The Knight's Secret

by Jeffrey Bardwell

  “A crazy empress,” I murmured. “This larger plan of hers—a plan I joined on faith without your sharing any of the details, I remind you—had better work.”

  “Well, the policy has certainly not provided any amazing wealth of information. Though our enthusiastic interrogation methods have yielded one interesting fact.” He grinned. “There was a traitor in our midst the whole time. An actual low-ranking member of the rebel cabal.”

  “Oh?” I leaned back in the large wooden chair, struggling with a sense of perverse guilt. It seemed wrong to luxuriate in such a horrible device, and stretch my legs in an instrument of torture. Without the straps and restraints, it was really quite cozy.

  “My men interrogated the mage for hours before she broke. Does it bother you, the thought of them pulling her nails off one by one? Subjecting her to little, burning knives?”

  I wondered which of my faceless magic companions in that tiny cell had betrayed their friends and my expectations by actually being affiliated with the rebels. “I knew some of the mages, Drake. I was hardly on a first name basis with all of them. Who was it?”

  “Just some woman,” he replied. “Just another nameless mage. It's easier to strip them of their names.”

  “Who?” I asked again.

  He snickered. “The lads said they felt cheated: she only had fifteen nails to pull. I'm told the sensitive, broken nerves under her callused stump were very—”

  “What was the mage's name?” I shouted.

  Drake sighed and fished a scrap of paper from his pocket. He scanned it, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it on my lap. “A Private Bella Loral. ”

  I stared at the paper. Bella. Poor Bella. All those intimate little stories, but of course she had never shared her first name with a superior officer.

  “Bit on the young side. She wasn't one of your . . . friends . . . was she?”

  I felt like the fists of the gods had plunged into my stomach as I made myself ignore the scrap of paper. “I was hardly on a first name basis with the woman.” Loral, a rebel? I should have realized. I shook my head as Loral's voice echoed in my mind.

  The army retired me before my time. Had to find a whole new group of friends!

  “I knew all of them. As did you. We may do what must be done, but gloating is beneath you.”

  “Don't tell me you pity these wretches! The rebel told us a single name before she died, nothing more: Gordius,” Drake hissed. “It's sent the empress into a frenzy. She's going to tear through the countryside, endangering real people in her hunt for mages.”

  Had she mentioned a 'Gordius' in any of her tales? I searched my memories of the young woman even as I cleared all trace of grief from my face. “Shouldn't have left the army, Drake. Are you chafing under Cordelia's cold, marble thumb? I swear that woman doesn't even need to pose for a sculptor. She could just strip and step on a pedestal.”

  Drake clasped my hand. His fingers were quivering. “Give me something so I can call them off and pacify the empress. This is going to spread from the capital and ravage the entire empire. You must have heard another name, their hideout, anything. Some of the lads are starting to see mages everywhere. One of them even suspects your daughter, by the five gods. We need a swift, surgical strike to quell the rebellion before this spirals into chaos. The mages must have told you something!”

  The only way you'll pacify the empress is with a blade through the heart. “So you found one rebel among a nest of mages.” I quirked my eyebrow. “Why were you so certain they were all rebels and criminals?”

  He shrugged the question aside. “The empress has entrusted me with cracking this conspiracy. They were conspirators.” He smiled at me, pumping his fist. “We'll crush them all. Drake and Corbin together again, defending the empire with songs in our hearts and blood on our hands, and no dragon sisters to ruin it this time. You've truly learned nothing from your time with the witch?”

  I crossed my arms and leaned back in the chair. Together again? Like this with 'blood on our hands?' What did Granfa leave out of his old stories? What does Maven know? “She's tight-lipped. The woman won't talk to Corbin Destrus. You've poisoned that well with your stupid posturing. She thinks I'm some kind of spy, by the five gods. However . . .”

  “What gave her that idea?” he asked, gripping the edge of my chair. “Whatever plan you've got, I'll take it.”

  I paused, drumming my fingers on the chair. “I have something . . . a disguise that might rattle the witch enough to loosen those lips.”

  “A magic disguise?” Drake asked, choking on the words.

  I smiled and reached toward the ring on the end of my necklace. Finally, a hero's job only Kelsa could do. I stared at Drake and scoffed. “Of course, it's a magic disguise. Some of us aren't afraid to use the tools of the enemy to bring them low.”

  “And it will work in this place?” He spread his arms and the black cloak fluttered. “Surrounded by mage detectors to dampen all magic?”

  I shrugged. “The spell's already been cast, so probably, yeah.”

  Drake pursed his lips. “And who precisely will be able to loosen the witch's lips if Sir Corbin cannot?”

  I grinned and placed one hand against my chest. “Whom does she love more than me? Who would shock her enough to break down those emotional defenses?” I removed my necklace and pocketed it. I could feel my flesh, muscle, and bones melting and reforming. I suppressed the pain by focusing on Drake's face. If his eyes widened any more, they'd pop from his skull and roll into the man's gaping mouth.

  “How about her dead sister?” Kelsa's mind sprang to the forefront as a young woman sprang from the chair. The old man's clothes started to fall off, but clung to my frame. Transformation leaves a girl sweaty.

  “Minerva,” Drake licked his lips and reached out. “Is it really you? My little red rose?” There was a quiet longing in his eyes as he draped his black cloak around my shoulders. He seemed lost in his own fantasy. I could work with that.

  I held my hand up, tilting it in the light of the brazier. “Oh my. I broke a nail. Drake, sweety, can I borrow your little knife to trim it?” The soft, high pitched voice sounded strange and foreign in my ears. Drake hesitated. I peeled off my sweaty clothes and stretched, warming my hands over the coals, being careful not to singe my hair as it spilled over my shoulders. His little red rose! Such a delight to have long hair again. I tilted my head back, laughing as the split ends cascaded down my back and tickled my butt.

  Drake smiled and unbuttoned his shirt, sliding it off his shoulders and flinging it away. He grinned and passed me his belt knife.

  Men! Feh. I lingered over trimming my nails, giving Drake time to leer and admire my body. I moved behind him, coyly, wrapping one hand around his waist while the knife hovered in the other. I pressed my breasts against his back and moaned. His throat, his spine, his kidneys were all there, quivering, waiting. I raised the knife. My grandfather's stories had taught me well. I paused three seconds: one for form, one for poise, and one deep breath. Then, I cracked the back of his skull with the pommel.

  I eased Drake to the ground and checked his breathing. This man had meant something to Granfa once. He had betrayed that friendship, spat on the regiment, and killed Private Loral. Death was too merciful.

  I stripped the rest of his clothes and strapped him naked to the chair. I worried about positioning his legs as I strapped his ankles, but the helpful Black Guards had shortened the seat and heavily chamfered the leading edge. The resulting wooden ramp led me right to them. I swiped my finger, mimicking the path of the blade. Perfect. I spent time lovingly selecting the dullest, most serrated blade from the brazier. Then I sighed, put it back, and found a sharp one. Torturers lingered over their victims. This was . . . a surgical strike.

  “I'm not your little red rose.” I berated the man as I made a swift cut between his legs. He grunted, but did not wake even when I pressed the flat of the blade and singed his wound. “I'm not even the hero. I'm just the mage's daughter. That co
uld have been my mother you bastards were torturing in these cells. Now you'll think twice the next time your stooges strap someone else into one of these chairs, eh?” I tossed his testicles on the brazier. They sizzled and the stench of burnt pork filled the little room.

  The man-less thing moaned again. I thought of Private Loral strapped into one of these chairs.

  “Did you watch as your new friends tortured that poor woman? Offer them advice from afar? Cheer at a distance?” I patted his cheek and waved the blood-stained knife in his face. “A real soldier gets their own hands dirty, traitor.”

  17. KELSA, YEAR 198

  I dithered as Drake sat there blissfully unconscious. His chest rose and fell in slow, easy motions while mine fluttered like a bird.

  What to do? What to do? Nobody coming for now, but that happy state won't last for long. I felt the major's pips inside my pocket, jabbing my thigh, and began to assemble a plan. I unstrapped and put Sir Corbin's sweaty pants on Drake's body to hide the wound and situated him back in the chair.

  I dressed myself in the Black Guard's clean uniform. He was a short man and I was a tall woman, but the fit still required a few tucks and folds to look like something approaching a real uniform. I put the ring on Drake and turned away as he transformed with bone-crackling swiftness into Sir Corbin. Then, with some regret, I balled up the black cloak and threw it into the corner. That dark velvet pattern was distinctive. Someone might recognize it.

  The Black Guards had little metal tabs sewn into the collars of their doublets and I adjusted the magnetized major's pips. Then, I tied my hair back in a fierce, tight bun I had seen other female guards wear. I really needed a cap to complete the outfit.

  I stood outside the door, hands clasped behind my back, legs splayed, waited for The Crow to come back for Sir Corbin. One more loose end. One more loose . . . by the five gods, where is he? Had the man time to brag how he escorted the Hero of Jerkum Pass to a torture chamber? That might complicate things.

  Finally, Private Crow came sauntering down the hallway, and I suppressed my sigh of relief as I glared at him. I could smell the man before I could see him. My eyes focused on the cap he wore at a jaunty angle. Perfect , I thought, scowling. “You're late. I have better things to do than guard your prisoner. Straighten that cap. Tuck in that shirt. You're a guardian of the empire. Your appearance reflects on the empress herself. Take some pride in it!”

  He read my tabs and blanched as his shaky fingers rose to salute. “Yes, major. Please excuse me.” He went to enter the room and I braced my arm against the door, blocking his path.

  One moment, you little security risk. “So? Been bragging to your fellows how you dragged the great Sir Corbin through the building, were you? How you were going to pluck off his fingernails? Would you save them in a little bottle as a souvenir? ”

  The man shook his head so violently, he knocked the cap askew. “No, major.”

  “You've told no one of the secret task Major Drake entrusted you?” How many loose ends have you left trailing behind you, Private Crow?

  “Not a soul.”

  “You're more discreet than I gave you credit.” I allowed myself a tiny smile and stepped aside, waving him into the room. “Please, after you, private. The stupid old man still has some fight in him. I shall leave the remainder of his questioning to your talents. Leave his fingernails where they are for now. The empress wants this one broken, but whole. Make her proud.”

  The Crow smiled, rubbing his greasy hands together as he entered the chamber. I closed the door behind us. I drew my knife. The Crow was too preoccupied slapping Drake to notice me sneaking behind him with a bare blade. May the five gods forgive me, I may have lingered and twisted the knife in his kidneys a few times while killing him.

  I removed the ring from Drake, pocketing it as his body restored to its natural appearance. I held the knife next to his lips. His breath fogged the blade.

  Good. He will likely wake up in a few hours. I rescued the cap from The Crow and surveyed the scene. I had to hurry. Someone was going to either miss Drake or come looking for Maven . . . or both. But what of Private Crow? I spat on his corpse. Just another low rank torturer. Nobody will miss the steaming pile of dragon shit.

  I marched down the hallway, spine stiff. The Black Guards stationed outside the cells all saluted as I passed. The tabs on my uniform and the cap both seemed to pass inspection. I almost allowed myself to relax on the inside while maintaining the rough facade outside when I heard that whining, sniveling voice.

  “Sure is quiet today, right fellows?” the voice asked further down the corridor. A familiar voice. Who had been a guest in my house. Who might also find my face and hair very familiar. I forced myself to continue walking.

  I slowed my pace as much as I dared while my thoughts sprinted ahead of me. Do I pull the cap over my face? No, too obvious. By the gods' weeping eyes, I forgot about Sir Nortus. I need him to focus so hard on my uniform, he misses my face. Or better yet, become stricken with a sudden desire to avoid any eye contact whatsoever.

  I scanned ahead, picking the burliest, most hairy private in the lot and balled my fist. I walked past him, softening my posture and swaying my hips with a delicate, seductive swish. His head craned ever so slightly as I passed, the poor sap. I faced the man and scowled.

  “Did you just leer at me, private?” I screamed, making certain everyone had turned towards the fracas before gut-punching the man. If Nortus could see my face from that far away, then the blood-thirsty little coward had eagle eyes.

  The hulking private coughed and bent double, clutching his stomach. His face paled as he read my collar tabs. “No, major. Never, major,” the guard wheezed.

  I reached up and grabbed the man's shirt, pulled him close, and stood on my toes to hiss in his ear. “I gelded the last man who coveted my body. He outranked me. What do you think I'm going to do to you?”

  “Forgive me, major. Sorry, major.” The man straightened painfully, looked down at me, and saluted .

  “You are sorry,” I said, releasing him with a gentle shove. “Don't you dare look down at me, private. You're still doing it, aren't you? Staring at my pretty eyes, no doubt. Well? Do you think I have pretty eyes, you tall glass of dragon piss?”

  The man's face quivered as his brain struggled to catch up with his ears. “The major's eyes are the major's business, ma'am . . . I mean, sir.”

  My lips tightened. “Ma'am will do unless you've suddenly forgotten my rank. Back straight. Eyes front. When you salute, the only thing touching your forehead better be the tip of your thumbnail.” I nodded as he tried saluting again and then returned his salute. “Better. Good form, soldier. I won't report you . . . this time.”

  The private's head bobbed. “Yes, major. Thank you, major.”

  I continued my journey, glaring up and down the length of the hallway, daring the rest of the Black Guards to twitch. None of them, including Sir Nortus, so much as glanced in my direction. They all stared with perfect fascination at a point on the wall above my head.

  I stopped when I reached Maven's cell and glanced at the guard. He was clean-shaven, young, and refused to look me in the eye. “I need a few moments with your prisoner, alone. Run and fetch Sir Corbin to help with my inquiries.”

  “Sir Corbin, major?” The private gaped.

  “Yes, haven't you heard the latest news? I thought all you lot did down here was gossip. Sir Corbin was our loyal spy all along. His assistance has been invaluable punishing the traitors and smiting the wicked. The empress may even grant the man a private audience.” While her thugs strap me to one of those charming wooden chairs.

  “But we threw him in this cell.” The Black Guard pointed over his shoulder. “He's been locked up with the mages for days. Someone just came to interrogate him this morning. The empress seemed ready to kill the man . . . ”

  I held up one hand to stop the guard's babbling. “Rest easy, private. It was all merely part of some greater plan cooked up between Major Dra
ke and the Hero of Jerkum Pass. Drake told me so himself. That entire raid was nothing more than an elaborate charade to ingratiate Sir Corbin with these filthy mages. A consummate actress, our empress. I admit, I was impressed.”

  “You mean, empressed, major?” The man guffawed.

  I chuckled dryly. “Yes, very witty.” I shooed him away. “Now go find Sir Corbin. Quickly.”

  The man remained at his post and shuffled his feet. “Where might he be, major?”

  “You want me to do your job for you?” I growled. “Are you that incompetent? Why, the man could be right under your nose and you'd still miss him. Scram!”

  “Yes, of course. Beg your pardon, major.” The man saluted. I returned the salute and he started jogging down the hallway, armor clanking as he ran.

  I entered the cell and closed the door behind me. Pity it didn't lock from the inside.

  Maven blinked at me in the gloom. “Who's there? What do you want? Where's Corbin?”

  I smiled, removing my cap and pulling the bun, letting my dark blonde hair spill over my shoulders. The old woman gasped and backed away.

  “Hello, Maven. It's like looking into a distorted mirror, isn't it? Familiar, yet strange, like a ghost coming back to haunt you.”

  “Minerva, is that you?” the old woman sobbed, her gaunt cheeks turning pale. “Have you come to punish me?”

  I shook my head and eased myself to the floor. I patted the spot beside me. “Why don't we sit down and have a talk about that.”

  Maven nodded and gulped, gingerly sliding next to me. She peered at my face. She leaned forward, extended a long, bony finger, and stroked my hair, her hand twitching as if stung. “No . . . the voice isn't right. Who are you? No, don't tell me.” The witch held up her hands and pushed me away as her cheeks flushed. “You've got an ugly birthmark on your butt. You're that dragon shit spy. First you disguise yourself as my ex-lover and now it's my dead sister? Did the five gods grant you no shame, girl?” She lowered her head and muttered something under her breath.