The Last Swordsman

by Benjamin Corman

  He couldn’t comprehend her words. He looked at her face, really looked at it, for the first time. She was young, of an age with him, with dark eyes and a sharp nose. She looked…familiar, but he couldn’t place it. She stared back at him, head tilted to the side, brow furrowed.

  Then he heard the words she had said, really heard them, and it all became clear. He saw her, standing before him in a basement of this very town, except younger. The eyes and unkempt hair were the same; only a more youthful face had stared back at him then. Her voice had become more refined since their last meeting, but he knew it was her. “Dally,” he breathed.

  The girl frowned. “How do you know that name?”

  “I…it’s me, Nikolis. Nikolis Ledervane. We met years ago, in town. We were chased by a pack of boys, and then we hid in a basement.”

  The girl studied Nikolis for several moments, and then sat up, suddenly feeling the need to pull a blanket around her. “Nikolis. I remember. You saved me from them.”

  “You saved me, as I recall. I was too foolish to act.”

  “Not much has changed,” she said with a slight grin.

  Nikolis felt his face grow warm and looked down. “I wondered about you, you know. Wondered if you got away.”

  “Even after I lied about you?” It was her turn to blush and look away.

  “It angered me at first,” Nikolis admitted. “I realized why you did it though. You were surviving, however you could.”

  “I was,” Dally said. “I tried to run, got away for them for a time, but they caught me. The guards. Then they took me away.”

  Nikolis stood up and fumbled with his breeches. “I heard you were taken to the country. To a home.”

  Dally let out a bitter laugh. “A home, yes. On a farm where I was forced to work long hours, given little to no food, and then set to sleep outside. Or when it got colder, in an abandoned barn. Come rain or snow. It didn’t matter. A bit of hay was enough for us. It had to be.”

  Nikolis didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t believe it. “Us?” was all he managed.

  “Me and the other children. The man there, Jeris, he took us in and made us his workers. His wife was nice enough. She was the one who fed us when we got fed at all. Taught us a thing or two, a little of cooking or sewing. But Jeris had us most of the time. Beat us when we wouldn’t listen or didn’t work fast enough. Then when we got older, he had his way with us. When he needed some coin to buy seed or drink or whatever he wanted, he’d sell one of us back into town. To come and do…this.”

  Nikolis couldn’t believe what she was telling him. It all seemed so wrong. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault,” said Dally. “What could you have done anyway? It was the King’s orders.”

  “The King?” asked Nikolis. “Surely he had nothing to do with this.”

  “It was he that ordered me onto the farm, wasn’t it? It’s as much that old man’s fault as any.”

  “But surely he wouldn’t allow such treatment to go on if he knew it was happening. The King would never–”

  “If the King doesn’t know it’s because he doesn’t care,” she cut in. “He’s old and lost his wits and everyone knows it. If he was ever more than that it was long ago. Now he’s an old man sitting on a fancy chair. Others rule as they like, those that have his confidence. But no one cares.”

  It was too much for Nikolis. He couldn’t think about all of it all at once. Could she be right? Could this girl living far down in the streets, know more than him, when he was sleeping in the same castle as the King himself? “I’m sorry,” was all he could say, again.

  He put the two bits on the table beside him and turned for the door. “Why don’t you run away?” He turned back to face her. “Why not get out of here?”

  “Then what shall I do?” she asked. “Will you offer to take me up to the castle again? So, I can be a whore for royalty instead of one for drunkards and cutpurses and boys who wouldn’t know a woman from a hole in the wall? Is that any better a life? I’d say it’s a bit worse, if you ask me.”

  “Then you could just run away. Run away from all of this, from this town.”

  “I wouldn’t make it very far. With no food and water.”

  “I could get you those things. As much as I could manage.”

  A small smile lit her face for a moment, and then was gone. Her eyes were glistening. “No, Nikolis. I tried once, but the innkeep caught me. Beat me. Just as Jeris did. I’ve grown tired of the beatings. Now I just do as I’m told.

  “But…”

  “No. No more,” she pleaded. “Leave me. Leave me be.”

  “Dally…”

  “Don’t say that name. Get out. Get out of here. Innkeep! Innkeep!”

  Nikolis backed away from her and hit his shoulder on the door. He turned about and flung it open. Outside the street was dark and empty. No one was there, not even his companions. They had left. He realized that he had been inside for far too long. They had gone back to the castle without him. Nikolis started to head down the street, toward the front of the tavern, but then he saw the innkeeper round the corner and start toward him.

  “Hey!” the skinny man yelled. “Hey! What have you done?”

  Nikolis knew that an explanation would help little, so he fled in the opposite direction, making his way through a series of twisting alleys. He heard the innkeeper shouting from behind him for quite some time, but in the end managed to lose him. Unfortunately, he lost his way as well, and the tall buildings around him afforded little view for a point of reference in the dark.

  He walked around for a time, trying to discern which way the keep was, but his surroundings seemed to get poorer and poorer. He saw people of all sizes, dirty and ragged, sleeping in corners, or huddled in blankets beside large fires. There were boys and girls, women and men; they all looked thin and drawn, making little eye contact with him.

  After a time, he came to a strange courtyard buried amidst old buildings and poorly maintained streets. It was large and filled with dirt, surrounded on all sides by abandoned materials, rusted pieces of iron or broken carts, rotting food and abandoned furniture. A smell of decay permeated the whole area, and that coupled with several piles of upturned earth told Nikolis that this was a burial site of some sort. Part of an iron gate still stood, though it leaned heavily to one side.

  Nikolis entered despite his trepidation and began to wander. Though he passed several piles of freshly turned earth, he saw no stones marking any graves. It was clear from the multitude of spots where the ground had been disturbed, that many people found this as their final resting place. Twisted trees wound their way up unhindered toward the night sky, green moss clinging to their trunks. Nikolis made his way around them and further studied the area.

  No humans were in site, though plenty of rats skittered by and insects of all sorts crawled and creeped under foot. When he decided he had seen all there was of interest and realized this little trek had only served to get him lost further, he turned back toward the entrance. It was then that he noticed one, solitary, chunk of granite sticking up from the earth. It stood out so, for it was the only marker he could see.

  He made his way over and inspected it. Wiping away a fair amount of moss and dirt, he revealed a smooth surface, polished and engraved. After some time, he cleared away enough of the brush covering and clinging to it, to make out the words. They churned his stomach and sent a shiver throughout his body. It read, “In Memorium, Edward Ledervane and Margaret Trounsdale.”

  My parents. Nikolis backed away from the stone and turned. He stumbled and fell, then pushed himself up and turned around. He fled through the burial ground, dodging bushes and growth, stumbling over roots and trudging through muddied earth.

  He kept running until he got back to what was left of the front gate and ran through. He saw words wrought in rusting iron as he passed but didn’t need to read them to know what they said. Beggar’s Court. A place where they buried those who couldn’t afford rites or headsto
nes. A place where they buried murderers and thieves and traitors, fresh from the gallows. A final resting place for the poor and reviled, alike. Only his parents were named. Prominently, for all to see.

  Nikolis ran on with reckless abandon. He couldn’t think about what had happened tonight. Didn’t want to think about any of it. Running down the streets, luck was with him only insomuch as he didn’t encounter any guardsmen. He made his way back to the keep, followed the wall along the outside, through the bit of woods around it, dove into the ice-cold water of the moat, and made his way back to the tunnel opening. He scurried through the passage under the wall, and into the yard beyond.

  Jak was waiting outside the barracks when he passed it by. “Nik, are you alright?”

  “What are you doing out?” Nikolis asked.

  “I saw you go, then I saw the others come back. You weren’t with them. I was…worried. Where were you?”

  “Never mind,” he replied. “Never mind.”

  “Nik, you…ya look awful. Are you sure you’re alright?”

  “No,” Nikolis said. “I’m far from alright.”

  He made his way past Jak, to the master’s tower. He went up the stairs, not caring what noise he made, and slumped onto his bed. He sought to block out all thoughts from his mind, but questions and images that made him shiver, kept barraging him. Whatever security he had started to feel, whatever closeness, vanished. He had been hiding; it had all been an illusion. He was the son of a traitor and would never amount to anything more. He had partaken of a horrible thing this night, a disrespectful thing. Then he had run.

  When he finally found sleep, the bear was there again, for the first time in a long time, and it was chasing him.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  White rose petals falling through the air, slowly, gracefully, hundreds of them. Turning end over end, in all manner of directions, the lightest veins of purple running across their surface; so delicate, so fragile, raining from the sky. The memory was still strong in his mind. He had been dreaming of course, dreaming of her. Now that he was awake, though, it made no difference. He could think of nothing else. The sweet smell still lingered at the edge of his consciousness, as he walked a small corridor in the western wing of the keep.

  His responsibilities as a page had officially ended weeks ago, Master Littlefield looking as grim and unfriendly as ever as he declared Nikolis’ duties to the king, at least in that capacity, officially over. Now, he had been assigned to walk the halls as a sentry of sorts, a measure to further his training as a guardsman. He wore his best black breeches and boots, a white collarless shirt, and had been given a red sash to wear, from shoulder to waist, that identified him in his current capacity.

  Belted firmly at his waist was his sword; this current duty marking the first time he had donned a weapon in an official capacity since the dinner for Lord Casserly so long ago. That duty, at least in all appearances, was only a ceremonial one – this was his first step toward actual responsibility.

  Kelson Greene had invited him for additional forays beyond the castle walls, but Nikolis had thus far declined. He didn’t want to think on their last expedition for more reasons than he could fully comprehend. He didn’t have to either, for all that filled his mind now were thoughts of her. The reason why was beyond him when he really thought about it, but it felt so real, so natural, that it couldn’t be questioned.

  On his treks throughout the keep hallways, he found himself dwelling at certain places, places he had seen her, or heard she often went. One such place was the garden on the balcony off of the back of the keep, high up on the third floor. Court ladies, inevitably the younger maids, often sat there, or walked talking and laughing with one another. It was here that he saw Karlene last, but a few days ago, her auburn hair bright in the sunlight, a white ribbon in her hair, and dressed in a white spring gown. There were a few other girls around her, including her friend Ellie, and she was laughing. He couldn’t help but watch for a while, out of the corner of his eyes.

  That had been when he saw her lean over and, with such grace, bend the stem of a white rose toward her face. She moved in close and breathed deeply of it, her lips turning up ever so slightly in a smile. The girls around her seemed not to notice, continuing to talk amongst themselves, and paying her no mind. He had seen her though, looking so beautiful, delicate fingers on the stem, careful not to touch the thorns, the sun shining brightly behind her.

  When she and the other girls had gone, he had moved in and approached the rose. Touching the soft flower, he leaned in and inhaled. The aroma was beautiful, and he found himself staring at the delicate fold of petals as many minutes passed. When he finally moved his hand away, he watched as one petal came loose and tumbled to the stone floor below. He picked it up and rubbed it between finger and thumb, felt the soft, thin membrane, and then, after looking around to make sure no one was watching, he put it into his pocket.

  In the nights that followed, his dreams were littered with white rose petals and when he awoke in the morning, he increased in earnest his efforts to see her. It was rare that he ever actually ran into the lady, but when he did, it all seemed worth it.

  “Nikolis,” said a voice, drawing him from his thoughts. He turned to see Andrew Dubrey standing behind him, his grey coat as straight and neat as ever. There was a young woman on his arm and so Nikolis made a slight, stiff bow.

  Andrew smiled. “Nikolis, I would like to introduce you to Miss Aubrey Saliaes.” Aubrey was short and small, but pretty. She had honey-colored hair and rosy cheeks and nose, that contrasted with pale skin. Though clearly younger than Andrew, she was of an age with him.

  “Nice to meet you, Nikolis,” Aubrey said with a faint, strictly courteous smile.

  Nikolis made another bow. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” All of his time at court was having its effect, refining his social graces.

  “Nikolis is one of the finest students in the field,” said Andrew, putting his hand on hers as he said it. “He is destined for great things.”

  Aubrey smiled again in acknowledgement. Nikolis could only look to his feet. He felt a rush of heat in his cheeks. “Thank you,” he replied.

  “How goes your rounds?” asked Andrew.

  “Well,” replied Nikolis, without much feeling.

  Andrew clapped him on the shoulder. “It may seem boring and routine now, but everything has its purpose. The things you learn now, will serve you well in the future.”

  “Andrew,” Nikolis said, after a few moments of silence had passed.

  “Yes?”

  “Can I ask you something?” He could feel his face flush with color. He had thought about what he was about to do for several days, and even now wasn’t sure he could go through with it.

  “Certainly, Nikolis,” the older man replied.

  Nikolis looked to Aubrey and then said, “Alone.”

  Andrew grinned, patted Aubrey on the arm and then led Nikolis off to a corner of the hall. “What is it?”

  “I’ve been wanting to ask you, I mean, I really have no one else to talk to about…my father.”

  A crease spread across Andrew’s brow. “Your father?”

  “Yes. I mean, the truth about him, about my parents. What happened, and, well, no one will speak to me.”

  “But the Master of Arms,” said Andrew, “Arthur Drennen, surely he–”

  Nikolis shook his head.

  “Listen, Nikolis,” Andrew said, looking back to Aubrey, “I’m occupied at the moment. But, later, tomorrow perhaps, we’ll talk. I promise.”

  Nikolis smiled. “Alright.”

  As Andrew rejoined Aubrey, and the pair moved on down the corridor, Nikolis felt someone approaching from behind him. “Now that’s a pair isn’t it?” remarked Kelson Greene. Nikolis would have recognized the voice anywhere. He turned around.

  “She seemed nice.”

  “Nice indeed,” said Kelson, arching an eyebrow.

  “What?” asked Nikolis, knowing his peer well enough, t
o know he had something to tell.

  Kelson looked both ways, and then drew Nikolis into a corner. “The two of them,” said Kelson with a knowing smile.

  Nikolis furrowed his brow and looked down the corridor at the pair of retreating forms. Realization sunk in after a few moments He turned back to Kelson who nodded his assent.

  “By tradition the King’s Shield do not take wives, so their allegiance is to none but the Royal Line.”

  Kelson grinned. “Who said anything about them marrying?”

  “Andrew would never!”

  “He’s thinking of stepping down,” Kelson admitted with a shrug, clearly perturbed that Nikolis had seen through that element of his story. He recovered his smile and said, “Word is he’s absolutely infatuated with her.”

  “In love?” asked Nikolis.

  Kelson shrugged. “No one has said anything about love.”

  Is that what I feel for Karlene? Infatuation? Love? He couldn’t possibly know. What he was feeling was far too complex to define. What is love anyway? Maybe he could ask Andrew for advice. No, even Andrew would laugh at him. A nothing son of a traitor, asking after the king’s own niece? Well, he didn’t have to tell him whom he was thinking about. Andrew would surely give him aid in the matter.

  “Well, I’d better continue my rounds,” he said at last.

  “To what point? Nothing has happened inside the walls of Highkeep in years, and even if something did, what could we do about it?”

  Nikolis didn’t know how to respond. He only knew his duty, and that he was determined to do it no matter what the assignment was. So his only response was to shrug and head down the corridor.

  Later, after his rounds were complete, he went on to the field and drew out his sword. He went through various stances, drills, and exercises. He managed to cajole a few guards there, older men, yet new to the red and white tabard, into sparring with him. He fared well against them; giving as well as he got. He experimented with different styles and methods, using his slender blade against their broader, encouraging them to take up a slender blade against his, and even taking up broader, heavier blades, such as the longswords standard to the keep guards, against their own.