by David
Barag’s face flushed red with anger as he shouted, “Aye, Sir Strange-ling. Another time there’ll be. You can count on it!”
Loric urged Sunset into full gallop and thundered out of town. The tall grass to each side of the road sped past him in a dizzying blur. The wind whistled in his ears, as Sunset stretched out his legs with fluid grace that almost concealed the stallion’s true strength. Raw, muscular power helped him attain such speed that the air his body displaced pushed up the top layer of dust from the dry, earthen way, while his pure, exceptional agility kept him from jarring Loric about on his smooth, level back. Through watery eyes, Loric watched familiar brush, trees and fields of Taeglin roll past; while he marveled at how much faster his horse ran along the road than it did in the grassy pasture back on his father’s farm.
Loric had never felt this good in his life. He could not suppress his excitement. He had mastered his fear of Barag, and he was safely on his way to the castle from which Lord Garrick ruled. This journey was the fulfillment of Loric’s dream. That he would soon do battle in the service of Taeglin’s noble liege stimulated him to let out a wild shout, which wind quickly snatched from his hearing. He was the son of Palen, who may have been a Logantian Knight. He was ready to live up to his family name.
Loric rode at that exhilarating speed until he struck the Old King’s Way. New scenery demanded that he draw in Sunset’s reins and appreciate unfamiliar terrain. The Old King’s Way was constructed of large flagstones, but tree roots had broken the many enormous granite slabs that made up its bed, and tall weeds had sprung up between cracked and crumbling chunks of rock in the two centuries since men had last cared for it. Loric tried to imagine great battle hosts marching along the highway as it had once been, with their many brilliant banners lifted in display of their might, but it was nearly impossible to envision such grandeur with the stones tilting upward at odd angles. With those images still eluding his mind’s eye, he thought to himself, This must have been a glorious roadway in its time.
“What a shame,” Loric said solemnly to Sunset. “I would certainly like to see this road looking as splendid as it must have been in King Donigan’s day.”
Loric turned the red stallion onto the jagged northward route and rode silently on. He clicked along at a slow, steady gait, taking few short rests. As the day progressed, the sun peaked, and then it began its slide down the sky in the west. It finally dipped below the horizon in a dazzling display of orange and pink that dulled into red and purple. Loric decided to withdraw from the road. He settled beneath a gnarled old oak while the sky changed from deep blue to black.
Loric stripped off his surcoat and mail with intent to use the former as a pillow. The extra cloak from his bags served as an added layer of warmth through the cool night. He bundled up and closed his eyes to rest.
Sleep eluded Loric. His mind was dancing a jig. He kept thinking about the tale of King Donigan, and even more so, the tale of his two sons, which led him down the genealogy to his father, Sir Palendar. Loric was still having a hard time believing what he suspected. Even the name felt bloated and awkward as it bumped through the passages of his mind. It just seemed illogical to Loric that his father had walked away from Logantian Knighthood. “Why would he do that?” he asked himself aloud. “Surely it would have been a great honor to bear. Why would anyone leave rank of nobility for a little farm?”
With no answer available, Loric shifted his thoughts to Barag the Bully. I will never turn from my enemies again! Loric thought fiercely. I will face them, whatever the cost to me. He exhaled his relief for having left the brute behind him without a fight.
Loric rolled over to see the stars shining brightly through mighty boughs of the tree above him. He began counting those twinkling, heavenly bodies in a vain effort to fall asleep. It did not work. He began naming all the stars and constellations he knew. When he came to the cluster of stars that marked Great Donigan’s place in the heavens, his thoughts immediately returned to the day’s events, and then ahead to the morrow’s journey.
In light of his persistent restlessness, Loric sought after its sources. They were many.
Beledon’s nocturnal creatures were partly to blame, for their wakeful stirrings and wild communications were new to Loric. In addition, finding knightly armor and linking it to the stranger’s tale, which likely connected the equipment to his father, had altered his world.
Belinda’s betrothal to Barag was also in his mind. In the past two days, his entire life had changed, and his departure from Taeglin was a big part of that transformation.
A hard lump beneath his neck was keeping him awake. He tugged the surcoat from its place beneath his head and began inspecting it, whereupon he found an inner pocket. Inside that cleverly concealed pouch, he found a small black book with a creased and faded leather jacket.
That is odd, thought Loric. His curiosity begged him to tear the book from the pocket to see what it said, which he did with such haste that he left the liner hanging from its slot in quilted fabric. Loric was fortunate to be learned in his letters, although that had been another oddity for which Barag felt compelled to call him Strange-ling. His Da had taught him, assuring him that reading and writing were valuable and necessary skills, regardless of Barag’s taunts. Palen had even suggested that he try to teach Barag, so he would not be jealous of him, but Barag had scorned the idea.
Loric pushed past memories aside, while he looked for a title on the cover. If there had ever been such markings on the book, they were long gone now. Loric twisted the black panels about every way possible beneath the moon and stars, but there was nothing there written to hint at the contents of the pages within. Loric opened the faded cover to view the first fragile page, upon which was written in bold angular script:
The Knightly Log
of Sir Palendar
Son of Galendar
First Logantian Knight
Loric drew in a deep breath to even his heartbeats. My father is a noble knight! he swore.
Loric, unable to contain his emotion, yelled, “Why didn’t you tell me, father?”
Wildlife went silent in response to Loric’s enraged shout.
Loric closed his eyes to check his tears, thinking, You have lied to mother and me with your very lifestyle, pretending to be a farmer, when you are better than that, and could have given us better than that. Loric pounded his fist to the ground beside him and roared, “Why?” His thoughts were angry and irrational. I should ride home straightway and demand the truth. As Loric breathed his wrath down and gave thought to that course, he decided, You, Sir Palendar, are a liar. Keep your secrets. Keep your lies. I will have my answers in Moonriver.
Loric flung the book away in anger. Then he turned onto his side and tried to forget the bully and the knightly log. Clouds blacked out the moon, and darkness settled about Loric. He closed his eyes and listened. Crickets began their incessant chirping round about him. Theirs was a soothing song to a troubled young man. Loric decided to focus on their music, allow its rhythm to slow his racing heart and mind until he drifted into peaceful slumber.
Chapter Four
Razor’s Rabble
Loric awoke to a livelier song than the soothing lullaby of crickets. Solari was already high in the eastern sky with Her bright light warming Loric’s long-dormant body by the time he caught his first glimpse of the chattering animals that had awakened him with their merry morning chorus. Through half-wakeful eyes, he strained to see two little birds with bright green feathers as they darted in and out of his peripheral vision. The chattering pair had yellow bellies speckled with black dots and green backs. They fluttered about the branches directly overhead, threading themselves wildly through oak limbs as they called and chased after one another.
Loric chuckled at the comical display, yawned and stretched. Every muscle in his body had a kink in it, causing him to croak aloud, “I have more knots than this tree has. It feels like roots bore into me in search of water.” After a drink to wet his parched
throat, Loric rose from the ground and stretched. Satisfied that he had worked the soreness out of his muscles, he moved to check on Sunset.
Loric found his steed standing nearby, lazily munching grass. “Well, boy, what do you think so far? I’d say it has been a smooth trip to this point.”
Sunset snorted and tossed his head, as if in agreement with Loric. Then he craned his neck down to clamp his teeth about another mouthful of grass.
Loric heard a squeal from his hollow place. He recognized it as a complaint for food. “You have the right idea. I could do for a bite as well,” he said. He snacked on an apple, a bite of cheese and a hunk of the bread he had thieved from the barn.
The fruit was still firm, the cheese was as yet untouched by mold and the bread remained fresh. It was a banquet for a young traveler. With that matter settled, Loric put Sunset’s saddle in place and cinched it up for the ride ahead. He gathered his spare cloak, which he rolled and stuffed into his saddlebag. Afterward, he wrestled his way into his chain shirt and other beastly accouterments, ere he climbed astride Sunset to continue his northward trek.
Loric rode without a halt until noon, when he stopped for lunch and a short rest. He was not accustomed to jouncing on horseback over long distances, and he was fast learning that he became tail weary from riding. Rather than sitting down to eat, he stood and paced. After his meal, he stretched, groaning to Sunset, “I did not know riding was such hungry work.” As his casual glance strayed skyward, he came to realize he had tarried overlong. “We should move on,” he decided.
As Loric climbed into his saddle, he watched flocks of robins and warblers soar across clouds overhead. They were dark, saturated, cumulus billows, which brought with them the promise of heavy rainfall. They rode rising wind.
Loric had to choose between abandoning the Old King’s Way and pressing for Moonriver.
His desire to reach the city of Lord Garrick decided him to tap Sunset to a light gallop, to keep his mount loose for hard riding at need. He was making northwestward, where frontward and to his left, trees were beginning to poke above the horizon. Thick trunks and long limbs grew taller and spread wider before Loric, until the dense line of woods rose up directly in front of him. The forest stretched east-to-west for miles across his road. This was Riverwood. Beyond it waited the wide, rushing waters of Moon River. Lord Garrick dwelt in the castle that kept watch over the north bank of that mighty river.
As Sunset eliminated distance between his rider and the rising forest, Loric detected the tinkle of moving water. Only then did he realize he was hearing the chatter of the Moonbeam Stream, which branched off from the river ahead of him to cut its path southward to his home in Taeglin. Loric heard nothing else, be it the chirping of fowl or the wild calls of other woodland creatures.
Loric steadily drew near the eaves of Riverwood, letting Sunset canter beneath low-hanging leaves of oaks, elms and birches. He could just make out the sparkling, foaming water of the stream that cut across his path a short distance ahead of him. Loric heard no other noise aside from the splashing stream in its bed. He stirred uneasily in his saddle. The red stallion beneath him snorted and let out a soft, disturbed neigh. Something darted across his path. Loric sat up, as tense as the forest around him. He drew his sword with a soft ring. Sunset nervously shuffled hooves on the flagstones of the Old King’s Way, tossing his head from side to side, as if to refuse the road his rider had chosen.
Loric was about to turn his mount around to search for another route when three of the seediest looking men he had ever seen stepped from amidst those trees before him. They were dressed in tattered garments, which were almost as soiled as their faces were. Each man among them was so filthy that it was reasonable to estimate that none of them had bathed for a moon or more. They smelled foul enough to make that guess right, even at ten paces. Their hair was so knotted, unkempt and grimy that Loric could not be sure of its natural color. He judged that enough time had elapsed since they had last washed it that they were unlikely to remember what it looked like beneath their filth. Those three men held iron blades that were as poorly managed as they were, but remained deadly nevertheless. Loric detected movement behind him. Glancing back to each side in turn, he saw several more hard-faced men standing there, each as raggedy as the ones in front of him.
The middle rogue of the trio before Loric tapped the flat of his rusty sword against his palm and firmly planted himself in the young traveler’s path. He displayed a toothless grin and asked in boisterous manner, “What ‘ave we here, lads? The knight wants to cross our stream,” he answered. The rabble assembled about Loric chuckled gruffly at the man, who seemed to be their leader. “Well, speak up, Sir Knight. Do you wish to cross?” the man inquired.
Loric answered, “Yes, sir. I have need to cross the Moonbeam.”
“Sir, eh?” the man asked, his eyes big in his amusement. “You hear that, lads? I’m a sir to this one,” he laughed. “Very polite, idn’t he? They always seem to be courteous when they have need, don’t they, lads?”
“Sure do, Razor!” came a shout from directly behind Loric.
The man continued, “Let’s talk business, you and I. You have something you need, and I can supply it. But I have needs too. So, laddie, I’m afraid it’s goin’ta cost you sum’thin’ you have in order to get what’cha need.” Razor grinned and asked, “What’ll it be, laddie? That horse?” The man held his arms out wide and glanced down between his legs, which he bowed out at his knees, as he said, “As you can see, it’s better’n me own. Perhaps we can trade.”
“No,” Loric replied, suspecting Sunset would be butchered for meat to feed the lot of beggars, thereby allowing them to continue their thievery. “No trade.”
“What then?” asked Razor. His eyes lit as he pitched, “I have the perfect deal for you. Swap me my fine blade, for that shiny one you’re holdin’ there, laddie. Then I-”
Loric did not like the man, so he sternly interrupted him, to say, “You fail to understand me, Razor--if that truly be your name. I am not going to trade you anything for passage along the Old King’s Way. Not as long as Lord Garrick rules these lands. You and your men are nothing more than villains and outlaws, and I refuse to bargain with the likes of you lot.”
Razor chuckled deliberately and asked his followers, “That wadn’t very polite, was it lads? I guess you could say those things of us,” he added, as he slowly turned back to face Loric. A devilish grin contorted his mouth, ere he continued in a raspy tone, saying, “There’s one thing you’re forgettin’, laddie: there are no old kings ‘round here.” The men around Razor laughed heartily. When cackles subsided, he continued, “For that matter, I don’t see Lord Garrick either. I guess that makes us outlaws THE Law. It’s just you and us, laddie. Perhaps you should reconsider my offer, eh?”
Sunset shifted anxiously from side to side. Loric was sure that given sufficient room to maneuver, his steed was swift enough to carry him away from danger. For the time being, all he could do was delay the band of rogues from harming or robbing him. With the Great King’s blessing, perhaps a patrol of Lord Garrick’s men would happen upon the band of brigands before they could be about their mischief.
“I am truly sorry,” Loric said, “but I think I will have to decline your most generous offer. I believe I can get a deal twice as good as yours at the ferry boats yonder.” He waved his arm westward, although he really had no knowledge as to whether there was indeed a ferry landing in the area. “Thank you so much for your time and-”
Razor butted in, “Had you forgotten, laddie? My time is valuable, and you’ve taken up a good deal that I could’ve spent with another customer. That’s worth sum’thin’, isn’t it?” The filthy villain nodded in agreement with himself as he said that. His fellows again chuckled at their leader’s crafty wiles.
“Razor, I don’t see a great many customers waiting to receive your gracious hospitality and courteous service,” Loric shot back.
“That’s beside the point,” argued
Razor. “Certainly my gracious hospitality and courteous service are worth sum’thin’ to ya’. What’s to be my reward? Come now. I haven’t all day to barter with ya’.”
Loric had known from the start that the spokesman of this band was ill intentioned. Razor was capable of twisting around any argument he made to his own fiendish gain. Loric also suspected that the hard-life lot around him lacked the honor to spare his life, even if he were to comply with their demands. His father had warned him of such folk and their dark deeds. Better to be in danger while armed and mounted.... he thought. Unless....
Loric hesitated to speak, but he was spared the need when another of those other brigands stepped from the crowd behind him, causing Sunset to swish his tail and snort the man’s stench away. “Ya’ know why we call our friend here Razor?” he asked.
At first Loric did not reply. He did not care what the thief’s name was or why he had such an edgy moniker. He simply wanted to get to Moonriver Castle in one piece, and he preferred to do so with Sunset and his sword in his possession. He finally answered, “Were I to guess, I would have to say it is because of his kindly manner and charming personality.” Laughter erupted at Loric’s obvious sarcasm.
Razor was not jovial. “Close guess, lad, real close,” he said in a cold, hard voice. The other bandits stifled at once.
The new brigand spoke again, dumbly venturing, “No.” He laughed stupidly. “Razor’s just on good behavior while he conducts ‘is business. He’s a real rough fellow, especially when he’s feelin’ cross. Once, he was in such a foul mood, he decided to shave that thick beard o’ his, so we’d be made ta look at his ugly face.” The rogue glanced fearfully at Razor, who glared at him in return. He swallowed hard and continued his story, “He tried to use the knife in his belt to do the job.”
The bandit poked a finger in the direction of the weapon. Loric followed the grimy digit by eye. The object on display was a double-edged dagger with a black hilt. It was about ten inches long, and it tapered to a fine, narrow point.