Child of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “Hand that back or it will be your last act in this life.” Nidon leaned low over his saddle. “By Forsvar do you think I am idiot, you pup? By delaying me you defy the orders of the Crown Prince. Give me that scroll and let me pass.”

  Telman glanced at his four companions. But before he could speak Nidon said, “The law is on my side. Defy the Champion in the execution of his duties and your life is forfeit.”

  “The queen—”

  “Will hear of this.” Nidon held out his hand and with only a moment’s hesitation, Telman placed the scroll in it. “Good day, Sir Telman.”

  Nidon rode through the gate.

  Fenre met him in the bailey. There were others there as well, a few knights and valets. “Sir Nidon, I must ask—”

  “Gods, I love a fight, Sir Fenre,” Nidon said as he dismounted. “And when my fight is just, it makes it that much better. To die in a good fight – in a just fight – that is what I want.”

  “Sir Nidon—”

  “You’ve seen the letter, Sir Fenre. I will see the prince.”

  “If you would just give me a moment, Sir Nidon, I assure you that you will get to see Prince Handrin.”

  Nidon started past Fenre toward the keep’s iron-bound door, only then realizing he didn’t know his way. He paused at the top step.

  “Would you like a valet to show you the way, Sir Nidon?” Fenre asked. “I will see if one can be found.”

  Nidon glanced at the four valets standing nearby. “You do your master proud, Sir Fenre.”

  “I do my best.”

  “I will find him.” Gods, how long will that take?

  “Be my guest.” The words had hardly left his mouth when a scowl crossed his face.

  “Champion Nidon,” a young voice called from the door. It was Nidon’s turn to grin.

  “His Majesty the Crown Prince!” a man-at-arms shouted.

  All turned to face the prince and took a knee. Unlike everyone else Nidon had seen, Handrin wore the red and silver of the Knights of the House, the crossed lightning bolts bold on his chest. His father’s colors. It pleased Nidon that Handrin didn’t wear the queen’s three crowns on blue. Handrin motioned for them to rise.

  How old is he? Eleven now? Twelve?

  “Champion Nidon, I am glad you could come.” Handrin’s face could barely contain his joy.

  “It is my pleasure, Prince Handrin. You’ve grown since I last saw you.”

  “I will have my squire’s spurs soon.” He glanced furtively around the bailey. “I haven’t much time. Come with me, Sir Nidon.”

  “Shall I attend you as well, Prince Handrin?” Fenre asked.

  “No,” the prince said without looking at him. “Come with me, Sir Nidon.”

  Nidon followed the prince into the keep. Two escorting men-at-arms followed for a few strides before the prince stopped. “Return to my chambers,” Handrin said to them. “I will return soon.”

  “Your Majesty is not to be left unguarded.”

  “I have the Champion of Salador with me. You may go.”

  “As you will, Your Majesty.”

  The two men saluted and departed. Nidon followed Handrin as he quickly paced down the hall. The keep was unfamiliar to Nidon, but the prince seemed intent on some destination. They turned two corners before Handrin stopped.

  “I need your help, Sir Nidon.”

  “I am at your service, Prince Handrin.” The boy had grown a lot. He had lost the chubby child’s face Nidon had last seen. But his face also had less joy in it.

  “I want to see my father, Sir Nidon.”

  “As do I, my prince.”

  “Mother won’t let me.”

  “She has commanded me not to see him as well, although the law is not on her side.”

  “Take me to him, Sir Nidon,” Handrin said, furtively glancing up and down the hall. “My mother is not here. She is on the other side of the city visiting her aunt. Her soldiers will not let me see him, even though I am the crown prince. They fear her.

  “If they know you are loyal to me—that you will obey my orders, they will not stand before us. My mother fears you, and so do the soldiers.”

  “They didn’t fear me yesterday when they came to kill me.”

  “Mother had too much to drink. She was complaining about you at high-lunch. She said you were a danger to Salador and wished that she were rid of you. Sir Wallem took her words to heart.

  “I want things like they used to be. I want to return to Sal-Oras. I want my father. I want you to be our champion.”

  “I am with you, Prince Handrin.”

  “Thank you, Sir Nidon. Let’s go now. I am certain Fenre has sent word to mother. She will make haste to return. I will take you to the back stair.”

  Handrin led the way again and they soon turned into a short, dead-end hall leading to what Nidon imagined must be a back corner of the keep.

  Two guards stood by a heavy door. An arrow slit let sunlight into the hall. Both guards stood straight as soon as Handrin and Nidon appeared.

  “I wish to see my father,” Handrin said. “Open the door.”

  “I am sorry, Your Majesty. The queen has given strict orders that none should pass.”

  “I am the Crown Prince. I am here with the Champion of Salador. You have no right to stop us.”

  “We are under the queen’s orders.”

  “Sir Nidon, whose orders are you under?”

  “I obey the Law of Salador and my rightful liege. I am your man, Prince Handrin.”

  “Do these men have any right to disobey me or to prevent you from seeing my father?”

  “They do not, Your Highness.” Nidon put his hand on his sword as he shifted his grip on his shield.

  Handrin took a deep breath and faced the guards. “Open the door or I will order Sir Nidon to kill you.”

  The man took a step back, bumping against the wall. “That—no, but, Your Highness, we do not have the key. And if we let you pass, the queen will have us killed.”

  Nidon drew his sword and raised his shield. The two men backed away from him, sliding along the wall. They don’t want a fight. “You don’t have the key? You lie!” He stepped closer as if preparing to strike.

  “We don’t have it!” the second guard said, raising his hands in surrender. “Only the queen has one. We are here only to prevent someone from breaking in.”

  “Leave my sight,” Handrin said. Both made haste to obey him.

  “And what do we do now, Prince Handrin?” Nidon asked.

  Handrin didn’t reply, but stepped close to the door, peering at the lock. “It is set into the stone.”

  “We need a hammer and a drill,” Nidon said.

  Handrin shook his head. He knelt on the floor and placed his palm over the stone where the bolt would be, bowed his head, and closed his eyes.

  “What are you—”

  “Shhh.”

  Nidon heard a snap and a crack and the rock seemed to glow under Handrin’s hand. Nidon sucked in his breath. Gods, he’s an elementar like his father. How did I not think of it?

  Strain showed on Handrin’s face and sweat appeared on his brow. The glow brightened and then with a loud crack, shards of stone fell away from the wall.

  The door swung open. Handrin smiled up at Nidon.

  “Well done, Your Highness,” Nidon said, helping Handrin to his feet.

  “I am stronger now than I used to be.”

  “You can break stone.”

  “Before he died Master Orlos taught me that earth is the most difficult element to master.” Nidon saw the pride in Handrin’s expression. “Follow me. The chamber is at the top of the stairs.”

  Nidon followed Handrin as best he could as the boy raced up the tight spiral staircase. Nidon’s hip burned with the effort as he tried to keep up. “Slow down! We don’t know what’s ahead,” Nidon called, but Handrin had disappeared ahead and did not reply.

  Beams of sunlight from narrow arrow slits lit the clouds of dust raised by Handrin’s pas
sage. Nobody had been on the stairs in ages. Three times Nidon ran through sunlight as the stairs rose upwards.

  Nidon exited into a short, wide hallway to the overwhelming scent of cedar, jasmine, and rose. The powerful floral odor was jarringly at odds with the dark hall. Nearby, Handrin crouched next to a door and yelled through the big keyhole. “Father! Are you in there? It’s me, Handrin!”

  As Nidon strode up he heard moaning in reply. Not just moans, but attempts at words. Handrin tried the handle, but although it turned, the door remained locked. “I’ll break it,” he said as he placed his hand on the stone. “It is thicker than before, though.”

  Nidon moved to his side and saw a wicker basket and a thick linen sack on the floor next to the prince. Blooming flowers and herb stalks projected from one half; the other side was covered with a checked cloth. Nidon knelt and lifted the cloth revealing a stoneware crock, a loaf of bread and a lidded mug. Opening the warm crock, Nidon caught the scent of beef stew.

  Stone snapped and chipped under Handrin’s glowing hand. The boy’s eyes were tightly closed in concentration. Nidon pulled open the sack only to find it contained several pounds of rock salt.

  Nidon frowned. Rock salt, flowers, herbs, and dinner. Not what I expected.

  “She’s here,” Handrin said, his voice tight.

  “What?” Nidon looked up from the sack. Handrin pressed both hands against the doorframe, the light shining so brightly from under them that Nidon couldn’t stare directly at them. “Who is here?”

  “Mother,” Handrin grunted. “She’s close. I...must…hurry.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Forsvar is near. It dulls my magic.”

  Nidon heard a key turning in a heavy lock. Not the door in front of them, though. Nor the one they had come though. The door down the hall.

  “Too late,” Handrin said as the light from under his hands dimmed.

  The hall door slammed open to reveal Queen Ilana, the Godshield Forsvar on her arm blazing with argent light. “Stop! Stop! Get away from the door!”

  Ilana swept down the hall, the train of her gown billowing behind her. And behind her came her varcolac—eight or more. Nidon stood and faced the queen and her escorts. They wouldn’t fight, not here. Not with the prince in harm’s way. But even so he turned so that his shield faced them.

  “Go away!” Handrin shouted from behind him. “I want to see my father.”

  “What are you doing here?” Ilana demanded. “Why have you brought my son here?”

  “He didn’t, Mother!” Handrin said. “I brought Sir Nidon here.”

  “I’ve told you,” Ilana said as she halted five strides from her son. “I’ve told you a hundred times that your father is too ill for visitors. Anyone entering his room is a danger to him. The surgeon said strangers could bring foul humors that could kill him. Now come here.” She waved her hand for Handrin to approach.

  “What is his illness?” Nidon asked as Handrin sullenly approached the queen.

  “It is the Wasting.”

  “The Wasting is over. It ended with Akinos.”

  Ilana ignored Nidon. “Return to your chambers,” she said to Handrin.

  “I will be king soon,” Handrin said. “You will not be able to order me around then.”

  “You will be king when you show that you are ready to be king. Now go.”

  Ilana glared at Nidon as one of the varcolac escorted the prince from the hall. All of the varcolac were armored and carried swords, axes, and daggers. They didn’t have shields, but varcolac were fierce and hard to kill and while he might take one or two down, the others would overwhelm him.

  Ilana laughed, and as if she read his mind said, “No, Nidon, I will not kill you here. But you have burdened me enough. You have given up your last chance to flee. And when Sir Ragos kills you it will demonstrate to all who truly rules in Salador.”

  “His majesty the king does not rule?” he asked.

  “If you had succeeded in your mission in the east, the Orb would have been recovered and our poor Boradin would have been healed from his wounds.”

  “And if you had let me keep Forsvar I would have been able to recover the Orb.”

  Ilana’s eyes narrowed. “You would have liked that, wouldn’t you, Nidon? To hold the Orb and the Godshield both… you would have been king.”

  “I would have given them to my king.”

  Ilana laughed. “So noble, Nidon. So righteous. You think I am a fool. No man would give up such power.”

  “I gave Forsvar to you when you asked.”

  “Get out. I tire of you. Enjoy your last day, Champion Nidon.” She turned to her varcolac. “Escort Nidon from the keep. Ragos, take me to my chambers.”

  “Don’t tire yourself, Ragos,” Nidon said as the queen and the varcolac walked down the hall. “It will take all you have to kill me.”

  The queen’s step faltered at his words, but she didn’t turn. Nidon grinned, knowing he had scored. Well, a cheap point I suppose. The four varcolac remaining with him grinned as well.

  “It is good to die bold,” one said in his thick Rigarian accent.

  Nidon nodded. “Is there another way to die?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Hot, humid air pressed down on Maret. The sun angled low through the trees, but evening offered little respite. It would be as hot during the night as it was during the day. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

  Orlos and Enna had finally fallen asleep out of pure exhaustion. The journey was too hard for them, but neither Saunder nor Baron Grax would listen to her appeals. They feared the Kiremi were too close.

  At least the column was at a walk and the children would not be jostled from their sleep. And they rode in the cooler forest rather than the plains.

  “Another summer storm,” Kael said at the sound of the fading thunder.

  “Forsvar, protect us,” Maret said. “This cannot get any worse. How is your back?”

  “Hurts like someone shot me with an arrow.” He grinned. “I’ve been through worse.”

  “Why did you lean into the arrow back at the river?”

  He frowned for a moment as if unsure what she was talking about. “Ah that,” he finally said. “Look at my helm. It is open faced, unlike the visored helms knights wear. I put my head into the arrow so that it didn’t take me in the face. And my helm is more arrow proof than my mail. It is sloped as well, so an arrow will be deflected.”

  Maret shook her head. “You were thinking all that? I was frozen in terror, barely in control of my horse.”

  Kael laughed and then grimaced in pain. “Wasn’t thinking it. Just did it. Thinking in a fight gets you killed. You just do.”

  “Well, you have done so much for us. Of anyone here, you are the only one I owe any thanks. You are a patient man. You bear Enna well. You protect us.”

  “You heard the captain. He’ll have my head if the little one comes to harm.”

  “I don’t believe that is the only reason you are good to her.”

  He shrugged but didn’t reply.

  The terrain became rougher, and Maret did her best to make the ride smooth for Orlos. He didn’t awaken. Nor did Enna, who seemed even more troubled by the journey.

  Their luck didn’t hold out for long, and the children both woke crying. They were hungry, but she couldn’t feed them both while riding. She put Orlos to her breast and he quieted. Kael tried to keep Enna occupied with silly voices, but she could not be calmed.

  Kael was good about not looking at Maret while she fed the children. It was not the same for some of the other soldiers. She hated them for it. It was hard enough feeding them while riding, but exposing herself to their overt glances was humiliating. The Landomeri felt no such embarrassment, but she was still Saladoran at heart.

  “I’ll trade spots with you, Kael,” one said in accented Saladoran. They want me to understand. “You’ve got the better view.” Those nearby laughed. “Well, unless you look at her face.”

  Maret turn
ed away from the man, hiding her scars and her shame. The Idorians were in an ugly mood after the fight with the Kiremi. Most were injured, and the company had lost twelve men captured or killed. She feared them.

  “Don’t be an akinos,” Kael said. “She’s a lady. Show her some respect.”

  “No lady I’ve ever seen has shown me her tits before.”

  “Dromost take you idiots,” Saunder called out as he rode down the column toward them. “Keep your eyes on the forest!” And then he spoke in rapid Idorian.

  “Os, Capitain!”

  Saunder turned his horse to ride beside Kael. He shook his head at the wailing Enna. “She’s not faring well,” he said.

  “Stop pretending your concern,” Maret snapped. “You did this to her!” It seemed to her a flash of anguish crossed his face.

  “I know. Just a few more days of it and it will all be done.”

  “Done for you. I’ll still be a prisoner, kidnapped from my people.”

  “We’ve found a campsite and will halt now. Sooner than I might have hoped for, but the children are in need.”

  Thunder pealed closer.

  “Are you doing it for the children, or because of the storm?”

  “For the children.”

  The column slowed to a walk. Maret saw that some of the riders had already taken up sentry posts, and despite their fatigue the remaining soldiers quickly set to work establishing camp.

  Kael dismounted, and with his free hand helped Maret down. “Let’s set you by that tree. I’ll get your pack.”

  “Thank you,” Maret said as he led her to the base of a huge oak. A carpet of everbloom spread out from under the tree. It was a relief to walk. Everything ached: her legs, back, shoulders. She paced for a short time before settling herself with her back to the tree and Kael handed Enna to her.

  “Ugh, she needs changing,” Maret said.

  “I suppose I should have mentioned that. I’ll get your bags.”

  “No, Kael, you are hurt. I’ll get them.”

  He shook his head and brought both of her bags, laying them on the ground next to her. “I’ll be back in a moment.”