ‘I’d prefer it if you didn’t,’ Lorn said.

  ‘Oh? You’re not over that?’

  Lorn shook his head.

  His eyes were still sensitive to bright light. The right one, now a pale grey, hurt him in particular: very soon after being exposed, it was as if white-hot needles were being stuck into his skull.

  Alan made the mattress tilt and Lorn, who was still careful when making the slightest gesture, grimaced with pain.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said the prince, realising his clumsiness.

  ‘It … It will be all right …’ said Lorn, cautiously finding a comfortable position.

  Alan tried not to move again.

  ‘We were worried sick, do you know that?’

  ‘We?’ noted Lorn.

  ‘All right. I was worried sick,’ the prince corrected himself, emphasising the ‘I’. ‘But what got into you, disappearing like that?’

  ‘I … I don’t know …’

  ‘I hunted for you everywhere, that night. As I had a very bad feeling, I ordered search parties. And it was only the following day that they found you. Unconscious. And in Bejofa! What the hell were you doing in Bejofa?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘Not a problem. I have all my time.’

  ‘I’m tired, Alan.’

  ‘No. You’ll sleep once you’ve told me who put you in this state.’

  The tone was friendly but firm.

  Lorn knew Alan well enough to realise he would not rest until he obtained satisfaction. The prince’s solicitude was as sincere as his worry and his questions. He wanted to know, and he would.

  ‘There are witnesses who say they saw you leave the party in the company of a beautiful young brunette,’ said the prince.

  Lorn nodded.

  He recounted his meeting with Elana and the trap into which she had lured him, up to the moment when he threw himself out the window. But he concealed his fit of violence when, convinced she had betrayed him, he’d tried to make her talk. And he did not mention Irelice.

  ‘The house she took you to, could you find it again?’ asked Alan.

  ‘I think so, yes.’

  ‘I’d be surprised if there was anyone waiting for us, but perhaps they left some clues behind. You really don’t know what these people wanted from you?’ Alan asked.

  ‘To abduct me. But other than that …’

  ‘Since you were seen leaving together, I made some enquiries about this Elana. No one knows who she is, exactly. And she wasn’t on the guest list.’

  ‘She’s a bold one. She was chatting to you and the Yrgaardian ambassador when I joined you.’

  ‘Yes, she must have been after you from the start. No doubt she thought the best way to reach you was through me.’

  ‘And since you’ve never been able to resist a pretty woman …’

  ‘That’s an exaggeration,’ Alan protested, on principle.

  ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘And then?’

  ‘It’s … It’s fairly cloudy in my mind. I remember falling into the river and I don’t really know how I managed not to drown. After that …’

  Lorn disguised the truth again.

  He mentioned Delio but said nothing of the f
it he underwent, nothing of the despair and the shame, nothing of the anguish and the suffering that had gripped him to the point of regretting that he was still alive. Did he really expect to fool Alan or was he lying to himself? He couldn’t say. Perhaps he simply wanted to postpone the moment when he would have to face the events of that terrible night. But the main thing was that, due to the Dark and its hold over him, he found himself concealing the truth from his only friend.

  But the prince was not so easily deceived.

  ‘Why are you lying to me?’ he asked sadly.

  Lorn looked at him without being able to utter a word.

  ‘I know,’ Alan went on to say, ‘that something else happened to you that night. Something terrible that Father Domnis names the Call …’

  Since Lorn continued to remain silent, Alan finally stood up.

  ‘The guards brought you back here in the same state as they found you in the street where you were lying. Half-dead. And covered in a black bile which you’re still coughing up at times … That was enough for Father Domnis to understand what had happened to you.’

  ‘I … I don’t remember anything about that,’ Lorn attempted to say.

  ‘Stop it!’ Alan said angrily, but without raising his voice. ‘Just stop … Nothing obliges you to confide in me. You don’t owe me a thing. You don’t owe anything to anyone. But don’t take me for an idiot. If you don’t wish to talk about something, then say so and that will suffice.’

  They stared at one another for a very long moment.

  ‘I do not want to speak of that,’ Lorn said at last, before averting his eyes.

  ‘As you wish. But I can’t help you against your will.’

  ‘I haven’t asked you for anything, Alan. Leave me alone.’

  For the prince, it was a hard blow.

  Lorn regained strength.

  In the course of the days that followed, he was soon fit enough to walk in the gardens, with the help of a cane at first, and then without. He got better and forced himself to perform long and painful exercises. It was not simply a matter of healing from his wounds. He wanted to recover the vigour, speed and endurance he had possessed before Dalroth. Also, the efforts he made prevented him from brooding and, when night-time came, caused him to fall into a deep sleep. So he trained from morning till evening, spending long solitary hours in the fencing room wielding a sword and riding mounts borrowed from the stables until they were exhausted.