Knights of the Dawn (Arcanum of the Dolmen Troll Book 1)

by R. J. Eveland

  Behind the bar, Dorathy struggled to catch her breath. She threw her arms in the air. “I can’t believe it! This whole time I was treating The Sundown Boar? Almighty be damned, next thing I’ll learn this strumpet in the corner really is a lady in satin.”

  “Hush, woman.” The man in bronze held up a rude hand. “Now come with us, Redmand. We won’t take no for an answer.”

  Dorathy slammed a fist on the bar. “Hold on now, fellow. Don’t tell me to hush. This is my inn!”

  For Bob, watching a stranger fondle his dick-helm was worse than watching someone spit in his face. He turned red as he felt a hand grab his shoulder. It was Dorathy’s hand, he realized. It had reached over the bar to see if he was still there, to tell him to stay.

  “Bob is going nowhere unless he wants to!” Dorathy exclaimed. “Isn’t that right, Bob?”

  “Shut up, woman!” The man in bronze unsheathed a steel arming sword with a fat chip on the end. “We’ve been ordered to take Redmand to the castle no matter what it takes.”

  “You don’t have to go with them, Bob,” Lossex protested from the corner. “You can stay here with us.” Little did she know those words would echo twenty times in Bob’s skull.

  He held his skull in both hands, chewing on his lip. Hands nudged him. Voices told him to go, told him to stay, told him not to do anything at all. The man in the window sneered and raised the dick-helm high. Lossex rose to ask the bronze man a question. The question seemed to crack and roll across the floor. She wanted the men to leave him alone. Time rushed by. She said they were making him nervous. Dorathy patted his shoulder gently. A fat fly landed on his face. Voices shouted from all sides. More questions. No answers. Confusion. Everything darkened, reddened. All was gone the moment Bob decided to fight the confusion with a fist.

  “Oink, oink, oink, oink!” The man in bronze lifted off the floor when Bob’s uppercut caught him clean in the jaw. The man fell to his back, unconscious. Bob picked up the chipped arming sword and flourished it before the two others by the door could even yip. The leerer in the window cursed, tossed back the dick-helm and ran away. The helm bounced off the sill, rolled across the hardwood and stopped at Bob’s feet. That was when the two others decided to scuffle out of the door.

  Dorathy giggled as she limped out from around the bar. “Oh, it’s times like this I wish I could see again. I knew exactly what happened the moment I heard the body hit the floor. Is the poor lad still breathing? That punch sounded like a cannyn blast!”

  Lossex fell to her knees to check the lad’s pulse, frowning at her own reflection in his breastplate. “His heart still beats,” she announced without enthusiasm. “He’ll wake soon, I think.”

  Bob stooped to grab his helm. Slowly, his senses were coming back to him. Dribble swung from his chin.

  “Who were those guys?” Dorathy collapsed in a chair and used her apron to wipe sweat off her brow. “I thought they were knights, but knights wouldn’t run away like that.” Her chortle made her chins shake. “Do you know if they were from the castle?”

  Lossex looked to Bob for the answer. By the way he held his head in both hands, mumbling nonsense, she knew he wouldn’t be answering anytime soon, not until he was done drooling on his hands. Lossex answered for him. “They were Lord Spywater’s enemies. It seems they’ve taken the castle for good this time.”

  Dorathy harrumphed. “It’s about time. Lord Spywater was a curse to us all.” She groaned as she rose from the chair and wobbled back to the bar. “I heard the fighting, but it means little to me. As long as the next lord doesn’t levy us as harshly as Spywater did, I’ll be a happy lass.”

  The man in bronze opened his eyes. He saw the young woman leaning over him, and looked into her eyes. That brief moment of eye contact felt like a fly’s entire lifetime until the man shrieked. He tried to scramble to his feet, but slipped and fell on his back again.

  “Settle down,” Lossex said, smiling as if the man was but a party guest. Placing a hand on his breastplate, she queried, “Tell us why you’ve come to scare Bob like that. Don’t you know he’s different?”

  The lad sat up, seeming to calm down. He looked at the ceiling pensively and decided to expound. He gave Bob a scowl as he answered, “This man here, along with the lord Montese who’s been presumed missing, not too long ago sent milord an invitation to feast at Castle Spywater, stating clearly that the keep had been taken. Milord was not the only lord to accept the invitation. This morning we arrived excited to break our fast, eager to show the new levies the good side of war. Instead of food and drink and music, however, we were greeted by cannyn blasts and boiling oil. This man here beside you had the opportunity to warn us, but he didn’t. Now we all believe he’s a traitor. So I’ll warn you, ladies, Milord Highcross won’t let Redmand get away with this.” He rose to his feet and walked backwards towards the door. He leered at Dorathy and cautioned, “I wouldn’t protect him if I were you, not unless you enjoy the chaffing of a taut noose.”

  “What the fuck are you saying?” Dorathy asked. “We had no clue about all this. Don’t threaten me!”

  The man just shook his head. “I’m warning you, is all. When Milord Highcross hears Redmand is hiding here, he’ll send more men and they won’t be as few as we were. The banners of King Spiderwell will soon rule this entire country, and any of you still supporting King Kilwinning or his allies will be treated as enemies.” The man swung the door open and stepped into the sun. “And let me remind you this is a time of war; we don’t treat enemies too kindly during times of war.”

  For a moment, sunlight cast over the three worried faces in the inn. Bob’s was horrendously guilty. Too distraught to speak, he fell back in a chair and squeezed his head like an udder. Lossex rushed outside to follow the bronze man. The door slammed shut gain, allowing dimness to reclaim its chokehold over the beer hall.

  Outside, Lossex could see the bronze man bustling down the road towards the castle. She screeched at him, “Bob isn’t hiding! He was Spywater’s prisoner! The man’s no traitor! He just got released right before you arrived!”

  Way down the road, the bronze man stopped and turned to reply. “You’ll have to convince Milord Highcross that, lady. Otherwise, I suggest you get the fuck out of here. Don’t get involved in this. Redmand isn’t the type of man you want to protect.”

  “But he’s not the traitor you think he is!” Lossex yelled. A dreariness filled her when the man in bronze shrugged as if there was nothing he could do. Bob’s fate was settled, it seemed.

  The bronze man continued on his way and Lossex turned back to pout at the inn. It called for her to enter. She winced and looked away from it. She gazed down the road instead, away from the castle, down towards the furrowed fields and wild country vales. Towards the openness, she glared, watching a lake reflect shimmering tree crowns. It all disappeared when she re-entered the inn, driven by a relentless pity for a man she barely knew.

  CHAPTER NINE: THE FOX

  WIND BLEW OUT of Highcross’ pursed lips. Within a long black hole, a vortex of dust whirled and wobbled a cobweb, disturbing dust and bits of leaf. Highcross’ lips moved along with his eyes, and he blew into another hole. This one had no cobwebs. No dust was within it to stir. That made Highcross wonder. He stepped back to observe all the holes at once. He was in the bailey stable, standing under the low thatch of the tack room. The back wall he was staring at was a portion of the castle bulwark. Below each tack on the wall was a round hole about the size of a fist. There were twenty tacks and twenty holes. Highcross turned to see where the holes faced. He could see out of the wide stable doorway and across the bailey. His eyes were blocked by not a single obstruction as they watched the gate’s construction on the other side of the castle.

  He turned back to the wall of barrels, brightened by a realization. “So this is what blew up the gate and killed my horse.”

  Charles the lad with plumes on his helm stood behind his lord with a shield facing the bailey. “I wonder why some of the hol
es have cobwebs and others don’t.”

  “These cannyns must’ve been loaded a long time ago,” Highcross responded as he strained to see the end of one of the holes. “I’m not surprised some of them failed to go off. In fact, I’m surprised any of them went off at all. I bet they’ve been sitting here loaded for a while. The stonework around this part of the bulwark is newer than the rest. There must be a tunnel in the wall, a way to reload them.” Highcross turned to see the cannyns’ trajectory again. Some of his men by the gateway were working with their shirts off, sweating in the sun, oblivious to the wall of cannyns aiming at their backs. “We need to seal up these holes with rocks as fast as possible. If these cannyns go off now, we’re fucked.”

  “We’re fucked anyways.” Charles had his head tilted, glaring at the wall of holes as if it was a scene of death. “I bet there’re worse traps we haven’t discovered yet.”

  “I don’t want to think about that.” Highcross began his leave. “Our fellow feasters will be here within hours. Take three men and fill those holes with rocks and sand. Then start searching around the entire wall for more traps. Check behind everything, especially the banners.”

  Charles followed Highcross into the noon sun. Hammers and saws and singing somehow brought a smile to the lord’s face. He grabbed his pavise leaning against the stable and held it high. The keep’s menacing loopholes made holding a pavise necessary. A few men by the gate did nothing but hold up their shields to protect the workers.

  The new gate was rising quickly. It would be nothing near as sturdy or thick as the last one, but it would be enough to keep a horde from passing on a whim. The workers had gathered enough lumber from the village to make two gates. To their relief, no tree had to be felled.

  Charles jogged ahead to fetch some men and begin his task. The lord found himself walking alone. In the corner of his eye, the keep was the head of a stone giant with a hundred black eyes. That was fitting because his men were singing “Stone Workers of Avalon.”

  When he got to the gateway, he looked past his working singers and saw a flash of bronze jogging down the road. Other men around the construction site suddenly stepped forth to address their lord. It seemed they had been waiting for him.

  “We found Bob Redmand in Good Sons’ Inn, milord,” a man in maille recounted. “Here comes Darwin now,” informed another. “I thought Bob had killed him.”

  Darwin the man in bronze came panting onto the scene. He fell to one knee before his lord, and alerted, “Redmand refused to cooperate, milord! He dealt me a good blow and stole my sword. Some wenches are protecting him in the village inn.”

  Highcross wore a look on his face that proved the world was crazy. His eyes twitched at the four guilty men before him. “You idiots found Redmand hiding away like a traitor and you all ran away?” He was about to smack Darwin across the face, but he cringed and clenched a fist at the village instead. “Go back there and bring him to me! Burn the inn down if you have to. That fucker has a lifetime of explaining to do. I don’t care if he’s a lord or a tourney champion; he’s my bitch until he explains why his signature was beside Montese’s. He invited me to feast in a hall of death. For the sake of your fallen fellows, bring that dick-headed fucker here!”

  A spangenhelm nearly flew off a head when the four guilty men bowed fervently with muttered obeisances. They turned away towards the village to see something odd staring back at them. A massive man in a gambeson was hoofing down the road beside a lady in satin.

  “Look! There!” A man in maille pointed and hollered, “Redmand comes to us, and he’s got a lady.” Darwin noted, “He doesn’t carry my sword, nor his helm. Maybe he wants to surrender.” Another suggested, “Or maybe he’s not a traitor at all.”

  “He’s not a traitor until I say so.” Highcross shoved his men aside to step out onto the road. Bob was far, but not too far away to hear a shout. “Bob Redmand, the famous tourney champion, onetime knight and now Lord of Castle Redmand! It’s an honor to embrace your arrival! Come, join us for a feast!” Highcross’ yelled with anger, but his words were taken in blithely by his men. A lot of them laughed.

  “Come, Bob!” A worker with no shirt stopped sawing to wipe sweat from his bald brow and quip, “The boar’s particularly tasty!”

  Lady Lossex could see that Bob was not taking the insults well. “Ignore their japes,” she told him, strolling at his side. “Stay calm and remember what I said. Together we can prove you’re not a traitor.” She reached out to hold his hand. “We need to stay calm.”

  Bob’s whimpers melted away when he felt her touch. He turned to smile at her. Something about her eyes made the passing background more lively and bright. He could hear laughter from ahead, snickers and jeers, but they meant nothing so long as her hand was in his.

  Highcross narrowed his eyes when he noticed the huge smile on Bob’s face. He walked out to meet the arrivals away from all the busy hammers and laughter. “You say a lot by walking up here like this, Redmand. Explain what happened here. Where are all your men? Why isn’t Montese here? You said this castle was yours. Do you know the lords Archester and Hickens died because of your folly? The ghost of Lord Spywater still haunts that fucking keep! It killed more than seventy men. Where were you? Why didn’t you warn us?”

  Bob stopped near a dead body on the road. He looked away from Lossex’ eyes to smile at Highcross. “Lord Spywater released me from prison this morning. I didn’t know there were traps.” He felt her thumb massage his palm as he spoke.

  “Why the fuck was Spywater still in there?” Highcross pointed over his shoulder as if the sight behind him was too horrible to look at. “Your letter said this castle was yours. More lords are on their way to feast and join forces for King Spiderwell’s cause. Do you know how outraged they’ll be to hear two lords have died here? At your folly?”

  Bob’s smile slowly faded as he tried to remember what Lossex had told him to say. “The castle was ours. Spywater wore Montese’s armor to trick us. He got inside the castle with his knights and took us all off guard.” Betwixt fumbling words, Bob squeezed her hand. Somehow his smile stopped fading. “Aside from his own servantry, Lady Lossex and I were the only ones Spywater didn’t kill.”

  “So he retook the castle after you had sent the invitations?” Highcross inhaled deeply, closing his eyes to ponder on Bob’s words. “When he captured you, did he already know we were coming or did you tell him? Did you help him set the traps?” Highcross grabbed the hilt at his waist. His answer didn’t come fast enough. “Answer me, Redmand! Did you fucking tell Spywater we were coming?”

  “Tell him the truth, Bob.” Lossex put his hand in both of hers. “I was there in the dungeon when you told Spywater everything.” She faced Highcross to explain. “It was just last night. Bob was interrogated in his cell after Spywater retook the keep. Bob was scared. Spywater promised not to hurt him if he told him what he needed to know. After Bob told him you were all coming to feast here, Spywater broke out in tears, declaring that he would have to send all his knights away and defend the castle alone. He took the news horribly. He let us free in the morning. There was no time for Bob to help set any traps. Spywater must’ve done it all by himself overnight.”

  “So Spywater did retake the castle before he knew we were coming!” Highcross’ head leaned back to laugh at the sky. “No wonder he’s all alone in there.” His laughter was long and true. “Imagine that. I wish I could’ve seen the look on his face when you told him we were coming. Spywater knows he’s going to die in there. That’s why he sent off his knights.” Highcross shook his head at the ground. The whole story made sense to him now. “Holy shit … Spywater wants to go down with a bang, eh? It’s all too grand. Too grand.” His laughter saddened before it stopped. “Just wait till Lord Foulmouth hears this. This is legendary shit. I can’t wait to hear the songs that’ll be written.”

  “So you believe us, then,” Lossex observed. “You’ll stop calling Bob a traitor?”

  “I believe you.”
Highcross removed his hand from his hilt to point at both of his eyes. “After what I’ve seen, I have to believe you. Like the song says, Spywater’s as cold and blue as his cloak. I just wish Montese wasn’t stupid enough to get himself killed. This could’ve all ended a long time ago. Spywater’s a mouse in his own walls now. We’ll ferret him out then move onto the next castle, or wherever King Spiderwell tells us to go. Spiderwell and his son could use more help than they’re willing to admit.”

  “Stone Workers of Avalon” kicked up by the gateway again. The rhythm of saws and hammers added a spryness to Highcross’ stagger as he paced to stretch his legs and back. “Speaking of which,” he continued, “we could use your help, too. Villagers always adore a lady in satin. I need you, Lady Lossex, to go rile up the villagers. Tell them we’ll supply a full year without taxes if enough of them rise to our cause. Once the keep is ours, they can go back to their lovely little lives.” Highcross showed respect for few men, but he showed his openly for Bob with his tone when he said, “Redmand, we could really use your sword. It would be an honor to fight beside a champion. Grab a shield and help guard my men. Spywater may start loosing quarrels again.” Highcross pointed at Bob’s feet. “There, a sword in that dead man’s hand. Pick it up. And there’s a shield right there on my dead horse. You may want to use some dirt to wipe the blood off.”

  Bob looked around to observe the two items. The sword by his feet was still being wielded by a warm, living hand. Fresh blood no longer flowed through it, but the hand was alive nonetheless, thrusting a sword at the castle, demanding vengeance. “No,” Bob refused. “I’m done with war.”

  Highcross acted like a moth had flown into his ear. “Did you just say you’re done with war?”

  Even Lossex was taken aback by Bob’s words.

  Bob stammered, “I don’t want to fight anymore. I don’t care which king wins. I want to live the rest of my days in peace, to experience the simple, beautiful side of life.”