Sword of Betrayal

by Robert Evert

  “Forget about the room,” Edris said, still amazed at what Brago had done. “You’re sure he’s dead?”

  “Quite.”

  “Gods, Brago!” Edris cried. “I can’t believe you’d do such a thing!” He sighed. “Well, it’ll be interesting to see how this plays out.”

  “Interesting indeed.”

  They fell silent, both listening to the purring cat.

  “Are you angry with me, Ed?”

  Edris considered Brago’s question. “No,” he said begrudgingly. “Like you said, I would’ve killed him when I got the chance.”

  “Would you’ve?”

  The doubt in Brago’s tone annoyed him. “Of course! I won’t let somebody shoot at me and kill my horse without suffering the consequences.”

  “Glad to hear you’re coming to your senses. You’re playing games with people who have no regard for your life. You can’t have any for theirs.”

  Sixty-Nine

  The next day, Edris woke late, flashes of the fatal fight lingering in his sleepy mind as he stretched and yawned. Taking his time, he got dressed and made his way downstairs. Apparently learning that he’d killed somebody the night before, the woman of the house greeted him fretfully, bowing repeatedly as he passed.

  Not liking to be thought of as a murderer, Edris smiled reassuringly and tipped his hat as he set off to find Brago. He found him lounging in a rocking chair on the front porch, his feet perched on the railing as though he were a cat who’d eaten a fat mouse.

  “Morning, Ed,” he said. “Or should I say afternoon?”

  “It’s still morning, judging by the sun,” Edris grumbled, though he knew he was wrong. He noted Brago’s smirk. “Hear something?”

  “I did, indeed.”

  “Must be good news if you’re making me work for it.”

  “Some things are best savored.”

  “Speaking of savoring, I’d like to get something to eat. Can this be discussed in public?”

  “It can.”

  Brago followed Edris along the busy street. In addition to the many townsfolk going about their business, there were also companies of heavily armed guards present, evidently intent on keeping the peace should another duel break out.

  “So, what happened?” Edris asked, getting annoyed. “Somebody find the horn?”

  “Alas, no. At least not that I’m aware of.”

  “Then what?”

  A cluster of knights appeared from around a corner. Sir Hans, the adventurer they’d met coming out of the hills south of Bend, lifted his hand in greeting. Edris returned the wave.

  “It seems somebody’s precious squire was killed last night,” Brago said softly. “Nobody knows who did it…but the knight in question is offering five hundred gold pieces for the assassin. Think I should turn myself in?”

  Edris lowered his voice as the knights approached. “Whose squire was he?”

  “Have a guess.”

  “Brago, I’m not in the mood to—”

  “Lads,” Sir Hans said, walking up, “this is Sir Edris. He cares for horses, so I consider him a friend.”

  The knights around Sir Hans shook Edris’s hand.

  “I’m terribly sorry for your loss,” one of them said.

  “Loss?” Edris frowned. “I’m sorry, Sir…”

  “Sir Conrad,” the knight said. “We met yesterday. But there’s no need to apologize. You met an army of admirers. It’s impossible to remember us all, especially when you had other things on your mind. Allow me to reintroduce ourselves.” He motioned to his right. “This is Sir Langdon…”

  A distinguished-looking gentleman with flecks of grey in his hair bowed. “Congratulations on your victory last evening. I’m dreadfully sorry it has been marred in such an egregious manner.”

  “Egregious—?” Edris repeated.

  Sir Conrad continued around the circle. “And these are Sir Flannery and Sir Adair,”

  Both knights saluted.

  “You were the referee,” Edris said to the older of the two.

  “I was, indeed,” Sir Flannery said. “And I’ll be telling my grandchildren about it, no doubt. I’ve been in this bloody business for twenty-three years. Been in seven duels myself and witnessed countless others. I’ve never seen anything like your performance. Never.”

  Sir Adair laughed in amazement. “When you selected fists as your weapon, I thought you were merely going to give him the thrashing he deserved.”

  “That was my intent,” Edris said earnestly. “I didn’t mean to kill him. I was only defending myself.”

  Four guards strode casually by, eyeing the assembly of knights standing in the middle of the dusty street. Satisfied no trouble was brewing, they resumed their patrol.

  “Not to worry,” Sir Adair said. “The fiend had it coming. Nobody blames you.”

  “Aye! He should’ve been shot right then and there for breaking the Code. Throwing dirt. Who’d do such a thing?”

  “He’s a disgrace to his parentage,” concurred a short, dark man with shaggy black hair and a long beard tucked into his gold belt.

  “And you are…?” Edris asked.

  “This is Sir Kelby,” Sir Conrad answered. “He’s from Loc Haven.”

  Clicking his brightly polished boots together, Sir Kelby bowed low. “Duels with fists. I never heard of such a thing. It was, how you say in your language—a moment to recall.”

  “Actually…” Edris groaned. “I’m hoping to forget it.”

  The knights chuckled.

  “Finally,” Sir Conrad said, “you appear to remember Sir Hans.”

  “How’s your son?” Edris asked. “I’m sorry. I forgot his name.”

  “Heinrich,” Sir Hans replied, “and his disposition is as sour as ever. I suppose that’ll only grow worse with your success.”

  “The only success I want is to win quests. I’d rather leave the dueling to people who have an actual argument.”

  “Well put. But I don’t think you need to be concerned about another duel anytime soon.”

  The others voiced their agreement.

  Edris tried to refocus the conversation. “I’m sorry, a couple of you mentioned something about an egregious—”

  Somebody shouted from up the street. “Edris! You miserable son of a bitch!”

  Markus charged through the crowd.

  Edris put his hand on one of his swords, though Markus didn’t appear to be armed. “What’s wrong?”

  “You know damned well what’s wrong. I should kill you right here and now!”

  “Will somebody please tell me what the hell is going on?” Edris demanded.

  The other knights seemed as perplexed as he was.

  Markus thrust a finger into Edris’s chest. “You killed Jacob!”

  “What?” the knights around them cried.

  “You’re mistaken, Markus,” Sir Flannery said. “Sir Edris was with us all night.”

  “We walked with him to his quarters,” Sir Adair said. “That was, what—? About midnight.”

  “Ja,” Sir Kelby said. “At least. And your squire was killed before then, no?”

  “It was him,” Markus growled. “I know it!”

  “Why would he kill your squire?” Sir Langdon asked. “You two are countrymen.”

  “And kin,” Sir Hans added.

  “He has his reason!”

  Edris returned his cousin’s cold stare. “Do I, Markus? What reasons are those?”

  Markus spit and sputtered, his face burning bright red. “I should kill you right now. I have every right!”

  “Then perhaps—” Brago said dryly from the edge of the group. “You’d like to challenge Sir Edris to a duel?”

  Markus glowered at Brago. “Who is this?”

  “He’s my friend,” Edris said. “He’s been kind enough to act as my squire for the past few months.”

  “You should teach your squire how to mind his manners.”

  “And you should’ve taught yours how to shoot a bow,” Brago
replied.

  Markus stiffened. Then, with forced bewilderment, he said, “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Brago winked at him. “I’m sure.”

  “This isn’t over, Edris!” Markus said, stalking away. “I won’t let this stand. Jacob will be avenged!”

  Seventy

  Standing among the group of knights and well-wishers, Edris watched Markus stomp down the street. “Perhaps,” he said to Brago, “I should start wearing my chainmail.”

  “That’d be most advisable,” Brago replied.

  “What was that all about?” Sir Conrad asked. “Aren’t you two related?”

  “We are,” Edris said, wondering how much he should reveal. “But too many adventurers in the family can create tension.”

  “Ah,” Sir Conrad said, “that does explain it. You could say the same about too many carpenters or masons, I suppose.”

  “I’ve never heard of masons accusing each other of murder,” Sir Flannery said doubtfully. “If you wish, I can help mediate the situation. I can vouch for the fact you were with us all night.”

  “As can I.”

  “Absolutely.”

  “You can count on us.”

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” Edris said. “But I’m not sure that will help. Markus and I have a long history. Unfortunately, he’ll always see me as his little cousin.”

  “I can’t imagine he sees you as little,” Sir Adair said.

  They watched Markus storm into the inn.

  “At any rate—” Sir Flannery held out his hand; Edris shook it. “—it’s been a pleasure. Good luck on the quest. And watch yourself.”

  “Thank you,” Edris said, shaking their hands. “Good luck to all of you.”

  The crowd of knights dissipated, leaving Edris and Brago standing by themselves.

  A rider rode by.

  “What now?” Brago asked.

  “Now we find a horn.”

  “Ed…he’s not going to let you be. You saw him. He’s going to kill you.”

  “I’m not so sure. He didn’t even have a sword.”

  “That’s because he didn’t want you to challenge him right then and there. Make no mistake, your cousin may talk about codes, but he does not live by them.”

  “I suppose you’re right.” Several townsfolk passed. “Think you can keep an eye on him? I want to make sure we know where he is.”

  “I can try. But what are you going to do?”

  A young girl with a satchel draped over one shoulder walked up to them. She squinted at Edris as though interrogating a prisoner. “You that knight? The one who killed the other fella last night?”

  “I’m afraid I am,” Edris replied wearily.

  “Is your name—” She selected a letter from her pack and read, “Sir Ed…Ed…ris. Sir Edris?”

  “I am. What do you have for me?”

  He reached eagerly for the letter, but she didn’t give it to him.

  “It’ll be half a silver.”

  Edris pulled a fist of coins from his pocket. He counted out ten bronze, then ended up giving her a silver piece. “The rest is for you.”

  “Thanks.” She handed him the letter, then produced two more. “These are for you, too.”

  Edris laughed. “I suppose you weren’t going to give me those if I didn’t give you a little extra.”

  The girl shrugged. “Assholes don’t get much mail, if you know what I mean.”

  “I do, indeed, little lady.” He gave her two more silver pieces. “You must be pretty smart to have this job.”

  “It’s my brother’s. He’s sick, so I’m doing it for him. I can’t read as well as he can, but I can manage.”

  “You must know a lot about this town.”

  “You want information about the horn?”

  Edris laughed again. “Absolutely. Do you have any?”

  She held out her hand. “One gold piece.”

  “A gold piece!” Brago growled.

  “Its fine, Brago.” Edris gave her a gold piece. “What do you know?”

  She tucked the coin into her pack. “I don’t know anything. But you might want to talk to Melville. He knows everything there is to know about the horn, but he’ll cost you more than a gold piece, I can tell you that.”

  “Melville?” Somebody across the street waved to him. He waved back. “I’ve heard that name before. Where was it?”

  The girl tutted. “You must not be very good at this if you don’t know who Melville is. He met with all the adventurers, weeks ago. Charged ten gold per person. Still, I wouldn’t want to be him no matter how much he got.”

  “Where’s this Melville?” Brago asked, looming over her. “And don’t even think about asking for more money.”

  She stuck out her tongue. “I’m not afraid of you!”

  “Then, darling, you aren’t nearly as smart as you believe you are.”

  “Brago,” Edris said. “Let’s be pleasant.”

  The girl pointed to a small, ill-kept shop. Several faded boards were hanging from its eaves.

  “He’s in there.” Her eyes narrowed at Brago. “And you better be nice to him.”

  “We will.” Edris handed her a few more coins. “Thanks for your help. If you come across any useful information, find me. Okay?”

  “Mister, if I come across any information about where the horn is, I’ll get it myself and give the damned thing to King Westley.”

  “I don’t blame you. Thanks anyway.”

  Inspecting her other letters, the girl headed to the inn.

  “It must be nice to be so stinkin’ rich you can throw coins at every street urchin who crosses your path,” Brago snapped. His expression twisted into embarrassment. “And I am well aware of the hypocrisy of my indignation!”

  “Adventurers use kids all the time to collect information. She seems smarter than most.”

  Edris studied the shop, trying to deduce what Melville sold. The dirty window contained everything from pots and pans to swords and children’s toys.

  “I’m going to talk to this Melville and see what he knows. Go keep an eye on Markus. I want to know everything he does. And Brago—remember, he’s the king’s son. If he gets a knife in the chest, people will find his killer and burn him alive.”

  Seventy-One

  A dented cowbell clanged over the door as Edris stepped into the small, stuffy shop. He looked about the chaotic shelves. Nothing in the store was worth buying. It appeared to be a collection of junk other people might have thrown away.

  A man in his early thirties hobbled out of a storage room. His left foot hung limp and he used a crutch to get around; however, what Edris noticed first was the mass of white scars covering the side of his face and hand. He’d been severely burned.

  The man with the crutch stopped when he saw Edris standing by the door.

  “Are you Melville?” Edris asked.

  “I am,” the man replied. “And if you want to discuss Borin’s Horn, it’ll be ten gold for ten minutes.”

  “Ten gold?” Edris replied, trying not to stare at the man’s disfigured face. “First, tell me who you are and why you’d know anything about the horn.”

  “You must be new to questing.”

  “This is my third quest,” Edris found himself saying defensively.

  “Then allow me to educate you.” Melville took an hourglass from the counter and turned it over. Grains of sand fell from the top chamber to the empty one at the bottom. “I was Sir Royce’s squire.”

  “That’s right! I remember. I’m sorry. I couldn’t place the name.”

  The shopkeeper held out a hand covered in burn marks. “Ten gold for nine and a half minutes.”

  Edris fished in his pocket, gave him ten gold coins, then realized he didn’t know what to ask.

  “You really are new at this, aren’t you?” Melville hobbled over to a stool. “Perhaps you want to know whether Sir Royce found the horn…”

  “Yes. Yes, that would be a good place to start.” Edr
is pulled up another stool and sat in front of him. “Thank you.”

  “I can assure you he did. It was a long horn, about twelve feet long. It extended all the way to the ground, like the kind the mountain people use. It was made almost entirely of silver with gold bands. Sir Royce found it in a glacier in a valley not far from the High Pass in the Haegthorn Mountains. Despite what he would’ve told you, he found it by beggar’s luck. Some of our supplies fell off our baggage pony into the valley below. When he went to retrieve them, he saw part of the horn sticking out of the snow. It took us a good two hours to dig it out. It was frozen and weighed more than a man. What else do you want to know?”

  Edris eyed the sand trickling out of the hourglass, questions coming and going through his mind. He wished he would’ve been more prepared.

  “I don’t suppose,” he said, “you know where it is.”

  Melville laughed like a man who hadn’t heard a good joke in a very long time. “No, I’m afraid I don’t. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be living in this sty.”

  “What happened?” Edris motioned to his hand and face. “Did somebody do that to you?”

  “That’s what you want to talk about?”

  “Sure.”

  Melville exhaled resignedly. “It’s your money.” He picked up his left leg and draped it over his right. “The leg is the fault of a young horse that wasn’t broken in properly. Let me give you some advice that may be worth more than ten gold—always ride sturdy, dependable steads. Young horses might have speed and spirit. But you’ll never go wrong with a well-trained horse who’s been around a bit.”

  “A horse threw you?”

  “He got spooked. Reared and fell on its side, crushing my leg.”

  Edris winced.

  “That wasn’t the worst of it,” Melville went on. “The worst was lying on the ground, realizing the nearest town was a two days’ ride away and my horse was gone. If a rancher hadn’t come by a few hours later, I’d still be lying in that field…praying I’d die quicker.”

  “And the burns?”

  Melville looked at his hand. “Cripples can’t be squires, or knights, or soldiers…or much of anything, for that matter. I needed money for food and clothes. A friend of my father’s was a blacksmith and he thought he could teach me a trade. I was still young and strong and could pound molten metal…” He trailed off as though thinking of the past. “I’ll give you another piece of advice. Don’t go around fire when you can barely walk.”