by Tim Allen
“I see. Will the knife you gave me cut iron too?” Waylan asked.
“Yes, my lord. Your knife and mine are made of the same steel. The men from my land discovered this by adding different ingredients to the iron while they made it. Soon, they were able to produce armor, weapons, and many other items out of this material.”
“I trust you. Use your science on me and tell me what is ailing this old body,” Waylan said with humor in his voice.
“Do not be afraid when you see the red light. It will not harm you. Are you ready?” At a nod from the king, Wolf said, “Begin.”
Syn activated the scanning light and said in Wolf’s ear, “I will need him standing, Commander.”
“Sire, please stand. Onel, please help him,” Wolf said as Onel moved to his brother’s side to assist.
Waylan was a smart man. Once he was on his feet, he took several steps back into the center of the room and extended his arms out to his sides. He then turned in a slow circle as the beam scanned him from head to toe. After five minutes, Syn said, “Scan complete, Commander. I need a drop of blood. Have him place it on the watch face.”
Wolf helped Waylan to sit down and then said, “Sire, I need a drop of blood.”
Waylan nodded, and taking Wolf’s Bowie knife, he pricked his thumb. Wolf pointed to his watch and said, “Put it here, Sire.” A drop of blood had formed on the king’s thumb and he pressed his digit on the watch face. The drop absorbed into the faceplate of the watch.
“It will be an hour before I have results, Commander,” Syn said, and Wolf advised the king, “Give me some time to study the readings, Your Majesty. I will let you know the results.”
The men returned to their places at the table and more wine was served. Wolf recounted what had occurred on the battlefield and what he thought had happened to him. It wasn’t the full truth, but it sufficed. Onel’s eyes were on Wolf, watching him. Finally, he asked, “Have you given any thought to my proposition of becoming the king’s champion?”
Glancing from Onel to the king and noticing both men seemed eager for his response, Wolf answered, “My lords, please explain the duties. I mean no disrespect, but I have things I must do, and I must leave for extended periods. I can’t be chained to a castle forever.”
“Fair enough, I will explain,” Onel said. “As the king’s champion, you will dress in armor in the hall during any coronation banquet and challenge in one-on-one combat anyone who disputes the king’s right to reign. The king’s champion is counted among the most powerful nobles in the kingdom. When people arrive to see the king, you will be by his side, standing over him and defending him against every hint of menace by any who would challenge his rule. When the king cannot lead troops into battle, his champion will take on this duty. He is the king’s shadow, protecting the royal family from harm. We realize you are a foreigner, and we hardly know you, but you have served us three times already in this capacity. If you need to go away for a time, we have agreed you may leave for as long as you see fit.”
Waylan put a hand on Wolf’s shoulder and said, “I hope you agree. I don’t believe we can win this war without you. You have shown that men will follow you. I ask, as a friend, for you to help us.”
Wolf gazed at the old monarch for a long moment and then replied, “Sire, I do want to accept the post. I know how the people love and respect you. But I will not be staying here for the rest of my life. I am an explorer and this requires that I move from place to place. I would rather serve you as a friend or a comrade in arms.”
“I understand, my friend, and I am torn. As a ruler, I am sad you will not accept the honor to serve as my champion. As a friend, I am proud to have you fight for me. Do not judge our land and people on Jonar’s ambitions. We have lakes, forests, fertile plains, and breathtaking natural wonders. I hope we can show them to you before you depart.”
After taking a sip of wine, Waylan added, “I would like to bestow on you land and title.” Wolf leaned forward to protest but Waylan cut him off. “Hold, and please let me have my say. For rescuing my niece, slaying the ruffians that attacked Haakon’s homestead, and for the loyalty of the new troops, my honor demands you be rewarded.”
“Your Majesty, I will not take your hard-earned treasure or wealth.”
“I have fought across this land for them and accumulated vast riches. My vaults overflow with trinkets I have acquired and for which I have bled. Now that I have gained my wealth, I feel different. Have you ever noticed how all men crave for more, my young friend? No one is ever satisfied with what he has. When will I ever spend the massive wealth I have acquired? I pay my men and women well, not because I must but because I want to do so. I will not leave this land a hoarder of wealth who owned everything and enjoyed nothing. So for my sake, please accept the baronetcy of Olivier Province.”
Wolf was at a loss for words. He had expected a small token of appreciation, such as a chalice or a bag of gems; not that he would have taken it because he had no need for wealth. But a large grant of land and a noble title was an extraordinary show of generosity by the king.
“What am I going to do with that much land, Your Majesty? And where is it?”
“If you go to Haakon’s homestead and walk two days in any direction, you own it. Make your own borders. No one lives out there, so you can go further if you want,” Onel replied with a chuckle.
“How much land is that?” Wolf inquired.
Syn chimed in helpfully. “The average person can walk about three miles per hour on flat ground, Commander. If you maintain that pace for twelve hours, you can walk about thirty-six miles. Using Haakon’s farmstead as a focal point and going north to south would be seventy-two miles. Go east to west from his farm and that’s another seventy-two miles. This means you would own roughly twenty-one thousand square miles of land, or a territory the size of what used to be the state of West Virginia.”
“I will accept the gift after we defeat Jonar. Do we have a deal?” Wolf proposed, and the king responded with a satisfied grin, “Yes, my friend, we have a deal!”
Wolf was deep in conversation an hour later when Syn reported, “Commander, I have the scan results. The king has an L2 compression fracture on the dorsal side of the vertebral structure. He has a bruised right kidney, a cracked left femur, and evidence of multiple concussions. Two broken ribs on the right and two on the left have not healed properly—they need to be surgically repaired or removed, as they may be causing his side pain. A torn bicep on the right arm and a detached retina in the left eye also require surgery. He has a wedge of broken metal in his upper left thigh that is cutting him and causing significant pain every time he walks or moves that leg. His knee has a torn meniscus that can be arthroscopically repaired, and then it just needs to be drained. The blood issues I detect should clear up after the surgeries and antibiotics. All things considered, Commander, I’m surprised he can even move without crying out in pain. And yes, I can repair all of it, but not where you are. I need the medical unit.”
Wolf turned to the king and said, “Sire, you have a lot of things going on in your body. The good news is that it all can be repaired.”
“Really? You can treat my injuries?” Waylan seemed incredulous.
“It will take several weeks, Sire, but you can be completely healed.”
The king smiled in delight at this news, and Onel’s face lit up with a hopeful expression. But their smiles quickly faded when Wolf said, “The only problem is that I cannot perform the surgery here. It must be done on my ship.”
“I cannot leave. The land is at war. If I leave, the soldiers will lose heart. The surgery must wait,” Waylan declared with a sigh. He slumped forward, looking old and defeated.
“Commander, I have a possible solution,” Syn offered. “At the top of this castle, in the warrior’s crown, is a large flat area—a garden. I can hover the ship there and construct a holo-tent. We can do the surgery there.”
Wolf relayed Syn’s idea of placing a medical tent atop the castle.
The king considered the proposal, looking dubious, but then agreed and said, “Very well. I will have the benches cleared from the area.”
“I will leave after dinner to fetch my medical instruments from my ship, and I will return within the week,” Wolf said.
“If he can heal you, Jonar will have no chance,” Onel remarked, smiling at the prospect of having his brother healthy and vital again.
“If I can just sit down without wanting to cry, I will be happy,” Waylan said with a grin. “This old leg wound causes me the most pain.”
Onel turned to Wolf and asked, “Will you be able to remove the shard of metal in my brother’s leg? Many have tried in the past but failed.”
“Yes, Onel, I’m sure of it.” Wolf answered. Turning to the king, he asked, “Sire, how did you get this wound?”
“I have lived with pain in my leg since I was a boy. Someone stabbed me in my sleep. The blade broke off, and the best chirurgeons could not remove it. I have learned to live with it, but I truly hope it can be healed because the pain grows worse every day. I would love to fight without the constant reminder of its presence.”
Onel blanched at the thought of his brother being stabbed as a child, but he recovered and said, “If the other injuries can be fixed, my brother, I wouldn’t worry about the pain in your leg.”
“It still is a burden that hinders my movements. I am less of a man because of it,” Waylan said.
“My lord, tell me of the Old Guard.” Wolf asked, changing the subject.
“The Old Guard are my childhood friends and the children of my father’s retainers. When I was a boy, I lived with my father who owned vast lands. He had serfs and slaves aplenty, but he was generous to all. I was known by all the people, and I ate and played with all. Many times the servants’ children graced my father’s tables and slept in the royal quarters.”
The king accepted a chalice of wine from a servant, took a long sip, and continued. “Most of the children I played with had no titles. As we grew up, I invited the serf children to be trained with me in warfare. I grew bigger and stronger than others, even dwarfing my mighty sire, and I became highly skilled with weapons. Soon, even seasoned warriors looked to me for leadership. I had at one time over ten thousand men following me, and I knew each by name and sept.”
Waylan’s face darkened and bitterness crept into his voice as he said, “Jonar has robbed me of my childhood friends. I have six thousand left and my heart is saddened when I think of the men I will never see again. Their lives should be peaceful. They have bled and died to put me here, and I will serve them as king for as long as they will have me.” Waylan raised his chalice to salute the old men who lined his hall.
“I apologize, Your Majesty, I was merely curious. May you all live to fight another day,” Wolf said.
“So be it,” Waylan said, gazing with pride at the men in the room.
They ate a quick meal and Wolf said his goodbyes. He left the king’s chamber and made his way out of the castle, waving to the men in the tent city that had sprung up around the perimeter. These were his men, sworn to follow where he led. Wolf had elevated several of the older sergeants to the rank of captains and generals, and they were drilling the troops into military readiness. His oldest general was Titus, a scar-faced man with an enormous cataract on his right eye. He was a large man whose military planning impressed both Wolf and King Waylan. As Wolf approached the general, the man’s face broke into a smile and he asked, “My lord, have you come to inspect the troops? Surprise inspections are good for the men’s morale.”
“No, Titus. I am going to Haakon’s homestead. I will be gone for several days. Keep the men drilling and obey the king in my absence.”
“Do you want a detail of fighters to accompany you, my lord? Jonar has sent out ruffians to harry the land,” Titus said, concerned that Wolf might encounter trouble without support.
“No, my friend, I will be fine,” Wolf replied, bidding the general farewell and setting out on his mission. He followed the path Syn had taken into the woods. After walking for about ten minutes, he inquired in a quiet voice, “Syn, where are you?”
“I am in the clearing up ahead, Commander. I will uncloak the bay doors.”
As Wolf entered the clearing, the ship’s access ramp materialized and he climbed aboard. Syn was waiting for him in the cargo bay.
“Commander, I have bad news. Jonar is moving his army on the castle. If he keeps his current pace, I estimate ten days before he arrives.”
“Shit!” Wolf spat in disgust.
Chapter 21
“I gave King Waylan your idea of placing a holo-tent on top of the castle,” Wolf said, “but how do I explain how it got up there when he asks?”
“Do you see the two red buttons on your watch, Commander? Press both buttons together three times,” Syn said with a perky smile. “
Wolf pressed the two buttons and a carbon copy of Syn materialized in front of him. “How did you do this?” he asked in amazement.
“Your new watch is a holo-emitter. It’s nuclear-powered by an alpha source, and the hologram it projects is just that—a projection with no substance. It does have an amplifier that will allow me to become substantial for about five minutes in an emergency. Do not let anyone touch it or walk through it. When you get to the roof, shut it off by pressing the two buttons four times. My hologram will disappear. I will reappear using the ship’s emitters and all will be back to normal.”
Wolf found it strange listening to two copies of Syn talk to him in stereo, and he again thought about how lovely a woman Doctor Mason must have been. What a waste, he mused and then asked, “What about the equipment we will need?”
“Go back to the castle. Assemble thirty men and meet me at Haakon’s homestead. I will unload four or five of the smaller cargo containers from the ship. They will be empty, but only you and I will know that. You’ll order the men to haul the crates back to the castle and up to the garden area on the roof. We’ll set up the tent and inform everyone that the medical equipment was loaded in the containers.”
“That’s brilliant, Syn! I’ll meet you at Haakon’s in three days,” Wolf affirmed with an approving smile. Without warning, he pulled Syn into his arms and kissed her passionately. It didn’t matter to him that she was not real—she was real to him. Releasing her, he touched her cheek affectionately and turned, departing the ship for the planet’s surface.
Wolf returned to the tent city outside the castle and found General Titus barking orders at a platoon of marching men. The old man looked confused as Wolf approached and asked, “What is wrong, my lord? I saw you depart into the forest…but now here you stand.”
“I have reconsidered your offer, General. I need a detail of thirty men who can travel fast. We will have several heavy containers with medical equipment to bring back to the castle and I can’t do it alone.”
Titus smiled broadly, pleased that his soldiers would finally see some action. He called out to the officer in charge of the platoon marching before him. “Captain Eras! Our leader needs your men to accompany him on a journey. How soon can you be ready?”
Eras snapped to attention. He was the shortest man on the field, but his forearms moved with muscles that looked as if he could rip a tree out of the ground. He had a pleasant face that reminded Wolf of the actor Errol Flynn who had played Robin Hood so many centuries ago.
Eras saluted smartly and replied, “Give me a quarter turn of the hour and we will be ready for the march.”
“Make it so, Captain!”
Eras called to his sergeant-at-arms and discussed the details of the mission, assembling a detail of thirty men. Fifteen minutes later, as promised, the men stood at attention behind Eras, and he announced, “We are ready, my lord. Where shall we go?”
“To Haakon’s homestead. I will lead the way,” said Wolf.
Eras led his detail of thirty strong fighters into the forest. The seasoned captain had joined Jonar’s army three years ago against the wishes of his
father, who held vast lands to the east of Waylan’s kingdom. His father was a renowned fighter and a good king. When Sylvaine had come seeking his support of Jonar, he refused. He didn’t like the pompous Templar; but Eras was young, and Sylvaine regaled him with promises of the glory to be won, stirring the young man’s imagination. Eras wanted to prove himself as good a warrior as his father had been. After days of pleading his cause, his father reluctantly granted him a force of five hundred men. He counseled Eras to be honorable, brave, and above all, chivalrous—to uphold justice and bring glory to his family name. Now, three years later, Eras had won little honor; the glory he had won was fleeting; and chivalry was of no concern to the men he served. He was now seeing with his own eyes what his father had known years before—Jonar was not worth following.
Eras recalled a series of events that had shaken his loyalty to Jonar, but three stood out in his mind. The first was just over a year ago when he had come to Waylan’s castle on Jonar’s orders, leading his small detachment in reserve to the main army. Jonar’s men had attempted to force the massive castle gates, and Eras remembered when the hand-to-hand battle erupted at Waylan’s damaged portcullis. He had seen the aged king thunder out to the battlefield, swinging a sword that made naught of armor or shield. The old man led the charge himself, fighting on the front lines as an ordinary warrior, and wearing a grim smile that terrified Eras but at the same time filled him with wonder. The king’s skill was extraordinary. Filled with remorse over the evil lord he served and yearning to serve great men, Eras had deliberately kept his men out of the fighting that day.
Waylan’s assault on Jonar’s men during that battle had been calculated and deadly. The old king had waded into the teeth of Jonar’s best soldiers and champions, bowling them over and throwing their ranks into disarray as he methodically chopped them into dog meat. Soldier after soldier engaged the king and won a plot of blood-soaked ground for an early burial. No mortal man could hope to withstand his onslaught. When Jonar ordered Sylvaine and his Templars to attack Waylan, lightning, fire, and strange lights seemed to strike the king, scorching the earth around him but failing to slow his relentless advance. After several powerful Templars had been slain, Jonar ordered a retreat. That was when the Old Guard arrived—and they did not look like the decrepit grandsires he’d heard Jonar’s men ridicule. They warded their king and fought like possessed men, slaying as many of Jonar’s warriors as they could. They showed such bravery.
