The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  Mother clenched her jaw and swallowed as she patted the box. “Weak capital construction, sir. My husband sneered at this crude box.”She patted the wood gingerly. “Besides, who knows what strange, eerie crafts went into making such a device?”

  The elder stared at my mother and nodded slowly. “Who indeed, madam.”

  “Shoddy construction. Poor joint work.” Fa scowled and crossed his arms. “I would not entomb my worst enemy in such a thing, to say nothing of trusting it with meat storage. I would be happy to construct more salt barrels should you need them.” Fa looked at me and smiled. “As she says. Proper storage for proper victuals, sir.”

  Entomb his worst enemy? I distracted the village elder while Ma wilted Pa' with her eyeballs. “So you see why Granfa is out foraging, sir. Weak capital food may be good enough for treating doctors and carpenters and maidens, but cannot sustain pure, salted veterans. 'Nothing but nuts and berries and good old-fashioned lard on the campaign,' he told me. Depend on it, sir.”

  “Making traveling plans, is he? Nuts and berries and lard. Hmmm, there is wisdom in this.” The elder stroked his beard, then glanced at my mother through a pair of narrowed slits. “While you lot were wasting Corbin's pension on those gut-rotting frivolities,” he shook his cane at our cabinets again, “I was ordering something eminently more practical. A large, brass clock that does not tick except in the presence of the most dark, evil souls.” He sneered at my mother. “Certainly you are familiar with such devices madam?”

  “I am not, sir.” Ma bowed her head. “They have little to no medical applications.” She raised her eyes and stared at his bandaged hand. “Doctors do not dabble in such things and my family is far too undeserving to own such a wondrous object ourselves, but I have heard . . . stories.”

  The elder chuckled. “They say these marvelous machines can expose a person's hidden qualities. You must see the 'marvel' for yourself. I insist upon it.”

  Ma's eyes widened and she shook her head. “I do not deserve such an honor.”

  My father nodded. “We shall be delighted to attend, sir.”

  “Then the matter is settled.” The old man smiled as my mother paled. “We shall have no more quibbling about what you do and do not deserve, madam. My wife shall invite you over for dinner soon. The whole family . . . including good Sir Corbin. You will tell him, won't you?”

  Ma nodded with a resigned twitch, still seated upon the stasis box, turning the gesture into a small bow. “Of course, Elder. My father always enjoys swapping war stories with you.”

  “Strange swords and new-fangled cavalry armor and frippery. We didn't have all those fancy gadgets. In my day, battles were won with the grit and spears of the infantry.” The elder sighed and glanced at our bare walls. “Not that all technology is evil, I suppose.” He smiled. “Yes, you really must see my new brass geegaw from the capital. I look forward to having you for dinner, madam.” The old man looked at Ma, a crooked smile spreading across his face, and licked his lips.

  2. KELSA, YEAR 198

  Ma licked her dry lips as my father walked the elder to the door. “Is he gone?” she whispered when Fa returned.

  “After gouging my floor strutting with that cane,” Fa grumbled. “He knows . . .”

  She shook her head. “He only suspects. I have never used any obvious magic to effect my cures . . . such simple cures . . .” Her voice faded.

  He hissed through his teeth and grabbed her shoulders. “Oh? 'Never used any obvious magic?' What magic did you use? Just how miraculous were these cures?”

  She smacked his hands away. “All magic is not the same, Donus. The stasis box didn't set off the detectors, now did it? Every house and shack the cart passed on the way here would have become a shrieking bedlam.”

  Fa glanced at the box and lowered his hands. “Well yes, I suppose.”

  My mother stood. She advanced and poked his chest. “And what was that bit: 'You would not entomb your worst enemy in such a box?' Why not parade my father's corpse in the village square and be done with it? Stick his head on a pike?”

  Fa scowled and wrapped her in his arms. “With yours perched alongside it? Never.”

  “Beheading is so quick and painless,” Ma said quietly as she broke the embrace. “They would do something much worse to me. The new pogrom is going to be horrible. How many mages are peacefully hiding here and there in little towns and villages? Doing no harm, living their lives until the foul suspicion of their neighbors falls upon them? Those mage detectors are merely a symptom of the spreading wild fire with that stupid emperor fanning the flames.”

  “Those stupid mages more like.” Fa raised his hands and snorted as she glared. “The rebel mages. Is the emperor supposed to allow naked rebellion to flourish?”

  “All mages are not in open revolt,” Ma cried. “Most of us remain loyal citizens of the empire!”

  Fa shrugged, and for once I agreed with him. The distinction was moot. Early in the revolt, the dissident mages had used their powers to inspire and address their grievances against the emperor to common imperial citizens. A man shooting flames from his fist and making the ground quake on command demands an audience.

  The man stood in the village square, his fist wreathed in flames and raised like a beacon. In a short time, he had gathered a crowd of our neighbors who in turn had gathered thick tree branches, sharp rocks, and horse apples.

  Granfa had taken Ma and me to see the spectacle while Fa had stayed behind. I strode ahead of my grandfather, urging him to walk faster. I had never seen a real mage before, though Granfa had often talked about his friends in the army who could do the most wondrous things. He always told me mages deserve respect, not fear. Ma had always laughed at that.

  The mage stared into his audience, his crystal blue eyes defiant. His golden curls and fancy, velvet cloak whipped in the breeze. Granfa stood between my mother and me, and we watched the spectacle unfold. When I saw the crowd armed against the handsome stranger with the torch hand, I gripped my grandfather's shirt.

  “What are they going to do to him?” I cried.

  Granfa snorted. “Nothing. Takes more than sticks and stones and horse shit to defeat a mage.”

  The barrage began with one man in the crowd screaming, “Filthy mage,” and hurling a rock half the size of my head. The mage deflected it with a negligent flip of his hand. Then the barrage started. The poor mage was surrounded by a mob. Granfa stood off to one side like a pillar, his arms crossed, watching the chaos of sticks, stones, and shit.

  The mage glared at my grandfather through the hail of missiles as he flicked them aside with his mysterious powers. Granfa chuckled and cupped his hands around his mouth.

  “Enough,” my grandfather roared. “Let the man speak. Or are you idiots afraid a few words will harm you? Unlike . . . sticks and stones?”

  The missiles stopped. A few people even blushed and pulled hats low over their faces. The mage nodded curtly in thanks and swept the debris aside with a woosh of his flaming hand. The twigs and poop flared for a moment and then turned to ash. The gray dust hung in the air. The crowd stood silent, waiting. I could almost read the thoughts in their faces. We're defenseless. Surely, the vile magic-user will attack us now? The mage smiled as he swung his arm again and puckered his lips, blowing a kiss and the fragrant ashes into the faces of the crowd.

  I giggled. Granfa grinned and patted my head. I swatted his hand away. “I'm not a little girl anymore.”

  “Then don't giggle. That man didn't come here to fight,” he said. “The village would be a smoldering wreck.”

  “Citizens of Sylvana Village,” the mage said, extinguishing his hand with a snap of his fingers. “I come to tell you of a world where magic is a blessing, not a curse, and we live side by side among you in peace and harmony.” He glanced through the crowd, his piercing eyes settling on my mother. She sighed and looked away and I wondered why.

  Half the crowd left in disgust, but half stayed, entranced by the man's voice. The mage's sp
eech was as fiery as his fist. I lost myself in the swirling passion of his speech, and most of his words flowed past in a stream of liquid sounds, trickling over my ears like falling water. That was the day I first learned about the magic power of speech. That was also the evening my mother took me aside and quietly revealed that she, too, was a mage.

  I hadn't understood the significance of her admission at the time. I was awed though. “You can start a fire in your hand, too?” I had asked, eyes widening.

  She nodded.

  And you hid that from me for all these years? I thought. “I've never seen you use any magic at all! You always use matches instead of doing things the awesome way.”

  Ma had merely shaken her head and hugged me, making me promise to tell nobody of her secret. I hugged. I promised. The speeches and protests of the mage activists gathered strength. Ma began to use little magic spells around the house while Fa fumed.

  The protests soon gave way to armed clashes and no more young firebrands came to the village. The undercurrent against mages hardly needed stirring from the emperor even as that hypocrite used the army's own Mage Corps to attack the upstart magic-users. The rebels went into hiding, striking from the shadows. As the revolution lingered, the border between “mage” and “rebel” among the villagers began to erode. Then it vanished. Mage detectors became a big seller. The detectors looked like large brass clocks with a bizarre backwards corkscrew dial. They were supposed to shriek like a steam whistle whenever magic was being performed. Ma didn't dare cast spells anymore.

  Ma placed her head in her hands. She sighed and my mind snapped back to the present. “Fine. The world is what it is, not as I would wish it. But we can't all survive on nuts and berries and lard.” Ma chuckled as she pushed my father away gently and sat on the box again. “By sundown, the whole village will 'know' my father is preparing for a long journey. Good work, Kelsa. You took my garbled words and wove them into just the strategy we needed. Almost devious. Just like he was.” She looked down and caressed the lid of the box as she wiped away a tear.

  “You'll get splinters doing that,” Fa muttered. “Such coarse wood.”

  “Yes, I know. What of it? Father would have appreciated such a casket. He always was the rough sort.” She patted the lid and smiled before gesturing to me. “Well? Still think she can't slip into the old man's shoes, Donus?”

  Shoes , I thought. Granfa never wore shoes. It was either tough leather boots or tough leather feet. He sneered at slippers.

  “Obviously, you or I am the better choice . . .” my father began before Ma held up her finger.

  “Shush, I'm thinking. The village elder will only grow more suspicious if I suddenly vanished in the night. And you? Masquerade as my father? Look at his face every morning in the mirror? Act like him? Think like him? You'd go crazy. Kelsa knew him best. And he told her all those old stories I've half forgotten. She's the only one of us who could do it . . .” Ma glanced at me and quirked her eyebrow again.

  Can I really just become Granfa? Step into those big boots? I clenched the paper in my hand. Yes! The more I thought about it, the more I wanted to do it. If he could live a little longer in me, how could I not? I look at Ma and nodded once, sharply, as he used to do and smiled Granfa's crooked, little grin.

  Fa rolled his eyes.

  Ma laughed and clapped her hands. “You'll be perfect, dear. Hmmm, I would need to imbue something metal. Something that will remain in contact with your skin at all times. We can dress you in the armor, but it won't do for the spell. You'll have to take it off at some point and that would break the enchantment.”

  “What about the ring Granfa always wore around his neck?” I asked. “I can tuck it under one of his poofy shirts. The bulge would hardly be noticeable.”

  Ma twisted her own ring on her finger. It was the mate of the ring Granfa wore. “Father sold his commission and retired early when I was just a newborn. Everyone always said he returned home from his last campaign with three things: a baby girl in his arms and these rings around his neck. Yes, that's a wonderful idea. It's something small and familiar, yet easily hidden.”

  Fa grinned and I wanted to slap him. Easily hidden magic was his favorite kind. If he had allowed Ma to practice her magic properly and openly, exposing the villagers to the benefits and deflating their fears, then maybe we wouldn't be in this mess. Then again, maybe we would. Hard to blame the villagers' ignorance on my father. But oh so tempting. I glanced at my father with new eyes. Had I started transforming already?

  They were avoiding talking about important things in front of me again. I wanted to stamp my foot. I wasn't a child anymore. Nobody said anything, but I knew it wasn't really the skulking villagers that worried my parents so much as our horrible elder with the power of the emperor's new mage-hunting policies bolstering his prejudices.

  My mother sighed and closed her eyes. “Fine. We have the beginnings of a plan. Tomorrow, as loudly and flamboyantly as possible, Kelsa and I shall make preparations to outfit my father's expedition. We shall take advantage of the large, empty stasis box to venture into the world and collect extra ingredients, unguents, and perishable medical supplies to service the village. The ungrateful louts!”

  Fa sighed and pinched his nose. “Dear, you can't get indignant over an imagined perceived suspicion for a merciful aid expedition that is nothing more than a ruse.” His eyes narrowed. “Not when both the mercy and the expedition are fake.”

  “I most certainly can,” Ma cried. She was the village's resident doctor. Lately, everyone had begun to suspect that their local doctor was really a witch doctor. Which she was, but it's not like Ma hadn't attended university at the capital to learn her doctoring. But what was once passed off as rumor had acquired an aura of heresy. “We will wrap Father's fancy dress armor and his good cloak, old saddle and tack, and supplies with our provisions in old burlap sacks, hook the old cart up to Krag, and head into the woods with Jenna tied behind. We will loudly discuss sending Kelsa back on Jenna with the medicines after which I will continue alone to meet my father in the woods. Those stupid mage detectors everyone's mounted on their walls have a limited range, thank the five gods.”

  “And once you're deep into the woods, you'll magic our daughter to look like old Corbin?”

  Ma nodded.

  He looked at me. “And you will deliver his speech and get the pension money?”

  I nodded. My grandfather deserved to live again.

  “But especially give his friends closure,” Ma murmured.

  “But especially get the money,” Fa said.

  “Yes and yes,” I sighed. My parents' two goals weren't exactly mutually exclusive . . . except morally. “There's just one problem.” I waved the paper and it crackled in my hand. “Granfa never finished his speech.”

  They stared at me. Fa glared at the paper and shrugged. He no doubt thought Granfa had died just to inconvenience him. Ma smiled and walked over to me. She clasped my hands, closing my fingers around the paper. “You will know the right words when the time comes. Your grandfather will speak through you.”

  That night, Ma prepared one of Granfa's favorite meals: honeyed pork jowls, mashed potatoes, and cider salad. This was the first night I didn't set flatware or silverware at Granfa's empty seat since he had died. Fa nodded with approval at the empty place setting, but frowned as I slammed dishes on the table with masculine flair.

  I slid a carafe of boiled mint water across the table. My fingers paused and tapped on the handle. Would Granfa set the table? No, he would be sampling the cooking and regaling the women with tales of adventure.

  I stood and kicked off my shoes as befits a proper hero. My father gave a loud gasp, but I ignored him—as Granfa so often had—and sauntered toward the kitchen. The polished wooden floor was smooth and quiet as it slid against my skin, so different from the prickly, crackling leaves I usually explored with my toes.

  Fa choked as my nude feet slapped the floorboards. He reached out and grabbed my arm as I pass
ed. “Kelsa! Young ladies do not walk around with their feet uncovered. It's indecent.”

  I've walked around more uncovered than this, you old mallet thumper , I thought as I turned to face him. 'Mallet thumper.' That's something Granfa might say. I need to pepper my speech with more of those. “I may know Granfa's old stories and I can mimic his favorite phrases, but I must practice the look of the thing.”

  “Oh?” my father replied. “And just how will you practice, my daughter? Slobber into your cider? Forget your fork exists and eat with a belt knife? Tell long, rambling stories? ”

  “Tonight, I am not your daughter. Tonight, I am Sir Corbin Destrus, Hero of Jerkum Pass.” I tugged my arm free from his grasp and sat, slouching into my chair. I propped my heels on the table and wiggled my toes at him. Then, before his eyebrows finished raising, I plucked my fork off the table and tossed it over my shoulder.

  In the sudden hush, my fork smacked the floor and my father's notions of propriety. His eyes widened. His eyebrows stretched toward the ceiling. Then he composed himself and sneered. “So I find a rude, uncouth wastrel in my house? And I am to treat this person as I would the great Sir Corbin?”

  Granfa was a hero! Maybe not the hero of the stories, but I believed in him. There was a smooth goodness beneath that rough, grizzled face. Not that Fa could ever see it. I nodded even as my insides bristled. “Please treat me as you would have treated him.”

  “Hmmm, 'please.' A word foreign to the old man's lips,” Fa sighed. “Best forget you ever heard it. Get your feet off the table, Corbin.”

  I coughed and tried to make my voice deeper and gruffer as I drummed my heels on the table. “Why should I remove my feet? I paid for the lumber, did I not?”

  Fa covered his mouth with one hand and laughed before pouring himself a glass of water. “So polite and cultured. I could almost believe you were my daughter.” He smacked the heel of his other hand on the table. “Shorter. Choppier, Coarser. Make me hear the nasty words of a dirty old man.”