The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1) (7 page)

Lawrence and Benni immediately stood to back her up as the two hooded individuals came between them and Phillip.

“Miss Elsie has made her feelings known, Phillip,” Lawrence shouted. “I think you should leave, now!” He motioned to the door of the pub.

“Why don’t you take your father’s money and leave, Phillip?” Benni added, being restrained by one of the hooded associates. Where Lawrence was calm but stern, Benni was brash and bold. He had never been one to back away from a skirmish, often choosing to fight first and own up to consequences later.

Razzius just stood against the wooden pillar, resting his back against it. He sipped his milk. He didn’t really want to add fuel to the fire, but then again, he didn’t really care much for Phillip either. After a few more rounds of name calling and bashing by the others he spoke cold, calculated words to Phillip:

“So you’re Phillip Arcel Galexia, are you? I’ve heard you called so many things. For instance today a fellow trainee told me you were, oh how did he put it again?” Razzius was thinking on it for a moment, enjoying this opportunity to toy heavily with Phillip’s ego. “Oh yes, he called you ‘pompous.’ But that wasn’t the best one, no, no, no. The best one was Lady Elsie herself telling us tonight that she would rather come here to the Silver Shield, and spend the night hanging out with the ‘local trash,’ than ever spend another day with you.” Razzius’ words were like daggers, piercing not skin, but Phillip’s unscathed ego. Razzius glared at Phillip, making his comments even more condemning and hateful.

Phillip was at the breaking point. He couldn’t tolerate this assault on his character any longer. Phillip reached under his overcoat to produce a longsword. The blade hissed as he pulled it from its scabbard. The bards stopped playing their music. The entire crowd fell silent at the sight of the weapon as Phillip waved it at Lawrence, then Benni, and finally Razzius. “Do not push my patience, trainee.” He pointed the sword directly at Razzius and sneered, “I will not be judged by the likes of some alley trash.”

“Phillip, stow that sword before you hurt yourself. Sora forbid that Arcel gets word of his son stabbing himself with his own sword.” Benni began to laugh at Phillip, who in his frustrated state had nicked his finger.

Phillip sucked the blood from the small gash and looked back at the three friends. “Do not misunderstand, gentlemen; I am not here to negotiate. I am here to
take
what is mine!”

“She will never be yours, Phillip!” Lawrence boomed, louder than he had been all night. Phillip always brought out the worst anger in Lawrence. Even now, he was having a difficult time controlling his emotions. Even though deep down Lawrence wanted to know why his father had left, he knew that would mean Elsie discovering some deeply personal demons as well. By his count, he and Phillip had both confirmed the rumors that Flint did in fact accept some form of bribe years ago, and now it would appear that it was for his own daughter’s hand in marriage. Lawrence could only imagine the turmoil brewing in Elsie’s heart right now as he stood there defending her honor, in the hopes of calming this maelstrom.

Phillip pointed his sword directly at Lawrence, and as he was about to say something a voice thundered through the crowd, “There will be no weapons used in this pub! Stow that weapon immediately, young man!”

The group turned toward the voice to see the bartender approaching them with an angry look on his face. Phillip turned his sword at the bartender. “Shut up, bartender, get back to your post and do not interfere in my business!”

The man smiled as he approached Phillip. His chestnut eyes glimmered in the candlelight. He made a few motions with his hands under his brown robe and as he did, Phillip’s sword handle began to glow a bright red. The heat of the handle singed Phillip’s hand. Phillip dropped the sword immediately; it clattered harmlessly to the ground.

“What the hell is that? Who did that?” Phillip asked in disbelief.

“Like I said, there will be no weapons used in this pub.”

“Why don’t you mind your own business, barkeep?!”

“I am minding my own business. You are in my pub, and in my pub everything that happens is my business. If someone orders a drink, it is my business. When someone cries on my shoulder, it is my business. When someone comes in here waving a sword around demanding his woman return home with him…it is my business! So if you wish to fight like a bunch of dogs growling over who gets to eat the last scraps of meat, then by all means, go right ahead. But do it outside! Now if you boys want to settle this in the pub, then I suggest we do it like we used to when I was your age.” A huge smile crossed his face. He was older than all of them, but couldn’t be much older than twenty-five or twenty-six.

An intrigued look came across Phillip and Benni’s faces as they both listened intently.

“Boys, when I was your age we settled our disputes right here in this pub. It didn’t matter what it was, we settled it here and we left it all on the table.” The truth was that the man had only ever been in one fight in his entire life, and it wasn’t in this pub. The man wasn’t originally from Haile; he was born in the woods to the south and for most of his life, had spent it secluded away from anyone outside of his family.

“The table?” Lawrence asked, his interest now piqued as well.

The bartender looked back at the bar and shouted, “Annabell, bring ‘em out here!”

The group could see a young woman behind the bar struggling to carry over multiple mugs of brew at once. Her hands fiddled and danced as she attempted to juggle five or six mugs at a time. After multiple trips, and spilling more than one or two brews, she finally loaded the table in front of them with twenty frothy mugs. It was the most any of the boys had ever seen at one time, and even Benni was a bit hesitant to ask what these would be used for.

A crowd of people began to gather around them, and as they did, the bartender continued his explanation, “We drank on it boys! We would have competitions to see who could drink the most and then still manage to say something, or do something out of the ordinary. It was easier than always resorting to violence.” He put one hand on Razzius’ shoulder and one hand on Phillip’s, whose face soured upon contact. “So how about it, boys, do you think you can settle this dispute with a good old-fashioned drinking contest?”

The question hung in the air for a moment as they all struggled to decide the fate of their evening. Would they go outside and beat the living daylights out of each other, or would they settle things over a pint?

Suddenly, Benni stood up and broke the intense silence, “Phillip Arcel Galexia, I challenge you!”

“Me?” Phillip asked in disbelief that he was being called out.

“Yes, you, Phillip! I challenge you to drink more than me. And if you win, Elsie here will return home with you. However, if you lose, you must leave and never come back to the Silver Shield, ever!” Benni could see Elsie shoot him a dirty look; yet another man had just used her as a bargaining chip. Benni was a seasoned drinker and accustomed to having one too many. Sometimes, Benni felt more like a brawler than a Knight.

“You would challenge me to a drinking match?” Phillip asked menacingly. “Do you even know how to drink, boy? Sure you have had a few brews in your time but have you ever had Green Bryre Ale?” Green Bryre Ale was famous for being the most potent brew in all of Veronicia, but Phillip had never tried it either. “Why just last week I drank twenty three of them back to back without stopping, and then proceeded to walk home without missing a step. It would be a true miracle for you to even finish one brew in the time it takes me to down ten of these imposters. I would say that-”

Benni cut him off by snapping his fingers in front of his face. “Are we going to drink or are you just gonna sit there talkin’ about it?”

“I accept your challenge. What are the terms?” Phillip demanded to know.

“First one to finish ten brews and recite the Hailian Knight’s Oath wins.”

“Agreed, and when I win,” he turned to Elsie and shot her a piercing gaze, “you will come home with me!”

Ten mugs of brew were placed in front of each of them as the two stared each other down one last time.

Benni’s eyes were locked onto Phillip’s; he never broke his gaze, like a lion about to pounce on his prey. They heard only the voice of the bartender as the crowd’s frenzy became but a murmur to them.

“Three…”

Benni could feel his hands clenching the mug of brew tighter and tighter as he prepared to face off with Phillip, whose hands shook as he gripped his mug.

“Two…”

The tension between the two could be cut with the dullest knife, and Benni could see a bead of sweat form on Phillip’s forehead, signifying his concentration.

“One…”

Benni closed his eyes for a moment as if to taunt Phillip one last time before the two would go to alcoholic war with each other.

“Drink!”

Phillip immediately raised a mug to his lips, took a huge gulp, and polished off a Silver Stout in mere moments. Benni just sat there staring at him. More beads of sweat formed on Phillip’s forehead. Benni took a simple sip of his brew, never breaking eye contact with Phillip. Phillip had just consumed his second stout while Benni had thus far taken only one sip. Phillip could feel the tension become even tighter between the two as he finished off his third brew mere seconds later. A puzzled look crossed his face as he stopped drinking.

“Benni, are you going to drink that stout or nurse it until morning?!” He laughed smugly and slammed his hand against the redwood table and picked up his fourth brew and downed it in one gulp.

Benni closed his eyes again and sighed. When he reopened them, Phillip could sense a raw willpower coming from them. Benni’s eyes gleamed with a determined resolve. He proceeded to pick up his first mug and finish it off, setting it in front of Phillip. He reached for a second brew, quaffed it, and placed it defiantly in front of Phillip. Phillip’s eyes bulged wide with amazement as Benni drank his Silver Stouts, one after the other, and placed the empty mugs in front of Phillip. After Benni had finished all ten of his drinks, in the ultimate act of embarrassment, he then grabbed Phillip’s remaining six brews, brought them to his side of the table and proceeded to drink them, slamming the empty mugs down on Phillip’s side. After finishing his sixteenth Silver Stout, Benni stood, placed his hand in the air, and stated without hesitation:

“I am a Knight of Haile. I am strong. I am a force for justice. When evil enters my lands I stand up to it and lay down my life for my people. I serve the light of Sora and seek to spread it throughout the lands. Where evil breeds I seek to vanquish darkness with my longsword that acts as a torch to dispel the shadows. I am Honor. I am Courage. I am Loyalty. I am a Knight of Haile.”

The crowd roared in elation as Benni collapsed in his chair, victorious and drunk. He shot Phillip a smug look of defiance. Phillip could feel the anger boiling inside his soul. He sneered intently at Benni. Phillip did not glance at Elsie; he couldn’t with his hurt sense of pride. Phillip had lost. Silently, he rose from his seat, nodded to his two associates, and marched out of the Silver Shield.

The crowd continued to cheer as Benni sat in silence, smiling and reveling in his victory. In all of the noise and excitement Lawrence had failed to notice that Elsie had taken her leave. He looked around the pub to see if she had walked up to the bar, but she was nowhere to be found. Lawrence knew why too. She wanted to know the truth about Mayor Flint’s dealings with Phillip’s father.

Lawrence felt a hand grip his arm tightly. He looked down to see Benni’s glazed eyes on him.

“Lawrence…Lawrence! I need you to help me get home. My mom is going to kill me!”

There were copious different emotions going on in Lawrence’s heart at this moment; he didn’t know whether to help Benni, or to go after Elsie. He decided for the time being that he needed to help his fellow Knight Recruit and get him home safely. He put one of Benni’s limp arms around his neck and lifted Benni out of his chair. He was soon joined in the effort by Razzius. The three boys slowly made their way to the outside of the Silver Shield. They stopped a moment to reposition Benni’s body.

“Lawrence, do you think you can help Benni home by yourself?” Razzius asked shyly with his head down. “I’m just not feeling all that well. I am afraid I won’t be ready for training in the morning if I don’t get some rest.”

“I guess so,” Lawrence replied, wishing that he had Razzius there to help carry Benni home. “I can manage; go take care of yourself. I hope you feel better for training tomorrow.”

“B, b, bye, Razzius. Have a good…night!” Benni slurred as he swayed his left arm in the air while his right was draped over Lawrence’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Lawrence. I appreciate it,” Razzius said apologetically, hating to leave his friends.

Taken too soon, and missed always

- Epitaph, Tombstone of Elena Grimm

Razzius parted with his friends and frantically raced down the cobblestone streets. He panicked as he got closer to his house, beads of sweat forming on his brow, despite the cool breeze blowing from the east. He had gotten caught up in the excitement of Phillip and Benni’s drinking challenge and had stayed out later than he was supposed to.

Razzius’ small house sat alone, just at the back of a narrow, lonely alley. His was the only inhabited house on that side path, tucked neatly past some abandoned shacks, quaintly against a hill. He grew up an only child, his only playmate the looming hill that overlooked his home. His early life was filled with sadness. His mother died during his birth, and this grieved his father so much that Wurn rarely smiled at his son. He was happy to have met Benni and Lawrence at the market early in life because he had no other friends his own age. He had spent countless hours playing with Benni and Lawrence, at their houses, at the market, in the woods, that he lamented going home. He dreaded that eerie, silent walk down the alley, away from the hustle and bustle of town, away from his friends.

But he traveled it every day. There were no torches to light his path as there were on the main streets of Haile. He was accompanied only by his own thoughts. The way the alley led past deserted buildings to his front door had become hauntingly familiar, even strangely comfortable. But not tonight. Even in his haste he noticed how the enchanting full moon’s pale glow outlined the silhouette of his house, with the enormous, intimidating hill behind it. The house’s door sat still, ominously beckoning him inside. He could hear the brisk wind howl through the alley, clattering into and through the decaying siding of his home.

The front door creaked open, ushering him and a fierce gust of wind inside. The house was cold, dark, and dead silent. That was almost soothing to Razzius; he was used to being greeted that way. But tonight the smell was worse than ever. He couldn’t escape it; it festered everywhere, emanated from every orifice and crevice inside the home. Razzius was no stranger to the odor, but tonight the smell overpowered even his own accustomed senses. It was the same smell that had been making him sick inside the Silver Shield.

Razzius lit a candle and scanned the kitchen, noticing nothing out of the ordinary. The remnants from a mostly eaten meal sat on a plate, probably the remains from Wurn’s dinner. Old food and drink were piled high on the other side of the table, reminders of the chores that Razzius would need to finish in the morning. He walked to the living area, and again found nothing to confirm the source. Two chairs, a small table, an empty bottle and a few dirty plates and mugs. A few pelts hung on the wall, undisturbed.

“Father,” he called, in a voice just above a whisper. Just his old friend silence answered. He repeated his call, this time a little louder.

Again, only silence responded. Not even the howling wind gusted up to attend his request.
Where in Sora’s name is my father
, Razzius thought, becoming a bit concerned with each passing moment. He marched upstairs, skipping a stair with each step. They screeched eerily under his weight.

The smell’s intensity was almost overbearing as he crested the wooden stairs. His room was at the top of the stairs and he peered inside. Again, he saw nothing disturbed. He dashed down the hall to Wurn’s room, covering his nose in disgust from the revolting scent. His heart stopped as the candlelight illuminated his father’s room. Wurn lay face up on the hard wooden floor surrounded by fifteen or so empty liquor bottles. Razzius noticed his father’s chest heave, as if his own life was trying to escape him. Razzius rushed to his father’s prone body and slapped his cheek. No response.
Father!
He listened intently against the noise of his own racing heartbeat. Wurn wasn’t breathing. Razzius noticed vomit oozing out of the corner of Wurn’s mouth.

Could he have choked on his own vomit after passing out?

Razzius acted quickly, trying to push Wurn onto his side. But Wurn was a mammoth, hulking man. His dead weight made it even harder for Razzius to exert his will. But Razzius summoned strength he didn’t know he possessed and bellowed at the top of his lungs. He pushed and prodded against the middle of Wurn’s back. He strained every muscle in his body, begging Sora’s grace. Finally, using his arms and shoulders, he rolled Wurn onto his side. He stuck his finger into his father’s mouth and pulled out bits and pieces of Wurn’s masticated dinner.

The vomit pooled on the floor and spread out like a disease. Razzius was panic-stricken and he gasped for breath. His mind raced as he tried to realize any coherent thoughts. “Father, please breathe!” Razzius wailed, tears streaming down his face. He pulled his father’s mouth open further, trying anything to force air into Wurn’s lungs. He smacked his back, hoping to awaken his father. If his father didn’t breathe soon, Razzius didn’t know what he would do. Only the hill behind him would hear his cries for help, and bear witness to this tragedy. He smacked Wurn’s back harder now, frustrated by his imminent failure. Hope began to fade from him. But then, finally, after what seemed like an unresponsive eternity, Wurn sputtered a bit, his hacked cough slicing through the dead silence of the home.

Razzius’ tears of helplessness turned to tears of relief. “Yes, Father, come on!” Razzius pleaded. Wurn’s cackled, mucus-filled whoops were welcome music to Razzius’ ears.

Wurn wheezed for breath as he came out of his stupor. He slowly waved his arm about, sending some of the bottles clanging around the floor. He sat up, with Razzius’ help, and vomited again, all over himself. The yellow vomit contrasted against Wurn’s pale, sweaty skin. Razzius could smell the alcohol from his father’s faint breathing and he noticed that his father had soiled himself as well. The combination of vomit, feces, and alcohol concocted the strong, pungent odor that had greeted Razzius at the door. Wurn stared at his son, his bloodshot eyes filled with disdain, self-loathing, and immense sadness.

Razzius knew he could not lift his father, so he retrieved some pillows and furs from his bed and brought them to the floor. He kept Wurn on his side and, at the very least, made his resting more comfortable. Razzius was exhausted, but he knew he couldn’t leave his father alone in this condition. If Wurn passed out again, Razzius knew that he needed to be there to ensure that his father didn’t stop breathing. Razzius had gone through this routine before many times, but Wurn’s drinking was becoming catastrophically self-destructive and more and more excessive. It wasn’t so bad staying up until Wurn could function again when Razzius could rest the next day, but Razzius knew he had significant training tomorrow. Bryce wouldn’t take it easy on him.
This can’t continue like this forever,
Razzius thought to himself in the darkness.

Few torments could surpass the torture that Razzius endured that night. His eyelids grew heavier by the instant, his stomach growled, his mind played dastardly tricks on him. Razzius had trained exhaustively earlier that day, and then had joined his friends for Benni’s celebration. His body was sore and demanded rest. If he could sleep at least he would be reprieved from realizing how hungry he was. But by forcing himself to stay awake, constantly at attention, his focus lingered on the pains in his stomach. The candlelight cast heinous shadows on the walls as the wax burned lower. Razzius was even jolted a few times by what he thought was someone or something whispering his name. Wurn grunted and snorted, oblivious to his son’s watchful care as he slept off his self-induced coma. He vomited again, but at least this time the fluid and regurgitated food flowed out of his mouth and onto the wood floor.

Razzius hated his father when he was like this, and he dreaded the morning even more. He knew that Wurn would awake irritable, with a terrible headache, and would find a way to blame his son for his physical state. Wurn wouldn’t remember that he drank too much, nor would he care that Razzius had spent the night ensuring his survival. Razzius had struggled valiantly his entire life to win Wurn’s acceptance. He wanted so badly to be told that he did something right, that his father was
proud
of him. But he couldn’t remember ever hearing his father speak those words. It was the reason why he was excelling in the Knight Guard. Bryce challenged him to achieve physically, and Razzius not only achieved, but achieved at the highest level. Bryce’s words of praise were sweet symphonies to Razzius’ ears. He yearned to hear them again.