My Royal Pain Quest (The Lakeland Knight series, #2)
Read My Royal Pain Quest (The Lakeland Knight series, #2) Online
Authors: Laura Lond
My Royal Pain Quest
Book 2 of
The Lakeland Knight
series
Copyright 2011 Laura Lond
Cover art by Alla Alekseyeva
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means—electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise—without the prior written permission of the author.
I hate it when my breakfast is interrupted. Shork knows this well, I guess that’s why he did not come in to report what was happening at the castle gate. I still heard the shouts though.
Already?
I wondered, putting down my coffee cup.
This early in the morning? If so, they’ve got some nerve…
I rang the bell, summoning Shork.
“What is that noise about? Don’t tell me someone wants to fight me again.”
“I’m afraid so, my lord,” bowed the lackey. “He is rather insistent, and loud. I told him to wait, I said you’d see him in a half hour, but he won’t listen.”
I shook my head. This was getting to be positively annoying.
“Hero or villain?”
“A hero, it appears. Some kind of knight. White horse, bright red cloak.”
“What’s up with those red cloaks, were they on sale or something? That’s the third one this week.” I rose from the table. “All right, let’s get it over with. Don’t clean up, I’ll finish my breakfast when I’m done.”
“Yes, my lord.”
I went to the watch tower. That’s where I’d always start speaking with these guys when I was not in the mood for physical exercise, hoping to talk some sense into them and save me the trouble. It rarely worked though.
I checked him out before showing myself at the window. The sight made me chuckle: young and skinny, the fellow tried to beef up by wearing oversized armor.
Goodness. Whoever knighted him has a weird sense of humor.
“Who are you and what do you want?” I inquired.
He turned to the window and placed his hands on his hips.
“Arkus, you wicked villain, release the prisoner you are holding or come out to fight me and meet your doom!”
Meet your doom, yeah. I wish I got a penny each time I hear that.
“I thought it was polite to introduce yourself first,” I said, “especially since I’ve asked who you are.”
The fellow jerked his chin up so high I thought his helmet would fall off.
“Too much honor for the likes of you! But I suppose you have the right to know who ends your evil deed—or your life. My name is Zakkeran, Knight of Pure Spring. I give you five minutes to make up your mind!”
“How generous of you. Now, listen to me, Zakkeran, Knight of Pure Spring. I don’t know who sent you and what you’ve been told, but I hold no prisoners. You are welcome to come in and inspect my dungeon, if you so desire.”
He didn’t believe me, of course.
“You’re lying! Everyone knows that you have captured a wounded young lord! Perhaps you don’t keep him in the dungeon, but I know he’s in your castle, and I demand that you release him!”
So this time Jarvi was a “wounded young lord.” He’d been referred to as an injured traveler, bewitched prince, wealthy merchant, wounded knight. Each of his potential rescuers had their own version of it.
“Like I said, I hold no one captive. Come see for yourself, then go home and tell all the others to leave me alone. I do not wish to fight you, Zakkeran, I’ve had too much of that lately.”
He laughed. “I knew you were a villain and a liar, but I had no idea that you’re also a coward!”
Now, that did it. Calling me a coward after interrupting my breakfast? He’d have to answer for that.
It took me all of two minutes to disarm him and knock down those oversized shoulder plates, with slightly more than the force of my personality. Just like I suspected, his real shoulders turned out to be twice smaller.
“Next time pick yourself armor that fits—although I do concede, for someone who likes the sound of their own voice, the acoustics must be sensational. And another bit of advice: learn to respect your enemy. It helps in case things turn out bad for you, like today. Now, get out.”
I used to thank them for the entertainment, but it was no longer amusing.
I returned to the castle. My appetite was gone, so instead of the dining room I went to Jarvi’s bedchamber. I checked on him every morning, as well as several times during the day.
Jarvi’s bedroom was right next to my own. I reached into my pocket for the key, but the door was unlocked.
Shork must be cleaning up
, I thought as I entered. He was the only other person who had a key to the room.
The lackey was there, all right. Only instead of sweeping or dusting he was leaning over the bed, scissors in hand, ready to cut off a lock of Jarvi’s flaming orange hair.
“Shork! What are you doing?”
He jumped, dropping the scissors.
“I, uh… nothing, Your Lordship… I just wanted—just wanted to give Mr. Jarvi a haircut, that’s all.”
I stepped closer, fists clenched.
“Don’t give me that. You know very well that Mr. Jarvi needs no haircuts, shavings, baths, food or drink. So you’d better tell me the truth while I still haven’t decided between locking you in the dungeon, throwing you into the snake hole, or roasting you slowly over a fire.”
Shork, pale and shaking, fell to his knees.
“Please, my lord! I only wanted to help!”
“Help? How?”
“It’s Mr. Fernig, he said he can cure Mr. Jarvi if I bring a lock of his hair!”
“Fernig the wizard?”
“Yes! Just one small lock, he said, and he’d use it to break the spell.”
I still wasn’t buying it, but this was probably closer to the truth.
“And how many times did I tell you that Mr. Jarvi is neither sick nor under a spell? He’s…”
I looked away. Jarvi’s condition was my fault, but no one in the castle knew the details, and I certainly wasn’t going to share them now with this traitor of a servant.
“He is what, my lord?” Shork asked with caution, still on his knees. “You never did tell me what exactly is wrong with Mr. Jarvi.”
“Never mind. Give me your key to this room.”
“Oh, please, forgive me, Your Lordship! I am so sorry, I—”
“I won’t hear your excuses. Even if what you say is true, which I doubt, you should have told me about it instead of sneaking in here behind my back.”
“But that’s what Mr. Fernig told me! He said I must do it in secret!”
“You know better than to trust him. And loyalty to your master should have come first. Give me the key and get out. You are no longer my personal lackey. Go to the stable, you will work there from now on.”
Shork rubbed his eyes as he handed over the key, but I felt no pity. I was almost certain that Fernig had paid him to bring that lock of hair. As to the wizard, he wanted it for his own purposes, there could be no doubt about that. Most likely to use in his witchcraft. Who knows what he’d do and how it would affect Jarvi, myself, and everyone else.
I sighed. Heroes and villains alike, they wouldn’t leave me alone. Neither knew who Jarvi was, but they were all after him. I had no peace since the day I brought him to the castle. Taking care of a helpless sparkling turned out to be much more challenging than I thought.
I walked up to the bed. Jarvi was the same, lying still with his eyes closed, as if asleep.
“Hello Jarvi. Are you any better? Try doing something, squeeze my hand or at least move your fingers.”
There was no response. His hand stayed lifeless in mine. It had been several months, and his strength was not coming back. Not yet, anyway. Ellar said it would take years.
Years
… Will I be able to protect him that long? The way things were going, I doubted it. It was becoming more difficult each day, and now I no longer had a loyal servant to rely on. I had to do something, but what?
“I’ll go back to the library. There are still some books left I haven’t gone through, and there should be more coming tomorrow. I will assign a new man to watch over you, probably Garfin. He won’t be allowed to enter the room, I’m not giving him the key. He will be guarding the door.”
***
I had been buying books about sparklings, anything I could find, since the day we returned to Arkusville. Yes, Ellar had said there was nothing I could do, but I still stubbornly hoped to find some kind of remedy that would restore Jarvi’s strength. I paid several booksellers to search every bookshop and library they knew of. They did their job well, bringing me dozens of books and scrolls. At first, I plunged into them with enthusiasm, but my zeal quickly faded. There was nothing there. I studied book after book and learned a lot of new things, yet there was no word, no hint about what I wanted to know. Frustrated, I’d give it up for a day or two, then go back and start again. At least it felt better than doing nothing at all.
The few books I had left were old but not very promising, mostly legends and tales. I needed facts, not fables.
I sighed and picked up the thickest one,
Sparkling Tales
. The first couple of chapters only confirmed my suspicion that, once again, it was going to be a waste of time. There was a silly story about a king who wanted to see sparklings dance and offered them different costly gifts to perform, but sparklings refused them all and only agreed when he made a thousand pies five thousand toys for poor children. I did not know whether sparklings ever danced, but I doubted that they would do it to entertain a human, even if he was a king and even if he decided to be nice to poor kids. The next one was even sillier—about a knight who found a sparkling lost in the woods, helped him and was rewarded by a special cup that always had wine in it. Now, this one was clearly made up by some ignorant alcoholic. First off, sparklings don’t get lost, and secondly, why would they give a reward that could turn a hero into a drunk?
However, I was determined to finish the book. I turned the page and started reading about another knight. This one broke his spear and sword fighting a dragon, and…
Wait a minute. Was I finally getting close to something?
A sparkling gave the knight his shining sword. The knight defeated the dragon, refused a chest of gold the king offered to him as a reward, fell in love with the king’s daughter and asked for her hand in marriage. When he learned that she was already engaged, the knight lost his temper, attacked her fiancé and killed him with the sparkling’s sword.
Yes, this was
very
close. I held my breath and kept reading.
The shining sword was spoiled by that wicked act, and the sparkling turned into stone. Only one thing could bring him back to life, and only the guilty knight could do it. He had to cleanse the sword by using it in three valiant deeds. The first one is the Deed of Pure Hand; the second is called the Deed of Cool Mind; the third, and the hardest, is the Deed of Noble Heart. When all three are accomplished, the sword would be purified, and the sparkling would be restored.
Slowly, I lowered the book and leaned back in the armchair. Here it was, the answer I searched for—if I could trust the source. That was the big question. From what I had read so far, this collection was pure fiction, full of fibs and inaccuracies. Sparklings don’t turn into stone, at least not in my case; yet the other part of the story seemed to be based on truth: the spoiling of the sword, and the fact that the sparkling would suffer because of it. Did that mean that the offered solution, the three valiant deeds, was true as well? And if so, what exactly were they?
I went back to the book, but the story ended without giving out any specifics. It only said that the deeds were to be searched for, yet they would “come by themselves” in the right time.
Great.
Deed of Pure Hand, Deed of Cool Mind,
all that sounded nice and fancy, but how was I supposed to know what to do? What to search for? And what is “the right time”?
“Your Lordship! Your Lordship!”
The terrified scream was accompanied by running footsteps, and in a moment Garfin burst in, pale as paper.
“There’s a ghost in Mr. Jarvi’s room!”
I closed the book.
Ellar. I thought we had agreed that he’d stop scaring my staff.
“Calm down, Garfin, it’s not a ghost. I forgot to tell you that once in a while you might see this green light, and if that happens…”
“It’s not green, my lord, it is blue!”
Blue?...
I leapt to my feet and ran to Jarvi’s bedchamber, fumbling for the key with one hand and snatching the sword with the other. If it was what I feared, it might already be too late.
A tall slender figure stood at Jarvi’s bed, emanating cold blue light. Its head turned to me, and a contemptuous smile curved the thin lips.
“Ah, here comes your human friend,” said Ragnar, the gormack. “Like I said, I’ll kill him first. Too bad you can’t see it, but I will tell you exactly what I do, and how he dies.”
I knew I stood no chance against him, but I didn’t care.
“Get away from him!” I shouted, swinging my sword. “Get out!”
Ragnar barely moved, yet something hit me in the chest, hard, sending me flying back to the door.
“Would you look at that, he wants to fight me!” The gormack laughed and drew a sword, which also glowed in blue. “All right, go ahead. It’s going to be fun.”
