‘Over there.’ Jhonan pointed. ‘In the shadow of the hero-temple.’
Divine Chrestos stood enormous in white stone, presiding over the gardens. One hand was at his chin while another was tipped towards his tiny genitals. Daimonia craned her neck to look at the godly statue. To the girl his wide-open smile seemed unashamedly lecherous, unrestrained in its ebullient lust. Beyond his towering form the clouds looked like waves viewed from beneath the ocean.
At the statue’s base a maxim was inscribed in stone. In carefully chiselled letters it read WHO IS CHRESTOS?
‘What does it mean?’ Daimonia asked as they approached. ‘The inscription.’
‘Eh? It’s some kind of challenge to men. I don’t know. Do I look like a philosopher?’
‘I’m not sure what that is.’
‘Someone worried about truth,’ Jhonan replied with annoyance in his voice. ‘Questioning every little thing all the time.’
Beneath the statue they came upon a well-protected garden patrolled by militants and knights alike. Daimonia counted ten fighters standing sentry; some of them were veterans missing a hand or eye.
The garden was adorned with living ornaments. Men were entrapped in thin cages, so restrictive that only standing was possible. Some prisoners had discovered ways to relax into this confinement, adopting strange postures to relieve their own weight. Others clung to their bars with livid intensity, spitting obscenities at all who met their stare.
Splendidly attired nobles wandered around the captured men, frittering away the afternoon with chatter. Occasionally they would stop to comment on an especially notorious or interesting prisoner before resuming their own concerns.
A solitary knight stood, confined but upright, in his own cage. The crude incarceration had not tempered his pride. As nobles approached, he returned their stares with a look of searing scrutiny, as if they were grotesque oddities within his court. Young masters and their ladies turned away in disquiet, somehow shamed by the unbroken youth.
‘Nik!’ Daimonia called, rushing to her brother. ‘Niklos!’
The startled knight turned to his sister, his expression losing all restraint. ‘Oh, Daimonia! Why have you come here?’ Niklos tried in vain to squeeze himself through the cage. ‘It breaks my heart to see you.’ His voice was musical with feeling.
Daimonia touched his face tenderly through the bars. ‘Don’t be sad,’ she consoled. ‘We’re here to rescue you.’
‘Rescue?’ Jhonan interrupted. He made the sign of silence with his finger.
Niklos’ expression tightened. ‘Why are you here, old man?’
‘Why?’ Jhonan looked uneasily at the surrounding guards before meeting Niklos’ stare. Already they were attracting looks of suspicion. ‘I’m here because your sister demanded it. But mostly to see for myself what you have become.’
‘Then enjoy it!’ Niklos challenged. ‘You told me I was nothing. Those were your exact words. And here I am. Nothing. Just as you expected.’
Jhonan leaned away, blinking. There was the merest glimmer of pain before he retorted, ‘The Niklos I knew was a weak boy, masking fear with arrogance. Is that boy here now?’
‘Come closer and find out!’
‘Enough!’ Daimonia stepped between them. ‘I’ve had a lifetime of your bickering! We are all of the same blood. Old Vornir blood, the descendants of wolves. People once feared our name, yet it seems our family has no other pursuit than to wound each other.’
‘Perhaps I was born wounded.’ Niklos continued to pity himself. ‘Do you know why I’m here? They say I’m a murderer. And worse than that, a traitor.’ Niklos wore a pained smile as he looked around the garden. ‘And now I’m a curiosity for the amusement of these maggots.’
‘You’re no murderer!’ Daimonia protested. ‘You’re the gentlest person I’ve ever known.’
‘I’m guilty of both charges. I killed a Seidhr not a mile from where we are standing. Stabbed her to death in the streets.’
‘But why, Nik?’ Daimonia’s dark scowl was not unlike Jhonan’s. ‘Why would you do such a thing?’
The clouds beyond the Chrestos statue were darkening, congealing into a beggar’s cloak around the deity’s throat.
‘Stay awhile and I will share my confession.’
Confession
‘Stealing children and fighting women were not what I anticipated as a boy dreaming of knighthood,’ Niklos began bitterly. He strained against the bars as if memory might release him.
‘Do you remember our mother’s initiation as a Knight of the Accord?’ he asked Daimonia. ‘We were at the Exalt Temple in Kraljevic, a place I will never forget. I remember feeling awed by the authority of those colossal walls and towering steeples, fascinated by the great archways and tiny doors leading to mysterious places.’
‘I remember too.’ Daimonia laughed sadly. ‘I can still picture the High Adjurator wreathed in gleaming treasure while the workers swept the floor around him!’
‘Yes.’ Niklos smiled. ‘You and I sat beside a row of armoured knights and I was curiously admiring the rings of their armour. One of the knights saw me staring and loaned me his gauntlet to play with. I could put both my fists inside that metal glove!
‘The ceremony began and all the new Accord Knights marched in proudly. There was our mother, Lady Catherine Vornir, joining hands with Prince Moranion! The music and ceremony were like a rousing hymn to my spirit. I was peeking into a more exciting life that I wanted to be part of. My heart felt such conviction that it might have been my own initiation.
‘When my own day finally came, it surpassed my expectations. I remember donning this mail for the first time and relishing its assuring weight. I felt incredible, like an unkillable thing of bone and metal. The armour changed the way I stood, the way I walked and held myself. But even that was nothing to the experience of dressing in the tabard of the Accord. I had become part of a long line of champions, already sharing in their honour. And the sword–’
‘What vanity!’ Jhonan’s laughter disturbed the whole garden. ‘In all my years I have never heard such vain boasting!’
‘You may call it that, but for me it was closer to innocence.’ Niklos’ unguarded expression retreated into a shielded frown.
‘Confusing your garments for personal merit? That smells more like arrogance to me.’
‘Grandfather, please,’ Daimonia interceded. ‘Let him speak.’
‘Perhaps you never knew it, old man, as no one counts you as a friend. The feeling of camaraderie, leaving the barracks with those you have trained with. The surety of the horse; the shy smiles of pretty girls in the street.’
‘I’ve raised a poet instead of a warrior.’ Jhonan made the sign of a man pleasing himself.
Passing nobles tutted at Jhonan’s uncouth behaviour, but Daimonia glimpsed panic hiding behind her grandfather’s bluster. She had seen this vulnerability before, when her mother had left Jhonan to raise her children alone.
‘My illusions were short lived,’ Niklos conceded. ‘I had hoped to join our mother in Khorgov but was posted here to Leechfinger. Not so very far from home and an unglamorous placement that had other knights scoffing at my misfortune.’
‘You wanted to be far away?’ Daimonia wondered.
‘I wanted something equal to my own feeling. An opportunity that could live up to the passion I would bring to it.’
‘And did you find it?’
‘No. The Leechfinger Accord Knights immediately held me in contempt because of my inexperience and enthusiasm. They told me I was arrogant and lacked humility, whereas I found them idle and dull. They wouldn’t do a single thing without being compelled. On my very first night they sent me out alone, to support the city militants on their evening patrol.’
‘I wish I could have seen that!’ Jhonan revelled. ‘I bet the scrappers and drunkards of Leechfinger enjoyed our pretty Nik!’
‘The militants found me amusing,’ Niklos admitted. ‘They were older men, whereas I was not much more than
a shivering boy. They were also very drunk. Drunker even than those we would be confronting. They pulled at my hair and cheeks and made every attempt to undermine me.
‘Our patrol began and the night poured out its armies of men made monstrous by drink. There were roaring disputes over street territories, savage fights and awful crimes. Our work was to defend the estates that had paid for our protection. We fell into an ambush of spitting, kicking fighters and spent the night brawling in the gutters. In the morning my armour was caked with shit and my face was black with swollen lumps. Even so I felt a strange exhilaration as I explored my missing teeth and bruises. It hurt like bloody Thalatte, but the city had initiated me in its own way.
‘The very next night my fortune changed entirely, or so I thought. I was given the prestigious honour of accompanying Baron Leechfinger on his travels around the city. I joined a group of veteran knights who were the baron’s personal guards. We waited for ages in a luxurious carpeted chamber for the baron to prepare, watching his children weave baskets for the cat-burning festival. The baron finally arrived, wearing the full regalia of his office, and greeted each knight very warmly as if we were all comrades and equals.
‘Our journey was to a half-timbered house full of young maidens. I can still picture the tentative smiles on their scabby lips. As he had done with the knights, Baron Leechfinger greeted each of the girls and was especially charming and gracious. Afterwards he retired to a room with several of the young women in his company.
‘I asked the other knights what was to be done now, a question that provoked great hilarity among them. As grunts and sighs filled the air, they covered their mouths with their hands, chuckling at my embarrassment.
‘A procession of privileged nobles penetrated the scene. They arrived muttering to each other as they removed feathered hats and cloaks. They too were there to enjoy the girls forced by poverty.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I did nothing. I took my lead from the other knights and colluded with everything, one dismal day after another.’
‘How miserable,’ Daimonia commiserated. ‘I would’ve wanted to burn the place down.’
‘It’s a frightening thing, Dai. What you will go along with if no one else speaks out. And things became much worse when I was assigned to support the Benevolent Sisters of the Seidhr Order. I arrived at the Seidhr Halls, already slightly less the man than I had been months before. These chambers were full of busy women, crying babies and raucous children. They had adapted the imagery of Great Mother Cerenox in their tapestries and sculpture. The symbol of a huge pair of hands cupping a tiny baby recurred, sometimes reinterpreted as a protective fist with the child within.
‘The Seidhr workers were faceless, each hiding their beauty behind a reflective mask. Their robes were long and modest. Only their hair allowed for vanity, often tied in elaborate plaits and patterns.
‘Here I was introduced to Sister Osmanna, a fervent Seidhr initiate whom I would be protecting as she went about her duties. When we met, she was shepherding a class of young girls through the chambers. These had been given to the Seidhr to train in their arts, fresh acolytes for the Leechfinger coven. Osmanna’s very first words to me were “I hate children!” She then began to explain all the duties of a Knight of the Accord, as if I were in need of her instruction!
‘Sister Osmanna described her own responsibilities as finding lost children and placing them in good homes. Wherever there were orphans, the Seidhr Order would intervene. I became part of a group of six knights escorting Osmanna as she carried out her duties in the shires. Even the most senior among us was subordinate to the Seidhr worker. We patrolled with a convoy of caged carriages. It was explained to me that distressed children would sometimes need to be contained and that this was for their own safety.
‘At first it seemed I had found my place. We rescued two young brothers who had been hiding since the Baoth raided their village. These boys had survived by their own cunning for weeks. They were thrilled to be travelling with knights and even bore the cages gleefully. We scared off youths who were dropping rocks on travellers. We helped a family who had lost everything to fire.
‘But something went horribly wrong. After a few weeks we had not gathered many orphans and Osmanna made the decision to remove children from their families. I know that’s not unheard of in some situations, but for the life of us we couldn’t understand the choices being made. Imagine having to fight off honest farmers as we stole away their daughters! And not just the men but literally brawling with anguished mothers as we seized their children!
‘There were fierce arguments and many hard words spoken among us. Sister Osmanna claimed she had the art of seeing what men hid in their hearts. She claimed she was rescuing these children and that anyone saying otherwise was a traitor.
‘We arrived at Leechfinger like a gang of returning kidnappers, with the captured children kicking and screaming within the wagon cells. We had not placed a single child in a new home. You should have heard their cries and seen their miserable faces coming into this disgusting place, torn away from their loving mothers.
‘Before we could even reach the Seidhr Halls, we were surrounded by men from the crassest noble houses: lavishly dressed Guldslags, greedy Likoths and fat Averites. They were vetting the prettiest children, examining teeth and hands, and remarking on who was most pleasing. Worst of all there was talk of an auction.
‘Not a single word passed between us knights as we drove the wagons through the back streets. Each man drew his dagger and plunged it into the Seidhr. I have never heard such screams or seen such determination to survive, but we stuck her till she was dead.’
‘You might have raised a grievance, as was your right,’ Jhonan grumbled.
‘A grievance?’ Niklos was exasperated, clenching the bars with trembling fists. ‘Have you listened to one word, old man? The Accord equates virtue with rank. Only a fool would pit lowly knights against Seidhr workers and lords in a court!’
‘Look what you’ve accomplished.’ Jhonan gestured to the cages. ‘You’ve killed yourself! You’ve shamed your name!’ He leaned menacingly close. ‘My name has been shamed!’
‘Enjoy it,’ Niklos snapped back. ‘You said I’d come to nothing and you were right!’
‘But what happened to the children?’ Daimonia demanded.
‘We separated and returned the children to their homes. I just had escorted a sweet girl back to her family when I came to find you in Jaromir. I thought that would be the last time I ever looked upon your face. The baron’s men caught up with me that same evening.’
Daimonia felt as if she would burst. ‘What you did was courageous!’ She shot a disdainful glance at Jhonan. ‘They acted out of expediency, for the children!’
‘Perhaps so, but the Accord will now be obeyed.’ Jhonan pulled at his beard-rings. ‘Nik has two choices: either trial by combat against an Executioner Knight or else a trial of words and the judgement of the Lawspeaker.’
‘Can’t you fight for him, Grandfather?’
‘A knight must stand for himself.’ Jhonan shook his head. ‘But this boy has no chance against the Executioners. They are gladiators who excel at slaughtering other knights. Niklos would make a fine plaything for any one of them.’
‘And yet I have decided to fight,’ Niklos revealed.
‘Don’t be foolish.’ Jhonan lowered his voice. ‘You were both tutored, taught to read and write, to learn the Accord and the histories. Your mother insisted on that at least.’ He leaned close to the bars, spitting instruction through his beard. ‘Your arena is reason and argument, not axes and swords. Chrestos curse me for not admitting it sooner. You must take the trial of words.’
‘If I die, then I die,’ Niklos declared. ‘But a Lawspeaker has the power to damn me to Archonia. Only a fool would gamble with that prospect! No, freedom must be won by the sword.’
The Meat Pit
‘The Meat Pit,’ Jhonan snarled. ‘This is no place for a Vornir t
o die.’
They stood by the arena’s edge, Daimonia squashed against her grandfather’s chest as he put his arms about her protectively. They were swamped by a mob of excited peasants, all desperate to get the best view of the forthcoming bloodshed. Those able to get closest hung tightly to the inner wall, unwilling to be pried off lest they surrender their advantageous view.
The Meat Pit was an oval amphitheatre filled with sand, small rocks and fragments of bone. From opposite sides portcullis gates stood ready to admit the condemned. Tusks protruded along the filthy walls, cruelly placed to threaten throats and buttocks. Ascending tiers of seating rose gradually to the royal circle reserved for the highest nobility.
Enormous animal-skin drums were situated above either end of the pit. Burly Afreyan musicians struck the drums with giant sticks, producing a rhythm that matched Daimonia’s galloping heart. Visoth long-horns, tall as horses, blew deep notes from their serpentine lungs. The music was bold and primal like the war song of a vengeful warrior. Children laughed, women shrieked and men thumped each other and even themselves. The cumulative impression was of impending catastrophic doom.
The malevolent anthem climaxed in the arrival of a tall figure standing in the highest tier and making the sign of the victor with his thumb and fist. Like everyone, Daimonia found herself drawn to the sight, scrutinising the man she had already decided to loathe. Baron Volk Leechfinger had the body of a once mighty warrior, long since enlarged by food and wine. There was so much of him that his embroidered toga could have clothed two or three lesser men. His scalp and beard were completely shaved, accentuating the prettiness of his eyes, which were painted black and crowned with long curling lashes. His style and proportions gave him grandeur, but his face was too animated to ever be considered wholesome. Not a moment passed without his lewd expression evolving into even more carnal and suggestive forms.
The baron waved to the baying crowd, surveying their excitement and meeting it with a rapacious smile. Seeming to orchestrate their cheers, he hooked the attention of the entire gathering and ultimately their silence. Thus gratified, he sat himself in the luxurious royal box, surrounded by an entourage of politicians and other creatures.
The Way Knight: A Tale of Revenge and Revolution Page 3
