Knights Without Kings

by J. M. Topp

  The King shifted uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Master Ysben, how is our economy not viable? Our influx of resources has increased exponentially. Are you telling me we cannot afford a war?’

  Remy folded his hands to his stomach and shrugged his shoulders slightly. ‘That is not what I am saying, Your Grace. Trade routes aside, we do not have enough men to fight a war against the Khahadran. Twenty thousand men are left as active Weserith military, my lord. Whitetree Mills and the Greenwood Army could provide another seven thousand at most. Recruitment has increased, but our own Weserithian boys are green as grass. They cannot stand up to the battle-hardened men of the Khahadran who range up to forty-thousand men or even more, according to other reports.’ Remy spoke stiffly whilst clutching his robe. The king looked at Remy without giving off any emotion. He turned to his general.

  ‘General Mahkaman.’

  General Mahkaman stood and bowed. His many medals of valor chimed as he stood more than straight. He looked at the king to await his say-so.

  ‘Could we adequately defend against an Aivaterran attack?’ asked King Ayland.

  ‘We have twenty-thousand men, as Master Ysben has stated. Our walls are well built. We have a more defensible position, Your Grace. An attack made by the Harlot Que—’ He caught himself mid-sentence, but the king didn’t seem to notice. The General cleared his throat and continued. ‘It would certainly be foolish to attack us.’

  ‘Good. I have a mind not to attack preemptively against Aivaterra.’ The king looked at his subordinates.

  The First Voice was the one to stand and speak. ‘A wise decision, Your Grace.’

  It struck Bendrick as if he had been hit by Sieglinde’s wooden sword. William was playing with the king. It was all too clear now. William would placate the king, making him feel like he had made the right choice. Bendrick understood what his role was now. As much as he hated being used, Bendrick understood what was at stake.

  ‘Your Grace.’ Bendrick bowed, and the King nodded, approving his voice to be heard. ‘Queen Gwendylyyn fled the castle three days ago. How did this happen?’

  The king shifted in his chair and waved his hand in the air. ‘The details of her escape have been kept a secret, known only to William, the Fang, and a few others. Not many people know how she did it. I suppose at this point there is no reason to keep it a secret.’

  Sir Jeyannin turned in his armour and stood up, bowing to the king. ‘Perhaps I might enlighten the council. Thanks to the valiant efforts of the White Dagger guild, I have concluded that she escaped via the prison cells. She was escorted by two Aivaterran spies and, using Aivaterran steeds, fled through the Lyedran Valley, avoiding the Thalasar Roads altogether. We didn’t know where she had disappeared to until she was already across the border. She did so in three days.’

  The council gasped.

  General Eldric stood up with a confused look on his face. ‘The trip from Weserith Castle to the Khahadran usually takes two and a half weeks- two at a brisk pace on healthy steeds. I cannot comprehend how the journey could be cut so short even with Aivaterran steeds.’

  As the king heard his general speak, a hint of sadness crossed his face. ‘Is there a possibility that she is merely acting out of anger and might rescind this declaration?’ he asked, his voice almost breaking.

  For a moment, the entire war council was as silent as a crypt. The pain of her abandonment proved that the king still had feelings for her. Yet, reason had to be the deciding factor in this room, not sentiment. Bendrick stiffened his upper lip and produced the parchment that Rebecca had given him. He held it to the king to read. Ayland squinted at the dark letters. He stared at them and raised his eyebrows in surprise, understanding what the message meant.

  ‘Queen Gwendylyyn reigns over Aivaterra and by definition, the Khahadran Kingdom.’ Bendrick paused for a moment to let the information sink in. ‘She has complete power over the armies. If Rebecca were here, she would tell you that the queen does intend to move into Eldervale and attack Weserith. Aivaterra’s armies are greater and better trained. They don’t have two wars under their belt to recover from.’

  ‘I say, fuck the sparrows.’ The Lord of the Greenwood’s voice boomed through the war room. ‘Sniveling and sneaking at every opportunity. Let’s teach them a lesson they won’t soon forget. Bugger them and their god.’ Korhas rubbed his nose in defiance. Bendrick bowed his head at the derogatory name Weserithians called Aivaterrans. It was a jab at the crest their flags flew, and it felt out of place in a war council, but then again, so was Korhas. He was bred for war, not politics. Bendrick sighed. The two men from Whitetree Mills nodded their heads in agreement. The king slouched in his chair, letting the torn brown parchment fall on the table. He put a hand on his forehead in despair. Bendrick had never seen the king in this state. The war council sat in silence.

  It was William who spoke again.

  ‘The queen might change her mind. There is still time.’

  ‘No.’ The king frowned, downcast. ‘If it is war she wants, then war she will have. General Mahkaman, I want a status update on your project.’

  The General glared at Bendrick. ‘My King, I still believe it’s best to wait for her move.’

  The king shook his head. ‘No more waiting. I want this nasty business done. You have more to say, don’t you, General?’

  General Mahkaman shot a dirty glance at Bendrick and turned to his compatriots. ‘They may be strong, but we have developed a new weapon. They could be completely devastated.’

  Korhas shifted in his chair, keen on the information.

  ‘The black-powder tests have allowed us to come to a conclusion. With this weapon, we could annihilate the Aivaterran Queen and her armies to oblivion.’

  Bendrick had heard of this black powder the General had been busy working on. Some said it was magic made physical, but to the un-superstitious mind, it was science. Simply adding the smallest of flames to a fragment of this powder would result in an explosion ten, even twenty times, greater than a canon, which was also still in its experimental stage. It was a terrible weapon to be feared. But in wielding this new weapon, would there be anything left of the Aivaterrans?

  The king bit his lower lip in extreme concentration.

  ‘How much of this substance do we have?’

  ‘Four hundred barrels, my lord. More are being made as we speak.’

  ‘Your Grace,’ interrupted Bendrick, ‘I do believe we should prepare for war, but we must not rule out a diplomatic approach. Send my daughter and me to the Khahadran. Let me plead with the queen to change her mind.’

  William glanced at Bendrick. He didn’t know if William had been expecting this, but if war could be avoided, Bendrick would do everything in his power to do so. Ayland rubbed his graying beard and then nodded. ‘So be it. Go and see if you can change that stubborn wench’s mind. I will assemble the armies at the Lyedran Valley all the same. If the diplomatic approach doesn’t work, we must invade and take Aivaterra by force. General, I want one hundred barrels taken with us as well. Once you have concluded negotiations with the queen, whether successful or not, meet us there. She will feel the wrath of the Cliobarhe as such has been her choice. Is there anything else that must be discussed at this moment?’

  The war council shook their heads grimly.

  ‘Prepare for war.’

  The king looked at Scribe Kedwin and nodded, signaling the end of the war meeting. He struggled to stand up, knocking some of the wooden pieces on the board over. Sieglinde moved to his side and helped him stand. He feebly walked out of the room to his litter. As the members of the council stood to leave, William smiled at Bendrick.

  ‘Hope I didn’t surprise you too much,’ he said, gathering his cloak in his arms. Remy glared at William as he exited the room.

  ‘Why didn’t you simply tell me what you were planning on doing?’

  ‘Had I been the only one to want to go to war, the king might not have listened. We aren’t on the best terms as of late. However
, you, the caretaker of Athenaeum, saying that war is the only alternative, while I would say that it’s not? That is why I needed you to say what you said. It was a nice trick to include a diplomatic envoy. It is a complete waste, you know.’

  ‘You think this is a game?’ Bendrick gathered his parchments and stared at William. ‘Why did you play me?’

  He shrugged as he picked up a fallen wooden piece. He touched the designs of the red-coloured inscriptions with his fingers and set the piece down on the war table beside the other pieces.

  ‘The greatest player pretends to not play.’ He smiled once more, departing from the war council room. Chills shot up Bendrick’s spine. For their own sakes, Bendrick hoped they were doing the right thing. He looked up at the skyglass and all the magnified stars. They seemed so close, but he knew that they were leagues upon leagues away. They sparkled faintly at Bendrick.

  BENDRICK’S QUARTERS WERE located outside of the Athenaeum, in the District of Coin. The moon was rising in the clear night skies as he walked along the lonely streets. He heard a sound of shuffling of feet and turned. It was dark, but the moon was shining through the clouds. He recognized the outline of a tall and muscled man with a tankard in his hand.

  ‘Good eve, Bendrick.’ The Lord of the Greenwood stepped from the shadows and smiled through his wiry brown beard. He threw his long cloak behind him.

  ‘It has been a while, hasn’t it, Korhas?’

  ‘Too long. You’ve had your nose buried in books and scrolls. It’s about time you lighten up, don’t you think?’ he said, tapping his copper tankard with his finger.

  Bendrick smiled and shook his head.

  ‘I don’t drink ale anymore, Korhas. Those days are far behind me.’

  ‘You only drink wine now? Might as well be drinking milk with piss!’ Korhas belched loudly and laughed, shaking the solitude from the street with his laughter. ‘When was the last time you came to the Greenwood, eh? I have a few women who have been asking for you, you old bastard.’

  ‘Ten, maybe eleven years.’

  ‘You’re old, but I still see life in you.’ Korhas gave him a sideways look. ‘I take it you never married?’

  Bendrick chuckled at Korhas’ joke, but it was clear that Korhas thought he was funnier than a simple chuckle. He bent over and heaved in drunken laughter. A woman poked her head out of a window and stared angrily at Bendrick and Korhas. Bendrick motioned to Korhas, and they both walked down the street.

  ‘I guess the women lost interest, old friend.’

  ‘Lost interest?’ Korhas spit beer from his mouth as he roared with laughter. ‘You had them wrapped around your cock last time you visited the Greenwood. I had to tear you from your bed, remember?’

  Bendrick smiled for a moment, but then grew serious.

  ‘That was the morning of the march to Uredor, wasn’t it?’ Bendrick took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Korhas stopped laughing, memories of war and blood flooding back into his mind. He coughed and put his tankard back up to his mouth. He drank in silence. Finally, Korhas slapped Bendrick on the back playfully.

  ‘Why are you so droll, Bendrick?’

  ‘I found something that changed my life, Korhas.’

  ‘Ah, yes, I remember, Ben. Sieglinde was a wee lass last time I laid eyes on her. She sure has grown.’

  ‘That she has.’

  Bendrick smiled as they reached his small house. The light was on within, signaling that Sieglinde was already home, with a meal prepared most likely.

  ‘Bendrick, wait.’

  The large man turned to look Bendrick in the eye. The stench of beer wafted from his mouth, making Bendrick wince.

  ‘I have held the Greenwood since my grandfather’s death long ago— defended it against bandits, werebears, strix, and strigoi, but the trees speak to me, Bendrick. Something far worse is coming than a threat from an angry queen. When I touch the trees, their bark jumps as if I startled them. They tell me that something dark will be appearing. It will be devastating to us all.’

  ‘Don’t they all say that? Don’t they all want us to be weary of some terrible, imminent danger? You’ve probably smoked too much of that root you like, Korhas. You stare at shadows dancing in the dark, and you shudder.’

  Korhas paused and stared down the empty street.

  ‘No shadows, Ben. Only promises.’

  Korhas put the mug to his lips and downed the rest of his drink. He tossed the empty tankard, and it clanked noisily through the empty street. ‘I wanted you to know. I will be traveling with you and Sieglinde. My bones need a good long stretch. Even if it is to the shithole of a place those sparrows call home. I’m going to find some more sodding ale. Good eve, ya bastard.’

  Then, just like that, he walked away. Bendrick looked on as the Lord of the Greenwood hobbled down the street. Bendrick closed the door to his small home. The road ahead would be long. They would all need to gather their strength and wits.

  CHAPTER THREE

  The Iron Aegis

  BLUE AIVATERRAN BANNERS flapped wildly in the wind. The silver sparrow crest sparkled in the cloth ripples. Flat, dry fields spread out in the shadow of the immense Aivaterran castle. Giant wooden stands were packed with people, both those with titles and those without, on this tourney day. Crowds roared and cheered, clapping their hands and stomping their feet. People filled the five-level wooden stands overlooking a gigantic sand arena. They were invigourated by the spectacle. The horse beneath Elymiah bucked and tried to throw her off. She held the reigns tightly and gripped the body of the horse with her legs even tighter. She clenched her teeth. The gray and white horse threw its head around wildly, blinded with anger. It snapped at her leg but Elymiah slapped the head of the horse, angering it further. For almost five minutes, Elymiah had been wrestling the stubborn mare. It felt like an eternity in her mind, but the end was close. Elymiah’s shoulder burned with intense pain. Several people, including Robyn, had tried to stop her from the Taming, but Elymiah would not hear of it. Wound or not, it was an honour to participate in the Taming. Elymiah smiled, as the horse was getting tired. The horse twisted suddenly and dropped to the floor. The crowds gasped in unison. Dust and sand rose around the struggling mare. Grunting and whinnying sounds emerged from the dust cloud, but nothing else could be seen except shadows. The crowds held their silence, searching through the dust. The horse suddenly reared up with Elymiah still hanging on. She touched her aching shoulder, but was sure the burning sensation was just occurring because she hadn’t used her arm so vigorously in a while. The crowds resumed their cheering as the horse, now out of breath, paced around the fence. Elymiah raised her hand up in her victory. The tallyman placed a marker on Elymiah’s shield that was hanging on the fence, signifying her victory in the Taming.

  Elymiah guided the horse to the crowds and waved at them. Dozens of roses were thrown at her feet in admiration. She stepped off her mount, and two slaves ran to her worn-out horse and led it away. Elymiah bowed as a dozen gladiators stepped into the fenced in arena. They stood before her and bowed. Their mismatched armour and weapons identified them as slave-gladiators. They were not the honoured ones, that people were used to viewing, but the cursed and disgraced ones. Elymiah placed her hand on her chest and nodded at them. The Taming was an annual ritual performed by the highest-ranking Knight in Aivaterra—a title held by Elymiah, the second female to ever hold that title.

  One of the gladiators took his helm off and knelt before her. He had a shaved head with the tattoo of the sparrow on the top. He was an Aivaterran slave, now a gladiator with the chance for freedom. He wore boiled ringmail armour, and in one hand, he held a small blue steel shield with the same insignia as the tattoo on his head. He held a single-edged cavalry sword lightly in his right hand. It looked painfully rusted, not even fit to cut through butter.

  ‘Knight-Captain Farnesse, your beauty is without equal. Bless me in this fight.’ His voice quivered, and he looked up. The gladiator’s green eyes stared up at Elymiah in adoration. El
ymiah blushed and put her hand on his forehead. She closed her eyes.

  ‘May the Lord Oredmere guide your blade, cursed one. May you attain your freedom and rejoice in the even greater spiritual freedom of your sins at the same time,’ she whispered, reciting a portion of the gladiatorial prayer given by the Hallowed Masters.

  The gladiator looked up with tears in his eyes.

  ‘With a blessing like this, how can I falter?’

  The gladiatorial fights were meant to provide slaves freedom. If they won, not only were they given freedom, but also a humble home within the castle. Five hundred Aivaterran shillings were also awarded to the winner. The gladiator-slave put his helm back on and stood. He bowed, and Elymiah exited the arena. She turned to see a dozen more gladiators enter on the opposite side of the arena. The crowd began to cheer again as they placed their bets. Elymiah turned and almost stepped on a small girl kneeling before her. She wasn’t used to this many people kneeling.

  ‘Knight-Captain Farnesse, your halberd has been repaired. Blacksmith Andre has it in his shop, the Iron Aegis.’ The child spoke as if she had been rehearsing her words and looked up at her with a gasp. Elymiah nodded as the little child giggled and ran away through the crowds. Elymiah turned as a loud trumpet sound blasted from the edge of the arena, but it was not in honour of the gladiators. A royal carriage approached the arena and stopped just at the edge. Someone Elymiah had not seen since she was a child emerged from the carriage. Elymiah held her breath as she looked upon the queen’s face. The crowds cooed and applauded with even more vigour than before. This was the queen’s first public appearance since her return to Aivaterra.

  Queen Gwendylyyn LaFoyelle stepped from the carriage and walked to the royal pavilion. It was situated slightly above the edge of the arena to overlook the contestants. The queen sat at the table. Her blonde hair had been tied in an elabourate bun with tear-shaped crystals hanging from them. Her brown eyes surveyed the arena, inspecting each contestant carefully. The arena speaker, dressed in tight, royal-blue garments stepped into the arena and bowed deeply before her. His breeches stretched even farther than Elymiah thought possible. Elymiah thought she saw the fabric begin to tear, but the speaker bent lower even still.