Child of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  Thunder rumbled, more distant now.

  He heard noise in the antechamber and his stomach rumbled in expectation of food.

  Too soon.

  The thought came too late. He turned as the door burst open and Queen’s Guardsmen poured into the room, armored and carrying heavy cudgels.

  Nidon dashed for his sword, but the guardsmen were closer. He yanked his hand back as a cudgel crashed down on the table. Full dark filled the room as the candle flew from the table.

  Nidon threw himself backward. A guardsman struck him a glancing blow on the shoulder and then Nidon was tripped and fell.

  The guardsmen threw themselves on him. He punched one in the face, driving him back. But then someone seized his wrist in two strong hands.

  They were too many. They crushed him to the floor. Nidon lashed out with his foot, but the pressure was still on him. Someone struck him in the head with a club and his vision spun.

  “Hold him!” a voice ordered. Fenre’s voice. “Don’t harm him.”

  Nidon stopped fighting. There was nothing he could do. A man held each arm and two more lay on his legs. Nidon blinked his vision clear. “Fenre? What is this?”

  A hood was drawn over his head and bound tightly around his neck. It stank of rotten onions. Nidon struggled to free his arms, but a powerful blow to his stomach doubled him over. He gagged and retched into the sack covering his face.

  “Don’t resist, Sir Nidon,” Fenre said. “It will not end well for you.”

  “How can this… end well?” Nidon gasped out, his voice muffled by the sack.

  “I will do what I can,” Fenre said. “Bring him.”

  The guardsmen hauled Nidon from the room, half dragging him as he blindly attempted to keep up. He quickly lost track of where he was as they twisted and turned through the unfamiliar keep. They went down one flight of stairs and up two more, one a twisting tower stair.

  A heavy door opened and he was pushed through. He expected a dungeon, but instead was struck by a strong, humid gust. Even through the sack, he could tell they were high on a wall.

  Nidon had no doubt they were going to kill him. He had thought the king’s protection enough. The queen had to know the people wouldn’t stand for his murder. She couldn’t keep it secret from them. But it wasn’t enough. I was stupid to enter the keep. The old law of Salador is gone.

  Nidon skinned his knee on a stone stair as they dragged him up another short flight. The wind was stronger here, pressing the sack against his face and causing it to flutter. Suddenly, it was removed. He drew a deep breath of clean air.

  It was lighter now. Early dawn. They stood upon the huge south-western tower, just above the very point of the city where the Treteren River met the Vara.

  A dozen guardsmen crowded the tower. The queen was there as well, Forsvar on her arm. To her right stood a tall, gaunt man. The wind whipped his blue cloak around his spare frame. He looked as hard as a hickory pole-axe shaft, and just as friendly.

  Duke Pereval, Ilana’s father. He wore full harness with a tabard of West Teren blue. Two huge knights stood just behind the duke.

  In the center of the tower roof stood a tall metal frame, maybe twelve feet high. A fire burned brightly in an iron basket suspended from the frame. Nidon knew it as a warning light for ships approaching up the river. With dawn upon them the fire would be left to die.

  “By what right do you seize me?” Nidon demanded.

  “Bring him here,” Ilana said.

  The guardsmen forced Nidon across the tower to where Ilana and her father stood.

  “Kneel,” she commanded. When he did not immediately obey, her men kicked his knees out from behind him and forced him down.

  “You have no—”

  “You demand things of me, traitor?” Ilana said, her face caught between a sneer and rage. The duke’s face was impassive.

  “I’m no traitor, Your Majesty,” Nidon said.

  “Your plot is foiled, traitor. We know everything now.”

  Nidon shook his head, not knowing what to make of her accusations. “Call for the king. I demand King Handrin’s presence. It is my right as Champion.”

  “You have no rights!” Ilana shouted. Her father put his hand on her arm to restrain her as she leaned forward to spit the words at him.

  “There are laws,” Nidon said. A thunderclap nearly drowned out his words. Behind the queen, approaching from the west, Nidon saw a thunderhead looming in the darkness. Lighting flashed, still miles away.

  Duke Pereval glanced over his shoulder at the approaching storm, annoyance plain on his face. “Let’s be done with this,” he said. “We are running out of time.”

  Nidon had known he was sleeping in the wolf’s den. He had placed himself here when he agreed to fight the Champion’s Tournament. And when he had agreed to be Champion for the new king.

  But he had very publicly entered the wolf’s den. The entire city knew he was here, and that he had been recognized as Champion. The people were with him. As was King Handrin. Nidon had put his safety in the hands of the young king and in the hearts of the people.

  “I demand that King Handrin be made aware of what is going on here,” Nidon said.

  “Tell me, Sir Nidon,” Ilana said, “why did you not attempt to take us at the tournament? Why did you hold back?”

  Nidon ignored her questions. “Where is the king?”

  “He is too young to understand. And don’t ask for the protection of the law. Traitors have no rights.”

  “I am no traitor.”

  “I don’t understand. You managed to fill the crowd with your people. I’ll admit I was not prepared for quite so many. Why did you not move on me? Did I have more Queen’s Guards than you expected?” She stood straighter as she spoke the last words. The wind at her back blew her auburn hair around her face. It was unusually untamed for her. It made her look wild, like her pet varcolac.

  Where are the varcolac? There are none here.

  “I didn’t move against you because I never had any plans to do so,” Nidon said. “I am a loyal servant to the royal family and of the Kingdom of Salador.”

  Ilana laughed. “Do you hear him, Father?”

  “You abandoned your post without orders,” Pereval said. His voice was much deeper than one would expect from such a thin man. “You brought three hundred men here. Three hundred men who are loyal to you.”

  “I wrote to Her Majesty and explained my actions,” Nidon said. “The Dragon Pass cannot be taken. Heroes of Salador shed their blood there every day with no hope of success. Earl Welan and I fortified the pass, called up men to secure the walls, and only then did I bring my men—your loyal veterans home.”

  “I received no such missive,” Ilana said. “And in any case I sent no message accepting your plans. You have failed, and in failing, the Orb of Creation has been left in the hands of the enemy. The Rigarians will rise again.”

  Nidon shook his head. “It took Akinos six hundred years before he launched his attack. We have time to rebuild our strength.”

  “You do not serve Salador. You have another master now,” she said, pulling Forsvar close against her body. “Did he promise you the Godshield? He will never let you have it. It is the one thing he fears.”

  She knows of Morin. “I serve King Handrin.”

  Ilana held up her hand. “So here you are, inside the keep, a viper in my home. You have my son’s love. You have the people behind you. You have three hundred hardened veterans willing to follow you into death. I know you gave orders that they be released from the Gardens last night. Soon, I am certain, you would have brought them into the keep.”

  “They just want to be paid and to go home to their families—”

  “Stop!” Ilana snapped. “I know everything. Just tonight I have received word from the south. Your plot is foiled. My loyal subjects have captured your pretender to the throne.”

  Nidon looked from one face to the other. “I have no idea what you are speaking of.”


  Ilana turned away with a derisive snort.

  Duke Pereval leaned forward, his arms crossed before him. “The Landomeri woman has had a child. The father is the traitor, Morin.”

  “What? You mean Hadde?”

  Pereval nodded.

  “Hadde has a child by Morin?” Nidon didn’t think to contain his shock. His mind reeled at the thought. He had heard a few whispers, but he had never been one for rumors or romantic intrigue.

  “You play the fool well, Sir Nidon,” Ilana said. “I wouldn’t have thought you such an actor.”

  “It is no act. I had no idea.” I am a fool. All those hours dreaming of joining her in Landomere.

  “You arrive without orders with an army of three hundred men and proceed to expose the death of King Boradin. Having done this you weakened the stability and security of Salador.” Ilana ticked off a finger. “A pretender is discovered in Landomere. A pretender whose mother you were often in the company of.” She ticked off a second finger. “So who was the man who saved you at the Dancing Horse? Hmmm, Nidon? A man in black, of incredible speed and skill? Who do you think it was?” She waggled a third finger next to the other two.

  Nidon flushed—he couldn’t hide it. “I don’t know,” he lied. “He didn’t reveal himself.”

  “Prince Morin. He has come to take the throne he always wanted.”

  Nidon shook his head. “Morin is an eternal. He would never show himself here.”

  “He is here. His name is writ large over this plot. He got to you when you were in the east. His consort raised his bastard child in secrecy, waiting for the right moment. If not for a small piece of luck, we might not have found them out. But we did. My varcolac will capture the pretender.” She laughed. “And to your poor fortune, my father’s army was already on the march to support my cause in the South Teren. When you failed to strike yesterday, you gave us the time we needed to bring father’s men into the city.”

  The guildsmen and merchants were with me. I could have done it. But he hadn’t. He had refused to support Vilios’s popular revolt. And now he was on the edge of death. “Bring out the king,” Nidon said. “Let us lay out the case before him.”

  “You have him tied in knots with your famous deeds and tall tales. He is not old enough to decide your fate.” She nodded to the guardsman behind Nidon.

  He hadn’t expected the blow to come so soon. He lunged forward hoping to get his feet under him. Maybe he could seize the queen and hold her hostage.

  The guards, though, were not caught by surprise and he barely got off his knees before being forced back down again. But the blade he expected never fell, instead the guardsmen on either side seized his arms while one behind took Nidon in an iron chokehold.

  “To the wall,” Ilana said.

  They were going to throw him off the wall. It made no sense. Why not just stab him? His feet slipped and skidded as he resisted, but stride by stride they shoved him to the wall. And then they forced his head through the crenellations, but they did not shove him over.

  “You are wasting time, my daughter,” Duke Pereval said. “Be done with this. The storm is close.”

  “Your plot ends here, Nidon. Before you die I want you to see it all unravel before you.”

  Below Nidon, the two rivers swirled violently as they crashed into each other; waves slammed and spouted as they spun in a violent whirlpool. A wooden buoy with a large red and white pennant bounced and bobbed in the middle of the crashing currents, a warning to any reckless ship.

  To his left stood the river wall with evenly spaced heavy towers. Below the wall rested the low island of the Queen’s Gardens. His men were still encamped there, crowded on the small grounds. His order releasing them had never arrived.

  Beyond the island, five galleys held position in the river. Waiting.

  “You are a failure, Nidon.” The queen stood close behind him. Thunder crashed nearby and the wind tore at them. “You failed my husband at King’s Crossing. You were supposed to protect him and instead he took the wound that killed him.

  “You had the Orb of Creation in your grasp and you let it slip away. Your armies failed at the Dragon’s Gate and then you turned traitor.”

  Thunder clapped again.

  “Even then you failed. Now you will die. And your traitor friends will die. Now.”

  Motion caught Nidon’s attention. To his left, on the river towers, the long arms of the trebuchets swung forward, hurling baskets full of rocks onto the unsuspecting knights and men-at-arms encamped below. Rocks the size of heads crashed into tent lines, ripping through fabric and crushing sleeping men within. Some of the baskets tore apart in mid air, scattering their stones far across the gardens so that no place was safe. Others remained intact until they hit the ground, exploding with deadly force. Cries of pain and surprise rose above the wind. Men ran, staring up at the walls in fearful anticipation of what was to come.

  “No!” Nidon shouted. “They did nothing!”

  Smaller catapults and ballistae joined the trebuchets in launching their missiles onto the encampment. Heavy stones bounded through the camp breaking limbs and tumbling men as if they were toy soldiers in some child’s game. Bolts as long as spears pierced others. Some bolts killed two or three before their terrible flight halted. Chaos reined as men scrambled for cover. But the gardens provided none.

  Some of Nidon’s men ran for the two short bridges connecting the Gardens to the city, but crossbowmen rose from behind the fortress walls and poured bolts into the unarmored men. And those who made it to the barricaded gates were cut down by the pole-axes of the Queen’s Guards.

  “Stop this!” Nidon shouted. “They are men of Salador!”

  Along the narrow quay at the bottom of the wall, gates opened and more crossbowmen issued from the city. Crossbowmen in the liveries of the West Teren. Duke Pereval’s men. They lined the quay and their bolts joined those of the men on the walls.

  Some of Nidon’s men had taken up their shields and helms, giving them some protection from the bolts, but soon the trebuchets and catapults sent another shower of rocks that no shield could stop.

  “When you are dead, my varcolac will kill Morin’s bitch and bring her child to me,” Ilana said. “They have already departed. And then my traitor brother-in-law will turn himself over to me or see his heir die.”

  “None of this is true.” Nidon couldn’t stop the tears streaming from his eyes. Rage filled him at the injustice of it all, but for all his strength and anger, the three men holding him were too strong.

  His men were being slaughtered. Brave men who had given everything for him. Men who had no thought but to fight for Salador. And now they stood defenseless as rocks rained down upon them.

  Some jumped into the river. But even that was no recourse. Most could not swim, or not nearly well enough to escape the dangerous whirlpool just below the island. And then the galleys swept closer, crewed by more of the deadly crossbowmen. Bolts flew into the helpless men in the river and those crowded at the shore.

  Thunder pealed overhead—and then a brilliant flash of lighting. A powerful blast of wind struck the top of the tower, so strong it flung every person there to the ground. Nidon’s head struck the tower crenellation as he fell, and the guardsmen were thrown clear of him.

  Nidon got to his hands and knees and shook his head to clear it.

  He glanced up. There at the edge of the tower, standing at the top of the stairs, was King Handrin in his night-robes. The wind whirled around the young king.

  A few steps below him stood Rayne.

  Good lad. You brought the king.

  “Stop!” Handrin shouted. “I command it!” His voice sounded clear and sharp above the wind. He sounded older than his twelve years. He spoke with a voice of authority. But he still looked a child as he ran toward Nidon, his robe flapping behind him.

  Just a few paces away, Duke Pereval helped Ilana rise. She was clearly dazed, and Forsvar hung loose from her limp arm. Closer yet, the Queen’s Guards pause
d at the approach of the king. Nidon had just a moment to ponder his escape.

  Or do I stay with the king? There were two stairs off the tower. Only a few guardsmen stood ready at either.

  “Save my son,” Ilana said, her voice still weak. She slipped Forsvar onto her arm and the rim blazed to life. “Save him.”

  Guardsmen drew their swords and moved toward Nidon. Thunder clapped overhead and heavy raindrops thudded against the tower roof.

  Nidon had no weapons. He was outnumbered and had no chance of escape. He clenched his teeth. He had faced death many times, willing to die in honorable battle against his enemies.

  Never had he wanted to live more than he did at this moment. He could not die helpless before the queen. He could not die slaughtered like a lamb. He had to make the queen pay.

  In one swift move Nidon picked up King Handrin and backed to the tower wall. “Back! Stay back!” Nidon shouted.

  “My son!” Ilana screamed. “Put him down!”

  “Stop, Nidon! Don’t do it,” Fenre said, his voice low and urgent. He put his hand on the closest guardsman’s arm to restrain him.

  “Back away and put down your arms,” Nidon said.

  Handrin clung to Nidon’s shirt. “Sir Nidon, let me go! What are you doing?”

  “Tell them to stop killing my men.”

  “There is no honor in this Nidon,” Fenre said, stepping closer.

  “Stop the attack now. Let my men go. Let me go.”

  A wall of water struck the tower as the storm arrived in full force. The covered beacon light sputtered and hissed as slanting rain struck the iron container. More brilliant was the glow from Forsvar’s rim.

  And then the shield went out.

  “Use your magic,” Ilana said to Handrin.

  Water surged into Nidon’s mouth and nose, suffocating him. Torrents blasted into his eyes. He coughed and choked but could not force the water from his mouth and lungs.

  He dropped Handrin as he threw his hands to his face. A guardsman’s sword would take him now, and there was nothing he could do about it.

  Then a powerful blast of wind struck him in the chest, lifting him upward and backward. He flipped over the edge of the wall and fell, spinning through darkness until he hit the river. His breath exploded from him, and it was everything he could do not to suck in a lungful of water. He clawed for the surface, but the turbulence of the whirlpool tumbled him end over end and he had no notion of which way was up.