The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  A madness you instigated , Kelsa reminded me.

  Shush , I murmured, ripping my gaze away from the ornamental hilt.

  “So, we're a delusional bunch, are we?” Karl asked.

  “You're seeing an enemy that isn't there. You are assigning blame for evil deeds without investigation or trial. You are spitting on allies and the traditions of the regiment. What else would you call it?”

  “Mages killed the emperor. They attacked from the shadows. They fought like cowards: no warning, no quarter, no mercy. What if they strike us next?”

  I crossed my arms. “Then you might have to use that fancy dagger. Such a dangerous weapon. You could throw it and kill someone from the shadows. And one man killing with a dagger makes all daggers evil. The solution is obvious. We take your dagger. We melt it for scrap.”

  Karl closed his hands around the hilt. “I'll be taking your fingers first. Not that I would ever put my weapon to such a nefarious use.”

  “That's right, you wouldn't.” I smiled and gestured toward our blue-garbed colleagues. “And neither would they. Magic isn't good or evil, nor mages.”

  “Perhaps.” Karl nodded slowly and I pressed my advantage.

  “Are we brave soldiers of the Iron Empire? Or are we craven villagers cowering in fear of simple magic spells?”

  “You shame me, Sir Corbin.” Karl closed his eyes and released his grip on the hilt.

  I glanced at the rest of the group. “Do you all share this hatred and mistrust for mage kind?”

  Some nodded. Others shrugged. I couldn't tell if I had eroded their confidence or whether they were already uncertain. Either way, I still had a chance to persuade them.

  “All I ask is that you wait until tonight. Let me give my speech. Let us judge the views of the mages and the case of the empress on their merits, not from rumors and hearsay. Give everyone a chance to settle their grievances amicably. That's all I ask. Those mages are still a part of this regiment, still our brothers and sisters, still our companions-in-arms . . . unless we drive them away.”

  “Companions?” One of the younger cavalrymen hissed, gesturing to the knot of mages surrounding Jordius. “Do you think I couldn't hear what that ruffled little dragon shit said?”

  I sighed. I didn't even need to glance where he was pointing. I could feel Sepharius's sneer jabbing me in the back. “Do not let barbs or petty insults sway you.”

  I looked at the faces in the circle, staring into their eyes until one by one they each begrudgingly nodded until I turned to Karl.

  “Insults?” His mustache bristled as he cupped a hand to his ear and turned it toward me. “What insults?”

  I waved my hand away. “Nothing but the tired rambling of—

  “What use is honor to a horse lover?” the young cavalryman hissed. “when the saddle crushes his balls and the armor saps his brains?”

  “The five gods bless you, Corbin. You returned our daggers just in time,” Karl muttered, drawing his own. The blade was thinner and longer than the hunting knives I was used to wielding, designed to stab knights instead of deer, to find the armored gaps and punch through them.

  Karl reaching with the blade behind his back and carefully twisted his wrist. I stared. There was something important happening here, but I had no idea what. Why would Karl be —

  The heavy steel plates and leather exploded in a halo of rivets and shards. I winced and shielded my face, but the strange shrapnel hung in the air. The pieces hovered in a dense cloud around Karl's torso before reality came back and everything crashed to the tiles. The echo reverberated through the room. All the little conversations around the room were pulled in the vortex of silence surrounding Major Karl. Every eye focused upon us as he stepped over the pile of steel and leather bits at his feet.

  By the five gods, what was that? All the cavalrymen were grinning. I made my lips quirk in a wan, matching smile even as my heart fluttered.

  Once clear of the debris, Karl slid his dagger lightly from its sheath, pointed the tip of his blade at Sepharius, and strode across the room. I followed, trying to catch my breath and not to trip over the man's cloak.

  It didn't even shred his cloak? Exploding armor , I told myself. Of course, there's nothing odd about exploding armor. I'm an old army veteran. I see exploding armor every day.

  “You know . . . he's not going to fight you . . . with steel,” I gasped.

  Karl grunted. “Heard you disciplined some snotty cavalry puke last night. Disrespected you, did she?”

  I nodded, suppressing a wince. A blind beggar could see where this was leading. How much had he heard of the events last night?

  A dark cloud passed over Karl's face. “So, you will call cavalry to task, but not mages? Are some of our brothers and sisters more special than others?” I squawked as Major Karl kissed the blade of his dagger and pushed me aside. “Excuse me, Sir Corbin. I must discipline one of our brothers-in-arms.”

  Sepharius smirked and snapped his fingers. A blade of red and orange flames appeared in his hand, a mirror of Karl's. The mage pointed the blade at his approaching enemy, raised the fiery blade, and touched it to his lips.

  I stared from one pending combatant to the next as the distance closed between them. Curse you, Sepharius for inciting this. I never would've thought you had the nerve. My lips curled into a thin smile, and I almost wanted to let the mage fight in spite of the cost. If a worm like Sepharius could court a duel with a knight like Karl, maybe there was hope. Maybe the mages wouldn't curl on the ground like the wastrel last night and let their doom—or Drake's mysterious Black Guards—pummel them with impunity.

  Little knots of people began to clear the middle of the room. I pushed through the jostling crowd beginning to gather around the two fighters. They had no care for the circle of red and blue surrounding them, goading them, only for each other.

  “Do you deny insulting the honor of the cavalry?” Karl asked, his knife hand quivering.

  Sepharius blew on the edge of his blade, making the flames ripple. “Their what? Forgive me, sir, for I cannot insult what doesn't exist.” He gave Karl a mocking, little bow.

  “Pray to the five your blade is quick as your tongue.” The cavalryman bent stiffly at the waist.

  They were bowing. I breathed a sigh of relief. It was to be a proper duel. The duel was a staple of army lore with simple, primitive steel clad rules. If you murdered your opponent, you forfeit the match. You fought chest bared to the enemy. Sepharius untied and removed his billowing shirt with one hand, neatly draping it across the waiting arm of another mage as Karl shucked his cape and shirt and let them fall to the floor.

  I grinned at the pair of hairy chests, reminded of the tattooed warriors I'd seen on the road. How many of our hallowed traditions did the imperial army steal from the barbarian north during that first fateful war? Did the barbs duel as we do? Did they kill to uphold their honor? In all the stories I'd heard, ritual battles were supposed to end with the first blow.

  The sigh rattled in my throat. There was more than injured honor riding on this fight. Neither of the combatants looked like a quick scuffle would satisfy them. I winced as cheers begin to ring our through the room.

  What would happen after that single blow landed? Would everyone laugh and retire to the buffet table or, once unstoppered, would the violence spread like a pool of blood across the tiled floor?

  A heavy grunt distracted me as I pushed through the cheering throng. In the warm press of bodies, an armored cavalryman with large, broad shoulders had apparently jostled a short, female mage. The woman had brought a single boot down on the man's greave. Flames danced beneath her boot heel. In moments, the large cavalryman began to whimper. The mage sniffed, lifted her boot, and vanished into the crowd. I glanced at the man's foot as I passed. The center of the steel greave had deformed in a groove the shape of a square, stubby heel.

  I squared my shoulders and marched through the crowd, fighting a thicket of armor and elbows. I can't allow this fight to continue
. Even a symbolic blow will be deadly.

  I stared over the shoulders of the crowd as if I could stop the combatants with a harsh glare. The two warily circled one another, slowly tightening the circle like a noose.

  Sepharius moved in twitching, little steps, holding his fiery blade low and passing it from one hand to the other. He reminded me of a pony struggling to get the bit between his teeth before he charged. Karl advanced methodically with big, heavy steps, arms spread wide, knife held high. He reminded me of a charger picking his way through a wet field.

  “You're hopping about like a fly bit your ass. Nervous of actually facing your enemy? Seeing the gleam in his eye? Smelling the sweat on his brow? Doesn't your sort usually stay back and lob your flaming, little balls across the length of the battlefield?” Karl asked.

  A wave of laughter and cheers swept through the red-garbed segments of the crowd. The mages stiffened.

  “You advance like you're caught in a bog. Could you actually be stalling to create a real strategy?” Sepharius laughed. “Don't you people usually charge blindly at your foes and use armor in lieu of finesse?”

  The mages cheered while the cavalry hissed. The noose tightened a little more. I leaned into the wall of leather and steel and pushed harder. When they got within arms length of each other, they would slaughter whatever fragile peace existed between cavalry and mages. Whoever won, the regiment lost.

  The closer I got to the fighters, the more tightly the crowd packed together. There was a charge in the air as the fighters drew closer, almost within striking distance. The crowd held their breath. The verbal sparring had stopped. All the taunts passed between their eyes.

  The noose was almost too tight to slip my neck through it. Perhaps my hand could fit?

  Sepharius drew back his hand. Karl raised his dagger. The entire regiment held its breath. Just as I pushed through the last layer of people, the two fighters charged. I threw myself between them, arms outstretched, palms open. I imagined the blades piercing my hands. I knew it wouldn't be anything like stabbing meat. There is hardly any muscle in the hand. I heard tendons snapping like taut strings and the soft crunch of small bones breaking.

  I almost squinted and looked into the crowd. Surely, there was a field doctor among the mages? I'd seen Miranda heal worse injuries than this. Hadn't I?

  Which will hurt worse: cold steel or hot flame? I braced myself. I closed my eyes. I flexed and angled my fingers. I waited. The agony seemed to be delayed.

  Something blunt struck my shoulder. I flinched and bit back a scream.

  “Open your eyes, Sir Corbin,” Karl said quietly. It was his hand on my shoulder.

  “Step aside. My quarrel is not with you,” Sepharius hissed.

  I opened my eyes and lowered my hands. If stares were lances, I would be pinned to the floor. Karl's eyebrows rose, his expression was more bemused.

  I patted the hand on my shoulder. “The insult was mine to avenge and I've been called worse. Put the knife away.”

  The cavalryman sighed, chest heaving. He nodded curtly and sheathed his blade.

  I turned to Sepharius and Karl's hand fell of my shoulder. “If you must resort to that flaming blade, then your insults are weaker than a newborn foal. Can't your prancing tongue stand up on its own?”

  Sepharius scowled and snapped his fingers. The flame knife vanished.

  I raised my arms (and my voice). “This is supposed to be my celebration, by the gods! There will be no duel today. We are one regiment. Start acting like it. The only battles I want to see are over the last plate of soft-boiled eggs at the buffet table.”

  A few soldiers laughed. Some of the jeers and grumbling rose again in quiet, reserved tones. At least they were directed at a common annoyance and not wrangling with each other. I lowered my arms and smiled as the crowd dispersed and slowly reformed into little groups again. It was a start to the task I would finish with my speech tonight.

  I nodded to Karl and Sepharius, and then made my way to the stairs, suddenly eager to return to my room. I chatted with a few familiar faces as I looked for Maven or Drake, but neither one ever appeared. A clatter at the buffet drew my attention.

  Are the eggs that good? Ah, no. The courtiers have returned. I sought out the young courtier who had attempted to deliver the first tray to my bedroom and asked him for another.

  I took the stairs two by two, my heart racing. There was a chance, a glimmer of a chance, to sew the regiment back together. I just had to convince my fellow soldiers and my empress of the value of the mages within our ranks and the fallacy of blaming all mages for the crime of a few. According to The Mouse, Drake still held me in high esteem. Maven's absence worried me more.

  The speech had a chance. Apparently, the regiment would listen to me. My steps slowed. Unless they listened to Maven first. Without the reputation of the Hero of Jerkum Pass to bolster them, all my words were meaningless, the drivel of a country girl.

  Maven was the key to my speech's success. She held the secret of my deception and the respect of her fellow mages in her hands. Maven was—I opened the door and startled. Maven was sitting at my dresser. She wore braided hair instead of long tresses and a pale blue uniform in lieu of her usual purple dress. The woman had spread the disjointed notes of my speech across the wooden slab like a butcher carving a dead animal.

  13. CORBIN, YEAR 198

  I turned around and locked the door. The ram bolt was as thick as my thumb. Not that it would stop a determined mage. When I turned back, I found Maven looking up at me, a bemused smile dancing on the corners of her lips. Why is she here?

  “I'm the leader of the Mage Corps. What good are locks? I could blast a second door through your wall in a trice.”

  “You could.” I nodded. “But that might cause a fire or a loud, violent explosion. Everyone is looking for an excuse to brawl. I just stopped a duel over an insult that was worn and weak our first day at the academy. And you want to give all the cavalrymen an excuse to discard the last vestiges of their regimental honor? You think certain twitchy ones downstairs aren't waiting, hoping for one of your mages to make such a mistake?”

  She leaned back in the chair and clasped her hands. “Are they? And I suppose certain twitchy mages are devising creative ways to provoke such cavalrymen?”

  They are. They have , I thought. “The paranoia has spread from the common folk into the army. One flare, one wrong word, one mistake becomes evidence of the dire threat all mages pose the empire, a gift delivered by the gods to confirm everyone's worst fear: the mages have all gone rogue. Then the daggers unsheathe. The spells fly. The regiment falls. The empire chokes on the shards of its own army. You would kindle that firestorm . . . just to unlock my door?”

  “And you would not let me use a quiet spell, would you?” She chuckled. “Your disguise continues to fray. The real Sir Corbin would never have dissected the matter so thoroughly.”

  “I'm not the one you need to worry about. Have you seen the storm gathering downstairs? The cavalry have taken to strutting armed through the dining hall. The mages are kindling flames at their fingertips. The regiment is spoiling for a fight.”

  “And there are plenty of other weapons.” She leaned forward in the chair and began shuffling through my notes. “I should have removed those stupid martial decorations from the dining hall when I removed the mage detectors.”

  “Who needs fake weapons? You saw everyone wearing their blades at breakfast this morning? In a barracks at the center of the capital?” I asked, waving my arms. “I've seen fewer blades in a convoy of barbarians!” Granted, the barbarians in question had been merchants, but even their traders sprouted knives like blooded veterans.

  She nodded. “Yes, I saw everything.”

  My lips twitched. “Well, I didn't see you. Then again, I was looking for a particular purple hat. Blue and braids isn't a bad look. What happened to wearing purple and honoring the memory of your dead sister?”

  What happened to tact , Kelsa murmured, and hono
ring the memory of decency?

  Maven surged to her feet and slammed her fists on the dresser, scattering bits of paper everywhere. “You have no right to speak of my sister, you putrid, slimy—” She swayed and grabbed the edge of the dresser to steady herself, chest heaving. “No . . . no, you're not Corbin. I'm sorry, it's so easy to forget you're not Corbin. Those gestures. Those hokey phrases. You fooled everyone this morning acting the part of the earnest, bumbling savior.”

  “That wasn't an act. I will save everyone I can. I made a sacred vow.”

  “How gracious of you. We're saved. The spy made a sacred vow.” She snorted. “I will admit, it's a strange sort of agent provocateur who tries to deescalate impending violence and vows to rescue the sworn enemies of his empress. You're a terrible spy: far too much passion and far too little calculation.”

  “I told you I wasn't a spy. Did you not believe me?” I went to gather my notes off the dresser and she stopped me with a glare.

  She smiled and propped her elbows on the dresser. “Well, maybe you're just terrible. Hard to believe someone when they're wearing another man's face. Ugh, that face. How can you stand looking at it day after day? I would shatter every mirror in the building if I had that face.”

  “I got used to it,” I said, honesty compelling me to admit, “eventually. It's a decent face, a genuine hero's face.”

  ”A hero's face.” She sank back into the chair with a sharp, dry laugh. “How little you know of him. Like you, he lacked foresight. He was always rushing to save the day with some dragon flash plan. But that was all a facade. There was nothing decent, heroic, or genuine about the late Corbin Destrus. That gaudy fake armor you wore yesterday suited the role perfectly.”

  “Yet you rekindled your relationship with him . . . with me?” I asked, sitting on the end of the dresser. She seemed distraught, so I ignored her slanderous depiction of my beloved Granfa.

  Maven threw up her hands. “I thought you had changed! Yes, I know how that sounds in hindsight. Don't laugh. Don't you dare laugh.”

  I said nothing and made my expression as blank as I could, waiting for her to speak. In the meantime, I slid off the dresser and began to gather my notes off the floor.