Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (3 page)

He knew what would happen next. In seconds, he would feel the steel of his enemy's sword pierce his armor and then his chest. He lifted his sword for protection against the vertical slice, but the edge of the warrior's blade burst through his resistance and into his breastplate. The impact of the blow on his body seemed to force the last of his strength from him. His end was near.

Bentley froze as the warrior lifted his sword high above him for a final downward thrust. His physical exhaustion did not diminish his fear
of death in the least. But just as the tip of the warriors sword began its plummet, Bentley heard an unfamiliar yell and watched a wide arcing blade slice across his enemy's torso from behind.

Screaming in pain and frustration, the warrior recoiled and turned on his unknown assailant. Bentley's strength immediately returned, and he rolled away, quickly finding his feet. The warrior was now heavily engaged with a new adversary, one Bentley had never seen before.

Bentley chanced a quick glance about him and realized that four other knights had joined their cause against these massive warriors of destruction. Another glance filled him with shock as he recognized their insignia.

Followers!

The newcomers bore the unmistakable mark of the Stranger. This was the enemy Bentley and his comrades had set out that morning to engage. Yet these men were fighting to save their lives.

Bentley brought his sword to bear along with his unexpected ally against the dark warrior, who was now wounded and searching for an avenue of retreat. Together, they forced the warrior into flight and joined the remaining knights in vanquishing their foes.

When the tips of the swords slowly settled to grassy harbors of rest, only one man had fallen. Bentley and another Noble Knight went to him and began removing his breastplate, for the wound was serious. The other men stood breathing heavily as the rush within their bodies subsided.

Bentley looked up in gratitude toward the man who had wielded sword to help him. “Thank you for your help. We've never faced such men before.”

The Follower nodded in the direction the enemy had fled. “We have. They are enemies of the King.”

“As are ye,” came York's voice from behind. “Drop yer swords.”

Bentley looked up incredulously. “But these men—”

“—are our enemies,” York repeated. “They'll be imprisoned.”

The four Followers looked stunned, then slowly stepped back and away once they determined the burly knight was not bluffing.

Bentley jumped to his feet. “They just saved our lives!”

“Then they be fools as well,” York spat. “Disarm them!”

The other knights looked at one another and then at Bentley. Bentley met their eyes, then knelt back down to his fallen comrade. The delay allowed the Followers to separate themselves, and they ran into the trees of the valley.

“After them!” York commanded.

“Sir!” one of the older knights exclaimed. “Nordan is down and needs immediate treatment. We either help him, or we chase the Followers and let him die—you choose!”

York's eyes burned with fury, and in that moment Bentley fully discerned how deep York's contention with the Followers lay.

It was a moment that set his mind on a different course.

THE METTLE
OF A MAN

Bentley stepped onto the terrace and sat on the decorative stone rail of his family's manor. He looked out over the entire southern half of Chessington—a breathtaking view. The setting sun glimmered off the Great Sea in the distance, its fiery colors reflecting the autumn splendor of the wooded areas that bounded the city. Bentley thought it all looked like some splendidly painted canvas. This was his favorite place to come and think.

Although Bentley had many friends, he often preferred to be alone. Their infatuation with frivolous parties and girls mostly annoyed him. He often felt peculiar and wondered if any of his friends ever had thoughts like his—thoughts about purpose, adventure, truth, the King, and… this mysterious Stranger who seemed to be tearing the kingdom apart.

He had always thought his destiny was to follow in his father's footsteps. Besides serving as a Noble Knight, Sir Barrington ran a prosperous trading business. His success as both a Noble Knight and an honest merchant had won him the respect of the entire city. Bentley was quickly learning his father's trade and had discovered that he too had a gift for
turning opportunity into honest profit. But such success was far from Bentley's first priority—thanks to his parents’ hard work and example.

Thirty years ago, Barrington had married Lady Deonne, a lovely young woman from another prominent Chessington family. But for years, in spite of all their wealth and social standing, life had withheld from them what they wanted most—children. Their deep love for each other hadn't seemed complete until Bentley was born. In time they had come to see his delayed arrival as a blessing, for they had watched many of Barrington's fellow knights allow the prestige and power of their position to ruin their sons’ and daughters’ potential. Barrington and Deonne were determined not to let that happen with Bentley. Raising a young man of integrity, unspoiled by affluence, had been their mutual goal. And while Bentley had occasionally chafed at their discipline, he now understood they had given him the gift of freedom—the freedom to be his own man.

If he could just figure out where that freedom was taking him…

“Have you ever wondered how something so beautiful could exist?” Lady Deonne's soft voice floated from the terrace doors behind him.

Bentley stood and took a deep breath, as if to fill his mind and soul with the peace of the moment. “All the time,” he answered without taking his eyes from the serene cityscape.

Lady Deonne walked up behind Bentley and put her arm around his waist. Bentley placed an arm around his mother. Her dark brown hair was slowly yielding to wisps of white. She had given Bentley his bright blue eyes and the gentle curls in his sandy hair. His square jaw and broad shoulders were gifts of his father.

“You know, son, moments like these are most appreciated with a beautiful young lady beside you.”

“That's fortunate.” Bentley smiled at his mother. “I have one right here.”

Deonne laughed and gently jabbed his ribs. “You know what I mean. Lady Fione and I were talking the other day—”

“Mother, I am not interested in Merivale.”

“Don't you think she's beautiful?”

“Of course, but I… I have other things to do. Besides, I don't think someone like her would be interested in me.”

“Why in the kingdom not?” Deonne leaned away from Bentley to look into his eyes.

“Because she's so… so… pretty.”

Deonne laughed again and put her hand to her son's chin. “Have you looked in a glass lately, son?”

Bentley shook his head. He walked to the corner of the terrace and lifted his foot onto a marble bench. The sun was nearly set, but the purple and orange colors dancing off the evening clouds were brighter than ever, and the beauty drew him once again to thoughts loftier than romance.

“What's all of this for?” he asked his mother.

“All of what for?”

“This.” He motioned to the manor behind him, then to Chessington, the Great Sea, and beyond. “Am I here simply to be a Noble Knight, chase radical peasants about, marry some maiden, accumulate wealth, and die an old man in Chessington? Is that really what life is all about?”

Deonne was silent. Bentley didn't often express such thoughts out loud, but recently he had seemed overwhelmed with them.

“I'm sorry, Mother.” Bentley turned to face her. “You and Father have given me everything a young man could ever hope for, and I am so grateful to you both. It just feels like there's something bigger out there. Something… purposeful. And I—”

“Here you two are.” Barrington strode out to join them on the terrace. “I should have known my two dreamers would be on the terrace with the sunset.”

“You're just in time, darling.” Deonne walked to her husband and gave him a quick kiss. “I think our son has some questions for you. I
need to see to the servants.” She smiled sweetly over her shoulder as she exited the terrace.

Barrington walked to Bentley and looked out over the stunning scenery. “Magnificent!”

Bentley just nodded.

Barrington sat beside him on the rail. “What's on your mind, son?”

Bentley looked at his father. “Tell me about the Stranger, Father.”

Barrington gazed at his son and then out to the Great Sea in the distance.

“We have never really spoken of Him, and yet my whole mission now as a Noble Knight is to eliminate His Followers. I need to know, Father. You have taught me to be a man of honor, yet I am being asked to imprison and possibly kill men and women for reasons I don't know or understand. The closer I come in contact with these Followers, the more difficult I find it to carry out my mission.”

Barrington gazed at his son, and his countenance of grave concern troubled Bentley further.

“I've heard Kifus and York speak of the great danger these people pose to the kingdom. But for the life of me, I cannot see it. They never attack us, just defend themselves against us. I've never seen them steal, nor rob, nor treat anyone unjustly, and they seem to do good works among the sick and the poor.”

Barrington sighed. “It's complicated, son. There are many perspectives to consider.”

“But what of Sir Gavin, Sir Demus, and the others?” Bentley could not restrain the intensity with which he spoke. “What of you, Father?”

Barrington's eyes widened in surprise.

Bentley wondered if he had offended the older man, but there was no turning back now. He spoke quietly but intently through the falling darkness. “I have seen the doubt in my own heart also in the eyes of my father, a man who has taught me to seek the truth.” Barrington winced
as his son continued. “I cannot silence the voice that keeps calling my name. I believe it to be the voice of truth.”

Barrington could take no more. He stood and paced to the opposite side of the terrace. After a long silence he turned toward Bentley. “I watched them question the Stranger,” he said quietly. “I watched as they executed Him and felt my soul tear in two. I watched men greater than I sacrifice everything to follow Him.” Barrington's eyes glistened.

“I remember. I was just a boy and you tried to keep me from it all, but my friends told me of it. And I saw that it changed you.”

“It did,” Barrington said solemnly.

“I didn't know what to believe then, and I still don't.”

Barrington gazed deep into his son's eyes. “Nor do I, son.”

Bentley looked out to where the last edge of the setting sun hovered on the watery horizon. “These Followers have a passion beyond what I see in the Noble Knights, and I can hardly bring myself to fight them.”

Barrington stared hard at Bentley. “Consider your heart carefully, son, for there is much to lose. Don't forget that we took an oath.”

“And what shall be more justly considered, the oath of a man or the truth of a King?” Bentley paused. “What if the Stranger really was—?”

“I'd rather you not finish that question.” Barrington held up his hand. “Though we are father and son, still, it borders on treason.” Barrington's hard stare eased, and a smile crossed his lips. He slowly nodded his head. “You have truly become a knight who is noble, and I am proud. The answer to that question will surely test the mettle of a man.”