Sword of Betrayal

by Robert Evert

  “Louisa. Homely girls are always the best in bed. Very willing to please, if you know what I mean!”

  “She isn’t homely.”

  “I have horses that are prettier than she is.”

  “I think she has a bit of a spark to her.”

  “A spark?” Markus laughed. “You’re not sweet on her or anything, are you? Because if you are, you’ll need to talk with Merrick.”

  “What? No. No, not at all. And again, I didn’t sleep with her.”

  “Was she noisy?” Markus persisted. “I love noisy women.”

  “Are there any women you don’t like?” Edris asked irritably.

  “None that I have yet encountered.”

  “Let’s drop it. Okay?”

  “As you wish.”

  They were still at least a week’s ride from Bend, but Edris’s spirit fell with each step their horses took toward his father’s fiefdom.

  “You all right?” Markus asked. “You know I was only kidding about Louisa. If you say you didn’t sleep with her, I believe you.”

  “I’m fine.” Then Edris added, begrudgingly, “I’m just in a black mood. My leg hurts and I don’t like being a cripple.”

  “It’s a minor wound. You’ll be up and chasing women in no time.”

  The clomping of their horses’ hooves echoed hollowly around them as the autumn leaves fluttered from the trees lining the road.

  “Okay, out with it,” Markus said. “What’s bothering you? I can’t believe a troll like you is bothered by a scratched leg.”

  Edris shrugged. Not wanting to talk about his father, he picked a different topic. “I was thinking about what your brother said. About the dangers of sleeping with women who are spoken for.”

  “You worried about retribution?” Markus made a dismissive sound. “Trust me, her brother Lawrence is terrified of you. He kept saying that you could probably lift a bull over your head. You have nothing to fear from him.”

  “Perhaps, but he’s hardly typical.” Then Edris asked to keep the conversation going, “What would you do if you caught somebody with your sister?”

  “With Mariam? I’d kill the bastard. I'd cut off his prick and feed it to my dogs. She deserves nothing less than a king. Thank the gods she’s as pure as the spring rain.”

  Edris checked his horse.

  Markus did the same. “What’s wrong? Hear something?”

  Edris did hear something—galloping hooves. While they weren’t trying to be secretive, the last thing he wanted was to come across bandits when he could barely stand.

  Behind them, two horses came into view. One was a large grey charger, the other a medium red sprinter. Both riders reined their steeds to a sudden stop.

  Markus called to them. “Following us, Archie?”

  “Not at all!” the armored man on the charger said defensively. “We’re simply going the same way as you.”

  Markus waved for them to approach, then whispered to Edris, “No need to worry. This is Sir Archibald of Elmwood. Not a bad fellow by any means.”

  “But a competitor, nonetheless.”

  “Indeed.”

  Sir Archibald maneuvered his massive horse next to Markus’s mare. Leaning out from his saddle, he extended a gloved hand. Markus shook it.

  “Good to see you, Markus.”

  “Good to see you too, Archie. Allow me to introduce my cousin, Ed. He’s Lord Elros’s third son.”

  The knight saluted. “Lord Elros?” he said, confused. “I had no idea any of his sons were in the business.”

  “I’m not an adventurer,” Edris told him.

  “He was visiting my family when the quest was announced,” Markus explained. “Duncan shot him in the leg, so I’m bringing him home to Bend.”

  “Duncan?” Sir Archibald repeated. “He isn’t exactly the egregious type. Get into a scrape over a woman?”

  “Nothing so personal,” Markus replied. “We were on the hunt when he got the drop on us. You know how he gets when he has a bow in hand.”

  “So, you say,” Sir Archibald said, unconvinced. “Or perhaps Raaf was riding in Bend?”

  Markus’s horse turned, uprooting a clump of grass by the roadside.

  “I’ll tell you what.” Markus jerked his reins to one side so that he faced his comrade. “Let’s have a little wager. Ten gold says my big, young friend here has a fresh wound in his left leg.”

  “Make it twenty,” Edris said. “I don’t drop my pants for strange men in the wilderness for anything less.”

  “You’re legitimately off the hunt?” Archie asked. “That’s not like you, Markus. Giving up so soon.”

  “It's only for a couple of weeks. Like I said, I’m bringing him home so he can recuperate.”

  Sir Archibald eyed Edris’s leg skeptically.

  “Blast it! I’ll give you twenty gold to see the wound. But if you’re lying, I want thirty!”

  “Fair enough,” Markus said. “Show him, Ed.”

  Gingerly, Edris climbed from the saddle. Steadying himself against his nickering horse, he pushed down his pants far enough to show the ugly black thread crisscrossing the gash in his left thigh.

  “Sons of bitches!” Sir Archibald wheeled his horse the way he’d come. “Turnabout, Chancie. Turnabout!” he shouted to his squire. “We’ve been duped.”

  “What about our twenty gold?” Markus asked merrily.

  Archibald drew a small pouch from his pocket and threw it at Markus. He spurred his horse into a gallop, his squire hot on his heels.

  “And tell the others to stop following us!” Markus called, laughing. He tossed the pouch to Edris as he buttoned his pants. “Here. In case your father disowns you. Next time we’ll ask for fifty.”

  Twenty-Three

  “Sir,” Edris said, entering his father’s private office, “you remember Markus?”

  Lord Elros stood. “Of course! How are you, Markus? Come in! Come in! Have a seat.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Markus said, entering the cluttered room.

  “Please. Call me Elros. After all, we’re family!” Lord Elros returned to the chair behind his imposing desk. “It’s an honor to have you in our little neck of the woods. You’re rapidly becoming one of the best adventurers in the land. Why, I wouldn’t be surprised if you surpassed Sir Drake himself someday!”

  “You’re too kind. Thank you. But I have a long way to go before I match his tally.”

  Amazed, Edris watched his father. He’d never seen him so attentive and gracious. His dark eyes were practically shining with pleasure.

  “I am hardly being kind in the slightest,” Lord Elros continued. “I’m simply stating the facts. Won three out of the last four quests, I believe. Very impressive.”

  “Three out of the last five, I’m afraid,” Markus said, taking a seat in front of him.

  “Still, three out of five…” The lord marveled. “You’re one of the best adventurers we have. Immensely talented, I must say. Not like—” He scowled at Edris limping over to an empty chair in the corner. “—this one. Tell me, boy, how did you injure your leg? Fall down and skin your knee again? Did you cry?”

  Edris gingerly lowered himself into his seat.

  “He was shot by a bandit,” Markus lied. “He fought bravely.”

  “Did he kill the bandit?” Lord Elros asked, as though he already knew the answer.

  “Well, no,” Markus replied. “The villain got away.”

  The disgust on the lord’s face was palpable.

  “You should’ve seen your son in the ring!” Markus exclaimed, changing the subject. “He fought the biggest, meanest man I could find and beat him senseless within three minutes. Then a dozen others rushed into the ring, and he knocked them all unconscious. People in Upper Angle are still talking about it!”

  Lord Elros crossed his legs and brushed lint from his freshly laundered pants. “People don’t discuss the exploits of mere boxers for long. They’re the fancy of idle idiots sitting in taverns, drinking the local swill. Wi
thin a week, even the drunks forget them.”

  Flustered, Markus blurted out, “I think your son is exceptional!”

  “I think he’s a worthless sack of shit who can’t do anything but hobble home because he can’t catch a common, run-of-the-mill bandit. I wish he had died instead of his mother.”

  Edris stared out the window at the rose gardens. He’d heard this all before and expected nothing less; however, Markus was beside himself. His mouth repeatedly fell open as he tried to find something—anything—positive to say.

  The Lord of Bend reclined in his chair and smiled. “And how is your father, His Royal Highness? Well, I hope.”

  After dinner, Lord Elros summoned Edris to his office.

  “You have some nerve bringing that shit here,” he hissed. “To my home? After what I told you to do?” He stomped about the room, his rage building. “I realize you aren’t Edros, but I thought you had a brain in that fat head of yours.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “I want him gone. Do you hear me?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ll be leaving in a couple days. We wanted to throw off—”

  “You don’t understand!” He glared at Edris, eyes ablaze. “I…want…him…gone. Do you understand me? GONE.”

  “I’ll see if I can get him to agree to leave in the morning.”

  “That’s not what I mean.” Lord Elros leaned closer. “I want him dead.”

  Edris swallowed. “Dead? How? Why?”

  “Figure it out.” Then Lord Elros whispered, “Make sure his body is never found. Not knowing what happened to his precious son will drive the king crazy.”

  “Father, I—I couldn’t! He’s—”

  “You’ll do as I say…or else!”

  Twenty-Four

  The next evening, Edris and Markus stayed in Bend. Edris’s explanation for the change was that they could set out in the morning a few miles closer to Strombath and that the White Deer had the best beer in the region. The main reason, of course, was that he had to show some sort of semblance of following his father’s orders.

  As he sat in the darkened corner of the tavern, pretending to listen to Markus’s stories, Edris wondered what he was going to do.

  Could he kill Markus?

  He stared at the tankard of ale sitting in front of his cousin as he went on about his last adventure.

  Edris knew the answer.

  In his head, he heard his father mocking him.

  “How can you possibly be a kingsman if you can’t kill?” he’d ask. “Or a knight, for that matter? What the hell do you think they do for a living? You’ve been nothing but a disappointment to me. Your entire life is a waste. Why didn’t you die instead of your mother?”

  Perhaps his father was right. Perhaps he was soft.

  He tried to imagine his father praising him for a job well done. An unfamiliar feeling welled inside.

  When was the last time his father had said anything remotely positive?

  His first fight came to mind. He remembered seeing the satisfaction in his father’s eyes when he’d beaten one of the guards bloody. Edris was twelve at the time and had stood a hair over six feet tall. He smiled. That was a good day.

  “Something I said?” Markus asked. “Or daydreaming?”

  “Sorry? No. I was thinking.”

  Markus took a drink and wiped the brown suds from his neatly trimmed mustache. He leaned forward sympathetically. “About your father?”

  Edris’s fingers tightened around his stein’s handle.

  “I had no idea things were that bad,” Markus said. “I’ve heard stories, of course, but—great gods! How long has he been like that?”

  Edris shrugged. “A couple years. Maybe longer. Forever, I suppose.” He took a long pull of his beer. “He has a point. I mean, I’ve never done anything to distinguish myself.”

  “Ed, you’re only fifteen! And you’ve distinguished yourself plenty in the ring—believe me. Have you ever lost a fight?”

  Edris shook his head. He’d stopped counting how many fights he’d won because the number never mattered. After demonstrating how easy it was to punch somebody senseless, his father no longer valued the effort.

  “Maybe,” Markus said softly, “I should have my father talk to him.”

  “No!” Edris cried, startling the patrons around them. “By the gods, don’t. Promise me!”

  “All right! All right!” Markus said, conscious of the people watching them. “I was only offering. I don’t want to make matters worse.”

  “Well, that’d do it. Parenting advice from His Majesty would likely get me killed.”

  Markus studied him from across the table.

  “You know…” he said optimistically, “perhaps you’ll like being a kingsman. I mean, it’ll be a stroll in the park compared to what you’re used to.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  “Ed, if you can stand living with that man, you’ll be able to tolerate anything Kriton throws at you.” He clinked his tankard against Edris’s. “Trust me. You’ll be great as a kingsman.” He took a drink. “And it’ll only be for a few years. Then, who knows? Life has a tendency of unraveling problems on its own.”

  Edros often said the same thing.

  Markus lifted his head, his eyes widening. Judging by the gleam in them, an attractive woman had entered the tavern.

  Edris peered over his shoulder and found Beatrice approaching their table.

  He got to his feet, beaming.

  Markus followed suit.

  “Bea!” Edris hugged her.

  “Ed.” Beatrice stood on tiptoe and let Edris kiss her cheek. “I’d heard you were in town…” She noted the black walnut cane perched against the table. “…and that you were injured.” She touched his arm affectionately. “You okay?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing. A scratch.” He examined her. She was wearing a sage-green dress he’d given her that summer. “You look beautiful.”

  She smiled lovingly at him. “Thank you. I missed you.”

  “I missed you more.”

  Markus coughed.

  “Oh!” Edris said. “I’m terribly sorry. This is my cousin, His Royal Highness Prince Markus from Upper Angle. Markus, this is Beatrice.”

  Beatrice curtsied. “Your Highness.”

  “Ah, none of that!” Markus took Beatrice’s hand and kissed it. “Only my eldest brother uses the title. I’m just Markus. And I agree with Eddie. You do look beautiful.”

  Edris gave Markus a smoldering expression he hoped would convey the intensity of his displeasure, but Markus was too busy pulling out a chair to notice.

  “Please…join us,” he told Beatrice.

  “Let me go get us some drinks,” Beatrice said. “Yours look low.”

  Markus snatched her arm before she could leave. “Let the barmaids do that. They’ll be around in a moment.”

  Beatrice laughed. “I work here on occasion. If I make them bring me a drink, there’ll be spit floating in the foam, if not worse. I’ll be right back.”

  Markus ogled her as she wove her way through the crowd.

  Edris stepped in front of him. “No.”

  “No what?” Markus chuckled. “Let me guess you two have something going.”

  “Something like that.”

  “Is it serious? Are you going to put a ring on her finger?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Really?” Markus replied, stunned.

  “We’ve known each other since we were children.”

  “And you love her?”

  The words caught briefly in his throat, but Edris forced them out. “I do.”

  Markus straightened. “Very well, then.” He adjusted his surcoat, smoothing out its wrinkles. “She’s off the menu.”

  “Promise?”

  “Of course! You have my word.”

  Edris stared at him doubtfully, attempting to discern whether he was being forthcoming.

  A throng enveloped them.

  “Excuse me,” one patron said. “Yo
u’re the king’s son—the one who adventures—Markus.”

  Markus bowed and announced loudly enough for everybody to hear, “Correct on both accounts, I’m afraid!”

  A cacophony of greetings and accolades filled the tavern as more people pressed closer. Some congratulated him on his last win. Others inquired about the king’s health. Scores of hands reached out, trying to shake his. When Markus ordered drinks for everybody, the crowd cheered.

  Beatrice edged her way through the mass of bodies with three steins, brown suds dripping to the dirty floor. With an effort, she managed to get to Edris’s table.

  “So,” she said, setting a beer in front of him, “tell me what happened. What adventures have you been having while the rest of us are stuck in dreary Bend?”

  For a moment, Edris watched as his cousin went about the room, talking to everybody. He paused whenever he came to an attractive woman.

  “Fortunately, nothing happened,” he said, sitting next to her. He took her hand. “And the only adventure I need is right here with you.”

  Twenty-Five

  “I remember that!” Markus said as their horses tromped along.

  Around them, chickadees and sparrows sang in the trees as autumn leaves rustled in the cool breeze. They’d been riding to Strombath for nearly a fortnight and were ascending the forested foothills of the Green Mountains, laughing and telling stories the entire way. It was probably the happiest time Edris had ever known.

  “Well, I’ll tell you a secret,” he said sheepishly, “if you promise you won’t get angry.”

  “I promise.”

  “It wasn’t Edros who pissed in your waterskin that night.”

  “It was you !” Markus cried. “Edros and I went to blows over that!”

  “I remember.” Edris added, “He pounded you good.”

  “He what? You take that back!”

  “Never!”

  “With all due respect, your esteemed and learned brother, he couldn’t beat a corpse in a fair fight.”

  “Why do you think my father constantly pushes me to train? I have to protect him.”

  At the mention of Lord Elros, their robust laughter died to fitful chuckles, then to an uneasy silence. They rode side by side, through streaks of bright sunlight slipping between the trees’ dwindling canopies.