Eternal Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “So I'm a prisoner now?” Hadde asked without thinking.

  “Sir Palen is dead because you wanted to go for a ride,” the king snapped. “It is for your own safety.”

  Palen is dead because your land is sick. Hadde held the words in check. The king waved her off and she retreated to the edge of the crowd.

  From behind, Hadde heard booted feet striding the length of the Great Hall. She turned and saw Nidon. The champion wore full armor, his helm under his left arm, and his broadsword at his side. Blood spattered his clothing. Upon reaching the dais, he knelt.

  “Rise, Champion. What is your report?” Boradin said.

  “Your Majesty, the riot has been dispersed. I’ve sent the First Company of the House to assist the Guild Companies in restoring order. I have two prisoners with me.”

  “What were our losses?”

  “Five Knights of the House, Your Majesty.”

  The king’s right hand gripped his shield. “Bring in the prisoners.”

  Four knights marched through the door. Between them they dragged two men in blood-soaked white robes. Ten paces in front of the king, the warriors forced the prisoners to their knees.

  “How were they taken?” Boradin demanded.

  “Your Majesty,” Nidon said, “as you ordered, I rode with four mounted lances to investigate reports of varcolac in the vicinity of Tenomas. As we rode over the Bridge of Heroes we became aware of commotion in the city below. We saw household knights fighting in the streets and rode to their aid. Unfortunately, by the time we arrived, four had been unhorsed and murdered by the mob.

  “We charged into the crowd. Many were slain before they realized we were upon them. These two we took as prisoners as the others fled. Shortly after we charged, footmen of the Guild Companies arrived.”

  Hadde glanced from Nidon to the king. How could they be so matter-of-fact about a massacre? It seemed to mean nothing to them that scores had died.

  “Thank you, Sir Nidon.” The king turned his attention to the prisoners. Both had been roughly handled—their faces were purple and bruised and blood ran down the front of their tunics. The younger of the two shook uncontrollably, but the older appeared defiant. “What are your names?” Boradin asked.

  “Your Majesty, my name—” the scared one started.

  “Shut up!” his companion snarled. A knight struck the Returnist in the back of the head, sending him sprawling to the floor.

  “No need for that, Sir Eslon,” Boradin said. “Pull him up.” The knight grabbed the bound prisoner and forced him back to his knees.

  The king turned to the man who had started to speak and said, “Now, tell me, what is your name?”

  “Don’t tell…”

  Boradin raised his hand and the older prisoner’s body suddenly twitched. Hadde frowned as a wave of heat passed over her. The man gasped, unable to draw a breath. His eyes bulged as his flesh reddened. Blisters appeared on his skin and Hadde nearly gagged at the odor of burnt flesh. The audience of nobles stood silently and watched as he fell thrashing to his side. Even Morin looked on without emotion.

  “Stop it! You’re killing him!” Hadde shouted.

  “Silence,” the queen hissed. “He deserves no less.”

  “My lungs!” The returnist howled in pain as he clutched at his chest.

  Nidon’s sword flashed from its scabbard and before Hadde could blink, the champion ran the returnist through. He gasped once and fell to the floor.

  Boradin stared at Nidon for a moment, but Hadde couldn’t read the king’s expression. Was it anger? Nidon appeared not to notice as he wiped his sword clean on the returnists robe.

  “Your friend is unwise,” Boradin said to the remaining prisoner. The king’s breath came heavy and sweat stood out on his brow. I’ve no patience for his behavior. Now, tell me your name.”

  Hadde looked from the prisoner to Boradin. He had just killed a man for refusing to talk. And the death meant nothing to him. What kind of man was this king?

  “Speak!” Boradin commanded. Nidon grabbed the prisoner by his hair and forced him to look at the king. Even though the Returnist faced the king, his eyes were locked on his dead companion.

  “Do you think you can pay attention now?” Boradin asked.

  The prisoner quivered. A dark stain spread across his crotch and down his leg. “Y—Your Majesty, my name is D—Dulen. I’m a journeyman carpenter.”

  “Journeyman Dulen, you are a Returnist?”

  “I am,” he said, looking at the king’s feet.

  “Journeyman Dulen, why did the Returnists lay hands on my knights and the ambassador from Arossa?”

  “It—it wasn’t my idea, Your Majesty. I just went along to watch.”

  “Of course you did,” Boradin replied, his voice more gentle. “But why was it done? I’ve not moved against the Returnists. Before today you’ve been peaceful and loyal subjects. And we share the same ultimate goal. I, too, wish for the Orb’s return. Why have you turned on me?”

  “Forgive me, Your Majesty.” Dulen started to cry.

  “Now there, there’s no reason for that. Tell us, why did you attack?”

  Dulen looked desperately at the people gathered around him. “We had a Gathering this morning, Your Majesty. Our leaders spoke to us and told us that the Messenger wasn’t pleased.”

  “Who is this Messenger?”

  “He’s a divine creature sent by the Orb of Creation to instruct us. He speaks to our leaders and gives them the blessed message of the Holy Orb.”

  Hadde touched her pendant. What if the Returnists were right? What if the Orb were about to be restored to the world? She wished Landomere had spoken to her and told her what her part in all this was.

  “Who is the Messenger? What is his name?” Boradin asked.

  Dulen shook his head. “I’m sorry, Your Majesty. I’m not one of the worthy. I’ve never seen the Messenger.”

  “Dulen, was it the Messenger who asked you to attack my knights?”

  “No, Your Majesty. Our leader said the Messenger told him the Orb wouldn’t return until we had purified ourselves. He said our society is corrupt and that we must heal it in order to for the Orb to return.”

  “Corrupt? How?”

  The man swallowed and looked around. “The nobility is corrupt and the Orb is withholding its grace from us because of them.”

  “And so the Messenger urged you to attack nobles?”

  “No, Your Highness. But during the Gathering some of the faithful had become impassioned.” He sobbed. “We’re so hungry, Your Highness. Half of winter and we’re so hungry. We saw those nobles and the Idorian and the crowd became enraged. Please, we’re hungry and the nobles eat so well. And it’s their fault the Orb won’t return. Their impurity brought the Wasting upon us.

  “That knight… when he rode into the crowd and struck one of us with his sword, it was too much to bear. Someone yelled out to kill him. That’s when the fighting started.”

  King Boradin steepled his fingertips and nodded. “I’ve heard enough.” He turned to Eslon. “Lock him up.” The knights dragged both the prisoner and the corpse from the chamber.

  “Your Majesty, if I may?” A richly dressed man stepped to the front of the crowd.

  Hadde gaped at the man. Despite his size, she hadn't noticed him in the crowd. He was immensely fat. His meals would feed a dozen Landomeri, she thought.

  Boradin nodded in his direction. “Guild Speaker Felden, what can you add?”

  “Your Majesty, the Guild Masters have become concerned with the rising membership of the Returnists. Many of the apprentices and journeymen of the Upper City Guilds are now joining the cult. It has become a plague in the Lower City. There are renewed rumors of a Returnist boycott. In the past it was no great concern, but their numbers have been growing.”

  Orlos started to speak, but his words collapsed into a fit of coughing. The king went to him, waving a guard closer. “This is too much for him. Take him to his chamber.” Boradin turned t
o a nearby noble. “Call for the surgeons.”

  The guard easily lifted Orlos, and carried him from the room. Hadde could still hear the ancient spiridus coughing as they disappeared down the hall. “May I go with him?” she asked. She didn't know what she could do, but she felt she had to be with him.

  “No,” Boradin said. “You'll stay here. Orlos must rest.”

  “I want to help him,” she started from the room when a gust of wind suddenly struck her chest, knocking her back and taking the breath from her. Eyes wide with fear she looked to the king.

  “You will attend me,” Boradin said as he lowered his hand. “Or must I order Sir Nidon to hold you here?"

  “I will stay, Your Majesty,” she said, catching her breath. She returned to her place, but the nearby nobles shuffled a few strides from her. Awkwardly alone, she glanced up to see Morin looking at her. He gave her a reassuring smile and a slight wave of his hand that told her to stay calm.

  “What do they wish to accomplish with a boycott, Guild Speaker?” asked the queen.

  “Many Masters have forbidden their apprentices and journeymen from becoming Returnists, Your Highness. The Returnists would like to see these restrictions removed in order to gain more recruits in the guilds. They also wish us to reduce prices for commoners while raising prices for the nobles.”

  “This is absurd,” Queen Ilana cried out. “Kill them! Just kill them and the problem will be done with.”

  The vicious snarl took Hadde by surprise. There was no doubt that the queen meant every word. Hadde understood having anger toward one’s enemies—there was no love lost between the Landomeri and the Kiremi. But this was different. It was anger towards one’s own. It was passionate hatred.

  “Your Highness,” Felden responded, “It isn’t that easy. The Returnists have become popular. An attack could spark a revolt that could ruin many guilds and cost a fortune in gold.”

  “Guildsmen! Gold is all you care about,” Ilana said. “We should take these Returnist leaders and put their heads on pikes throughout the city. That will teach them their place. That will teach them to obey.” The queen stood, her face red with anger.

  Hadde wondered at the deep well of anger that filled the queen. She was as bitter as any person Hadde had ever met. It stunned her that anyone could speak so casually about having people killed just to make a point.

  “I must retire to my chambers,” Ilana said. She glanced at the Guild Speaker and then at her husband. “I’m suddenly feeling quite ill.” The assembled nobles bowed as she started for the door.

  “Sir Nidon, please escort the queen,” Boradin commanded. The knight nodded and followed Ilana as she departed.

  Morin cleared his throat. “The Wasting, the scourge of the varcolac, the rise of the Returnists and the Messenger, the arrival of Hadde and her Spiridus Token, these are all signs.” His gaze wandered over the audience. “Not only does the Orb of Creation exist, but the power of its wielder is rising. We do not have much time left.”

  “Obvious, but true none the less,” Boradin replied. “Everything is meaningless except for the return of the Orb to its rightful hands. If I can find the Orb, all damage can be undone. Famine, revolt, plague, none of it matters. They will all end.”

  “And what will you do if the Orb does not return?” Morin asked. “What if it doesn’t show up at the front gate and present itself to you?”

  Boradin glared at his brother. “I’m not simply awaiting its return, as you well know.”

  “You do nothing but read the Ancients in hopes they will deliver it to you,” Morin scoffed.

  “And how do you help? You run off to adventure in the Three Duchies and kill Tysk barbarians, or hold archery tournaments. In the long term, you do nothing for us.”

  “And what have you accomplished? At least when I fight, Salador is preserved, the Wasting is held off, and hope is kept alive.”

  “This is why I give you permission to go off on your adventures. It preserves me from distraction.” Boradin dismissed his brother with a wave of his hand.

  “I never asked for your permission.”

  “You grow too bold, Brother.”

  “Will you roast me as well?”

  “Maybe I should have. A long time ago.”

  Hadde shrank back from the angry exchange between the two brothers. She didn’t know who was in the right, and felt horribly out of place amongst the powerful nobles. A thought struck her; was Morin an elementar as well? Who would be victorious in a contest between the two brothers?

  Morin must have seen her move, and looked in her direction. His face was flushed with anger, but she thought she could see merriment in his eyes.

  “Do you have the fire, brother?” Morin asked. “Do you?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Are you ready to learn to wield a sword?” Morin asked.

  “I can’t imagine having much use for one,” Hadde replied. She unstrung Hawkeye and laid it by the gymnasium entrance. Each day for three days she had spent her mornings teaching Morin archery. He was an enthusiastic student and, unlike other Saladoran men, truly respected her. There were no derogatory comments about womanly weakness or innate inferiority. Instead there was praise of her strength and skill.

  The afternoons and evenings with Maret and the other maidens were slow torture. Hadde didn’t know how much more gossip and sewing she could take. It wasn't the sewing that bothered her—she did it often enough at home. So while the maidens worked on dresses Hadde sewed clothes for her parents. The Saladoran wool and linen were as fine as Hadde had ever worked with. By spring she could have clothes for all Long Meadow. By spring. The thought depressed her. Would the king even let her leave then?

  More and more the Great Keep felt like a prison. And always there were thoughts of home nagging at her. She could escape, she thought. It wasn’t as if she was under close guard. But what good would it do to return home empty-handed? And there was Morin. He had promised her aid.

  “Let a sword lesson be some repayment for your archery lessons.” He pulled arrows from his target and placed them in a large basket.

  “That isn’t necessary. In any case, you’ve already aided me. You saved me the day I appeared before the king in the Great Hall. What I really want....”

  “What is it? My kingdom is at your feet,” he said as he gave her a silly bow.

  “You've already done a lot for me, and I hate to ask for more. But I would really like to see Orlos. I send notes to the king every day asking for permission, but there is never a response.”

  “Orlos isn't well,” Morin said. “My brother fears doing anything that will tire him.”

  “I have to see him. He's the last spiridus.”

  “I'll see what I can do. But for now, let me give you a sword lesson.”

  “But I have my bow. And my knife if I need it.” She patted her hip where her knife usually rested.

  Morin laughed. “Forget something?”

  Hadde reddened. “I always have it with me at home. I've grown lazy living in this keep.”

  “Your dagger is too short to take on a long blade. And your bow won't always be of use. What if it’s pouring rain? What if a fierce wind is blowing? What if you’re out of arrows? You can’t always choose the circumstances of your battle.” He picked out two wooden training swords.

  “I’ve only been in one major battle,” Hadde said. “No one got close enough to swing a sword. It was entirely decided by archery.” She touched her head. “Although a varcolac once did do his best to brain me.”

  “Well, I’ve been in dozens of battles and swords were swung in every one of them.” He gave a sword to her and crouched in a fighting stance. “This is how you hold the sword at the ready. Keep the point facing your enemy’s throat. Now, you do it.”

  Hadde quickly lost track of time as Morin led her through the sword lesson. After teaching her several basic cuts and parries, he demonstrated practice patterns and exercises. “Good! Very good, Hadde. Enough?”

&nb
sp; “No.” She smiled. “I’m enjoying this.” In fact she would gladly spend the entire day with him. Not only was he handsome and intelligent, but also, like Hadde, he didn’t settle for half measures. He wanted to be the best in all he attempted. He had a passion about everything he did. And, she admitted, it made her happy that his passion for both teaching and learning centered on her.

  “Very well,” he said. “One last activity. Face me and we’ll do the same patterns, but this time sword against sword.”

  “Am I ready for that?”

  “Here.” He led her to the wall and pulled down a padded aketon. “Just in case.”

  She took off her heavy hunting tunic and pulled on the aketon. As she finished, Morin placed a skullcap on her head.

  “There, the shortest, prettiest knight I’ve ever seen.” He paused. “What’s wrong? Did I say something wrong? Your face—”

  “No, I’m sorry. Your words reminded me of something a friend of mine once said.” She thought back to when Belor had teased her about being a short, skinny, Saladoran knight in her uncle Segreg’s smithy. “Beware, Sir Hadde,” she said as she forced a smile.

  Morin laughed with her. It was a pure laugh. One that hid nothing. One that told her he enjoyed her company as much as she did his. The thought caused a twinge of guilt to twist in her.

  “Let’s begin,” Morin said. “Take your training ready stance.”

  “Are you going to put on a helm?”

  “You won’t hit me. Pattern one—begin.”

  They went through the exercises slowly at first, gaining speed with each evolution. It wasn’t long before Hadde was soaked with sweat. She didn’t care. The challenge and the thrill were worth the discomfort.

  Morin stopped. “Why are you grinning like that?”

  “I’m enjoying this. You’re very good, Prince Morin. You haven’t made a mistake yet.”

  “And you’re as good a student as you’re a teacher, Ambassador Hadde of Landomere.” He gave her a curt bow. “Have you had enough? Here, I’ll take your sword and helm.”

  “Thank you.” She handed him the gear. “Who's the finest swordsman in Salador?” she asked, curious.