The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “The red and blue dragons,” I whispered. “How could I forget? Always first in battle, always last to retreat, tails and necks entwined, fire blazing. Every enemy fell before them. No enemy could shatter their sacred bond.”

  “And no enemy ever did.” She patted my hand. “But a good friend can catch you unawares. Stab and twist the blade deeper than any foe. Because you let your guard down with a friend." She squeezed my fingers, crushing them in her grip. “Tragic, isn't it, Corbin, how camaraderie makes us vulnerable? Penetrates our strongest defenses?”

  “Excruciating,” I agreed, wincing.

  “We were twins, equal in every way, two sides of the same personality. Until one day we weren't. Do you think she could not sense the difference on the day you failed to protect her? The day she cast her life into the void? Died screaming in blood and pain? I've always wanted to ask her that. And you! Have you started believing your own fairytales? Don't you remember what really happened at Jerkum Pass? And afterward?”

  “Of course,” I lied. No, I only remember bits and pieces. This was one of the stories that always changed with each telling. “After we tracked him for many months through the maze of Jerkum Pass, the evil wizard had decimated all but three of the lead company in the regiment: two soldiers and a mage. On the brink of death, we cornered him in a blind canyon for the final, epic battle.”

  Maven nodded, rolling her hand. “Yes, and . . . ?”

  “Everyone knows that hoary old tale,” Drake said, coming behind us and clapping me on the shoulder. “After the weak, feminine dragons fell in combat, Corbin saved the day by strapping a mage-detector to his back and charging into the fray to protect his sweet pregnant lover and her horrible, useless mage of a sister. Every wretched spell the evil wizard cast was sucked into the great machine and Corbin defeated the bastard with cold steel. Your sister survived only to die in childbirth while you three made your way back home. In the end, he could not protect the army's fiery red flower with his steel,” he glared at Maven, “nor you with your magic.”

  “Yes.” I tried to jerk my hand away from Maven's grasp as she turned to sear Drake with her eyes. “Everyone knows that story.” Everyone but me. In the versions I had always heard, the red and blue dragon warriors were men . . . and they both died valiantly fighting the evil wizard to save Sir Corbin. And they weren't wearing those golden rings! Had I caught Granfa entrapped in another lie to spruce up his favorite stories?

  “If you say so, Corbin." Maven sighed. She dropped my hand and brushed a single tear from her eye. “Time has a way of turning our favorite lies into half truths. ”

  Drake dragged me to a lonely corner of the bar away from prying ears. “I ask you to circulate around the room and you shoot straight to the witch like an arrow? Thinking with your dick, are you?”

  I bristled. “Every conspiracy, every inconsistent memory I've uncovered these last two days, swirls around that woman. She holds all the important answers, Drake. If you want, I can still walk around scouting for rumors as a favor to an old friend . . .”

  Drake sighed. “No matter. I received an urgent missive this morning along with these.” He took an object from his pocket and set them on the counter. A set of major's pips , I realized. “The time for gossip mongering is over. Our timetable has accelerated.” He tapped the pips with his finger and smiled at me. “Still keep your lieutenant's pips in a box somewhere?”

  I nodded, staring at the shiny bits of metal on the counter. Unwittingly, my hand reached for the empty spot on my collar where my own pips used to be. Nothing so grand as a major. I retired while all my brothers and sisters in arms advanced through the ranks without me . . . or died. I snorted. I thought that scar was long healed. Why is Drake touching such a dull, ancient pain?

  “The plan is almost ready, Corbin.” He cupped his hand and chuckled. “And to think I once compared it to fermenting booze. No, we must think of it as dragon egg on the verge of hatching. A strong, black dragon. Imagine the glorious battle.” He went to slap me on the back.

  I dodged to one side. “Stop that!”

  Drake said nothing. He merely lowered his hand and smiled.

  I sipped my tea. “I prefer to defeat a bottle of dragon rum these days. ”

  Drake chuckled. “How's that speech coming? You will have a special guest arriving just to hear your sweet, honeyed words: the Empress Cordelia I in all her majesty. Better finish . . . fomenting it.”

  I could feel my face droop at the thought of the half-written speech sitting on the dresser in my bedroom. I affixed a smile to my face. “Don't be absurd. It is entirely finished.”

  “Liar.” Drake chuckled. “You forget how well I know you, Corbin. If that dragon shit speech isn't a mess of jumbled words on crumbled scraps of paper,” he turned and glared at Maven, “I'll eat the witch's hat.”

  “No need,” I said, pushing my plate away. My stomach roiled. I still had to finish that speech on top of everything else. I scowled at the new, shiny pips, no doubt some sort of bribe for the bitter, old lieutenant. But I'm not bitter. I just traded one family for another as I so often told my granddaughter after every army story.

  Does Drake assume mere friendship is insufficient to coerce me? How awful is his scheme that the man thinks he needs such bait to catch my interest?

  “Sir Corbin,” Drake muttered. “Lieutenant Corbin. The army never gave you the rank your valor deserved, did they? Such a pity.”

  Now he dangles the juicy worm on the end of the line. I licked my lips. Maybe some food would help settle my stomach. I speared some runny eggs with my fork, chewed the cold gelatinous mess, and swallowed. “Unlike some, I am not a man to wallow in self pity. What have you done with Sir Nortus? He almost has the vestiges of a spine, now.”

  “Everyone has hidden depths waiting to be acknowledged.” Drake quirked one eyebrow, brushing the topic aside with a flick of his wrist. “ But we were talking about the Hero of Jerkum Pass, not The Mouse. Ever thought of exchanging your red uniform for a black one? Attaining the rank you so richly deserve, Lieutenant Corbin? A rank to match your heroic exploits? I know you felt obligated to retire and care for Minerva's baby. The child of the Red Dragon and the Hero of Jerkum Pass? Who could argue with that? The kid was practically created in the bosom of the army. But we lost two great soldiers that day.”

  My mind reeled and thoughts thrashed in my head. Was that the day I lost Maven and gained a daughter in one swoop? How? Why? Too many holes. The story still had too many holes . . . like cheese. Why do I keep thinking of The Mouse?

  Then the rest of Drake's words filtered through my thoughts. And who by the gods' weary eyes wears a black uniform? Has he enlisted in a foreign army? No, he would not be appealing to my patriotism. Some new regiment, most likely. I glanced down at my decorative, red tunic and sneered. “Would you forsake the regiment so easily, Drake?”

  “Would you forsake the empire?” my friend whispered, tapping the major's pips with his finger again. “Your country needs your service once more.”

  I clenched my jaw. Somewhere in the back of my mind, a barbed hook snapped off its line. “My country can piss on a dragon. I served faithfully. I went where the bureaucracy sent me and I killed whoever they wanted me to kill. And it cost me the love of my life. I'm out.”

  “I need you, Corbin. Not some faceless bureaucracy. Me.”

  I glared at the pips. “And that's your bribe, is it? To drag me back into the army.” I rapped my cheap costume of red fabric and tin, wracked with sudden indecision. Would Sir Corbin leap at the chance to play soldier? With these hips? No, he never played at anything. Besides, didn't he end every story glorifying army life with how he hung up his spurs early and never looked back? I turned to Drake and laughed. “As what, a showpiece?”

  “To defeat the enemy,” Drake whispered.

  I startled and my forkful of eggs splattered across the bar. “What enemy?” I hissed.

  Drake plucked the congealed eggs and flung them into the darkness
behind the bar. He calmly slid the fork next to my plate and rubbed the wet mark on the counter with the hem of his sleeve. “They make a mess of our traditions. They stain the very fabric of the empire, Corbin. We need leaders familiar with the mind of the enemy. Only when we defeat them all will the empire shine again.” His eyes gleamed with unsettling fervor.

  “What enemy!?” I cried, but in the back of mind, I knew. I barely restrained the urge to glance over my shoulder at Maven. As if to reassure myself she was still there and had not yet fallen victim to Drake's . . . plan.

  My old companion felt no such restraint as he gazed behind me to the woman in the purple hat sitting at the far end of the bar. “You still have many friends among the mages, Corbin. You were always so . . . chummy with them. The empress isn't like her father. She's taking charge, establishing a new school at the Imperial Academy, a special service in charge of hunting domestic criminals. In particular, magic criminals. She's calling . . . them the Black Guards.”

  The bastard hesitated , Kelsa whispered. My eyes narrowed as the young woman deep within me snarled. I smiled and composed myself. Yes, I heard that, too. Such a brief, telling substitution. Drake's heart has already left the regiment behind. I raised my mug and sipped the last dregs of my tea.

  I lowered the mug and glowered at my friend. “You mean she's calling 'us' the Black Guards. When did you abandon the army?”

  The traitor sighed and clenched his fists. “The day the father of my empress died at the hands of mages. We gave those blue-bloused spell-flingers a place of honor at our side and they stabbed us in the back.”

  “I heard that the emperor died of an illness. What evidence do you have mages did the deed? I've heard nothing but rumors and hearsay.”

  I glanced around the room. We were hardly the only ones hunched in our own private conversation of whispers and accusations. The entire regiment quivered in the grip of rumors and hearsay, the most powerful rumors flitting between groups, growing larger and larger until they threatened to swallow us all.

  Something of my thoughts must have shown in my face because Drake shook his head. “No rumors. I saw the reports. There was not a single mark on him: no wounds, no poison, no illness. The empress had her father's body examined by physicians and experts from across the land . . .”

  “But no mages,” I asked, quirking my eyebrow, “to refute these accusations condemning all mage kind? Or even explain the ethereal nature of the attack? Help defend against further attacks?”

  “Help defend against further attacks? Are you insane? In the midst of a revolt launched by rogue mages? This was their master stroke. And it cast a dark shadow over all magic users. They killed the emperor. The day the he died . . . well, there weren't as many of them in those days, but every mage detector in the city announced his demise and shrieked in mourning. After that blast of foul sorcery, the emperor lay dead and my empress swore vengeance.”

  “We have mages, blooded veterans, right here in the imperial army and they are all still loyal sons and daughters of the imperial army.” I gestured around the room. “Is the trust between mage and nonmage so fragile . . .?”

  “The mages were either complicit in the crime itself or they failed to save the emperor from magic. We cannot afford to trust those people any longer,” Drake said. “You trust them too easily, Corbin.”

  “They are still members of the regiment, still our brothers-and-sisters in arms. So what if they use different weapons? It's never mattered before.”

  Drake slapped the bar. “Well, it matters now. We have coddled the magic users in our midst for too long. The time of sheltering mages in the army is past. Do you realize how close this creeping mage revolt has come to crushing our way of life while the army fought its foreign wars? The Black Guards pledge our lives to protecting the empire on the home front. Join us. You can help usher in a new era of peace, Corbin. What do you think?”

  Betray my friends? Destroy the regiment? Is he truly mad to bring me such a dark proposal? “I think you're asking me to abandon all of my comrades who don't fit into this new era of yours by waving a filthy bribe under my nose. I'm left wondering what brand of shit those shiny major's pips you're offering me have been dipped in. The whole thing stinks. You would pit one branch of the army against the other in the name of peace?”

  “I would support the sovereign of our country to apprehend traitors and malcontents, Corbin.” He fished a pair of burnished steel major's pips from his pocket and placed them on the bar. He slid them over to me. “They're magnetized. Stick right to your armor. It's the latest thing. The Black Guards are getting all the newest toys and gadgets. Here, try them on for size, eh Major?” Drake tried to affix the pips to my tin gorget, but they slid off the cheap costume and clinked on the bar.

  I pushed them away. “What you're asking . . .”

  Drake sighed and clasped my hand around the pips. “They'll fit once we wrap you in real plate steel armor again.”

  “I'm too old to wear plate steel armor,” I shouted. I blushed as heads turned in my direction. The major's pips sat there on the counter like a wedge splitting the two of us.

  “You won't have any trouble wearing this stuff. Like I said: all the latest gadgets. Your country needs you. Your true friends need you. Think on it.”

  I glanced around the room. Nobody seemed to take any interest in our conversation until I had shouted. What was Drake thinking, revealing such things in the midst of the mages he was planning to betray and the cavalrymen whose service he had abandoned? Then I realized the cold truth. It didn't matter if anyone heard us. Drake didn't care. The faith he placed in the plans and person of his new empress were unshakeable. He was still wearing red armor, but his heart was already clad in black steel.

  I stood abruptly and my friend said nothing, his hands closing over the major's insignia. I turned and walked away, leaving Drake and his poisonous major's pips.

  I could hear Maven calling out behind me, but I ignored her. My shoulders stiffened. How dare he. I could feel the dark scowl descending across my face like a thundercloud. If the crowd had merely parted with small mincing steps before, they leaped out of the way now. The room emptied as I marched across it.

  I returned to my own room. I tossed my armor on the chair and my heavy cape on the bedpost, but the weight on my shoulders lingered. I spent the afternoon furiously distracting myself from encroaching thoughts about mages and Drake's Black Guards.

  Tried to focus on my speech. Still had to finish it. The only mage I cared about saving was my daughter, Miranda. Thoughts of those pips danced through my head with tiny doubts not far behind them.

  Would swallowing my pride and accepting that shiny, new majordom help me save my family? Would helping to destroy the army betray the legacy of Sir Corbin? Was I acting for the good of the plan or the good of Corbin Destrus? I got up and paced around the room. All this skull sweat was making the mark on my butt itch.

  I sat down and tried to focus on my writing. The itch disappeared, but staring at a blank page did not inspire a speech to spring from my mind.

  I needed a new distraction. I glanced at the rumpled cape I had draped over the bedpost. I spent the rest of a pleasant afternoon with a hot iron steaming and pressing every crease from my velvet cape. While my hands were occupied, I let my mind wander.

  So many holes in all those old stories. The Hero of Jerkum Pass. Feh. Drake seemed to know little more about Jerkum Pass than I did. What could Maven reveal about that particular story? Where did the rings come into it? I pressed the hot iron against the damp cape draped over the side of the dresser. I leaned down, breathing the soft aroma of warm velvet .

  I clucked my tongue. This really was a cape more befitting of a major than a lowly lieutenant. My fumbling aspirations always did exceed my grasp. What future scheme was Drake planning? What past exploits was Maven hiding?

  Only the present moment remained clear and unclouded. I splayed my fingers across the fabric, searching for more creases. They
were so much easier to uncover than secrets. The iron descended and I uncovered every obstacle, erased every wrinkle, and masked every blemish.

  If only I could smooth all my problems like this. But no ready answers came to me. Old friends and old stories kept squirming into my thoughts until dinner.

  8. CORBIN, YEAR 198

  Maven squirmed into my lap during dinner, a lone purple gown lost in a sea of assorted red and blue uniforms. Despite a period of brief excitement when she hopped into my chair, her bony hips grinding into my thigh had long since punctured any romantic thoughts. This late into the meal, I could hardly feel anything below my waist.

  I stiffened my back and endured, suppressing my fidgeting with memories of that first day riding Krag in the woods with a slumped posture and shoving a spear into that sack of potatoes. I strained to present the image of the hero in repose as I shifted Maven's weight from one thigh to the other. Our seating arrangement was a vital show of unity in a regiment that was slowly unraveling. Several among the cavalry and the mages glared at the woman, but I did not dislodge her.

  I suppressed a smile. That's the only thing the two groups have agreed upon since I arrived. We all still belonged to a single unbroken regiment, by the gods!

  I glanced at Maven. What better symbol to celebrate that harmony than a cavalryman feeding a giggling mage a forkful of hot, spiced chicken?

  At Maven's insistence, I had leaned on my reputation and celebrity to avoid a repeat of the stilted dinner last evening when blocks of mages and cavalry glared up and down the table at each other like gathering armies staring across a battlefield. Tonight, blue and red uniforms mixed randomly all along the table. Some of them were even talking to one another without screaming.

  Despite my best efforts, the room was thick with a sense of impending doom. The pitch of the voices felt strained. Laughter sounded forced. And everyone very conspicuously did not glance at or even mention the weapons lining the walls.