The Knight's Blade (Realm of Lords Book 1) Read online

  The Knight's Blade

  The Realm of Lords, Volume 1

  RG Long

  Published by Retrovert Books, 2020.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  THE KNIGHT'S BLADE

  First edition. August 25, 2020.

  Copyright © 2020 RG Long.

  Written by RG Long.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Author’s Note

  The Adventure Continues

  Follow RG Long

  The Rogue’s Spell

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 1

  IN THE TOWN OF OLDRUM, a week's travel from the city of the main house of Grantitewatch, whose rule came upon its 38th year of leadership over the Realm of Lords, a ruckus was stirring. A knave of ill repute had risen his hand against the kind and furtive people of the aging pasture town, and accosted by two justice-seeking knights in training. At least, that's how they described themselves.

  The offender, a young man who only knew the work his parents didn't care enough to do for themselves, faced off against a duo of likewise irresponsible, but righteous young juveniles. Before him, blocking his way from the alley, they pushed him into was a boy about as old and far brasher. He had curly blond hair and a scuffed, rebellious face.

  "Come on, then?" the blond boy said. "You were all tough taking from those kids, right? You think you must have deserved it?"

  "Just get away from me," the stranger demanded. "You don't know!"

  Behind the blond lad was a girl, who stood as solidly as either boy did with short auburn hair and high-risen thick pants latched up over her shoulders with straps. She held a broom with matted bristles over her shoulder like a poleaxe. "Oh, we know plenty," she said. "We know the names of the children you assaulted. We know their parents only give them money when they have enough to spare after paying out their monthly debts."

  "And how do you know them?" the blond boy asked.

  "Darrion," the girl said, nudging the boy with the tip of her broom, "I don't think we know his name, do we?"

  "You're right, Rosha," he replied, leading Rosha to nod affirmatively. She moved to block the rest of the alleyway. "Well, he's not going to tell us now, is he?"

  "Probably not," she said.

  "You two," the unknown lad protested, "are just a couple of bullies, aren't you? You - you pick someone out of the crowd you can't recognize and wallop them cause you clean the shit off the Prince's ponies."

  "I think his name ought to be mud," Darrion said.

  "He doesn't look the part for that name, though," Rosha said. Then she feigned like she had an idea. She took her broom and aimed the bristles at the lad. He could see clumps of dirt stuck to the hairs and tangled up. She started prodding and jabbing the broom at him to sweep the dirt over him while Darrion stood back and made mocking gestures imitating the boy's panicked arm swings.

  "Get away from me!" the boy shouted. He swung the broom down on a thrust, and Rosha yanked it back on the return after it drifted low and swung between his legs. She got him in the groin. His legs buckled together, and he stumbled back. Rosha let the broom go by mistake, and he fell on it. The two were a bit shocked as the boy crumpled to the ground holding himself with the broom apparently stuck under his crotch.

  "That's not," Darrion began, "that's not very knightly."

  "He got what was coming to him," Rosha said, confidently.

  "Right, well," Darrion said, projecting to the lad on the ground, "be glad we caught you or the guard would have your head on a pike. You'll thank us for this in time, most likely. Just... don't do it again."

  "Sod farmers," the boy groaned impotently. "The House should abandon you all!" He went back to whining and taking careful breaths on the ground while the two would-be heroes left. They got out of the alley and into the streets when their celebration was cut short. Three adults stood in their way, two older women and an armored guard.

  "Found your kids, ma'ams," the guard said. He pointed his arm down at them both, and the women marched upon them. Darrion looked away at first, then turned back with his brow furrowed and committed to obstinance, already starting to protest before his mouth fully opened. The woman before him slapped him hard. Rosha stepped aside, and the woman at her side reached a hand down to hold her back.

  "You ungrateful," the aggressive woman began, "ornery little shit! You had chores to do, and what did you do instead?"

  "I was -," Darrion tried to speak, but he got hit again on his blond head. The rest of the people in the street, all neighbors and friends of one or more of the families involved, gave nothing more than a short glance before going on their way. Darrion looked up from his position and saw them all turning away from him. It made his brow deepen.

  "How is this making any money for the inn," the woman demanded, "when you go out and push around any traveler that comes through this nowhere town!? And now what? Oldrum will be known as a haven for scoundrels like you soon enough! You're scrubbing the roof today, by yourself! And may the sun burn the hair on your head a shade darker!"

  The woman grabbed him by the collar and yanked him away. He shuffled his feet against the ground to keep up as the woman hauled him down the road toward the two-story tavern that stuck out against the rest of the common houses along the way.

  "Rosha," the other woman said, in a much gentler tone that still sounded distressed. "Darrion forced you into this, didn't he?"

  "No, mom, he..."

  "He did, didn't he?" she said, more demandingly. "You... you were working when I last saw you. He came and forced you into this. He has no respect for the proud work we do, and you know that."

  "Mom, that's not true," Rosha protested. Her mother pulled her in tighter and shook her head with a shaky breath.

  "It'd be so easy if you were just a boy," she said. "I could forgive this... this roughhousing from you then but Rosha, dear..." Rosha shrugged her shoulders back and broke away from the gentle embrace. She cast her head down in anger and sighed.

  "Come on," her mother said. "There's still work at the stable. Where's your broom?"

  Rosha looked to the alley and saw the boy walking out, taking wide limping steps with his legs. He dragged the broom behind him, by the handle, and the dirt flaked off against the rough cobblestone road below. The guard stepped forward, between him and the ladies, with his arms crossed over his armored chest.

  "Is that the stablemaster's broom?" he asked.

  The boy looked up at the guard and down to Rosha. Inspiration flickered between his surprise and his sudden onset of cowardly fear.

  "You have to help me," he pleaded. "She's the one who did this. She assaulted me, stabbed at me with this filthy broom out of nowhere. Her and some scoundrel with gold-colored hair, they chased me down and hurt me!"

  "Garis," Rosha retorted, "we saw him stealing from children! From Clari, Tathan, Rony, and Byrus! We saw him take their money and chased him so he would drop it. He still
has it, in his pockets, he hid it on him. We were trying..."

  "That's fine, Rosha," Garis said, with a hand up to stop her.

  "But we were doing the right thing!" she protested further. Garis stepped forward and put his hand gently on her head.

  "I'll handle it," he said. Rosha calmed down and nodded. He turned to the boy who looked between the two of them, saw the exchange of them knowing one another, using their names and the names of all the rest of the kids. He began anxiously moving his feet.

  With Garis standing in the way, the boy had nowhere left to run, even in the open street. He dropped the broom, and Rosha's mother went over to pick it up.

  "Come, Rosha," she called. Rosha ambled after her, then slowly increased her pace to march back home.

  "I mean it," the boy said, timidly to the stern-faced guard. "They hit me. I don't know what she's talking about with all that, with the Tommy and Lonny and... thems, but I promise I didn't do anything until they chased me down."

  "Well then," Garis said as he leaned in to put his hand firmly on the boy's shoulder, "we can tell all the guards at the gatehouse about it, okay?"

  The boy nodded.

  "Of course, you'll empty your pockets when we arrive. Make sure you don't have any sharp things you shouldn't have close to the keep."

  The boy wasn't as eager to nod over that. Garis pushed him along, an arm over his shoulder, down the road, and toward the castle gatehouse at the top of the hill. Behind there rose the main keep, a single tower, and a castellan manor beneath where the middle-aged Prince ruled and where his royal guard was collected.

  Ahead of them walked another, far more mysterious figure, wearing a cloak that concealed their head and body on their approach to the castle gates. One small thing led to another, which everyone soon came to know. Within minutes, word spread around the town of nearly a thousand residents that Darrion and Rosha had stirred up trouble again. The bastard orphan blond-haired boy and the reckless tomboy stable girl. Another passive day of their peasant youth gone to waste on angsty playing instead of worthy chores.

  Chapter 2

  THE EVENING WAS BEGINNING to set. The rising hills blocked most of the twilight hours to the west in Oldrum. Only the high watch of the keep was far north enough on the ocean bluff to see over the hills and enjoy the golden hours of the setting sun properly. For everyone else, the first light of deep orange was the first signal that work was done for the day, and anyone not working by lamplight or by hearth fire indoors would be wise to go home.

  That applied to punishments as well. Auntie Gertie, the matron of the Main Way Inn, went out of the backdoor and looked up to the roof. Darrion was up there, wrenching out old broken tiles to replace with newer ones. His hands were caked with thick muddy spackle, and a line of broken clay spotted the grass underneath the roof's slope.

  "Come on down, boy," she called up. "Patch up whatever holes you've made now and come in for wash and supper."

  "Yes," he called back, monotonous, and agitated. She shook her head and nudged some of the debris below with her foot.

  "Would you keep this attitude up for your ma were she around?" she asked. Darrion slapped the handful of sealant he had down and grew silent with anger. The reminder didn't come out mockingly, or even cruelly. It came as the words of a sister expressing her own longing to an estranged nephew she could hardly raise up.

  "She'd hate to see it, you know. This fighting you do. And with that girl up the road, you need to watch yourself."

  "You still won't listen to me, will you?" Darrion asked hotly.

  "I'll listen when you're older," she replied, "and when you've cleaned up from the day's work, you were meant to do when it was still light out."

  She went back inside, leaving Darrion alone to vent his frustrations on the roof. He rolled onto his back and tried to exhale his anger away, one deep breath at a time, with no avail.

  He only knew one person he could talk to. There was only one to confirm his feelings. He had only one friend. One confidante. One person, even he was even close to thinking of as a partner in justice. He cleaned himself up, wiped all the excess grime and hard tack off on the grass below, then shoveled all the broken pieces into one pile, and hid it under a bush.

  He went off on his own again, like he always did, to the stables up the hill toward the castle. No one was out in the hours approaching evening. He was willing to skip a meal with his so-claimed family in favor of a simple snack with Rosha and the horses.

  Rosha, meanwhile, continued to tend to her own chores. Her punishment was far less severe, as was her scolding. Her family managed the royal stables. The steeds of the Royal Guard and the Prince himself were kept there and cared for by her family, and had been for generations. It was one of the most important duties of the entire town. Aside from being part of the guard for the members of the royal houses, caring for their property was a great privilege.

  Rosha didn't see it that way. She did her best and tended to the horses with care, but she didn't care about the prestige it represented. Her family did, and she wasn't as open with her ambitions as Darrion was. He had a cruel lot in life, orphaned by his mother, and left to his Aunt and Uncle, who ran the local inn at his laborious expense.

  Just as she was thinking about him, she heard a familiar clatter from the rear of the stable, an unused entrance that only one person she knew dared to take. Darrion climbed through the window of one of the stables that a royal horse grazed out of. He maneuvered around the beast to its rear and over the hay that served as its flooring.

  Rosha met him from the other side with her broom held up like a halberd at his neck.

  "For an aspiring knight," she said, "you have all the skills and tact of a thief."

  "Know your enemy," he said, a bit bemused. He lowered the broom away from his face and escaped the stable over the gate. The horse swatted its tail in his direction like he was a wandering fly. He and Rosha retired to the front of the stable and shared one carrot each, meant for the horses but just as good for themselves.

  "Are you hurt?" Rosha asked.

  "No," he curtly denied. She reached over gently and tried to examine his head. Beneath the grime and dirt, she could still see the remains of a bruise in his skin. His blond hair was marred with dirt and dust and mud, turning it spotted with brown. She started brushing it off, daintily, and ready to shrink back in case he swatted her away, but he didn't.

  "Are we truly too young," he asked in a somber tone, "to make a difference with anyone? Or anywhere?"

  "I wouldn't say that," Rosha replied. "I mean, maybe. I'd like to get out, certainly, and do something else."

  "It's not fair to either of us," he protested. "We do what's right when we see wrongs being committed. Is that not knightly? Is that not just?"

  "It is," she said. "But there may be more to it than just doing the right thing as we see it."

  "What do you mean?" he asked. He was agitated, looking for answers, and Rosha knew she couldn't appease his desire enough to calm him. She turned away and gnawed on her carrot instead, and he turned to do the same.

  "Someday," he said, "we'll be out of here. And they'll miss us. Or else we'll be the youngest people left in Oldrum. Even thirty more years on that will be true."

  "Clari and Rony will still be here," she said.

  "And isn't that frustrating?" Darrion asked. "Just...giving up like that. Never leaving this dreary place, never going further than the owner-to-be of an old farmstead, they've worked on all their young lives for someone else. All they gain from it are the taxes their parents were paying before."

  "Well, what about pride?" she asked.

  "No more pride in all of this," Darrion complained, "than being a beggar. If I spent all of the money in the inn to travel to the city and begged, I'd earn more in one day than the inn can earn in a week, I guarantee it."

  "Garis took that boy away," Rosha bragged. "I'm certain he of all people appreciates your actions."

  "He'd better," Darrion said. "How
did someone like Garis even get stuck in a place like this where nothing happens? What a waste. And if we entered the guard, there's no guarantee we wouldn't be in the same lot. All the effort to go there, and we'd just end up back here."

  "It's still worth trying," she said. She finished her carrot down to the stump. Darrion checked his impromptu supper and was only half done. Rosha clapped her hands clean while Darrion quickly chewed the rest of his meal down.

  Darrion looked out the front of the stables toward the gatehouse of the castle and the walls that rose up, like taunting reminders of how much effort was made to keep him where he was, on his side of the divide, while the guards he aspired to be were within. As he brooded, he saw some stirring within the walls, shadows moving past windows with alarm, and then he saw someone running with great speed away.

  A hooded figure, who ran as if his life depended on it, came through the gate, holding something under his arm. Then a guard came after, followed by two more, and then ten and twenty. The entire royal guard gave chase after the apparent bandit, all for the bounty they kept huddled under their arm.

  "Rosha," Darrion called. "Can you see this?"

  "See what?" she asked. She was in another part of the stable already, doing the final check on all the windows to make sure they were closed. She looked out in the same direction toward the castle and saw the stranger sprinting down the road.

  "Halt in the name of the crown!" the guards yelled. "Stop them! "After them!" "Don't let them get away!"

  All shouting in a chaotic mess to one another. Garis was second in the race to apprehend the bandit, and a younger, stronger guard ran out first. He made an approach, head down and chin tucked in, armor clattering as his arms and legs pumped hard to push him forward.

  The fleeing suspect turned and produced a glorious scepter with golden inlays and awesome prestige. A flash of light and piercing noise covered the area. Rosha was stunned by it and turned away. Darrion, inside the stable, saw the light from behind a post. It didn't affect him the same as the others. He saw the culprit running toward the stable. A vandal on the loose, a real criminal fleeing from the crown while the royal guards were all stopped in their tracks. He had to do something. He had to act!