Knight Fall (The Champion Chronicles Book 1) (22 page)

“Lord Neffenmark?” The king asked, surprised to see the fat lord so far from his home.

“Your majesty," Neffenmark said between gasps for air.  "I have urgent news.”

The king stood, straightening his loosely fitting tunic.  He had little time for this beast that he could barely call a man.  “I have a duty to attend.”  His voice was firm and he tried to keep emotion out of it.

“It cannot wait,” Neffenmark barked.

The king had started to turn, but turned back, his face reddening.  “Right now, unless the Thellians are marching on the gates of the city, there is nothing more important than the Summer Festival.  These young men will be the next knights of the realm.  They will be our protectors and saviors.  It is our day to honor them.”

“Sire, forgive me,” Neffenmark said, bowing as low as his large frame allowed.  “It is just…”

The king lifted a hand, and cocked his head as if listening for something.  “I do not hear the battle calls of the gate guards, so I must assume there is not an army banging on our front gate.  You may stay in the royal tent as my guest, but there will be nothing said until the festival is over.”

Lord Neffenmark let out a long, slow sigh.  “Yes, your majesty.”  The king turned and walked away.  The lord’s eyes narrowed and glared daggers at the back of the man whom he desired to conquer.

“Young squires!” the king shouted.  He had made his way out of the tent to the edge of the arena where all could see and hear him.  “Today is your greatest day.  Today you fight for your kingdom.  The winners shall revel in their glory.  But even the losers will be praised for their effort and honor in defeat.” 

Cheers erupted from the crowd.  With a hand, the king silenced them.  He continued, “Today we begin the Summer Festival where the warriors of the kingdom prove their honor and worth.  The greatest warriors in all the earth, the Knights of Karmon will show their skills in jousting and with the sword.”  He paused again, to let the crowd raise up and cheer.  After a moment, he lifted his hand and the crowd settled down.  “But first, those who would be knights, the squires who struggle and strive to knighthood will show their skills in battle.”

He turned to look over the gathered squires, dressed in old, used leather armor.  His eyes scanned the group until they fell upon Conner.  Conner caught the gaze and his heart sank.  The king, like the others, was disappointed in him.  Conner had one shot, though, to prove that he had not failed them at all.  He took the long, deep breaths that Goshin had taught him.  He needed to be calm and be prepared.  The edges of the king’s mouth seemed to curl up into what might have been a smile.  Then the head nodded down.  Just slightly.  Maybe it was his imagination or maybe it wasn’t.  Conner looked back towards where he had last seen Goshin.  The two broomstick handles were there, waiting for him.  The king’s gazed had moved away, as he scanned all the squires.  Conner casually moved to gather the broomsticks.

“You will not be judged by your victory alone,” the king said to the squires.  “Some of you will choose your opponent and some of you will be chosen.  Your choice will show your character.  Your bravery will be revealed.”  He gave one last long look to the squires while the crowd cheered once more. “I call upon the squire who has earned the first choice.  Hollin Bronnblade.  Step forward young squire.”

Hollin took a step forward from the rest of the squires and bowed low, bending at the knee so his forehead was just inches from the ground.

“Hollin Bronnblade,” the king continued.  “You have earned the honor of first choice.  Choose your opponent.”

Hollin rose and turned back to his fellow squires.  What they had gone through was just a formality, a show for the crowd.   Most of the opponents were already known.  Hollin had already told Squire Morgan that he would be chosen as his opponent, as Morgan was considered the second best squire.  Morgan would lose no honor by losing, and by making a good showing, he would gain even more honor.

“I choose my friend, Squire Morgan,” Hollin announced.  Morgan was taller than Hollin, but leaner and not quite as agile.  He had a longer arm reach, which made him dangerous.  But Hollin was still the superior swordsman. 

Trying to hide both a wide grin and his excitement, Morgan stepped forward from the front ranks of the squires and drew his sword.  Likewise, Hollin drew his sword.  The rest of the squires retreated away from the center of the ring, and the king started to back away.  But he stopped when he saw Conner moving forward.

Conner had wanted to try and bait Hollin into choosing him, but Goshin knew that Hollin would never fall to being intimated by someone he did not find intimidating.  So instead, Goshin had come up with a better idea.  Conner marched to the center of the field, and stood his ground in between the two squires.  His eyes were on Hollin when he addressed the king. 

“Your majesty," Conner said with a deep bow.  "As the Princess’ champion, I insist that I be given the first battle.  I have earned that right!”

Princess Elissa, completely unaware at the events that were unfolding was munching on an apple when she heard his voice.  Her heart jumped at the sound of it, and she dropped the apple when she saw him standing between the two squires.  But then she almost laughed along with the rest of the crowd, as he stood there not with swords, but with two broomsticks.  Anger and humiliation quickly followed.  She covered her eyes in shame.

Hollin was too stunned to speak at first, but he saw the broomsticks in Conner’s hands, he let out a loud whooping laugh, joining in with the rest of the crowd.  Morgan, unsure of what to take of the situation, simply stood to the side.

“Go away,” Hollin finally said after his laughter subsided.  But the crowd continued to laugh, hoot, and holler. 

Ignoring everything around him, Conner spun the broomsticks in his hands, as if they were swords.  They were slightly lighter than the swords that he normally used, but the weight was close enough.  He would actually be a little faster with them.  Cut to the exact the same length, the ends that he held with his hands were wrapped with leather strips, ensuring he had a strong grip.  He crouched into an offensive stance.

“If you want a fight, then a fight you shall have,” Hollin said, lifting his sword in a two-handed grip.

Conner looked at Morgan and smiled.  “You better get ready, because you are next.”

Conner had argued with Goshin about fighting them both at the same time, but Goshin insisted that surprise and speed will be on his side.  If he was quick enough, he would only really face one at a time.  Conner drew on Goshin’s confidence and attacked.

The king said nothing, only backing away from the fight.  But he did not need to take too many steps before it was over.

Conner was quick.  Too quick.  Everything that Goshin had taught him worked.  He trusted the instincts that he built up from his many training sessions.  Conner only had to dodge the first attack, which was clumsy and too powerful.   Easily stepping aside from the blow because he had only the lightest of leather armor on, Conner moved into Hollin, his elbow striking the squire in the gut, knocking the wind out of him.  A quick slash on the knee, and Hollin was on the ground, howling in pain and agony.

Conner moved to Morgan, who actually offered more of a challenge than Hollin.  Conner had to avoid the long reach of the taller squire.  The broomsticks held up enough to parry the first strike, and then Conner spun and danced, raining quick blows down upon Morgan, who could not defend himself.   The final blow was Morgan’s own fault, as he ducked into a quick strike, taking the full force of a broomstick across the side of his face.  He crumpled into a heap.

Conner stood in the center of the ring in silence.  Thousands of spectators had just witnessed a fight that their brains could still not process.  The king could only stare.  He had witnessed hundreds of battles and tournaments and had never seen such a demonstration.   King Thorndale looked from the two fallen squires, to Conner, and back again.  Hollin was on his back, still griping his knee, which had suddenly swollen up to twice its size.  Morgan was laid out flat on his back, his eyes closed, but his chest still moving up and down.  The king had seen broken bones, blood, and every few years a squire took one blow too many and did not survive the competition.  Many times they were accidents or just unfortunate circumstances.  Sometimes a squire was so outmatched that he just couldn’t protect himself.  But never had the best two squires in a given year been so badly beaten.

The crowd was still, but murmurs ran through it.  They didn’t know if they should cheer or boo.  The king didn’t know if he should be happy that his daughter’s champion was that good, or angry that two of his up and coming knights were humiliated.   After only the slightest of hesitations, he stepped forward and gripped Conner’s wrist, as was custom when announcing the winner of a competition.  With a wide smile on his face, he lifted the hand of the princess’ champion into the air and the crowd erupted in shouts and cheers.

With the crowd suddenly going crazy around her, Princess Elissa sat still, her mouth open wide, unable to say a word.  It had happened so fast, she could not be sure that what she really saw was what had happened.  But the two best squires were on the ground, defeated.  And Conner was standing there, her father lifting his arm into the air, announcing his victory.

Conner let the ruckus of the crowd lift him up.  No longer was he the peasant boy, he was Conner, the Princess’ Champion.  The king turned him towards the entire crowd, and then finally to the knights and squires who were lined up along the castle wall.  The knights were clapping their hands, following the lead of their liege.  Whether they were truly happy or not, no one could tell.  But they all put on a good show in support of Conner.  But the squires showed their opinions clearly on their faces and with their body language.  They stood still, uncomfortable in their displeasure at what they had just witnessed.  Two of their own were felled, and everyone was cheering it.  Their angry looks were directed right at Conner.  At least the knights had the maturity to keep their emotions to themselves.

Conner knew he would never be one of them.  His blood was not noble blood.  His father was not some wealthy landowner who had come about his money because his father’s grandfather’s grandfather was given a tract of land by a king whose name no one could remember.  But now he knew for certain that it didn’t matter.  He didn’t need to be one of them as long as he was who he was.  But he also didn’t want to be against them, either.  That would have to be his next task, to win them over.

The king turned him around so that all could see the victor.  The last turn had him facing the pavilion of the king and his court.  Princess Elissa was there, her hands covering her mouth, her eyes wide with surprise.  But his eyes didn’t fall upon her.  They fell upon the largest, fattest man he had ever seen.  His body swallowed up the chair he was sitting in.  His long, flabby jowls hung low and seemed to be permanently molded into a sneer.  He was also another of the crowd that was not cheering or clapping.

Chapter Seventeen

The king walked into his chamber tired.  He poured himself a tall goblet of sweet wine and drank deeply, soothing the ache in his throat.  A feeling of relaxation swept through his body and he let out a long sigh.  It had been a long day, but it was a time he thoroughly enjoyed.  Sitting next to his people made him feel close to them.  He could see their faces, hear the shouts, and share in the same fun.  They cheered when he cheered, and he cheered when they cheered.  For a short time, he was able to step away from the business of running his kingdom and be entertained.  A sharp knock on his door brought him back to reality.  Lord Neffenmark had insisted on meeting with him and the king knew he couldn’t put it off any longer.  He wanted it done and over with before he was expected at the ball.

"Come!" the king shouted.

The door opened and Lord Neffenmark burst through, huffing and puffing from the exertion of walking up the stairs to the king’s apartment. “Your majesty,” Lord Neffenmark said between gasps for air.

The king gave his lord a stern look and drank deeply from the goblet of wine.  “You have my ear,” the king said after setting his goblet back down on a nearby table.  “But only for a few moments.  The feast is in full swing and I will not miss the dancing.”

“I am sure they will wait for your return," Lord Neffenmark said, still trying to catch his breath.                                     

“And that would be rude of me,” the king replied angrily.  “I have many duties and obligations that go beyond telling everyone what to do.  The people of this city expect me to be out there, to join in the celebration.  So make this quick.”

“Very well, my king," Neffenmark said as honestly as he could muster.  He looked around for a place to sit down, but the only chair was on the far side of the room and the king was standing directly in front of him.  He cleared his throat and said, "Quite a show, huh?"

"Yes," the king said with clear impatience.

"That young squire.  That was quite a sight to see," Neffenmark added.

"Yes it was," the king agreed, crossing his arms in front of him.

"I didn’t think your knights were being taught such a..."  Lord Neffenmark paused to thoughtfully think of a word.  “…an elegant fighting style."

King Thorndale was still a bit in awe over what he saw.  Conner had surprised him as much as everyone else who saw his display.  But, as many knights had reminded him, he was not fighting a knight.  He was fighting an inexperienced squire who was clearly taken aback at a strange fighting style.  His best knights insisted that there was truly nothing special about the display and it would not be a style that would hold up in true combat.  Despite what he was told, his eyes told him a different story.  It happened so fast that he could hardly remember the whole fight.  Maybe there was something to this Conner boy after all. 

Turning back to Neffenmark, the king asked, "What is it that you want?"

Lord Neffenmark put on his best sour face, and lowered his eyes to the ground.  “It is news that I could not entrust with a messenger.  It is the gravest of news.”

The king waited patiently while Lord Neffenmark unwrapped a sword that had been tightly bound in a leather wrapping.  He approached the king and handed it to him.

“A sword?” the king asked.

Lord Neffenmark nodded and asked, “Do you not recognize it?”

“It is finely crafted, likely by Master Goshin himself," the king observed, casually turning it over several times to try and recognize its owner.

“It is the sword of a messenger that was traveling north," Lord Neffenmark finally said.

The king’s heart stopped.  He looked at it more closely.  It could have been Sir Brace Hawkden’s sword.  It was finely made with an intricate design on the hilt.  The leather wrapping around the grip was worn from use, but the blade was sharp and flawless.  “How did you come by this sword?” the king demanded with a loud, booming voice.  Any fatigue that he had felt was now gone.

“I have patrols throughout the forest," Neffenmark answered.  "They ride in groups of four as there have been more and more Thellians coming across the mountains looking to scout or spy, or to just cause havoc.  As the story was told to me, one of my patrols came upon a man fighting a group of Thellians.  One on five.  Before they could arrive to help, the man was felled and his body thrown into a deep gorge.  The patrol drove off the Thellians and when they scouted the area they found the swordsman’s weapon.  It is the weapon you know hold.”

King Thorndale held the sword in front of him, gripping it tightly as if he were about to use it.  Death was not unknown to him.  He had fought in many battles and had seen good men, close friends, fall in battle.  But they’ve had some semblance of peace for so many years, he forgot the pain of a friend’s death.

“The swordsman was described in detail,” Lord Neffenmark said softly.  “The description reminded me of someone.”  He paused, allowing the king to gather his thoughts for the lie that he knew would come.  “Was it really your Knight Captain, Sir Brace Hawkden?”

The king would not lie, but he also knew that there was a limit to the information that he was going to reveal to Lord Neffenmark.  He was in pain, but his wise mind still spun quickly and sharply.  “Yes, it was," the king replied.

“I do not wish to pry at such a moment, but I have to ask why he was in the mountains, heading north towards Thell.”  Neffenmark tried hard to keep a smile from spreading across his face.  He knew he had trapped the king and he was about ready to pounce on any lie or deceit that was spoken.

“He was carrying a message for me,” the king said.  He surprised himself for being so forthright.  “Lord Neffenmark, I have been communicating with the Thellian king for some time.  I have been trying to arrange a peace agreement with them.”

“Sire!” Lord Neffenmark exclaimed with a loud, surprised shout.  He knew why Brace was there.  He just had not expected the king to admit it, so his surprised response seemed genuine.  “They are our sworn enemy, how could you!  And behind our back!  Who else is in this with you?”

King Thorndale tried to keep himself from getting angry.  He tried not to let his past experience with Lord Neffenmark affect him.  Calmly, he answered, “I am the king.  I do not need to ask permission for anything I do.”

“But I am on the front lines.  If there was to be an invasion, it would be my land, my men, my villages who would be attacked first.  Do you not think that I should be kept abreast of what is going on?  Especially when it directly affects me?”

The king stood up, standing as tall as his aging body allowed.  With as firm a tone as he could muster, and without showing anger, he replied, “Peace affects all of us, Neffenmark.  It is this response of yours that demonstrates why I kept this a secret.  Our kingdoms have been at war for as long as there has been a history.  But for the past few years, conflict has settled down.  It is time for us to meet together and try and at least be civil.  I am not asking for us to be friends, but for us to at least exist together without fighting.”

“It seems your message is falling on deaf ears,” Lord Neffenmark replied dryly.  “The Thellians who attacked your man, they were not just mountain raiders trying to make trouble.  They were described to me as soldiers, clad in armor and bearing the crest of the king himself.  Maybe your message was not to their liking.  They have never liked us.  They are jealous of us.  We have fertile land, while they can barely harvest enough food for themselves.  We have grand castles and gardens, while their cities are dirty and smell of garbage.  They have led you to your demise.  I can only guess that they are gathering their army and getting ready to invade as we speak.”

“I have brokered peace,” King Thorndale said firmly.

“You have brokered nothing!” Lord Neffenmark shouted back, sensing a chink in the king’s kingly armor.  “They slaughter your emissary, the one who delivered your message of peace.  And you can still not see through it all?”

The king was speechless.  For a moment, his anger was about to boil over at the tone that Lord Neffenmark was using with.  But the words somehow sunk in.  They actually made sense.  There could be no other explanation for Brace’s demise.  It had to be deceit.  Their king had promised him peace, while he was preparing his own kingdom for war.  After a long silence of contemplating Lord Neffenmark’s words, the king said, “We must gather the counsel of the lords."

“And then it will be too late," Neffenmark replied calmly.  "With your knights and my army, we can field enough men on the battlefield to deliver a severe blow to them.  But only if we act now and attack before they march through the mountains.  And while we march, the other lords can build up the army so that we can finally drive a stake through their heart!  We must attack now!”

The king was silent as he gathered his robes and sat back down upon his plush chair.  He looked around him, at all that he had.  There was not a luxury or a desire that he could not obtain.  His walls were draped with tapestries purchased from merchants that had traveled thousands of miles to deliver them.  He drank from finely wrought goblets, filled with the finest of wines.  There was not a day that went by that he was hungry or even thought of eating.  His attendants were constantly putting food in front of him.  He did not have the unlimited wealth of the emperor, but it felt like it.

And yet, for all that he had, he could only focus on the one thing that had eluded him and those that had come before him.  True lasting peace.  It was true that they were not currently actively at war, but there was always the threat of it.  Until recently, not a season went by without a messenger from the mountains describing a Thellian raiding party sweeping through one village or another, terrorizing the villagers, stealing whatever they could carry.  Rarely were the raids truly violent, but on occasion, innocent lives were lost.

But he had done it.  He had brokered peace.  It had been almost six months since he had last heard of a raid.  The Thellian king was doing his part.  The words of their communication had always been sincere.  He had to believe it.  But now, there was this.  His messenger.  One of the greatest knights who had ever lived killed by treachery.  His confusion and shock slowly morphed into anger.  He became hot under the collar as he thought more and more about the Thellians and their lies and deceit.

Lord Neffenmark did all he could to not smile.  He could see the change in the king.  It was time for him to add fuel to the fire.  “Sire, I acknowledge that we have not always been in agreement.”

The king looked up, wanting to respond, but he could not find the words.  Not being in agreement was a true understatement.  But he let Lord Neffenmark speak.

“We have had our differences, but I have always been loyal to the kingdom and to your rule,” Lord Neffenmark said slowly, as if he were choosing his words carefully.  But in reality, they were words that he had spoken in his head many times over the past few days.  “But regardless of those differences, we must work together.  You as the leader of the kingdom, and me as your humble servant.”  He lowered his eyes, and then his head in dramatic fashion.  “I have not always treated you as such, and for that I beg your forgiveness.  But the past few days, with the threat of the Thellians upon us, I have come to realize the need for your strong rule and leadership.  We are a small kingdom, but we have great men all around us.  The Knights of Karmon could stand against any army.  We have wealth greater than nations many times our size.  This city is the grandest that I have ever seen.  We live and thrive as a kingdom because of strong rulers like yourself.  But that means that others will be jealous of us, and we must be willing to fight for what we have rightfully earned.”

The king, still seething with anger from the thought of the treachery of the Thellians, did not realize how powerful his emotions were, and how dangerous they were.  Riding the wave of those emotions, he said, “I accept your apology, and hope that we can finally work together to rid the world of the Thellians.  At first light, I will send messengers throughout the kingdom to call the men of the kingdom to arms.  But in the meantime, the festivities are making their way to the great hall where the dancing and merrymaking is going on without me.  We will have one last night of celebration before I shall call the knights together and we march northward.”

The king straightened his robes, puffing out his chest, and let out a long, slow sigh.  “Lord Neffenmark, we will prevail once and for all.  Shall we proceed to the great hall?”

“Your majesty,” Lord Neffenmark said with one last bow.  "You must excuse me as I need to get back to my castle as soon as possible. If my men are to join yours on the battlefield, I do not have a moment to spare.  Plus," Lord Neffenmark added with a smile.  "Dancing really is not my thing."

***

Conner walked through the shadows of the courtyard.  The sounds of the celebration echoed all around him.  It was a mumbled mess of sound from the laughter and shouting of merrymaking to the stringed instruments playing their music.  He wasn’t interested in joining in the fun.  Dancing certainly wasn’t something that he wanted to attempt.  Watching through the open doors of the great hall, he could see the nobles and knights and squires spinning and moving about the floor.  He tried to follow the moves, but they did not make any sense to him.  But it was clear that they had all worked hard on it, as they all moved in unison.