The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “Say that to my face when we're off duty,” Corvid said, “and I will stomp you into the mud.”

  “No, you will not, Private Corvid.” I shook my head. “Even if that woman is the most loathsome piece of dragon puke in this city, you will respect the uniform of the imperial army.” I turned to face the puke. “As will you, Corporal Tenyson. The Mage Corps are as much a part of the army as you are. You will accord them the respect due their rank no matter what you may think of their eerie flaming fingers.”

  “So, I should follow your example?” Tenyson's lips quirked. “Is smacking subordinates with the flat of your blade a respectful gesture . . . sir?”

  “No.” I stiffened. “I apologize. Please forgive an old man his foibles. Stupidity makes me cranky.”

  “Yes, sir,” she grunted.

  “If you can't wrap your heart around mages in the army, try your mind. You need those mages on the field of battle. You are blessed to have them. You should braid your fingers thanking the five gods we have mages in the army. ”

  Corvid smirked. Tenyson rolled her eyes.

  “An army without mages is raw meat for the enemy. They're the bulwark of imperial firepower. They're the ones who soften the foe from afar before you engage at close range. Mixed units of mages and cavalry fought the barbarian hordes to a brutal stalemate.”

  “A stalemate?” Tenyson arched her eyebrows. “Surely, we have advanced since then? Found better methods to wage war? Methods that give us victories.”

  “That stalemate leveled cities,” I said, staring into her eyes. How to make the cynical woman see? I spread my hands to encompass the land and its glorious history. “Mages helped conquer the empire and defended it for two-hundred years. In my day, we respected power like that. I am still alive, am I not? Thus, it is still my day.”

  The two soldiers nodded while Kelsa snickered. Still alive, are you? Still your day, is it? You old fibber! Your day is long gone, just like that poor, scared mage.

  Corporal Tenyson echoed her sentiments. “Your day? Ancient victories will not put a gloss over recent atrocities. The dottering magic soldiers you praise so highly have grown obsolete. Their civilian spawn are nothing more than rebels and criminals. The old army may have founded the empire with a little magic spat, but the future of war,” she took a deep breath, “is in machines.”

  “Machines?” I screeched. I thought of the ominous brass boxes in the village. There were more complex machines to be sure. Rare things, useful things, certainly clever tools and devices, but they could never replace—“Will a machine charge the enemy ranks? Will a machine accept a surrender? Will a machine bury the dead? Let them stick to paving roads and heating water.”

  She nodded. “That is the future: battles of oil and steam rather than flesh and blood.”

  “Your future is a bleak place, Corporal Tenyson.”

  “You and your mages are nothing more than parasites clinging to the old ways, Sir Corbin. Your glory is spent. Your day is past.”

  My heart swelled for the regiment. “I choose to put my faith in men and women on the field of battle, not in gears and sprockets. There's nothing I can say to convince you about the mages, is there?” I asked Tenyson with a sad smile.

  “Not this side of sanity. No wonder you love the mages. You see yourself as one of those knights of old, don't you, Sir Corbin? It's really Lieutenant Corbin, isn't it, yet you still cling to that outmoded title. You think you're an errant on some sacred, delusional quest.”

  “I won't deny I'm on a quest, but this ceremonial tin plate is heavy enough, thank you.” I rapped the cuirass with my knuckles. “I would never claim to be a knight errant. Too much armor saps all the blood from your brain.” What does that feel like, corporal?

  I bit my lip, but kept the thought to myself. Touchy pride, cavalry. It was an old jape from my friends in the Mage Corps, who used to boast that they had never hid behind armor. Magic was their sword and shield.

  “You may not claim to be a knight, but you still act the part, Hero of Jerkum Pass.” She threw up her hands. “You're no hero. You're just a broken, old man who's conflated warm memories with cold reality. You're not a knight. You're not even a real soldier anymore.”

  “A hero is defined by word and by deed,” I said quietly, “not petty labels. And I will save—”

  “You won't save anyone,” she sneered. “Your words are empty, and the mages are doomed. Even before they killed the old emperor, they were doomed. All you can do is squawk and moan while the empress paves over your stupid traditions and retires your primitive notions of tactics.”

  “There is much truth in what you say, Dame Tenyson,” I said, wringing my hands. When did my skin become so pale and parchment thin? “My regiment is on the verge of collapse. My weapons are gone. My heroic deeds are past. I am unfit for the field of battle. The rolls which record my name are likely cracked and faded to dust. A fate that I will share sooner than I like.” Shut up, Kelsa , I murmured as the girl tried to interject a glib reply.

  “Old and broken, like I said.” Tenyson crossed her arms and smirked. “Perhaps you aren't as senile as I thought, you—”

  I raised one hand in a sharp salute. Her mouth snapped shut. She returned the gesture with a sour grimace.

  “I still have my honor. Age has not robbed me of that. Blessings of the gods it is enough.” I steepled my fingers, bowed my head, and knelt. My knee locked into place, implacable and immovable. “I swear beneath the five gods. To protect the weak. To deny the strong. To honor the sacred dead. I will save the mages from injustice, high or low, and give everything I have to protect each man, woman, and child. It shall be done.”

  Eyes shining, Private Corvid lowered his sword and touched the blade atop my head. We shared a smile as Tenyson hissed, frothing and quivering like one of her machines.

  I stared between the soldiers at the wide double doors. They would be thrown open tomorrow for the ceremony. I felt the future yawning like a pit before me, but my new vow was spoken and sealed. No force in the world could break it.

  Except for the empress, Kelsa whispered.

  10. CORBIN, YEAR 198

  The bar still retained a few late night patrons yawning over their cups as I walked through headquarters. Nobody spoke. Some raised their cups and a few wrinkled their noses as I passed. Some beckoned me to sit and drink, but I waved them away.

  I was drunk on a more potent brew than the swill in those cups. I don't know how I managed to get Krag back to his stall. I think he led me there. My head thundered like the ground beneath a cavalry attack. Random thoughts charged through my mind, tossing my emotions everywhere like clods of dirt before other thoughts rushed by and stomped them into oblivion. I could hardly move with the knowledge roiling in my mind.

  The weight of it sapped the strength from my legs. I stumbled through the corridors, dreading meeting anyone more coherent than me. Thank the gods, the dining hall was dark and empty. I cheered as I made my way slowly up the stairs by the dim light of the sconces hanging on the wall.

  The alternating flame and shadow suited my mood. What had I just done? It was brilliant. It was stupid. It was heroic. It was inane. I glared at the flickering sconces, but they offered neither advice nor reproof. Saving Miranda wasn't good enough? Saving the regiment wasn't good enough? Now, I had to save every mage in the whole empire? I grabbed the sides of my skull and squeezed.

  I wanted to curse, but I hardly knew any good ones. Foul language had been curiously absent from all the old stories. Two days among retired soldiers was a pale substitute for years of prime debauched living. I almost stumbled back to the drunks at the bar. Maybe they knew some good ones.

  Couldn't do that, could I? I was Corbin Destrus and Corbin Destrus already knew every single naughty word. And he was going to rescue every single naughty mage. Shit. That was a good, filthy word. Grew up in a village, didn't I? I knew all about shit.

  Kelsa muttered something in the back of my mind. I ignored her.

&n
bsp; “What was I thinking making that stupid vow?” I asked the stones in the wall. “I'm a fake. I'm a pretender. I'm not a real hero.”

  If you save the mages , Kelsa whispered, you will be. It is right and just work. It's a hero's work. I'm certain it's what . . . Grandfa would have done, but he didn't make that vow. You did in his stead. Would you back away from such an oath ?

  “Corbin Destrus wouldn't,” I whispered, spitting on the floor as the enormity of my self-imposed task loomed over me, “but I'm not him. No matter what I say, no matter what I pretend . . .”

  It's just a matter of scale. Save one mage, save all the mages, Kelsa argued. Take it in steps. Rescue the 110 th Mage Corps first. You were going to do that anyway. After that . . . save the rest.

  “How helpful,” I snarled at myself, bracing one hand against the wall as my knees buckled.

  You saved one mage tonight already , Kelsa murmured. It's a beginning, isn't it?

  “A beginning to what? I saved one mage of thousands. That snide corporal was right: I'm no fighter. I beat those men with luck and a few glib words.”

  So, keep fighting with your words. You upheld Corbin's old vow. You spoke the right words tonight. Do it again tomorrow. The regiment is still in danger. The mages are still in danger. Just remember that I am Corbin Destrus, and I am going to save the mages , Kelsa insisted.

  I smacked the wall. “Feh. I'm Corbin Destrus, and I'm going to save the mages.” I sighed and repeated the mantra as I passed the doors on the way to my bedroom. My headache began to ease. “Good evening,” I told the door latch, “I'm Corbin Destrus, and I'm going to save the mages.”

  I found my dagger hanging on the bedroom door with the leather sheath straps wrapped around the latch. “Oh good, they gave those back,” I whispered. “Huzzah! I'm Corbin Destrus, and I'm going to save the mages.” I opened the door pulled back my hand to launch the bundle toward the mattress. I wanted nothing more than my bath and my bed. I raised my head, muttering, “I'm Corbin Destrus, and I'm going to . . . save—”

  The rest of the words strangled themselves in my throat as one particular mage sat up in the center of my bed. Her sheer robe pulled taut across her breasts as she raised her arms and stretched. She purred with a long, contented sigh, luxuriating in the soft, orange glow of a crackling fire.

  My bundle of leather and steel dropped to the carpet.

  “You're who and you're going to do what ?” Maven asked with an arch, little smile as she wiggled her toes at the fire. “Oh, come in and close the door. The hallway's drafty. You're letting the heat escape. I suppose you'll just have to find another way to keep me warm.”

  Maven untied the sash of her robe and ran a finger from neck to navel. I rushed to shut the door, sending a gust of air toward the bed.

  Maven's nose twitched. She pointed to the copper tub at the far end of the room. “Go bathe, please. Faugh. You cavalrymen and your horses. Had to run out to the stables tonight, did you? Went for a little ride?”

  “Yes, a little ride,” I murmured. I walked between the bed and the hearth, moving closer to the hearth as Maven squirmed toward the edge of the bed. You abandoned her with a half-eaten bowl of cobbler. “I didn't mean to abandon you.”

  She pursed her lips. “Yes, you did. If your horse was a mare, I might be jealous.”

  I hunched over the tub to hide my blush while I ran a bath, stripped, and folded my clothes. Kelsa is the one who blushes. Corbin just swore an oath to save every mage in the empire. To protect them . . . with his body. Maven peeled the robe, draping the fabric across her body like a sheer, rising curtain before tossing it with a delicate flick of her wrist. Defend them with his . . . sword.

  My blush deepened. Maven had kept the robe's sash and was doing . . . interesting things with it. I choked on the high-pitched laugh rising in my throat.

  “You're Sir Corbin,” I muttered to myself, punching the copper tub. “Corbin with the hollow leg. Corbin, the retired hero. Corbin with the crude sense of humor. Laugh at the joke, lest she suspect you. And by the five gods, don't giggle.” I chuckled weakly even as I cringed. “Horses . . . make poor lovers.”

  Maven pursed her lips and smiled, watching me slip over the side of the tub. “Such a pity, my stallion. I was looking forward to watching you mount your mare.”

  Parts of me surged beneath the warm water as Maven craned her neck to peer over the rim. I lathered myself and scrubbed the day's grime off my body while stealing glances at hers. She caught me watching and struck a pose that would have gotten her whipped in the village square. There was something clean and charming about her nude body, unlike the crude horse humor. I snorted and scooped a handful of suds off the surface of the water while the dirt sank to the bottom. I laughed and blew the suds toward my lover. She laughed as the bubbles floated in the air and vanished. Then she shivered.

  “Hurry to bed, Corbin.” Her voice was low and teasing. “I truly do need someone to keep me warm.” She reached for the damp cape hung by the crackling fireplace.

  “No, not the cape,” I cried, heaving myself from the tub and reaching for it. I had just spent the whole evening preparing that finicky garment for my upcoming triumph .

  Maven shot me a quizzical expression as I grabbed a towel and hastily ran dripping toward the bed. “Did you . . . iron your cape before dinner? Since when do you care about clothes, you old warhorse?” She chuckled and sighed, wriggling her hips as she pulled my wet body down onto the mattress. “I just wanted to feel the soft velvet against my skin. You'll do. But not like that. Why don't men ever dry themselves properly before coming to bed?”

  Maven grabbed the towel and began massaging my body with large circular motions. She devoted particular attention to making sure my crotch was patted dry, but the longer she worked, the more she had to dry. Then she threw the towel away and finished the drying process by covering my body with long, lingering kisses.

  After some time spent kissing, Maven knelt on the bed and invited me to mount her as though she were an animal, thrusting her butt into the air and wiggling it. But all the talk of rutting beasts had left a sour taste in my mouth.

  I will never treat this woman like an animal, even in jest . “Still thinking about horses?” I asked.

  “Maybe . . .” she stammered. The wiggling stopped.

  I pushed my lover on her back and shook my head gently. A drop of cold water trickled down my hair, which she had neglected to dry in favor of other areas, and splashed on her left breast. Maven shivered as I cupped the breast in my hand and blew on the wet spot, then she squealed as I swept my damp hair across both of them.

  I offered to dry her wet skin with warm kisses. She agreed with a happy nod. I felt her responding to these little devotions and raised my head.

  “Tonight, you are not a mare, but a goddess and I your faithful knight duty bound to worship you.”

  Maven smiled, her eyes sparkling as she spread herself, inviting me to enter. “The temple is open for worship, my knight.”

  I grinned and leaned back, surveying the landscape of her body. How many men making love to women in this room bothered to do things slowly . . . properly? My fingers danced over her soft curves. I nibbled her ear lobe, whispering, “Can't enter the temple just yet. Must make a pilgrimage first.”

  Maven closed her eyes as my lips traveled down her neck, circled up one breast, and found her pert, flushed nipple. I took the nipple in my teeth, tugging lightly, teasing. She deserves better than to be pounded like a mallet trying to flatten a tiny nail head. I grunted. If he can even find the nail head.

  She shuddered and moaned loudly. Her eyes snapped open. She clapped both hands over her lips, dislodging me. I raised my head, quirked one eyebrow, and smiled. Maven took my head gently and lowered it back to her breast. Then she gave a contented sigh, spread her arms, and closed her eyes again.

  I returned to my worship with a will. This was my sweet revenge against every clumsy male who had ever groped, touched, or slipped inside me. Now
I was the man and this woman deserved better. She deserved better than my pitiful attempts last evening. She deserved better than to be despised by soldiers she swore to support. She deserved better than to be betrayed by the country she bled to defend. Despite my vow, I didn't know how I was going to save her, protect her, or even warn her. At least I could give her one last perfect night before the hammer fell tomorrow, whatever form that hammer might take .

  My tongue explored every surface and crevice of the soft, small hill that was her breast, and then my lips worked their way in a series of light kisses spiraling between her chest and her neck. Meanwhile, my fingers traveled south, circling lightly around her navel and spreading through the soft thatch below.

  Maven gasped as my fingers beat lightly on the doors to her temple. Her back arched slightly as I knocked again with one fingertip before leaving the temple. I grinned as my fingers danced further south to the smooth path leading up those closed doors. I combined two fingers and started stroking back and forth, gliding my fingertips up and down the slippery path.

  She groaned and thrust her hips into the path of my hand. Her face flushed. Her breath quickened as her temple doors began to open slightly. The little doorkeep with her shiny helmet revealed herself in the cupola above the temple. I greeted the doorkeep with several delicate flicks of my fingers and she sprang to attention. The temple doors opened wider, the entrance radiating warmth and welcome. I continued massaging the doorkeep with my fingers, plucking and strumming until Maven's entire body vibrated like a harp string and her passion echoed off the walls.

  She pulled me close, inviting me inside her with a plea and a long, lingering kiss. I slowly entered the temple, pushing through the doors and beyond. Then, I slid out of the temple and teased the poor, quivering doorkeep with the thrusting tip of my arrow. Panting, joints popping, Maven wrapped her legs around me and pulled me back down. I grinned and complied, eager to explore the pleasures of my mage goddess .