by James Wisher
When the door closed behind them Sir Donal dropped into a worn leather chair behind a great expanse of cherry desk. “Never in all my years has anyone attempted such a stunt. I’m grateful, Squire Col, that you exposed the fraud. You did well finding this one, Michael.”
“Thank you, my lord,” Sir Geris said.
Col stared for a moment. He couldn’t remember anyone ever calling Sir Geris by his first name. It seemed wrong somehow.
Sir Geris saw the confusion on his face and laughed. “Before he died my father and Sir Donal were great friends. I used to play with his sons as a boy. Though we keep things professional in public Angus is like an uncle.”
“How did you figure it out?” Sir Donal asked.
“When he called me a liar I got so mad I shot him a glare that could have killed. He flinched away from me. Blind men don’t flinch from angry looks. Once I figured out he was a fraud exposing him was simple enough.”
“It took nerve though. Still, I thought you let the imposter off easy,” Sir Donal said.
“I was surprised as well,” Sir Geris said. “After what he tried to do to you I figured you would have him whipped as well at the least.”
Col smiled. “You haven’t read much about the order of Truthseers have you, my lords.”
The two older knights looked at each other in surprise. “I don’t believe I know anything about them beyond what most everyone does,” Sir Donal said.
“Nor do I,” Sir Geris admitted with some reluctance.
“When I was preparing for the trial,” Col said, “I found a book in the library that had a chapter on the Truthseer order. It seems they take great offense at having someone take liberties with their name. The penalty is having your eyes put out with hot pokers then getting turned out in the streets to live your life as a beggar.”
“I suspect you aren’t the only one who knew the penalty, if the way the imposter screamed is any indication,” Sir Geris said.
“What about Callion? Will he face any penalty?” Col asked.
“Not from us,” Sir Donal said. “Still his father will receive a full report and the duke is not known for his gentle nature. Take comfort in that.”
They left Sir Donal’s office a short time later to join the gathering of the order in the courtyard. Former squire Alexander stood stripped to the waist and tied to a post on the center of the courtyard. A grim-faced sergeant with a leather bull whip stood beside him. Sir Donal looked around and seemed satisfied that everyone was present. He nodded to the sergeant who drew back then brought the whip across Alexander’s back with a loud crack. A line of blood appeared. A moment later the whip cracked again and another line crossed the first.
Col looked around and spotted Callion standing beside his mentor, a frown creasing his smug face. The whip cracked and Col saw him flinch. By the Dark he wished Callion and not Alexander had gotten the punishment he deserved. Oh well, he no longer expected justice to apply to the nobility the same as everyone else.
Chapter Four
Six weeks since the trial and they’d accomplished nothing. Well, that wasn’t strictly true. Col had gotten a good deal of practice riding around and reading reports. The patrols spent every day chasing beastmen, but seldom fought them. The ugly brutes would run the men ragged then when they were tired turn and attack, kill a few, then run again. It hadn’t taken long for the men to learn not to chase the beastmen into the forest. Now they just patrolled the roads and villages. The beastmen didn’t seem to be interested in a fair fight so they did no fighting at all, most days anyway.
Col looked at the barracks door for the tenth time in as many minutes. Sir Geris said he wanted to meet for breakfast, but he was half an hour late and Col was starving. How much longer was he going to take? Knowing Sir Geris this was probably some sort of patience test. Well, Col could be patient. His stomach groaned, for a little longer anyway.
Five minutes later Sir Geris entered. Col got to his feet and went to the kitchen window. The guards had eaten and the pickings were slim. All he got were a few lukewarm sausages and broken biscuits. Col returned to his table and sat down beside his mentor. He held out the plate and offered Sir Geris first pick of the food, but the elder knight just waved him off, looking more glum than usual. Col shrugged and started eating.
When Col had almost finished his breakfast Sir Geris said, “The king has decided to hold the squires’ tournament tomorrow as planned.”
Col washed down the last bite of dry biscuit with a big gulp of ale and belched. “With all the beastmen around I’m surprised he’d bother with it this year. Of course we’re not exactly accomplishing much out there anyway.”
“I argued precisely that all morning, that’s why I was so late. The king is adamant that he will not let a bunch of beastmen dictate how we run this kingdom.”
Col shrugged. Someone dictated pretty much everything he did anyway. “So what’s on the agenda for today?”
“Nothing,” Sir Geris said, the disgust clear in his voice. “All squires and knights are ordered to rest and prepare for the tournament.”
“So what do you want me to do?”
“Whatever you like, lie around, go down to the city, read in the library. The day is yours.”
“Great,” Col said, happy to have a day to himself.
“One more thing,” Sir Geris said.
Here it comes.
“Princess Rain has chosen Callion as her champion.”
Col failed to hold back a laugh. “Really?”
Sir Geris nodded. “You know what that means?”
“He’s supposed to wear a token of hers or something and dedicate his victory to her honor or beauty or whatever.”
“That’s part of it. Traditionally the princess’s champion is allowed to win every event.”
Col gaped for a minute, certain his mentor was kidding. When it became clear he wasn’t Col said, “You can’t expect me to stand aside for him after what he tried to do at the tribunal.”
“It’s tradition not law. Technically you don’t have to let Callion win, but what would you do if I ordered you to?”
Col frowned. He owed Sir Geris everything, but to let the person who who tried to have him forced out of the order win was more than he could stomach. “If you order me to let him win I will, but I don’t know if I could be your squire anymore. If you made me stand aside I’d never be able to look you in the eye again.”
Sir Geris nodded. “I suspected you’d say something like that. I want you to do your best tomorrow. To hell with tradition. We’ve done nothing traditional since I took you on as my squire anyway. Besides, His Majesty despises Callion’s father. I think he’ll get a kick out of seeing the boy lose.”
“Well I don’t want to pass up a chance to entertain the king. Thank you, sir. I knew you wouldn't let me down.”
Sir Geris smiled and clapped him on the shoulder. “Go on, enjoy your day.”
Col left the barracks and turned toward the castle gate. It was only a short walk down the hill to Finegold City. Col’s training hadn’t allowed him as much time as he would have liked to explore Corinthia’s capital. Though only the second largest city in the nation it was the richest by far. As the capital, every nobleman had a villa he used when duty called him to court. Temples to the various aspects of the Light filled the city with gleaming spires and marble statues of the archangels.
When Col reached one of the city gates he found no line of merchants waiting to get in. He frowned. That was a bad sign. The early crops should be streaming in by now. The raids were taking their toll. At least the guards looked alert as they waved Col through. He wasn’t wearing his uniform today, only a gray tunic and pants tucked into leather boots, his only weapon a dagger the length of his forearm, which all men in Corinthia wore for self-defense. The only sign of his rank was a bronze medallion with a blade down sword engraved on it. Officially Col outranked all the city guards and could command them if he wished. He wouldn’t, of course, not without a very good re
ason at least. Sir Geris would have his head otherwise.
A short ways past the gates the city market was set up. Farmers sold vegetables and meat from the back of wagons, and merchants of all sorts shouted to try to catch the shoppers’ attention. As he wandered the market Col was pleased to find a good crowd shopping and at least forty different merchants. The raids were a problem but business still carried on. Speaking of business, Col still had to get Sir Geris a solstice gift. He stopped at a tinsmith’s stand and studied the trinkets for sale. He would have liked to get something in gold, but the five silver coins in his pouch argued for thrift.
Col brightened when he spotted an eagle pin. It looked a great deal like Sir Geris’s family crest. “How much is the pin?” Col asked.
“Two silver,” the merchant said.
Col stumbled as someone bumped him from behind. “Excuse me,” said a dark-haired boy as he hurried off. He was dressed in a ragged tunic and shorts, and looked about thirteen years old.
When Col reached for his money pouch he found it gone. He spotted the thief moving deeper into the market. Col took off after him. The thief broke into a sprint and the race was on.
They dodged around shoppers and soon left the market behind. As they raced through the city Col lost track of where they were. He focused on running and not losing sight of the thief.
His quarry ducked into an alley and when Col rounded the corner he found it was a dead end. “Just hand it over, kid. I won’t hurt you.”
“I’m sure you won’t.” The kid smirked.
Col heard a noise and spun around. Two rough-looking men in dingy vests and tattered pants, maybe two years his senior, stood at the end of the alley. One carried a club with nails sticking out of it and the other had a wicked-looking curved knife. Col had stumbled right into an ambush. Stupid.
Col sighed and drew his dagger. “I don’t suppose we can talk about this like gentlemen?”
“Sure we can,” the one brandishing the club said. “But when we’re done talking you’re still gonna be dog meat.”
“Right.” Col laid the blade of his dagger back along his forearm. “Come on, then.”
Club seemed eager to oblige; he charged forward, weapon raised over his head. Col lunged, closing the distance quicker than the thug expected.
As he lunged, he flipped the grip on his dagger so the blade pointed ahead rather than back and drove it to the hilt in the thug’s stomach. Hot blood and bile poured out over his hand and wrist as he ripped the blade back.
Club fell to the ground screaming and struggling to keep his guts inside his body.
Col looked over and saw the fear in Knife’s watery blue eyes. In perhaps three seconds he had crippled one of the men.
He suspected that wasn’t what they’d planned when they had the boy lure him down the alley.
He picked up the club lying beside the moaning figure on the ground. “Well?”
Knife’s throat worked as he tried to swallow. Col feinted toward him and Knife yelled, turned, and ran down the alley away from him.
A small figure darted past him toward the alley entrance. Col whipped the club forward and sent it spinning after the fleeing thief. It tangled the boy’s legs and he went sprawling on his face.
Col’s money pouch bounced a few feet away. As the thief reached for the pouch Col stepped on his wrist then bent down and collected his money.
“What’s going on here?” A pair of city watchmen in rumpled crimson and gold uniforms stepped into view at the mouth of the alley. Each man carried a stout cudgel in his hand and looked like he knew how to use it.
“Help me!” the thief shouted. “He’s crazy, he already killed my brother now he’s gonna do me too.”
“Step away from that boy, nice and slow,” one of the watchmen said.
Col reached down the front of his tunic and pulled his medallion out where the watchmen could see it. “I could use a hand with this thief,” Col said.
Their eyes widened as they recognized the symbol on the medallion. “Of course, squire, we beg your pardon,” the second watchman said.
“No need to beg, just grab this little rat before he gets loose.”
They hurried over and latched on to the thief. “You bastard, you killed my brother,” the boy screamed as he fought the watchmen.
Col glanced over at the figure on the ground and heard a faint groan. “He isn’t dead yet. If they hurry he might live long enough to hang. Take this as a lesson, boy. Find a new line of work.”
He hated being so hard on the boy, but maybe if saw the results of a life robbing people he’d choose a different path. Col couldn’t take the boy in like Sir Geris did him. All he had to offer was this small demonstration.
“Sir,” the first watchman said. “We’ll need you to make a full report back at the guard house.”
“Of course.” Col indicated they should lead the way. “What about the other one?”
“Another patrol will be along shortly to pick him up. I don’t think he’s going anywhere.”
An hour later Col left the brick guard house. Two more watchmen brought the thug’s body back with them. He’d died before they reached the alley. Col sighed. He hated having to kill other humans, not that he’d had much of a choice. Like Sir Geris taught him, if you have to fight, fight to kill. Mercy comes after the battle.
No one had arrested the boy before so he would receive a thief brand and three months’ hard labor. If he got caught again he’d hang.
Col shook his head and turned toward the market. Such a waste. The boy seemed smart and fit. Surely he could find a place for himself besides stealing. Not that Col could criticize. If not for Sir Geris he would have ended up with a thief brand before dancing at the end of a rope.
He had almost reached the market when someone spoke from a dark alley. “Col Vanheim. I must speak with you.”
“By the Dark, what now?” Who could know his full name in this city? He reached for his dagger. He’d had enough of people in dark alleys. “Step out where I can see you.”
From the shadows stepped an old man, his face lined with deep wrinkles and a gauze bandage across his eyes. He wore the black robes of a Truthseer. “A mighty warrior such as yourself has nothing to fear from a feeble old man, surely.”
Col moved his hand away from his dagger. “My apologies, sir. It hasn’t been a good day. What can I do for you?”
“For me, nothing. I am here to do something for you. I have seen you in a vision. You are to be a champion of truth.” He held out a ring of some gleaming metal, platinum perhaps. “Put this on.”
Col hesitated, wondering if the old man had lost his mind. “Sir, I can’t accept this.”
“Put it on!” the Truthseer said in a tone that brooked no disagreement.
Not wanting to cause a scene Col took the ring and slipped it on his right hand. He felt nothing.
“Good, now you take your place among the great champions. With this ring you will have the power to see the truth in all things. No one will be able to lie to you or deceive you in any way.”
Col felt the truth in what the old man said with an absolute certainty that frightened him. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake.”
“I have made no mistake. Go now, champion, and bring Truth to the world.” With that bizarre statement the old man turned and hobbled away.
Col sighed. What did bring truth to the world even mean? He continued on to the market to collect Sir Geris’s gift.
As he walked through the shouting voices he knew every lie the moment he heard it. His head pounded and he fought an urge to cover his ears to block the words.
Col glanced at a woman and knew in an instant he saw a man dressed as a woman.
He wanted to scream.
He collected Sir Geris’s gift and left the city behind.
Once he left the city the awareness of the lies vanished. Col let out a breath and tried to remove the ring, but it wouldn’t budge. Damn it, he’d just have to go to the Truthseers’ co
mpound after the tournament tomorrow and get it taken off.
Chapter Five
The next day at noon, Col and the other squires gathered in the castle courtyard. Every carpenter in the city must have spent the whole day yesterday building bleachers and other stands and platforms that filled the area. Banners flapped in the breeze, each decorated with a noble’s heraldic device. He spotted Sir Geris’s screaming golden eagle on black fluttering near the end of the right-hand bleachers. Col shook his head at the complete waste of time and lumber. At least the constant stream of information the ring fed him yesterday had slowed to a trickle. Perhaps he’d gotten used to it.
The lesser nobles and wealthy personages lucky enough to get invited to the tournament filled the bleachers to capacity and now only the royal family’s arrival held up the start of the tournament. A trumpet blared and the castle gates creaked open.
Speak of the demon, Col thought. All the knights, dressed in full armor, moved to stand on either side of a golden carpet that covered the ground all the way to the royal box. After a moment’s delay the king, queen, and princess all stepped out together and started down the carpet. They wore enough gold, gems, and silk between the three of them to finance a small war, or buy a smaller country.
The knights brought gauntleted fists against their breastplates in a salute that sounded more like the start of a battle. The royal family made their stately way down the carpet past the knights toward their box. When they reached the squires Rain stopped and pulled a blue scarf from around her waist and handed it to Callion. “Fight well, my champion,” she said.
Col forced himself not to smile. It would be a fight this year; whatever the cost, he wouldn’t stand aside for Callion.
Callion bowed gracefully and accepted her token. “All my victories for you, Princess.”
Rain blushed and hurried to catch up with her parents. When they reached the royal box the king looked out over the assembled knights and squires, raised his hands, and said, “Let the tournament begin.”