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

  The criminal leaped over the still unlocked stable gate and went into the main row of horses. Most of them were in a frenzied panic, unapproachable, but the few trained for the royal guard to ride. The apparent thief released one of the calmer horses and tugged its reins gently to goad it outside. They mounted up without a saddle and started riding out. Then, finally, Darrion stepped out and revealed himself.

  "Halt!" he shouted. The horse charged at him. It was trained to take no orders but from the one who rode it, and it did not distinguish its current rider from its normal ones aside from the difference in weight. It was already at a gallop before it exited the stable, and its sturdy legs plowed through the swinging doors just as Darrion leaped to the side and fell to the dirt to avoid being trampled.

  Rosha heard the commotion from outside and recovered her sight in time to watch the thief ride on. She started to give chase in the fastest sprint she could and shouted out as she ran.

  "Horsethief! Horsethief!"

  Her voice reached the homes at the same time the racing hoofbeats did. The most anyone could do was open their doors and watch as the thief rode on, clear out of town, with the royal guard many lengths behind them, not having been as fast to mount their steeds.

  Rosha got to the edge of town, past the last and oldest house on the main road, and watched five men on horseback take chase down the hill and toward the dales and woods of bandits and outlaws.

  That day struck a grim reminder in both Darrion and Rosha of where they stood within the world. Not as adults, but still older than children, unable to act but unwilling to sit still. Neither of them was able to stop the incident from occurring as the thief left Oldrum.

  The next day, the retinue of royal guards returned. The horse was recovered, but the thief was not. What they stole was declared in a bounty posted all over town, at every trading point, and in every home which guests from out of town would frequent.

  Two-hundred gold pieces, a year's worth of earnings for most of the townsfolk, was offered by the head of the Royal Guard for the return of the Prince's Scepter, the symbol of his inheritance and treasure of the Crowned House Granitewatch.

  Chapter 3

  THE DAY FOLLOWING THE theft, the town was alive with an energy that was painfully absent from it nearly every other day of the year. No festival or commemoration matched what was happening from home to home or out in the streets. There was a mixture of uncertain dread, impatient agitation, and adventurous excitement rousing through every house and family in them.

  A thief made off with the Prince's Royal Scepter. Said Prince remained within his palace domain, locked in and removed from the common folk, and spoke only through his royal guard who took to the streets on double duty to prevent even the chance of a similar crime being committed.

  The two people in the town with the most positive attitude over the event, the most forward-acting and adventurous minds weren't any of the besmirched guards readying themselves for a chase and a hunt in the wilderness between cities. It was Darrion and Rosha, who couldn't help but stop and stare at every poster they saw on their way through town. Their own jobs were halted in light of the event. The stables were locked down and inspected while the inn was quartered by soldiers and turned into a militarized checkpoint for all foreign travelers.

  "I wish I could have done something," Darrion said, lamenting his inaction for the hundredth time that day. "I was right there. I could have tackled them or thrown dirt in their eyes. I could have done anything. But I just ended up back in the mud again."

  "It's all my fault," Rosha said. "The stable should have been locked up by that time. Even if they got in, the guards would catch up in time for them to get everything open before they could ride out."

  "Well then, it's my fault, too," Darrion retorted.

  "No!" she rejected. "Don't take my guilt away from me! I can't even have my own worries anymore! You're trying to take them on yourself!"

  "I'm the reason you kept the stable open," he said. "I should have done more to stop it. That's why it's more my fault."

  "You're deluded," she retorted. "Deluded if you think having the greater burden of responsibility somehow makes you more chivalrous."

  "It does, though," he said with a sigh. "I have the most motive to go after them, don't you think?"

  "You and what supplies?" she asked. "Half a dozen men are pulling from the winter stores in the castle to embark into the outlands for a month to search one-quarter of the Prince's fields and forests. I hate to admit it, I really do, but at this point, there's nothing we can do but hide our shameful part in all of this and hope we won't be found out and trialed."

  "No," Darrion said. "I've thought it over. They returned the same day, just as night fell, with the horse the thief rode out on, and they still couldn't catch him."

  "Yes," she said.

  "They must still be nearby," he said. "Close enough to escape on foot, through some terrain a horse can't pass, and that's where the guards will mess it up! And where we can make two hundred coins!"

  "Now you're putting me up to it," Rosha said, offended. "You'll make some grand scheme to go out and fetch a thief like it's a chore and come back a day later for a bag full of royal coins all because you think I'll agree to be your second set of hands?"

  "Well, it was your fault," he said casually. Rosha stepped back and kicked him in the rear. It was more shove than blunt impact and caused him to laugh when he received it. "Is that how you'll do it? That move to catch the thief?"

  "Hmph," Rosha huffed. "Hardly. But... a broom won't suffice as a weapon this time."

  "Yes," he said. "And neither will a heavy boot. If we're going to go after this thief, we need real tools and supplies."

  "Agreed," she replied. "I'll talk to Garis. If anyone is willing to listen to us, it will be him."

  "That's true," he agreed. "We have to hide our intentions from your parents and my Aunt. If they hear what we have planned, they'll try and stop us."

  They agreed to their plan and departed, full of vigor and ready to prove their potential as earnestly as they could. They would no longer be stuck to the trappings of their hometown, to the passive menial labor, and purposeless drifting in the tiny community. One-hundred gold pieces each would be enough to leave the town, to reach the city, and to live in comfort while they trained for the King's Guard. Even the accomplishment itself would be worthy of a recommendation, which no gold could match or properly buy. Their hearts were determined toward the single end, and they planned to make it happen no matter what.

  Their plans were dashed almost immediately. When Darrion came home first, he entered the inn from the rear entrance to the family room in the back and saw his Aunt Gertie and uncle Donovon waiting for him there with two guards flanking the doors. At first, he thought he was intruding and politely bowed himself away.

  "Sit down, Darrion," Gertie commanded. He halted when he heard her and looked between her stern, disapproving face and his uncle, who bore no ill intent through his placid stare. He sat and was the only one to sit, as the four adults loomed over him from different angles and approaches.

  "Darrion of the Main Way Inn," a guard declared, "orphaned son of Delia, father unknown, adopted into the foster care of his most immediate family Gertrude and Donovan of the Falstead house of Oldrum."

  "Yes... sir," Darrion replied.

  "You were witnessed," the guard said, "at the scene of the crime committed on yesterday evening at the royal court stables. Your presence was noted by one Garis of the town watch and royal militia who had you tended to for potential pains or injuries following the escape of the criminal hence known as The Thief."

  "Y-yes," Darrion said. "He nearly trampled me. I... I tried to stop..."

  "Don't talk," Gertie ordered. "Just listen." She reached up and itched under her eye, casually covering her motions to wipe a building tear before it could leave her eye.

  "Your actions," the guard said, "have led to the consequential escape of The Thief from apprehens
ion by the Royal Guard, and you have therefore been placed under house arrest pending a trial by the city council to determine your punishment."

  Darrion stood up with force, and his chair clattered out from underneath him. His uncle stepped forward, just behind the guards, with his hand out.

  "Calm yourself, boy," he said. "You have a rash look in your eye. Just be still."

  "What good are you?" Darrion lowed. The guards looked at him with indignance. His insolence started breaking their stoic veneer. "Not one of you tried to do what I did. Not one of you could! I had more mettle in me than you wear every day to even try standing in front of that horse. Should I have died for it? If he'd trampled me to the ground, would my blood and guts have stuck to the horse and wound around its legs to stop it from racing away? Is that what you wanted!?"

  "Darrion, be silent!" Gertie yelled.

  "Are we common folks only good to you pricks if we're dead!?" Darrion shouted.

  The guard stomped forward. His hand was clutched shut. Darrion glared up. The heat in him was swelling hard. His face was red under his golden hair and made his head look like a flame.

  Uncle Donovon sank his fist into Darrion's stomach and took all the wind out of his chest. The guard stood back while the boy sank slowly to the ground, holding his hands over his uncle's balled-up fist just under his ribs.

  "Let it go," Donovon whispered. "Not for them. Not for this."

  What made the blow so much more effective was not the force or blind-sided impact, but Darrion's own disbelief. All his life, his Aunt was the one who gave him the greatest hassles while his uncle tended the bar, served the food, and kept up the inn. He never saw him as a strong or violent man. Being proven wrong so swiftly made his legs give out before the emptying of his lungs.

  "See to it he's locked down securely," the guard said. "He's just as much an outsider as any other."

  The guards departed from the sitting room. Gertie kept her eyes locked to the floor while Darrion sputtered and coughed a few short breaths as he slowly overcame the pain.

  "Not fair..." he groaned. Donovon reached up and patted his nephew on the back. "I tried... I did... to do the right thing..."

  "It's right, too," Donovon said, "sometimes, to not try."

  Those words sank into Darrion's ears like bitter, toxic venom. As he heard them, he learned them and intuited them to his life. To not try and to lay himself down for his fate to run over him. It was no different in his mind than being trampled to death. He avoided one such fate only to be walked into another. The frustration boiled up to the last point, and he cried, quiet, muffled grunts of pain replacing the sobs he couldn't afford to make.

  Chapter 4

  ROSHA WAS ON HER WAY to the gatehouse. It was just past the stables and the home where her family lived. She saw guards stationed outside of the locked-down stables. She wasn't allowed inside, not even to work. The paranoia of the Prince had slipped deep into the ranks of the guards. The thief came from outside, and anyone could have been his accomplice. There was also a guard outside her home, the very one she was looking for, talking with her worried mother.

  "Hello, sir Garis," Rosha greeted as she approached. Rosha's mother, Claudia, turned to her daughter and held her arms out for her to return. Rosha was slow to oblige and got just within reach of her hands, refusing a full embrace out of her own hidden guilt.

  "Rosha," Garis said, "I've cleared your name with the guards. They are convinced there was nothing to be done about the break-in and theft, and as the horse was returned unharmed, no action is being sought against your property in recompense."

  "That's good," Rosha said. "It's...fair."

  "However," he said, "your parents have risen a concern to me that I can't ignore, one which may have led to the compromise of security which allowed this travesty to occur."

  Rosha's eyes went wide on alert. She saw Garis, a trusted face and a friendly man she'd known all her life, turn cold and methodical. His words were not heart born concerns but recitations from a higher court of authority, ones he didn't fully believe in but represented with all the privilege his position came with.

  "They said the stable should have been locked by then," he explained. "They were going to come out and check on why you weren't inside yet after twilight, but the sight of the guards from the castle drew their attention away, and they became far more concerned with your safety. After the unexpected flash of light debilitated much of the pursuing guards, your parents were likewise forced to remain indoors. They were unable to assist you in time to make sure the stables were locked down, however, because the main doors weren't properly shut and the main lead gate wasn't locked in place, the thief was able to get away on one of the royal guard steeds."

  "....yes," she said. "I was there. That's what happened."

  "Why didn't you lock it?" her mother demanded. "Why? Why wasn't it locked?"

  "I, I was about to," she said. "I was just taking a break. I was eating... a carrot."

  "Rosha," Garis said. "We saw two discarded carrots at the front of the gate. This was far from any of the feed troughs or pens of any of the horses. Were you only eating one of those carrots?"

  Rosha was honest, as well as headstrong, when it came to her own actions. She was either fully right and undeterred or absolved from involvement and clear of guilt. If she felt guilt or shame for her actions, it was because what she did was wrong, and the wrong had to stay responsible.

  "I was eating," she said, "with Darrion. He was there and tried to stop the rider from leaving."

  "That horrible boy!" Claudia said in a hushed growl. "That awful...bastard child! With his strange, yellow hair. I've told you for too long not to trust him. First, he leads you into tormenting another poor boy, and now he's put you in harm's way of a demented bandit!"

  "Darrion has been dealt with," Garis said with a sigh. "His role is being investigated by means of witness testimonies."

  "I can testify!" Rosha said.

  "No, Rosha," her mother protested. She wrapped her hand around Rosha's mouth and guided her back into the house by force. Rosha didn't resist for fear of struggling against her mother's lacking might and frail arms.

  "Go to your room."

  She let Rosha go, but the girl refused to budge.

  "We're going to find him," Rosha declared. "He and I, we've decided. We'll go out and find the thief. We'll clear our names."

  "You will not leave this house!" Claudia shouted. Her voice reached a shrill tone that everyone could hear from the stable to the gatehouse. She dragged a shaky breath and calmed herself so much she had to sink down to the nearest chair to sit and rest her hand on her head. From deeper into the house, Rosha's father Richter, stomped into the room.

  "What happened?" he asked. "What made your mother shout?"

  "Sir," Garis spoke up, "I'd suggest you keep your daughter safely guarded at home for the next few days. The search will most likely conclude before the week's end, and we can all return to business as normal."

  "Dad," Rosha began, but he was far more stern, and she was less inclined to argue with him physically. He pointed away, in the direction of her room, and she leaned towards it.

  "I...," she started, but his hardened stare stopped her words from coming out. She marched to her room and shut herself in. Minutes later, she heard the lock tumble from outside. Even if she opened it from her end, a worse punishment would await her for trying to leave.

  It wasn't fair, she thought. She couldn't have known. She couldn't predict such things. But she had no excuses. The doors should have been locked. It was the last chore she had that day, and she had delayed it to talk with her friend instead. She didn't resent Darrion for her circumstances. If anything, she felt a pang of dread for his. Her parents were loving and noble people who valued their prestige and their legacy enough to treat her fairly and to punish her lightly without a stern or forceful hand. The innkeepers were more brutal and direct, especially lady Gertrude. No one raised a hand to another like she did.
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  The day went on, and all hope began to fade out with the setting sun. All the dreams and ambitions the two had, the plans they made on the auspice of their success, and the accomplishments they could have done together were all but gone. Rosha was locked on the second floor of her house, and Darrion was most likely suffering some unknown, unseen abuse she couldn't stomach thinking about. Supper time passed, and Rosha was neglected. Her stomach growled, which only served to pile on the many different feelings of guilt to compound together.

  She was curled up in her corner, not even in her bed, head against her knees and sulking in the dark when she heard a tap at her window. She stood up to inspect it and saw Darrion outside, just below on her property, unhidden and exposed. She knew what he was trying to do and move her arms quietly for him to getaway. He held up his arm to signal her to wait a moment. She was still worried for him, and he was out making daring plans and leading an escape attempt.

  When she went back to sit on the edge of her bed and think over his actions, all she could do was quietly laugh. She had received the least oppressive punishment and was already defeated, and yet he endured all kinds of pain and torment from hands that were hard to find any love at all in, and he was breaking the rules all over again. All for the sake of their plans together. A one hundred gold piece reward was worth any crime, it seemed.

  Darrion managed to sling a rope from the yard below up to one of the jutting struts of the home's second floor and climbed it without being seen. The twilight was ending, and the night was soon to fall. He appeared as nothing more than a shadow among shadows to any who weren't keenly observing, and the backside of the stablehand home faced away from the main road and was in the shadow of the castle walls.