Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court

by Chuck Black

Trae looked at Bentley and smirked. Bentley could hardly blame him.

  “It's all right,” he said. “I will go by myself.”

  Esmond shook his head. “You'll never make it alone. Every Noble Knight and many citizens will be looking for you. You aren't exactly an inconspicuous fellow in Chessington.”

  “So what do you—?”

  “We have people throughout the city who will help us. We've become… experts at hiding people. You need us now.”

  Trae sighed. “I'll take him.”

  Esmond put his hand on Traes shoulder. “Be careful. Have him meet me at Swallow's Creek at dusk.”

  The men separated, and Bentley followed Trae back through the door. After hours of stealthy maneuvering through the city they neared Barrington's estate. Trae looked about anxiously as they entered through a gate at the back of the walled courtyard. After giving Bentley directions to Swallow's Creek, he turned to leave.

  “Trae,” Bentley called after him.

  Trae turned, anxiety on his face.

  “Thank you for helping me.”

  Trae simply nodded and disappeared through the gate.

  Bentley cautiously crossed the courtyard and entered his home, gazing at the ornate moldings and marbled floor as if he had never seen them before. White columns stood guard along the wide hallway that led to the foyer. He already felt like an intruder. His heart began to ache as he considered the grief his actions could bring his father and mother.

  “Bentley!” Lady Deonne's voice came from the top of the banister, and she hurried toward the curved staircase. “Barrington, Bentley is here!”

  Bentley greeted his mother in the foyer at the bottom of the staircase. She grabbed both of his arms, her eyes filled with angst. “What has happened, Bentley?”

  Bentley looked up as his father appeared at the top of the stairs, looking larger and fiercer than Bentley had ever seen him. For a long moment his father stood there, staring at him. Then he started down the staircase with purpose in each step, his cape flowing behind.

  Bentley had only seen his father truly angry once in his life, and he had never wanted to see it again. Even now, part of him wanted to shrink back into boyhood and wish away all the consequences of his decision. But he was no longer a boy He forced himself to stand tall and meet his father's gaze.

  Deonne stepped aside as Barrington came to stand before his son. His eyes were piercing and full of inquisition. Along moment of silence passed.

  “Is it true?” Barrington asked.

  “Yes.”

  Barrington closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, they were moist with tears of pain. “I can't protect you, son. Kifus is too strong.”

  “I would never ask you to, Father. I've come only to say that I'm sorry for what this will cause you.” Bentley felt his mother's hand on his arm and looked down into her pleading eyes. She was slowly shaking her head. Bentley put a gentle hand over hers. “And to say good-bye.”

  “Sir Barrington!” A servant rushed urgently into the foyer. “Sir, Noble Knights are approaching in the distance!”

  “When they come, occupy them, Oakley,” Barrington commanded.

  “Yes, my lord.”

  “Come.” Barrington turned to his wife and son. “We haven't much time.”

  The three went to the stables where Barrington's big gray gelding was already tacked up and ready for travel. Barrington grabbed the reins and thrust them into Bentley's hand.

  “Take Silverwood.”

  “I can't—”

  “You'll need the best horse there is, son. I've had Thomas pack your traveling gear.”

  Deonne grabbed Barrington's arm. “Surely there's another way,” she pleaded as she wiped tears from her face.

  Barrington touched her cheek sadly. “They will try him, and he will tell the truth. Then they will—”

  A servant appeared at the stable door. “They're coming into the front courtyard, sir!”

  Bentley leaned down to his mother, and she threw her arms around him.

  “I'll be all right, Mother. And one day I'll return.”

  Barrington gently pulled Lady Deonne away, and she sagged against him. “He must leave now.”

  Bentley looked at his father. “I must know.”

  Barrington nodded, then put his hand on his son's shoulder. “Wherever this takes you, know that I love you.”

  Bentley put his hand on his father's. “I will honor you!”

  “And I you!”

  Bentley mounted Silverwood, looked down at his parents, and launched the powerful steed into the kingdom… a kingdom waiting for one young knight to discover the truth of a Stranger.

  OUTCAST OF

  CHESSINGTON

  The day closed in as Bentley rode with all speed to the northeast edge of the city, carefully avoiding the known routes of the Noble Knights. He didn't know how extensive the search for him would be, but he felt better once he was outside the city limits.

  Finally he found the place he'd been looking for. He entered a grove of trees and located a hollow where a small creek flowed through. He slowed his horse, looking for Esmond in the dwindling light.

  It was here that gloomy thoughts overtook him. What if he had fallen into a trap? A ransom for one of the wealthiest sons of Chessington would finance the cause of the Followers for years to come. After all, he knew almost nothing about this band of peasants turned knights. Just what he'd observed as an enemy… and what his own heart told him.

  The tall shadows of the forest trees seemed to bend down on him, and he wondered if he had played the fool. He turned his horse to bolt from the hollow and proceed on his own just as a voice called out to him.

  “Sir Bentley, this way.” The voice was farther up the creek.

  Bentley hesitated, then rode that direction. Esmond met him there, and together they rode north away from the city—up the Chessington Valley and then east.

  Just before cresting the valley ridge line, Bentley paused and looked back on the magnificent city that had been his home for nineteen years. It looked peaceful and sleepy nestled next to the Great Sea. Would he ever see his home again? He turned and urged Silverwood onward.

  They traveled by moonlight until the twelfth hour, then found a grassy nook within a grove of trees to spend the night. Bentley awoke the next morning to find Esmond packing his horse.

  “I must leave you now,” he said, “but I've arranged for someone to meet you here and take you onward. His name is Demetrius, and he will take you to a place where you will find your answers.”

  Bentley thought about Esmond's statement and didn't really like it. He was ready for answers that were not shrouded in mystery. His countenance must have conveyed his thoughts, for Esmond's brown eyes softened.

  “I'm sorry for the secrecy, but please understand we must be cautious when dealing with the Noble Knights. We have suffered greatly because of your—their efforts. Trust me and wait here. I've left some breakfast for you, and Demetrius will come to you shortly.”

  Bentley gave Esmond a long look and finally nodded.

  Esmond mounted and prepared to leave. “Sir Bentley, Demetrius is mute.”

  Bentley's eyebrows lifted, but he shrugged. “I understand.”

  He watched Esmond depart through the trees, then settled down to a hearty breakfast of bread, cheese, and fruit. He saw to his horse's needs and rolled his meager belongings back into the saddlebags, hoping to get done before the mysterious Demetrius arrived. Then he settled in to wait.

  And wait.

  By midmorning, Bentley was becoming impatient. He wasn't used to waiting for others, and this wasn't the quest for truth that he had imagined. Eventually, he spotted a lone rider ambling toward him over the knoll from the north. The man wore a drab hooded tunic that concealed most of his face except for the scraggly gray beard. He rode hunched over in the saddle. All in all, his appearance was unimpressive, even shabby.

  Bentley mounted and waited. The man came near and stopped.


  “Demetrius?” Bentley called.

  The man simply nodded, then turned his horse to the northeast. Bentley followed and wondered where this strange older man would take him.

  They rode the entire day in silence. At evening, they made camp near a small stream. The mute walked with a limp. He never removed the hood or the black leather gauntlets that covered his hands. He was a strange duffer, and the sword secured to his steed seemed out of place.

  Bentley wondered if there was any point in attempting a conversation with the man, but he couldn't contain his curiosity.

  “Where are we…I mean, are we close to our destination?” Phrasing his questions to fit yes and no answers was definitely a challenge.

  The man briefly looked at Bentley from under the shadow of the hood and shook his head no. A full day's travel and they weren't close? Bentley sighed and resigned himself to a long, tedious journey. After all, he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

  They journeyed many days to the north and east, across the Wick-mere River, through the grasslands of Venari, and to the Crimson River. The land here rolled from hill to hill, eventually merging into the foothills of the Boundary Mountains.

  They followed the Crimson River north until they came to a sign that announced the village of Holbrook. Even from a distance Bentley could make out the enormous and beautiful castle that surely housed the lord of this land. The village nestled up against the base and outer courts of the castle, and the Crimson River cradled both within its curved banks. With the majestic Boundary Mountains as a backdrop to the castle, village, farms, and country, the picturesque view invited one to dream of daring knights, lovely maidens, and tales of great valor.

  However, as they neared the village the beauty faded. They began to pass fields where ragged men, women, and children toiled. Their gaunt faces were almost expressionless, yet their very posture told a tale of great hardship. This surprised Bentley, for though he had seen poverty at various times and places in Chessington, he'd never seen this kind of pervasive want. The woeful images only worsened as they entered the village. Not even the children were smiling.

  Bentley looked toward the castle, and it still held its magnificence, with bright banners snapping crisply in the breeze. He marveled at the stark contrast between nobility and peasants.

  “Are we staying here?” Bentley asked Demetrius. He was relieved when the mute shook his head. He wished they had bypassed the city altogether.

  They traveled farther down a road and eventually came to the ridge of a large rolling hill. Here the road split. The northern road swayed through the hills and disappeared into a small forest. The eastern road continued along the top of the ridge until it disappeared down into a distant valley.

  They were at a higher elevation than Holbrook. Bentley could just make out the village and castle and was glad to have them in the distance. The fresh smell of wild country filled Bentley's nostrils, and the Boundary Mountains looked close enough to touch. To the south, across the river, spread the grassy expanse of the Brimshire Plains.

  He had never been this far from Chessington. The kingdom looked so big, and he felt so small. So many people… so vast a land.

  What does it really matter if one man seeks for truth? he wondered. Was it really worth it—to risk everything for something he wasn't even sure was real?

  Demetrius brought his horse beside him and pointed. Bentley followed the gesture and could just make out a small cabin not far away. “That is where our journey ends?” Bentley asked, and Demetrius nodded.

  “Will I meet with someone there?” he asked, and again the man nodded.

  Bentley's spirits lifted. He had come to appreciate Demetrius's service to him on this journey and had even come to enjoy the man's silent company, but he longed for someone to speak with—someone to give him answers.

  Bentley wanted to gallop the rest of the way to the cabin, but Demetrius kept his steady slow pace. This leg of the journey seemed the longest of all.

  When they finally arrived, Bentley noticed that the cabin appeared unoccupied. He scratched his head and looked at Demetrius, but the mute just dismounted and secured his horse to a post. Bentley did the same.

  The cabin was surrounded by a sea of lush green grass. Tall trees created a lofty border to the south, and to the east the Boundary Mountains loomed against the bright blue sky. The cabin's roof sloped forward to cover a small porch in the front.

  They entered the cabin. Bentley noticed that although unoccupied, it was not abandoned, for he saw furniture, and firewood was stacked near the fireplace. There was a small kitchen with a table and chairs to the left and a door to the right that led to what looked like a bedroom. There was also a ladder that led to a loft.

  “Who am I supposed to meet?” Bentley asked, forgetting that the mute couldn't answer.

  Demetrius walked over to the hearth, and Bentley immediately realized that his limp was gone, his back straight. The man removed his leather gauntlets and laid them in a nearby chair. Bentley was taken aback to realize both of Demetrius's thumbs were missing.

  Demetrius slowly removed his hood. He turned to face Bentley. And spoke.

  The word was slightly muted, as if formed at the back of Demetrius's throat, but still unmistakable.

  “Me.”

  COUNTING

  THE COST

  Bentley stared at Demetrius, unnerved. The man's eyes were piercing, yet warm. His gray hair matched his beard, and there was the strangest sense of familiarity about him.

  “Who are you?” Bentley whispered.

  “Shur…Emus.”

  The man spoke slowly, but Bentley struggled with the sounds. He shook his head.

  Demetrius tried again. “Oble… Ike.”

  Bentley shook his head again. “I'm sorry. I just don't understand.”

  The man walked over to Bentley and placed his four fingers on the emblem of Bentley's tunic—the emblem of the Noble Knights. He then pointed to his own chest. “Oble… Ike,” he repeated.

  “Noble Knight?” In a flash of illumination, Bentley's eyes opened wide as he came to understand who was standing before him. “Sir Demus!”

  The gray-bearded man nodded. Bentley's mind erupted with a thousand memories and questions. He was briefly overcome with joy and hugged the older man. He had been just a lad when his father's friend Sir Demus disappeared, but Bentley remembered him well.

  He released his embrace and looked into Demus's eyes. They brimmed with tears.

  “It is good to see you, sir!”

  Demus pointed to himself, then to his eyes, and then to Bentley.

  “I have so much to ask you,” Bentley said.

  Demus nodded. “We have ma-eey ays.” He held his hands wide apart.

  “Many days…yes. This is good.” Bentley smiled broadly, nearly giddy with excitement at being able to talk with the one he had thought of so often. “But what happened to you? They say you were killed.”

  Demus motioned toward the table, and they sat down. Demus spoke slowly and struggled with many of the sounds, but with a little practice, Bentley was able to understand most of the words. For those he could not understand, Demus had a quill, ink, and parchment ready to write them down for Bentley. Conversing was a somewhat arduous process, but Bentley was patient. He wanted to know everything.

  “I refused to be part of the plot to kill the Prince,” Demus said. It was odd and powerful for Bentley to hear a former Noble Knight call the Stranger by that name.

  Demus shook his head. “I should have done more to stop it. I was too… afraid. But then, after they killed Him, I knew my days as a Noble Knight were over. I could not belong to an order that had murdered the One I'd come to believe was the Son of the King. I began to help the Followers, and Kifus became furious. The Noble Knights eventually tried me for treason and found me guilty. Rather than kill me, they cut out my tongue so I could not speak of the Prince. Then they cut off my thumbs so I could not carry a sword for His cause. I was
beaten and cast out of the city. My home was taken, and my family became outcasts as well. I was made an example for other Noble Knights who were questioning their mission.”

  “And yet you still believe in this man—the… the Prince?”

  “I faced His sword once, and He could have killed me in an instant. Instead, He spared my life. I will never forget looking into His eyes. For one brief moment, it was as if I could see the future of the whole kingdom.” Demus paused and placed a hand on Bentley's arm. “One day when you look into His eyes, you will know what I mean.”

  “Deep in my heart, I've known it all along,” Bentley said quietly. “I knew it because I watched how the death of this man changed my father. And I knew it because I've watched the Followers and have seen great passion in them for sharing the story of this man with others, even risking their lives to do so. Men like you, Sir Demus.”

  The old man shook his head sorrowfully. “I was too much of a coward to stand up for Him during His trial… and execution. And yet He's accepted me as one of His loyal knights.”

  Bentley stared into the distance, but at nothing in particular as he thought about the incredible courage of the Followers he'd seen. He was sitting here today because of such courage. They were an odd mix of mighty and meek, rich and poor, citizens and Outdwellers. Their bond to one another because of the Stranger seemed to transcend any order or societal status.

  Bentley looked at Demus. “You shouldn't be so hard on yourself, Sir Demus. In spite of your fear, you chose to follow the Stranger, and it has cost you dearly.” Bentley thought he himself had given up everything to find the truth, but here was a man who had given even more not just to discover the truth but to follow it. There was a significant difference, and Bentley now understood it.

  “The Prince suffered and died for the people of Arrethtrae,” Demus said. “My cost is nothing compared to His. By coming to this land, to these people, He gave up everything!”

  Bentley slowly shook his head. “I've heard so little about this man, mostly from the Noble Knights. I need to know more. I need to know the truth!”