The Knight: A Tale from the High Kingdom (29 page)

‘Thank you.’

‘See you soon, Lorn. Take care of yourself.’

‘See you soon, Alan.’

Lorn went straight back to the Black Tower.

That evening, ten magnificent steeds arrived from the Palace.

13

One morning, Lorn lined up his men for inspection in the courtyard of the Black Tower.

For the first time, all of them were wearing the black leather and chain mail armour the blacksmith had designed, with the emblem of the Onyx Guard – a wolf’s head and two crossed swords – over the heart. They were grave-faced, dignified and proud. Eriad tried to make a good impression alongside the others. Vahrd’s hand was still bandaged and his face marked by the blows he had suffered, but he stood up straight and his gaze was more determined than ever. Logan, impassive and gloved, was armed with his twin blades. Dwain held, resting upon his shoulder, a warhammer that an ordinary man would have found difficult to lift with both hands. Wearing a leather patch over his left eye, Yeras had a sword at his side and a Gheltish dagger in his boot. Liam bore upon his back the big sword that was his only possession.

Satisfied, Lorn turned to Daril who was approaching. The boy carried in his hand a bucket of paint in which a brush was soaking and a large piece of cardboard under his arm.

‘Are you ready?’ Lorn asked him.

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘Keep an eye open and don’t stray from us, all right? And if things really turn nasty, take refuge inside the dispensary.’

‘Understood.’

‘I promised Sibellus that nothing would happen to you if I took you into my service. Don’t make me a liar.’

They mounted the splendid steeds sent to them by Alan and crossed the lowered drawbridge, Lorn leading the way and Daril discreetly trailing, on foot, a few paces to the rear. Indeed, he was barely noticeable. Lorn and his escort of black riders attracted every gaze.

The armour and stern expressions of those wearing it were having the desired effect.

When they arrived, a crowd had already assembled in Elm Square, in front of Father Eldrim’s dispensary. It consisted of inhabitants of the district alerted by word of mouth. But Andara and ten of his militiamen were also present, standing back in the shadows beneath the elm trees that gave the square its name.

Lorn dismounted and knocked on the dispensary door.

While waiting for it to open, he turned towards the crowd and wondered how many of them were there out of sympathy for Cadfeld and how many had come to watch a new act play out in what looked to be a tragedy. For there had been several incidents in recent days between the militia and the Black Tower, and no one doubted that Andara would strike. The only question was where and when.

Aware of the danger Lorn was risking by exposing himself in this manner, his men remained particularly vigilant. Still in their saddles, Dwain, Eriad and Logan guarded the access to the porch. A few steps up, Yeras scanned the crowd with a slow gaze, a crossbow armed and ready in his hand. As watchful as the others, Liam and Vahrd were only a leap away from Lorn.

The door opened and Father Eldrim appeared, followed by Cadfeld on the arm of a nun. The old man was still a sorry sight despite the care he’d received and the time that had passed since he was beaten up. He had grown thin. His face was bruised and he walked with small footsteps, leaning on a cane. He seemed very fragile and all those who saw him were moved.

Cadfeld stood still for a moment on the porch, in full view of everyone, looking dazed and hesitant.

At that moment, in the midst of a great silence, someone applauded.

And then another.

And a third, a fourth, and a fifth.

And as the militiamen did not intervene, the applause spread, becoming stronger and more rapturous. Of course, it was for Cadfeld. But it also marked a longing for freedom, the stirrings of revolt. Not everyone clapped, but those that did so congratulated themselves on their daring; proud of their newfound boldness, they were sending a message to the militia.

Lorn knew it as well as Andara.

From on top of the steps, he exchanged stares with the leader of the militia over the heads of the noisy crowd that separated them. Andara could not see Lorn’s eyes. Just two dark rectangles that reflected the sunshine. However, he did not doubt that they were filled with a look of challenge. He clenched his jaw and balled his fists, trying to remain impassive.

Without taking his eyes off Andara, Lorn leaned to the side towards Father Eldrim.

‘Are you still determined to do this, father?’

‘I am.’

‘You can still back down.’

‘I know. Let’s do it.’

Lorn then gave a nod to Daril who was waiting at the bottom of the steps. The boy joined them on the porch and placed the sheet of cardboard he was carrying on the dispensary door. It was a stencil which he daubed with black paint in a few brushstrokes.

Curious, the crowd quietened down and soon saw the dripping drawing that remained on the door: two crossed swords whose meaning was obvious.

The Onyx Guard protected this house and those who dwelled in it.

Lorn spread his arms to demand silence.

‘Residents of Redstone! I am Lorn Askarian, First Knight of the Realm. Starting from today, in the name of the High King and by virtue of the powers he conferred on me, I offer you the protection of the Onyx Guard! All you need is to want it and to show that by tracing this emblem upon your door! These swords are ours! They will protect you and I defy anyone to oppose them!’

A shiver ran through his audience.

In a state of uncertainty, everyone turned towards Andara. Jostling elbows, craning necks, standing on tiptoe to see how he was going to react.

Standing completely still, the leader of the militia said nothing, his eyes flashing with anger. Then he gave a curt order and spun on his heels to stalk away, followed by his men.

The crowd watched him leave in humiliation without really believing it, before breaking out into sudden joy. There were shouts, bravos, laughter and cheers.

‘There,’ said Lorn with a grave expression. ‘War has been declared.’

‘I hope you know what you’re doing, my son.’

‘Andara will not dare to come after me. But be wary, father. He could come after you.’

‘The Unique will protect me.’

Once again, Lorn wondered how much of the absolute confidence shown by the black priest in the face of danger was due to true courage and how much to blind faith.

‘But don’t be fooled yourself,’ Father Eldrim continued. ‘These people are applauding and cheering now. They’re here in numbers and feel strong. They’re intoxicated by the moment. It’s giving them courage because it’s making them reckless. But then they’re going to return home. Alone. And they’re going to reflect. They will think of everything they have to lose and become afraid once more. They will tell themselves that you can’t protect them all, and they’ll be right.’

As Lorn said nothing, the priest turned towards him and insisted:

‘Won’t they?’

‘There’s no war without casualties, father.’

The noise in the square was so loud they could barely hear one another, to the point that Father Eldrim believed he’d misunderstood.

‘What did you say?’

‘I said you’re right, father. I can’t protect all these people from the militia. Or their families. Or their houses. Or their shops.’

‘Some of them are going to pay the price for their audacity today.’

‘Yes. Sooner or later, Andara will wreak revenge for the humiliation he just suffered.’

Containing a growing anger, the black priest stared at Lorn, who for his part stood watching the crowd.

‘And that doesn’t bother you?’

‘It’s inevitable. So I accept it.’

‘You accept it, but that doesn’t cost you much,’ the priest reproached him. ‘And it’s just too bad if innocent victims pay for your ambition. Because nothing matters more than the Black Tower, does it?’

Lorn forced himself to stay calm. He took in a deep slow breath and, after a silence, said:

‘Some priests, black priests like you, came to Dalroth once. They prayed a lot, said a few masses and heard the prisoners’ confessions. I remember one of them. An old man who had been a chaplain. He’d accompanied armies on campaign and was familiar with all the world’s horrors. Since he was asking me to confess my sins, I told him that the biggest sinners, at Dalroth, weren’t the prisoners, no matter what they may have done. Because I did not deserve to suffer what I endured there, every day and every night, father. And do you know what that old man told me?’

‘No.’

‘He told me that the sufferings and misfortunes inflicted upon us in this world did not matter at all. All that mattered was the salvation of my eternal soul.’

Lorn fell silent.

‘And … so?’ Father Eldrim asked hesitantly.

‘Take care of their souls,’ Lorn said, indicating the crowd with his chin. And turning to the priest, he lowered his spectacles slightly so that the other man could not fail to see the icy fire blazing in Lorn’s mismatched eyes. ‘Take care of their souls, and leave the rest.’

With Lorn at their head, the Onyx Guards escorted Cadfeld to the Black Tower, where it was agreed the bookseller would complete his convalescence. They installed him in an old shed they had fixed up and which Daril had furnished and prepared as best he could. There was a bed, a table, a chair, some books and a roof over four walls. It wasn’t much but Cadfeld could not hide his emotion when he entered.

‘Thank you,’ he said in a choked voice.

‘You’re at home here,’ replied Lorn, as Dwain helped the old man stretch out on the bed. ‘Naturally, you’re free to go wherever you like, but I advise you against leaving the Black Tower. It wouldn’t be prudent.’

Cadfeld grimaced in pain as he sat up while Daril slipped two pillows behind his back.

‘Believe me, knight, I’m in no hurry to face Andara’s men again. And I promise you I’ll resist the temptation to twirl about at the top of your scaffolding …’

Lorn smiled.

‘I was going to forbid precisely that,’ he said, standing back to allow Dwain to leave.

He thanked him with a nod.

‘A useless precaution,’ Cadfeld remarked ironically. ‘All you needed to do was take away my crutches …’

‘Good idea,’ said Lorn in all seriousness. ‘Daril, take Sir Cadfeld’s crutches and don’t give them back until I give the order.’

Dumbfounded, the boy turned towards Lorn with wide eyes.

‘Really, my lord?’

After a moment of silence the two men burst out laughing at the same time. Embarrassed but good-natured, Daril realised he’d been the butt of their joke and smiled.

‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘Off with you,’ Lorn said affectionately. ‘But come by regularly to see if anything’s needed here, understood?’

‘Yes, my lord.’

‘I thank you.’

‘You’ll soon be on your feet,’ Lorn promised the bookseller. ‘And then I can tell Daril to take away your crutches without you missing them.’

‘I hope so …’ said Cadfeld.

But it was clear that he did not believe he would recover any time soon, or completely. Lorn could see that and chose not to insult his intelligence by insisting otherwise.

‘Those crossed swords on the dispensary door,’ said Cadfeld. ‘Do you really believe that’s a good idea?’

‘It will be when more painted swords appear on other doors.’

‘If that ever happens.’

Lorn shrugged.

‘We’ll see. But I believe the people of Redstone are weary of the militia’s violent methods. With those crossed swords, I am giving them a way to say just that, without exposing themselves too much.’

‘As far as Andara is concerned, it’s a declaration of war.’

‘I know.’

‘You have six men under your command, knight. Andara has six times as many. At least.’

‘Yes, but I have this,’ retorted Lorn, displaying his signet ring. ‘And I have this tower and everything it represents.’ He smiled, sure of himself. ‘Besides, I doubt that Andara’s men will stand up to mine. Even at odds of six to one.’

Lorn saw a shadow pass over Cadfeld’s face.

‘What is it?’

The old man hesitated.

‘I … I’m not sure. But I think there is something you should know about Andara …’

That evening, Andara remained awake.

The day’s events had taken him aback. He knew that people would come out to support Cadfeld when he left the dispensary. Thanks to his informers, he’d also known that the Onyx Guards would be waiting for the bookseller to escort him and had therefore suspected that Lorn would use the occasion to put on a bold face. But he hadn’t foreseen the business of the painted swords and was forced to recognise the idea was a good one, in particular now that bloody priest had clearly shown himself to be on the First Knight’s side. That was going to give some people courage and a desire to rebel, no doubt about it …

Nevertheless, Andara wasn’t worried. Annoyed? Perhaps. And furious at having been publicly defied by Lorn, of course. But he held a trump card which he had not yet played and, upon reflection, it wasn’t such a bad thing if Lorn believed he was calling the tune. The killing blow that Andara would deliver when the moment came would be all the more formidable. He just had to wait for the right opportunity. Until then, he only needed to mete out a few punishments to dissuade people in the district from painting swords upon their doors. Lorn believed in symbols. Andara believed in brutality and fear.

Since he had an hour to kill that evening, Andara agreed to receive the young woman who presented herself at the inn where he had established his headquarters, and where he and his men relaxed and conducted their affairs. It was the wife of Redstone’s public scribe. And business was poor at the moment. The couple needed money and she had come to beg Andara for a loan her husband was too proud to ask for. Andara in fact made considerable profits from his moneylending and pawnbroking activities. Since the scribe’s wife was as pretty as she was shy and docile, he would derive pleasure from giving her the money she needed and content himself, this time, with coming in her mouth, despite her tears.

The young woman was still on her knees sobbing when Andara left her and went out of the inn. He smiled, his vanity swollen by having humiliated and subjected another ‘conquest’ to his will – and like the others, she would have to come back to pay off the interest. Lorn could never allow himself to do such a thing, nor could anyone else in Redstone. The militia chief alone enjoyed that power and as long as that remained the case, he had no cause for worry. The rest was merely speeches and handwaving.