The Knight's Blade (Realm of Lords Book 1)

by RG Long

  "Trade what else?" Aladorn asked. "Would you like my robes? Think they'd look better on you than me? I don't deserve to wear them since I've been disgraced from my home and my livelihood?"

  "I want you to be useful," Darrion said. "Your magics may put an end to any conflicts we come by, whereas our methods are only, well..."

  Darrion hovered his hand near his dagger, then clenched his fingers around his belt. Rosha arrived as well, and Aladorn saw her abusing the tip of the spear as she tapped the shaft against a tree to shake the dirt off.

  "You came into these woods," Aladorn began, "to chase a bandit who got away with thievery from a royal Prince, who was surrounded by guards that have thus far proven ineffectual in capturing them, with an armor-piercing off-hand dagger and a spear designed for mutilating the flesh of its victims and severing all workings of the body from within. And yet you are attempting all of this with the vague idea of peace in your mind that this can be resolved without lives lost or bloodshed?"

  "And if you helped us," Darrion said, still offering the draught, "we could accomplish that."

  Aladorn saw no additional ill intent in Darrion's expression, even with the sun setting against them and the shadows of the forest covering it. Aladorn snatched the potion away, undid the tiny cap, and took a shallow, fast swig of the contents that barely soaked his tongue.

  "I know what you two are," he said. "You must be the town fools. Even farming villas ruled by ineffective despots still need entertainment."

  "And I think I know why you were shamed out of your order," Rosha said.

  She sat behind Darrion and took a moment to catch her breath.

  "Unless you have some better reason to be unsanctioned, as we have our own better reasons to be out here."

  "Oh, sure," Aladorn said, "you have such the high ground over me. Admonish the city-dweller. He knows not the hardships of pastoral living, all laze and glazed eyes that stare into the sun thanking the living Lords for his luxurious life."

  "Okay," Darrion chuckled.

  Aladorn rested his face into his propped-up fingers for a moment and took a deep, calming breath.

  "Apologies," he said, "using magic also makes me angsty. It's part of the condition, to channel the spirits which invoke the presence of fire, I must likewise synergize my own soul with theirs, and fire tends to bring about a certain heatedness to my personality. Passive yet aggressive anger that builds up over time."

  "If I had magic, I'd probably wield flames," Darrion admitted. "It's not just the gold pieces we're after, you know. At least, for me, there's a reason I need to prove myself over this. You see this?"

  He pointed to his hair. Aladorn tried to look past it for a scar on his scalp or some growth hidden under it.

  "I'm the only one anyone from Oldrum's ever seen with this color of hair."

  "Oh," Aladorn said.

  He understood the apparent gravity that Darrion spoke with and held back his own knowledge, which contradicted his sense of despair.

  "I'm an orphan," Darrion continued. "My father died and my mother, some say she abandoned me, others say she left for fortune and never returned. My only family has raised me to fit into a role I feel I never can, to accept responsibilities that, in every possible way, I know, are not part of my true calling. My aim is to recover the scepter not out of loyalty to the crown or adherence to the laws, but to prove to them their judgments of me were wrong. That I have worth they could never see before their own blind and ignorant eyes."

  "I see," Aladorn said. He turned to Rosha. "And you?"

  Rosha looked at him like she had just woken up and wasn't expecting to be included. She looked back to Darrion as well, who sat in a somewhat brooding manner, contemplating their conversation.

  "Well," Rosha said, "the same, somewhat. Not of my family, but of my place. I think both of us have more to do, and more to become than Oldrum can ever give us."

  Aladorn understood everything, even the things that were not obvious between the two youths themselves. He saw straight through them both, to Darrion's blunt and brutal honesty to Rosha's unspoken, hidden words contradicting her simple appearance. He nodded and pulled himself up along the tree trunk.

  "If it'll keep you from turning me in," Aladorn said, "then you'll have my help to make this as peaceful as I can. I won't say no one will get hurt. Bandits may be human, to a degree of argumentative legality, but they are also stupid enough to believe that they won't get burned by throwing themselves at an open flame. If so, then I will rely on you to protect me as well. You can't very well turn in an illegal wizard that's dead."

  "True," Darrion chuckled dryly.

  They all stood up, and Aladorn led the way once more. They continued their trek into the woods as the night fell. Ahead was the bandit encampment, deep in the forest, in the mighty and awful outpost keep.

  Chapter 11

  NIGHT HAD SET IN THE hillsides of the western Grannitewatch territories. From the base of each hill and the forests that covered them to the plains that separated them, only darkness reigned. The moon was hidden twice over in its absent phase and with a cover of clouds. Not even stars could illuminate the path that the ardent, errant travelers took that went through the stark country hillsides. One group, however, meandering but not aimless through the woods, traveled by light.

  Aladorn held up his hand, and in it, he carefully suspended a small flame, just enough to keep a candle going, and he walked confidently through the woods that finally leveled off into gradual steppes of forest floor, which led upwards.

  The territory close to the hilltop where the outpost was hidden had many winding paths that were intentionally carved out from the steep climbs of the cliffs and hidden by patches of brush and narrow walls of planted trees.

  "We're close now," Aladorn whispered. His voice was almost unheard in the forest wind.

  "Close enough for that tone of voice?" Darrion asked.

  "Just about," he clarified. "As far as I know, they won't expect someone to come in through a secret entrance. I don't think they know such things exist there to be entered."

  "You're certain the scepter is still here?" Rosha asked. "They could have hiked it down the other side of the mountain in anticipation of someone coming."

  "Or the explosion from earlier," Darrion said, "along with two absentee footmen -."

  "Excuse me for choosing to live," Aladorn calmly snapped back. "No, they won't be going anywhere. There's a good reason they've fled this far out into the wilds just for some security. Oldrum isn't the threat the Lord's Houses represent in the rest of the continent."

  "Just how far have you traveled?" Darrion asked. "Devilknoll is quite a ways away, as far as I understand it."

  "A ways of a ways away," Aladorn said. "Yes, I have traveled far to see much. My goal, as it stands, is to petition the headquarters of royal wizardry to reinstate me and write off the flukes of accidents, which led to my initial dismissal."

  "What all have you seen?" Darrion asked. "And how did you come to this bandit place, specifically?"

  "Hmph," Aladorn huffed. "I mocked your furtive lifestyle here, but in truth, it may be the safest place in all the Realms to be right now. A terror is razing its way across the many lands with sinister goals against the crown. Do you know what year of rule it is?"

  "It's the 38th of Grannitewatch," Darrion answered. He turned to Rosha, with slight uncertainty, and she nodded to him.

  "Yes," Aladorn said. "It is unprecedented for a single House to have a rule this long. Not since the days of the clashing Empires, before the current system was established, have the Realms been so stagnant under single rulership. And there are those who do not take this knowledge pleasantly. Even though the Houses agree to this rule by way of the Trials, there is still much contention among the capitals and royal cities for those who think their lot would be better served with a new leader."

  "But enacting war is forbidden," Darrion mentioned. "As forbidden as war can be. The Houses are all too powerful to con
test one another. There would be nothing gained if they were to fight openly."

  "Do you know why Grannitewatch has held its role so long?" Aladorn asked. "The capital itself is an impenetrable fortress. It's built within a jagged crag of mountains in the middle of a great continental upheaval where the sharpest and steepest of hills exist. It's right in a valley, a single fertile pit where things grow out of solid rock like it's been blessed by a miraculous divinity. The ways into Grannitewatch are few and extremely dangerous. A legend says that once, in the days of the Empires, a farmer parked his donkey and cart along a road, and an advancing army was hindered by that stubborn creature for an entire day, unable to move it out of their way and unwilling to kill it else its body would block their way even more."

  "That makes sense," Rosha said. "As far as donkeys go, I mean. Not killing it makes it seem sort of like a legend."

  "It is a legend," Aladorn said, "but one that's so thoroughly believed it's become ubiquitous. Grannitewatch is a House that cannot be sieged, for even a donkey is enough to defend their most important roads. They have an absolute defensive advantage against anyone. As such, they can do as they please without fear of retaliation. They are not hindered by sabotage or spies, they are not threatened by drought or famine, and the metals of their mines make them rich beyond the ability of any other House to compete."

  "Why were they never rulers for this long before?" Darrion asked.

  "It's a curious question," Aladorn said. "But perhaps the right ruler was simply never born until now. But that's all started changing. Grannitewatch's hidden nature is becoming their own infected wound of hubris, as a new force has begun to sew chaos through the lands. Inn-boy, have you heard rumors of one called the Red Knight?"

  "I've heard people whine in pain," Darrion said, his brows furrowing, "for calling me anything-boy before. But no, I haven't."

  "Then count yourself and your country town as graced," Aladorn said.

  "Who is he?" Rosha asked. "This Red Knight. Another legend?"

  "Unfortunately, no," Aladorn replied. "He is very real. He has burned whole towns and villages with his band of riotous marauders. They steal nothing. They take no captives. They spare not even the weak or the young. He moves upon cities occupied by royalty and kills them all without opposition. No guards or knights have stood against him or his band fairly, because they do not fight with fairness at all."

  "Sounds like a coward, then," Darrion said.

  "But a winning one," Aladorn said with a wide, fretful expression. "I came here upon rumors of the Red Knight was coming from the south to burn the town I was previously in. The only ones who offered to escort me after learning my secret were these black-hearted braggart bandits. They steal from the merchants on the main roads and sell the wares into town, disguised as the real merchants to keep their supply chain going. It's awful to consider, but if anyone survived the Red Knight's rampage, it would be a group like them."

  "What is the Red Knight's plan?" Rosha asked. "Is he an agent of another House? Defying the treaties and charters so abruptly?"

  "It's possible," Aladorn said. He turned with his flame catching the wind, but not going out, turning into a bright orange streak in the air, "I wish I knew. There's no written proof that he even has a goal. Though there is no such thing as a man who acts without reason."

  Aladorn's foreboding tone dampened Darrion and Rosha's gait. He turned and aimed his light ahead, and their vigor was immediately restored.

  "There it is," Aladorn said.

  Beyond the trees, exposed in the darkness, was a mighty wall, and yet another wall of a tower rising high above it. They reached their destination, the hidden forest fortress, full of bandits, and the hiding place of the Royal Scepter they sought. Aladorn slowly collapsed his hands together and brought them back into darkness again. He waved them over to follow, and all three crept up under the dark cover of the mighty wall to the side. Darrion led them to the opening on the blueprint, which he trusted to Aladorn to carry and interpret further, and they all entered through the under the passage of the abandoned fortress runoff drain.

  Chapter 12

  ONE MISERABLE CRAWL later, the group emerged with soggy shoes and held breath to a service entrance to the fort's inner workings. They were inside the wall without a single ounce of resistance, and without a single eye-catching sight of them at all. The inside of the service room, where the soldiers or servants of the fort of old would tend to the working water paths, was locked by an ancient, rusty gate.

  "I could force this," Darrion said, holding his armor breaker. "This door looks weak enough to fall over if I just pry at its sides."

  "I wouldn't," Aladorn said. "This looks just loud enough, and these rooms just vacant enough that any movement we make will be heard all the way up to the observation deck of the tower."

  "Well, we have to get in," Darrion said with grit teeth. "Can you...heat the lock?"

  "...yes," Aladorn said. He just stared off until Darrion shook his head. Aladorn shook his, harder, back.

  "And what will that do?"

  "Burn it?"

  "It's metal!" Aladorn said in a whisper-shout, not willing to raise his volume but eager to raise his tone. "Do you know how smithing works, lad?"

  "I do, yes," Darrion said, frustration rising in his voice.

  He darted his eyes away before Aladorn even had to ask him to explain it, or for the important details that he knew were not part of Darrion's knowledge or training.

  "Stand aside," Rosha said.

  She worked her way up to the door and stood before it with her spear held and armed. Aladorn stood behind Darrion, who went down the small flight of narrow stairs and back down into the constructed runoff ditch. Rosha fit the spear through the wide iron bars of the door and held her spear up close to the hilt just under the blade. Once again, she used it improperly and lifted the gate up by crouching down and moving the spear up on her shoulder.

  Darrion rushed up and grabbed the gate. It barely made a squeak as they both struggled carefully to lift it off its bolted hinges. She lowered it down and controlled its descent with the shaft of her spear while Darrion slowly settled it in a wide stance until it was flat to the ground. He turned to Rosha and gave her a thankful nod.

  "That's how we rose up the new stable walls," she said.

  "Very good," Aladorn said, as he rushed inside to kick the dirt and grime off his tasseled, fancy looking, newly stained cotton-lined shoes. "You see? You shouldn't rely on magic too much. That's the first lesson a wizard has to learn."

  "Is that the lesson that got you kicked out of the School?" Darrion asked.

  Aladorn turned with a moody expression and saw Darrion crossing his arms and smirking, sincerely. Aladorn rolled his eyes and observed the room closely.

  "Well, now we only have a fortress full of bandits to search," he said. "That scepter could be anywhere, you know."

  Darrion drew his armor breaker.

  "Someone else can tell us," he said.

  "You two are very quick to taking hostages," Aladorn said. "Just what kind of lives did you live in that dreary little place? Is this how you got your Inn guests to pay you?"

  "I wouldn't be surprised if Aunt Gertie did that," Darrion admitted. "They're bandits, though. No honor among thieves. Most will talk in exchange for their lives."

  "You don't understand what makes a man turn to banditry," Aladorn said. "It's not the promise of wealth. It's the aspect of freedom and the pursuit of ideals beyond society's reach. Poorness and desperation can make men criminals on their own, but to join a band of others, likewise fallen and desperate for one another's sake instead takes a special sort of camaraderie."

  "You think these men know honor?" Darrion asked. "Or chivalry?"

  "I think they know numbers," Aladorn said. "And even if you surprise one of them, there will be far more than one in this fortress to fight you. If freedom is what gathered them all, they will honor the death of one for the freedom of the rest."


  "We agreed not to kill," Rosha said.

  "I know that!" Darrion argued back. "They won't know that at first unless we tell them! So we won't. Once they've helped us, we can tie them up to keep them quiet. We won't kill anyone that doesn't try to kill us first."

  "I'm not against interrogation, per se," Aladorn admitted, to placate Darrion beneath the rising voice he was building up. "But if we do it, we must make sure they can't retaliate or shout at all. If you want no blood at all, you'll have to be very creative in your approach. Can you handle... creative?"

  Darrion frowned angrily at the pseudo-insult but shook his head, relenting in the admission that he couldn't. He sheathed his dagger again and took a place against the wall to pout near another door. Then his head perked up. He heard something beyond the door and down into a cellar even further beneath them. He waved Aladorn and Rosha over to listen in.

  "What's down that way?" he asked. Aladorn's eyes drifted up as he called on his intellectual memory to recall the layout of the blueprint in his pocket.

  "A dungeon," he said.

  "How disconnected is it from the rest of the fort?" Darrion asked.

  "Well, it's a dungeon," Aladorn answered. "Traditionally, they are very disconnected."

  "So the screams can't be heard above," Darrion said.

  "That's a bit grim, but it's also completely true," Aladorn admitted. "How many do you think are down there, though?"

  "As long as it's less than three," Darrion said.

  He took the knife out again and turned to Rosha. He showed her the opposite side of it, the pommel of the handle, which was still solid and hard, but far less lethal than the tip. She nodded and looked to the blunt edge of her spear, which had already proven its worth and place in her skilled hands. Darrion checked the door, and it swung open slowly with a short squeak of metal against the joints that held it.

  Rosha went first, spear butt forward and down, then Aladorn with his hands up and fingers twiddling nervously in the dark, ready to do something with fire from his hands at a moment's notice, and Darrion held ground behind with his dagger out and tip forward. The dungeon was dark most of the way, but at the end of the long hall that rounded along the perimeter of the fortress wall itself was a flickering light and the source of the noise.