by Robert Evert
SWORD OF BETRAYAL
Between the Lines Publishing
Published by Between the Lines Publishing (USA) Willow River Press (imprint)
410 Caribou Trail, Lutsen, Minnesota 55612, USA
www.btwnthelines.com
Copyright © 2019 Robert Evert. All Rights Reserved
Cover artist: Suzanne Johnson
Sword of Betrayal
Robert Evert
Paperback ISBN: 978-1-950502-05-9
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopied, recorded or otherwise), without the prior written consent of the publisher, except by a reviewer who wishes to quote brief passages in connection with a review written for insertion in a magazine, newspaper, broadcast, website, blog, or other outlet.
PART ONE
One
Edris stalked along the edge of the makeshift boxing ring, bloody fists raised. This was his fifth fight during the autumn festival, but the cheers of the crowd washed away any fatigue he might have felt. It was drawing close to midnight, and people were still streaming into the clearing to see who would win the title.
Brushing the hair from his eyes, Edris gave Cedric an opening. Cedric took it and sprang forward, a fist sailing through the smoky air. Dodging the blow, Edris grabbed Cedric and hoisted the two hundred and fifty-pound man off his feet. Laughing, he slammed him to the ground, shaking the lanterns hanging from the tree branches. The crowd roared.
Slowly, Cedric stood. He wasn’t going to stay in the match long at this rate. Edris could see it in the man’s blackened eyes. Twenty gold wasn’t worth the beating he was taking.
Cedric charged again, throwing a right hook at Edris’s dirty but otherwise unmarked face. Edris caught the blow with his left hand, then sent a sharp right jab into Cedric’s nose. It wasn’t a hard shot, certainly not as hard as Edris could’ve thrown, but it jolted Cedric’s head back. He hit Cedric two more times for good measure, sending him reeling to the ground.
Maybe he’d stay down this time. Nobody would blame him for quitting. He’d gotten in a few good licks and had fought honorably. Besides, Edris hadn’t lost a match since he was twelve years old, and everybody knew he wasn’t going to lose now.
The referee’s count reached seven as Cedric struggled to one knee. He rubbed his puffy face, blood dribbling over his distended bottom lip, his breaths coming in great wheezing gasps. He heaved himself to his feet.
Edris crossed the ring. He dropped his guard slightly.
Cedric’s expression brightened as he threw another right hook.
With the crystal clarity he always experienced when he fought, Edris calculated the route the punch would take and then analyzed his best option. He’d block the blow with a sweeping left forearm and then send a right to Cedric’s—what? His eye? He’d hate to hurt him too badly. Nose? He needed to finish the fight. He drank five pints of beer before the match and had to get to the privy. Hitting him in the nose might not end it. He’d hit him in the chin, but not so hard that it’d break…
A scowling face in the crowd seized Edris’s attention. It was his father, Lord Elros, and he wasn’t happy.
Cedric’s blow exploded flush against Edris’s jaw. For a heart-faltering moment, the onlookers sucked in air, their cheers cut short. They leaned closer. But the punch barely budged his young head.
Lord Elros sneered in disgust.
Cedric cocked his left, but Edris couldn’t play around anymore. He had to end the fight, even if it meant hurting his father’s captain.
Edris slipped a right jab into Cedric’s nose, then came up with a left uppercut. It connected with Cedric’s chin, nearly flipping him over as he collapsed to the ground. The crowd erupted.
The referee counted to ten and then raised Edris’s blood-spattered hand in triumph. “And our harvest festival champion—”
If he said anything else, Edris couldn’t hear it through the shouts and whistles. His muscular shoulders sagged as his father climbed into the ring.
“Sir…” Edris began.
His father slapped him across the face. Edris could’ve ducked or blocked the blow, but he’d learned long ago it was better to take the beating than to anger his father even more. Besides, the slaps never really hurt.
Lord Elros grabbed Edris’s ear as though he were a little boy. If anybody in the now-silent clearing thought it was funny, they didn’t dare laugh. Nobody wanted to anger the Lord of Bend, not if they valued their lives.
“Come with me.” He pulled Edris through the crowd. “Now!”
He led Edris into the woods. Edris didn’t know why. It wasn’t as though they were alone. People were strolling by as they headed home, and his father wasn’t exactly the type to talk in hushed tones.
Lord Elros rounded on his son. “What the hell was that?”
Edris hesitated. If he answered and the question was meant to be rhetorical, he’d get another slap, or worse. Yet if he didn’t answer quickly enough—
“I won,” he said, immediately wishing he had kept his mouth shut.
“Won?” the lord repeated. “Is that what you call it? Because I call it a fucking farce . Picking him up and spinning him? And don’t tell me you weren’t carrying the worthless pile of shit. You could’ve knocked him senseless within two minutes.”
Edris bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”
“The most powerful weapon you will ever have is your reputation. It’ll serve you well with your friends and it’ll serve you well against your enemies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“By the gods!” Lord Elros cried, not caring whether the passing villagers could overhear him. “Look at you!” He reached up and pounded on his son’s bulging chest. “The gods made you a mountain for a reason. You’re going to be the best knight to ever walk these god-damned lands, understand? They’re going to be talking about you a hundred years from now. If they aren’t—” The lord paused, his anger growing.
Edris knew what he was about to say. He’d heard it a thousand times.
“And if they aren’t,” the lord said, “you aren’t my son. Do you understand? You lose. And you don’t come home. You aren’t the best; you don’t use my name. You’re nothing to me. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
The lord pointed to the clearing. Boys were shimmying up the trees, retrieving the brass lanterns. Workers had taken the boxing ring apart and were carting it away. “What you did back there was a disgrace.”
“Sorry, sir.”
He considered his son, towering nearly a foot above him. “You think this is a game? Is that it? Do you think it’s going to be a game when you begin serving the god-damned king?”
Edris had heard these rants before as well. His father’s clashes with his brother-in-law, King Michael, were legendary. Everybody knew they hated each other. But saying god-damned king was blood-chillingly close to treason. He tried to calm him, but his father wouldn’t let a word in edgewise.
“Listen to me,” Lord Elros ordered. “The next match you have, you hurt the son of a bitch. Make him bleed. Break his bones. Cripple him. Do you understand? You make him hurt every single damn day he wakes up. You make him limp for the rest of his life.”
“But…” Edris sputtered. “What about the Code? It isn’t honorable to—”
“You and your damned Code. Let me tell you something, boy, there is no honor in the real world. There are no rules. You get into a fight, and you use every trick
you can in order to win. That’s the only way you’ll survive. Nobody is going to show you mercy, so you can’t show them any. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“If you show people what you can do in the ring, your foes will think twice about challenging you outside of it. And your friends will know they can count on you to do what needs to be done.”
Lord Elros got even closer to his son’s face. Edris’s eyes watered from the wine on his breath.
“I want you to kill the next man you fight. You kill him and strike fear into everybody who ever crosses your god-damned path. Are you listening to me? The next man you fight, you kill. Snap his neck.”
Edris nodded, not sure if he could live with himself if he killed somebody. The fights were games. All of this was supposed to be for fun. But fighting dirty and killing somebody? That wasn’t the type of person he wanted to be.
“Look,” Lord Elros said. “You’re starting your service to the king next year. The job of a kingsman is to kill. That’s what you’re being trained for. You’re a warrior. Warriors kill. Get used to it. The king points, and you kill the man, woman, or child on the other end of his prissy little finger. You can’t be the best if you’re soft.”
Edris didn’t say anything. The tirade was nearly over, and he didn’t want to inflame his father’s wrath by saying something wrong.
“Be the best,” his father finished, “or you aren’t my son. Got it?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Elros regarded the villagers streaming past. Few met his gaze.
“When you enter the king’s service, you won’t be the biggest, strongest man anymore. And you’ll be my son. That won’t help you in some people’s eyes. So, you’ll need fear on your side. You need to be able to strike terror into people’s hearts. You need to be able to snap their necks and not lose a moment’s sleep over it. Understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Elros dragged the back of his hand across his dry mouth. Edris could tell he was craving a drink.
“I’m only doing this for your own good,” his father said. “I’m trying to toughen you up, so you’ll be the best. I’m helping you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lord Elros seemed to search for something else to say. “How are you getting home? Your horse was in the stables when I left.”
Hands jammed in his pockets, Edris shrugged. “I was thinking about having a beer or two and then coming home in the morning.” Knowing what his father wanted to hear, he added, “The run would strengthen my legs.”
“Good. I’m glad you’re finally taking your preparation seriously. Though I want you home by dawn. Have your drink, if you believe you deserve one. But I want you home before sunup.”
The lord’s country estate was twelve miles away. That wasn’t too far. But it was located in the foothills of the mountains and, after fighting all day, running up the rocky slopes was going to be a challenge.
“Yes, sir,” Edris said.
“All right, then.” Lord Elros pulled on his riding gloves and straightened his weskit. “I’ll see you at dawn.”
Edris watched his father shove his way through the dispersing crowd. He smiled when a little girl flipped the Lord of Bend the middle finger. Good thing the lord didn’t see it. Edris knew firsthand his father had no qualms about beating a child.
Cedric limped toward him. “Ed.”
“Hey, Cedric. How are you feeling? You look like you could go another couple rounds.”
Cedric snorted, holding a bloody rag to the gash over his left eye. He handed Edris a small pouch. “Thanks for taking it easy on me.”
Edris checked the pouch. It was his twenty gold for winning the tournament. “I didn’t take it easy on you. You fought well. Better than last time.”
“You’re a rotten liar. You’ll need to work on that before you become a kingsman.”
“I didn’t realize being a good liar was part of the job.”
“Trust me. It’s the most important part. That and being able to look the other way.”
Edris didn’t know what that meant, so he surveyed the townsfolk leaving the clearing and waited for Cedric to say whatever was on his mind.
“I overheard your father,” Cedric said eventually.
“I’m sorry. He gets that way. If he really thought you were a pile of shit, you wouldn’t be captain of his guards. He’s not going to sack you.”
“In all honesty, I wouldn’t care a wit if he did. I’m sure every other lord in the kingdom would hire me at twice the pay, if only to hear me tell stories about your father.”
That was probably true. The number of people who valued the Lord of Bend’s company was rapidly dwindling.
“No…I meant,” Cedric continued, “what he said about being a kingsman.”
“He’s rather prone to exaggerate. You should hear him talk about his own exploits when he was my age.”
“He does exaggerate, I’ll give you that—but not this time. Look, Ed. You know how highly I think of you. And my face is a testament to your fighting prowess. But your father is right. When you go serve His Majesty, you need to be prepared. Like he said, you won’t be the biggest and strongest anymore. And you’ll be with men who are seasoned warriors.”
Edris wished he had something to drink, then worried he was becoming like his father.
“I mean it, Ed. You’re good. Very, very good. But you won’t be the best in the company. Not at first, at any rate.”
“If I’m not the best…” Edris muttered.
“Don’t worry about that. Not right away, at least.”
“Easy for you to say.”
“I sympathize with your position. However, you need to understand, you’ll be starting at the bottom. You’ll be what the officers call a dreg. You’re a piece of shit. And that’s how they’ll treat you. They’ll push you. They’ll push you hard, waiting for you to lose your cool. Especially the nobles. Every lordling and bastard of a duke will challenge you, knowing you can’t lift a finger against them.”
Attempting to lighten the mood, Edris chuckled. “Hey, those bastards and lordlings are my cousins!”
“They may be family,” Cedric replied, “but they won’t treat you like it. They won’t do you any favors—trust me. Then there’s the fact you’re Elros’s son…”
An inebriated man shouted his congratulations as he passed. Edris waved in gratitude.
He sighed. “Right.”
“You’ll have to play things smart. You ain’t one to follow orders. You tend to go your own way. And that won’t cut it in the king’s service. If they have you stand all day in the hot sun guarding a pile of reeking horse manure, you do it without saying a word.”
Cedric must’ve caught something in Edris’s expression, a hint of the anxiety that had been building in his gut ever since his father announced he had enlisted his youngest son in the military.
“You can do it. Try to treat everybody like you treat your father. Eyes forward. Nod when appropriate. Lots of ‘yes, sirs.’ You’ll do fine.”
Edris shook his head, droplets of drying sweat tumbling from his scraggly hair. “I don’t think I can, Ced.”
“You’ll be fine. Keep your mouth shut and realize that once you put on the king’s tabard, you aren’t noble anymore. You’re a stinking, lousy dreg.”
Cedric glanced past Edris. Evidently, somebody was coming up the path behind him.
“Thanks again for not beating me senseless,” he said as he limped away.
But Edris was too deep in thought to answer.
A moment later, somebody put a tender hand on his arm. Turning, Edris found Beatrice smiling up at him.
“You okay?” she asked, concerned.
Edris touched the purple lump on the side of his chin. “It’s nothing. Believe me. By the time he hit me, he was too tired to do much damage. Hey, Brago!” He inclined his head toward the much smaller boy standing behind Beatrice.
“Ed,” Brago said in his quiet, almost menaci
ng tone. “Good fight.”
“Thanks. Make any money off it?”
“Regrettably not. Nobody was willing to wager against you.”
Edris laughed. “Sorry about that. Wait a minute.” He felt in his pocket and pulled out the pouch Cedric had given him. He handed the disheveled boy a gold coin. “Here. Get something good to eat.”
A greedy gleam flickered behind Brago’s cold eyes.
“Hold on.” Edris dropped another couple coin into the boy’s hand. “Get some decent boots, too. It’ll be winter soon.”
Brago struggled to speak. “Thanks, Ed. That’s remarkably kind of you.”
“I don’t need it. By the way, did you find a job yet?”
Brago’s dark expression returned. “I’m afraid people are a bit leery of hiring thieves.”
“You’re not a thief,” Edris said, knowing full well that he was. “Tell you what—come by the manor sometime. I’ll see if we can find something for you to do. The dogs always need tending. Or the horses.”
“What about your father?”
“I’ll take care of him. Besides, you’ll be cheaper to hire than anybody else. He’ll work you hard, but you’ll make a few coins.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you.”
Edris turned to Beatrice, admiring her long leg exposed by the slit in her skirt.
She arched an eyebrow, knowing exactly what he was thinking. Edris blushed.
Next to them, Brago fidgeted uncomfortably. He gestured toward town. “I’ll be on my way then.” His fingers tightened around the coins as he snuck a glance at Beatrice staring lovingly up at Edris. “I’m in your debt, Ed.” He gave a slight bow. “Thank you yet again.”
“Stop by the manor,” Edris called to him. “The one in the country, not the one in town.”
“Indeed, I will.”
Edris watched the diminutive Brago disappear among the departing crowd, then pulled Beatrice to him. She tried to protest, but not much.
“By the gods, Bea,” he said. “You look inviting.” He kissed her neck.
“Not too inviting, I should hope.” She giggled, slapping his bare chest. “Please! Not here. People will think I’m a whore.”
