On and on Nikolis pressed, thrusting at him, throwing his blade in, only to have it turned aside. His arm was a blur of sword strokes, faster than he ever thought possible, but each time the stranger matched him. Eventually the other man regained some of his footing, his momentary surprise apparently fading. Now the stranger met Nikolis’ sword and then turned it aside. He leveled a thrust of his own at Nikolis head. The stroke was well timed and from a practiced hand. It was all Nikolis could do to get out of the way, dropping to his knees and then rolling forward.
Up again he came, sword in hand, spinning about and slashing at his opponent three times in succession. The stranger met the blows one by one then leveled a blow at Nikolis stomach. Nikolis sucked in a breath and backed away. He knocked the man’s sword aside and came back with a thrust to his gut. The dark-clothed man countered the blow and came at him again.
Nikolis backed away parrying a series of slashes aimed at his exposed left. Sweat dripped from his forehead. He countered with a flourish of his own slashes coming at the man’s left then right, alternating between the two. The stranger was hard pressed to keep up and managed to get himself backed against a wall in his efforts. Nikolis pressed close, his blade coming forward, and scored an undeterred hit to the man’s stomach. The stranger doubled over and Nikolis took the opportunity to bash the man’s sword hand into the stone wall with his right forearm. His opponent lost his grasp on his weapon and his sword clattered to the floor.
Again, he did not spare a second for thought, and only leaped over the fallen form, and sprinted out of the room. When he passed another twist in the corridor, he came into a long, large room, rectangular in shape. Torches were set into iron sconces at intervals along the walls. Iron shields, those both burnished and tarnished, hung between the torches and reflected light all about the room. The grandeur stopped him in his tracks. The sheer size of the room was startling, with stones set in intricate patterns below, and vaulted ceiling lost in darkness above.
Out of nowhere several figures appeared, their forms concealed from head to toe in dark cloaks. Nikolis started to back away, but more came up behind him. There were nearly a dozen of them in all, and they were circling around him. He spun around, trying to find a hole through which he could escape, and make another dash out of the room. Not that he was even sure where the exit to this chamber might be, or even now where he had originally come from, so turned about was he. But he saw no opening, no way to break out. They were closing in on him in good form, as if they were well practiced at the art.
Nikolis raised his blade in defiance and dared to step forward. One of the figures, tall and stocky, produced a longsword from beneath the folds of his cloak and struck at Nikolis’ blade. The stroke was masterful, sending such a shock up Nikolis’ arm that his hand let go his sword and it fell to the ground. They cloaked figures continued to close in around him.
The dark clothed man, still masked, appeared and he bent down to retrieve the fallen sword. He leveled it at Nikolis throat and forced him to his knees. Nikolis gulped hard, barely daring to breathe, lest the blade at his throat pierce his skin.
“Tell us,” boomed the masked man. “Tell us what you know of Highkeep.”
“What?” Nikolis asked, suddenly confused.
“Do not lie to us,” the man continued. “We know that you have the information we need.”
“I…I don’t know what you mean,” he replied.
The masked man tightened his grip on the blade, pushing it ever closer to Nikolis throat. The steel was now pressing into his skin. “You have knowledge of the layout, the guard routines, training, quarters. You will tell us or die.”
Nikolis gulped a breath of air. “You are mistaken,” he dared. “I know nothing.” One of the cloaked figures stepped forward and raised the back of his hand. He brought his balled fist down on Nikolis’ cheek, sending him reeling to the floor.
Nikolis caught himself on open palms and pushed back up. “You will tell us,” the masked man said. “You can survive this with little pain, or you can die slowly, in agony. The choice is yours, but either way, we will learn from you what we want.”
The cloaked figures pressed in ever closer. Blades were visible in all of their hands now. Nikolis’ mind raced. He did know things; he knew the layout and routines. In fact, now that he thought about it, he knew quite a bit. Who are these men? What do they want? What will they do with their information? Perhaps they need to know for a purpose that would not cause harm to the kingdom. Perhaps I could tell them.
As soon as those thoughts crossed Nikolis mind, he knew them for what they were. Cowardice. Obviously, these men meant harm to the realm. What could he tell them? He could tell them nothing. On shaking knees, he tried to rise. “I know nothing.”
Again, the back of a fist met his jaw, and he tumbled to the floor. Pain lanced through him, his face was on fire. There was no need to see his lip to know it was broken. Blood was starting to run down his face. He tried to force himself to his feet again, but when he was only halfway there, a fist slammed into his stomach, and down again he went. He coughed and spat something dark onto the floor. He knew that it was blood, only turned black by the dimness of the room.
Torchlight gleamed off of at least ten sword points, as they came in at him, their tips undeniably sharp. All were within less than an inch of his body and would surely cut through his clothing like a scythe through grass. A tear rolled down his face, and for that he was ashamed. His limbs shook and his broken lip quivered. “When we are done with you, your friends will be next. We got to you, we can get to them just as easily.”
Nikolis thought about Jak, and Garley and Raife. Once more he considered telling them what he knew. His own life he was willing to forfeit for the realm, but could he so easily sacrifice theirs? He hoped they would understand. On shaking legs, he started to rise again, the blades coming with him. “I…will…tell…you nothing!” he roared.
There was a long silence. The ten sword points unbearably closed to his body. He began to pray that it would end quickly, that the pain would not be as bad as he imagined, that the end would not come with as much suffering as they had promised.
The blades retreated. The dark clothed stranger stepped back and went for the fastening of his mask. He took it off and let it fall to the ground. All around him cloaked figures laid back their cowls. Nikolis stood in shock as nine dark cloaks fell to the floor to reveal fine coats of grey. The tall, stocky form of earlier stepped forward. Tan of skin and white of beard with close-cropped hair, it was undeniably Rogett Gilford who stood before him, the most veteran member of the King’s Shield.
“One of our members has fallen,” he said, and Nikolis instantly knew he referred to Andrew Dubrey. “Now another rises to take his place.”
Breath caught in Nikolis’ throat. “Kneel,” said Rogett, and he obeyed without thought. Then he turned the sword in his hand over and proffered the hilt to Nikolis. “Accept the Brotherhood of the King’s Shield.”
How could he, the son of a traitor be offered such a position? What had happened, who had said what? Surely even the master of arms could not have enough influence over the king to make this happen, even if he wanted to, which Nikolis very much doubted. How could this have possibly come about? Something he had never imagined, have never even entertained a thought about, was happening now. This was his chance to prove himself, his chance to right the wrongs of his parents.
“Say the words, Nikolis Ledervane. Or walk away from here today and never return.”
He knew what he was supposed to say. Those words, those same words he had repeated a dozen times for Arthur Drennen, that all of the other boys had said when they accepted their positions within the guard of Highkeep. However, in this, there was no going back. There was no end to the duty of the King’s Shield. He was about to say what he knew that he must, was about to start to speak, when he noticed the sword that had been offered to him.
The hilt was an intricate pattern of sweeping steel,
the blade long and slender and complete. It was his father’s sword, the one he had died with in his hands. The one Nikolis had clung to as the massive bear had fallen on him, had ripped from the mantle above his hearth and thrown down the tower stairwell. Yet, it was whole now, complete; forged anew. They are asking me to swear on it, to say the words on the sword of my father.
“I shall bear my sword well and true,” Nikolis said, the words coming, perhaps, too easily. “I shall use it for the right of men. To protect the innocent. To guard the weak. To fight in times of war, when I am called. To protect my brethren and to serve them. To shelter my brethren when they are in need, and to never turn my sword against them.”
The rest of the event was a blur. He stood and men in grey coats clapped him on the back. There was Raymon Brime, with his brown hair and brown eyes, scruffy Jafe Chaswyn and wide-nosed Jerald Camber, who was favoring the lump that Nikolis had given him on the back of the head with the pommel of his own sword. Ronnell Moore studied him with pale eyes, only the slightest hint of a smile on his face as he shook his hand. Darus Lewin, his familiar hair and beard of yellow, was now perfectly recognizable without his dark mask. He grinned and shook Nikolis’ hand as well. Somewhere in the back, leaning against a wall, Rowen Dunn stood, his arms crossed in front of his chest. He smiled at Nikolis. It was a large, genuine smile.
Even when the next morning came, and he was walking the halls of Highkeep in a stiff-collared grey coat, trimmed in black, and fine black gloves and pants, with boots polished to an unimaginable shine, he could not believe any of it was real. There was a veritable torrent of emotions trying to overcome him. There were so many feelings that he could barely sort one from the other.
He felt happiness and thoughts of fear. He felt the deepest sense of pride. He felt euphoric, unimaginably so. He felt confused and concerned. He felt as a lamb now come amongst the wolves.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Nikolis fought hard at the reins to control his mount. The horse he now rode was a stallion, more befitting his position he supposed, and was not yet used to him. It was a strong creature, and healthy, with a dark coat that gleamed when it was freshly brushed. The steed was a fair bit larger than the horse he had previously trained on, and he sat much higher in the saddle. The master of horse had given him a toothy grin and a pat on the back when he had handed over the reins. This was somewhat unusual, less indifferent, behavior than he had received in previous encounters. In fact, many people seemed to be treating him differently now that they saw him in the grey coat of the King’s Shield. Noble men and women, and visiting officials, actually acknowledged his presence, rather than turning their noses up at him. Though it was disconcerting, servants actually looked away when he passed.
His friends had lauded him with congratulations when they found out. Jak had happily punched him in the arm, while a cool Raife gave him a nod. Garley had been all hugs and had even sobbed a bit. Evar gave him one of his famous grins, though Lirk, who inevitably came in tow, only gave him a sour glare. “Up-jumped lummox,” he had sneered, when he saw Nikolis’ new coat. There had been no opportunity to see Kelson Greene, the boy off some place or the other, every time he came calling.
The master of arms had acted decidedly odd on the first morning that Nikolis had gotten into his new garb and descended the stairs of the tower. Arthur Drennen had stood in the yard, scanning the horizon, his gaze far off, as if looking at some place other than where he stood. Nikolis had tried his best to suppress a smile as he stood in front of the man, who turned and began to inspect him from head to toe. Certainly, there was no surprise on the master of arms’ features. He had to have known; he would have some say in the matter, some recommendation to the post.
If that were the case, however, he did not acknowledge it. He only gave a brief, flat smile, all formality, and said, “You’ll have a room in the castle now. They’ll get you quarters. Most like they’ll put you on the lower levels at first. Can’t stay in the tower anymore.”
Nikolis had nodded, his smile vanishing as the straight, simple words came out. There was no shaking of hands, or congratulations. No words of praise or of advice. Only the business of the day and then he was on his way into Highkeep.
He felt as a new man in the keep, and though he did not relish the treatment of the servants, he did appreciate his new status with his betters.
In the days to come he would be relegated to tasks similar to those that he had performed before his appointment. The halls of the keep were to be patrolled and figures of importance were to be accompanied here or there. Things were very much the same except for the fact that now he performed his duties at the pinnacle of official capacity. There was actual purpose to his rounds, the men he protected he was to do so with actual peril a possible threat.
Meetings of the King’s Shield were held in an isolated chamber on one of the upper levels. It was gotten to by opening a door disguised as a bookcase in a small room on the library balcony. The room was called the Lords Library, though for what reason no one could tell him. He had noticed it long ago when obtaining new volumes from the keep’s library but had paid it no particular mind.
Rogett Gilford, as the most senior member of the order, presided over the meetings, talking of important items or notes of interest, or calling upon others to report in. Although Nikolis was of little importance in these briefings and was only rarely called upon to report his activities, he listened attentively to all the guards had to say. He wanted to learn every bit of what went on, wanted to get every ounce of knowledge he could, so that he could do what he must, to the best of his ability. As time went on, he actually began to feel comfortable amongst his brothers, if only slightly.
For many weeks things continued in this peaceful, routine, pattern. That was, until this morning, when he had been called upon for a special assignment. It was a warm, spring day, and he had been told to go to the stables and there was given his new mount. A note informed him that he was to go to the postern gate, beyond the yard where men still trained, and await further instructions. So, he went, and there he now sat, feeling out his horse. He yawned and checked his saddle bindings. Just when he was about to give up on what he had been called for, two mares came into view, one white and one brown, heading his way. Atop them sat two ladies in spring dresses of white and pink. It did not take him long to recognize the form in the white dress as Karlene Ryland, and that in the pink as her friend, Ellie Arbor.
Nikolis averted his eyes when they got closer, though Karlene’s gaze toward him was amiable, and direct. “My ladies,” was all that he could manage when they stopped before him.
“This is the gentleman who is to escort us on our ride, Ellie,” Karlene said, her voice so sweet, so tender.
“Aye,” said Ellie, with a giggle. Karlene shot her a stern look, and Ellie’s mirth vanished. “Aye,” she said again, this time more seriously, sitting up in her saddle.
“By your leave,” Nikolis said, bowing his head, and sweeping his arm toward the gate. Karlene held her head high and stepped her horse down a small path leading to the southernmost gate of the castle, the only rear entrance to the stone perimeter that surrounded town and keep entire. Ellie followed along behind her, with Nikolis bringing up the rear.
The postern gate was very small, barely allowing for two riders to pass through abreast. The sharp, rocky cliffs and the tangle of forest beyond made it of little use to an invading foe in gaining entrance to the keep, so only a solitary guard in tabard of red and white stood watch there. He jumped up from his position leaning on his spear as they approached, and initially sought to bar their passage. But when he saw the Lady Karlene he quickly acquiesced, moving aside, bowing low, and sweeping his arm before their path.
Beyond, Karlene and Ellie rode side by side, taking in the cool air, picking a careful path amongst the rocks as if they had made this trek a hundred times before. Nikolis himself had played in these woods as a child but had always scrambled down toward the trees on his own two feet,
and not on the back of a mount that he had never ridden before. It made for a perilous, nerve-racking, journey in which he was constantly fighting to keep his seat. Within a few minutes his arms and backside were sore from the effort. Karlene turned around from time to time to smile at him, almost shyly, out of the corner of her eye. He returned the grin with as understated and courteous a smile as he could manage, but the whole exchange made him all the more uncomfortable.
The trio passed through groves thick with trees and small plants, by squirrels and chipmunks and the occasional pheasant. There were wild flowers of all kinds lining the path, pinks and yellows, purples and blues. When they finally came to a halt before a large oak tree, its branches spreading wide into the air, Nikolis was overcome with the serenity of it all.
A small brook bubbled by over stones polished smooth by the flowing water. Karlene and Ellie spread a blanket out on the grass, retrieved items from Ellie’s saddlebags, and laid out a small meal. There were fresh apples, green and red, and half a wheel of cheese. There was wine, heavily watered from the look of it once it was poured, and some small vegetables.
They invited Nikolis to join them, but he politely declined, instead leading the horses to the brook to be watered. Behind him he heard the girls talking and laughing with one another, though he couldn’t make out their words. When the horses had drunk their fill, he brought them back to the oak and hobbled them. The girls were laughing again, although they forced themselves to quiet as he approached.
Awkward silence followed as Karlene lounged saying nothing, and Ellie bit into an apple. Nikolis patted down the horses, trying his best to ignore them. Karlene shot her friend another odd look, to which Ellie only furrowed her brow in confusion. Karlene made a motion with her hands, almost as one would shoo a gnat, and Ellie then rolled her eyes.
“It seems I am suddenly overcome with a desire to pick wild flowers,” said Ellie, standing and straightening out her dress. “Karlene, will you come?”
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