At Arms

by A. Rosaria

  AT ARMS

  BY A.ROSARIA

  Copyright © 2013 by Alex Rosaria

  This e-book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  All rights are reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you‘re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  Table of Content

  The Dark Wanderer

  Damnation

  Outcast

  Ambos Thorne

  Farmer James

  Bonus Story: Death's Given Chance

  About the Author

  THE DARK WANDERER

  Robert, a knight, unsheathed his sword. “Who goes there?” he called out.

  No one answered, but he knew he heard someone skulking between the trees.

  “Put that sword away,” said Rickard, his elder brother, “before you hurt yourself. Nothing out there; just the three of us.”

  Begrudgingly he sheathed his sword and sat down on a trunk between his brother and Celia. Their father had ordered them to escort her to the monastery. She was a young, pretty woman with long black hair and a nice round face. She seemed reserved and didn‘t little talking.

  Rickard stirred the porridge. “Food is soon ready.”

  Great, Robert thought. Maybe some food would put his jitters at bay. The horses stirred. His black destrier stamped and snorted. Robert stood up; this time Rickard did the same. The brothers looked at each other.

  “Still convinced it‘s nothing?” Robert said.

  Rickard pulled his sword from the scabbard and called out, “Who goes there? Make yourself known or else–”

  “No need for threats kind, sirs and lady,” said a deep voice from out the darkness between the trees.

  They heard branches and leaves rustling. A figure appeared from out the night–a tall man with broad shoulders; with a long black, fur coat on; and a long, pale face, with the darkest eyes Robert had ever seen. He wore no armor under his coat, nor had he any visible weapons on him, just a tick robe. It made Robert feel a fool standing fully armed with his drawn sword pointing at an unarmed man. He put his sword away; Rickard didn‘t.

  “State your reasons for being in the forest at night,” he said.

  The man put his palms up. “I mean no harm to the both of you. I‘m just a wanderer who stumbled upon your camp.”

  “What need does a wanderer have to walk in the forest at night without any light to lead him?”

  Robert just now noticed the stranger had no torch. It made him feel more so the younger brother he was for missing this.

  “I need no light to lead me where I go. I just wander around and stumble on food and shelter when in need.” He bowed. “I depend on the charities of others.”

  “He‘s not armed,” Robert said to his brother. “There is no reason to be hostile.”

  Rickard put his sword away. “You‘re probably right, little brother.”

  Robert frowned.

  Rickard signaled the stranger. “Please take a seat and share our fire and food.”

  The man went over to the fire to warm his hands. He walked with a grace Robert only saw kings and lords display as they walked down the hallways of their castles. He nodded at Robert in passing and smiled. A chill went up his back.

  The stranger sat next to Celia, who immediately shied away. To defuse any discomfort, Robert quickly sat in the space that came free between them.

  Rickard continued stirring the porridge. “Do you have a name, wanderer?” he asked.

  “No, I don‘t, and I don‘t need one.”

  “Strange,” Robert said, “all mothers give their children a name.”

  “Not all. And some were given so long ago that they are long forgotten, but if you have a need to give me a name, you can just call me wanderer or dark wanderer, like some peasants call me.”

  Celia shivered at the mention of the name. Robert had never heard this name before in this part of the land or anywhere else. Neither had Rickard, going from the surprisingly amicable smile he gave the wanderer.

  “I‘m Rickard, the eldest son of the lord of these lands. And that tall, gaunt boy is my younger brother, Robert. The lady sitting over there is not really a lady but a nun-to-be, a woman no more. We gave our word to protect her on her journey to the monastery, keeping her safe from the beasts roaming this forest.”

  This was the first time Robert could remember his brother being so open to a stranger or anybody else for that matter. Celia shifted on the trunk. He didn‘t mind her. Far in thought, he stared at his brother pouring porridge in a bowl. He felt his stomach growl. Finally, they could eat. The summer night being short, they had maybe at most four hours to sleep left. Taking turn to keep watch, he would have at most two hours of sleep, but before he lay down, he wanted his belly full.

  Rickard offered the first bowl to the wanderer.

  “No, thank you. I‘ll have dinner later.”

  Celia shifted. Robert glanced at the young woman. She was hugging herself and shivering all over. He loosened his coat and offered it to her. She looked at him with her big, pleading eyes and shook her head. He insisted and draped the coat over her thin shoulders.

  “She‘s going to be a nun, no need for you to be coy with her,” Rickard said.

  Robert blushed. At sixteen years old, he had not been with a woman, nor did he think of Celia in that way. Unlike his brother who knew women better under their dress than by name, he admired her devotion to God and in becoming a nun.

  “It‘s a gentlemanly thing to do,” the wanderer said. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Soon she‘ll be a nun,” Rickard said. “Not for us mortal beings to care for anymore. She‘s God‘s creature now; let God be her gentleman.”

  “Aren‘t we all God‘s creatures, even the vilest and wickedest ones crawling the earth? At least the scriptures say so.” The wanderer laughed after saying that.

  Robert agreed that God almighty ruled from the heavens, and even evil had to obey his command or suffer in the end for the corruption it brought upon the world. Those straying would feel it, and he feared Rickard might very well one day fall off the path of virtue. He clenched his teeth. Rickard was the eldest; he the youngest. He had no say, no influence, after their old, ill father died. Rickard would inherit the titles, the lands, everything. Rickard was smart, but he wasn‘t the most just man around, by a far shot he wasn‘t.

  Rickard pushed the bowl into Robert‘s hands, waved Celia to move aside, and sat next to his brother.

  “Get some food yourself,” Rickard said to Celia.

  The young woman scurried to the pot and filled a bowl. She didn‘t return to the trunk, but instead sat down on a rock far from the three men. The campfire light barely licked her, casting shades on her and making her a haunting sight.

  “Why is she so afraid with two knights keeping her safe?” the wanderer asked.

  Rickard laughed out loud, patting his knee. “Two knights? You mean one knight; my brother is barely a man.”

  “And you, sir, are a knight?” the dark wanderer said.

  “One day I‘ll be the greatest knight. The girl is silly
thinking anything can happen to her under my protection.”

  Robert grimaced. He had passed the training and trials and won his fair share of bouts. A knight was a knight, no matter how young. He pressed his lips hard together. When the time came, he‘d show his brother.

  “Is that so?” said the wanderer. “And from what kind of monster will you keep her safe?

  Celia cowed within Robert‘s coat, her porridge long forgotten on the ground.

  “There is no beast in this forest that I can‘t take on alone.” Rickard beat his chest. “I‘ll cleave it in half and feast on its meat and blood.”

  Robert stood up and left the two men with their tales. He knelt in front of Celia and lifted her chin up. A tear rolled down her cheek.

  “What about creatures from beyond?” Robert heard the wanderer ask Rickard.

  His brother laughed. “Myths. There are no such creatures. Man rules supreme over all. We are that ones all else must fear, not some beast from myths told by women to keep small children and the feeble-minded in check.”

  “I would put a wager on their existence.”

  Rickard snorted. “A wager you would foolishly lose.”

  Celia averted her eyes and stared into the night. “The dark wanderer,” she whispered.

  “What about him?” Robert asked her.

  “Please save me from him,” Celia pleaded.

  Robert felt a chill run up his spine. He straightened himself. He turned around to the wanderer staring at him, smiling knowingly, and showing his fangs. Rickard, sitting next to the wanderer, ate unaware of the man‘s sudden change.

  Robert yelled at him as he pulling his sword. “Rickard get away from him.”

  His brother look up at him, down at the sword in his hand, and turned his head to look at the wanderer sitting next to him and back to Robert. “Little brother, what has gotten into you?”

  “Yes, little brother, tell him what has gotten into you,” the wanderer said.

  Robert clenched his teeth and tightened his grip on his sword to make it stop shaking.

  “I think your brother spotted a mythical beast.” The wanderer licked his lips. “A hungry one.”

  Robert hesitated.

  “Sir Rickard,” the wanderer said, “I‘ll put you now to the test.”

  He looked at the man, questioning.

  “Look out,” Robert screamed.

  The words barely left Robert‘s tongue, and the wanderer tore Rickard‘s throat with his bare hands. His eyes bulged out. He grabbed his throat, blood spurting out. The wanderer threw slabs of meat and skin at Robert‘s feet. “I guess he lost the bet.”

  The wanderer pulled Rickard‘s head back with such force that he snapped the neck and almost severed the head. He started sucking the blood that flowed from Rickard‘s arteries.

  “Run,” Robert yelled at Celia, but she stayed frozen, looking wide-eyed at what was happening in front of her.

  He gritted his teeth and launched forward, his sword held high. He swung down, cleaving the wanderer from shoulder to ribcage. Only an inch of skin kept the arm from falling off. Any man would be dead by such a ferocious blow.

  The wanderer kept drinking Rickard‘s blood as if he wasn‘t mortally wounded. He pushed Rickard‘s corpse to the ground and wiped his mouth. “Now that‘s a great meal.”

  Robert held his sword tight with both hands. He kicked the wanderer, sending him thumping over the trunk to the ground. He jumped after him, sword raised and poised to swing down. The wanderer rolled away, the sword missing his head. With inhuman speed, the creature jumped up and closed in on Robert. He swung his sword just as the wanderer punched his chest, denting his armor and sending him crashing into a tree fifteen feet from where he had been standing.

  Robert sat down, his back against the tree. He blinked his eyes; his vision was blurred. He heard Celia‘s shrill scream pierce the night. Slowly, his visage returned to the wanderer biting Celia‘s neck and sucking her blood out. Her body shook violently, and then suddenly stopped and slumped to the ground. The wanderer stomped on her head. Robert winced at the sound of crushing bones.

  Robert managed to stand up, supporting his weight against the tree with one hand. With difficulty, he wheezed air in, feeling lightheaded. He stayed standing, gathering the little strength left in him. He pushed himself from the tree, stood wobbling on his feet, and raised his sword above his head. He had one blow left in him.

  “You show courage,” the wanderer said.

  Robert focused on the man.

  “You showed yourself to be a gentleman.”

  The wanderer closed the distance between them, but he stopped just out of the reach of Robert‘s bastard sword.

  “And you have a keen eye, for you unmasked me.”

  “You killed my brother,” Robert spat out.

  “I was only after one meal–the girl would have sufficed–but alas you caught me and your brother challenged me.”

  “My brother!”

  “He deserved it.”

  Robert stepped forward. Another inch, he thought, another inch. However, he didn‘t have to move; the wanderer stepped forward and spread his arms. “I won‘t kill you.”

  Robert channeled all his rage and swung his sword down. One moment the wanderer stood in front of him, the next at his side. His sword hit the ground and dug deep in the dirt. His strength left him unable to yank his sword free. He fell to his knee, his forehead resting on the hilt of his sword. He was powerless to what would inevitably come.

  The wanderer tapped his shoulder. “Don‘t worry. I‘m full and not greedy like my misguided kin can be.”

  He kicked Robert to the ground. “But I won‘t forgive your insolence in harming me. One day, when you are an old lord, I‘ll return and claim one of your children. However, not the eldest or the youngest.”

  While the wanderer whistled a cheery tune that Robert soon wished to forget, he heard the creature‘s footsteps move away. Robert stayed the night sitting amidst the remains of his brother and the poor girl, Celia. By the break of dawn, he fastened his brother to his horse, buried the girl in a shallow grave, and went back the way they came. He was a boy no more, a man changed, a haunted man.

  Robert D‘Ang never looked back to this place again.

  DAMNATION

  Christine sat down at her room‘s window and started combing her long sleek black hair. She had just turned sixteen last moon, but none of the many presents she got gave her what her heart most desired. Christine sighed and looked out the window. It was the only window in her room; Claudette, her eldest sister, had two in a larger room, and so did Aaron, her younger brother. Only Lyna had a smaller room than hers. Was this why she loved Lyna the most? And Lyna loved her in return? Because both of them were the least loved?

  Christine shook her head while she stared thoughtful ahead. Lyna, two years her elder, understood her best of all and was the only pillar of support she had at the castle. She smiled. That was why she loved Lyna the most. The tip of her tongue burned to tell her everything, but this time she didn‘t feel comfortable doing so. She wanted first to be certain about what she felt before sharing it with her sister. In the meantime she shouldn‘t, couldn‘t, and certainly wouldn‘t tell her a thing.

  The wall and the battlements stole most of her view; she could see the birds flying in the sky. The rest, hidden from view, she imagined: the trees standing tall from the ground up, rows of them, and hidden on the many branches among the millions of leaves the birds sang their songs. Farther down, beyond the trees, the fields and farms stretched out to the horizon, and beyond those, villages spread across the land, and farther yet the great cities. But most of all she thought about one particular village, the one closest to the castle, where not so long ago she saw a farmer boy whose face had stayed branded in her mind.

  He was a tall, broad-shouldered, young man, with wheat-colored hair, a sincere face, and strong blue eyes. Remembering the way he walked with self-confidence made her feel warm from within, a new se
nsation she had not felt before, and she had seen many men walk in many ways before. However, it was the mannerism this young man had that did things to her she could not voice or dare to explain.

  Christine blushed and felt warm all over. She was sure she would not survive telling about it without crumbling into a withering fool and uttering gibberish, and this all for a boy she saw once. Was this love? If it was, she wanted nothing else for the rest of her life and would wish the same love for everyone, even her father, especially her father. While combing her hair, she swooned away in thoughts of flowers, love, and everlasting summer.

  ***

  The next day she stood in front of Lord Robert‘s door, fumbling with her fingers, unsure whether to knock or just enter the room as Aaron would. Christine knocked. Her father‘s gruff voice answered from the other side.

  “Papa, it‘s me, Christine.”

  “I said come in already. Don‘t make me have to repeat myself, child.”

  His voice came nearer with each uttered word. He pulled the door open, towering in front of Christine‘s little frame. She straightened her back to make herself a little taller. She didn‘t reach above his shoulders, not even standing on her toes. Lyna, the tallest of her siblings, did reach above his shoulders, and she was the most like him. It was a wonder he didn‘t love her the most.

  “What do you want?” he said.

  Christine looked past him and saw a wine decanter on his table surrounded by scrolls.

  “Out with it. I‘ve more important things to attend to.”

  “I want permission to go to the village; there will be a fair soon, and I—”

  “No. You are not to mingle with common folks and certainly not with peasants. You are a lady after all and never forget your standing or you‘ll bring our name down in shame.”

  “Please, send me with an escort if need be. I will not talk to anybody.”

  Lord Robert sneered at her. “You thought I would allow you to go alone? Has sense left you? Escorted or not I will not allow you to go. Go back to your room and do something worthy for a change.”