The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom

by Pierre Pevel

  ‘Yes,’ said Logan. ‘We can.’

  ‘You’re mad.’

  ‘Possibly,’ admitted Liam.

  ‘But we’re also the Onyx Guard,’ said Lorn, stepping up behind his men.

  They stood aside to let him pass and immediately closed ranks at his back. Unarmed, he stood before them, facing a seething Sturich.

  ‘Neither you nor any of your men shall set foot in our quarters.’

  The captain of the Azure Guard was starting to have doubts but he was in the presence of his own men and several of the Princes’ guards. Pride won out. He drew his sword.

  ‘That’s not a good idea,’ said Yeras, in a voice too calm to be unthreatening.

  Sturich looked at the one-eyed man anxiously.

  Then at the other Onyx Guards and, finally, Lorn, who lifted his fist strapped in leather and said:

  ‘Do you see this signet ring? I received it from the High King’s own hand. It says that I am First Knight of the Realm. You are a brute with an officer’s tassels. So, take your orders from Esteveris, your orders from the prince, you even take the queen’s orders, and stuff them up your arse. Understood?’

  Standing firm, Lorn saw that Sturich, humiliated, was about to commit a foolhardy act.

  ‘That’s enough!’

  It was Alan.

  The intervention of a prince of the High Kingdom quickly calmed everyone down. Embarrassed, Sturich resheathed his sword and wiped away the blood clinging to his mouth. Both his men and the Onyx Guards backed away, as if caught doing mischief. Only Lorn remained impassive, displaying an indifference tinged with arrogance.

  To prevent himself from exploding with anger, Alan avoided meeting anyone’s gaze. He was furious and it could be read in his eyes and his livid face.

  And it could be heard, as well.

  ‘Get the hell out of here,’ he said to Sturich in an adamant tone. ‘Get the hell out of here, you and your men, and don’t let me see you again.’

  The captain of the Azure Guard left without arguing, while the Onyx Guards also retired upon a sign from Lorn.

  Alan waited until he was alone with Lorn to look him up and down with an icy air, and said to him:

  ‘You’re bleeding.’

  Lorn looked down to see a trickle of blood running from beneath his right sleeve towards his ring finger. When he raised his eyes, Alan had already turned his back and was walking away.

  6

  Naé sat on Lorn’s bunk, her features strained from worry and fatigue. She was toying nervously with a dagger, uncertain how she would use it if anyone except Lorn came through the door and tried to take her away. Should she defend herself and fight to the bitter end? Threaten to open her veins? She would not go without resisting.

  She stood up when Lorn entered and, immediately reassured, smiled at him. Without a word, he wiped away the blood that ran from the slight wound he’d received on his shoulder when, just before diving into the river with Naé, a crossbow bolt had grazed him. Then he poured himself a glass of wine, drank a gulp, and thought for a moment. Seeing that he was preoccupied, Naé grew worried again. She did not dare say anything, but gave Lorn a questioning gaze. He glimpsed it out of the corner of his eye and said to her rather curtly:

  ‘You’re in no danger. For the moment.’

  She felt somewhat relieved, but Lorn’s annoyed expression and tone made her bow her head, as if ashamed.

  ‘I’m … sorry,’ she finally said. ‘I … I didn’t mean to bring you trouble. Neither to you, nor to Papa …’

  Her hair was still damp and she looked smaller and more fragile than she actually was, wearing the clothing Lorn had lent her. The shirt, far too big, bared one of her shoulders.

  Softening, Lorn sighed and smiled.

  ‘Why don’t you tell me about it?’ he suggested.

  The young woman nodded in agreement.

  ‘I belong … That is, I used to belong to Cael Dorsian’s group. But there’s nothing left of it, now. We … We were all arrested.’

  ‘Cael Dorsian …’ repeated Lorn in a tone that was both ironic and scornful.

  Naé stiffened.

  ‘Well, what of it?’

  ‘Dorsian is a mercenary. A criminal. Do you know how he earns his keep?’

  ‘Yes. Smuggling kesh.’

  ‘If it were only that! He sold arms to the Dalatian barbarians. His steel and powder killed the High Kingdom’s soldiers.’

  ‘That’s not true!’

  ‘Oh, come now!’ Lorn snapped. ‘And between deals, in his idle hours, he maintains his fortune by leaping from one bed to another. The man’s half gigolo, half pimp. You wouldn’t be the first your Cael’s seduced!’

  Naé stood up abruptly.

  ‘He’s not my Cael!’ she exclaimed. ‘And my relationship with him is none of your concern!’

  Lorn fell silent.

  Naé was right, of course. He was reacting like this because her recklessness had almost cost her own life and had caused problems which would no doubt have heavy consequences for others: himself, Vahrd, the Onyx Guards. But he wasn’t just driven by reason. A stab of jealousy was goading him, although he was not in love with Naé. She was intelligent, lively and pretty, despite her scar, and perhaps even more touching because of it. But his feelings for her were purely brotherly.

  Or so he’d believed up until this day.

  For he knew that Naé loved him. She’d loved him since their adolescence and the summers they had spent with Alan in the Citadel, and he was now realising that this continuing love had been a constant source of comfort to him, flattering his pride and buoying his spirits. What could be more soothing and more stimulating than knowing he was irremediably and patiently loved by someone waiting in the wings? Men quickly become used to this state of affairs and feel betrayed when it ceases, even though they have done nothing to make that love endure. What was in fact an immense privilege now seems their due, and the loss of that privilege is a theft, which leaves them suffering but still selfish. And so here was Naé, who no doubt now loved another man. She had given herself to him and turned away from Lorn.

  Suddenly aware of the ambiguity of his feelings, Lorn pulled himself together. And very calmly, he said:

  ‘Put that down, would you?’

  Naé saw that she was still holding her dagger. She had not threatened Lorn with it but the reflexes were there. She knew how to wield a weapon and fight. In standing to protest, she had firmly gripped the dagger by the hilt, her thumb on the blade, ready to strike.

  She looked down at the knife and, exasperated with herself, flicked it into the air, caught it by the tip, and hurled it against the door.

  Where it planted itself deep.

  Lorn looked from the blade to Naé with the same wondering and amused glance. She knew she was impulsive, but preferred to joke about it rather than rein in this side of her character.

  ‘Sorry about the door,’ she said, not sounding at all contrite.

  To seal their reconciliation, Lorn poured a second glass of wine which he proffered to Naé and she readily accepted. They clinked glasses, drank, and exchanged a knowing look before Lorn finally relaxed a little.

  ‘Is Papa really in trouble?’ asked Naé, circling the lip of her glass with her index finger.

  ‘No. I’ll get him freed tomorrow. After all, he’s done nothing wrong.’

  ‘And you? Your men?’

  ‘Me? What could they do to me?’ Lorn lifted his left fist to show her the onyx signet ring on his finger. ‘It would be the same as going after the king,’ he added in a tone that Naé found disturbing.

  More than a warning, it was a barely veiled threat against anyone who could hear him, or not. His gaze was fixed for an instant and his jaw was clenched.

  The young woman hesitated before speaking.

  ‘You’re … You’re not thinking of … of abusing your …’

  She did not complete her sentence and Lorn stared at her, shocked.

  ‘What?’ he exc
laimed in surprise. ‘Me? Abuse my … No! Of course not!’ He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘I assure you that the only people who have reason to fear me are the enemies of the High Kingdom.’

  ‘And not those of the High King?’

  ‘No,’ said Lorn gravely. ‘It’s not the same thing.’

  Those words, more than anything else, worried Naé.

  She had been raised to respect, even revere, the High King. To be sure, she knew he was not infallible. But his person, his word and his will were sacred. And to her they were indistinguishable from the High Kingdom.

  One king, one throne, one kingdom.

  Sensing Naé’s turmoil, Lorn changed the subject.

  ‘Do you know what became of those who were arrested with you?’

  ‘Some preferred to be killed rather than captured. The others … The others, I don’t know. I was quickly separated from them. Dalk knew exactly who I was. He knew it even before I was captured. Indeed, I believe orders were given that I should not be harmed … Not all of us were so lucky.’

  The young woman’s gaze darkened.

  ‘Dalk was well informed,’ observed Lorn.

  ‘He is Esteveris’s best spy. His principal henchman.’

  ‘Who else knew who you were? Apart from Dorsian …’

  ‘Dougall,’ replied Naé without hesitating. ‘Cael’s right-hand man.’ A wave of hatred overwhelmed her for an instant. ‘He’s the one who betrayed us. But I’ll find him again.’

  ‘You are going to lay low,’ said Lorn, as he went to tug out the dagger buried in the door. ‘You’ve caused enough trouble already, and you’re a fugitive. Not to mention that Dalk and Esteveris are well aware you’re aboard this barge. They know you are here, in my quarters.’

  Naé remained silent for a moment, and then said:

  ‘He deserves to be avenged, don’t you see? If they’ve hurt him, if they’ve executed him, Cael deserves to be avenged. Whatever he may have done, whatever you blame him for, he sought to oppose Angborn’s cession. And there weren’t many like him …’

  Lorn looked at her without replying. She continued:

  ‘He risked his freedom and his life, Lorn. For a cause that is also yours.’

  Lorn reflected, expressionless. Then he said:

  ‘I doubt he’ll be executed.’

  ‘Truly?’

  ‘He’s not just anybody. Esteveris cannot simply have him hanged one morning like some vulgar thief. Besides, if he really wanted Dorsian dead, he would have given orders to that effect when the man was arrested. Dorsian was captured because Esteveris and the queen want him alive. Otherwise, he would have suffered an unfortunate dagger stab, or had a fatal fall while trying to escape: it was then or never. Now it’s too late for that.’

  Lorn was simply putting forward a theory, one he only partly believed. But it was what Naé wanted and needed to hear, so he did his best to comfort her.

  And who knew?

  Perhaps Esteveris did have plans involving Dorsian. He was a prize that an able strategist like the prime minister would not hesitate to exploit. Perhaps he planned to use him as a bargaining chip or a means to exert pressure. Perhaps he intended to convict Dorsian in a resounding trial that would serve as a warning to all those thinking of defying the queen’s authority.

  ‘Do you think they’re torturing him?’ Naé asked in a fierce tone, as if daring Lorn to lie to her.

  He paused before replying.

  It was the final scenario explaining why Cael Dorsian still lived: Esteveris wanted to make him talk. In that case, there was no doubt he would be subjected to torture. In all likelihood, his ordeal had already begun and Lorn would have preferred not to speak of it. But Naé was neither an idiot, nor naive. Of course it had occurred to her, if only because she had feared being tortured herself.

  That had not happened, thankfully.

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Lorn.

  Which was not exactly a lie.

  ‘Perhaps you could help him,’ ventured Naé.

  ‘Help Dorsian?’

  ‘You’re on the same side. Maybe you could have him freed. Or at least make sure he has a fair trial.’

  Lorn felt the pain of his own judgement rekindle. For a brief instant, he wondered if, by alluding to an equitable trial, Naé was deliberately pressing a particularly sensitive nerve. But he dismissed the notion; Naé wasn’t that manipulative.

  ‘I’m not sure I have the power to do that,’ he temporised.

  ‘But if you had, would you do it?’

  Naé’s eyes were locked with his and he knew he could not lie. So he thought about it, and said:

  ‘Yes.’

  The young woman smiled.

  And that smile did not simply express a relief born of renewed hope. It also expressed her joy at knowing the Lorn she remembered and loved had not died in Dalroth; he was still capable of justice and compassion.

  She threw herself at him before he could react, hugging him with all her might.

  ‘Thank you,’ she murmured, her head buried in his neck. ‘Thank you …’

  Lorn didn’t know what to do.

  He awkwardly enfolded the young woman in his arms, his hands barely brushing her back. But he felt her warmth, her body against his. Disturbed by the desire he felt rising within him, he gently pushed Naé away.

  ‘It will all turn out well in the end,’ he said. ‘All right?’

  She nodded, her eyes damp.

  ‘Lock up behind me,’ he advised, showing her the bolt on the door. ‘Don’t leave here. And don’t open the door for anyone except me, understood?’

  ‘You’re leaving me?’

  ‘I’ll go and sleep with the lads, in your father’s hammock. You’ll be fine here.’

  ‘Thank you, Lorn. For everything.’

  Almost laughing, he shrugged.

  ‘Bah! We couldn’t leave you in Esteveris’s clutches, now could we?’

  He placed a kiss upon Naé’s brow and, just before leaving, he said:

  ‘And don’t forget the bolt. Until tomorrow.’

  Naé pushed the bolt home and leaned back against the door.

  Then she slowly slid down to sit on the deck, her knees folded, as she suffered alone with the memories of everything Dalk had subjected her to.

  7

  Meanwhile, Dol Sturich, still furious, had only stopped to wash his face before going to see Esteveris in his apartment. The minister was relaxing, sipping a glass of flavoured wine. A light silk robe covered his obese body, still damp from a steaming-hot bath which had turned his skin coppery. He was not wearing his rings and his plump fingers, ordinarily weighted with precious stones, seemed strangely naked.

  ‘Well, then?’ he asked in an almost mocking tone.

  In a few brief but evocative words, the captain recounted how the Onyx Guards had prevented the search of their quarters, how Lorn had asserted the authority of the High King, and how Prince Alderan had ended the dispute. Esteveris listened with a thin smile upon his lips, his eyes shining as if he were thoroughly enjoying the tale. The minister’s amusement intrigued Sturich but then started to annoy him and stoke his anger. It required an immense effort on his part to keep calm.

  Finally, no longer able to contain himself, he said:

  ‘You’re … You’re smiling?’

  ‘Indeed. Good evening, captain. That will be all …’

  Sturich retired, still bemused.

  ‘May I ask what amuses you?’ enquired Dalk, emerging from the shadows. ‘Sturich was acting on your orders. Your authority has been flout—’

  ‘I know, I know …’ Esteveris interrupted.

  The minister rose and signalled for Dalk to lend him his arm. They passed through gauzy veils stirred by a warm breeze and walked out onto the terrace, beneath a Great Nebula so bright it made the night seem grey.

  The terrace was deserted, covered by sections of light cloth that formed a long canopy leading to a railing against which they leaned. It overlooked thin air, far
from any eavesdroppers. Moreover, the dull roar rising from the river covered the sound of their voices, as long as they did not speak too loudly.

  ‘How do you think the blacksmith learned we were holding his daughter?’ asked Esteveris.

  ‘That was your doing?’ Dalk exclaimed. ‘But why?’

  ‘Because the girl was ultimately of little value to us. She cannot tell us anything. And as leverage … On whom? On her father? On Lorn? They are not the sort of men to give in. At best, it would establish a link between the Citadel and the insurgents. However, from there to implicating the High King …’

  Dalk nodded with a sombre expression.

  He was forced to admit that the minister was right, but he had been proud of capturing Naé on top of the success of his mission at Angborn, and he found it galling to be told that his prize was not one, in fact. Even worse, Esteveris had deliberately let him believe that she was. As a game? Out of cruelty? Out of suspicion, or calculation?

  ‘Whereas if I arranged for the father to learn that his daughter was at my mercy, I knew that Vahrd, or Lorn, or more likely both of them, would try something. Something bold and illegal …’

  ‘But why? I mean, what … what interest is there for you?’

  ‘First, the possibility that the escape attempt would go wrong,’ Esteveris said. ‘If Lorn or one of his men were wounded and captured, the Onyx Guard would have been implicated in a scandal that would have led to his downfall and incriminated the High King himself. But that’s not all. Suppose, just suppose Lorn had been killed during the operation …’

  Esteveris let his sentence trail off with a dreamy air, before gathering his wits and resuming:

  ‘Bah! The main thing is that it went just as I had imagined.’

  ‘So you knew that …’

  The minister shrugged.

  ‘Of course I knew Lorn would fly to Naéris’s rescue, I knew that the only place he could hide her was aboard the Princes’ Ship, I knew that the Onyx Guards would oppose any search of their quarters, and lastly, I knew that Prince Yrdel and Prince Alan would be forced to take sides.’

  ‘It was Prince Alderan who intervened.’