Knights Without Kings

by J. M. Topp

  Again, the men around him didn’t even seem to hear him. They simply stared at Bendrick.

  ‘What do you want?’ asked Bendrick, trying to decide which archer he would go for first.

  ‘We want that meat, of course. Panther from these parts tastes like shit, but it feeds our bellies.’ The man placed his hand on the hilt of his sword and danced his fingers on it. ‘You don’t mind sharing, do you, old man?’

  Bendrick knew that he was being toyed with. There wasn’t much he could do, however. Perhaps Ayda had followed him and was kneeling in that bush, prepared to save him with that blue serpent. Bendrick glared at the man, who looked at him with a childish grin.

  ‘You can have it. I wasn’t too hungry anyway,’ snapped Bendrick.

  The man stopped smiling and began to clap his hands—slowly at first, but then faster and faster. ‘A downright good soul. Honour to meet you, sir.’

  ‘Am I free to go?’ Bendrick grasped the hilt of his sword nervously.

  ‘Free? Well, of course you are, but you have to answer my question first.’

  Bendrick relaxed the grip on his sword but still held it in a ready stance. He bit his lower lip for a moment and then nodded.

  ‘What question?’

  ‘Which gods do you serve? The Aivaterran god or the Abandoned Gods?’

  Bendrick glanced at the man incredulously. The question caught him off guard. He hadn’t even thought of the Abandoned Gods like that in years. Once King Ayland had banished all religion, everyone had been free to believe however they wanted. No one pressured anyone into a certain religion. Being asked wasn’t a feeling Bendrick was quite used to. ‘What kind of question is that?’

  ‘Do you refuse to answer?’ For the first time, the man tensed up, and his grin faded from his face. He was a young one, but the way he carried himself made him seem older, especially without that grin. He raised his hands slowly. ‘You do realize that, when cooked, man meat tastes very similar to panther meat, don’t you?’

  The archers before him didn’t seem to be Aivaterran. Their accents gave them away as northerners, and it seemed to Bendrick like they would likely hold to tradition, rather than a religion from the far south.

  ‘The Abandoned Gods, of course.’

  The man threw his hands down. ‘Fire!’

  Bendrick jumped, but the archers held their arrows in their strings. The bandit burst into laughter.

  ‘You should see the look on your face, old man,’ he said with tears in his eyes. ‘My men know my orders and how I give them, fortunately for you, and as for the gods…well, it seems you won’t be meeting them tonight.’ He flashed a smile, and the archers let their strings relax. He approached Bendrick and held his hand out before him.

  ‘It is good to meet a fellow believer. My name is Hamlin, though most of my friends call me Ham,’ he said, gesturing to the archers, who began to surround the panther and skin it.

  Bendrick took his hand and sheathed his sword behind him.

  ‘That is a massive sword, uhm…’

  ‘Theodas,’ said Bendrick, knowing it wouldn’t do to give him his real name.

  ‘Well, Theodas, the Abandoned Gods do not like for their servants to be killed, especially by hands of other servants. Aivaterrans, however, are free game. Where are you headed?’

  ‘Weserith,’ Bendrick said simply.

  The man’s face froze as he stared into Bendrick’s eyes. His eyes were cold blue, like the skies, yet in them, Bendrick saw murder. As easy as it was for this man to smile, it was equally easy to kill. Bendrick clenched his fists, yet again wishing for the power he had given away.

  ‘Have you not heard, old man?’

  ‘Heard what?’

  ‘Weserith is gone.’ Hamlin rubbed his nose as he recalled the news. ‘The Aivaterrans invaded and successfully conquered the city. Sparrows made a treaty with the daemons, leaving Weserith for the daemons.’

  ‘They made a treaty?’

  ‘That’s the rumour, least-aways.’ Ham spit on the ground. ‘Most Weserithians survivors have begun to travel north. They think the land of the elves will take them in—if it even exists. I won’t place my fate in the hands of myths. Weserith will rise again. I will kill every Aivaterran I lay my eyes on.’

  Bendrick realized that he must look more rugged than he thought. These men didn’t recognize him, and perhaps it was for the best. ‘I must be going.’

  ‘Ah, not that easily,’ Ham said, shaking his finger in Bendrick’s face. ‘I am assembling an army in the name of the Abandoned Gods. We will head to the far north to recruit as many fighting men as we can. We are a small group now, but every Northman knows and remembers the gods before they were abandoned by King Ayland Erebryyn. Our gods gave us the choice, and we decided to leave them in the darkness. Is it any wonder we have been cursed by losing our capitol and our culture? For that reason, we ask anyone we meet which god they believe in. You see, we need more men. Someone wielding a sword like the one you wield would be extremely useful, old though you are. Weserith will rise again. We call ourselves the Band of the Belligerent. Do you like the name?’

  ‘I have other duties to attend to.’

  Ham frowned, and he placed his hand on his sword hilt, this time without dancing his fingers. ‘Are you denying the Abandoned Gods, Theodas? If that even is your name?’

  Suddenly, one of the archers stood up. He began pointing at Bendrick with an open mouth. No sounds came except for sharp, quick gasps. Bendrick recognized the archer at the same time. It was the boy they had spared on the road to Aivaterra months ago. The boy’s look of surprise turned to anger. He grabbed his bow and notched an arrow into it. Bendrick’s eyes widened as he recognized the boy whom he and Korhas had let live.

  ‘He’s an Aivaterran, Ham. He killed Goyenin in Aivaterra. He and two others had just crossed the border, and that’s where that man killed Goyenin!’ he shouted, drawing the string of the bow to his shoulder. Bendrick remembered the burned face of the bandit on the road. He remembered how he had stared in shock at Bendrick as blood seeped from the wound in his neck. Ham gave Bendrick a dirty look.

  ‘Goyenin was an ugly fucker but a good man nonetheless. Did you kill him?’

  Bendrick took a step back and grabbed the hilt of his sword.

  ‘Don’t think about it.’ The boy stepped closer to Bendrick, forcing Bendrick’s hand from his weapon. ‘Not an Aivaterran, my ass.’

  Bendrick scowled. ‘You know who I am, don’t you?’

  The boy’s mouth opened, but yet again, no sound came from it.

  ‘You know very well I am no Aivaterran.’ Bendrick was mad now. ‘I killed your mother that night long ago. On the Rovulgad Bridge, I gave the order to have her executed, or have you forgotten, boy?’

  Tears began to well in the boy’s eyes. His lips quivered, as did his bow arm. Without another thought, the boy let the arrow fly from the bow, narrowly missing Bendrick’s face. Shocked, Ham knocked the bow from the boy’s hands. The boy looked up at Ham in anger.

  ‘He killed my mother. Please, Ham. Kill him. Kill him now!’

  In that instant, all of Bendrick’s anger dissipated like a pail of hot water over a pile of salt. The memories of his actions long ago began to scream at him. He looked at the boy, no older than sixteen or seventeen. He had been that age once. He had been that naïve once.

  Ham glanced at Bendrick.

  ‘Is it true? You are Bendrick Greystonne? The Rovulgad Reaper?’

  Bendrick nodded, and Ham turned back to the boy.

  ‘That was a war the Abandoned Gods didn’t involve themselves in. Let go of your anger. Let go of your hate. Only then can you truly let go of your pain.’ Ham embraced the young boy, who began to sob into his shoulder. ‘There, there.’ Ham laughed. ‘See? No need for any Weserithian to die today.’ But then his expression went sour, and he bored holes into the boy’s eyes maliciously. ‘Never fire an arrow without my express orders.’ Ham reared back and punched the boy in the face as hard as he co
uld. Teeth and blood flew from the boy’s mouth as he landed on the grassy ground. Ham kicked him in the stomach once and then in the face as hard as he could. The boy bled from his face and lay limp on the ground, unconscious.

  ‘Let that be your lesson.’

  Ham turned back to Bendrick as he massaged his hand. Two of the other archers who had finally skinned the panther grabbed some of the meat and grabbed the bloodied boy, dragging him back into the forest.

  ‘Youngins think they know it all and they’re the only ones in the world that have problems, eh?’ Ham said with a chuckle. He placed his hand on Bendrick’s back. ‘Such a pleasure to meet a legend, Bendrick Greystonne.’ He patted Bendrick’s chest. ‘We will be taking most of the panther meat and the venison, of course. I have my men to feed. But I am giving you a piece of the meat to feed yourself and help you along your journey.’

  Bendrick’s upper lip stiffened. He didn’t know if it was the humourly way he behaved or the way he beat the young boy, but he didn’t trust him. He would have to find out the hard way that the venison had root in the meat. By then, Bendrick would be long gone.

  Ham grabbed a piece of panther leg and bit into it, raw. Blood splattered onto his cheeks, and he smiled. ‘Yup, still shit.’ He laughed. Bendrick reached down for what was left of the panther. It had been skinned expertly and efficiently. Perhaps this Band of the Belligerent would become something after all.

  ‘Ham…’ Bendrick shook his head, not knowing what he was doing by telling him. I don’t trust him, so why am I doing this? ‘Don’t eat the venison.’

  Ham looked a little surprised as his eyes narrowed in confusion.

  ‘Just trust me.’

  Ham broke out into a loud laugh. ‘Trust the Rovulgad Reaper!?’

  He laughed as he turned his back on Bendrick and began to walk away. Bendrick remembered what it was like to be that young. Once, long ago, he would have heartily joined the Band of the Belligerent without a second thought. Perhaps that was his true curse.

  Old age. Doomed to hand the world over to the brash young. Ham stopped at the edge of the clearing and turned slightly to Bendrick.

  ‘I suppose since you warned me about the venison, it’s only right I warn you, old man. There’s talk of a witch roaming about in these woods. Be careful, and trust no bearded man with a staff or a woman with a promise.’

  Ham held up his hand and waved it slightly as he disappeared into the woods. They had left no trace of their being here, save for the discarded corpse of the panther.

  Maybe the fact that I had the choice to do something right for someone else after all the killing and evil I have been doing means that there is still some good in me.

  Bendrick smiled and shook his head. Those thoughts were for those full of false hope and impossible dreams. Bendrick knew he could never be labeled “good” again. Those days were long gone for him. Bendrick disappeared into the forest, lost in thought.

  BY THE TIME Bendrick reached the small campfire, darkness had completely settled over the land. A few stars sparkled overhead but no moon. It had become difficult to see his surroundings in such blackness, but the fire, though small, had been enough for the last kilometer.

  He noticed that their horse was gone. Did she steal my horse? A shaking of the bushes denied his suspicions as a small half-elf girl crawled out of them. ‘There you are, Bendrick. Where have you been?’

  ‘Where’s the horse?’

  Ayda’s expression soured as if someone had played a cruel trick on her. ‘Don’t be upset at me, Bendrick. I wanted to play in the water. By the time I came back, the horse was gone.’ She looked up at him with a trace of hope. ‘I went looking for it, but I didn’t want to get lost. So I came back and decided to wait for you.’

  Bendrick shook his head. He knew he wouldn’t stay mad at her. She gave the same look of hope Sieglinde had given him when she was in trouble. Bendrick realized at that moment that he hadn’t had a dark dream since Ayda had decided to follow him. Perhaps there was something he could learn from her tagging along.

  With a little inspection around the tree he had tied the horse to, he noticed man-sized tracks near where the horse had been and even around the campfire. It had probably been the Band of the Belligerent. Bendrick let out a sigh of relief as he realized it was probably lucky that Ayda had not been at the campsite when they came through here. He would probably have had to make a voyage tracking her down again. But with a power like the one she has, perhaps it is they who are lucky.

  ‘We have to go,’ said Bendrick, throwing dirt onto the fire with his boots.

  ‘But we haven’t eaten yet,’ protested Ayda.

  ‘We will. We just can’t stay here.’

  ‘But there’s no horse.’

  ‘There isn’t? When did that become apparent to you?’

  Ayda stuck her tongue out at him and folded her arms.

  ‘You’re just going to have to carry me.’ Ayda pouted.

  ‘No, I am not.’

  ‘Then I’m not going.’

  Annoying little shit.

  ‘Suit yourself.’ Then lowering his voice, he said, ‘But I just killed a panther that was hunting in these woods. Panthers roam in packs, and if they know I killed their friend, they will be after me and anyone else who was with me.’

  Bendrick knew he was lying through his teeth. But Ayda must not have known. She glanced at the darkness around them and shuddered. Finally, she looked up at Bendrick and smiled.

  ‘Just kidding.’

  TRAVELING ON FOOT was much harder when a child was one of the travelers. Bendrick ended up having to carry her on his back when she said she had gotten a thorn in her foot. Bendrick didn’t see one to pluck from her foot, but she insisted so much. He had forgotten that she didn’t even have shoes and made a point in his mind to get her some. Or make some. Since she insisted on riding on his back, Bendrick had to carry his sword in his arms. It made him look quite ridiculous, but it could not be helped. Bendrick was surprised that he could carry her and the sword. After what seemed like miles to Bendrick, they decided to stop and cook the panther meat. He picked out all the Wyrmroot interspersed with the meat and put it in his pocket. Devoid of any root, the meat cooked rather well, and Bendrick was surprised that he actually took a liking to it. It needed a bit of salt and a pinch of pepper, sure. But all in all, he and Ayda enjoyed their cooked meal.

  They wouldn’t be able to stay for long, however. Dark clouds collected overhead and brought rains with them. The waters poured from the skies and drenched Bendrick and Ayda to the bone, which was just as well. Ayda was beginning to smell particularly raw, and Bendrick knew he didn’t smell much better. Bendrick chewed on his beard and realized that he hadn’t let it grow this long in ages. He was used to being pampered, being on staff for the Athenaeum. Every other day, a shower, and every week, a shave. Bendrick missed the smell of the citrus soaps and lavender shampoos he would use in his baths. He chuckled silently to himself at the thought of how soft he had become. He was smiling to himself, reveling in the memory, when Ayda shouted in his ear.

  ‘Bendrick, look!’

  Bendrick winced at the volume of her voice but looked in the direction Ayda was pointing. A small, wooden hut rested on the banks of the Greenwood River. They had followed the river south for miles in search of the Aivaterran refugee encampment, but the waters from the river were rising steadily. Soon, it would be too dangerous to walk so close to it. But it was possible that whoever lived there might allow them to stay there for the night. The wooden hut was small but had a distinct feeling about it. There was no light coming from within.

  Bendrick set his sword on the door frame and knocked as Ayda slipped off his back. She moved the hair out of her way and looked up at the skies. Rain that had been falling heavily for the last two or three hours began to slow and would soon be leaving the earth wet and moist. Lightning streaked across the sky and startled Ayda. She jumped and bolted through the door.

  ‘Ayda, no—’ But Be
ndrick stopped. There was no light in the small one-room house, and one glance indicated that no one was living there now or had lived there for a while. Lightning flashed again, giving Bendrick a good look at the house. A table had been overturned, and the chairs were thrown across the floor. What looked to be beds had also been thrown upside down, and one of them was completely crushed to pieces. Beneath one of them lay splintered wood. Blood was splattered on the floors and walls. Ash from the chimney was strewn all throughout the room. The inhabitants of this house must have been farmers, judging by the plow in a corner and a few other farming tools lining the walls.

  ‘Holy fuck.’

  ‘Ayda,’ snapped Bendrick.

  ‘What? This looks like it came out of stories I was told long ago. Like it’s haunted.’ Ayda glanced up at Bendrick. ‘I don’t want to stay here.’

  ‘Whoever was here is long gone. We stay the night, get dry, and move in the morning.’

  ‘What if we miss the Aivaterrans?’

  ‘If what Ham told me is true, there are thousands—if not hundreds of thousands—of refugees heading to the Kingsoul. It will take them time to reach it.’

  ‘What if they were attacked by daemons like we were?’

  Bendrick paused at the question for a moment. ‘Then there will be hundreds, Ayda.’

  Bendrick closed the door to the house and walked over to the chimney.

  ‘There is still some dry wood in here. I say we get this started.’

  Ayda rubbed her hands together. ‘I’ll do it. I’m better at starting fires anyways.’

  Bendrick didn’t argue with the little girl, but he grabbed the table and set it upright. He grabbed some of the chairs and crushed them with his feet. They would make good kindling.

  ‘Whoa, what if whoever lives here comes back?’

  Bendrick pointed to the blood. ‘I don’t think anyone is coming back, Ayda.’

  Ayda stared at the blood on the floor for a moment and then whispered something into the chimney.