by Robert Evert
“Excavation,” Lord Braverton repeated. “Sounds thrilling.”
“That really wasn’t difficult,” Edris said. “The challenging part was getting it to the king.”
“I heard that you had a duel of some sort,” Lord Braverton said, bits of bread falling out of his mouth as he chewed. “Two against one, if the tales are true.”
Attempting not to look in his guest’s direction, Lord Elros speared a baby potato with his fork. “My boy is very accomplished with a blade. He can handle two opponents.”
“I can believe that.” Lord Braverton laughed. “He’s enormous!”
“It’s not about strength,” Edris said.
“It’s about footwork,” Lord Elros agreed.
“And quickness,” Lord Braverton added. “Or so I’ve heard. I’ve never been one for such things, you understand. Better to have others do your fighting, I say. But I’ve always admired adventurers. Going here and there, solving problems, living off the land, competing against the best from across the realms. Speaking of which, your kingdom has been doing remarkably well as of late. Between you and Markus, King Michael has won the last four or five quests, if I’m not mistaken.”
“His Majesty’s son has indeed been successful—” Lord Elros smiled. “—in the past.”
Lord Braverton gave a great wheezing cough. Flecks of food shot across the table as he pounded a fist against his chest.
“Understood.” He took a drink. “I’d bet money on your boy if it wouldn’t raise King Lionel’s ire. He insists we all support his men. A bunch of ill-bred vagabonds they appear to be.”
“And how is King Lionel? Well, I hope.”
Lord Braverton gave Lord Elros a nauseated expression. “Let’s discuss something else. Thinking about imbeciles makes me want to vomit.”
Picking up his bowl, he drank from it like a cup. Mushroom soup trickled down his chin. Lord Elros cringed.
“So, tell us,” Edris said, sharing his father’s discomfort. “What brings you to Bend?”
“Yes,” his father said hurriedly, “and how long will we have the pleasure of your company?”
Setting his soup bowl aside, Lord Braverton dragged his sleeve across his mouth. “Ah! Well, let’s just say that I am on a quest of my own, though one less perilous than yours, I should hope. We’ll see how it turns out.”
Launching into another violent coughing fit, Lord Braverton held out his goblet and gestured for the server to refill it. He drained his glass as skillfully as he had his soup bowl.
“Speaking of quests.” He belched. “When do you expect the next one to be proclaimed? Perhaps I could place a little wager while in Upper Angle. Purely as a token of my support for my host, you understand.”
“The quests are usually announced in spring,” Edris said, looking ruefully at his steak. Somehow, he’d lost his appetite.
“Pity.” Lord Braverton motioned for more wine. “There’s too few of them, I think. Not enough entertainment for the rabble. What we need is a good war.”
Fifty-Nine
“Sorry I’m late,” Edris said, jogging up, his breath appearing before him. He’d told his father he’d start training before dawn, but the sun was already well above the eastern mountains. “I spent the night in town.”
“Beatrice?” Cedric asked knowingly.
Edris gave a begrudging nod.
The two men traipsed through the frost-covered north fields behind the manor house. Edris had felled several dozen trees along its borders over the past couple of weeks, but he had yet to cut them up or dig out their stumps.
“Things getting serious between the two of you?” the Captain of the Guards asked as they walked. “Or is it purely pleasure?”
Edris struggled with his response. If he said it was only pleasure, he’d demean Beatrice, as if she were nothing but his whore. Further, Cedric might infer that Beatrice was available. If he said it was serious, however—
“I don’t know,” he found himself saying. “I like her a good deal, but…” He trailed off.
“But she’s a commoner?” Cedric suggested.
That was definitely an issue, but not an insurmountable one. After all, nobles often married commoners; but in such cases, the commoners usually had something to offer the noble family, such as large farms or successful businesses. Beatrice had none of that. In fact, if Edris didn’t keep giving her money, she’d be homeless. Then she might have to become a harlot to survive.
“She wants more than I can give her right now,” Edris said.
“I see.”
They walked along for several paces.
“I’m a fighting man,” Cedric said finally, “and I don’t pretend to know a thing about women. But it seems to me that in order to be successful in life, whether it is as an adventurer, a guard, or a husband, you have to focus on one thing, and one thing alone. I suppose the question is—what do you want to focus on?”
Edris pulled his cloak tighter around him. Winter was coming on and the wind had an edge to it. “You sound like my father.”
“Maybe. He’s very pleased about your win, you know. He wants to make sure you continue winning. He’s been checking in with me every day, asking what you’re doing and how your training is going.”
Edris grimaced. “Sorry.”
“It’s nothing to be sorry about. To tell you the truth, it’s wonderful to see him happy again. He’s been a delight to be around lately.”
“Well, let’s see what happens when I lose.”
“That’s what I’m here for.”
They came to a section of the field where the knee-high grass had been trampled. A variety of wooden weapons were piled off to the side.
Cedric handed Edris a wooden dagger.
“What’s this?” Edris asked.
“I heard about your duel.”
“It wasn’t a duel. Two adventurers wanted what I had. I changed their minds.”
“That’s going to happen. In fact, it’s going to get worse. As your reputation grows, the target on your back will grow with it. Your competition will want to take you down a peg or two. And they’re not going to simply stroll up to you and issue an official challenge. They’re going to wait until they have you at a disadvantage.”
Cedric drew a wooden longsword from the pile.
“Dagger against a sword?” Edris asked.
“Like I said—disadvantage.”
Edris thought about Markus beating him with a rock and Sir Tudor and Sir Howard attempting to ambush him. “So, what do you want me to do?”
“Fight.”
“All right.” Edris took his defensive stance, a wooden dagger in his lead hand. “But it isn’t going to be much of a fight, I’m afraid. On your guard.”
Cedric leapt forward, jabbing his sword. Edris sprang back, unsuccessfully trying to parry the much longer blade.
“No. No. No,” Cedric said.
“No, what?”
“Look, Ed…when did you first start learning how to fight?”
“You kidding? My father put a sword in my crib. I used it as a pacifier. Why?”
“Your fighting is technically superb.”
“But?”
“But you can’t always fight by the book. Think of this way…for every move you learned as a child, there’s a countermove, correct?”
“I guess.”
“And if I, your opponent, am similarly trained, I’ll know the counter to any of your actions. I’ll know your next move before you do it. Do you understand how dangerous that is?”
“I see what you’re saying,” Edris said, considering the ramifications. “So, what do I do?”
“You improvise and do the unexpected. Throw something into their eyes. You sweep their leg—”
“Bash their head in with a rock?”
“Exactly. Now, let’s try again.”
“I’m not going to fight like that.”
“Why not?”
Edris stared at the manor house. Somehow, he could feel his fat
her watching him from one of the arched windows.
“I don’t want to be that kind of person,” he said.
“Ed…”
“I’m not going to be like Markus. I want to stand for something.”
Cedric frowned, then nodded. “All right. Your sword breaks. And all you have is a dagger.”
“I fight with two swords.”
“Humor me.”
“Fine.”
“What would you do? Your opponent has you at a disadvantage and he isn’t going to allow you to yield. He wants you dead. Understand the situation?” Cedric took a defensive stance. “On your guard.”
Reluctantly, Edris complied.
Again, Cedric bounded forward. And again, Edris sprang back, trying to parry.
Cedric stopped, frustrated.
“I’m not sure what you want me to do,” Edris said.
“Here.” Cedric gave Edris his wooden longsword, then took the dagger. “I’ll show you what I mean. Attack me.”
“All right.”
Edris readied his weapon, gave two quick thrusts, then sprang forward, swinging at Cedric’s head. Cedric ducked under the blow, then hurled himself at Edris’s ankles. Half diving, half rolling, he barreled into the bigger man’s legs, causing Edris to fall to the ground. Cedric leapt on him, throwing three hard punches to Edris’s head.
Breathing hard, Cedric got to his feet.
“You have to figure out how badly you want to be the best, Ed.” Casting his wooden dagger on the ground, he stalked toward the manor house. “Let me know when you want to start taking your training seriously.”
Sixty
Edris reclined in his parlor, rereading the book of poetry Beatrice had given him. He hadn’t spoken to her in a couple of days and missed her terribly, but he didn’t want to appear needy. He also wanted time to think about where their relationship was—and where he wanted it to go.
He turned a page.
A firm knock rattled the door. It opened before he could say, “come in.”
“Sir.” Edris quickly put the book on the end table, its binding facing away from his father. He stood. “It’s late. Is everything okay?”
Candle in hand, Lord Elros strolled about his son’s quarters, almost as though he were inspecting the walls for structural damage.
“As far as I know, everything is fine.” He motioned for his son to sit, then sat in a chair next to him. “Settling into the routine of being at home?” He set his candlestick on the end table.
For a heart-faltering moment, Edris thought he was going to pick up Beatrice’s book.
“What?” Edris attempted to concentrate on their conversation. “Routine?” He could sense where this was going. The old routines wouldn’t be permitted. He was an adventurer now and had to be training constantly. “No, sir. Actually, I’m itching to return to the hunt. Hopefully the kings will proclaim a new quest soon.”
“Itching?” The Lord of Bend picked the lint from his pants. “There’s always a cure for the itch.”
Edris paused. His father was being pleasant enough, but he wasn’t the type of man to sit and make small talk. In all his years, he couldn’t recall his father ever visiting him in his quarters and chatting.
“Yes, sir.” Then Edris tried to direct the conversation to more manageable waters. “Has Lord Braverton left yet?”
“Alas, no.” Lord Elros groaned. “He’s given no indication as to how long he’ll torture us with his presence.”
“Has he said what he wants?”
Lord Elros absentmindedly picked up Beatrice’s book, then repositioned it so it was in the exact middle of the table. “He wants what all men his age want.”
Edris attempted to tear his eyes from the book. “Sir?”
“He wants an heir.”
“But I thought Lord Braverton had a child,” Edris said, puzzled. “I remember his wife giving birth a few years ago.”
“She did. She’s given him five children. All girls.”
“And he’s looking for a male heir here?”
“He’s desperate,” Lord Elros said, giving his son a pointed expression. “And desperation makes men make poor decisions.”
Edris stared about the room, trying to find a more fertile—and safer—subject. “I had an interesting training session with Cedric today,” he said. “I’m glad you decided to retain him as your captain.”
Lord Elros brushed the comment away. “He has his utility.” He arched an eyebrow at his son. “I spoke with him earlier as well. Tell me—do you believe you’ve been training particularly strenuously?”
And there it was…the reason his father paid him a late-night visit.
“I can work harder, sir.”
“See that you do.”
Lord Elros got to his feet, then looked at his son. “You realize Markus is going to come after you, don’t you? He’ll try to kill you, or worse. He can’t allow himself to be upstaged by a boy ten years his junior.”
Markus was only seven years older than him, but Edris didn’t think the correction would be appreciated. “Yes, sir.”
“I’m not exaggerating, Ed. I know Markus, and I know his father. They won’t tolerate you succeeding. You need to prepare yourself for a war.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?” His father’s face betrayed his genuine concern. “Do you know what they’ll do to you? First, they’ll try to separate you from any potential allies. They’ll spread lies about you and tarnish your reputation. They might suggest somebody else found the statue and that you bought it from them. If that doesn’t work, they’ll attempt to humiliate you. They’ll make you out to be a laughingstock—a boy who was given a knighthood by his well-meaning and loving uncle.
“If that doesn’t work, Ed—they will kill you. You need to understand that. Families don’t rise to the throne without killing people who get in their way. This isn’t a game. I must know that you truly understand your peril.”
Edris took a deep, uneven breath. He nodded. “I’ll train harder. I’ll be prepared.” Then he added, almost to convince himself, “And if I can, I’ll kill Markus first.”
“I believe,” his father said slowly, “that will be in your best interest. But killing the king’s son won’t go unpunished. If you’re caught…they’ll flay you, then burn you alive.” He lowered his voice. “If you find yourself in the position to remove Markus as a threat, make sure you have an alibi. That’s where strong friends come in. You need allies.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And train. Remove any distraction that’ll get in your way. Because if you don’t—Markus will destroy you. Understand?”
“Yes, sir. I do.”
“Splendid.” Lord Elros retrieved his candlestick. “Have a good night.”
“You too, sir.”
“Oh, and Edris…” his father said, making for the door, “do whatever Cedric god-damn tells you to do. It may save your life.”
Sixty-One
Edris sat on the end of Beatrice’s sofa, her head in his lap. He stroked her hair.
“So is your father going to be mad you’re here?” she asked.
“He would be, if he knew,” Edris replied. “But he thinks I’m hiking in the hills. I told him I was building my legs.”
Beatrice laughed, rubbing his thighs. “They’re already as big as tree trunks. How much bigger does he want them?”
“I’m never going to be big enough or good enough for him. Strong legs, ” he said, mocking his father’s voice, “are the mark of a strong man!”
“Your father said hello to me a while back.”
Edris started. “He did? When?”
“It was when you were gone. He stopped by the Three Crows. He probably had no idea who I was. He said hello to all the girls.”
“He didn’t try to you—you know?”
“What? Ew. No!” She sat up. “Say what you will about your father, but he isn’t a womanizer.”
“True. I don’t think he’s been with a
woman since my mother died.”
Beatrice drew closer to him. “That’s sweet.”
“It is.” Edris put his arm around her. “Was he cordial? When he came into the tavern?”
“Perfectly.”
“Really?” Edris considered this. “He’s been civil with me as well. The other day he came into my quarters to chat.”
“A chat?”
“Well, he came in to tell me to train harder. But he did spend a few minutes making small talk, which isn’t something he’s prone to do.” Edris kissed Beatrice, then pulled away. “I wonder what his game is.”
“I’m sure he’s trying to share in your success. Maybe feel like he’s part of it.”
“Perhaps. Still, he’s been behaving oddly. Does he come to the tavern often?”
“Once in a while,” Beatrice said. “He was there last night. He was with some obnoxious man who looked like death.”
Edris laughed. “That’s Lord Braverton. He and my father are distantly related. My father said he’s always been sickly. That’s probably why he’s had difficulty producing an heir.”
Beatrice snuggled closer. “Do you want a son?”
The seriousness of the question unsettled Edris. “Not in the immediate future!”
“I’m not asking about now.” She kissed his neck and unbuttoned his shirt. “I mean…when you get older. Do you want a family? And children? Or are you going to roam around the rest of your life, looking for long-lost trinkets for the king?”
Ignoring her advances, Edris watched the occasional snowflake flutter by the window.
He’d often thought about having a family. He particularly liked the idea of having a son, somebody he could train to fight and ride and hunt. Most of all, he wanted to be a better father than the one he had.
“I don’t know,” he said. “Why can’t I have all of that someday? Plenty of adventurers have families. As a matter of fact, I can’t recall any who didn’t. Sir Barton the Black, maybe. And Sir Drake. But they’re it. Adventurers are like kings…they want somebody to carry on their legacy.”