The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  I finished my glass of water, gulped the pastry, and left the pips on the dresser. The sun had shifted, so at least they were no longer twinkling at me. After a moment, I placed the dagger next to them. I chose to wear a plain shirt and trousers rather than my ceremonial red armor. Having bleached myself of any factional affiliations—I must make an appearance and show everyone the regiment comes first—I went downstairs for breakfast.

  Sir Nortus accosted me in the stairwell. He wrapped me in an awkward embrace. There was nowhere to dodge. I stiffened and accepted it.

  “Welcome to the Black Guards, my brother-in-arms. There are more of us every day. Soon we shall clean up the empire.”

  I sighed as I patted his back. Nortus seemed certain I had joined Drake's little band of regimental traitors. Did all of his co-conspirators sound as ridiculous as he did? “Clean up the empire? With what? A little brush and a sponge?”

  “We shall eradicate the mages and their allies with steel and our secret weapon known only to the empress.”

  “A secret weapon?” I echoed. One of these new-fangled devices supposed to transform war? Weapons will solve nothing. Does nobody realize this but me? These Black Guards don't seek to heal the empire. They want to rend it asunder. What sort of empress would found a military corps with such a dark purpose? I glanced at Nortus. And what sort of man follows such a dark empress?

  Nortus leaned forward with a conspiratorial whisper. “Be wary, my brother. The mages have spies everywhere. They listen in the stables, in the dining halls, even our bedrooms. Heard you were interrogating the enemy long into the night with your own . . . secret weapon.”

  I silenced him mid-chuckle with a furious glare. I glanced at the bottom of the stairwell. By the five gods, how much did everyone hear about my actions last night? Were they gossiping even now? Sir Corbin: Pitiful Fighter, Failed Lover, and Heroic Drunkard? And another suspected member of the Black Guards no less.

  I grabbed the man and shoved him against the wall. He squirmed for a moment and then lay still, breath coming in short gasps. “Until the time comes to strike, we must still pretend to be faithful members of the regiment. Do you see black armor on my person? Major's tabs on my collar?” I hissed. “I am out of uniform for a reason. This morning, I am simply Corbin Destrus, citizen of the empire. Or do you doubt my loyalty to the cause?”

  “I have no doubt in my mind where your loyalties lie, major,” Nortus said, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.

  I released my grip on the man and sighed. We were supposed to be allies after all. I strained to hear the low murmur of the regiment gathered just out of sight at the bottom of the stairs. What were they saying about me? Nortus stared into my eyes with a disconcerting, fixed smile. There was hardly any room in the stairwell to maneuver around the man. Did Drake send him to keep me occupied? What are they hiding downstairs?

  My eyes narrowed. “Have you seen Sir Drake this morning?”

  The little man nodded. “He is overjoyed you have joined the cause, but your affair with that mage woman has caused others to question your judgment . . . and your loyalties.”

  So does that mean this mysterious cabal of Black Guards heard about my escapades last night or that they hadn't? I can hardly ask The Mouse. “I am loyal, Sir Nortus, and committed to the mission. We must keep the regiment from flying apart and maintain the illusion of harmony lest the mages grow too wary and escape. But how do I keep both sides from tearing each other apart before Drake can spring his mysterious trap?”

  Nortus spread his arms and shrugged. What was I missing while this idiot prattled? Was Drake launching his scheme? Was Maven revealing my secret and ruining any chance of—

  “Have you tried listening to them?” Nortus tapped his ear and smiled. “Amazing what people will reveal if you perch in silence and focus on their words and gestures rather than your own.”

  “I do love the sound of my own voice, don't I?” I laughed and glanced past Nortus at the bottom of the stairs. The crowd was growing louder. “Listening to everyone is important, isn't it?”

  Nortus twisted around to follow my gaze. “Yes . . . as you say. I await your speech this evening with great anticipation.”

  You and me both. The buzzing conversation beyond the stairs swelled, like someone had kicked a nest of wasps. I pushed past the bewildered Sir Nortus and ran down the steps. I slammed into a wall of steel.

  12. CORBIN, YEAR 198

  I cried and fell backwards on the edges of a small cluster of red-armored cavalry, but nobody noticed the arrival of the Hero of Jerkum Pass. The man into whose back I had careened certainly hadn't felt anything through the layers of padding and steel plate.

  That's proper armor , I thought, prodding my nose with a light, delicate touch. What sort of idiot wears that stifling outfit around the barracks? Or anywhere? You're supposed to be retired.

  My gaze turned to the next closest group of soldiers. Idiocy abounded. Many in the regiment had dusted off their old pieces of plate mail, flashes of red steel everywhere I looked. The man I had struck with my face wasn't the only one wearing clothes more suited for battle than for ceremony.

  Not that there weren't signs of the impending ceremony. The tables and chairs had been pushed against the walls, transforming the dining hall into an audience chamber. The tables were piled high with drink and food, and everyone circulated around the half-eaten buffet.

  Most of the cavalry had not dressed in full armor: some merely wore cuirasses, stripped to their dragon leathers, or kept their colored silks and brocades. Yet every person in red wore a dagger on their hip. Too many were fingering the hilts of their blades. Many wearing blue held one hand clenched at their sides, with wisps of smoke curling between their fingers.

  I should have demanded that we hang those stupid brass machines back on the walls and insisted we kept the daggers locked away. All I've done is split the regiment further apart. Was I afraid of taking power from the mages or in disappointing Maven?

  While there was plenty of clanking red armor, there was a distinct lack of red hosiery in the room. The courtiers had fled. Wise of them. This was no place for poncy bureaucrats. I spared a quick thought for the boy with the tray.

  I walked around the room searching for Maven or Drake, but they were lost in a cold red-blue sea of people. Whispering knots of red uniforms and scheming groups of blue uniforms bobbed and floated around the room like colorful shards of ice waiting to smash into each other. The anguish in Maven's face fresh on my mind, I intruded upon the nearest cluster of mages. I breathed a sigh of relief as they welcomed me. Maven had yet to reveal my secret .

  One of their members, a familiar man with a dark blue robe and draping, ruffled shirt, extended his hand like he was reaching into a pile of muck. I grimaced and shook it. All the little groups of mages drifting around the room and I land here with him?

  “Good to see you again, Sepharius. Nothing spilled on your shirt today?” I gestured to the buffet and smiled. “Well, be wary. The morning is still fresh and there are crumbs lurking everywhere.”

  One of the younger mages gaped at the ruffled little songbird. “You know the Hero of Jerkum Pass?”

  Sepharius plucked a speck from his shirt and flicked it into the air. “Indeed, I had the honor of sitting next to him last evening. The decorum as he dashed from the table was only matched by his . . . graceful entrance this morning.”

  “Everyone knows Lieutenant Corbin,” one of the other mages said, stroking his long beard. “The man's reputation roars through these halls like a dragon.”

  “I daresay he's bled a few,” Sepharius muttered.

  Which reputation , I thought, that of the hero or that of the lover? And it's Lieutenant Corbin, is it? What happened to Sir Corbin? Is anything that reeks of knighthood or cavalry a sore spot right now? I silently congratulated myself on the decision to appear sans uniform as I ignored Sepharius and turned to a man who could recognize heroic talent. I glanced at the pips on his collar. “I'm afraid it'
s more of a hollow reputation than I care to admit, I assure you, Captain . . .?”

  “Jordius,” the man murmured. “I was unaware you were afraid of anything. We shall have to rewrite the legends.”

  “Yes,” Sepharius said, the ruffles on the ends of his sleeves fluttering as he made shooing motions with his arms. “Run away again, just like last night. Do you make a habit of fleeing meals, Sir Corbin? Was the desert so awful?”

  Jordius chuckled. “You missed a delightful apple cobbler. What was so urgent last evening, lieutenant? You flew from the table . . .”

  “Like a dragon?” I asked, grinning as I rolled my shoulders. “Well, dragons don't like to be caged. I needed to feel the wind in my face again. And I had to scorch a pair of cavalrymen who had remembered their duties, but forgotten their morals. One of them had the oddest ideas about mages. 'Not real army,' she said. And I was informed that mages were ' no better than animals in the guise of human beings.'” I relished the pained look on Sepharius's face. “Surely, you agree my time was better spend on discipline than dessert?”

  Sepharius had gone puce. Jordius merely nodded.

  “How does one cavalrymen discipline another?” the captain asked, lightly punching his fist.

  “Nothing like that. We're not all brutes on horseback, captain.” I sighed. “I reminded them what it means to be a soldier of the empire.”

  “I admit I was expecting something harsher,” Jordius said. A small flame sputtered in his hand, and he flexed his fingers, dispelling it.

  “I saved the harsh measures for the attackers, captain.””

  Jordius smiled. “So, you handled these attackers yourself.”

  I grinned. There was no inflection at the end of his statement. It was not a question.

  “It's not like I was on guard duty,” I said, slapping my chest. “One of the many advantages of retirement: the empire holds no claims in my morals. Those cavalrymen stuck to their posts like good little soldiers are supposed to do.”

  “You questioned the morality of such . . . inactivity?” Jordius asked.

  “Cavalrymen don't have morals ,” Sepharius hissed.

  Jordius waved him to silence and gestured for me to continue.

  “I felt it prudent to remind those soldiers of their sacred vows and to renew my own,” I lowered my voice, “in the event that their duties ever pushed them into a more active situation where they must fight their morals instead of ignore them. Do you understand me, sir?”

  Jordius sighed and nodded.

  “Words,” Sepharius cried. “Empty words!”

  “They were not empty.” I faced each mage in turn. “Where were the lot of you when a pack of scoundrels threatened to kill a man for using magic right outside our front doors? Prattling about tiny injustices? Scheming with your mates? Stuffing your face with cobbler?”

  Jordius winced. Sepharius's hardened face petrified. The youth lowered his head.

  “We need solid, reasoned actions rather than faded glories and empty words to save us from,” I raised my hand and wiggled my fingers, “whatever doom approaches.”

  “I can name our doom,” the younger mage cried, shaking his fist. “She is the empress Cordelia. She is going to squash all mage kind if we don't squash her—”

  Jordius held up one hand and his colleague’s jaw clicked shut. “The woman is still the sovereign of the empire and we are still imperial soldiers. You will accord her the respect due her position, whatever you may think of her policies.” He smiled at me and folded his arms. “Tell us, Sir Corbin. What do you think of her policies?”

  “Short-sighted. She has implicated every mage in the supposed crime of a few. The army's Mage Corps are part of the muscle and sinew that hold the empire together and defend us from our enemies. This whole revolution has been twisted out of proportion. Everyone is scared of mages now. My own daughter fears for her life in our village back home . . .”

  “People are frightened? Of us?” Jordius whispered, placing a hand on his chest. “It is our duty to shield the citizens of the empire. If the fear of mage kind is as widespread as you say, then perhaps we have already failed. Forgive me. I did not know your daughter was one of us.”

  I bit my lip and nodded. That was more than I had intended to reveal, but I needed these people to trust me. I needed them to see me as more than an empty figurehead and ex-cavalryman. His words penetrated. One of us. We had already fractured into red and blue pieces. Perhaps all I could do was sweep up the bits and glue them back together before the abrasive internecine forces of imperial policy and society ground the regiment into dust.

  “She never held any aspirations to join her daddy's army. I never forced the issue.” I raised my head and looked into the mage's eyes. “Miranda is a fine doctor and she would have been a splendid addition to the talents of the Mage Corps.”

  “Too late!” the youngster hissed.

  Jordius ignored this. “How commendable. You would have seen your daughter wear blue despite your own red uniform? Where is your uniform?”

  “Yes,” Sepharius sneered. “What sort of true imperial soldier leaves his uniform behind?”

  I shrugged. “We are all one regiment. The uniform seemed inappropriate given my purpose. ”

  “And what purpose is that?” Jordius asked, preemptively raising his hand to silence the others.

  “I am going to save the regiment, and the mages, with my speech tonight.”

  Jordius stroked his beard. “Are you? Many of us will never accept such assistance from a cavalryman. Even one such as you, who saves mages while we dine and shelters a mage daughter. It is hard to trust even an ex-cavalryman these days, Lieutenant Corbin. That red uniform stains you even now.”

  I raised my hands in a placating gesture. “All I ask is that you refrain from taking action until you hear me speak. Don't agitate the cavalrymen and by the mercy of the five gods, don't threaten the empress! If I cannot persuade Empress Cordelia or the rest of the regiment to some sane compromise that allows the army mages to retain their positions and dignity, then we can pursue more drastic measures together. I, Corbin Destrus, the Hero of Jerkum Pass, will support your cause through any trials the five gods may demand of us.”

  “And what of the trials the empress demands of us,” Jordius said quietly, “if we receive any trials at all for our imagined crimes? Will these not turn your words into an empty promise?”

  “Sir Corbin knows no other kind of promise. Have you forgotten how that so-called hero betrayed the dragon warriors?” Sepharius laughed.

  Jordius shook his head so hard his beard quivered. “And there are enough new rumors to choke a dragon without delving into the old.”

  I crossed my arms and thrust my chest. “Are you two questioning my honor? I believe my words and actions speak for themselves.”

  “Oh? What do they say?” Jordius pursed his lips. “What do you know of the rumors surrounding these new Black Guards: a branch of the military supposedly created to hunt mages?”

  “Honor?” Sepharius spat. “What use is honor to a horse lover? The saddle crushes his balls and the armor saps his brains.”

  I've likely heard worse insults around my kitchen table if I had been sober enough to remember them. Forget Sepharius, what does Jordius know? “Black . . . Guards . . .?” I asked, rolling the words in my mouth as if tasting them for the first time.

  “Spare us the theatrics,” Jordius snorted. “The rumors awoke long before you did. This is not merely one man's folly. Your friend Drake should have been more circumspect in his recruiting, lieutenant. Or should I be addressing you as Major Corbin, sir?”

  “I knew it,” Sepharius hissed.

  My eyes narrowed and I gestured to my neck. “You should not. Do you see major's insignia on my collar, captain?”

  “I see nothing but a soldier out of uniform,” Jordius said.

  I glanced down at my clothes. Suddenly, dressing in civvies didn't seem like a brilliant idea. It merely reinforced the image that
I was a pathetic old man pretending I was still a soldier. Not that my tin costume uniform was much better. I suppressed a sigh. “You've given me much to think about. I hope I've done the same. Please excuse me.” Curse Drake and his pips.

  I left the mages and skirted the buffet. My appetite had vanished. I found a group of cavalry with a familiar face. They were more jovial, but no less eager for violence.

  Major Karl greeted me with open arms, his red cape swirling as he turned. He wore a cuirass, but had not bothered with the rest of his armor. The brooch that held his cape closed poked my chest as he wrapped his arms around me. I was becoming an expert in manly hugs and gave him a hearty slap on the back.

  “Corbin, you rascal. How dare you seek the company of mages before your own kind.” His mustache twitched, but he was smiling beneath it.

  “A mere accident of geography. As I drifted through the crowd, my body reached them before it could reach you.”

  “And how did your words reach them?” Karl asked.

  I glanced over my shoulder at Jordius and his group. “They distrust me. And they're naive. They think the empress is the cause of their woes rather than a symptom. They don't see how badly mage paranoia is spreading through the empire . . . or they don't want to see.”

  Karl stroked his waxed mustache. “Harrumph. Of course not! You expect a mage to get off his arse and scout the territory? Do the lazy blaggarts some good to see the world from horseback for once.” Karl's brow furrowed. “But you missed my meaning. The company of whom I spoke is your dalliance with Maven. You persist in that foul affair with the mage problem escalating?”

  I glared. “My dalliances are my business. And outside a few rebels, the mage problem only exists in the paranoid fantasies of delusional minds. There is no situation unless we create one here ourselves.”

  My friend tapped his fingers on the hilt of the dagger sheathed at his waist. It was carved ivory inlaid silver. Hardly the only dagger in the room, I reminded myself. Weapons in a barracks, now. Were no traditions sacrosanct in this time of madness?