Child of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  The mail of the Idorians could not stand up to the powerful Kiremi bows, and one by one they fell. Grax and his men, with their heavy armor and shields, fared better and they charged into the Kiremi, who gave way at the onslaught.

  A few Kiremi spotted the pack horses and pointed that way. More turned on Maret.

  “Take Orlos,” Kael said. Without waiting for an answer he pushed the child into Maret’s arms, so that she now held both children. She lost control of Shadow and he turned under her. Fear gripped her as she tried to hold both children and control her mount at the same time. If he bolted they would all fall.

  Kael lifted his crossbow and with two quick pulls of the cocking lever had spanned the bow. He fitted a bolt as the Kiremi charged toward them.

  “Ride for the river,” he said as he lifted his crossbow. The string snapped forward and a Kiremi fell from his horse. Kael didn’t try to span his crossbow again. He let if fall by its shoulder strap and drew his sword.

  A Kiremi only thirty strides away loosed an arrow. Kael, as if pushing into a heavy wind, lowered his helm and leaned into the arrow. It struck him in the shoulder, penetrating his mail.

  Maret wrapped her left arm around both children. They squirmed and cried, but she had no choice but to hold them as tightly as she could. She snatched up the reins in her right hand and urged Shadow toward the river. It took precious moments to get him turned in the right direction.

  Forsvar protect these children. Please don’t let me drop them. She kicked Shadow’s flanks the moment she got him turned and the pony galloped for the near bank. There were shouts behind her, wild Kiremi shouts. She knew they were coming for her, but could not bear to look.

  A horse thundered close behind her and she choked out a cry, expecting an arrow in her back at any moment.

  “I am with you,” Kael called from just off her shoulder and relief flooded through her. Shadow splashed into the shallows and slowed. It was not far across, but she didn’t think she could manage it with the children. Fear that she would drop one, or that she might fall off the horse, filled her. She balked.

  “Kael!” she called. He had halted just behind her. Five Kiremi charged them. Kael turned his horse, putting it between her and the raiders. Another arrow struck him, this time in the back. Kael’s face wrenched in pain, the arrow protruding from his mail.

  At that moment Maret was certain they would perish, but then Saunder and the eight men of the reserve crashed into the Kiremi, toppling some from their horses, and forcing the others to flee.

  “Take her across the river!” Saunder shouted to Kael. Saunder didn’t wait for a reply as he turned his horse and led his men back toward the enemy.

  Kael sheathed his sword. “Give me the little one,” he said. His lips were tight—drawn back against his teeth. Maret saw the pain on his face. “You are hurt!”

  “Hurry, give her to me,” he said through clenched teeth.

  Maret handed Enna to him, and Kael immediately pushed his horse into the river. Maret followed. She glanced behind. Men were fighting, loosing arrows and shooting crossbows, but none close by.

  She turned her attention back to the river as Shadow plunged deeper. Water lapped up around Maret’s knees and she raised Orlos higher on her shoulder. The sound of battle raged behind her, but she didn’t dare turn. She stayed focused on Kael, just ahead of her.

  Soon they were on the shallow, rocky bank. Maret risked a glance back as Kael led her into the forest. More Idorians were crossing. Johas led the train of pack animals. Further back, Captain Saunder commanded a line of Idorians covering their retreat. Grax rode with him.

  If only an arrow took him. Saunder would let us go.

  And then a sudden hope sprang up. Her eyes swept over the forest. What if Hadde is here? Or Arno? It would be a perfect moment to save the children. Only Kael rode near her.

  But don’t let them kill Kael. The thought surprised her at first, but then she realized it shouldn’t have. He has shown me nothing but kindness.

  “Here, stop here,” Kael said. He dismounted and took Orlos from Maret so that she could dismount.

  “You are wounded.” Maret couldn’t help the tears that streamed from her face. Tears of fear, and tears of relief that they had made the forest.

  “Gods, I know it.” He grimaced. “I need you to pull it out.”

  “But—”

  “Just do it. I can’t protect you with it in my back. Just pull it out.” He knelt and gently placed Enna and Orlos on the forest floor. “Do it now.”

  Enna started bawling, her little face scrunched up and red. Orlos joined her, with only a little less enthusiasm.

  Kael shifted so that his back faced Maret. “Hurry,” he said. “We need to remount in case the Kiremi pursue.”

  “They are afraid of the forest,” Maret said.

  “Gods, woman, just pull it out!”

  Maret placed her right hand on Kael’s back, just at his neck, and then grasped the arrow shaft in her left hand. Her heartbeat pounded in her temples and the world went oddly silent around her.

  She tugged at the arrow, but it only moved a little.

  “Gah!” Kael cried out. “You have to really pull it out. Don’t stab me with it!”

  “I’m sorry, Kael.” Her tears blinded her. “I can’t.”

  “Do it. Now!”

  Maret pulled as hard as she could and flew backward as the arrow came free. She fell hard on her back. The next thing she knew, Kael was there, pulling her to her feet.

  “Well done,” he said. Maret still clutched the arrow in her hand; the end soaked bright red with Kael’s blood. “It wasn’t so deep. We’ll sew it up later. Thank you.”

  He pulled the mail glove from his hand and wiped the tears from under her eyes with his thumb. “I know it wasn’t easy, but you did well.”

  “Why are you thanking me?” Maret asked through her tears. “You would die for us.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Nidon sat at the table, an untouched meal in front of him. Across his room Rayne buffed Nidon’s coat-of-plates, preparing it for the coming tournament. Why couldn’t I forget my pride and just leave for Landomere?

  Nidon’s gaze flicked to the chest in which he had placed Morin, hoping the eternal stayed perfectly still. Morin had laughed when Nidon expressed concern that Morin might suffocate.

  “Hard to suffocate when you don’t need to breathe.”

  “But I see you breathe.”

  “Call it habit. And I still need air to speak. I just don’t need it to live.”

  “You are not hungry, Champion Nidon?” Rayne asked.

  Nidon jerked his eyes from the chest. “What? No, I didn’t sleep well.”

  “Should I fetch something different for you?”

  “No, this is fine.” He took a bite from a heavily buttered piece of bread as if to prove it.

  Heavy, booted footsteps trod down the hallway outside. Nidon’s hand went to the battle sword dangling in its sheath from the chair next to his, but there was no urgency to the footsteps. They are being subtle if they are making another attempt on me.

  They stopped outside the door and someone gave a heavy rap. Nidon went to the door and opened it, but he kept his shoulder behind it, ready to force it shut. He relaxed at the sight of Sir Fenre and two men-at-arms stood in the hall.

  Nidon stepped back, letting the door open wider. “This is unexpected, Sir Fenre. Please join me.” Nidon motioned to the table.

  “Thank you, Sir Nidon.” The steward turned to the two men-at-arms. “Take your ease in the great room. I will join you soon,” he told them.

  Fenre stepped into the room and gave Rayne a cursory glance. “Sir Nidon, would it be any trouble if we spoke in private?”

  “Rayne,” Nidon said, “check on Thunder, won’t you?”

  “Yes, Sir Nidon,” the boy said. He put down his brush and departed, clearly unhappy at the dismissal.

  “Close the door behind you,” Nidon ordered. As the door closed h
e turned his attention to Fenre, who sat across the table from him. “Wine? Or something to eat?” he offered, but the older man shook his head.

  “Unfortunate business yesterday, Nidon,” Fenre said.

  “Is that is what they are calling assassination these days? It isn’t a very Saladoran way of doing things. Very Idorian.”

  “It wasn’t assassination. Just drunken bravos out to prove their valor against the great Nidon.”

  “I seem to remember some words spoken about treachery.”

  “It was the wine talking. But they paid the price, eh? You and your man cut them down. Who was it, by the way? The word is he was a terror to behold.”

  Nidon willed himself not to look to where Morin was hidden. He shrugged instead. “I don’t know who it was, but I am glad he arrived.”

  “Come now, Nidon. You don’t know?”

  Nidon locked eyes with Fenre. “Call me a liar again and I will have two challenges to fight.”

  Fenre blanched at the sudden change in tone. “No call for that, Sir Nidon. I’m sure he hid his identity because he knew he was supposed to stay in camp.”

  “It wasn’t one of my men.”

  Fenre nodded, clearly unconvinced, but unwilling to face Nidon’s ire. “This challenge… the Champion’s Tournament, it doesn’t need to happen. You don’t even want it, do you? We’ve seen you walk, how do you expect to fight?”

  “I’ve killed four varcolac since taking this wound. It will not stop me from killing another.”

  “This varcolac is not like others. And win or lose, the results will still be… unfortunate.” Fenre reached under his blue tabard and pulled out a small leather pouch. He undid the ties and poured a small mound of gold coins onto the table. “Your back pay.”

  Nidon took one of the coins and tossed it in his hand. “New coins, I see.”

  Fenre shrugged. “Same value as the old. By law.”

  Nidon laughed. “Yes… by law.”

  “Look, Nidon, if you win you will have defeated the queen’s man. She will be very upset. She will put Dromost’s own torment upon you. And if you lose, well, losing to a varcolac doesn’t leave many options afterwards.”

  “I’ll have defeated the queen’s man. That is an interesting way of putting it.”

  Fenre pulled another pouch from beneath his tabard and let it fall heavily on the table. “Call it off. You are injured. Nobody would think worse of you.”

  Nidon stared at the pouch. It was a lot of gold, even debased. I could walk away right now. Be done with all this.

  But instead of accepting, he said, “What of my men? What of their pay?”

  “Accept my offer and they will be paid as well. And they will be dismissed to follow whatever path they wish.”

  “And what of the king? Will the varcolac be his champion?”

  “Will it still be your concern?”

  “Who do you serve, Fenre? Do you even think of our—”

  A knock at the door interrupted him. “Who is there?” Nidon called.

  “A messenger from his highness, Prince Handrin,” the young voice called.

  Fenre scowled at the words.

  “Enter,” Nidon said.

  The door opened and a page in the livery of a Squire of the House stepped into the room. His eyes widened at the sight of Sir Fenre. Nidon saw more than a hint of fear in them.

  “Lorren, what are you doing here?” Fenre demanded. “And why are you not in the queen’s colors? And what do you have there?”

  The page held a small scroll he attempted to hide from Sir Fenre. “It is a message for Sir Nidon,” the page said.

  “Hand it here,” Fenre demanded.

  “No,” Nidon said just as the boy was about to obey the steward. “It’s for me. I’ll take it.”

  The page approached, giving Fenre a wide berth, and gave Nidon the scroll.

  “Thank you.” Nidon took the scroll and broke the wax seal. The message within was written in a careful, but unsteady hand. Handrin wrote this himself.

  Sir Nidon,

  It is my wish that you should attend me at the soonest possible opportunity. Time is short. Come in full harness.

  Prince Handrin

  Nidon stood. “Please tell his highness that I will do as he says,” he said to the page. “And on your way out, stop by the stables and tell the innkeep’s boys to saddle my horse and send my page to me.” Nidon fished a silver coin from his belt pouch and tossed it to the page. “Hurry.”

  The boy grinned at the coin and ran from the room.

  “What is going on?” Fenre demanded. “Is there some emergency I should know of?”

  “No emergency that I know of.” Nidon took the pouch of coins Fenre had placed on the table and tossed it to him. “Our business is done.”

  “The queen will not be pleased,” Fenre said, weighing the pouch in his hand.

  “I serve the king.”

  “I wish you the best, Sir Nidon. I truly hope that no harm befalls you,” Fenre said as he stood.

  Nidon knew that he was no master of court intrigue, and that he tended to take men’s words too much at face value, but meeting Fenre’s gaze he couldn’t help but think the older man’s words were true. “I appreciate that, Fenre, but I have to be true to myself, and to my king.”

  “Good luck to you, Champion.” Fenre strode from the room, his footsteps retreating down the hall.

  Nidon went to his armor stand and ran his hand down the coat-of-plates cuirass. The red felt covering the cuirass was worn and much repaired. It was fine armor, if somewhat battered. It would do for one more fight at least.

  The door burst open and Rayne appeared. “Apologies!” Rayne blurted, out of breath.

  “Arm me, Rayne. Quickly.” The boy scrambled to obey.

  Nidon rubbed his chin. What could the prince want? Why armed? He wrote of no danger. “Thunder is being made ready?”

  “Yes, Sir Nidon. I hope he doesn’t hurt anyone. He’s not keen on strangers.”

  Nidon grunted his assent.

  “Is there to be a fight?” Rayne asked as he buckled Nidon’s greaves. “I thought the tournament was not for two days.”

  “It isn’t.” Nidon worked his way through the straps on his aketon as Rayne finished with his leg harness. “Prince Handrin wishes to speak with me. Help me with this mail.”

  Nidon got to his knees while Rayne helped get the mail shirt over Nidon’s aketon. “Coat-of-plates as well, Rayne.”

  “Will it be safe, Sir Nidon? The men yesterday were from the keep.”

  Nidon clapped his page on the shoulder and gave him a grin. “If they are luring me into a trap, I doubt they would put me in full armor. I think the prince is up to something, but I have no idea what. Young Handrin looked up to me when he was a child. Maybe he just wants to see me again.”

  But there was more to it than Nidon was willing to let on. He was certain the summons had to do with Handrin’s father, King Boradin. There could be no other reason. The prince will force his mother’s hand. And he needs an armored champion to do it.

  Rayne helped Nidon into his coat-of-plates, the young man expertly fastening the buckles.

  “I am Prince Handrin’s age,” Rayne said as he finished.

  “I’ll ask him if he’ll take you as a squire.”

  “Really?” Rayne’s face lit up. He held Nidon’s vembraces as the knight slid his arms into them.

  Nidon laughed. “Don’t get your hopes high. They’ll find some Earl’s son for the task. Let’s finish this.”

  Rayne will make a fine valet. He knows his business. Nidon pulled his mail coif over his arming cap when all else was done. “Check on Thunder. I’ll be right down.”

  When he was certain Rayne was gone, Nidon knelt beside the bed. “Can you hear me, Morin?”

  “Be wary of a trap,” came the muffled reply.

  “Fenre was as surprised by the letter as I was. They weren’t expecting this. It brings me close to Prince Handrin. I must go. Stay hidden.
”

  Nidon went to the table and scooped his gold into the pouch. Can’t leave two years’ pay lying on a table. He glanced around the room for a place to stash it and finally wrapped it in a rag and hid it in the wicker basket that carried his armor.

  Once in the hall, Nidon locked the door. A simple lock; any decent thief would have it open in no time. But he had little choice. He made his way to the stables, on his way ordering the innkeeper to keep his room undisturbed.

  “Go to the army camp and speak with Sir Lindras,” he said to Rayne as he mounted. “Find out if there is anything they need. Have him give you a list. Stay with the army until this afternoon and then return.”

  “Yes, Sir Nidon. Best of luck, Sir.” He handed Nidon’s shield up to him.

  Nidon put the shield’s strap over his head and then gave his page a half salute before riding from the courtyard. He put Thunder at a canter, hoping to make good time to the keep. It was a short distance and he had no trouble until he reached the keep’s gate.

  “Hold there!” the captain of the watch called out as Nidon approached. Four men-at-arms supported him. The keep’s gate stood open behind the dismounted men. “No man is to go armed in the city.”

  “As you see by the red shield and red tabard, I am Nidon, Champion of Salador. I have an audience with Crown Prince Handrin.”

  “We were not told of this, Sir Nidon.”

  Nidon pulled the vellum scroll from his belt and handed it to the knight. The man unrolled it and stared at it for far too many heartbeats.

  “Can you read, Sir?” Nidon asked. “It is not a long missive. It is signed by Prince Handrin and has his seal.”

  “I can read.”

  “And do you know courtesy, Sir? I do not recognize you. What is your name?”

  “I am Sir Telman, captain of this watch.”

  “Well, Sir Telman, you know who I am. It would behoove you to show proper courtesy.”

  The knight was young, newly made, Nidon guessed. The man’s face flushed with anger and embarrassment. “The letter will have to be verified,” he said. “You will have to wait… Sir Nidon.” He held the scroll out to one of the men-at-arms. “Take this—”