Simon Blackfyre and the Enemy Within

by A J Callen

“I am pleased to hear so, my lady, and I hope you will forgive my shortcomings in that respect, for, alas, there will always be some necessary coarseness in a man’s character that even the most sophisticated lady’s gentle touch will never completely smooth away.”

  Juliana drew in a sharp breath, a sneer obscuring her beauty. “Good day, Sir Yarwood. I’m glad to see you still display courtesy and manners in the presence of both a lady and a young girl. Father and I so look forward to your next visit at Elmsgard.”

  Sir Yarwood accepted the compliment with an overly courteous bow. “Thank you, Lady Juliana, and I apologize if we offended you. His Lordship and I have been away too long from the civilizing influence of our fair city. I am sure our next meeting will be more conducive to a respectful conversation.”

  Niclas held his tongue. He knew of Rhain’s unspoken jealousy concerning Juliana’s past affections. His friend was still counted in that stable of eager knights, including Sir Holdermann and Sir Gambryun, all seeking her hand by her father’s consent. No doubt he was now overjoyed to see the tables turned in his favor. He turned it all over in his mind.

  Very well, then. I will no longer remain the last obstacle to any worthy knight’s desire, nor ambition. I cannot be burdened by the heart when our very survival hangs in the balance.

  Niclas bowed his head in a contrite gesture. “Sir Yarwood is correct. Please, accept my apologies, Lady Juliana, for my own inconsiderate behavior, and let me make amends at my upcoming banquet. You and your father have enjoyed them in the past and it has been a long year since I last had the pleasure of your gracious company.”

  Juliana stared at him for a few moments. She snapped her veil back into position. “Come, Hetty. You still have errands to run and I wish to visit the hospital before I ride Chestnut home.” She swirled around and trod through the mud to the farrier stable, Hetty scurrying after her.

  Niclas watched her disappearing inside the stable doors. Juliana Caerhope simply had to be the most stubborn, unforgiving woman he had ever known. He was sure she would go on blaming him until they were both so old and witless, neither would recall the reason why.

  Rhain walked around Sami, examining the horse with the keen eye of an experienced knight. “It seems six months may not have been time enough to appease the fairest unwed noblewoman in all the Kingdom.”

  Niclas tightened the saddle straps. “Shocking as it will no doubt be to the determined dowagers of Avidene, there are more important decisions before our Kingdom than deciding upon the betrothal of Lady Juliana Caerhope of Maydestone. To be frank, I am surprised she did not accept a proposal and marry while I was away.”

  “And not for lack of eligible suitors.” Rhain pulled his calf-skin riding gloves tight against his fingers. “Even our old friend, the diminutive yet always determined, Sir Gambryun, believes he has a chance of improving his fortunes with her.”

  “Broga is a good man, and he impresses Lord Maydestone, but he tries too hard. There is no shame in having been a freeman and risen through Avidene society as a reward for his father’s service to our late King,”

  “Humble origins may not hinder Gambryun’s chances or, indeed, any man’s. The main obstacle is Juliana’s heart. Did she not already give it to one man, my—”

  “Oh, by the merciful heart of Saint Kaja herself!” Flodwig Hogg waddled up to Lord Delcarden. “Your Lordship.” He bowed, “Lady Juliana told me just before she rode out through the back gates, though I don’t know why. My sons had just finished fitting new shoes.” He wiped his coal black hands on his smudged leather apron. “It’s so good to see you alive and well again, your Lordship. Please forgive my appearance. How may I be of assistance?”

  “How are you, Mister Hogg? Sir Yarwood and I were just admiring your excellent craftsmanship. I have also recommended your swordsmithing skills on many occasions. Your fine steel is second to none.”

  Flodwig smeared back his greasy silver hair from his face. His shining gray eyes twinkled at the compliment. “Thank you, your Lordship. You are always most kind. My sons and I would be honored to be of service.” He looked at Sami. “Is this handsome steed yours, my lord?”

  “His name is Sami. The next time I am in the city and you have an hour to spare, I would like you and your sons to attend to him.”

  A wide smile brushed across Flodwig’s red face. “Of course, my lord, and thank you, and if your Lordship is not in too much of a hurry we could shoe him now if you wish.”

  “And what of my horse, Mister Hogg?” Rhain slid his knife into its sheath on his belt. “You promised Falco would be ready to ride by now.”

  “Sir Yarwood, I meant no disrespect but since his Lordship is not fully recovered from his ordeal I think it—”

  “No, Sir Yarwood is right.” Niclas gestured politely, dismissing the offer. “Mister Hogg, please see to it that Sir Yarwood’s horse is made ready. He has important business to attend to, as do I.”

  Flodwig touched the fine scar stretching from the bottom of his cheek, running in a fine line to the Cupid’s bow of his upper lip. He bowed. “Of course, your Lordship. As you wish.” He walked back through the mud to his farrier stable.

  Lord Delcarden mounted his horse. “I must meet the Farrhaven courier with an important dispatch from Lord Lionsbury. I look forward to hearing your full report at the next Council meeting, Sir Yarwood.”

  “As we do yours, my lord, and thank you for the courtesy.” Lord Yarwood bowed. “…Although a knight of the realm should not have to depend upon a lord to correct the manners of a freeman.” He stood straight, his upper lip stiffening, a slight hesitation in his hawkish eyes. “And as your old friend, Niclas, you should beware this harvest of bitter fruit in the streets of Avidene.”

  He turned the apple over in his hand. “It is a strange blight that spreads quickly and fouls the sweet center while leaving the appearance that all is it should be on the outside.”

  He threw the apple away and marched into Flodwig’s stable. Three scruffy street urchins descended and fought over the discarded fruit. The smallest dodged his larger rivals, snatched the spoiled apple away and disappeared into the market throng.

  An apprehensive shiver chased down Niclas’s back. He looked to the sky as though this time would be different and he would finally see the miraculous creature whose secret he was sworn to protect. But the only birds on the horizon were scraggly swarms of grousing crows circling the trash heap outside the market.

  Niclas sighed, feeling suddenly winded, and glanced down at the overflowing ditch filled with rotten fruits and vegetables, already picked over for any still edible. Will she ever reappear? Count Borodin’s letter makes no mention of Euriel escaping to Salak. What do we do next if we do not know if she is still alive?

  “Come, Sami.” Niclas pulled gently on the reins.

  He hoped Lord Lionsbury’s message, at least, would contain good news concerning the progress of the rites and the situation on the eastern frontier. In preparation for choosing the new King, many decisions were to be made and alliances struck.

  If she does not soon reveal herself and her rightful claim, then neither one of us can risk falling into disfavor with the same King’s Council men we need to convince should Euriel’s dire warnings prove true.

  Niclas guided his horse toward the main road. The carefree days of wine and tender words were over. He no longer had time’s luxury in which to reproach himself and compound more guilt on his already heavy burden.

  What Juliana did with her affections was no longer his concern, but protecting her life, and those of his fellow countrymen, might well be the only promise he still had the power to keep in the uncertain days ahead.

  Chapter 12

  Buried and Forgotten

  During the next few days, a pervasive gloom descended on Farrhaven. Everyone spoke in nervous, hushed voices about the macabre deaths of Tanca Nakashian and Elric Skobb while constantly glancing over their shoulders in fear of the next surprise attack.

  The guar
ds around Farrhaven had been doubled and training continued but Simon and his friends performed listless, unfocused maneuvers, going through the motions only because they had been ordered to practice.

  Mr. Joren rang the bell signaling the start of the short rest period, and the servants brought buckets of fresh water. Callor held court and kept up the pressure, accusing Simon of having more to do with the tragic deaths then he was willing to admit while taking most of the credit for saving the unarmed protectors from another Choldath assault.

  “I’ll grant Lord Lionsbury rose once more to the grim occasion, though he was clearly emboldened by my quick dispatching first of that unholy traitor Skobb.”

  He taunted Simon with his wood sparring sword and pointed it at his face. “The moment they allow us to hold cold steel again, there will be a swift accounting between us, Blackfyre.”

  Simon brushed the dull stick aside. “If you are King, then you will do as you wish and when I am a freeman I will do the same. For the world holds many surprising pathways for both.”

  Callor folded his arms across his chest and grinned. “Are you saying you will run away at the first chance you get, rather than stand and face our common enemy?”

  Rachel, her face cold and pinched, stepped out in front of the Tiberion contender. “You should listen to someone else besides yourself,” she admonished. “He only prays your paths will never cross again after Farrhaven—as do many of us.”

  “That sounds most difficult, my sharp-tongued young lady, considering you address your future King.” He turned to Simon. “Do you always allow weakling girls to speak for you, Blackfyre? Have you no more mettle than that?”

  The gathered protectors nodded and snickered.

  “When one speaks the truth for all, then I care not; I am grateful for their words.”

  Rachel’s cheeks blushed with a bittersweet hue and she turned and ladled water from the bucket. “It’s almost empty. I’ll fetch more.”

  She offered Simon the ladle, their fingers touching for a fleeting moment; he yearned to hold her hand and tell her thank you, then calmly raise the handle and smartly crown the Tiberion twit with the dented scoop.

  Callor chuckled. “Well said, my enslaved friend, and to your point, I say for all to hear, that Marcus was shrewd enough not to be present during that bloody and vexatious business. Some might call it cowardice but not I, for he showed us what type of King he would be, did he not? One who puts the safety of his own head over those of his people he is sworn to protect.”

  Simon turned the ladle over as though examining it for flaws.

  “And to your point, my boastful lord,” he said. “Marcus is not yet King and so he follows orders, though he may disapprove, and thereby shows respect for his superiors who—should fortune smile upon and favor the just—place the crown upon his head. Which is more than can be said for one that is not.”

  Quinn Spargo whistled. “You tell ‘im, Simon. It’s about time the likes of ‘im heard it plain from the likes of us.”

  Balasi Wendaru and Morwyn Tanner clapped as did several freemen protectors, while Jack and the young nobles looked sheepishly away and kicked at the dirt.

  The corner of Callor’s mouth coiled in a sneer. “Run off now, Blackfyre, and help your young mistress fetch the water. We’re all tired of hearing you speak and need to wash away the foul taste of your name from our mouths and gullets.”

  Simon tapped the ladle against his leg. “Since I do not fear that the crown will ever be yours, Tiberion, who is to say when our paths will cross again after Farrhaven? Perhaps then, we will have that accounting you mentioned.”

  He nodded respectfully and sprinted across the field to the well.

  “Wait!” Jack yelled, but Simon didn’t stop or lessen his stride

  Rachel drew water from the well and filled a bucket. “I can’t stand being around that bootless, self-serving bastard. Elric was his friend, yet Callor doesn’t care that he died so horribly and that he was the one who killed him.” She brushed away the hair from the rims of her moist eyes. “How did it happen? That’s what I want to know. I wouldn’t have wished that on my worst enemy.”

  Simon dipped the ladle into the fresh water. Rachel had cared little for Elric when he was alive, yet now seemed equally disturbed by his tragic end as by Tanca Nakashian’s; she had at least exchanged notes with Tanca concerning the special herbs grown in the gardens.

  Jack, a little out of breath, picked up the bucket. “We all agree it’s a horrible thing that happened but imagine if, by some unforeseen turn of events, Callor was chosen King and Elric given a powerful position at court. Do you think our Kingdom would be better served if someone like that held power over us?”

  Rachel’s lip trembled. “After what happened to poor Tanca, how can any of us feel safe from attack? All it took was a few drops of blood.”

  Jack lowered the next bucket on the rope and pulley. “The demons are more powerful then we’ve been told,” he said. “First, the Holy Seer said a person must summon them and ask that their deepest desire be fulfilled, but now, as we’ve all seen, they can also gain possession just through contact with their blood.”

  “And what else aren’t they telling us?” Rachel asked, wiping her brow.

  “Maybe they can’t tell us more—because they don’t know.” Simon placed two more empty buckets against the stone well. “It’s been a thousand years since the Age of Heroes and the last time the Choldath appeared. How much knowledge about them has been lost or buried and forgotten?”

  “The Holy Seer is the wisest person in the Kingdom but I’m certain there are many old books even she hasn’t read,” Rachel ventured.

  “But if she speaks the truth, then each of us will have a better chance of defeating the Choldath when we can clutch hold of a charmed steel, like Lionsbury and Callor.” Simon drew more water and offered it to Rachel.

  “No, thank you. I don’t like to drink too much. The taste is so much more bitter than when we first arrived, don’t you think?”

  Simon went back to stirring the water around, but it was true.

  Everyone had noticed the once sparkling taste of the spring water was turning more acrid every few days. Some drank as before but others only sparingly, yet this was all they had besides small cups of wine with supper. Jack picked up a bucket with one hand.

  “Then let us pray the old books can tell us more than the old woman,” Jack said. “For I don’t wish to be caught crawling on the wall like a giant spider. That alone should be embarrassing enough, but having my head lopped clean off my shoulders by a friend’s sword is absolutely something I could never live down. I should hate that; it would leave a terrible mess for someone to clean.”

  He picked up a second bucket with his other hand. “So, would you be kind enough, dearest Rachel, to shoot me cleanly through the heart with one of your arrows instead?”

  Rachel shoved him. “Stop it. How can you make fun at a time like this?”

  Jack shrugged. “What else can I do, my dear Rachel? I wake up fearful every day and go to sleep every night wondering if I’ll ever see my family again. We’re told we need to trust each other and I want to, yet after what we’ve seen how is that possible? Maybe we don’t have too many choices left so I prefer to laugh… while I still can.”

  Simon and his friends looked at each other in silence for a few moments. Without another word between them, Jack trudged back to the men’s quarters, the water sloshing over the rims and making dark stains on the ground.

  Chapter 13

  Maps and Plans

  The Holy Seer, wrapped in her white robe, tap-tapped her cane and hobbled across the dais in the Great Hall before the assembled protectors and Council members.

  She had spent the days since the second attack locked in her chambers and guarded by her monks while she studied the ancient manuscripts with the assistance of Lord Rabek, the Royal Scrivener.

  Her Holiness had refused all requests for private audiences, including those of
Council members from Avidene, all of whom were sent messages not to undertake the now perilous journey as their safe arrival could no longer be guaranteed. Instead, she gave strict orders not to burden her with questions she was unable or unwilling to answer.

  She passed Lady Bellemar, Lords Lionsbury, Dowrick, and Rabek, all seated at the front table. She stopped in the center of the dais behind a small table holding the now familiar little red book. Opening it, she traced an outline on the page with her crooked finger. “Many of you, as befitting your wealth and status, have received a proper education which includes the known history of the five patriarchs and our great Kingdom of Miradora. Those of a humbler standing have received such knowledge since arriving at Farrhaven and been initiated into the Rites of Succession.”

  She snapped the book shut. “But it is the unknown history to which we must all now turn our attention if we hope to survive the approaching cataclysm.”

  She paused and gazed solemnly around the hall waiting for the whispers to fade away. “The original five families—Evermere, Tiberion, Strathwald, Velizar, and Braiding have shared the throne of our Kingdom for almost one thousand years, but it was not always so. I am forbidden to tell you everything I believe to be true, but I can and will tell you all you need to know. God willing, you will then help choose our rightful monarch and vanquish our enemies forever.”

  The Holy Seer paused again, pursing her wrinkled lips. She raised a hand to quieten the assembly. “By now you have heard the name of Anthor Koldrin, a man who became a myth and now… is… something else.”

  Marcus rose to his feet. “Most reverent Holy Seer, are you saying that this man has somehow survived a thousand years and now threatens to lead the Choldath against us?”

  “Survived, yes, but as a man, no.”

  Goran stood. “All born must eventually die and all they once were, should be returned to the earth. How is this humanly possible?”