Sword of Betrayal

by Robert Evert

“Perhaps he missed.”

  “Twice?” Edris shook his head. “Doubtful. He’s an excellent marksman. He’s won the kingdom’s archery title five years in a row. And from that range, he wouldn’t have missed me. I, unfortunately, am a sizeable target.”

  “Then who?”

  “My guess is that it was another adventurer attempting to make sure I didn’t win two in a row.”

  “If we can’t get to Williamshire soon,” Brago said, grimly, “he’s succeeded.”

  Edris was thinking the same thing. “We’ll get there. But not with this—”

  Galloping hooves echoed from the hills. Scanning the tree-lined ridge, Brago pointed. “There.”

  “I see them.”

  Two riders were descending the hills at a quick run. The lead rider, a large, middle-aged man, noted Edris and Brago standing by the ford and lifted a hand. The young man following checked his horse to a walk.

  “May we approach, lads?” the lead rider called in a thick accent.

  “Please,” Edris called back. To Brago, he muttered, “Get a peek at the fletching of their arrows, if you can.”

  “Maybe we should acquire their horses while we’re at it.”

  “That’s not how I want to play this. No fighting unless needed.”

  The lead rider rode up.

  “Sir Hans,” the older gentleman said bowing. “Is this the River Mine?”

  “Edris and Brago,” Edris replied. “And yes, it is.”

  “Sir Edris?”

  Edris nodded, trying to get a good view of the tracks their horses were making without being too obvious. They didn’t appear to be the same prints he’d seen in the assailant’s camp.

  Sir Hans dismounted.

  “It’s an honor.” He motioned to the young man on the horse behind him. “This is my son, Heinrich. He’s interested in becoming an adventurer as well. I’m teaching him what I know.”

  “Pleasure.” Edris stepped forward and extended a hand, but the tall, thin boy didn’t shake it. “Have I done something to offend you?”

  “No,” Heinrich mumbled.

  “Then shake his damned hand,” Sir Hans admonished.

  Reluctantly, Heinrich shook Edris’s hand. He nodded to Brago holding the horses.

  Brago tipped his hat. “Charmed.”

  “Forgive him,” Sir Hans said. “He’s bursting with jealousy.”

  “Why’s that?” Edris asked.

  Sir Hans chuckled. “The youngest person ever to be knighted. Not to mention the youngest adventurer to win a quest. His first quest, nonetheless. You’ve already made a name for yourself, lad. Good for you. But you know what they say: jealousy drives most men.”

  “My father says it’s hatred.”

  Sir Hans laughed. “The two go hand-in-hand. At any rate, Markus taught you well.”

  “Markus?” Edris repeated, not showing his shock. “Have you spoken to him lately?”

  “Not lately. I was in Upper Angle a couple of months ago. He and your king speak highly of you. Indeed, between you and Markus, King Michael has been doing exceedingly well of late. He’s won, what—? Eight out of the last twelve?”

  “Something like that.”

  “You two are probably the best young adventurers currently in the field.”

  “That’s very kind, especially coming from you, Sir Hans. I believe you won four in a row at one point.”

  “Yes, well, that was long ago, I’m afraid.”

  “Yet still a worthy accomplishment. And I’d love to hear how you won the Quest of the Golden Lance. That was said to have been an epic affair.”

  “It was! Took nearly a year to find the accursed thing. But getting it to my king was the real ordeal. That’s the trick, bringing the prize home.”

  “Right now, it’s a trick simply getting to the prize.” Seeing Sir Hans’s confusion, Edris added, “We were ambushed last night. Somebody shot my horse out from under me.”

  “That was your beast we passed? Bastards. I love animals.”

  “So, adventurers will kill horses to slow the competition? That’s part of the Code?”

  “I’d never do such a thing.” Then Sir Hans conceded, “But others certainly would. Or worse. You’d best be careful, young man. People are talking about you, and that’s not always a good thing.”

  Edris shook his head. “I had no idea questing was like this.”

  “Don’t take it personally. If you haven’t realized it yet, we adventurers are a petty lot. Anybody who makes us look bad is a target, especially newcomers. We grizzled old veterans hate you young upstarts and will do whatever we can to put you in your place.” Sir Hans turned to his son. “Keep that in mind, Heinrich. You haven’t made a name for yourself until you’ve pissed everybody else off.”

  “Yes, sir,” his son grumbled.

  “Any other advice you could give me would be greatly appreciated,” Edris said.

  “Advice? I’ll give you good advice, lad.” Sir Hans leaned closer to the much taller Edris. “Never believe what another adventurer says!” He winked. “In addition to being petty, we’re also all liars. Like fishermen.” He pulled himself into his saddle. “Best of luck, young man. And be careful.”

  “Thank you, sir. And good luck to you.”

  Sir Hans stared curiously at the swaybacked horse. “Is that yours?”

  “We had to buy it from a farmer.”

  “You’re not going to ride it, are you?”

  Edris sighed, looking at the mournful beast. “No. Though it’ll likely put me more than a few days behind.”

  “Since you’re kind to beasts,” Sir Hans said, pulling on his riding gloves, “I will repay the creature’s debt for him. Do you believe Royce found the horn?”

  “To tell you the truth, I have no clue.”

  Sir Hans said in a mock whisper, “He did. I saw him with it.”

  “Father!” Heinrich cried.

  Sir Hans said something to his son in a language Edris didn’t understand. Then he added in the common tongue, “No need to make enemies when you can make friends.” He saluted. “Until we meet again, Sir Edris and Brago.”

  “I look forward to it,” Edris said.

  Sir Hans clicked his heels into his horse’s ribs. “The first round will be on me.”

  Edris and Brago watched them wade across the ford and scale the bank to the road on the other side. When they were out of earshot, Brago muttered, “The little bastard had dark-feathered arrows.”

  “The son? Are you sure they were the same?”

  “No. But best to err on the side of caution.”

  “You’re probably right. All right let’s get to the next town. Maybe we can find a more suitable horse there.”

  Sixty-Six

  It took six days of walking, but Edris and Brago finally made it to a small river town named Sandbank. As soon as they arrived, they raced to a horse dealer.

  “If you be wanting a horse,” the owner said when they ran into his stable, “I’m afraid you’re going to be disappointed.”

  “What do you mean?” Edris looked about. The stalls were empty. “Where are your horses?”

  “Gone.”

  “You don’t have any horses? None at all?”

  “What kind of place is this?” Brago asked.

  “Over the last week or so…” the owner said, “a busy one.”

  Edris’s gut tightened. “Somebody came here and bought all of your horses, didn’t they?”

  “That was the way of it, young man. Never seen anything like it. And I’m guessing you won’t find an available horse for twenty miles around.”

  “Bollocks!” Edris shouted, a fist in the air.

  The stable owner nervously retreated a step.

  “I’m sorry,” Edris said, calming himself. “I had a horse shot out from under me and it seems that the person who did it might’ve come here to stop me from acquiring a replacement.”

  “What did he look like?” Brago asked the owner. “The patron who purchased all
of your horses?”

  “He was a young man with a big bag of gold. Paid five times what I would’ve asked. Kept insisting I tell him about anybody else who might have a horse to sell. He must’ve purchased a dozen horses, all told.”

  Brago leaned toward the man. “I said—tell us what he looked like.”

  The stable owner recoiled. Strangely, he seemed more afraid of the smaller Brago than of Edris. “Young. Like the two of you. Maybe a tad older. Had a sword and a bow. Brown hair.”

  “That’s it? Brown hair?” Brago growled. “That’s all you can remember?”

  “And young!” the stable owner repeated. “He was young.”

  Edris put a restraining hand on Brago’s shoulder. “One man couldn’t have ridden twelve horses out of town.”

  “It might not have been twelve. I was only guessing. He bought six of mine and a few others from people in town. He paid a handsome price!”

  “I understand,” Edris said. “But there had to be more than one man.”

  “Aye. From what I hear, there was another. The second led the horses out of town in a long line. Though I didn’t see him. Just heard tell of him.”

  “This doesn’t make any sense,” Brago grumbled to Edris. “Whomever it was would’ve been slowed with that many horses.”

  “Not as slowed as we’ve been. Curse them.” Edris gave one of his few remaining coins to the stable owner. “Thank you for your help.”

  “I’m sorry I don’t recall what he looked like,” the stable owner said apologetically.

  “Not to worry. I’m sure you were looking at the bag of gold.”

  Edris and Brago left the stable. They watched a woman with two small children pass by.

  “I’m beginning to get angry,” Edris muttered.

  “Beginning? I exceeded angry some time ago.”

  “Getting upset won’t help us.” Edris sighed. “We’re never going to get to Williamshire in time. Half the adventurers on the continent are probably already there looking for the blasted horn.”

  “Want me to talk to the stable owner again? I’m sure I can get him to remember something other than young and brown hair.”

  “No. If my guess is correct, he was threatened by somebody not to reveal what the horse buyers looked like.”

  “So, what do you want to do?”

  Edris stared off into the distant hills, considering his options. “They knew we’d be using that road. And they knew we’d be coming to this town.”

  “They seem to know too much.”

  “Exactly. We need to do something they wouldn’t expect. I don’t want to keep worrying about somebody jumping out of the bushes and shooting what horses we have or stealing our gear.”

  “What do you have in mind?”

  Edris evaluated the sky. They had another five hours before the early winter evening descended on the countryside.

  “Let’s buy a boat.”

  “A boat?”

  “Nothing too big,” Edris said, contemplating the idea. “Something large enough for the two of us and our supplies.”

  “I didn’t think the Mine headed to Williamshire.”

  “It doesn’t. But the William River does. If we take the River Mine south four or five days, then carry the boat over to the William River, we can get to the city from the east.”

  “I suppose we can travel faster on the river than walking. Though I’m afraid I won’t be much help carrying a boat.”

  “I’ll take care of the lifting. You just make sure I don’t get shot from the shadows.”

  Sixty-Seven

  Finding a suitable boat wasn’t difficult. Nearly every fisherman and trapper in Sandbank had at least one they were willing to part with. And after selling their horses to the stable owner, Edris came out ahead on the deal. However, it was winter, and the River Mine was low. For the first few days, they frequently had to get out of their boat and hoist it over the many sandbars and exposed rocks barring their way. Then the weather turned cold, making their travels less than comfortable. By the time they’d finally reached Williamshire, the quest for Borin’s horn was nearly two months old.

  “Remind me again why I chose adventuring as a profession,” Edris muttered as they approached the town.

  “I don’t even know why we bothered coming,” Brago replied. “Surely, somebody has found the accursed thing by now.”

  “At the very least, it’s warmer here. We’ll consider it a holiday.”

  “Holiday.” Brago grunted. “Next time let me acquire a horse my way. I still feel sick from being pitched about in that damned boat.”

  They studied the forty or so buildings before them.

  “Another crappy village.” Brago cursed. “Why can’t these quests bring us to big cities?”

  “You prefer cities?”

  “I prefer graveyards to shitholes like this.”

  At the town’s entrance, they came to a larger-than-life statue of a muscular man—a fist raised victoriously to the sky as he pulled a long horn behind him.

  “This him?” Brago asked.

  Edris read the plaque. “This is him. Sir Royce. He was one for the ages. Look! When they listed the quests he won, they included Borin’s Horn. That takes nerve.”

  “Let us hope your statue says the same.”

  Past the statue, people packed the streets of Williamshire. An irritated wagon driver shouted for everybody to get out of his way.

  “Perhaps the quest isn’t over,” Edris said hopefully. He called to a young boy running by. “Hey!”

  “What is it?” the boy asked.

  “Has anybody found Borin’s Horn?”

  He held out a hand. “I’ll tell you what I know, but it’ll cost you three silver pieces.”

  Brago snatched the boy and put a knife to his throat. “I can think of a cheaper way to loosen your tongue, you little brat.”

  The boy screamed. “No! Nobody has found it. I swear!”

  “Let him go, Brago. He’s only trying to make some money.” Edris offered him three silver pieces. “For your trouble.”

  “Keep it, you crazy bastards!” He ran off, lifting his middle finger as he disappeared into a group of townsfolk gathered around a merchant’s cart.

  Edris looked reproachfully at Brago. “You shouldn’t do that. No sense creating more enemies.”

  “I’m cold and tired and hungry. And judging by all the musclebound imbeciles promenading about, there isn’t going to be a warm room available. I’ll be damned if I have to sleep out in the streets.”

  “I’ve told you, you’ll never have to sleep in the streets again. Not while I’m around, at least.” Edris considered the people going here and there; many of them appeared to be adventurers. “Tell you what. I smell something good cooking. Go get a hot meal and relax while I nose around.”

  Brago sniffed the smoky air. “It’s probably pork. By the gods, I hate pork.”

  “It’s not pork,” Edris told him. “I’d guess it’s fish. We’re within a day’s ride of the sea. They have fresh fish here the likes of which you’ll never find at home.”

  “Wonderful. Hopefully they also have some horses in this shithole. I’m not taking a rowboat anywhere anytime soon. And I am not going to walk all the way back to Bend.”

  “I’ll check on the horses while I’m at it.”

  “Fine.” Brago stomped toward a tavern.

  “Don’t drink too much,” Edris called after him. “Okay? The last thing we need is trouble.”

  Brago lifted his middle finger as he entered the tavern. He slammed the door behind him.

  Sighing, Edris surveyed the town.

  “Another crappy village…”

  “Beg your pardon?” an elderly man asked.

  “Oh, nothing. I was repeating something my friend had said.” Then Edris added before the man walked away, “I’m sorry, but is there a horse dealer in town?”

  “Up two blocks, and right three. The stables are on the east end of town. Can’t miss it.”


  “Much obliged.”

  Edris had taken no more than two steps when somebody yelled his name. He peered about. A group of burly men was leaving a dry goods store. Judging by their gear and swagger, they were all knights.

  “You Edris?” the knight in the lead asked, plainly unhappy.

  Edris examined the growing crowd. Two squires looked vaguely familiar, though he couldn’t recall their names or whom they served. The lead knight bore the emblem of Eryn Mas on his tabard. Only he seemed angry.

  “You hear me?” the knight asked. “Or are you deaf as well as stupid?”

  “It’s customary to announce yourself before making demands.” Edris resumed heading toward the stables. “Talk to me when you’ve learned some manners.”

  A strong hand gripped his shoulder.

  Edris turned as the knight threw a right hook at his jaw. Edris easily blocked the blow and countered with a short right to the man’s nose. Blood gushing from his nostrils, he fell into the arms of the people behind him.

  “Now,” he said, stepping forward. “What’s this all about?”

  The knight straightened. “I’m Sir Harlan, nephew of Sir Howard!”

  Edris recalled where he’d met the squires standing among the onlookers. “Rowan?” he said, pointing to the taller of the two. “And…Owen?”

  “Oliver,” the boy corrected. “Good to see you, Sir Edris. Congratulations on your win.”

  “Thank you. How is Sir Howard? Did he survive?”

  “He survived!” Sir Harlan shouted. “No thanks to you, you murdering—”

  “Glad to hear it,” Edris said, cutting him off. “Now, if you’d all excuse me. I have business to attend to.” He tipped his hat.

  “Don’t turn your back on me, you coward.”

  “Go have somebody look at that nose,” Edris said, walking away. “You’re bleeding everywhere.”

  Somebody chuckled.

  Sir Harlan hollered, “I challenge you to a duel!”

  An uneasy hush settled over the busy street.

  Edris faced Sir Harlan, a palm resting on the pommel of one of his swords. Sir Harlan was older than he was by at least five years, but he was still young—perhaps in his early twenties—and he didn’t give off the air of somebody terribly experienced in mortal combat.

  “I don’t want to hurt any more of your esteemed family,” Edris told him.