Sir Kendrick and the Castle of Bel Lione

by Chuck Black

  Kendrick and Duncan looked up at the older gentleman. The registrar seemed to hesitate.

  “You are Sir Kendrick, also of Bremsfeld, are you not?” the official asked.

  Kendrick hesitated. “I am.”

  The official bowed slightly. “Welcome to our tournament. Please let me know if there are any arrangements you may require me to make for you.”

  Kendrick nodded his thanks, paid the fee, and left.

  Outside the registry quarters, Duncan grabbed Kendrick’s arm. “I’m sorry for doubting you, Kendrick. I … I just …” Duncan struggled for words.

  “Think nothing of it … it was a long time ago. Or so it seems,” Kendrick said. “It’s something I wish I could erase from my past.”

  “But why?”

  Kendrick looked at Duncan and then away, into the distance. “It just is. Come, let’s get something to eat.”

  COLD HEART

  The tournament opened with a gala parade and then opening ceremonies that allowed all of the citizens and visitors of Attenbury to join in the spirit of the knightly events and choose their favorites. Kendrick and Duncan rode side by side as the parade slowly made its way through the crowded main thoroughfare. Armor gleamed in the bright sunshine, and banners and tunics waved their colors against a pristine blue autumn sky. Musicians played, and dancers wove gracefully in and out of the procession. Cheers rose from every corner as the procession passed.

  Kendrick glanced at Duncan, smiled, and shook his head. The young man seemed entranced by the whole spectacle but especially by the many young maidens who had lined the streets and shops to gaze upon and flirt with the echelon of knights that stretched before and after them. Some honored their favorites by throwing flowers or draping colorful scarves across the horses’ necks. Duncan seemed so intoxicated by the attention that he could hardly guide his horse through the crowd.

  Oh the foolishness of youth! Was I as full of folly? He smiled again ruefully. Probably. I just hope the lad grows wiser soon. There’s work to be done.

  Qualification runs were held later that day. Since these rounds had been waived for Kendrick, he and Duncan spent the time sparring and then milling about the tents, trying to pick up information that might pertain to their quest. Kendrick especially tried to discover more about Sir Casimir. But they learned little beyond the fact that the man was a tournament regular, he was heartily disliked by servers and merchants, and no one seemed to know exactly where he came from.

  “I know he’s a Vincero Knight, Kendrick,” Duncan said quietly that night as they returned to their quarters. “The way he looked at us …”

  “I agree. But we need proof.”

  “Like a medallion?”

  Kendrick nodded. “Like a medallion.”

  The games opened early the next morning with the first round of the Skill at Arms. All these events were performed with a lance—in full armor, on horseback—and were designed to test speed, agility, and accuracy through various obstacle courses. The knights did not compete face to face but accumulated points based on how quickly and successfully they completed each task. Both Kendrick and Sir Casimir performed well enough in the early rounds to qualify for the finals, where Kendrick prevailed, amassing enough points to win the competition. This meant he would enter the Swords event as the ranking knight.

  During the day’s closing ceremonies, the top three knights were presented with tournament gold coins indicating their rank in the first phase of the tournament. They stood together on a wooden platform, with Kendrick in the middle, Casimir to his right, and another to his left.

  After the presentation, Kendrick turned to offer an arm of congratulation to each knight. But Sir Casimir only sneered and walked away. Duncan appeared at Kendrick’s elbow. “He’s a friendly fellow.”

  “Yes, isn’t he though.” Kendrick strode off.

  Duncan was shorter than Kendrick, and he had to hurry to keep up. “Your performance was amazing! I had no idea … you have a good chance at winning the tournament.”

  Kendrick tossed his coin to Duncan. “Here’s a souvenir for you.”

  Duncan caught it, his smile fading.

  “I won the Skill at Arms for only one reason,” Kendrick said, “to make Casimir angry.”

  “I don’t understand you, Kendrick. I don’t see how doing well in this tournament could harm our mission or dishonor the Prince. If anything, it’s an opportunity to proclaim Him.”

  “Listen.” Kendrick put an arm across Duncan’s chest to stop them both. He leaned close to the younger man’s ear. “I’ve been here before, Duncan. Look around you. You may see people full of gaiety and mirth—full of celebration. But all I see are people who are ignorant of the great battle that is waging for their futures.”

  Duncan’s brow furrowed. “But—”

  “Don’t misunderstand me. I am not against laughter and celebration—or competition, for that matter. But something dark is afoot, and we are here to discover it. Our mission here is not proclamation, but ascertaining the plots of the enemy.”

  Duncan squinted and nodded. “So tell me, oh somber one, are you as good with the sword as you are with the lance?” Duncan’s boyish grin returned.

  Kendrick shook his head but couldn’t hide his smile. He resumed his walk, leaving Duncan behind to inspect the gold coin.

  Duncan quickly caught up. “So why did you want to make Casimir angry?”

  “Because angry men make mistakes. In tomorrow’s competition I am hoping he will become reckless and reveal some information we need.”

  “You think he wears the medallion?”

  “With the armor, I don’t think there is much chance of spotting it. But keep your eyes open. Before this competition is over, we’ll no doubt learn what the man is made of.”

  Unlike the Skill at Arms competition, Swords was a face-to-face event. Each round was timed, and judges gave points for a successful strike or thrust that landed upon the opponent’s armor. If a knight lost his sword, suffered injury, or was completely overcome, he was eliminated from the round, and his opponent was granted the victory.

  Much to Duncan’s delight—and surprise—Kendrick advanced with relative ease. He and Duncan watched Sir Casimir fight each round as well. The man’s skill was impressive, and so was his aggressiveness. With each advance, Casimir’s tactics seemed to become more brutal.

  The crowd swelled as the day progressed. The amphitheater was full for the semifinal round. Kendrick and Duncan watched as Casimir engaged a worthy opponent from Keighwick.

  “Casimir’s excellent with a sword,” Duncan said to Kendrick as they watched the first volley of exchanges.

  “He’s more than that,” Kendrick replied. “He’s vicious, and I suspect we haven’t yet seen the full extent of his skill or his cruelty. He’s holding back even now.”

  The swords flashed back and forth, and the crowd exclaimed their approval with each engagement. The other knight made an advance and was able to score a wide slice across Casimir’s breastplate. The crowd responded with shouts and applause, and the judges scored two points for the knight from Keighwick.

  Casimir stepped back as though dazed. His sword lowered slightly, and the other knight came at him with renewed hope. Just when it looked as though Casimir would be scored upon again, he exploded with the power of a battle warrior. The other knight instantly began a defended retreat, but there was no stopping Casimir’s furious assault. Within minutes he had scored enough points for a sure victory, but he did not stop. The knight in retreat looked almost helpless as Casimir continued his volley of cuts and slices until he found the perfect opening. He thrust his sword into a shoulder joint of his opponent’s armor and angled its path so it would severely injure the knight.

  It was a subtle but deadly move, and Kendrick knew it was no accident. The knight collapsed, and Casimir loomed over him like one who had conquered a true enemy. The crowd gasped, and the tournament officials called for aid to be given to the fallen knight.

 
“Did you see.?” Duncan turned to Kendrick, eyes wide. But Kendrick simply turned without a word and began to prepare for his own semifinal round.

  Kendrick’s duel was challenging, but he successfully analyzed his opponent’s weakness and took advantage of it. The knight never adjusted, and Kendrick ended the round with an easy win. The next contest was the main event of the day—the final round of Swords between Sir Casimir and Sir Kendrick.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Duncan asked.

  Kendrick looked at him and nearly laughed. “I’m the one who didn’t want to come here in the first place. Remember?”

  “But that last knight, the one from Keighwick—I was told he died.” Duncan shook his head in disbelief. “Why would a man be so brutal as to kill another so unnecessarily?”

  Kendrick paused and looked at his young charge. “When a man’s eye is so full of evil that no good remains within, then evil will do what evil does regardless of the presence of good without. Don’t worry, Duncan. I’ve faced worse.”

  Duncan stared at Kendrick as though he were reevaluating his opinion of his mentor.

  The trumpets sounded, announcing the final round of Swords. Kendrick and Casimir entered the amphitheater amidst uproarious applause. The two knights faced the tournament officials and bowed.

  The trumpets blasted once again, and the men turned to face each other. The visors of both knights were still raised, and Kendrick gazed once again into the cold, dark eyes of Sir Casimir. Kendrick knew in his heart that this was no ordinary knight.

  The senior tournament official lowered the red and white flag on the stanchion near the platform, and the men dropped their visors. Kendrick took his stance and allowed Casimir to make the first advance. The warrior within him ached to unleash his full potential on Casimir. He had to focus hard to keep the rush of the fight secondary to his mission for the Prince.

  Kendrick defended a quick set of cuts and slices, parried a thrust, and countered with a quick combination that nearly scored. The two exchanged offensive and defensive posturing again and again without scoring. Casimir’s attacks grew fiercer, and Kendrick found it difficult to defend against the onslaught.

  At one point, Casimir sliced from the right and quickly recoiled for a diagonal slice from the opposite side. Kendrick countered both but was unable to bring his sword to bear on the final slice from the left, which found its mark as it cut across his armored chest. Many in the crowd cheered loudly as the judges assessed two points for Casimir. Both men had already worked harder during this duel than in any of the others.

  Kendrick stepped back and lifted his visor but still maintained a ready position.

  “Your skill with the sword is commendable, Sir Casimir. And your style is unusual. Tell me, sir—under whom did you train?”

  Casimir hesitated, but only for a second. Then he advanced on Kendrick with another furious volley that barely left Kendrick time to lower his visor. Defending, Kendrick allowed himself a measure of aggression he had relied upon so successfully in his former life as a tournament champion. His sword flew faster and faster, forcing Casimir into steady retreat and ending with a quick thrust that would have pierced the other man’s heart were it not for his breastplate. Casimir fumed as two points were tallied for Kendrick.

  Once again the fight paused, and Kendrick lifted his visor. This time, so did Casimir. Kendrick was about to speak, but Casimir beat him to it.

  “I’ve heard of you,” Casimir sneered, “and I know who you are.”

  “Really, sir? And who is that?”

  “You are a fool following a fool!” Casimir said with a furious thrust of the sword. The men now fought with their visors up, and Kendrick saw in those eyes the soul of a dark, bloodthirsty warrior.

  The crowd at this point was cheering wildly. The bell to end the round brought groans of disappointment, then a collective gasp. Kendrick had relaxed his sword at the sound of the bell, but Casimir, who had just begun a combination, had not. The final slice arced close to Kendrick, and he narrowly escaped losing his head.

  The duel ended in a draw. Kendrick stepped back and away and removed his helmet.

  “You are an excellent swordsman, Sir Casimir.” Kendrick bowed his head politely. “I am honored by your fight.”

  Casimir whisked off his helmet and stared fiercely at Kendrick, then turned on his heel and stalked away. Kendrick stared thoughtfully after him, then walked to the edge of the arena. Duncan helped him remove his breastplate and spaulders.

  “Casimir is a madman!” Duncan said with a scowl on his face. “You are too amicable toward him.”

  Kendrick smiled. “Yes, like coals of fire on his head. He didn’t very much like my friendly overture, did he?”

  Duncan considered Kendrick’s words and gradually exchanged his scowl for a smile. “Did you learn anything yet?”

  “Not just yet,” Kendrick replied. “But I’m about to. They’re calling us to the ceremony.”

  Moments later, Kendrick and Casimir mounted the platform, along with Sir Vincent, the knight who had placed third. The crowd cheered as the third-place gold coin was presented to Sir Vincent, then cheered louder as Kendrick and Casimir each received first-place coins.

  Kendrick took his coin, held it high above his head to show the crowd, then placed his arm around Casimir’s neck. The crowd stood to their feet and applauded riotously. Casimir glared at Kendrick but then reluctantly lifted his coin as well, adding fuel to the cheers of the crowd. Kendrick encouraged Sir Vincent to join them, and Kendrick put his arm around his neck too. The crowd loved it all.

  When the applause finally died down, Kendrick slapped the backs of both men and released his embrace. “Well done, gentlemen!” He smiled broadly at them. Sir Vincent smiled in return, but Casimir quickly stalked off the platform.

  Kendrick watched him go, then climbed down to where Duncan waited with the horses. The young man’s smile was as wide as his face. “You’re quite a showman, Sir Kendrick. I had no idea!”

  Kendrick hardly broke a smile, but he tossed the second coin to Duncan. The two men mounted their horses and set their course for the inn.

  “Is he the one?” Duncan asked.

  “I’m not sure.” Kendrick turned to look at Duncan. “But I now know he wears a heavy chain about his neck. We just need to find out what it’s carrying.” Kendrick pursed his lips. “This mission is proving more difficult than I thought. We have but one day left to discover the man’s identity and his origin.” Kendrick fell into deep thought.

  Duncan didn’t disturb him. He was preoccupied with thoughts of his own.

  CLANDESTINE TRUTH

  Duncan stayed awake that night long after Kendrick, who was weary from the day’s competition and had fallen asleep quickly. His mentor’s steady breathing rumbled through their shared room as Duncan turned over and over on his bed, thinking.

  He knew he was fortunate to be involved in such a significant mission. He had only been a Knight of the Prince a short time and had little experience in actual combat. It was truly a privilege to be mentored by a knight of Kendrick’s caliber.

  But why couldn’t Kendrick have more respect for Duncan’s abilities? The man treated him more like a squire or even a wayward child than a fellow knight. He seemed determined to deny Duncan what he desired most—the opportunity to prove himself.

  The dilemma of discovering the true identity of Sir Casimir was just such an opportunity, and Duncan was not about to let it pass by. If he could verify that Sir Casimir was indeed a Vincero Knight and possibly discover the origin of his stronghold, then their mission would be successful and he would have proven himself as a worthy knight.

  For the past two days he had been working out a plan to do just that. All he had to do now was wait for the dark of night to fully envelop the town. He turned again in his bed, listening to the night sounds and hoping the plan would work. It was simple but bold and risky.

  A lot depended on the girl Duncan had befriended at the inn—a m
aid named Abbra. A little coaxing and a few coins had proved sufficient to enlist her promise of help. He just hoped she had managed to arrange what he needed.

  Finally the occasional barking hound returned to silence. The second hour of the night arrived. It was time.

  Duncan rose, fastened a knife to his belt, and quietly exited the room, leaving his sword behind. Careful not to stir a soul, he made his way from the inn to an alleyway behind the Black Crow Tavern nearby. He located a basket and withdrew a long hemp rope.

  Duncan smiled. Abbra had done what she promised.

  He traveled east through the silent streets of Attenbury, avoiding the occasional drunken forms of recent tavern patrons, until he reached the Crown Inn. According to Abbra, Casimir’s room was on the top floor, two windows from the north corner.

  He noticed that most of the windows, including Casimir’s, were open to draw in the cool night air, for the preceding day had turned unseasonably warm. Duncan’s only chance of gaining entrance to Casimir’s room was through that window, and getting into Casimir’s room was the only way left to find out for sure whether the knight wore a Vincero medallion.

  A sliver of moon was Duncan’s only light as he made his way to the back side of the inn near the kitchen. This portion of the building was only one story tall, with the chimney for the kitchen ovens jutting up next to the second story. Duncan climbed onto a barrel and hoisted the rope onto the roof. From there he clambered onto the kitchen roof and used the sill and casings of one of the second-story windows, along with the stones of the inn’s chimney, to climb to the second-story roof. He fastened the rope around the chimney and carefully made his way along the steeply pitched surface to the place just above Sir Casimir’s window.

  Duncan paused to catch his breath from the challenging climb. As his breathing grew quiet again, his heart began to race. All of his planning could not prepare him for the intensity of this moment. If he was discovered—and if Sir Casimir was indeed a Vincero Knight—then Duncan’s chances of surviving would be very slim.