Rebellion of the Black Militia
Page 10
Lamorak flicked his tobacco with a finger, and sparks flew as he stepped forward.
“God-King bloody Marsun gives me the right. Remember him? The man whose tower you’ve been living in, whose lands you stand upon, whose allegiance you owe?” The knight’s sudden anger faded, and he took a breath. “For just a moment perhaps Johann you’ll consider the possibility I know what I’m doing. That after a hundred and fifty years I know a thing or two about the sort of folk who should and shouldn’t be trusted with a demon clawing at their mind. I think you’re one who should. So here we are.”
Johann fought down the first two bitter, petulant responses that formed.
“Why do you get older every time you mention your age. And apparently I don’t have a choice. So what do we do?”
Lamorak grinned.
“Hows your arm?”
“Healing.”
“Well, since you’re apparently soft as cheese, we should probably find you some armor. And a sword, maybe, so you don’t go breaking any more hands. And a few guns.”
“Do I get to meet the king?”
Lamorak scoffed, and raised an eyebrow.
“Would I introduce my horse to the king? You’re still a bloody squire, Johnny. You follow me, and you do what I tell you.”
“Fine. I get some gear. Then what?”
“Then, I was thinking, and if it’s not too far for your brittle legs, we might ride East for a ways. See the countryside.”
“We’ve just seen the Eastern countryside.”
“And I thought we might pay Lord Malory another visit. Maybe this time…introduce ourselves.”
Johann felt his petulance shrinking.
“We could even stop by Fort Tyne, I suppose,” the knight shrugged as if he didn’t know, or care. “Maybe check in on Lord and Lady Tolly. Perhaps they’ll require more of our…assistance.”
Yes, Johann thought, doing his best now to hide excitement. And why shouldn’t I see her again so soon? I can manage Sazeal and control myself. He’s been almost no trouble at all. She won’t mind the baldness. And then we’ll make Lord Malory pay for what he did to Humberland, and I’ll rip him in bloody two myself.
Johann sniffed and walked down the tower steps towards the gate, as if he’d always intended to.
“We should stop by your favorite whorehouse, as well, sir. If it’s on our way.”
Stone thumped against hard leather boot as Lamorak followed.
“Oh should we now? I thought Saint Johann disapproved of such places.”
“I do. They’re disease infested plague houses. But perhaps we might spot a certain wool merchant.” He turned and glanced back at his new ‘master’. “I recognized one of the men who attacked me outside Malory’s keep. He belonged to a certain Mr. Aiken.”
Lamorak flicked his almost spent tobacco to the spotless marble, and grinned.
“Very good. Whorehouse it is. Anyway I could use a foot massage. This time you’ll want to pay attention, Johnny—it’ll be one of your new duties as my squire.”
The knight limped down the steps and matched Johann’s gait, reaching in his pocket for more paper.
Johann sighed because he wasn’t at all sure this was a joke. He glanced up at the nearly full moon, imagining the stories of his youth, trying to picture even for a moment having ever believed he’d be standing here—the power of a demon flowing through his veins, a beautiful noblewoman waiting for him, a great knight as his master. And my friend?
He supposed it didn’t matter.
You misjudged me, Father, he thought, you misjudged my worth. Maybe one day I’ll show you.
“Hurry up, my back is killing me.”
Johann realized he’d stopped on the last staircase.
With a last glance at the scribery, and a deep breath, he took the final step away from the great tower of his youth. For the first time in a very long while, he focused his mind on life rather than books—and on the future, rather than the past.
The End
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Richard Nell concerned family and friends by quitting his real job in 2014 to 'write full-time'. He is a Canadian author of fantasy, living in one of the flattest, coldest places on earth with his begrudging wife, who makes sure he eats.
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