Perils of Wrath

by Park, Elsie

  “Don’t be so sure,” Gail said, looking up from the other item she’d nabbed. She laid the opened ledger on the table and pushed it over to Roland. “I saw this sitting on the table near the entrance of the room. As to why this particular one had been set apart from the rest, I don’t know, but it struck my interest, so I grabbed it when the guard’s back was turned. After that, I saw you pause at a particular shelf, so I knocked the scrolls down to aid you in your pilfering.”

  Taking heart, he quickly scanned the page. His eyes fell on the name Fletcher. He inhaled, placing both hands flat on the table and standing up. “This is it!” He glanced at the ladies and then back at the book. As to why the very book he needed was already on Doyle’s desk, Roland didn’t know. Perhaps Doyle suspected something about Roland and was trying to draw conclusions with the aid of the past. “It’s here,” he said, reading through the page. “Date of arrest, charges, modes of torture, and death.” At this, he fell silent, his teeth gritting together as he read through the list of atrocities his mother and father were put through. Doyle’s name was marked as the one who tormented them with hot pokers, thumb screws, iron maiden, whippings, beatings, stabbings, starvation . . . ravishment. Roland’s face grew hot, his heart beating madly as he pictured that animal, Doyle, assailing his mother. Roland’s eyes blurred as his rage rose like hot lava from a volcano. It was a miracle his parents hadn’t died in that dungeon before they were publicly hanged.

  His parents had been honorable, loyal, and kind . . . and Doyle heartlessly tortured and murdered them. All because he had a bizarre fascination with cruelty and death. All because his mother wouldn’t succumb to Doyle’s filthy proposal. All because of cowardly villagers who sought prestige with Doyle by signing a false confession against them. They suffered such abhorrent violence in their innocence.

  He knew his anger wouldn’t bring them back, but the man who had ended their lives not only lived but continued to do the same to others. Doyle had to be stopped.

  “Roland?”

  Audri’s soft voice broke into his fuming thoughts, and he looked over at her. It took a moment for him to see her clearly through the haze of rage enveloping his mind. When he did, he saw in her face sympathy and concern. She reached across the table and placed a warm hand on his clenched fist. He loosened his fingers and turned his hand over to clasp hers.

  He looked down at the book again, his eyes glancing over the names of other persons involved.

  Raff Stilton, accuser. Hm, I’ve not heard of him. Perhaps he’s moved away or has already passed on.

  Clifford Hauber, accuser. Roland sneered. That louse is still around and still keeping up loyalties with Doyle by turning in innocent people. I’ll have to pay him a visit.

  Sir Dillard Fullerton, captor. I’ve never heard of him either.

  Roland’s body went rigid as he read the last name on the list. He didn’t believe it at first, rereading it several times to make sure he was seeing correctly. But there it was: Sir Heath Parkett, captor.

  Roland’s face grew hot, his jaw clenched together as he took in shallow breaths through his nose. He couldn’t think straight. All this time, of all the people who befriended me, who call me comrade, Heath was one of the brutes who arrested my parents, taking them away to the dungeon to be tortured and killed.

  Roland’s mind screamed that there had to be an explanation to the knight’s ill actions, but what explanation would satisfy? There was none in Roland’s eyes. His blood pumped faster and hotter with the thought of his friend having something to do with his parents’ destruction than it had while reading of Sir Doyle’s afflictions. Has Heath been playing me for the fool all this time? Does he know who I am, what my connection is to the Fletchers? He thought of all the times he saw Heath in private conference with Sir Doyle and his reluctance to believe they spoke of him, but perceiving in his heart that they were. What was their agenda? Was Heath simply appearing as an honorable knight when on the inside he harbored an evil, filthy soul? Just like Sir Doyle, the man who mentored him.

  Roland let Audri’s hand go and strode to the door, wrenching it open.

  “Roland?” Audri called after him.

  “Let him be, Audri. He needs some time alone,” he heard Gail say.

  He left the room, not looking back at the ladies, and marched down the corridor.

  He would avenge his parents, by heaven, and he would obtain answers.

  And he’d start with that liar, Sir Heath.

  Chapter 15

  Roland stomped into the courtyard, rage driving his steps. He meant to go directly to Heath’s chamber situated in the knights’ quarters, but when he saw his squire, Bryant, exit the training tent saying, “Good night, Sir Heath,” before running across the cobblestones, Roland veered off in the direction of the tent.

  Roland entered the large enclosure and searched the dimly-lit arena. It was empty except for a lone figure on the opposite side. Sir Heath sat astride a log as he wiped his hands on a linen cloth. His sword lay on the wooden table next to a whetstone and cask of oil.

  Roland crossed the wide dueling space in the center of the tent and approached the table, his mind raging with thoughts of Heath’s betrayal.

  Drawing his weapon and bringing the flat of it down on Heath’s prostrate sword with a deafening clash, Roland’s rage erupted. Heath jumped from his seat and stumbled back, startled.

  “Take up your weapon and fight, deceiver!” Roland yelled.

  Placing the tip of his own sword under the upper portion of Heath’s weapon, he flung Heath’s armament toward him.

  Heath stepped aside, narrowly dodging the blade that came within inches of his chest.

  “You fool! Are you mad?” Heath yelled, picking his sword up off the ground.

  Roland backed into the dueling area, his blade out in front, his body positioned for battle.

  Heath didn’t move. “By your remark, one might assume you’re either jesting or drunk, but as you’re never drunk, nor have you ever jested in such a way, I must conclude that you are serious. But what is this you accuse me of, friend?”

  “Do not call me friend, for you are none of mine.”

  Heath moved toward Roland, his sword in hand but hanging down at his side. “Pray explain, for I’m at a loss.”

  “Don’t pretend, Heath,” Roland said in a low, menacing voice. “You have been deceiving me since I arrived in Guildon.”

  Heath’s mouth opened to say something, but Roland cut him off.

  “I’ve seen the sly glances you and Doyle send my way during your furtive conversations. I overheard one in the corridor.”

  Heath stood still, his eyes betraying guilt.

  “Let me explain,” Heath started, but Roland attacked, stepping forward and swinging his sword at Heath. Heath raised his own to deflect the assault. Roland swung at him again, requiring another deflection from Heath. He did this several times, forcing his opponent to battle.

  “I’ve always thought it odd that in a place full of knights who dislike me, one actually called me friend.” He swung again, the sound of the clashing swords fueling his rage. “But it was all a ruse, was it not? Tell me, was befriending me your own idea or Doyle’s?”

  The expression on Heath’s face at the mention of Doyle confirmed it.

  Roland’s eyes narrowed. “Ah, so you were acting under Doyle’s direction.” They must know who I am, how can they not? Doyle and Heath banded together in the arrest of my parents years ago, and now, years later, somehow found out I am their son. It’s too coincidental.

  “What is it you seek, Roland?” Heath said, still refusing to attack him.

  “I SEEK THE TRUTH!” Roland shouted, his rapid breathing coming more from the adrenaline coursing through his body than from his actual exertion. “And if you will not supply it, then you will die the shameful death of one whose lies are engraved upon the heart forever.
”

  Roland struck with such force that Heath had to step back while deflecting the blow. Heath tripped over a log near the edge of the tent and fell onto his back. Roland placed his sword tip at Heath’s throat, his mind reeling.

  “Do you know who I am?” Roland asked, his tone low and threatening.

  Heath let go of his sword’s hilt and opened both hands to show he didn’t intend to fight him. “Roland, let me explain, but not like this.”

  “JUST ANSWER THE QUESTION! DO YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!” All he wanted was a solid answer for once.

  Heath shook his head. “N-no, I swear it!” Heath’s steady eyes bored into Roland’s.

  Roland stood there, scrutinizing the other knight, searching his face, his eyes—his soul.

  Roland was taken aback at the truth in Heath’s face, and his heart felt strangely calm about Heath’s answer. It was a feeling he had learned to trust, no matter what conditions stated the contrary. But Heath’s name is in the book, his mind yelled. He arrested my parents. He must know the connection between me and the Fletchers. Roland stepped back, lowering his sword. Is it possible Heath is just as much a pawn in this game as I am? Is Heath a true ally, having befriended me because he wanted to? If so, then I have just dishonored him with this assault.

  Roland swallowed and took a deep breath, steadying his shaken nerves.

  “Heath, I . . .” He paused, too ashamed of his behavior to speak. His wrath had nearly cost him the life of a friend. Heath would have every right to reject him after this, and he wouldn’t blame him. “I’m . . . I’m sorry.” Roland shook his head and sheathed his sword. “Pray forgive my recklessness.”

  Heath rolled onto his side and got up off the ground. He picked up his own sword and sheathed it before walking over to Roland. “As to who you are . . .” Heath squinted, studying Roland’s face. “You’re not . . . The Shadow, are you?” he asked with serious regard.

  Roland would have laughed over Heath thinking he was his adoptive father, the legendary masked knight working for the former king, if it hadn’t been for the grim incident just now. Roland shook his head. “I am not The Shadow. If I were half the knight that man is, I wouldn’t be standing here apologizing to a friend for an unwarranted attack.”

  Heath breathed out through puckered lips, whistling with apparent relief. “Good, for a moment there I thought I was in real trouble.”

  Despite himself, Roland’s mouth lifted at one corner. Ever the jester, even in the soberest of circumstances.

  Heath placed a large hand on Roland’s shoulder, his eyes solemn again. “Roland, we need to talk . . . but not here.”

  Heath, Roland, Audri, and Gail sat around the small table in Audri’s chamber. It was nearly midnight; the castle was quiet.

  “So you’re that couple’s son, later adopted by the reputable Beaumonts.” Heath whistled. “I can see why you haven’t disclosed that information here, but you may trust me with your secret.” Heath stretched his hand across the table and Roland, sitting on the opposite side, took it.

  Audri smiled at their firm handshake, an unspoken vow of loyalty between the knights.

  “But your anger against me was justified in part,” Heath said, withdrawing his grip. Roland regarded him with puzzlement.

  Audri and Gail said little, knowing this tender subject was between Roland and Heath, but they felt privileged to listen in.

  Heath placed his hands on the ledger in front of him. “This record is true,” he said, tapping the open page with his finger. “I was one of two knights who arrested them. The memory of it is still ingrained in my mind, for it was the incident my father and I later argued over, resulting in our separation.” Heath looked directly at Roland. “Believe me when I say I had no idea until now that they were your parents.”

  “I do,” Roland confirmed with clear faith in his friend. If Roland trusted Sir Heath, then Audri did too.

  Heath breathed out through his nose and sat a moment in silence. He cleared his throat. “You already know that my father and I came to Guildon when I was a young lad.”

  Roland nodded.

  “Did your mother come as well?” Audri couldn’t help asking even though it was probably beside any point he was trying to make.

  Heath shook his head. “My good mother had stayed back to be with her aged parents. She got palsy and died before she could join us here.” Heath paused, his body tranquil as he stared at nothing in particular. “Under Sir Doyle’s tutelage, I finished my training and received my knighthood. Soon after, he gave me the assignment to arrest two Scottish spies. Being newly knighted, I felt pride that Doyle trusted me with such an important duty. I wanted to succeed and prove I was a worthy warrior. Doyle gave Sir Dillard and me a document that several villagers had signed stating the Fletchers were dangerous infiltrators. With this in hand, we fulfilled the task all the way to burning their house down.”

  “Did you know they had a son who might be in the house?” Roland asked.

  Heath shook his head. “Arresting someone is one thing, but murdering a child is abhorrent. I would never have done it, and I think Doyle knew that. He told me and Dillard they were childless.”

  “The cur,” Gail said of Sir Doyle.

  “Once we took them to the dungeon we had no other dealings with them. The next time I saw them, they were hanging from the public gallows, having died the way of all traitors. The outcome didn’t bode well with me, made me uncomfortable for some reason, but at the time, I didn’t know why. My father, who had known the Fletchers to be good people, rebuked me for blindly following Doyle’s orders and not listening to my gut feelings about the covert arrest. But I had no reason to believe they weren’t what Doyle said they were: spies. Being young and prideful, I resented my father for berating me like a small child, and I hardened my heart toward him and his views. We exchanged harsh words and separated, never speaking to each other again. He died without my telling him how much I truly respected and revered him.”

  A reverent silence settled about the room as Heath bit his bottom lip to keep it from trembling.

  “Is Sir Dillard still around?” Roland asked, knowing Heath would welcome the change of subject.

  Heath cleared his throat. “No, he was injured in the Battle of Loudon Hill seven years ago and died from his wounds. But believe me when I say he had no idea about your parents either. Sir Dillard was a fine knight, one of very few in Guildon.”

  “Speaking of fine knights,” Roland sneered with obvious sarcasm, “can you tell me why Sir Doyle is so concerned with me?”

  “Ah, now that I must also explain,” Heath said, leaning back in his chair and folding his arms across his chest. “Since you claimed disinheritance and refused to divulge your family name when you arrived in Guildon, it bothered Sir Doyle to no end. I figured his reason for wanting to know was for Guildon’s security, but now I see he might have been acting on personal reasons.”

  “He still doesn’t know I’m a Fletcher then?” Roland asked, staring at the table.

  Heath shook his head. “I don’t believe so, though he clearly has his suspicions, as evidenced by the assignment he gave me to discover your identity. Your resemblance to the woman who rebuffed Doyle years ago gave him pause, but I’m guessing he thought her child died in the fire. Something about you unsettled him from the beginning, and nothing unsettles Sir Doyle. That impressed me, so when he ordered me to gain your confidence and uncover your secrets, I readily accepted the task. I wanted to learn more about the man who produced such discomfort in the fearless Sir Doyle. Little did I know that my allegiance to Doyle would slip away and gravitate toward you.”

  Roland looked up from the table at his fellow knight.

  “After the incident with your parents and, subsequently, my father,” Heath continued, “blindly following Sir Doyle’s orders made me uncomfortable more often than not. But I did my duty to keep my position
, ignoring the gnawing feelings in my gut that something wasn’t right about his intentions. In this instance, I felt he meant ill for you, the newcomer I was fast coming to respect more than anyone I’ve known—aside from my father. You were different from the typical Guildon knight. You lived your vows of piety, and being around you made me yearn to be better, to be the kind of man my father would be proud of. So what little I learned of you, I kept to myself, afraid of your fate should Doyle learn anything about you he didn’t like. I simply told him you wouldn’t open up, which was essentially true—you stubborn mule.”

  Roland chuckled.

  “Doyle was frustrated with the lack of information and threatened to give the task to someone else,” Heath continued. “I feared losing the excuse to be around you, so I stepped up my ploy. I argued that it would be counterproductive to bring in a different knight—if you were going to open up to anyone at this point, it would be to me and no one else. For Doyle’s sake and confidence, I openly conferred with him, eyeing you with suspicion to make it appear to Doyle that I had just as strong a desire to uncover your past. It worked, and Doyle retained me as your shadow. I’m sorry you didn’t realize the deceit was geared toward Doyle and not you.”

  Roland’s mouth puckered. “You certainly had me fooled. So well, in fact, that I saw fit to attack you . . . for which I must apologize again.”

  “Eh, it was a good workout,” Heath replied with a good-natured grin. He stretched his neck and rolled his shoulders as if he’d just finished a long day of training.

  The men laughed and the women grinned.

  “Speaking of apologies,” Heath said, “I’m sorry to say I played a part in the siblings’ arrest as well. I was following orders once again, not realizing they weren’t the dangerous criminals Doyle painted them to be. You’d think by now I’d not believe a word Doyle says.” Heath shook his head. “But I trust your words above all others,” he said, looking at Roland. “I swear to you, upon my father’s grave, a vow of allegiance to your cause. I must right my wrongs and aid you in whatever way I can.”