The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom

by Pierre Pevel

  The huge, furious flames consuming the dispensary lit the gathered crowd, the corpses in rows on the paving stones, the wounded who were being treated as best as could be managed, and the more fortunate souls who had only suffered from smoke inhalation but who remained devastated, frightened and impossible to comfort, their faces blackened and eyes reddened. The dispensary sheltered the destitute as well as the sick. Fathers and mothers sought loved ones, a husband, a son, or a daughter within the crush of people, and called out for them in choked voices before, sometimes, emitting a harrowing cry and falling to their knees in front of a dead body.

  Lorn could see no sign of Father Eldrim. On the other hand, he recognised Vahrd, with singed hair and a scarlet face, sitting on a bollard while a woman bandaged his calf.

  ‘All right?’ asked Lorn, straining his voice.

  The roaring, crackling and hissing of the blaze were so loud he almost had to shout to be heard.

  The old blacksmith nodded.

  ‘I’m alive. But I won’t be frisking about right away.’

  ‘Is it serious?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And the others?’

  ‘Alive too, I believe.’

  Liam and Logan joined them. They frowned on seeing Vahrd injured, but he reassured them with a tranquil snort.

  ‘It looks like the fire was started in several places at once,’ said Liam. ‘And there were chains on the doors.’

  Like everyone else, Lorn knew what that meant.

  ‘Where’s Yeras?’

  ‘He stayed at the Black Tower,’ said Liam.

  ‘A problem?’

  ‘Sibellus. Andara’s men beat him up tonight.’

  So Andara had attacked the master archivist on the same night as he burned down the dispensary. He had wanted to strike hard, and perhaps was not finished yet.

  ‘I don’t see Father Eldrim.’

  ‘The last time I saw him, he was going back inside,’ said Logan.

  ‘A long time ago?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘And he’s still in there?’

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Lorn!’ exclaimed Vahrd. ‘No!’

  But Lorn was already rushing away.

  ‘WITH ME!’

  The blacksmith cursed when he saw Liam and Logan following their captain without hesitation. Firstly, because they were launching themselves headfirst into an inferno. And secondly, because he couldn’t do the same.

  Lorn tore off one of his shirtsleeves and made a mask from it before entering the dispensary. The flames dazzled him and the heat was astonishing. The air seemed to baking.

  ‘THAT WAY!’ yelled Logan, pointing to the stairs. ‘AFTER THAT, I DON’T KNOW.’

  With Lorn at their head, they climbed the stone stairway whose railing was burning hot. They were in the main part of the dispensary. On the floor above, flames covered the walls of the hallways and crept across the ceiling.

  Almost blinded, Lorn shouted:

  ‘FATHER ELDRIM! FATHER ELDRIM!’

  In vain.

  ‘SEARCH!’ he ordered the others.

  A thick smoke poisoning the air, they ventured into the blaze, pushing open doors that liberated balls of fire, inspecting rooms where tall and powerful flames were devouring everything in a deafening din and an unbearable heat.

  They stepped over some corpses and then Liam cried out:

  ‘HERE!’

  He had found Father Eldrim who, having succumbed to the heat, regained consciousness and coughed when they turned him over.

  ‘He’ll live,’ said Logan.

  ‘Quickly! Get him out of here!’ ordered Lorn.

  But Father Eldrim resisted when Liam and Lorn lifted him under the shoulders to carry him.

  ‘No,’ he moaned. ‘No … There …’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘There … Next …’

  ‘IT’S ALL ABOUT TO COLLAPSE!’ warned Liam.

  The dispensary was cracking and moaning within the roaring of the flames and entire sections of the building were starting to tumble down.

  The black priest succeeded in lifting a hand to point at a closed door.

  ‘N … Next …’

  ‘Take care of him!’ said Lorn to Logan, before going to see.

  He pushed open the door and found a room full of flames. Two bodies were lying there: that of a girl and that of a man. The father must have been trying to save his daughter when the ceiling had come down. He was stretched out, unconscious, both legs broken beneath a heavy beam.

  ‘LIAM!’ yelled Lorn. ‘TAKE THE PRIEST! LOGAN! HELP ME!’

  ‘But I—’ Liam started to say.

  ‘DON’T ARGUE! SAVE THE PRIEST! COME BACK IF YOU CAN!

  Liam obeyed, although he realised there would be no chance of helping Lorn and Logan, even if he managed to get Father Eldrim out of this hell.

  Lorn slipped under a tangle of beams, boards and slabs of plaster to catch hold of the little girl, dragged her towards him and then out in the corridor. Logan examined her; she had only fainted from breathing smoke. Relieved, he said:

  ‘Alive.’

  ‘The father, now.’

  Between the two of them, they tried to lift the beam pinning the man. But it was heavy and blocked by other rubble. They failed a first time.

  ‘Again!’ said Lorn. ‘On three! One … two … three!’

  They combined their strength, struggling, and shifted the beam shift slightly, but nothing more. They had failed a second time.

  ‘Impossible!’ cried Logan. ‘We have to give up!’

  ‘No!’

  ‘The child will die if we stay any longer!’

  ‘Take her! I’m going to try again. I think if—’

  ‘No! You’ll never manage on your own! You—’

  The mercenary coughed.

  They could barely see due to the smoke and the tears filling their stinging eyes. A few yards from them, several feet of hallway burst into flames.

  ‘Then help me!’ said Lorn. ‘One last time!’

  Logan nodded reluctantly.

  Once again, they gripped the beam.

  Once again, they tried to budge it, grimacing, their muscles bulging and straining. And they were just about to give up when it suddenly lifted as if it weighed nothing.

  Lorn saw that Dwain had joined them.

  ‘QUICKLY!’ said the red-headed colossus, holding the beam a few inches above the legs it had hitherto been crushing.

  He had lifted the enormous weight alone, and could not hold it much longer.

  Outside, in front of the lethal inferno which used to be the dispensary, the crowd was now silent, unmoving and as if stunned by the beauty of the terrifying spectacle.

  Vahrd had to hold Liam back. The veteran had passed Dwain on the stairs and told his companion where to find Lorn and Logan. Now that Father Eldrim was safe, he wanted to go back inside the building.

  ‘No!’ ordered Vahrd. ‘It’s too late.’

  And upon these words, the roof of the main building collapsed in the middle as if a giant’s fist had struck it a mighty blow. A cloud of flames, embers, ashes and sparks shot up into the night, mixing ephemeral flecks of red and gold with the pale, unmoving coils of the Great Nebula. What remained of the dispensary shook, right down to its foundations, and the floors fell in one after another, starting from the attic, in a deafening conflagration.

  Everyone held their breath, incapable of accepting what had just happened. Like all the others, Vahrd and Liam could not tear their eyes away from the façade where one could only make out the outlines and the dark openings within the storm of flames.

  Father Eldrim fell to his knees and prayed, soon imitated by the members of his flock.

  Then …

  ‘THERE!’ cried someone.

  A surge of hope caused those watching to quiver. Everyone wanted to see. People stood on tiptoe. They craned their necks and jostled one another slightly. They were afraid but they wanted to believe …
r />   ‘Yes! There! I see them!’

  And everyone, then, glimpsed the silhouettes emerging from the flames. Staggering, they seemed fragile and wavery against the fire, their backs bowed and heads hunched between their shoulders.

  It was Dwain and Logan carrying the injured man.

  His breath cut short by anxiety, Vahrd sought to catch sight of Lorn.

  ‘Dragon-King,’ he murmured. ‘Save …’

  But he was not given the time to complete his prayer.

  There were cries of joy and bravos.

  Lorn was following the two others, holding the little girl, safe and sound, wrapped up in his doublet.

  19

  Dawn was breaking.

  It would be daylight in less than an hour, but by that time Andara would be far away. He had needed more time than he liked to gather the fortune filling the two heavy saddle bags he was carrying over his shoulder. It wasn’t everything; he’d been forced to abandon things that were dear to him. But he was in a hurry.

  A big hurry.

  The first part of his plan for revenge had succeeded beautifully: the priest’s dispensary had gone up in smoke. But the men he had charged with abducting the master archivist had failed.

  The imbeciles!

  And yet their mission had been simple: overpower one old man and take him without killing him. A team of four. But no, even that was too difficult for the stupid brutes. And without the archivist, Andara had no leverage with Lorn. Nothing that would protect him from the wrath of the Onyx Guard. And to crown it all, he had learned of his men’s failure far too late, when the dispensary was already on fire and he only had a few hours to make his arrangements.

  For Andara was sure of one thing: Lorn would strike back, and he would be merciless.

  He quickened his step upon hearing the bell for first prayers ringing in the churches of the Sacrificed Dragon-King. But the staging post wasn’t much further. He soon arrived there and, after closely inspecting the vicinity, pushed open the doors to the stable.

  He called out for the ostler, who ordinarily slept at his workplace.

  To no avail.

  Andara cursed but he didn’t have time to wait. Too bad, he would saddle the horse himself …

  He took the first blow of the pitchfork handle right in the face, another in the belly which doubled him over, and a third upon his back which laid him out on the ground scattered with straw. His nose bloodied, he tried to rise but a series of meticulous kicks broke several of his ribs. He rolled onto his back, dazed, nauseous and blinded by pain. And then he choked when the two tines of the pitchfork planted themselves on either side of his neck and immobilised him.

  Pinned down, his throat crushed, he saw Lorn bending over him.

  ‘Did you really think you could escape? That I don’t know where you live? Which taverns you frequent? Where you stable your horse? Did you really think I wouldn’t have you watched, as you did with me? And did you really think I wouldn’t protect my people?’

  Furious, Lorn stamped on Andara’s groin with his ironclad heel. The militia chief gave out a long scream and placed his hands on his lower belly, lifting his knees. He would have liked to curl up on his side, but the pitchfork prevented him from moving.

  He started to sob, his lips stained with pink saliva.

  ‘You really never understood who you were dealing with, did you?’ Lorn continued. ‘Arsehole.’ The insult was punctuated by another kick. ‘You thought that not playing by the rules would give you an advantage. But I don’t play by the rules, either. Or rather, I don’t play by them any longer …’

  Lorn drew up a stool and straddled it, his elbows resting upon his thighs.

  ‘What … What are you going to do with me?’ asked Andara.

  ‘Shut up.’

  ‘We can find a—’

  ‘I said: shut up!’ cried Lorn.

  Andara fell silent.

  ‘You know, we’re alike, you and I. You’re the worst sort of filth, but I’m not much better. There is something in me, something that comes from … Wait, I’ll show you.’

  As if removing a bandage from a painful limb, Lorn slowly unwound the leather strap that wrapped round his marked hand. Then, balling his fist, he showed the seal embedded in his flesh. The skin had blackened around the ochre stone.

  ‘Do you see this mark? Take a good look. It tells you what I have become, what I am, and what no one else seems to see. But the truth is there, in this stone seal. I’m stronger now. Stronger than I ever was. More decisive. More determined. And unfortunately for you, more pitiless.’

  Lorn stood up.

  ‘No! Wait!’ pleaded Andara.

  ‘You shouldn’t have stood in my way, Andara. You shouldn’t have attacked my people … And the true irony is that you did me a favour, in the end. I needed an adversary, a dragon to slay for the common good, a noble cause to defend … So I have to admit that if you hadn’t attacked us, I would have come looking for you. Now, thanks to you, the Onyx Guards are loved and respected. And it only took a few weeks …’

  A cruel smile on his lips, Lorn pressed down with both hands on the upright pitchfork handle.

  ‘Wait!’ said Andara. ‘We can still reach an understanding. I have my entire fortune in these bags. Gold, silver, precious stones, deeds to properties. If you are like me, take half of it. And let me leave.’

  Lorn looked at the heavy bags and thought about it.

  Then he said:

  ‘Since I am like you, why shouldn’t I take all of it?’

  And with a blow of his heel, he drove the tines of the pitchfork deep into the ground.

  Logan discreetly kept watch on the stable to make sure no one entered. Carrying Andara’s bags over his shoulder, Lorn joined him and, without a word or a backward look, they returned to the Black Tower as the sun was rising. There they found Liam, Dwain and Yeras guarding Sibellus’s door.

  ‘Is he all right?’ asked Lorn.

  ‘Yes.’

  Fearing that Andara would attack the master archivist, Lorn had him followed day and night by Yeras. Sibellus hadn’t known, so he was the most surprised of all when the one-eyed scout had emerged out of nowhere and eliminated the militiamen who were assaulting him. The first blow, the one Sibellus hadn’t seen coming, had been delivered by Yeras. After which everything happened very quickly …

  Lorn knocked and entered the room where the master archivist was being guarded.

  Sibellus wasn’t sleeping, but he looked tired. In contrast, Daril, who was supposed to be keeping him company, was slumbering soundly.

  ‘How are you feeling, Sibellus?’

  ‘Fine. Thanks to you and your men. I’m much obliged, knight … Do you know what those men wanted with me?’

  Lorn pulled a face.

  ‘To beat you and leave you lying on the paving stones as a message to me. Perhaps to kill you. Or to abduct you in order to put pressure on me … Whatever their plans were, don’t thank me. It’s my fault you were in danger to begin with.’

  ‘I knew the risks entailed by associating with you. I wasn’t in danger because I took your side, but because I took the side of the High King.’

  Lorn decided not to disabuse Sibellus on this point. He had deliberately sought this whole conflict with Andara. He had stirred up the coals because it served his own interests, knowing that others would burn in his stead. The master archivist had come out of it with a severe fright, but Father Eldrim’s dispensary was reduced to ashes and the fire had taken a tragic toll.

  ‘You can go home, Sibellus.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Now, if you like. You’re no longer in any danger.’

  ‘Andara?’

  ‘Dead.’

  ‘And his men?’

  ‘They’ll flee as soon as they find out. And those that don’t run fast enough risk being stoned or beaten or hung from a signpost.’

  ‘So it’s over.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Thank you, knight. If you can do for
Oriale what you have done for Redstone …’

  ‘For now, it’s a matter of restoring hope. But what we’ve done for Redstone, we will do for the High Kingdom. And soon.’

  Sibellus nodded.

  ‘If there’s any way I can help …’ he said.

  Lorn hesitated. Was this the right time to ask the master archivist for the information he really wanted?

  No doubt.

  ‘I’d like the minutes of my trial,’ he said. ‘I know they were placed under seal. But I also know that you, the Master Archivist of the High Kingdom, have them in your safe keeping.’

  Sibellus stared at Lorn for a long while before answering. Somehow, he had always known it would come to this.

  ‘If I give you those minutes, I’ll be guilty of perjury and high treason …’

  Lorn did not blink.

  ‘I know.’

  After leaving Sibellus to his rest, Lorn found Vahrd waiting for him with a sombre air.

  ‘A problem?’ asked Lorn.

  ‘You could have killed Andara weeks ago.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And you knew you end up killing him. But you waited.’

  ‘He had to commit an unforgivable crime. Redstone needed to rise from fear and resignation to anger.’

  ‘People died in that fire, Lorn. Women and children. Innocent victims.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘That doesn’t seem to concern you.’

  ‘I’m waging a war. All wars cause innocent vict—’

  ‘Don’t sing me that song!’ the old blacksmith exploded. ‘I’ve heard it too many times. Always to justify the worst possible deeds.’