17878265

by David

  There was no lock, so he eased the clasp back and lifted the lid.

  The glint of gold was the first thing to catch Loric’s eye as he raised the cover of the wooden box. There was not a heap of coins within the chest, but rather, he was looking upon the subtle filigree pattern set into the scabbard of a beautiful sword. The sheath was made of simple brown leather, but the hilt was a wonder of materials and craftsmanship that included a diamond pommel. Open-mouthed, Loric took the weapon into his trembling fingers and drew it close, staring with amazement at its fine makeup. He held it gingerly as he studied every twinkling facet of its clear, polished gemstone. Loric pulled the blade a few inches from its sheath. That glimmering steel still held a fine edge, despite those many years it must have been lying beneath the dusty lid of the chest.

  Loric propped the sword against the wooden box while he rummaged through it to find what else was hidden in the secret trove. Next, he found a round metal shield that was lacquered red and decorated with an insignia he had never seen before. It was the silhouetted bust of an armored knight. Beneath that protective disc, he found a silver helmet. It had a visor with eye slits and a tall plume of red feathers. Loric set the helm aside and pulled a shirt of chain rings from the trunk. He hung the shifting armor over the side of the chest. Then he turned back to the wooden box. In the very bottom, he found a leaf-bound package. As he lifted it from the trunk, brittle leaves crumbled away, revealing a neatly folded surcoat. Loric grabbed it at the collar and brushed away the remaining bits of its wrapping, letting it unfold itself as he beat away debris. It was faded red, with the same device embroidered upon it as the shield bore.

  What is this place? Loric asked himself. Why are the armor and weapons of a knight hidden beneath a barn? It does not make any sense, unless....

  Loric drew in a deep breath to steady himself. He decided it was best to reserve his

  judgment about that unless until he could ask his father for the truth concerning the wonders he had found. In the meantime, he jammed everything back into the trunk. I will talk to father tomorrow, he decided. I could use a ride and a drink. Then he ascended to the barn, where his horse was ready and waiting.

  Loric eyed Sunset suspiciously, as he stepped off the ladder. “Did you know about this?”

  Sunset let out a quiet rumble of denial.

  “Of course not,” Loric decided. “Else you would have told me, wouldn’t you, boy?”

  Sunset’s reply was somewhat more spirited than the last one, so Loric took that for

  affirmation. He knelt to close and cover the trapdoor, praising the red stallion, “Good boy.”

  Loric shouldered his quiver of arrows, took his bow in hand and led the stallion out of the barn, where he climbed astride it and jogged it toward the lane fronting the stone cottage. Frogs were croaking along the Moonbeam Stream, as Sunset clip-clopped up the road running adjacent to that waterway. Otherwise, it was a quiet journey to Taeglin.

  The raucous escaping Taggert’s Pub was opposite the silence of the road leading up from Palen’s farm. There was enough shouting and laughter coming from that squat one-story building to fill the entire town courtyard at festival time. Loric smiled. In light of the day’s disappointment, he needed this environment, which promised fun and laughter.

  Taggert’s Pub boasted a large common room full of square tables the patrons could shuffle about in any manner they saw fit to arrange them. At present, those tables were scattered about at random beneath thick clouds of pipe smoke. Tin tankards cluttered most of those surfaces, and men of the town filled out the majority of chairs round about them. Loric cut a path between crooked tables on his way to the bar, which was too short for the night’s crowd.

  Loric did not mind standing. It was worth it for a drink. Besides, it was Belinda’s night to keep bar for her father, Taggert. It was doubly worth standing at the edge of the crowd. Belinda was the reason Loric had come. If he could not leave Taeglin, he might as well see the girl who twisted his chest into a tight knot.

  Loric was surprised to see Taggert in Belinda’s stead. His hair was gray and wolfish, even in spite of the way he combed it over to hide his baldness. His sideburns were thick lupine pelts in the shapes of lamb chops, which made for a confusing mix of predator-prey qualities in a human being. His eyes were pale green, almost yellow in certain lighting, but his smile was broad and deep tonight.

  “What are you having?” asked a familiar feminine voice at Loric’s back, distracting him from his study of her father. As Loric wheeled about to face Belinda, she said, “The first drink is free tonight!”

  Loric wanted to ask what the occasion was, but the stunning appearance of the auburn-

  haired maiden before him struck him dumb. She had bright green eyes that sparkled with joy. At present, they were tightened into something of a squint by the corners of her all-encompassing smile, which pushed her cheekbones up to her lower lids. Her nose was long and wide, but gently curved, and she was pretty as much because of it as in spite of it. She wore deep green ribbons in her locks to complement her mint-colored dress, which was cut to accentuate her fair bosom.

  Loric ignored her chipped tooth, and he found her freckles altogether alluring, especially those revealed at the top of her dress.

  “What’ll ya’ have, Loric?” called Taggert, from his post behind the bar.

  Loric turned his way to say, “King’s tonic.” By the time he looked back to Belinda, she was gone. She had been swept away to an impromptu dance that encouraged tavern patrons to slide their tables toward the walls. Loric wanted to join the reel, but Taggert had already begun mixing his drink.

  Besides, the barkeep wanted to engage him in conversation. “How’s yer father?” he asked.

  “My father is well,” Loric replied politely. He watched with envious eyes as Belinda spun across the floor. “We sowed the upper field today. That made him happy.”

  “Bet it did,” Taggert replied.

  “There will be more to do tomorrow,” Loric assured him.

  “There’s always another field,” Taggert reckoned.

  Loric nodded absently, agreeing, “Yes.”

  “And yer mother?” Taggert questioned. He extended a tankard toward Loric as he

  suggested, “She is well too, I hope.”

  “Yes,” Loric answered quietly. He looked into the tankard. Its contents were still swirling,

  “She is well, too, but I’ll drink to her health anyway.” He raised his tankard.

  “That’s the spirit, lad!” Taggert lauded him. “First one’s free, so why not?” The barkeep tapped his tin to Loric’s and said, “To Adie.”

  Five other tankards appeared from all directions, as a chorus of voices repeated the toast.

  Loric received foamy splashes from each of those tin mugs. Then he wet his mouth with contents from his own. That first taste was good enough to remind him why it was called a king’s tonic. It was the best drink in the land, and its imbibers would argue that point with any king who said otherwise.

  “Thanks,” Loric said to his host. “What’s the occasion for free drinks?”

  Belinda’s mother, Henrietta, appeared with a twinkle in her blue eyes. Her hair was dull brown, but neatly brushed. She was thick around the middle with her long nose leaning toward her left cheek. Her teeth were just as crooked as her smeller was, but she was the kindest soul Loric had ever met. “Hello, Loric,” she greeted him.

  Henrietta opened her mouth to say more, but the door opened and a tall, sturdy woman with straw-colored hair entered, followed by her magistrate husband, Borag, who topped six-feet and three inches and had to weigh twenty stone. Barag came behind them, along with his younger brothers, Galen and Mikel. Father and three sons shared big bodies and stringy blond hair, but Barag was the biggest and loudest of them all. He was six-foot-eight and thicker than his Da, with the face of a bulldog.

  Taggert and Henrietta greeted Borag, Sonya and their sons fondly. Belinda stepped toward the newcomers, look
ing a convoluted mixture of anxiousness and excitement that was altogether bewildering to Loric. Hugs and handshakes were exchanged all around, and out of the midst of that gathering, Loric heard Taggert ask, “Good magistrate, would you like to make the announcement or should I?”

  Loric’s heart crashed through his stomach.

  “Borag!” the magistrate corrected Taggert in his bass boom. “Call me Borag. We are

  practically family, after all.” As an afterthought, he decided, “But you are the host, Tagg. Go on and tell them the good news.”

  Loric slowly began backing away from the bar, with the walls shrinking around him as he did so. He sensed what was coming, and it was not to his liking. He had envisioned a different ending to this story than the one portended by this announcement.

  Taggert banged his tankard with a spoon to quiet the commotion in his common room.

  “Let’s hear it, then!” shouted Miller Wilton.

  “All right,” Taggert grumped, waving Wilton down. “Barag son of Borag has asked for the hand of my beloved Belinda, and I have agreed to let them wed!”

  Taggert sounded happy, but faraway to Loric. The wall behind him finally closed in on him to end his retreat. Likewise, the eruption of joy that followed was muted to Loric’s ears. He had thought that maybe his father was right. With Barag gone, perhaps he would build a farm and take a wife. Belinda would make a fine mate, but now she was promised to Barag. Loric slumped into a chair and stared into his tankard, wishing it were deeper. He turned it bottom up and emptied it, without realizing he was drinking to the happy couple. A critical decision had been made for him. He was leaving Taeglin tonight.

  “You look like you could use another drink, friend,” offered the man across the table from him. Loric was without words, so the man said, “I’ll buy. I’ve seen that look before.”

  Loric kindly thanked the man and lifted his eyes for a glimpse of him. His green hood was up, but he hung back in his chair, with his arms draped behind its tall knobs. He looked like a scarecrow. His posture allowed firelight to play upon his face, which featured cool blue eyes, thin lips that were pressed together to form a confident smile and a scar, high on his left cheek.

  “That engagement caught you off guard; did it, Loric?” the stranger asked.

  Loric eyed him suspiciously. “How do you know my name?” he demanded.

  The stranger shrugged, not at all put off by Loric’s gruff question. “I watch. I listen,” he answered. “I pick up a few things that way.”

  “You’re an eavesdropper,” Loric grunted, annoyed to be in the man’s presence.

  “Some would say that,” the man agreed. “Some would be as rude as to tell me I am nosy,”

  he went on, reading Loric’s next response and speaking it before he had the chance. “I like to think I’m observant.”

  “Call it what you will,” Loric shrugged. “You’re minding business that’s not your own.”

  The stranger’s half-smile kindly disagreed with Loric. He withdrew a handful of silver and copper coins and piled them on the table for barmaids to see.

  “So what’s your business in Taeglin?” Loric asked, watching the man’s nimble fingers

  shuffle the clinking discs about on the flat surface before him. Fair-haired Jillian brought a pitcher to the table to refill their mugs, as if summoned by magic.

  “That is my own,” the man said in a low voice.

  Jillian frowned.

  Loric was not sure whether the expression was for his question or the stranger’s reply. “Oh,”

  Loric replied dumbly.

  As the barmaid moved away, the stranger studied the sway of her hips. “So you’re a farm boy, huh?”

  Loric nodded. “What of it?” he asked.

  “The red stallion.... is it yours?” the stranger inquired.

  Loric was uncomfortable talking to the inquisitive fellow opposite him. He made to down his drink and leave, but Barag was standing near the door. Loric would endure any conversation to avoid an encounter with the bully. He decided that no answer was best.

  “The reason I asked,” the stranger told him, “is because I know many a knight that would give their shield arm for a fine piece of horseflesh like that.”

  Loric poked his index finger toward the man and rumbled, “Leave my horse alone.”

  The stranger raised his hands defensively and chuckled. “Relax, Loric. Your horse is safe.”

  Loric rose to check on Sunset.

  “He is right where you left him,” the stranger promised. “Sit down. I am harmless. I am just curious what a farm lad needs with such an animal. That’s all.”

  “My father gave him to me,” Loric conceded. “If he’s not where I left him....”

  “He is there,” the stranger assured him. “So you are Loric, your mother is Adie, which is likely short for Adelaide, and your father?”

  “Give me your name first,” Loric demanded.

  The stranger laughed as he replied, “Nyck.”

  “Palen,” Loric answered, pleased with himself.

  “Palen,” the stranger mused. “That name reminds me of a bold knight, descended from a long line of bold knights.”

  He suddenly had Loric’s attention. The lad suddenly cast off all of his suspicion and distrust for the man. Visions of the sword in the barn returned to his mind. “Really?” he questioned. He drained his tankard and set it aside.

  “I am sure you are already familiar with the story of King Donigan,” the stranger went on.

  “Everyone knows the story of the Great King, Donigan, who united Beledon,” Loric assured the man proudly. “But what does that have to do with this knight that you speak of?”

  The storyteller’s eye twitched. It was a subtle motion that seemed to trigger a deep grin.

  “Indeed, everyone knows that King Donigan of Highland Home united Beledon. Aye, every man alive knows of his deal with the dragons for his mighty sword, the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye.

  They also know that the dragon Faethlenkandur--curse his name!--tricked Great Donigan into dragon worship and human sacrifice. And, who has not heard of the tragedy that befell the Great King and his beloved Queen Riana of Landolstadt, when King Donigan made his war upon

  Faethlenkandur and his vile kindred?” The man shook his head, answering, “No one. But I will gladly tell you of King Donigan’s two sons and their posterity, so you will know what this has to do with the bold knight in question.”

  Loric interrupted, “I am familiar with King Lornigan and his line, but I did not know he had a brother. Surely you make this up.”

  “Sit tight, while I tell you a tale of two princes,” the man reproved him mildly. “Then you will know the whole story--the truth that has been denied you.”

  “Sorry,” Loric apologized. “I guess my Da never knew of it, or he surely would have told me.”

  The stranger looked uncomfortable with Loric’s assessment. He signaled for two more

  drinks and began his story, saying, “After Great Donigan united the land, from his own Highland Home in the north all the way to the Sorling Sea in the south, beautiful Queen Riana bore him a son. The couple named the child Lornigan after a mythical god worshipped across the

  Shimmering Sea. But the War of Dragons selected its casualties from amongst both the peasantry and the nobility.”

  “The War of Dragons?” questioned Loric.

  Before he could ask whether that was the name of Donigan’s crusade against the dragons, the man across from him questioned incredulously, “Has your education been entirely neglected on the farm?” He raised his hand to forestall Loric’s reply and explained, “That was the name of King Donigan’s effort to exterminate the great dragons of the north, to drive them away from Beledon for all time.”

  “Oh,” Loric answered dumbly. “That led to the dragon leader capturing and slaying King Donigan’s queen.”

  “That is correct,” the stranger conceded, with a sad look dimming his face. “King Don
igan slew Motkinildora, the Dragon-Queen. Evil Faethlenkandur sought retribution. He drew the king away from his castle, so he could capture Queen Riana. He bore her away to his lair, and during King Donigan’s rescue attempt, the dragon blew her to her death with wind from his wings.

  Sorrow ruled over the monarch for a long time afterward. He vented his anger and rage by carving dragon hide throughout the Wyrm Mountains. It is said that he eventually came to feel empty and lonely, so he sought the comforting embrace of a new lover. That unknown peasant woman also brought forth a son of Donigan. He was the boy Logant.”

  “Logant?” Loric asked.

  “The most famous of knights,” the stranger assured him, as he toyed with his coins.

  “How come I’ve never heard of him?” Loric inquired. He watched the man as he erected his tower of coins, with the fat coppers on the bottom.

  “That is a fair question,” the man said, eyeing him strangely. The edge on his voice hinted at agitation. “Perhaps we’ll find the answer to that some other time,” he decided. For now, suffice it to say that Logant founded the Logantian Knights, which was the most famous order of knights to walk this land.” Loric raised his hand to object, but the stranger would hear none of it. “Let me finish the tale!” he snapped.

  “All right,” Loric agreed, as Jillian stopped by to refill his tankard, and then ducked away in haste.

  “Logant was King Donigan’s son and Prince Lornigan’s half-brother,” the stranger affirmed.

  “Lornigan was five years Logant’s senior, but he never knew aught of his younger half-brother until the entire island was embroiled in the succession war that still divides Beledon to this day.”

  “How did they come to know one another?” Loric asked.

  “Listen, so you can learn,” was the stranger’s firm response. He went on to say, “King Donigan and Andokandazur the Black slew one another as the dragon flew the captured ruler over the Highlands en route to his lair. Ten-year-old Prince Lornigan was left behind to be king, until a regency-related squabble between Sir Bornan and Sir Sturgeon “Storm-Hand” escalated to full combat. Other power-hungry lords soon joined in, so that by the time Lornigan reached adulthood there was no diplomatic way to settle the conflict. Lornigan then pressed his honest right by might, like the others.”