Sword of Betrayal

by Robert Evert

  “You fell?”

  He nodded. “Right into the firepot. My hand outstretched.” He regarded Edris. “You sure this is what you wanted to hear?”

  “It’s good to know something of the people around you. Besides, I have more money.”

  “Don’t mind wasting your money on a cripple, is that it?”

  “I don’t mind giving money to people who need it.”

  This caught the shopkeeper off guard. “What’s your name?”

  “Sir Edris.” Edris stood up and shook Melville’s hand. His palm felt like blistered leather.

  “Sir Edris, eh? I believe I’ve heard about you. Killed a man last night.”

  “Let’s hope that’s not all I’m known for.”

  “It’s better than being known for being crushed by a horse or for falling into a forge.”

  “I bet.”

  Edris racked his brains trying to come up with a worthy question. Meanwhile, the sand continued to fall. Eventually, he gave up.

  “Look,” he said, ashamed, “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing. I’d be grateful if you could tell me anything you might have told the others. Anything useful would be a big help.”

  “I think you’re as clueless as everybody else, so don’t worry so much. Most of questing is luck. And it sounds like you have a good deal of it, if you can kill a man with one punch while being blinded by dirt.”

  “Luck will only carry a person so far. I wish I were smarter.”

  Melville studied Edris, then turned the hourglass onto its side. He leaned forward. “This is what you need to know. One—Royce found the horn. Don’t let people convince you otherwise. And two—he wasn’t about to give it to the king, no matter how much gold he was offered.”

  “He didn’t want Borin’s family to get ahold of it?”

  “Exactly. Their families loathed each other. It gave Royce no greater joy knowing he had something they dearly wanted.”

  “Did Royce really parade the horn through town? Or is that only a story?”

  Melville laughed again. “You might appreciate this. You see, after we finally dug the blasted thing out of the snow, we had a devil of a time getting it home. It was huge, as I said, and when we strapped it to Royce’s saddle, its weight pulled the horse to one side. The poor creature kept going in circles. It was infuriating. Eventually, we had to drag the damn thing behind us. But that didn’t work either. It snagged every rock and root and we couldn’t go faster than a walking pace.”

  “Must’ve been frustrating given that other adventurers were probably looking to take it from you.”

  “It was! And we couldn’t hide it. It was too blasted big! So we kept to every country trail and deer path we could find. It took us three months to haul the thing from the mountains to here. Three months of constantly peering over our shoulders, worried that somebody would find out we had it.” Melville chuckled. “Then we realized it came apart!”

  “It came apart!”

  “The gold bands were like nuts, holding the silver sections together. I think there were maybe seven or eight sections in total. When Royce realized it could be dissembled, he screamed to the heavens. Then he laughed for hours. Honestly, when we were lugging it home, he must’ve threatened to throw it into a lake or river a hundred times. He cursed the day he found it. I came close to smashing the thing to bits. Then we were told that it came apart!”

  “Who told you it came apart?”

  “Royce’s younger half-brother, Roderick. We hid the horn in his quarry.”

  “Quarry?” Edris repeated, getting excited.

  “I know what you’re thinking, but I doubt it’s still there. Half the town knew where it was. Remember, this was when we thought it was one solid piece of metal. He paid everybody to keep his secret. Then when Roderick realized it could be dismantled…”

  “I bet that opened up a lot of other hiding spots.”

  “Absolutely. There are only a few places where you could conceal a giant horn.”

  “Why not bury it? Or throw it in a lake or river, like you said? Or the sea? The sea is only a couple days’ ride away. He could’ve dropped it over the side of a boat and watched it sink to where nobody would ever get it.”

  “You didn’t know Royce. He was stubborn, and in his way, immensely spiteful. He didn’t want to destroy it or put it out of reach. He once said he was going to chop it into little pieces and send it to Borin’s family bit by bit. That was his humor. He wanted to infuriate them for generations.”

  “So, he wanted it found someday?”

  Melville dithered. “Certainly not while he was alive. His boasts about finding the horn nearly started a war. Our king personally begged Royce to turn it in. In the end, he told His Majesty that he didn’t actually find it.”

  Edris thought for a moment.

  “How many people know all of this?” he asked. “The other adventurers…do they know about the horn coming apart and how spiteful Royce was?”

  “They know about Royce wanting to stick it to Borin’s family. That’s no secret. As for the horn coming apart…” He lifted a scarred hand. “As far as I know, only Royce, myself, and Roderick knew about that.”

  “And where’s this Roderick? What happened to him?”

  A twinkle appeared in Melville’s eyes. “Ah! Now we’re getting to the important stuff. Personally, I think it’s the key to the whole endeavor. Maybe a year or so after we brought the horn home, he disappeared.”

  “Disappeared? What do you mean?”

  “He up and left. Left his business. Left his possessions. He left town and was never seen or heard from again.”

  Seventy-Two

  Edris roamed around Williamshire, rehashing everything he’d learned. To him, there were only two reasons why somebody would ride out of town, leaving all their possessions behind—either he was afraid for his life, or he had a better life ready someplace else. It was also possible he had taken the horn and was going to hide it for Sir Royce. The question was: where?

  As Edris strolled, people came and congratulated him on his fight the night before. Many offered to buy him drinks. Others wanted to hear how he managed to win. All the while, a group of children followed him. Whether they were paid by other adventurers to gather information or were merely curious about “the killer,” he didn’t know; but he was painfully aware that at any moment, Markus could dart out of the crowd and stab him.

  He was about to ask one of the children to run to his room and fetch his chainmail when he put his hand in his pocket. In addition to several coins, he found the letters the young girl had given him. His heart sank. He already felt like a failure. The last thing he needed was a letter from his father telling him he was one.

  Edris glanced at the first envelope. The writing wasn’t his father’s. It was neat and almost feminine. He flipped through the others. They were all written by the same person.

  Opening one, he extracted a cream-colored sheet of paper. It read: “Come home—PLEASE!” It was signed, “Beatrice.”

  Seventy-Three

  “And then Markus rode out of town?” Edris asked.

  He and Brago were in their room—Brago reading by the window, Edris struggling to put on his chainmail.

  “Indeed. He was leading another horse, which I can only surmise belonged to that sweet young squire of his.”

  “I wonder what his play is.”

  “If I had to guess…” Brago said, turning a page, “he’s devising a plan to cut out your heart.”

  Edris slid the chain shirt over his head. His father had it made after he’d been knighted, but he’d grown since then and it felt tight in the shoulders.

  “That’s what I’m thinking as well. Honestly, your crack about teaching his squire how to shoot was a dead giveaway. He’s going to want retribution.”

  “Yes. Regrettably, holding my tongue is not one of my many attributes. I apologize.” He turned another page. “By the way, what did your father want?”

  “My father?”
Edris asked, flexing his arms. The chain shirt pinched around his shoulders.

  “He sent you three letters. He must have had some important insights on the quest or your character.”

  “Oh, those weren’t from my father. They were from Bea.”

  “Letters from Beatrice?” Brago lowered his book. “What did she say? Is she all right?”

  “She was rather cryptic.” Edris moved his arms as though swinging a sword. “In the first letter, she said something had come up and she needed to speak with me as soon as possible.”

  He twisted. The polished rings went taut under his armpits. “The second letter said that she needed to talk with me about something very important and asked when I planned on returning home.” Edris beheld himself in the mirror. “This isn’t going to work. It’s too small. Can you help me take this off?”

  “And the third?” Brago asked, pulling the chainmail over Edris’s head.

  Edris threw it in his pack. “She just wrote: Come home—please!”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “What do you mean, what am I going to do? What can I do? I’m in the middle of a quest. I can’t ride home because she wants to see how much I care for her. Besides, I left her enough money to get through the spring. She should be fine.”

  Brago’s expression turned cold. “And how much do you care for her, Ed?”

  Edris lowered himself to the floor and stretched out. He was about to tell Brago the truth—that he loved Beatrice but had no idea how things would end up. Then he remembered his father had used Brago to go find him when the quest was announced. He might also be using Brago to spy on him and Beatrice.

  “She’s merely another girl,” Edris lied. “My father’s worried we might get married or something, but he shouldn’t be.”

  “Merely another girl?” Brago repeated.

  “Well, not another girl,” Edris admitted, aware that Brago and Beatrice were friends. “What I mean is…she and I—”

  A great clamor erupted in the street.

  Somebody shouted, “Fire! Fire!”

  Hundreds of townsfolk and adventurers rushed outside.

  Edris jumped to his feet.

  Brago peered out the window. “Sadly, it isn’t this building. It’s several blocks over, toward the edge of town.”

  “Come on. Let’s go man the buckets.”

  “Let this horrid little dung heap burn.”

  “Brago!”

  “Perhaps we can find the horn in its ashes.”

  Edris jerked open the door. “Let’s go. You’re helping.”

  Sighing, Brago leisurely set his book aside. “As you wish.”

  They exited the boarding house and found a flood of people streaming to the south side of the town where a towering pillar of black smoke rose into the evening sky. Edris started to run with them, but Brago seized his arm.

  “Tell me,” he said, choking on the thick grey haze enveloping them, “if you found the horn and needed a diversion to get away—what would you do?”

  “You think this is a diversion?”

  They both peered northward. Nobody was headed that way.

  “Get our gear and the horses!” Edris told Brago. “Then come find me!”

  Edris sprinted along the street, pushing past everybody racing in the opposite direction. Many people called to him, but he kept running. Then, in the deserted north side, he found what he sought.

  Two figures dashed about Sir Royce’s statue, tying one end of a rope to the great stone horn, the other to a large wagon. The taller of the figures clambered into the wagon and urged the horses forward. For a moment, they struggled. Then, with a loud crack and a hail of shattered rock, the stone horn behind Sir Royce’s statue broke free. Amidst the wreckage was the actual Horn of Borin.

  Seventy-Four

  Stepping from the shadows, Edris drew his two swords. “Sir Hans!”

  The figures froze.

  “Congratulations on finding the horn,” Edris said, approaching. “But I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for it.”

  Sir Hans swore. “I thought I was going to win this one. You can put your weapons away, Sir Edris. I’m certainly not going to fight you.”

  “But father!” Heinrich said. “There’s two of us!”

  “And we are greatly outmatched, Hein. The first rule of fighting is to do so only when you have a chance of winning. Always remember that.”

  “And I don’t wish to fight,” Edris said. “I just want the horn.”

  “How did you know we’d found it?” Sir Hans asked as Brago thundered toward them, leading Edris’s horse.

  “I had a hunch,” Edris told them. “How did you realize it was in the statue?”

  The older knight nodded to the remainder of the statue still standing in the middle of the road leading out of town. “The body and the pedestal are carved stone—marble, to be exact. The horn was plaster.”

  “Indicating Royce covered the original horn to make it appear part of the statue. Ingenious. I will let everybody know of your brilliance.”

  “No need to embellish,” Sir Hans replied. “I value honesty as well as horses.”

  “Ed…” Brago began, “how the hell are we going to get this monstrosity out of here? As soon as we ride away, they’re going to raise the alarm and every adventurer in town will be on our heels.”

  Judging from the son’s defiant expression—that was exactly his plan.

  “I have an idea.” Edris motioned to Heinrich. “Put the horn in the wagon, if you please.”

  Heinrich didn’t move.

  “Do as you’re told!” his father said. “They have the prize fair as fair. There’s always next quest.”

  Cursing under his breath, the lad heaved one end of the horn into the wagon, then shoved the rest in.

  “Thank you,” Edris said. “And now your weapons.”

  Sir Hans unfastened his weapon belt and gave it to Sir Edris. Reluctantly, Heinrich did the same.

  “You aren’t going to send it to my father, are you?” The knight chuckled.

  “Not at all. In fact, I’ll be returning them shortly.” Edris climbed into his saddle. “Now drive the wagon out of town. After we’ve gotten away, we’ll release you to do as you like. That should give us a couple hours’ head start on our pursuit.”

  “A couple hours won’t mean a thing,” Brago said. “A child could outrun a wagon like this. Perhaps we should deal with this matter another way.”

  “No, Brago. There’s a Code.”

  “I’ve seen how these knights live by their precious Code. Once it doesn’t suit their needs, they cast it aside like the women they bed.”

  “I’m not saying we won’t attempt to reacquire the horn,” Sir Hans told them. “But I’ll do so honorably.”

  “Noted,” Sir Edris said. “And thank you again for—”

  Brago cut in. “We’re wasting time.”

  On the other side of town, the smoke was clearing, and the cries of the bucket brigade were dying away.

  “All right.” Edris smacked the lead horse’s flank. The wagon lurched forward into a slow roll. “Let’s get out of here.”

  Seventy-Five

  Unfortunately, Brago was correct. Even with four stout horses pulling, the wagon rattled along the rutted road barely as fast as a man could jog. Every time it struck a rock or a root in the darkness, the precious silver horn banged as if sounding an alarm. Going up hills was even worse. Several times, Edris had to dismount and push. Gradually, though, they put the smoke and lights of Williamshire far behind them.

  After they’d gone nine miles, Edris told Sir Hans to stop the wagon by a stream. There, they let the horses drink their fill while they had the chance.

  “You’re free to go,” Edris said, tying his horse to the rear of the wagon. He handed the knight and his son their packs and weapons. “Sorry again for taking the prize.”

  “No need to apologize,” Sir Hans said. “It’s all part of the game.”

  “St
ill, I don’t enjoy feeling like a thief.”

  “Not at all.” The older knight shook Edris’s hand. “You’ve carried yourself admirably. Good luck to you. I’m guessing the hunt will be up with the sun.”

  Edris considered the stars shimmering overhead. Dawn was three hours away.

  “I’ll do what I can with the time I have.”

  “That’s all you can do in life.” Sir Hans saluted. “After this is over, I look forward to buying you a beer.”

  Edris snapped the reins. The wagon pitched forward. “I’ll buy the first round!”

  The wagon splashed across the stream and clamored up the opposite bank.

  “We’ll meet again, Edris!” Heinrich shouted, his fist raised.

  His father cuffed the boy across the side of his head, but Edris laughed.

  “I’m sure we will, Hein!” he called. “Until we do…ride to good fortune!”

  For several miles, the wagon rumbled on, Brago often doubling back to make sure the knight and his son weren’t following them.

  “You know,” he said, riding next to Edris. “There isn’t a chance in hell we’re going to get this thing to Upper Angle. I’m not sure why we’re even trying. We should dig a hole and bury it, then return after the pursuit has ended.”

  Edris bounced on his bench as the wagon hit another stone. “That’s a good idea. But I think I have a better plan. Let’s stop where the road passes that grove.”

  “Why? What will happen there?”

  “I’ll show you.”

  As they drew closer to the clump of maple trees, Edris reined the horses to a halt. He scrambled into the wagon’s bed.

  “Now what?” Brago asked, watching Edris wrestle with the horn. “Going to hide it in the woods?”

  “Maybe.” Edris pounded the horn against the wagon bed and then resumed twisting. There was a sudden snap as part of the horn gave way. “We might win this quest yet!”