Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) (2 page)

The coliseum erupted with cheers as Ronan stood and staggered backward. He wanted to touch the shield surrounding Bryson just to confirm he’d won, but he didn’t dare.

With unhuman speed, three battle knights sped across the arena sand and surrounded the boys. The lead knight grabbed Ronan’s arm and raised it signaling him the victor.

Ronan removed his gloves and helmet and mopped away the sand and dirt smeared on his sweat covered face. Bouquets of flowers rained onto the arena floor as spectators showered him with appreciation for his hard earned victory.

The lead knight raised the visor of his golden helmet. Patron Tyrell, commander of the Order of the Shattered Heart and Ronan’s mentor, wore an uneasy expression on his face. “Congratulations Ronan.”

***

Ronan slipped on his leather boots, stood, and slammed shut the changing locker’s door. He gathered his soiled underclothing and hurled the stinking pile into a basket in the corner of the locker room.

The door to the citadel’s changing room opened, and Patron Tyrell slipped inside shutting the door behind him. The world’s foremost battle knight leaned against the closed door and crossed his arms.

“So you think Bryson let me win?” Without looking up, Ronan fastened the buttons at his wrist.

Tyrell paused a long moment before responding. “Yes. I think he lost on purpose.”

Ronan leaned back and shook his head meeting his master’s gaze for the first time. “Don’t hold back. I’ve got thick skin.”

“I’ve never lied to you Ronan. Would you prefer I start now?”

He waved off Tyrell’s explanation. “It’s okay. I agree with you. I haven’t earned the shard. Bryson deserves it.”

Tyrell eased onto the wooden bench next to Ronan, leaned forward, and sighed. “The shard doesn’t belong to Bryson. A knight conducts his life with honor and ethics. If I ever found proof he threw the match, by Elan’s law, I’d strip the shard from him by force if necessary.” He shook his head. “No, if he threw the match, he has no place in the Order.”

Ronan sat up and leaned forward staring at the rough wooden floor between his boots. “Did you see the archbishop shake his head toward Bryson?”

“Yes. That’s what bothers me most.”

“Do you know what I think?” He didn’t bother waiting for a response. “I think someone rigged this whole tournament.” Ronan kicked a towel near his feet, and his shoulders sagged. “I feel like a fool. Here I thought I’d earned each victory.”

The door to the changing room burst open, and Sir Alcott walked in with a smile stretched wide across his bearded face. “You’ve done it my boy. Congratulations!” Sir Alcott froze when he saw the dark expression on Ronan’s face “You do realize you’ve won right? What’s with the long faces?” He glanced between Tyrell and Ronan.

Ronan kept his head lowered. He didn’t want to celebrate a fraudulent victory.

Sir Alcott furrowed his brows and looked to Tyrell for an explanation. “Why is he sulking Patron?”

“Ronan has doubts about his victory. He believes Bryson may have thrown the match.”

“That’s ridiculous. Thousands of cheering citizens watched you win today,” Sir Alcott said.

“Bryson wanted to win. I could feel it,” Ronan said. “Something stopped him from finishing me. He played games with the crowd and wasted time taunting and posturing. He gave me a chance to recover.”

“That’s not what I saw. Bryson was overconfident. Pride and arrogance cost him the match. He wanted to humiliate you rather than finish it, and he paid the price.”

“I hope you’re right,” Ronan said.

“Trust me. I’m right. You earned every victory. Don’t let self-doubt ruin what should be the happiest moment of your life. When I won my shard, my opponent tripped over his feet, and I scored an easy win. You know what I did?” Sir Alcott paused waiting for an answer.

“What did you do Sir Alcott?” Ronan said.

“I celebrated. That’s what I did.” He let loose a short hard laugh. “Stop worrying and enjoy the day.”

“I appreciate you trying to cheer me up.” Ronan ran a hand through his hair. “But, I still have doubts.”

Sir Alcott leveled his gaze at Tyrell. “Patron, tell the boy I’m right.”

“There’s more to it I’m afraid,” Tyrell said.

A ripple of confusion spread across Sir Alcott’s face. “What aren’t you telling me?”

A light knocking came at the open door. Archbishop Merric Pride hovered at the threshold adorned in the white robes of his station and leaning on a solid silver cane. Behind him, a pair of shard knights stood flanking his left and right.

“May I come in?” Pride said.

“Of course you may Your Grace.” Ronan stood and bowed.

“Please Ronan. Sit. There’s no need for such formality. I just came by to offer my congratulations. You know I don’t approve of the fighting, but I’m glad it was you who came out victorious.”

“Please have a seat Your Grace.” Ronan offered his arm to the archbishop.

“Thank you Ronan. Your mother did a fine job raising you.” Pride took Ronan’s arm and eased into a high-backed sturdy maple chair in the corner of the small changing room.

Ronan found his seat on the bench next to Tyrell.

“You’ll have to excuse an old man from eavesdropping, but I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation as I came down the hallway. I’d like to understand Master Tyrell’s concerns.”

A flush of heat spread across Ronan’s cheeks. “Your Grace, it was nothing.” Ronan answered before Tyrell sparing his master the embarrassment.

Pride raised a hand. “Forget my station. Perhaps I can offer some counsel.”

Ronan searched Tyrell’s eyes before answering.

“Go ahead. Tell him the truth,” Tyrell said.

“Your Grace, this is awkward.”

Pride raised an eyebrow. “Please explain.”

“During the match, I saw you make eye contact with Bryson. You and he stared at each other for several seconds before you shook your head,” Ronan said. “After your exchange, Bryson gave up. He held his last strike over his head so long my dead grandmother could’ve avoided it.” Ronan’s palms began to sweat as he realized how crass the statement came out. “I’m sorry for that last bit Your Grace.”

“There’s no need to apologize. Are you finished?” Pride said.

“Yes sir. That’s what I saw.”

“You’re right.”

Ronan’s head jerked up, and his mouth fell open. “I’m sorry Your Grace?”

“I did make eye contact with young Master Bryson, and I did shake my head. However, I didn’t mastermind some grand plot to gain you one of Elan’s precious shards.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just-”

“I shook my head at the boy for two reasons. First, I wanted him to stop cajoling the crowd as well as taunting you. I found that rather distasteful. The second reason is that I didn’t want to see him hurt you. I can assure you, your victory came without my influence.”

Ronan slouched and dropped his chin to his chest as scarlet bloomed on his face. “Of course Your Grace, I don’t know why I doubted you, but I needed to be sure. I want the Order to accept me without any doubts. I don’t want any special treatment.”

“I understand. Perhaps Bryson is a superior warrior. However, as I heard Sir Alcott mention, his pride proved a far greater weakness than his ability with the blade. You earned the shard by exposing your opponent’s weakness just as Master Tyrell taught you. I think you’ll make a fine shard knight my boy.”

Tension drained from Ronan’s muscles, and a smile spread across his face. “Thank you Your Grace. I needed to hear that.”

Pride pushed against his silver cane and rose. “Treasure the gift you’ve earned today. Two millennia ago, Elan’s Orb shattered into one hundred and seventy-six separate pieces by those who would do Meranthia harm.” He reached over and squeezed Ronan’s hand. “Use Elan’s magic to protect Meranthia from those who would do her harm.” He shifted his weight to his cane. “Which shard did you win?”

“It’s the seventh enhancement shard Your Grace,” Ronan said.

“So you’ll take the mantle of battle knight.” A warm smile spread across his face. “I wish your father would’ve lived to watch you take the shard. He’d be proud of you today.”

“I’d love nothing more Your Grace,” Ronan said.

“But, you’ll have a fine master to further your training. Commander Tyrell is the greatest battle knight I’ve ever known. It’s too bad you didn’t earn a protection shard. I could’ve trained you in the art of shield magic myself.”

Sir Alcott shifted his stance. “I’ll stand by healing magic Ronan. A warrior that mends wounds while slinging a hammer makes a formidable opponent. It’s a blessed gift.”

Pride’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Yes Sir Alcott, Elan has blessed us all with his gifts. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to discuss details of your induction ceremony with the queen. Congratulations Ronan.”

Ronan bowed. “Thank you Your Grace. You’ve made me feel much better.”

Pride took Ronan’s hand and squeezed with a firmness surprising in the old cleric. “Good. That’s good. I’ll see you later this evening then.” He shuffled from the room with shard knights trailing him.

“I guess I overreacted,” Ronan said.

“I told you,” Sir Alcott said. “Let’s start celebrating. I’m going to check with Master McClaren on that shipment of ale for this evening’s feast.”

“Master Tyrell are you coming?” Ronan said.

Tyrell nodded and flashed a tight smile across his face. “Yes. Let’s go.”

The Queen

Ronan loosened the top button of his tunic as he padded along the thick carpet toward his room. He looked forward to an hour of quiet rest before the ceremony’s demands called for him.

As he reached for the brass doorknob, he froze. The knob twisted, and he jerked his hand backward jumping away from the door. He’d passed Mistress Pell not two minutes ago, and she’d made no mention of anyone waiting in his room. In a single swift motion, he slipped a steel blade from his boot and readied himself for combat.

The heavy oak door swung open, and a blue-eyed blond woman who could’ve passed for Ronan’s older sister stood framing the doorway. She glanced at the knife in Ronan’s hand and raised a single eyebrow. “Do you plan to use that knife on your own mother?”

Tension drained from Ronan’s body, and he slipped the knife back in his boot. “Most people knock first.”

“It’s a mother’s right to worry. I had visions of you lying unconscious in your room unable to speak. Now let me look at you.”

As she reached for his face, Ronan stepped away. “I’m fine mother. Sir Alcott looked me over himself.”

“Sir Alcott isn’t your mother. Now stop fidgeting.” She grabbed Ronan’s chin and moved his face in a slow arc inspecting every inch of exposed flesh. “How’s your back? That boy treated you like a criminal.”

“My back’s fine mother.” If he tried cutting short her inspection, she’d grow suspicious and call for a healer, so he held his tongue.

Arianne stepped back and inspected the rest of his body like a penny-pinching old maid sizing up a cut of sirloin. Satisfied, she stepped aside and allowed Ronan space enough to enter his room.

Ronan squeezed past his mother and slipped into his room. “I thought I’d see you after the match. I’m surprised you didn’t come down to the changing room.”

Arianne followed Ronan inside his room and shut the door. “I didn’t want to embarrass you. You’re almost a man, and I didn’t think you’d want your old mother doting on you in front of your classmates.”

“It’s okay. You could’ve come.” Ronan wanted to tell his mother what he’d seen pass between Bryson and the archbishop in the arena, but he didn’t want her to worry.

Arianne’s shoulders eased, and her eyes brightened. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek before embracing him in a tight hug. “Congratulations on earning your shard Ronan. I’m so proud of you.” She stepped back and held his gaze for a long moment.

“What’s wrong mother? Why’re you looking at me that way?”

“I don’t recall giving you permission to grow into a man. When did that happen?” Her eyes welled with tears, and she pulled free a handkerchief. “Your father would be proud of the man you’ve grown into. I’m sorry he couldn’t be here.”

Ronan’s chest tightened. He hated to see his mother in pain. “It’s not your fault. I’m just glad you’re here. I never knew him anyway,” Ronan said.

“Ronan, I need to speak with you about your father. I want to explain about his disappearance. It’s past time I told you. Come sit with me.” She led him to a small ornate couch near a large bay window that offered a spectacular view of the citadel, the arena, and Freehold’s sprawling skyline. A few stragglers lagged toasting the prince’s victory, but nothing stirred on the arena floor itself.

Ronan wrinkled his brow as he took a seat next to Arianne. “You’re worrying me mother. You don’t have to explain anything. Between Sir Alcott and Master Tyrell, I’ve filled in the missing gaps over the years. I’m no longer curious.”

Arianne’s eyes went wide. “What have they told you?”

Ronan let out a long sigh. “When you took over the throne after grandfather’s death, Meranthia was on the brink of war with Ayralen. You were pregnant, but hadn’t married. Master Tyrell said grandfather would’ve been furious had you told him.” He paused watching for any change in his mother’s expression. “Father’s unit disappeared patrolling the border near Ayralen. Tyrell told me he found the shard himself. He searched for days, but never found father or any other man in his unit.” He shifted in his seat. “If you’re worried that I won’t approve, don’t. I understand.”