Knight Fall (The Champion Chronicles Book 1) (13 page)

“Each of the gods made a different race in their own image”, Conner interrupted.  “That is why we are different.   And the gods are jealous of one another so that is why we fight one another.”

The laugh exploded so quickly and loudly that Conner took a step back.  “Oh, my young pupil you have much to learn.”  Then suddenly the humor in Goshin’s eyes left and was replaced with steel darkness.  “The first of which is to not speak when your Master is speaking.”

“Sorry,” Conner said meekly.

“Because we are so different,” Goshin continued.  “The kingdoms and empires around us thought us weaker and easy prey for the warriors.  And for some time we were.  Our lands were constantly being invaded.  Our women and children enslaved and our men forced to fight for others.  A revolution grew up some thousand years ago that freed our people from a notoriously bad emperor.  We came together as a single people, ruled by a wise man, and prospered for many generations.  One of the wise things that he did was to begin a school for warriors.  As many of our men had trained and learned many different styles of being a warrior, we had experts of all sorts.  Our wise leader took the best of all the disciplines and made a single fighting style.  This school taught that fighting style and developed the Sak’hurai, master warriors of the Hurai.  We have never been beaten in battle.  No single man could ever stand up to a single Sak’hurai.  A master Sak’hurai could easily handle five heavily armed knights.”

“No!” Conner exclaimed.  “That cannot be true.”

Goshin ignored the interruption and continued, “It is not because one Sak’hurai is better than five Karmon Knights.  It is because knights fight slow.  They move slowly because of their armor.  They are taught to fight with strength.  A Sak’hurai is taught to fight with speed and quickness.  One strike of a knight’s sword can be matched by ten slashes of a Sak’turana, the sword of a Sak’hurai.  Your people call our weapon a scimitar because they do not know any better.  Yes, it is like a scimitar because it has a single edged blade, and it is forged with a slight curve to it.  Yet, a Sak’turana is more than that.  It is an extension of the warrior.  It is the warrior.”

Goshin had led Conner out of the chamber of weapons, down a dimly lit corridor, and to a large, open natural cavern.  The scent of the ocean was heavy, and with Goshin no longer talking, he could hear the crash of the waves on the cliffs.  A number of torches were lit around the perimeter of the cavern giving just enough light to see.  It was clear this was where Goshin lived and worked.  The cavern was strewn with every imaginable piece of equipment that a blacksmith would use.  There were many swords and other weapons in various stages of production.  But the center of the chamber was clear and open.

“Here you will train,” Goshin said.  “You will earn that sword you carry, and in time, you will earn her twin.”

“I can learn from the knights who teach the squires,” Conner protested, wondering what he had gotten himself into.  He just wanted to learn to fight like the knights, so he could be a proper champion to the princess.

“No,” Goshin’s replied curtly.  “You will commit and sacrifice, or you will leave.”

Conner remained silent, not quite understanding Goshin’s meaning.  "Leave?  As in leave this cave?"

“I mean leave castle," Goshin explained further.  "Leave the city and return to your home.”

“I have committed myself to be champ…”

“No!” Goshin shouted.  He took two steps and was in Conner’s face.  He was a few inches shorter than Conner, but his mere presence caused Conner to shrink back.  “You have committed to nothing.  Now.  Now you must make a decision.  But know this: this is not a game.  You do not become her champion because it is something you want to do.  You do it because you are committed to saving her life.  To sacrificing your life for hers.”  He took a step back, letting his angry words dissipate into the shadows.  After a moment he continued, “I left my country many years ago, soon after I attained the rank of Master Sak’hurai.  I spend my days making weapons using just some of that which I was taught.  The rest…” He tapped the side of his head.  “Remains up here, but is aching to get out.  The rest, I will teach to you.”  He tapped Conner on the chest.  “I will teach you that this is where your strength begins and ends.”

Conner did not understand.  He could learn how to be a swordsman without all of this.  He could learn how to wield the swords of the knights, to be like them.  He knew that he could never be one, but he knew could be as good as them.

Clearly, the confusion was written on his facial expression, so Goshin continued.  “You are not much more than a slave.  In fact, a slave may have it better than you as a master is responsible for his slave, where you are responsible for yourself.  If you die, no one will care, save your family.  If a slave dies, then the master is responsible, and may even face judgment from the king.  You will forever be a nothing.  You will spend your days hunting for food, trying to stay alive.  And then there is nothing for you when you die.”

“There is Nirvana,” Conner argued.  “The gods will take us to their kingdom when we die and we will live in peace forever.”

Goshin muttered something in his own language softly.  “Very well, be gone, then.  You should leave quietly and return to your mother’s bosom.  You are still a young child and should still be suckling at her breast.”

“I am no young child, I am a man! I have killed.”

“You have killed?  How many?  A hundred?  A thousand?”

“Three,” Conner replied, eyes dropping to the ground.

“And I have killed seventy-eight in my lifetime and that does not make me more man than you,” Goshin replied.  “I see each one that I have killed still in my mind and there are days that I am sick for what I have done.  But I did it because I had to, not because I wanted to.”

“So did I.”

“Yes you did.  You protected your princess.  If not for you, she would be dead.  That is truth.  And now you run, run from your princess.  Because why?  You are afraid?”

“No!” Conner shouted out.

Goshin waited patiently for Conner to correct his reply.  “Yes.”

“Then good," Goshin said.  "You should be afraid.  Fear will keep you sharp.”

Goshin stepped forward and placed both hands on Conner’s shoulders.  “Knights are bred for their strength and size.  When mother and father are big, their children will be big.  When mother and father are small, children will be small.  But sometimes, even when mother and father are small, child will be big.”

Conner blinked, not understanding.  “My father was just normal sized, I am sure.  I do not remember what my mother looked like, either.  But I am sure she was normal sized, too.”

Goshin smiled and let a soft laugh escape his lips.  “It is an old Hurai saying.  We do not have classes like you.  There are no lords and no peasants.  Anyone can attempt to become Sak’hurai, but only the best will be given that honor.  You do not need to be born with certain parents.  You can be the poorest of the poor, and if you have the courage here.” He again tapped him on the chest.  “Then you will be given the right to name your Sak’turana and become a Sak’hurai.”

“But I still cannot become a Karmon Knight,” Conner said.

Goshen let out a long sigh.  “I am not asking you to.  I am asking you to become Sak’hurai.  I will teach you, but you must listen.  I cannot learn for you.  I cannot make you courageous.  I cannot make you strong in heart.  Only you can do that.”

“I can do that,” Conner replied with as much confidence as he could muster.

“The days that come will determine if you believe you can, and that will determine if you will.”  Goshen stepped back and motioned to the center of the chamber.  “Now, today, you will learn to stand.”

Chapter Ten

Brace Hawkden sat still atop his horse, waiting for the sun to finally dip below the horizon.  The castle was far off in the distance, just far enough for his bad eyes to make out the twin spires that shot up from corners of the stone keep.  When he was younger, he would have been able to make out the archers that sat atop the battlements, or if the sun was behind him, he might have been able to see a soldier keeping watch from a window.  But it had been some time since his eyes were that good.  Now he just trusted his memory to know that the fuzzy grey building he saw far in the distance was Lord Neffenmark’s castle.

He was still in the trees, covered in the shadows that had fallen some time ago.  If anyone standing atop even the tallest tower had seen him, it would have been a miracle.  He was on higher ground than the castle, with the peaks of the towers just below his eye level.  The builder of the castle, Lord Keffenkarn, great-grandfather to Lord Neffenmark, had built his castle halfway up the side of the valley. Any attack would be uphill.  With the mountain at its back, the castle was very defensible, almost to the point of invulnerability.

No invader had ever tried to assault the castle.  Once, before Lord Neffenmark was even a thought in his father’s head, Thell had sent a raiding party to test the castle’s defenses.  Only a handful of Thellians had returned home to report how well defended the castle was.  The steep slopes up to the castle would have made it very difficult to bring siege engines to break the walls.  But Brace had heard of great machines called Trebuchets that could sling rock and fireballs great distances.  Where he stood might be a good spot for them.  He just hoped he would not have to learn how to build one of those devices.

But those were thoughts for another time.  Today, his thoughts were only on the mess that he was now in.  The message, sealed with the king’s wax, was safely inside his tunic.  He could feel the parchment as it scratched his side.  Each tickle, each itch, reminded him of his treachery.  He had no choice but to bring the message to Lord Neffenmark, to let him in on whatever plan the king was hatching.  Failure to do so would mean that he would be exposed by Lord Neffenmark as a traitor, his place in life would be forfeit, and Knighthood itself would suffer a serious scar.  He could handle himself.  Whether he was to be executed by the king’s hand, or to be exiled into the great frozen north, he did not care.  But it was the thought of the downfall of the Karmon Knights that kept him from riding into Thell.  Knighthood was based upon courage and honor.  Yes, they were great warriors.  They were feared not only for what they could do with their sword, but because they were fearless themselves.  They were respected not only as soldiers, but as men, because they did all that they did with honor.  Centuries of honor and respect could be washed away with this one fell mistake.

For so long he had told himself that what he did was for the greater good.  He hated the Thellians with a passion that was only held for one’s worst enemy.  There was not one of them that he thought was worth spitting upon.  But the king thought differently.  He saw them not as their enemy, but as their neighbors, their brothers to the north.  Brace had not understood it then, and he still did not understand it.  All their plans, all their scheming, all the secret meetings to get Karmon and Thell to finally go to war was treachery.  The king wanted peace, and the king represented the kingdom.  If he disagreed with the king, then he should have shared it as his personal counselor, not going behind his back to an evil cretin like Lord Neffenmark.  How many times had he told himself the kingdom was greater than the king?  But the kingdom was the king and the king was the kingdom.  They were one and the same.  How he had forgotten that.

Maybe it was because he saw his king as a man.  He had seen his failures as much as he had seen his successes.  He had seen the man breakdown and cry at the birth of his daughter, and the unimaginable fury when he discovered his daughter had been taken away from him.  He had seen the king act like a failed man more often than he had seen him act kingly.  And that didn’t make him think less of him, but it made him think more of him.  Maybe that was why he had long since stopped thinking as everyone else did about their liege lord.  He loved the man, but he had let his friendship overshadow the fact that the king was the king.

He wanted to scream out his frustrations, but he only sat silently, knowing what he really should be doing.  He knew the king would give him mercy, but he didn’t know if he wanted it or not.  He would deliver the message, and let the king’s decision be the king’s decision.  He was not the king and he should not act like it. 

With dusk now upon him, and the sun below the trees far to the west, Brace Hawkden turned his horse back into the woods to find the trail leading north into Thell.  A great relief was lifted from his shoulders.  He was a traitor and he would pay for his crimes.  But he would do so with whatever honor he had left.

***

The archer, hidden in the trees, cursed silently to himself.  His orders were clear.  He could only take the shot if he knew for sure the man wasn’t heading to the castle.  It was a long and painful wait and by the time the rider moved, it was so dark, he could barely discern tree from rider.  His original plan had been to hide deep in the woods and sneak up on his target from behind.  With a good enough shot, the man would never even know that he was going to die.  But at the time, he didn’t think it sporting enough, so he hid closer to the edge of the forest, so he could strike the man from the front.  They had said he was the great Knight Captain Brace Hawkden, so he wanted to give the knight a sporting chance.  He hid in the underbrush, using his skill and knowledge to keep out of sight.

But the knight had never come out of the woods.  He was in just far enough that he could barely see him in the failing light of the evening and now that night had fallen, he could only see shadows.  A missed shot would be deadly for him.  His skill was with the bow and not with the sword.  Had the knight known he was being hunted, the tables would be quickly turned on him.  His only recourse would be to run.  And run fast.  But not back to the castle, as Lord Neffenmark would surely kill him.  He would make his way to the empire where he could just blend in and disappear.  Lord Neffenmark did not like failure, which was why he was here in the first place.

The archer waited for a few minutes before following.  It was not difficult as the knight's horse made enough noise to easily follow.  But his going was slow as he had to stay with the hunter.  He made steady progress as minutes turned into hours and the woods gave way to hills and hills gave way to the mountains.  The knight was being careful, moving slowly enough to ensure that the horse found safe footing in the rough terrain, but just fast enough that the archer couldn’t get close enough for a good shot.

But as the knight came closer to the mountains where the ground was rougher, rocks were strewn about, and crevasses and gullies began to make their appearances, the archer had the advantage.  This was his land.  He knew the rocks and trees as well as anyone.  He knew the path the knight was taking as it was the only safe option to get to the pass that led through the mountains and on into Thell.  So rather than pursue him, the archer sprinted to a spot where he knew the knight would pass by.

And sure enough, not too long after he had settled in, he saw shadows move in the night and heard the patter of horse hooves on the hard ground.  Slowly, the knight came into view along the path that he predicted.  The archer brought out his bow and a single long, black arrow.  He would only need the one.  He knew he was that good.  He stood and pulled the fletching back to his ear.  As he adjusted his body into position, his right foot kicked the ground, making just enough noise for the knight to freeze.  The horse’s ears perked and the knight pulled back on the reigns so that he could listen for more sounds.  It was just what he needed.  The knight was a perfect, still target.  The archer released the arrow and it flew straight and true for the man’s neck.  It would be a bloody and painful death.

His heart sank in the instant that he released the bow as the knight, having been tired and worn from days of travel, straightened from his hunched position.  Rather than a killing blow through the neck, the arrow sunk deep into the upper chest of the knight.  The archer nocked another arrow, but the knight, the warrior that he was, knew that more arrows would come.  The knight slid down in the saddle, putting the horse between himself and his assailant.  In the same instant, he kicked the horse into a full run.

Without a thought, the archer adjusted for the sudden movement and loosed his arrow at the large shadow that was the horse.  The arrow struck deep into the side of the horse, sending it kicking high into the air, throwing the knight off its back.  But to the archer’s dismay, the knight didn’t just strike the ground and stop, he bounced and fell, sliding down into the darkness of a deep chasm.

The archer’s third arrow silenced the screaming horse for good.   Like its rider, it fell down into the chasm, to be lost forever.   He would have liked to have saved it for an easy ride back to the lord’s castle, but the first arrow had mortally wounded it anyway.  The archer raced to the edge of the road and looked down into darkness.  The sides of the chasm were steep, too steep to climb down.  There was no sign of the knight, but the bottom was unseen in the darkness.  For good measure, he fired three more arrows into the blackness of the deep, but he knew that the knight would be dead soon, if he wasn’t already.  There was no way out of the chasm.  The sides were steep and smooth for as far as he could see.  For several more minutes, he waited, hoping to hear any sounds of the knight trying to climb out.  But he heard nothing.  Satisfied that the knight was dead, he scouted the area and found the knight’s sword, just inches from tumbling off the edge of the trail and into the chasm.  He picked it up, thanking the gods for their mercy.  If he had no proof of death, Lord Neffenmark would not believe him and would likely kill him.  There was always the option of trying to climb down and find the body, but he knew it was a one way journey.  With sword in hand and not a hint of guilt on his conscience, he began jogging back towards Lord Neffenmark’s castle.

***

The archer slinked through the main gate of Lord Neffenmark’s castle when the guard’s back was turned.  He didn’t need to, but the hunter in him enjoyed the thrill of the surprise.  Most of the time when he tried to sneak into the castle, at some point one of Neffenmark’s minions caught him.  But occasionally, he made it all the way into the lord’s plush quarters.  The guards were barely skilled with arms.  They were pulled from the villages of Lord Neffenmark’s domain and were poorly trained by other poorly trained soldiers.  The archer knew that they would be inadequate in battle.  It wasn’t because they couldn’t swing a sword or thrust with a hauberk, it was because they were peasants at heart.  They were not drilled to kill or to see death.  They were drilled only to have their lives taken in lieu of the lord’s.

He didn’t care, though.  His devotion to Lord Neffenmark went only as far as the gold coins that he was paid with.  As far as he cared, the lord could be overrun by the Thellians, and he would just sell his service to the northern barbarians.  He almost regretted sneaking in because it would mean the lashing of the guards who weren’t capable of properly defending the castle.  But that was Lord Neffenmark’s way.  It meant that he didn’t have to pay them very much.  They were expendable.

Once inside the castle, he moved quickly through the shadows, his ears perked to listen for the soft patter of feet through the corridors.  He knew the castle well, as he had been here many times.  He could probably navigate its halls blindfolded.  Two lefts and then a right, and he was just outside the great hall.  He could hear that the lord was in audience with someone, arguing over unpaid taxes.  It would tire Neffenmark out, and he would return in due time to his own chamber.  He easily picked the lock of a back door and quickly entered into the darkness of the lord’s residence.

Two large windows provided just enough light to see by.  Night had fallen quite some time ago, and the moon had yet to rise.  But the cloudless skies allowed the infinite stars to shine brightly, and that gave the archer all the light he needed.  He took a goblet and poured it full, drinking the sweet wine deeply until gone.  He filled the goblet again and drained half of it before his thirst was quenched.  A plate of cheeses and fruits was spread out on a table, waiting for Lord Neffenmark’s return.  The archer stuffed his mouth, chewing as quickly as he could.  In the end, he did more swallowing than chewing.

He heard the voices at the main door a moment before he knew they would open.  The archer’s first reaction was to duck and hide, but his mind forced his body to relax.  He wanted to be in the open, to be caught red handed.  It would certainly keep him from being accidentally killed if he were found to be sneaking around, stealing the lord’s fine wines.

Lord Neffenmark threw the doors open and marched in, his boisterous voice belittling his thin, emaciated servant.  But the words stopped mid-sentence as soon as his eyes fell upon the archer, who was standing in the middle of the room, munching on a handful of ripe red grapes.  The eyes grew wide, and his face flushed with anger.  His mouth moved as if to say something, but no words dared come out.  Instead, he headed straight for his sword, which hung from a peg on the wall.  But before he took two steps, the archer tossed a sword to floor.  It came to a skidding stop at Lord Neffenmark’s feet.