Sword of Betrayal

by Robert Evert

  PART TWO

  Thirty-Seven

  Edris sat naked on the edge of Beatrice’s bed, sulking at the crumpled heap of clothes at his feet. Beatrice sat behind him, massaging his neck.

  “It happens to everybody,” she said.

  “Don’t say that,” Edris replied. “I’m not like everybody.”

  She kissed his shoulder. “That…you are certainly not, Sir Edris.”

  “I’m really sorry, Bea. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

  “Nothing’s wrong. You simply have a lot on your mind.” She added tenderly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “No.” Then Edris said, “I’m going to kill him for what he did to you. I promise. On my honor.”

  “I told you, he didn’t do anything. Not really. He just got a bit handsy. I’ve had worse working at the Golden Trout, believe me.”

  “What kind of man tries to force himself on a woman like that? He’s noble!”

  “Ed,” she said, rubbing his muscles, “apart from you, that’s what nobles are like. An unmarried woman is fair game, whether she says no or not. Besides, he was drunk.”

  Edris wrung his calloused hands. “I’m going to kill him.”

  Beatrice scooched closer so that her bare breasts pressed against his back. She wrapped her arms around him. “He’s the king’s son.”

  “Kings’ sons die all the time. Look what happened to Raaf.”

  Beatrice hugged him tighter, her head resting on his shoulder blade. She could feel the pounding of his heart.

  “What if—?” he began, then stopped.

  “What if what?”

  “What if…” he said, fear and anxiety building within him. “What if he took my—my manhood? When he beat me. Maybe there’s something wrong with my head and I’ll never—”

  “Hey.” Sitting next to him, she touched his cheek. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with you. You’re the youngest knight in all the realms. You’re the youngest knight in all of history! And you’re the man I love. You just have a lot on your mind.”

  “I’m going to kill him.”

  “Ed. Look at me.”

  He looked at her, tears of frustration and embarrassment in his eyes.

  “I won’t lie to you,” Beatrice said. “I wouldn’t lose a moment’s sleep if Markus were to die. But—don’t confront him for me. And don’t let emotions guide your actions. Always think things through and act with a clear mind.”

  “You sound like my brother.”

  “Which one?”

  “Edros. He’s given me these exercises for my mind.”

  “Exercises for your mind?” she asked. “You mean like reading books?”

  “No, though he does that as well. You see, he lights a candle and I have to look at it, thinking of nothing but the flame.”

  She kissed him. “Sounds very helpful.”

  “It is.” Edris resumed staring at the floor. “But I can’t stop thinking about him. I can’t stop picturing…” He took a deep breath. “When I was crawling out of the cave, and he was standing over me with that rock in his hand…he had this grin on his face, like…like he was really going to enjoy beating me to death.”

  “Try not to think about him. Okay?”

  “Easier said than done.”

  “I know what we can do, if you’re willing,” Beatrice said sensually.

  “What?”

  She lay on the bed. “Read me some poetry.”

  “You’re not…you’re not upset about me not being able to, you know…”

  “Nope.”

  “You sure? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better.”

  “You need to understand, Ed. While sex is wonderful, for me, being next to you like this, talking about your hopes and dreams—that’s making love.”

  He traced his fingers along the curves of her breasts.

  “Make love to me, Ed.”

  Edris kissed her, then bowed. “As you wish, my lady.”

  He retrieved the book of poems she’d given him. After months of being crammed in the bottom of his pack, it was battered and torn. Beatrice stayed his hand.

  “I want to hear your poems,” she said.

  “You sure? They aren’t good.”

  “They’re marvelous.” She reclined on the bed as though ready to be ravaged. “Now, please me, sir knight.”

  Drawing forth scraps of paper from his pants pockets, Edris started to read.

  Thirty-Eight

  “You’ll have a reach advantage on most of your adversaries,” Lord Elros told Edris as they strode through the pastures behind the manor.

  In the distance, Edris could make out several men standing around what appeared to be a large boxing ring. Inwardly, he groaned. The last thing he wanted to do was to knock the snot out of one of the guards. He’d already beaten them all. Fighting them again wouldn’t help him improve.

  “And you’ll probably be stronger,” his father said. “But the most important thing about fighting with weapons is footwork.”

  Edris trudged alongside his father. He knew all of this. He’d been sparring with swords since he was five.

  “You need balance,” his father went on. “You need to be able to strike swiftly and move.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “That’s why I had this constructed.”

  They came to four tree trunks connected by thick ropes.

  “What is it?” Edris asked.

  “Part of your training. Climb up.”

  Knowing not to ask too many questions, Edris climbed up onto one of the tree trunks.

  “Now,” the Lord of Bend said, “cross to the other side.”

  Edris surveyed the twenty-foot expanse with some trepidation. “All right.”

  Carefully, he put his lead foot on the rope, followed by the other. The rope wavered, then flipped out from under his feet. With a strangled cry, he fell sprawling to the trampled grass, his face inches from a reeking pile of horse manure. The men around the ring snickered.

  Lord Elros gritted his teeth. “Try again.”

  Again, Edris scrambled up onto the tree trunk and stepped out onto the rope. This time he teetered for a few seconds before thudding to the ground.

  “Edris!” his father cried.

  “I can do it.”

  Edris clamored out onto the rope a third time. It wiggled and shifted under his feet. But with his arms outstretched, he kept his balance.

  “Good. Now take these.” His father handed him two wooden swords, one long, the other short. “Go to the next post.”

  Edris swayed as he fought to keep his balance, but slowly, he made it to the other side.

  “Keep going,” his father said. “Go all the way around.”

  Sliding his right foot, followed by his left, Edris inched along.

  “Faster!” his father shouted.

  Edris quickened his pace.

  “Good!” his father said, watching him intently. “Notice what you’re doing. You’re making yourself a narrow target. You’re also protecting your vitals. If you get stabbed, it’ll be in your shoulder, not your heart. Now switch feet. Put your left in front. You’ll need to learn how to fight with both hands if you’re going to be the best.”

  Edris attempted to switch his footing but immediately fell on his ass. Before his father could finish rolling his eyes, he’d scrambled back on the rope with his left foot forward.

  “You can do this, Ed,” Cedric shouted. “Concentrate!”

  The others clapped.

  “That’s right.” Lord Elros followed Edris as he wobbled about the ring. “It’s all about focus and concentration. Right now, you are focusing on where to put your feet and when to shift your hips. You need to be able to move without thinking. You need to be able to move instinctively, freeing your complete attention for your foe. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you? Or are you placating me? Saying ‘yes, sir’ all the time isn’t going to keep you from getting killed.
”

  Edris tottered on the rope. He’d never realized how shitty his balance was. His ankles and calves were already sore.

  “This is helping. Let’s do more.”

  “Fine.” Lord Elros signaled to one of the men standing nearby. The guard climbed onto the post in front of Edris. He, too, had a wooden sword. “I want you to spar. Remember, use your reach to your advantage.”

  Edris fell again.

  “Balance!” his father yelled. “Keep your blasted balance!”

  “Yes, sir. It’s becoming easier.”

  “It better. You’ll be fighting men with far more experience than you. You have to take your training seriously.”

  “Yes, sir.” Edris heaved himself onto the rope and inched toward his opponent. For several moments, they traded blows, their wooden swords slapping each other.

  “Use your left to parry!” Lord Elros hollered. “Your left! You have two god-damned swords—use them! On your toes. Don’t be so flat-footed.”

  The guard jabbed at Edris’s lead leg, forcing Edris to spring back. He missed the rope and fell at his father’s feet. To his surprise, his father didn’t scream.

  “Tell me,” Lord Elros said, “where are you trying to strike your opponent?”

  Breathing hard, Edris was unsure how to respond. “Anywhere I can, I suppose.”

  The lord shook his head. “Think when you fight. Be strategic. Why strike if your blow isn’t going to do any damage? Look, you can kill your opponent by stabbing him in the heart or in the head or in the neck, but you can also kill him if you get to his wrist.”

  “His wrist, sir?”

  “Ever see a man get his wrist cut? He may not die immediately, but trust me, he won’t be in any condition to continue fighting. Same thing with stabbing his knee. The idea is not to always go for the killing blow, but the blow that leads to it.”

  Edris nodded, catching his breath. Sunlight glistened off his sweaty face.

  “If you’re always trying to stab somebody in the chest, you’re giving up your reach advantage. Go for the hand. Go for the forearm. If they lunge toward you, parry, then counter to their lead knee. Make them protect every part of their body.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All right. Practice until dark, then come see me. And remember, learn to fight with your left. A man who can fight with two swords is dangerous.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Trying to keep his balance, Edris climbed onto the rope. Brushing sweaty hair out of his eyes, he gestured for his opponent to ready himself.

  “Let’s go again.”

  Thirty-Nine

  Edris knocked on the door to his father’s study.

  “Enter,” his father called from inside.

  Edris found his father by the fireplace, reading a book—something he’d rarely seen him do. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Ah, Edris!” Lord Elros said, setting the book aside. “Yes. Come in. Come in. Have a seat.”

  This made Edris nervous. Nothing good ever came from his father wanting to speak with him. He took a seat.

  “Finished with your training?” his father asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Splendid.” Lord Elros pulled his chair closer to his son. “I wanted to speak with you about something. Something very important. You see, part of your training as an adventurer involves learning how to defend yourself. But there’s so much more you need to master.”

  “Sir?”

  “The trustiest weapon a man can wield is not a sword or a mace or a dagger, but his reputation.”

  Edris made sure his spine was straight. His father hated for him to slouch. “Yes, sir.”

  “Finding quest items and bringing them to the king is one thing. But what I’m talking about is survival. More than survival. I’m talking about legacy.”

  “Legacy?” Edris repeated.

  “Yes, exactly. I’ve done some checking.” The lord leaned forward, delighted. “You were correct. You’re not only the youngest knight in The Angle, but also the youngest knight in every kingdom on the continent. In fact, you’re the youngest knight in history. Now, that’s something to be proud of.”

  His father was happy? Somehow, this was even more unsettling than when he was furious.

  Seeing his father waiting, Edris managed to say, “Thank you, sir.”

  “As impressive as this feat is—” Lord Elros steeped his fingers thoughtfully. “—it doesn’t mean much in the grand scheme of things. After all, someday some child will be knighted just so he can be the youngest. Your distinction will not last long.”

  “I understand.”

  “I don’t believe you do,” his father said. “Tell me, what do you know about Sir Theodore of West Haven?”

  Edris opened his mouth, then closed it, then shrugged. “He was an adventurer, but that’s all I know.”

  “Exactly! Even though Sir Theodore won the second most quests of all time, he has been lost to history. Few people know who he is or what he’s done.”

  “You’re saying nobody remembers the second best.”

  “No. Listen.” Lord Elros thought for a moment. “Do you know anything about Sir Barton?”

  “Barton the Black? Of course. He’s one of my favorites.”

  “And why is he one of your favorites? He only won, what—? Five quests, if that. Maybe six?”

  “I don’t know.” Edris mulled over the question. “I suppose it was because he was colorful. He was unpredictable. He—”

  “People feared him,” Lord Elros interjected. “Look, Edris, you remember Sir Barton not because of how many quests he won, but because he struck fear into everybody he met. If somebody looked at him the wrong way, Barton hauled them into the street and beat the crap of them. If somebody bumped into him, he broke their god-damned arm. You see what I’m saying? Everybody knew that if you crossed him, you were in for a hell of a fight. So, people left him alone.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Have you heard the story of Sir Barton fighting an entire tavern full of knights?”

  “Yes, sir. Somebody spilled a drink on him, and he went crazy. Edran used to tell that story when we were children.”

  Lord Edros spread his hands as if his point were made. “It never happened. The story is apocryphal. See, he lived his life in such a way that he developed a reputation. It didn’t matter what he did. What mattered was what people thought he’d do. His reputation not only kept him alive by warding off potential rivals, but it enabled him to live on for centuries after his death.”

  Edris shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You want me to kill the next man I face?”

  “I’m not saying you should be a murderer or even a lunatic like Barton. What I’m saying is that if somebody gives you cause, you should inflict as much damage as you can. You make sure they’re never a threat to you again. You need to be brutal in this world. Hard and calculating. Ruthless. Because being ruthless once, will save you from having to be ruthless countless other times. Understand?”

  “I believe so, sir. If people fear me, they won’t fight me.”

  “Exactly.”

  Taking a drink of wine, Lord Edros inspected his son over the rim of his glass.

  “I know you’ve become enamored with that so-called ‘Code of Honor’ the knights are supposed to follow. You have been since you were a boy. But let me tell you, all those stories of knights acting chivalrously are just like the story of Barton killing thirteen knights because somebody spilled a drink on him. In the real world, nobody plays by a set of rules. They do whatever they have to do to win—Code of Honor be damned.”

  Edris didn’t say anything. Despite all the yelling while he was falling from the rope, he’d had a very pleasant afternoon with his father. It was the first time he’d enjoyed being with him. He didn’t want to ruin it by disagreeing.

  “Let me ask you this.” Lord Elros flicked his chin at Edris’s scar. “Did Markus follow the Code of Honor?”

  Edris touched his foreh
ead. “No.”

  “Damned right he didn’t. And he’s the king’s god-damned son. He’s supposed to be all high and mighty. He’s supposed to epitomize the Code and act in the name of his prissy father.”

  Lord Elros drained his glass and set it aside by a nearly empty bottle.

  “I’m going to ask you one more question,” he said, eyes gleaming in the candlelight. “You don’t have to answer now, but I want you to reflect on it every day. Your life will depend upon it.”

  “Okay, sir. What is it?”

  Lord Elros reclined comfortably in his chair and crossed his legs. “In a fight between two equally matched opponents, who would win? The one who fights by a predictable set of rules? Or the one who does whatever he has to in order to beat his foe?”

  Forty

  “Master Edris!” a servant called.

  Edris checked his horse to a walk and lowered his bow. The human-shaped straw target he’d been shooting at had five arrows sticking out of it; however, thirty more were scattered about the field beyond.

  “What is it?”

  “Your father requires your presence.”

  Edris examined the spring sky. There were still several hours of daylight left and he wanted to continue practicing. He could fight well with his fists. He could even hold his own with a sword. But he couldn’t hit a sleeping troll with his bow. “How urgently?”

  The servant’s terrified expression told him all that he needed to know.

  “Damn it!” Edris leapt from the saddle and handed him the reins. “Any idea what this is about?”

  “No, sir. But he sounded angry.”

  “He always sounds angry.”

  Edris trudged through the fields to the manor house and found his father waiting for him on the doorstep, a wadded-up letter in hand.

  “Edris!” he shouted. “About blasted time. Hurry up. We’re behind.”

  We’re behind? What the hell did that mean?

  “What’s wrong?” Edris asked.

  “Follow me.” The Lord of Bend seized the arm of a passing guard. “When Edros arrives, bring him to the library.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  Following his father, Edris hurried up a flight of stairs and along a dark corridor to a room filled with stacks of books and papers and overflowing shelves that hadn’t been dusted in years. The only piece of furniture was a rickety desk partially covered by wooden crates.