A smile crept upon the boy’s face.
“What are you smiling at?” he inquired, shocked at the youth’s apparent lack of concern for what he was trying to say.
“Forgive me Sir, but as you pointed out, you are not that much older than me,” the boy smirked, as he started using the rag on Tristan’s chest.
He took the wash towel from the boy. “I can do this part myself, thank you very much. What I’m trying to say is, I’ve already lost people over the last couple of weeks, and I don’t want to be responsible for your death as well. This isn’t a game.”
“I get that,” the squire nodded. “Yet, where you go, I go. Whatever dangers you face, I’ll be by your side, ready to serve as needed.”
The boy’s determination was astounding, the conviction behind the words hard for Tristan to argue against; still, he had to try. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You haven’t seen the things I’ve seen, not had to stand there and watch as one of your friends die, and I don’t want to be the one that introduces that kind of horror into your life.”
“Excuse me Sir, but if you’d like a different squire, you’ll have to speak to the King himself,” the youth replied, pulling Tristan to his feet and handing him a towel.
“A different squire? You are totally missing the point I’m trying to make,” he growled.
The boy shook his head, “No I don’t think I am. If you think me young and inexperienced, you’d be mistaken. I have spent my life since I was able to walk and talk training to be a knight like you one day. My former master was at the battle of Lancaster and I’ve had word that he died defending your home. The King thought that pairing me with you would help assuage the grief I’ve been feeling at his loss. But as I said, if you are not comfortable—
He raised his hand and interrupted what the boy was about to say. The news of the knight’s death shocked him and he couldn’t think of how to proceed without causing more pain than was already evident in the boy’s face.
He sighed, giving in. “What’s your name? I’m not going to call you squire.”
Having been dried off, the boy was handing him fresh clothing, and he pulled the offered pair of pants on. “Derek, Sir,” the young elf responded, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.
“Okay, Derek, where is my fiancé?” He stood still as Derek began strapping the armor his father had made for him into place.
“In the Great Hall with the King, who has to be wondering where we’ve gotten off to,” the elf observed as he slid the pauldrons onto Tristan’s shoulders. “You know, this is lighter than it looks.”
He forced a smile. “That it is.”
As he pulled on his gauntlets, Derek brought his sword over and strapped it around his waist. “We should get going.”
Though the bath had rejuvenated him somewhat, he found he was still sore as he took a step forward and followed his “squire” out the bedroom door. They took a right and as he walked, he began to feel more in control of his strained limbs. Moving about was increasing his flexibility and he craned his neck to the side in an effort to loosen the tension building at the base of his neck.
They approached a large set of double doors with two knights stationed on either side. The knights nodded their heads and each grabbed a handle and gave a measured heave on the awaiting mahogany doors. His breath caught as he beheld what was waiting for him beyond.
There was a very large table in the center of the room surrounded by a multitude of chairs. Each were exactly the same height and there was a knight standing behind each one, eyes trained on him. More knights stood on both sides and their rigid pose made his stomach bubble over with nervous energy. There were a few empty seats, he noticed, as he made his way forward, and he knew that those that inhabited them were even now marching from his home back to Forlorn, something Erik’s aide had informed him of during dinner the night before.
John was on his way here. What would he think of all of this?
To the left stood the Elven King, his armor strapped to his body, his eyes penetrating as they looked Tristan over. As if he were an old friend, Erik broke out into a warm smile and gestured for them to approach. Amysta stood behind and to the left of the King, while his fiancé was standing on the right.
Willow was wearing a light blue dress, her hair down and pulled back behind her ears. Upon her head was a small golden crown, and he knew from the Queen’s smile that Amysta had furnished his fiancé with attire for the occasion. They hadn’t need such clothing while on the road; neither one had seen the need for finery in their near future. Willow’s hand was on her enlarged waist, a smile upon her face as she watched him approach.
He stood five feet from the King and raised his hands to remove his helm. Derek dropped to a knee at his side, and Tristan moved to do the same. Bowing before the Elven King, his heart hammered in his chest, his pulse supplying an overabundance of oxygen to his brain and causing light headedness to sweep over him. He was forced to slow his breathing and try to calm himself, but the effort was wasted as he was too hollowed out to regain control.
“Knights of the Realm, in recognition of his courage and valor during recent trying events, Tristan, son of Constantine, has proven himself worthy of being accepted into our brotherhood,” Erik’s booming voice proclaimed, addressing the crowd behind him. Unsheathing his sword, the King held it forth so all could witness its presence and beauty. “Through the enemy lines and after many sacrifices, including that of his father, my friend, King Constantine of Lancaster, Tristan pushed south with one single-minded goal; retrieving Excalibur in order to save my life and those of us all! Behold Excalibur, sword of Kings, carried into battle and used to preserve peace by my ancient ancestors. Created when the world was young in order to unite every soul under one banner of peace. It has been returned to the world by the strength and courage of this young man and his companions. They have renewed our hopes and dreams of a world devoid forever of the Phoenix’s evil.”
A roar rose from all those assembled and he almost felt a tear start to form. He fought it back, not wanting to appear weak before the other knights, but the King’s speech was effecting him even more due to his tired state.
“Is there any among you that doubt this young man’s worthiness, if so, please step forward and speak your peace,” Erik commanded and the room went utterly still.
He fought the urge to raise his hand.
Erik smiled down upon him as if reading his mind and took a step forward, blade lowered so that Tristan could see his own reflection within its polished surface. “As it is with us all, we ourselves never feel worthy and that is a testament to the character that lies within. I, Erik of Forlorn, King of the Elves, leader of the Knights of the Realm, can stand before you today because of your courage and strength of heart.”
“Do you welcome Tristan of Lancaster into our brotherhood?” Erik asked the assembled knights, and they all began shouting loud enough that Tristan felt the ground thunder beneath his bent knee.
The King looked him straight into the eyes. “Now repeat after me. I, Tristan of Lancaster, will develop my life for the greater good. I will place character above riches, and concern for others above personal wealth, I will never boast, but cherish humility instead, I will speak the truth at all times, and forever keep my word, I will defend those who cannot defend themselves, I will honor and respect women, and refute sexism in all its guises, I will uphold justice by being fair to all, I will be faithful in love and loyal in friendship, I will abhor scandals and gossip-neither partake nor delight in them, I will be generous to the poor and to those who need help, I will forgive when asked, that my own mistakes will be forgiven, I will live my life with courtesy and honor from this day forward.”
As he repeated it back, he felt an echo within his soul, and he didn’t need to recall the words as his heart knew every line, as if spoken repeatedly his entire life.
Erik grinned as the oath was finished and laid Excalibur upon Tristan’s left
shoulder, then moved to his right. “I knight thee Sir Tristan of Lancaster, Knight of the Realm. Rise and greet your brothers-in-arms with the love and honor that rite deserves.”
He rose to his feet and an uproar shook the hall as the knights all broke out into a deep throated cheer. Willow smiled at him as Erik moved forward and took Tristan’s arm by the elbow. “Welcome back to the brotherhood my brother,” the King whispered and his soul rejoiced with every word.
He turned to greet the onrush of knights stepping forth to greet him as one of their own and for the first time in his life, he felt a part of something rather than a shadow watching from the crowd.
He was a Knight of the Realm.
II
Nothing remained of Morael, one of the larger human settlements north of the western forests. Scorched earth marked where bodies had been burned and as Kylee moved through the charred ruins, she could pick up no scent that any had survived the massacre that had occurred there. Tuskar moved quietly by her side and she knew that he hadn’t picked up anything either.
“Thes wasn’t th’ wark ay goblins,” Riska commented, drawing attention of the large warrior eyeing the destruction to the dwarf’s rear.
“Jackyls,” Kore stated, his red eyes fixed on the level of violence displayed around them.
Kylee had known when she first laid eyes on the city that it hadn’t been goblins; they would have eaten the dead, not burned them. Still, her mind had gone in the direction of orcs not jackyls. “How do you know this wasn’t an orc raiding party?”
“No head on pikes,” Kore replied in a flat tone, as if telling her something she should have already known.
And maybe she should’ve, but her mind was still reeling from the sight of the town around her and she hadn’t paid as much attention as she should have.
“They may be back,” Reyna told him firmly, eyes on the southern horizon. As a former commander of the Phoenix’s forces, she was well advised on their tactics and abilities.
Merlin and Melissa walked into view from behind a burnt building, Bleak perched on Melissa’s shoulder as he surveyed the damage as well.
“Not today,” Merlin informed them, his face grim. “They have returned back to the Deadlands to rejoin the main force preparing to march on Forlorn. We must not tarry if we are going to stay ahead of them.”
“I thought that you wanted to gauge their numbers?” Kylee asked the mage, confused as that was the reason they had journeyed this far north to begin with.
Merlin shook his head. “That was the plan when we were trying to divert the Phoenix’s focus away from Tristan and Willow, but now that Excalibur is in Erik’s hands, she is well aware of where the sword is; making our effort a pointless exercise. The numbers matter not, for whatever they are, we will have no choice but to fight. All we can do is try to get there early and help them prepare for the massive hordes about to descend upon the elven kingdom.”
“'Ey dwarf, got sum more Grog?” the brownie suddenly piped in and she shook her head with disapproval.
As much as the sight of things around her disgusted her, it wasn’t the time to dull the senses. The enemy could be descending upon them any moment and her nerves were fired up in anticipation. Regardless of what Merlin said, she wouldn’t be able to relax until this carnage was far to their rear.
“Kylee, take Riska and scout north, we’ll head northeast and catch up to you at sundown,” the mage ordered and she nodded her head, took one last glance at the ruined city, and climbed upon her awaiting mount.
Riska did the same, a big grin upon his face.
“What are you smiling at?” she sneered as they began riding forward.
“Hink yer cuddie can keep up?” the dwarf asked, patting the neck of the cougar beneath him. “Wooldn’t want ye tae slaw me doon.”
“That won’t be a problem, my horse isn’t laden with a large overweight dwarf,” she chuckled back. Although they were essentially leaving a graveyard behind, it felt good to laugh; as if trying to push some light into their day.
“If ye hin’ I’m big, ye shoods see mah coosin,” Riska snickered. “These coogars ur bred frae birth tae handle th' stootest ay uir race fully armored.”
She shook her head and smiled. “Let’s find out, shall we?” She kicked her horse’s flanks and leapt forward, Tuskar racing by her side as they steered north and into the grasslands beyond.
III
“Pendoran didn’t look pleased when you took a seat by Erik’s side. I saw him glaring at you throughout the dinner, as if evaluating your newfound status with his King,” Willow observed as they entered their chambers.
“Sir Pendoran is a great night, my Lady,” Derek spoke up as he followed after. “He has fought valiantly by our King’s side through many battles and has proven himself worthy as commander of the King’s knights.”
Willow looked over her shoulder at the young boy, having forgotten that he was there. Derek had remained silent during the evening’s festivities, and Tristan had to admit, he himself hadn’t noticed the youth’s presence either.
“I wouldn’t put any more thought into it,” he advised his fiancé, “it was probably the circumstances of our arrival that drew the extra attention. If you remember, he was against us seeing the King until we had proven our good intentions.”
She sighed. “We shouldn’t have to prove anything. Excalibur should have been proof enough, look at what it did for Erik!”
He shook his head as he shifted so Derek could begin taking off his armor. “From what I gathered, no one but the Queen, the King’s aide, and that blue haired elf, ever knew the King was even sick.”
She slid the small crown from her head and tossed it on the bed. “Why don’t we head for home tomorrow? We’ve done everything we’ve been asked to do, our part in this is over.”
“Do you truly believe that?” he asked, stunned. It was the first time he’d ever heard her waiver and it caught him off guard. “You know what’s coming. You want us to turn tail and run?”
“I want us to survive!” Willow snapped back.
“Whoa, what’s going on?” he inquired, Derek removing his pauldrons and placing it on the stand behind them.
She glared at the squire, then at him.
“Derek, I think we got it from here,” he told the youth.
“Yes Sir,” Derek said with relief, bowed his head, then retreated from their chamber; leaving them alone.
“Tristan, we have our daughter to worry about now. I don’t want to risk her life in some siege, put her in danger before she even draws her first breath. We’ve given Excalibur to Erik, which is all that we were asked to do. Nothing was said of us going any further,” she pressed, her hand falling to her stomach, stroking the curve of her waist with concern.
He took a step forward and placed his hand over hers. “You don’t think that has crossed my mind? That I don’t want to have you give birth while an enemy horde is attacking the city? I want us to be as far away from all that as we can be.”
“Then why don’t we go, right now? Just go to the stables and ride south, leave all this behind?” she gestured with her free hand, her face pleading.
“You know why,” he responded softly. She shook her head in mock confusion, but he pushed ahead anyways. “It’s not the oaths that I swore today that bind me to this place, but the knowledge that if we go now, if we turn our backs on them and they fail, we will be filled with guilt over our decision to leave, never knowing if our presence might have made a difference.”
“It’s not our responsibility! You are a Prince of Lancaster, not Forlorn, and your chief concern should be the welfare of our child, not saving the entire world!” she snapped back, a bit of spit striking him in the face and making him wince.
He reached out and put a hand on her cheek, his thumb wiping away the tear making its way down her face. “Listen to what you just said. I know you better than to believe you truly believe that.”
“Apparently not well enough,” she snapped as s
he broke away and walked towards the balcony doors. Throwing them open, she stepped through and into the dying afternoon light.
He followed after and came to stand by her side as she looked out upon the elven city beyond; her eyes drawn west to the hovering storm on the horizon. The tension was thick, the silence deafening, but he refused to say anything further lest another storm even closer raged out of control.
“I know what you’re saying is true in here,” she finally whispered, pointing to her head. “But my heart tells me different.”
“I want to protect our child too,” he offered in a soft voice, trying to reach her. “But I don’t see how running will accomplish that. If the horde wins this battle, they will turn south, and no matter where we run, they will catch up to us eventually, and our lives will be forfeit anyways. At least here we have a chance to make a difference; to fight for our child’s future.”
She smiled weakly as she turned to face him. “When did you become such an optimist?”
“When I found you,” he responded immediately, without any thought behind it.
Willow reached out and took his hand, squeezing it gently. “You’re right, of course.”
“I know I am,” he chuckled back. She hit him in the shoulder and he broke out into a laugh. “What was that for?”
“For being a smartass. You want to stay? Then there is one thing that I ask from you in return,” she said, her other hand reaching out and bringing him closer to her.
“Name it,” he replied instantly.
“If we are going to die, let me do it as your wife,” she requested, her eyes soft and pleading.
He squeezed her hands for emphasis as he took a step closer and put his forehead against hers. “We are not going to die.”
“You can’t know that,” she remarked with a grim smile. “Your daughter will be here soon, don’t let her be born out of wedlock. It will tarnish whatever future she might have.”
He didn’t need any convincing to marry her. It had been his heart’s desire from the moment they met, and all the pretenses and worries of the past were long gone; the result of one of the trials he had been put through. “You know it’s a funny coincidence, but I happen to know an Elven King who might be willing to marry us.”
Phoenix Rising (the New Age Saga Book 3) Page 8
