Children of the Knight

by Michael J. Bowler

  Arthur’s attacker fought hard and with deadly accuracy, his samurai sword swinging deftly up, down, and across with dizzying speed, parrying many of Arthur’s thrusts. He could jump high above Arthur’s swings and crouch low to avoid the same. But finally Arthur figured out his pattern, and when the man leapt, Arthur swung high instead of low, and Excalibur slashed across the attacker’s thigh, slicing it open.

  The man crumpled to the ground hard with a piercing scream, blood spurting from the jagged wound, his sword spilling to the concrete for Lavern to retrieve.

  Arthur stood back, panting from the exertion, eyed the writhing, wounded man and the blood streaking Excalibur, and then thrust the sword skyward in triumph. The kids roared their approval. The fight was over. They had won.

  Then the phone in Arthur’s hand vibrated.

  LANCE and Jack pelted feverishly down Temple and had just passed Spring Street. Their lungs burned, hearts pumped wildly, adrenaline propelling them forward with desperation.

  Up ahead in the distance, they could see the lights of City Hall and the crowd of knights and spectators all spread out in a massive circle, a circle that spilled outward like a spiral galaxy. All heads faced inward, toward the center, toward something the galloping boys could not yet see.

  Hundreds of winking and flashing cell phone lights made the whole area look like a glittery star field, as though the boys were headed into the center of the Milky Way, itself.

  Traffic on Temple, usually extreme, had trickled to almost nothing, maybe because everyone knew all the action was up ahead at City Hall.

  Lance’s panting heaved and pulled at his lungs, but Jack seemed hardly winded at all. He nudged the younger boy as they pounded along the pavement. “You got the board, man, go! I’ll catch up.”

  Lance tossed him a worried nod then deftly leapt atop his board and began to fly.

  ARTHUR lowered Excalibur and raised the phone to his ear. The surrounding starfield of people saw the movement and, bewildered, fell silent. Arthur forced calm into his voice. “I am here.”

  WITHIN the limo, a disheveled Lee sat smoothing out his wrinkled jacket, while Ramirez sat across from him, his jaw swollen and enflamed, his fury raging. He held up Lance’s phone and growled, “You wanna see your punk-ass kids alive again?”

  ARTHUR exhaled in relief. His boys still lived! Thank you, Lord.

  “What do ye wish me to do?”

  Everyone watched uncertainly, and waited, including the mayor and his people. Absolute silence filled the night.

  RAMIREZ knew he had but moments before those kids raised the alarm. His jaw throbbed, and his words came out slurred.

  “It’s very simple, your majesty,” he said mockingly. “Simply lay down your sword and step away from it.”

  He and Lee exchanged a look while he awaited Arthur’s answer. “Remember, I am watching everything.”

  ARTHUR frowned. It was an odd request. And the man’s voice sounded different somehow. He heard pain in that voice. He’d been around more than enough battle injuries to know the sound of a battle wound when he heard it. Had Lance or Jack somehow hurt this man? If so, were they even, in fact, still alive?

  He gazed a moment at the mayor and police chief. The chief had a radio to his mouth, presumably calling in reinforcements. Then Arthur turned to the sea of faces awaiting his next move. Reyna flashed him a “what’s going on” look, but he didn’t respond.

  Lay down Excalibur. A simple request. It would make him vulnerable to attack, he knew. But if there was a chance to save Lance….

  “Very well,” he said into the phone.

  He bent to lay Excalibur onto the pavement.

  LANCE kicked and pounded and swerved and barreled down Temple Street, lungs burning, not daring to look up, but feeling the sniper high above taking his aim.

  Lance understood the stakes. This moment would define his life. This would be his greatest event ever, greater and far more important than any at the X Games.

  This moment of truth loomed larger than any he would ever face.

  His real gold medal, the only gold medal that mattered, would not be for him alone, but for all of his fellow knights, for all of his family—for he had to save Arthur at any cost!

  The needs of the whole company demanded it.

  Hair trailing behind like the mane of a colt galloping in the wind, Lance’s eyes caught sight of a ramp beside the incomplete bleachers, a ramp that rose up to the height of those bleachers, a ramp that would propel him up and over to Arthur.

  Legs burning, lungs searing, sweat pouring into his eyes, Lance pumped and kicked and pounded harder than ever in his young life.

  ATOP the old Hall of Justice, Alberto Santiago had Arthur clearly framed within his scope. Santiago had been one of the Army Rangers’ best snipers during the Gulf War, but had been summarily dismissed from military service for later taking out a particularly nasty warlord in Somalia without proper authorization. Hell, he’d seen the chance to take out the bastard, and he’d grabbed it. Probably saved thousands.

  But his superiors hadn’t seen it that way, and he’d been given a dishonorable discharge. Somehow Ramirez found out about his circumstances and hired him on the spot. All he knew about this Arthur guy was what he’d seen on the news. Seemed okay to him, but Ramirez paid the bills, and if Ramirez wanted him smoked, well, that was his job.

  His cue, Ramirez had told him, was when Arthur laid his sword onto the ground. Then, when the man stood up, he would take his shot. Armor-piercing bullets, too, since the king would likely be sporting some kind of armor.

  He observed through his scope as the king bent down with his sword and began laying it out on the ground. His trigger finger twitched. Almost there.

  PANTING heavily, terrified of failure, sending a silent prayer skyward for worthiness, a sweaty, adrenaline-powered Lance pounded forward and bolted up the rickety wooden ramp toward the heavens.

  ARTHUR slowly laid Excalibur out onto the ground, wary of someone coming at him from within the crowd. Sighing heavily, he released the hilt, stood erect, and stepped back from his only protection.

  LANCE hit the top of the ramp and shot out like a bullet over the bleachers. Below him the kids looked up in amazement and excited recognition. Fingers pointed upward, hands clapped joyously. He heard his name called out.

  But his gaze remained fixed on Arthur a short distance below. He yelled as loudly as he could, “Arthur, look out!”

  Arthur turned at the sound of Lance’s voice, his face breaking into a joyous smile of relief at the sight of his boy floating like an angel toward him.

  SANTIAGO had Arthur’s chest square in his sights. He smiled and pulled the trigger.

  LANCE soared directly toward Arthur, his heart in his throat. The bullet struck him square in the back, piercing his tunic, nicking a corner of his right lung and lodging itself near to his wildly pumping heart. The boy twisted grotesquely in midair, his face erupting in pain, his board sailing off without him.

  Not yet sure what had happened, Arthur held out his arms, and Lance smashed right into him, knocking them both to the ground as another shot rang out, the bullet striking the concrete mere inches from Arthur’s head.

  Panic gripped the crowd, and they dove for the ground.

  The knights swelled into a close grouping around Arthur to protect him as he gently rolled Lance off of him. Reyna snatched up Excalibur and tossed it to Arthur, who grabbed the sword in one hand and pushed himself upright with the other.

  Murphy called out orders into his radio and pointed to his men on the perimeter. He gesticulated wildly toward the Hall of Justice, and the cops took off running.

  One of Arthur’s archers named Khom, a Cambodian boy from Long Beach, shoved his way frantically through the circle. “Arthur!” he called out in fear.

  The king had started back toward Lance but now stopped at this new interruption. “What is it, Sir Khom? Be quick!”

  The panting boy gasped, “Some guy, he took Lady J
enny!”

  Arthur suddenly whirled to where he’d last seen Jenny. She was gone, and Esteban just shrugged his own confusion.

  “Where are they?” Arthur asked Khom anxiously.

  “He shoved her into a big-ass limo, up the street.” He pointed up toward Temple and Spring. Ramirez’s enormous Hummer could just be seen driving away out of sight. “There!” the boy shouted. “There it is.”

  Arthur made a lunge for Llamrei, who whinnied restlessly beside Chris, whose frightened gaze was fixed on the fallen, unmoving boy. And then the king remembered Lance. He turned and bent down to examine the boy he loved. A thin stream of blood trickled from Lance’s mouth, and a large pool had already begun spreading out from beneath him. His eyes flitted about, the vibrant green etched with searing pain. They focused on Arthur.

  “Save her, Arthur,” he whispered. “Hurry.”

  Arthur gazed at his beloved boy and marveled that even now he would think of others first. “Hold on, for I shalt return to thee, my Lance.”

  He rose and ran to Llamrei, deftly leaping onto her back, snatching the reins from a shell-shocked Chris and galloping hard through the crowd, which opened a pathway for him. Several of the approaching police cars were ordered by Murphy to follow the limo, so they took off up Temple in pursuit.

  The stunned spectators began rising to their feet, milling and confused and uncertain about what had just happened.

  Chris pelted over to kneel beside Lance, and Reyna, who’d gripped Esteban’s hand in shock, released it and knelt by the wounded boy’s other side. Chris grasped Lance’s hand, gazed in shock at the pain in the boy’s eyes, at the blood pooling from beneath him, and began to cry.

  Reyna sat beside Lance and gently cradled his head in her lap, lightly brushing the boy’s damp hair from around his face. Lance focused his eyes on her and tried for a smirk. “You mad cuz I’m younger, prettier, can shoot, and skate better than you?”

  Reyna swiped at the tears dripping down her face and forced a smile. “You crazy fool, had to play the hero, didn’t you?”

  Lance smiled a bit through his pain. “Did I win the gold?”

  She took his hand in hers and fought for control. “’Course you did. And you know why?” He shook his head weakly. “Cuz I love you, that’s why. You couldn’t’ve done it without me.”

  Lance’s smile broadened, the pain in his back becoming numb, almost bearable.

  At that moment, Jack pushed through the circle, panting and heaving, and gasped when he saw Lance. And the blood. His breath nearly stopped, his heart in his throat.

  “Oh no,” he said to no one in particular, his knees almost buckling beneath him. “No, it can’t be! Oh please, God, don’t let this happen!”

  Reyna gazed tearfully at the handsome, guilt-ridden face, so contorted with anguish, and waved him over. “C’mon, Jack, he needs you.”

  Legs weak, heart thumping wildly with terror, Jack stumbled forward and dropped to his knees beside Lance. The younger boy smiled up at the older one he idolized.

  “We did it, huh, Jacky? We saved Arthur.”

  Jack shook his head, clenching and unclenching his fists, struggling to control his anguish. “Damn you, Lance, it wasn’t supposed to be this way. I was supposed to save you!”

  Lance just grinned a little against the pain. “Not if I saved you first.”

  Jack reached out and stroked Lance’s soft, sweaty brown hair with trembling fingers. “Oh God, Lance, you can’t go, you can’t leave me.” Tears sprang to his eyes. “I need you too much!”

  “It’s okay, Jacky,” Lance said quietly, offering that little smile, “I can—” He coughed up a little blood, and Reyna gently wiped his mouth with her sleeve. “—I can tell Mark how much you loved him.”

  Jack choked back a sob and turned his anguished gaze toward Reyna. They reached out to grasp each other’s hand, sharing the aching pain of their mutual love for this boy.

  At that moment, Ryan and Gibson shoved their way through the crowd and into the circle. “Get back, everybody, stay back, give the boy some air!” Ryan was shouting. He knelt beside Jack and gazed soberly at the wounded Lance.

  Approaching sirens began to get louder. Ryan stripped off his rumpled jacket, gently moved Chris aside, and laid the jacket over Lance to help keep him warm. “Don’t worry, son, help is on the way.”

  Lance smiled up at the aged cop, that beautiful, almost angelic smile. “Thank you, Sergeant Ryan.”

  Ryan just nodded but couldn’t think of anything to say. He actually felt sick. He’d seen so much death in his career, but somehow, watching this boy suffer was worse than all the rest.

  Jack moved to sit beside Lance, and Reyna allowed the devastated boy to take Lance’s head and cradle it. Chris took Lance’s hand again and sobbed loudly into Jack’s shoulder. Reyna took Lance’s other hand. “Hang on, cutie,” she said with a wink, praying more than ever in her life that help would arrive in time.

  Gibson stood gazing down at the wounded boy, the blood pooling around him, and turned away in disgust and anger, and came face to face with his son. Justin was tearing up, something Gibson hadn’t seen, nor encouraged, since the boy had been no older than Chris. Father and son gazed at one another and then Justin unexpectedly grabbed his father in a tight hug.

  Caught off guard, Gibson at first let the boy do the hugging. Then he realized that Justin wasn’t crying only for Lance, but for everything that had happened in his life, for all the missed opportunities he and his father had had to connect, the way he had connected with Arthur. So finally Gibson did what he should have been doing all long—he hugged his son and whispered into the boy’s ear, “I love you, son. I always have.”

  Ugly slashes of red and an ear-piercing siren signaled the arrival of the paramedics, who leapt from their vehicle almost before it stopped and ran to the wounded boy.

  INSIDE the limo, Jenny struggled against Lee’s iron grip. For such a small man he was incredibly strong, and she couldn’t break free. The two young Asians Lance and Jack had wounded sat stoically in the very back of the limo, holding sections of cloth ripped from their shirts against the bleeding of their wounds. Both were lucky to even be alive, and they knew better than to ask for immediate medical care. They were expendable to the operation and had known it when they’d signed on.

  The third Asian, the one who’d kidnapped Jenny, sat calmly beside them, handgun at the ready, awaiting further orders.

  Ramirez sat across from Lee and Jenny holding a chunk of ice he’d taken from the refrigerator against his swollen, crooked jaw.

  Jenny glared at him with hate. “What do you want with me?”

  Ramirez glowered, his eyes rolling with fury. The pain of his jaw and the indignity of having been bested by a punk-ass kid had driven him to the brink of instability. “Bait, lady. Stupid kid got in the way. Your Arthur still lives!”

  A thrill of joy and fear thrummed through Jenny’s nerves. Arthur lived! But which kid got in the way? What did that mean? She didn’t want to ask. She could see how unstable this man was becoming.

  Ramirez turned his head slightly. “Any sign of pursuit?” he asked the Asians in back.

  “Just cops,” gurgled the one Jack had stabbed. “No sign of him.”

  Ramirez scowled. “Get rid of the cops.”

  The young Asian who’d grabbed Jenny put down the back window. Two police cars had barreled up Temple after them and a third had entered the chase from Spring Street. He slid his semiautomatic handgun out the window and began firing.

  The pursuing police cars swerved as bullets flew at them from the fleeing limo.

  The limo swung an ear-screeching turn onto N. Broadway Street heading east. The police cars skidded around the corner to follow. Startled drivers swerved their cars to the side of the road to avoid a collision.

  Ramirez gazed in fury at Jenny. This Arthur had cost him millions tonight, if not billions. He would pay dearly for that. A bullet to the back was too good for such a man, too quick. No
, he’d use this woman to bait a trap and then torture them both to a slow, miserable death.

  Suddenly, the driver rapped on the window separating him from the passengers. Ramirez pressed a button, and the window lowered.

  “What is it?” he asked irritably.

  “Straight ahead, sir!” the nervous driver called back over his shoulder.

  Ramirez squinted as he leaned forward for a better view. Lee, too, craned his neck around, while still clutching Jenny like a vise. Ramirez gasped in surprise.

  Arthur, his hair flying in the wind, galloped Llamrei straight down Broadway, crossing the overpass above the 101 Freeway, darting in and out of the swerving cars, on a nonstop collision course with the limo.

  Ramirez grinned. “Run his ass down!” he called out to the driver.

  But then Ramirez’s grin dropped instantly, for Arthur had raised a bow and arrow and aimed it straight at the limo. He let the arrow fly.

  There was a thunk as the arrow struck the limo’s left front tire, and the car spun wildly out of control. Arthur lowered the bow, snatched up Llamrei’s reins, and jumped the horse high into the air. The spinning, swerving limo passed directly beneath him and smashed into the concrete embankment of the overpass.

  Arthur landed his horse safely and spun in time to see the limo smash through the overpass embankment, sending large chunks of broken concrete onto the freeway below. He heard the sounds of crunching metal and swerving, screeching tires from below, but Arthur’s gaze remained fixed on the limo.