Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights

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Sir Thomas the Hesitant and the Table of Less Valued Knights Page 21

by Liam Perrin

When the debris came to rest, Gorgella gestured for them to stay put, and entered the room alone.

  "It's safe," she called. The relief in her voice was plain to Thomas.

  Thomas entered the space formerly known as the guard room. It was more of an open-air dugout now.

  "It's amazing how a bit of light can change a room," said Marie entering behind Thomas, coughing lightly from the dust.

  There was yelling from the courtyard above, and at the same time they heard something heavy hit the door at the top of the stairs. There was a loud crack as if the door had been ripped from its hinges, a resounding thud, and renewed yelling that was alarmingly less muffled.

  William began giggling madly and started scrabbling up the rubble, but before he'd gotten half way, three armored heads poked into view.

  "Halt right there, miscreants!"

  Silhouetted against the sunlight it was hard to tell for certain, but Thomas got the distinct impression the Baron's guards were as frightened as he was.

  There was pounding on the stairs and four more guards charged into the room. A girl screamed, and Thomas swung around ready to defend Marie, but she was standing calmly and pointing at Philip. Philip was aiming his sword at Sir Marrok who was standing half-naked where the wolf had been a minute ago.

  "I'm going to need to borrow that," he said, and casually disarmed Philip.

  The three guards above began to clamber down the rubble, three more appeared above them. William hastily backed down into the room, slipped as a rock turned, and rolled onto the floor gripping his ankle.

  "You okay?" Thomas asked, lifting him up.

  "Am I okay?" said William. "Am I okay," he repeated and incapacitated himself laughing.

  The guards – ten in all now, with the sounds of more coming – surrounded Thomas's group, but stayed just out of arm's reach. Thomas didn't think they're standoffishness would last.

  Gorgella began rummaging frantically in her pack.

  "Drop it missy. And put down your weapons, all of you," commanded the best dressed of the guards.

  "Do as I say, and no one gets hurt. Well, not yet anyway," he added with a wicked grin.

  The detached feeling washed again over Thomas. He saw a vision of himself and his friends swarmed, tackled, and re-imprisoned. Give up, the feeling said. But as his heart fell, a weight pressed against his leg.

  Ambrosia, he thought, and the detached feeling poured away as if he'd just climbed out of a pool. The world was solid and heavy again.

  Thomas cleared his throat in an attempt to get his friends' attention. "Yo ho ho," he said, his hand on Ambrosia's hilt.

  Philip shot a look at him.

  "What did you say?" said the well-dressed guard.

  "I said," repeated Thomas more forcefully.

  "YO." He drew Ambrosia with one smooth motion. She made the kind of silky metal whisper a finely-crafted sword makes when it's drawn from a custom-fitted scabbard – the kind of sound that makes men want to be knights in the first place.

  "HO." Thomas continued, and held Ambrosia aloft. She caught a ray of sunlight on her tip and lit up as bright as a small sun.

  Comprehension dawned on Philip, Marie, and Marrok who'd all been in the room the day Thomas had demonstrated the sword's power to Arthur. They quickly grasped their noses. Philip shut his eyes tight – his face was already turning red, he was holding his breath so vigorously. Pyralis grinned and nonchalantly slipped his hand up to his face, delicately pinching the bridge of his nose just below his eyes. Gorgella looked around at them all, hesitated, then gripped her nose as well. William just stood there, eyeing everyone as if they were the mad ones.

  Thomas couldn't wait anymore. Marie was trying to tell him something. She was blinking madly at him and flailing one hand, making repeated pinching motions. Two more guards bustled into the room from the stairs. One was very, very large.

  "What's going on–" said the big guard.

  "HO!" yelled Thomas. He brought Ambrosia down, point first and slammed her into the packed dirt floor. She slid smoothly into the ground, and when Thomas let go, she vibrated so fast she hummed.

  In the midst of it all, despite the fact that they all might be captured and hung, or worse, Thomas thought he smelled doughnuts frying. It was a wonderful aroma, and his stomach growled. Frustrated, he shook his head. Focus, he thought to himself.

  He turned toward the rubble pile and noticed all the guards, and William of course, who hadn't known to hold his breath, staring blankly into space. Some of them swayed slightly. Most had curious grins on their faces. A few were tossing their heads around like Thomas was.

  Two thoughts struck Thomas at once: First, he'd forgotten to cover his own nose. And second, someone was grilling steak, and he really, really wanted one.

  Thomas stumbled to the left and held his head in his hands. He flailed his hand in the direction of his nose and managed to grab it on the second try, but suddenly he wasn't in the guard room anymore...

  He was at home. It was a bright summer day, and hundreds of blossoms from the cottonwood trees drifted lazily through the air. He was small, and he was reaching up and petting a black colt his father had brought 'round. The horse smelled like a horse – like the forest, like the fields, like Free Will. Its coat was warm from the sun...

  He was ten. They'd stopped along the road on a hill outside of Camelot. They could see the palace towers jutting up over the battlements; bright blue pennants topped the towers and flapped in the high wind. Great, puffy clouds as big as mountains hung in the sky above. A knight had stopped and was talking to his father – the knight's sword flashed in the sun as he turned it over and pointed at something near the hilt. He handed Thomas his scabbard. The leather smelled like the earth, it smelled real, it smelled like Honor...

  The guard room faded into view. William was on the ground. Marie was holding him by the shoulders and peering up into his face. She was wearing the dress she wore at Guinevere's wedding. She was gorgeous. The skin of her shoulders and neck was flawless. He sighed and breathed deeply of the perfume she wore. She smelled like summer. She smelled like mystery. She smelled like nothing else.

  §

  A great splash of water hit Thomas hard. He sputtered, and jerked, and jumped to his feet. He swayed and turned and tried to back away from a half dozen shapes moving toward him.

  "Thomas," said a familiar voice.

  He blinked his eyes. It was Philip, and behind him, Marie, Pyralis, Gorgella, Marrok, and a prone and unconscious William.

  "You forgot to hold your own nose, dummy," said Philip. They were all grinning at him.

  Thomas rubbed at his face partly to clear the water away, partly to feel if everything was alright between his eyes. The water smelled like water. His dirty hand smelled like dirt. It was all good. He looked around.

  "How'd we get here? Where are the guards?"

  "We carried you two," said Marrok, gesturing to William as well. "And they'll be here shortly I'd imagine. As we were leaving, your friend the Baron showed up and was rousing them from Ambrosia's spell."

  They were gathered around the fountain in the center of Fogbottom's village square. Philip had refilled his bucket and was carrying it toward William. William was smiling and mumbling something to himself. Then a tremendous wash of water hit him, and he was up, sputtering and swinging his sword wildly.

  "Oh," he said after he'd come more fully to his senses. He found Thomas and stared at him suspiciously. "What was that?" There was wonder in his voice.

  "It was like," he struggled to find the words, "...it was like all the best times of my life, one right after the other."

  He shook his head. "I didn't want it to stop."

  "The Baron's coming, William," said Thomas, "and he won't be happy."

  William shook his head. "I'm so hungry," he said.

  "We have to go," said Philip.

  They gathered their few belongings and started for the far end of the square, but Thomas didn't budge. When she realized he wasn
't with them, Marie turned back and came to him. The others paused.

  "What's wrong Thomas?"

  Thomas was simply standing there, gazing around the square. His internal struggle made it to his face, and he frowned.

  "I want this to end," said Thomas.

  "Want what to end?" said Marie.

  "This–" he gestured at the town. "This fear. This... This... It's not his. None of it is his unless we give it to him. I'm tired of living at the Baron's behest. We've saved ourselves tonight, but..."

  The others had returned and stood quietly listening. William had only come close enough to hear. He kept taking furtive glances toward the far end of the square – the direction the Baron would be coming from. Then he spotted Pyralis's saddlebag and said, "You wouldn't happen to have some jerky in there?"

  "Help yourself," said Pyralis.

  "It feels wrong to escape, and leave Fogbottom no better," said Marie, guessing at Thomas's feelings.

  Thomas looked at her. "And knowing the Baron, probably even worse off because of our efforts," he said. All she did was look up at him, but he felt in that moment that no one understood him better.

  "There are many ways to fight a battle," said Marrok. "Are you sure this is the best way to fight this one?"

  Thomas didn't answer right away.

  "You could die, Thomas Farmer," said Marrok.

  Thomas gritted his teeth. He shook his head. Maybe it was exhaustion or shock or desperation but he rarely felt as sure as he did now. "It ends tonight," he said.

  He looked back at Marie. "Go," he said softly. She shook her head.

  Marrok laughed, and drew his sword. "If Sir Thomas stands, I stand," said Marrok.

  Thomas felt a lump in his throat.

  Gorgella dropped her pack and put her hands on her hips. "Me too," she said.

  "As well do I," said Pyralis.

  Philip swallowed and looked from person to person. "You guys are nuts," he said. But he drew his sword and stepped up to form a line with Thomas and Marrok.

  Thomas, eyes watering, turned to William.

  William shook his head, strode straight up to Thomas and held his sword out hilt first. Still chewing, he said, "Take this," and pushed the sword at him impatiently.

  Thomas slowly reached out and took hold of the weapon.

  "Stand strong," his brother said. Then turned and dashed out of the square without a backwards glance.

  "You've got to be kidding me," said Philip after a moment of stunned silence.

  Thomas was shocked, but he tried not to show it. "It's okay," he said.

  "No it's ruddy well not okay," said Philip. "He's the reason we're here in the first place."

  "But he's not the reason we're staying," said Marrok.

  Philip shot a look at Marrok, and made as if to reply, then apparently thought better of it and clamped his mouth shut.

  "How did you find us anyway?" said Philip.

  Marrok laughed again. Thomas wished he could laugh like that while waiting for certain death.

  "Well, the wolf-form has its advantages, but I had a little help from you before that."

  Marrok pulled out a small, brass device and handed it to Philip. "I believe this is yours," he said.

  "The compass?" said Philip, terribly confused. "But how did you–"

  Pyralis plucked the compass from Philip's open hand. "I'll take that," he said.

  Philip shot a look at Pyralis, who frowned back at him. "You mean to tell me," he rounded on Marrok, "that thing led you to us? No tricks? No," he waved his hands in the air, "tom foolery?"

  Pyralis raised an eyebrow.

  "What do you mean?" said Marrok.

  Philip squinted at him, but Marrok seemed to Thomas to be telling the truth. In fact, Thomas wasn't sure it had ever crossed Marrok's mind that you could speak in any other way.

  "The compass," said Pyralis, "has a pretty good sense of who is and who isn't fun to toy with."

  Philip frowned, but said nothing more.

  Marrok shrugged and twirled his sword in his hand.

  Thomas looked at Marie to try to share a smile at Philip's expense, but Marie was staring up the road, dread spreading out from her wide eyes.

  Thomas turned to see the Baron and Bane riding into the square with what had to be more than three dozen soldiers behind them.

  CHAPTER XXV

  A Hero by any Other Name

  Thomas took two steps forward and planted himself in their path. Marrok and Philip fanned out behind him. Marie pulled a dagger from somewhere, and behind them, Pyralis drew a wand from his coat. Gorgella dropped her pack and stood clutching two more of the oddly-shaped mechanical devices, one in each hand.

  The Baron trotted to a stop and held up a hand, commanding his troops to halt. Bane stopped beside him. His face was flush – he looked invigorated and sported the same wicked grin he'd worn earlier. Thomas found the Baron's stoic expression more alarming than Bane's open delight of the situation.

  "I thought," said the Baron in a calm, cold voice, "we had an understanding, Farmer. I thought you knew, finally, where you stood."

  "You thought wrong," said Thomas. "I stand for Fogbottom."

  The Baron's dispassionate expression evaporated and was replaced by a look of such hatred that Thomas had to fight not to recoil from the fury of it alone.

  "I am Fogbottom, boy," he spat.

  Just as quickly as it had come, the hatred vanished and was replaced again by the cool, detached façade he’d worn previously.

  "I find that most often, when people get themselves into trouble, it's because they've forgotten that one simple fact," he said.

  Turning his head slightly, he addressed his soldiers. "Arrest him."

  Gorgella cleared her throat, and the Baron seemed to notice Thomas's friends for the first time.

  "Ah," he said, "and these would be the ones who damaged my home?" He squinted at them. "Two boys, two... women, a half-naked freak of nature, and an old man. Really, Stewart." He addressed a shorter, mean looking man that Thomas recognized as the Baron's warden. "I should have you strung up with them. Hold on..."

  He turned back and peered at Pyralis, then laughed.

  "Pyralis! Is that you?"

  Thomas could feel Pyralis tense.

  The Baron continued to laugh at a joke only he seemed to be getting. "This all makes sense now. What are you playing at you old worm?"

  Thomas and the others turned to see Pyralis stammering. He glanced from Thomas to Marrok, then back to the Baron. He seemed to carefully ignore Gorgella's glare.

  "Pyralis," said Thomas, "how does he–"

  "Did you work for this cad, Pyralis?" said Philip. "I mean, evil wizard sure, but... the Fogbottoms?"

  "Why is that so surprising?" shot Pyralis. He was frowning and shooting defensive looks at his companions in turn. "It's not like you can pick and choose your clientele when you're trying to get a business off the ground.

  "Anyway," he said, "that was a long time ago. And just who do you think are the sort that hire evil wizards in the first place?"

  Philip seemed to consider this for the first time. "Well, I suppose I assumed you could do fairly well making exploding pastries and liniments that, I don't know, surprised you in various ways."

  Pyralis was glaring at him with such indignation that Philip seemed to find the Baron's crowd less threatening and turned back to face them instead.

  The Baron was enjoying all of it immensely. "Exploding muffins! Is that what you've been about since we parted ways Pyralis?"

  "I'm a healer now," said Pyralis through clenched teeth. He was pointing his wand at the Baron's chest. Thomas noticed his hand was shaking a bit and his knuckles were white.

  "A what?" The Baron was laughing so hard he was beginning to stream tears from his eyes. Bane and the soldiers were laughing now too.

  "A healer," said Pyralis. His wand had turned red at the tip and the glow was spreading backward.

  "Oh that's rich," said the Baron. A
few of the soldiers in the front of the crowd had noticed Pyralis's wand and were shifting in their saddles nervously.

  The whole wand was gleaming now and the end pointed at the Baron had grown white. Pyralis was muttering something under his breath. It sounded like he was saying something backward, and he seemed to be inhaling rather than exhaling as he spoke.

  Thomas took two steps, grabbed Pyralis's outstretched arm and said, "That's right, Pyralis. You're a healer now."

  Pyralis, jerked as if he'd been struck. The wand immediately faded to its normal wooden hues. Pyralis breathed out, and a hot wind ruffled Thomas's hair. Most importantly, Thomas saw again the man he knew behind the eyes of the former evil wizard.

  The Baron had stopped laughing and was squinting at the pair of them.

  "Arrest them all." He said it so casually that it took a moment for the soldiers nearest him to realize he was talking to them.

  "Arrest them all, I said!" and the soldiers jumped. They drew swords and fanned out to encircle them. Philip and Marrok stepped closer to Thomas, and he felt Marie press against him.

  "It doesn't have to be this way," said Thomas, trying to sound charismatic, but his words sounded panicked even to himself.

  The Baron smiled, and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off by a yell from behind Thomas's group.

  "Hey there, Fogbottom, what seems to be the trouble?"

  It was William.

  "What is he doing?" whispered Marie.

  "I don't know," said Thomas, but his heart was soaring.

  "The trouble–" began the Baron, but William cut him off again.

  "I wasn't talking to you, ye festering windbag," he yelled. "I was talking to Fogbottom."

  The Baron's face was nearly purple.

  "I AM FOGBOTTOM," he roared.

  "I think not," said William, and Mr. Farmer stepped around the corner followed by Old Man Chitterton.

  They were joined by two more men that Thomas recognized as frequent hangers-on with Grumps at the Brimful Kettle. Then, Mrs. Farmer and Grandma Farmer stepped around the corner to join the others, and soon townspeople were pouring into the square.

  Thomas recognized everyone: There were Mr. and Mrs. Applebutter from down the way – he carried a shovel and she sported a small rake – and the Chisel's from the west side of town with their son Jiminy who, it was rumored, could split a log with his fist. No one knew for certain how he'd escaped conscription into the Baron's troops, but Thomas had always attributed it to over-qualification. Smitty rounded the corner with a pair of boys that looked like miniature versions of the farrier himself. All three were wearing the leather aprons of their trade and carrying horseshoes like they were throwing axes. The Hunters appeared, and behind the Baron, their son Wendsley groaned audibly when he spied his mum and dad.

 

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