Free Stories 2015

by Baen Books

  Arnost handed him back the bowl. "Thank you, lad."

  "Now here's a man excited to hear the grand prize!" Sir Odrick called. "Ain't that right, Arnie?"

  A few of the knights chuckled.

  Arnost glared.

  Odrick sat up and clapped his hands on his knees. "Aw, come now, we're just teasing you. Everybody knows your fondness for the queen."

  Behind his lips, Arnost ground his teeth.

  "Tell you what, Arnie. I'll win the kiss for you, and then you can kiss my lips! Just the same, right?"

  A shiver ran down Arnie's spine. His skin, hot in the sun, still turned to gooseflesh. He said with a growl, "You should show more respect for your queen."

  Odrick waved a hand. "Aw, what Queen Addy-lala won't know can't hurt her."

  Arnost pounced with the speed of a wolf. He grabbed Odrick by the neck of his shirt and hoisted him onto his feet. Odrick was taller than Arnost, and thicker, too. Yet Odrick's weight was in his gut, not like Arnost's tree-trunk arms and legs.

  "That is not her name!" Arnost roared.

  Hands of the other knights grabbed Arnost around his heavy shoulders. Bonna and Mellam grabbed Odrick, too, pulling him out of Arnost's grip.

  "Calm down, Arnost!" Bonna cried.

  "Odrick!" Mellam shouted. "You're going to get yourself hurt!"

  Odrick squirmed free. He raised his fists. Bonna and Mellam stepped back with their hands in the air.

  Odrick's fists unfolded. He laughed and pointed at Arnost. "Hurt by this dairy farmer?"

  The words came as a slur, but Arnost found no pain in them. He tested the grips of the men holding him. Hilliac was there; Usford, Baub, and Glowen, too. They clutched him tight.

  Odrick pounded his chest with his free hands. "I am a knight of the realm, as was my father, and his before him! This milksop, for all high and mighty as he pretends to be, is nothing before the rest of us. He can't even grow a proper beard!"

  Arnost moved his hands slowly. The men's grips on his arms shifted to grant him some liberty. He stroked the patches of bare skin between the bristles on his pock-scarred face. "What kind of man judges another by his beard? Only one afraid of any test of strength or mind."

  With a yowl, Odrick rushed forward. Bonna and Mellam were on him in an instant. They grabbed his hands, but they couldn't keep him from leaning so close that his gnashing teeth nearly reached Arnost's eyes. Breath laden with the stink of rotting meat swarmed Arnost's nostrils.

  "You're not a noble," Odrick whispered.

  Arnost shrugged against his knights' grip. "I never claimed to be."

  Odrick sneered. It was the look of a boy whose sure-shot arrow somehow missed the deer.

  "All right, lads," Mellam said smoothly. "Let's save it for tomorrow."

  "Yea, settle it in the tournament," Usford added.

  The other knights gave their own easing mumbles. Arnost sighed and nodded with them. He thought of combat, but his mind's eye traced back to the queen, who would be watching from her courtly seat. He winced again.

  Odrick spat. "I'll have her before you ever do."

  Arnost flung his arms back, kicking with his legs as he did. His whole weight fell against the knights behind him. Arnost felt their hands let go as they tried to catch their balance. Then he charged and planted the middle of his brow in Odrick's face like a bull defending his herd.

  Odrick fell. Arnost again found himself pinned by his fellow knights. He did not struggle. Shouting and hurried footfalls of pages turned into a cacophony.

  "Did you see that?"

  "Such blood!"

  "Let him lie!"

  "Get some water!"

  "Shall I summon the wizard? Perhaps his healing herbs—"

  "Fetch the priest, more likely."

  Arnost just stood and watched. Between the scurrying knights and pages, he saw flashes of Odrick's inward-turned nose, his face all painted crimson. Odrick had been something of a handsome man, but now no woman would want him, even with his lands and title.

  Bonna stepped in front of Arnost and pointed a finger at him. "You better hope he survives the night."

  "I do," Arnost admitted. "I hope he lives a long life."

  Mellam appeared over Bonna's shoulder, wiping a hand across his forehead and leaving a red streak from where he had held Odrick. "If he doesn't, it could be murder in cold-blood."

  "You all heard him insult the queen's honor. To testify otherwise would be a lie against the king and your own souls."

  The knights all began mumbling. Hilliac and Usford let Arnost's arms go. The others on his hands and legs followed suit.

  Arnost felt another hand on his elbow. It was Roger's shaky grip.

  "Come, sir," he said. "We should get you cleaned up."

  "Nay," Arnost said, shaking his head. "I must see my warhorse ready."

  "I can see to that for you, sir," Roger told him.

  Arnost ignored him. He went across the yard and away from the tangle of knights trying to heft Odrick back into the shade. Roger followed after.

  Beside the stable, the farrier panted while he hammered the shoe onto the horse's foot. He glanced up at Arnost with a worried eye. If that is what Arnost could do to a fellow knight . . .

  Arnost sighed. His being there would only burden the work and make it worse for the horse. He walked past the farrier into the stable. "Roger, come sit a while and let the man finish."

  Roger mumbled and trotted after him.

  The stable was quieter, free from all but a few gabbles of men in the yard. The creatures knew how to stand and even eat without filling the air with useless, harmful words. It was as cool as the stables of cattle back on the farm.

  He stroked the mane of Baub's horse. The fool barely gave it any attention; it was no wonder that it stirred every time he mounted it in armor. Arnost had tried to tell him, but it was knowledge shared not by speech, only being with the horse. Men were so dull.

  Perhaps it was because men, unlike animals, had the weight of sins on their minds. Arnost was a man, and there was a time to speak. He leaned onto a bale of hay to confess.

  "Did I ever tell you how I became a knight, Roger?"

  Roger's tense body relaxed like an unstrung bow. He grinned and leaned against the wood wall. "Everyone knows that story, Sir Arnost! You slew the Beast of Boorsbath! A horrible monster cat that was! Big as a horse, black as night, licking its claws with its nasty venom—"

  Arnost held up a hand to stop Roger. "There wasn't venom. Peoples' minds go all fancy when a cut doesn't heal right, and claws make deep cuts. A big cat was all it was."

  "As big as a horse!" Roger repeated.

  "Yea," Arnost admitted. The cat really was that big. For every lie woven into a tale, there was a strand of truth. The huge paw had left deep marks in his right shoulder that went to the very muscle. Arnost survived the blow. The beast didn't. Its overreaching scratch left its belly wide open to Arnost's blade.

  "And the skin rests on the back of your chair in the king's hall," Roger said. "It's a trophy worthy of any knight!"

  "Yea, I won my knighthood, when I slew it." Arnost rubbed his pitted face. "But did you ever ask yourself: why did the king send a dairy farmer's son after the Beast?"

  Roger opened his mouth wide, but then he stopped and closed it. After fluttering it a few more times, he finally said, "No, I don't know."

  "It was for penance."

  "Penance, milord?"

  "That's the part of the tale best never repeated." Arnost leaned more heavily on the bale until he was practically lying. "Yet it must be, from time to time."

  Roger only watched him, narrow-eyed.

  "It was years ago," Arnost began. "I was a young man, a few years older than you but still at home. My father needed help growing up the herd. He planned to divide it to me when I wed, and I was as happy to aid him as he was to see me work hard.

  "One warm day, warmer than this, we had a cow wander out of the field and into the woods. By the time it was out of sigh
t, it was too far to leave the rest of the herd, so I drove them back to the common. Once I picked up the cow's trail, I followed after it all the way into the king's forest. I worried about being thought a poacher, but since it was my father's own animal and I carried no weapons, I decided to go on after it. The trail became thinner and thinner. I found and lost it what must have been five times, and then I heard some women's voices."

  Arnost bit his tongue.

  "Well, go on!" Roger cried. He calmed down and added, "Sir, if you please."

  "It was the queen and her handmaidens."

  "The queen? In the woods?"

  Arnost nodded. "I didn't know it until I saw them. There were guards, but they were stationed far off the other way as the women . . . they were bathing in the glade."

  The color drained out of Roger's face. "You saw . . . the queen . . . Oh, Sir Arnost!"

  Arnost sighed so deeply his chest ached. "I meant no harm. I should have called out to them, but I was thunderstruck. It was a horrid trespass. The shrieks of the women roused the guards. They seized me . . . they should have killed me there."

  Roger threw his hands up into the air. "Sir Arnost, no! You can't wish such things!"

  "You don't know what it's like."

  Roger slowly drew his hands down. "It's shameful, yes, but an accident! So, as you said, the king sent you on a quest to test your purity against the Beast of Boorsbath. And you passed! That day is gone. You're a knight now."

  "A knight haunted by his sinful visions."

  Arnost closed his eyes, and he could see Adela again. She stood just knee-deep in the sparkling water, her body lit by the sun pouring between the branches of the forest. His heart began to pound. He pressed his eyes tight, trying to drown the image in the blackness of his eyelids. He pressed tighter until he added pain to the darkness.

  Roger cleared his throat. "So, the queen . . . is her form as beautiful as it seems from her gown when she bends—"

  Arnost leaped to his feet and slammed a flat hand right onto his page's head. "Filthy-minded swine! Never think of your queen in such a way!"

  Roger yelped and fell to the stable floor. He lay there amid the muck-crusted straw.

  Arnost sneered. It was a fitting place for the lad . . . just as it was for him.

  Arnost's sneer softened. He sat down beside Roger.

  The lad had tears in his eyes, but he just stared. He didn't blink; he wouldn't let any drop fall. Roger's pupils danced under the warping water.

  Arnost patted his shoulder.

  Roger lay a moment longer before speaking softly. "You're a good man, Sir Arnost. You fought at the Battle of Ruggedown, where you pulled two wounded men out of the fray. You were the first to stand when the king asked for men to cleanse the Pressfield Wyrm. You never make demands while on a quest; you always pay your due. I say all these things as your page, but the truth remains that you are good. You should not worry about a little offense that happened so many years ago."

  "The sin still lingers," Arnost said simply.

  Roger sat up. "How do you know that? You're not a priest."

  "I know my sin. It lives over and over in my mind."

  "But not in your heart?"

  Arnost pursed his lips and didn't answer.

  "All men carry lust," Roger told him.

  "What does a boy know about men?"

  Roger scratched his head. "I don't know much, but I know that a man who doesn't act on his lust is better than one who assaults a lady."

  "I've already assaulted her with my eye."

  "You said that was a mishap. It was never your purpose."

  "It happened. And it happens again and again every time I close my eyes. My sin has bored a hole into my very soul."

  "Surely the queen has forgiven you?"

  Arnost nodded, although he could only move his head so slightly that it was given away only when his patchy beard bushed up.

  "And you've confessed?"

  "Every day."

  "Then why can't you forget it?"

  Arnost tried to think, but all that filled his mind was the image of the queen. She turned toward him. The hairs on his neck rose. His heart began to pound. His breath became fast. The image grew. Was she walking toward him? Did she want him, too?

  Roger stood up suddenly. Arnost blinked, and the queen was gone.

  "It's obvious!" Roger cried. "The kiss!"

  "Kiss?"

  "Of course the kiss." Roger moved from foot to foot, dancing in his excitement. "Think of all the stories that end with a kiss awakening a cursed beauty or healing a mortal wound."

  Arnost shook his head. "Those are just stories."

  "But," Roger said, raising a finger and tapping his bare chin, "don't you think that a kiss from the queen could possibly help?"

  "I . . ." was all Arnost could say. He had to think, and he was careful not to let the vision of the queen fill his mind. They had never touched. He had only seen. So many of his debauched dreams brought them to touch. Perhaps his mind was attempting to fill a void.

  "Perhaps," Arnost said, clumsily pushing his thoughts into words, "perhaps knowing her touch would be the end of it."

  "Exactly!" Roger clapped his hands once, and then the grin began to grow dim on his face. "Although . . . do you think you can win?"

  Arnost looked at him.

  Roger wrenched up his face. "No offense, milord! I just happened to think of the other knights, and while your skills are great, theirs . . ."

  Arnost ignored him. "If God wills it, I will win. For my part, I will give it my all."

  Roger's smile returned. "Then, sir, I must go polish your armor. I'll make it bright enough to blind your opponent!"

  "And I should go train. Perhaps Glowen's still out there. He's quick, a good sparring partner."

  Roger threw up his hands. "No, Sir Arnost, you've already trained all day! Your body will be weary! You must rest. Look, it's already turning to evening, and the king's dinner will be laid soon."

  Arnost turned toward the stable entrance. The yard was not as bright as it had been. The sun must have been setting beyond the castle wall. The farrier was brushing Arnost's warhorse, newly shod.

  "No," Arnost told Roger, "I will practice."

  Without another word, he moved back into the yard. The other knights were gone, leaving behind a harried pattern of boot-prints and a red stain in the sand where Odrick had fallen. While the men were gone, the dummies still stood on their pivots, ready to swing a wooden blade at anyone who struck their standing shields. Arnost plucked up an ironwood sword, gave a yell, and charged them one after the next. He did not quit until the yard became so dark he couldn't see the targets on their shields.

  In the king's hall, he ate meat and bread but drank little wine. The other knights whooped and cheered. Only King Walter's toast caused Arnost to raise his cup. When the food was gone, he did not stay to spin tales and laugh at the jesters.

  Arnost slept, but not as peaceful respite. He slept as a chore. Just as the sun slept and then burst at dawn to drive the night away, Arnost slept to become strong.

  He didn't awaken to dawn's light streaming in the window. He didn't awaken when the trumpets began to blow for competitors to gather on the tournament field. Roger had to shake him awake. Arnost washed only his face that morning.

  Roger stood beside him with a towel. "Are you well, Sir Arnost? Tournaments are dangerous enough at your peak."

  "I will fight anything to be rid of my wicked visions," he replied.

  By the time Arnost arrived, fresh from the dressing tent where Roger suited him in the armor that bearers had brought down in carts, the field was packed with warriors. Most were the king's knights, shining in the morning sun with their bold standards, newly repainted for show. A few were peasants, dressed in their ruddy tunics and armed with pitchforks or flails. The peasants parted as he came into the crowd until he hit the wall of men in iron. There he stood with Baub and Glowen.

  The knights were centered on Sir Lans
frick, who stood tall with his helmet under his arm and his yellow locks floating in the morning breeze. The other knights wore their helmets, shifting their eyes to see who hadn't shown up for the tournament. Orick's page stood with his boar's head flag atop a pole to mark his absence.

  "He's not dead then," Arnost mumbled. He changed his grip on his sword in one hand and his shield along the other arm.

  "No," Baub answered, his voice tempered by his helmet. "It'll be a long while before he fights again."

  "It'll be a long while before he speaks anything against the queen again," Arnost added.

  Glowen coughed. "It'll be a long time before he speaks any words."

  A roar rose up from the wooden risers full of spectators. Trumpets blared. Knights upheld their swords. Arnost followed suit, as did the peasants with their farming tools.

  King Walter appeared atop the royal stand. While the crowd sat in the sun, his wooden box was shaded with rich drapes and purple tapestries showing his bear standard. He waved and turned back with a hand extended.

  From the shadowy stairs at the back of the stand, Queen Adela appeared. Her hair was completely hidden, wrapped under a white cap fitted with her thin golden wreath of a crown. The white cloth covered her neck and extended down beneath her collar. Her gown was soft blue and covered with golden embroidery of the phoenix of her father's family. Only the fine features of her face showed.

  Arnost's armor seemed to strangle him. The air felt too hot to breathe.

  King Walter gave an address, but Arnost heard little of it. He tried to train his eyes on the ground before him, but they slid up again and again to the woman standing beside Walter.

  He stamped on his own foot and reminded himself, "She is your queen."

  At last Walter and Adela stepped back, trumpets sang, and people began to shuffle around Arnost. He took in a gasp of air. Suddenly he was awake.

  It was the Great Match, the first round of the tournament that would cut its number of competitors in half. Each man found a rival, and the two fought until one stood to continue in the games. Heavily armed knights hurried to grab peasants as opponents for easy victories. The peasants tried to scatter away from them or take hold of one another's shoulders, but inevitably they ended up paired against a hulk clad in steel. A few of the knights came against one another, ready to fight out their quarrels. Ornost's page forfeited and ran.