Nikolis gulped, his world started to spin. His grip on the stone parapet started to slip, he grabbed for the ledge with his left hand, but too much of his weight was already over the edge. He felt his body start to fall, felt his mind going end over end…
Suddenly something was there. Whether above or below it was hard to say at first, but there was something. At first, he didn’t know how he knew, but soon realized that a form had obscured the cast of the moon from above. His arms flailed and his fingers brushed against something. He grabbed at it wildly and clung. There was a huff of breath from above. He tried to turn about, squirmed to find which way was up.
Robert Casserly was over him, red of face, lips pressed tight together. Nikolis clung to an arm that he had let trail over the edge of the wall. He grabbed tighter when he realized this, and his weight made Casserly extend further over the ledge. He wasn’t sure what good it would do, but with his head hanging over an unimaginable drop, it made him feel better.
Lord Casserly started to draw his arm upward, sweat dripping from his forehead, and Nikolis came with it. As he was about to cross back over the edge, get back onto firm ground, he saw his sword slipping out of his sheath. The sheathed blade was sticking upward, caught up underneath his body, and so the weight of the pommel was drawing it out, downward toward the yard below. He heard steel slide across leather, as it fell from the sheath and started to fall.
He let go of Casserly’s arm and reached out. Nikolis snatched his weapon from it’s almost certain descent and felt himself drop back down a few inches. His heart started pounding in his chest and he felt his stomach turning. “Don’t shift your weight, you fool,” Casserly muttered as he grabbed at Nikolis’ shirt and started to hoist him up again. The large man got him over the edge and fell back against the wall with a huff. Nikolis clutched his sword close and pushed his feet at the ground, scrambling as far back from the ledge as he could go. His breath was coming to him in labored gasps.
“A boy that would choose the sword over his life, is either a fanatic or a fool,” Casserly huffed. “Which are you?”
Nikolis didn’t know what to say. He forced himself to stand. The man may have saved his life, albeit inadvertently, but he didn’t feel comfortable sitting across from someone they called Black Rob. After he had time enough to reorient himself, it occurred to him that the yellow-haired man was nowhere to be seen. “I…I don’t…” Nikolis tried to speak, tried to form any words that he could. “Thank you,” he finally managed.
“You’re welcome,” said Lord Casserly, standing and brushing himself off.
“I…I must’ve taken a wrong turn,” Nikolis lied. “I’ve got to get back.”
Casserly shook his head, and Nikolis turned and ran into the keep. Once inside the hall he pressed himself flat against the wall and took several slow, deep breaths. The feel of hard stone against his back was the only thing that lessened the sense of panic swarming over him. Across the hall, Drennen looked at him with a questioning glance. Nikolis looked toward the exit he and Casserly had taken, and then back to Drennen. The master nodded toward a doorway across the room, then walked toward it and out of the room.
Nikolis took another deep breath and forced himself away from the wall. The feast was starting to die down. Several lords had fallen asleep or passed out in their seats, and several ladies were sitting quietly, staring off or talking in hushed tones to one another.
Nikolis moved toward the exit Drennen had taken and left the hall behind.
A scrutinous debriefing followed, as both the King and Drennen questioned him in a small, dark chamber. The questions were pointed and unrelenting, neither of them satisfied with his first attempt at explaining anything.
Then, when they had apparently heard enough from him, he was dismissed. As he was leaving the chamber, just before the large, thick door slammed shut behind him, he heard the king mutter, “He wants it from me, Arthur. Just like his brother.”
PART TWO
A SWORD FOR A KING
CHAPTER NINE
The air was crisp and clean. Another winter was nearly over, and spring would soon be upon them. Though it was still chill outside, Nikolis knew that the fine shirt and breeches he had donned would be plenty enough to keep him warm after he had worked up a bit of a sweat. He put on black boots and pulled on a pair of worn gloves. They were not woolen mittens, the kind he had worn a few weeks ago for warmth, but the dark leather gloves of one who handled a sword often. It helped keep down the calluses more than anything, but he felt a measure of importance when he wore them. Putting sword belt to waist, and tying his long, dark hair back, he made his way out of the room.
Lord Robert Casserly and his entourage had long since departed. Jonathan Casserly had stayed behind at court for a time. He and Erad were boon companions while they were together, wreaking havoc about the keep, embarrassing the other noble children in practice in the yard, taunting and demeaning the servants, and otherwise causing trouble. Eventually it had been time for him to return south, though, and so their reign had ended.
The winter months had given Nikolis ample time to perfect his letters, and he had devoured nearly every book in the keep library. All manner of subjects interested him; histories, tomes of war craft, journals of various men both simple and noteworthy, maps, fanciful romances, arithmetic, and on and on. He had read most of the volumes twice. Then Fedwren, who kept the library and had helped him with his writing and was very supportive, arranged for him to borrow books from those about the castle that were lucky enough to have them.
One of the more interesting tomes he had come across was a volume entitled The History of the Houses. It was old and tattered and several early entries were missing, but it talked about the various families of the realm and depicted their crests. House Ryland was oddly absent, but there were the three towers on a field of green that marked House Dangard, and the sinuous white snake on a field of blue that belonged to House Casserly. He had almost dismissed it as ordinary and uninteresting, when toward the end of the book he saw something that baffled him.
It was a crest of a spread-winged bird, a raven, with two heads. He had laughed to himself, for it reminded him of his own two ravens that were always perched on his windowsill. Even through winter, did not go anyway, happy to subside on what scraps he left them.
After looking at the image for a moment, he was about to turn the page when he noticed the name listed beside the crest. It read: House Ledervane. His heart dropped. He eyes raced down the text, devouring it. Ledervane is a small house that dates back to the Fourth Kingdom of the Reinard. Edwin Ledervane was a man of great accomplishment and was granted lands west of the Kingspear as his domain. He did well there, and his house grew with haste.
At the time, Nikolis couldn’t believe it. The passage had to be referring to his family. He began to wonder what had happened. Had his elder relatives given up the land? Lost it to war or conquest? The crest of House Ledervane is the two-headed raven. Legend says the bird is the guardian of the house, and that each head bears its own name. Mayjen is the left and represents both power and might. Jayjen is the right and represents wisdom and truth. Little else is known of the mythology…
He had reread the passage serval times, scoring over the names and accomplishments. It took a full month, but he even gathered the courage to ask the master of arms about it. Arthur Drennen had not indulged his curiosity, however, instead, scolding him with a reminder that they had agreed never to speak about his family again. Reluctantly, Nikolis had let the issue drop.
He had also learned the basics of several trades at Master Drennen’s insistence, spending time in the smithy and with the keep’s own master fletcher. He knew how to dress a wound, and even how to render the fat of cattle to tallow candles. Riding had been an important skill for him to undertake as well, although despite having spent time when he was younger on a horse, he had not yet nearly mastered the art.
The rest of his time had been spent here, however, on the practice fi
eld. As was usual, no one else was there when he first arrived this morning, but soon a gathering of similarly attired young men showed up and they all stood in a circle. Nikolis found himself taller than many of them now, and stronger. Arthur Drennen arrived finally, and they began their dance.
They paired off and swords were raised. They sparred with one another, steel clashing off of steel. No dulled weapons – Master Drennen wouldn’t have it. The experience must be real, their awareness honed to a fine edge. Nikolis’ slender sword felt alive in his grasp. He knew its every edge now, knew how to work it this way or that, throw his opponents sword to the side or rope them in for a powerful lunge.
Once a week the young men, those hoping to become guardsmen in the king’s service, faced off against one another in this regard. The loser from each round would walk off to the sidelines to watch, while the winner went on to face one of the others still on the field. Nikolis drew Erland first, a flat-nosed, dark-haired member of the Camber family. He was brutish with his blade, and though there was enormous strength in his arm, he was no real challenge. Nikolis drove aside or dodged his slashes, worked around his blade, made him circle and tire, and then went in for the kill. A slender blade to the young man’s throat, and soon Erland Camber was throwing up his arms to yield.
Brien Laswick was next, the twins’ older brother, but he was less adept with the sword than Erland. He was strong, with a square jaw and wide shoulders, but he was soon wiping sweat from his brow and brushing back his mop of brown hair in frustration. Nikolis disarmed him with a well-placed poke at his sword hand that sent the boy falling back and checking himself for injury. There was none of course, and he was soon shaking his head and reaching to pick up his fallen weapon. The sidelines grew with new members.
Sometimes members of the King’s Shield watched, occasionally pointing out what one or another of the losers did wrong, but for the most part only talking to one another and looking rather bored. Today yellow-haired Darus Lewin leaned against the keep wall, chatting with Jafe Chaswyn. Both were past their thirtieth year and had taken the opportunity of respite to unbutton their grey coats. Darus was well groomed, his beard and mustache neatly trimmed, while Jafe had a shadow of stubble that made it look as though he hadn’t shaved in days. Despite their apparent lack of interest in the training of their potential peers, they noticed him. He knew they did, for he saw it in their eyes. They saw his skill unfurling, even commended it on occasion, and he liked it.
The only King’s Shield who did take an active role in aiding Master Drennen with their training, was a young man by the name of Andrew Dubrey. He was of an age with the first two, but his brown hair was tied back in a tail, and his face clean-shaven. He was a handsome man, if what the ladies at court said were true, and he was kind. His coat was always straight and proper, and buttoned from waist to high-collared neck.
“That’s good, Nik,” Andrew shouted as Nikolis parried the thrust of Kelson Greene’s sword. With black hair and a spot of beard at his chin, Kelson was the only opponent left on the field. Kelson grinned often when he fought, as he did now, because he knew he was good with the blade. It made him feel powerful, Nikolis was sure. He knew how that felt.
The two worked in circles, exchanging blows, fending off each other’s attacks. Kelson worked his blade, laughing when he found an opening, but Nikolis always turned it aside, his own visage one of strict concentration.
“Well done,” Andrew Dubrey said when the day finally found Kelson Greene cursing and checking his shoulder for a wound. It was little more than a scratch of course, but it had been enough to send the other boy’s sword careening off into the grass.
Though the rest of the boys noted Nikolis’ skill with the sword, they resented it. He knew they didn’t like him, and the companionship that several of them now shared was not his to partake of. They were all of noble birth, though lesser nobility to be sure, and second or third sons in addition. They had been granted this chance to train and take up a sword in the king’s name. For them it would mean great honor to succeed and become a member of the king’s guard, most likely assigned to prominent positions on the town wall, or in one of the castle towers. For Nikolis it was a way of life. What else do I have to look forward to?
As Drennen checked Kelson’s arm and assured him he would be fine, Nikolis stepped back and allowed himself a small smile. He had trained hard with the blade, had worked himself to the bone, and it was paying off. His mirth was soon spoiled by the sound of a familiar laugh coming from behind him. It was one he knew well, one he had learned to avoid over the years. Somehow it managed to find him now and then, and the sound was haunting.
“You did quite well, Niky,” Prince Erad said, as he stepped into the circle of boys and men. The noble children all smiled and nodded, feeling more Erad’s equal than any, and appreciating his attempt at knocking Nikolis down a peg. “But considering your opponents, is it really a wonder why?”
The boys’ grins turned sour. They dared to glare at their prince but said nothing. “Why not try a real opponent?” he said, loosing his sword from its sheath and smiling.
“Erad,” Arthur Drennen warned. “This is not the place.”
Erad worked his shoulders, stepped about the field, felt out the terrain. “Oh bother, Arthur. It’s the practice green, why not?”
Drennen turned to the members of the King’s Shield present, looking for support, but they only shrugged. They were sworn to protect the royal blood at any cost and would do so if Nikolis’ sword went but a bit astray, but they knew better than to question the prince.
“What say you, Niky?” Erad taunted. “You’re not afraid to take on someone who actually knows the point from the pommel, are you?” He chuckled and several of the boys crossed their arms or huffed. “Come now, your sword to mine.”
Nikolis bowed his head and in a flash his blade was out. The weapon was one with him, and in moments he and Erad had squared off. Though two years his junior, Nikolis was now of a height with Erad, and that gave him some confidence. Erad pulled his red tunic off over his head and stood across from him in thick leggings and undershirt. Slender blades soon danced off of one another, and the other boys stood to look on and cheer. Even the King’s Shield soon looked interested, though Drennen only crossed his arms and watched, tapping his foot incessantly.
Erad was good with the sword, Nikolis knew that, but he had never actually faced him personally. Soon he was working up far more of a sweat than he had all day. Erad thrust his blade at Nikolis, the sharp point coming in fast, but Nikolis managed to parry it aside. Faster than lighting came another thrust, however, and another. It was all Nikolis could do to keep the prince’s sword at bay.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. His confidence started to wane. Even if he could manage an opening, one wrong move and three of the King’s Shield would be on him in an instant. Darus, Jafe, and Andrew watched from the sidelines, but he could not read them. Is there any concern? Do they see the sport of this?
Erad came on relentlessly, causing Nikolis to start and wonder whether the prince saw the sport of this. Nikolis worked the incoming sword out to the side, but it parried his own blade out, and soon was right back in. Nikolis spun to the side to avoid the thrust, which he knew would have hit him and hard, if he hadn’t been quicker. It wasn’t difficult to tell Erad wasn’t holding back.
Nikolis ducked under a thrust of the prince’s blade and laid his own thrust toward his belly. Erad back away and turned, batting Nikolis’ sword aside and sending off a thrust of his own. After some time had passed both boys were clearly tiring. Then suddenly, Nikolis saw what he had been waiting for. Though it was merely a minor dip of Erad’s blade, Nikolis managed to throw it upward, and drive his own in. Erad managed to get his blade back up just in time to hold the sword at bay.
The two weapons locked at the crossguard and though Erad had staved off the blow, he was now substantially off balance. Nikolis began to push forward, putting his weight behind the movement, knowing he
could knock his opponent to the ground. I’m winning.
But then there was a flash as light glinted off steel, and his side was burning. Nikolis stepped away and put an instinctive hand to his waist. A dark glove came away covered in red. Erad grinned and held up a small dagger in his offhand. It too was covered in the wet of blood. Nikolis gasped and clutched his side. The prince only laughed.
“I win,” he said. “You lose.” Nikolis fell back onto the ground and the assembled boys laughed. “That’s not fair,” he managed. “You broke the rules of engagement. My sword to yours, you said. Honor dictates…”
Erad threw back his head and cackled. “Honor is something for greybeards to hide behind in castles of rock and mortar. Winning is for me. If you’ve won, what else matters?”
“Alright,” Drennen said, his stern voice shattering the intensity of the moment. “We’re done for the day. Back to your regular duties tomorrow.”
Andrew helped Nikolis up and then Drennen came over and shouldered his weight. “Back to the tower for us,” the master of arms said. “We’ll see to that wound.”
The others on the field made their way to the keep, while Nikolis and Drennen made their way to the tower. “That was a foolish thing to do,” Drennen said, when they were almost to the tower entrance. “A foolish thing. Have I not warned you? Did you not learn your lesson long ago? You’re lucky that the prince is old enough now, not to go running back to his father.”
“But, honor…” Nikolis began.
“That wasn’t honor,” Drennen said, cutting him off. “That was pride. They’re two very different things.”
They continued on in silence and were soon making their way up the stairs to his room. Every step pained him, but he made it. Nikolis fell down onto his pallet, the sheets soon stained red. Drennen lifted up his shirt and his eyes went wide.
“My…I can’t believe he’d…” Drennen ran to the window and cried out. “Jak. Jak! Better fetch Balwarn, it’s worse than I thought.” More words were said, but Nikolis couldn’t make them out. The room began to spin, and everything went black.
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