Knight Fall (The Champion Chronicles Book 1) (17 page)

Chapter Thirteen

Conner looked into the closet and cringed.  Partly because of what he saw and partly because he moved again.  His side still hurt and even Goshin realized that his wound was more than just sore.  The purple bruise was as ugly as it was painful.  With regret, Goshin let Conner have the day off to rest his side.  However, instead of being sent to his barracks for resting, he was sent to the tailor.

“Oh, Conner,” Filbert Crossin said with a heavy sigh.  The finely dressed tailor had shown Conner the best of the best, and the response that he got was not one that he had expected.  He had expected that Conner would drool with excitement at the intense colors of the fine silk clothes, expertly and painstakingly stitched by the finest clothiers of the Taran Empire.  “These are the clothes that even the emperor would wear!  They were delivered over land some years ago to avoid the harsh salt of the sea that would linger with the clothes forever.  Yearly, these caravans would come with a handful of clothes, and invariably, the caravans would lose one or two with each crossing.”  He waved his hand at the closet full of clothes and continued talking.  “At least a dozen good men have given their lives so that we can have the finest clothes the world could offer.”

Conner walked into the closet, fingering the doublets, cloaks, hose, tunics, leggings, and other garments that he did not have a name for.  They were full of colors, some that he had never even considered for clothes, and some he had only seen on the ladies of the castle. Dresses full of the bright reds and greens and blues on the young ladies was fine, but he could not picture himself in them.

"Other squires and knights wear these?" Conner asked.

“A young courtier, one who has the eyes and ears of the princess should be dressed as finely as he can,” Filbert said with a nasally tone, his eyes narrow and thin lips stretched into a permanent grimace.

“I am just a peasant boy,” Conner said softly.

“You walk straight and tall, with confidence and purpose,” Filbert said.  “You may pretend that you are a simple boy, but there is much more to you than what is on the surface.  You are to mingle with royalty, so you should dress the part.”

“Royalty…” Conner repeated.

“Here, this bright blue tunic will make you look the part.  And looking the part is what counts.” Filbert held up the tunic for Conner to see.  It was thin silk that would easily tear if he were to wear it out in the woods, but it did look comfortable.  “With this thick leather belt, and a pair of dark blue hose, you will look as if you belong.”

Conner took the clothes from Filbert, fingering them, and wondering how they would look on him.  But more importantly, he wondered if he would indeed feel like he belonged.  He knew he didn’t.  He knew where he stood in the scheme of things.  He wasn’t royalty and would never be.  Only the gods could declare who was to be king.  He could never be a knight for he had the wrong blood flowing through his veins.  Only those with the right pedigree would ever take the training and kneel before the king and become one of the greatest warriors that had ever walked the earth.  But he was taking the training.  The same training that the other squires were getting.  And then he smiled to himself.  He really was not getting the same training.  His arms were hard, and his body lean and toned.  But it wasn’t because of what he did with the squires.  It was Goshin.  His evil teacher who pushed and pushed, and then pushed some more.  But the muscles were no longer sore.  His chest no longer heaved with pain when he ran around the city.  He would be better than a knight.  Better than any knight.

He looked around for a private place to change, but there was none.  Filbert stood a few steps away, looking bored as he always did.  He turned his back to the tall and the thin man quickly switched out his dirty garments for the fine silk ones.

Clad in his fresh silk, he walked the halls with his head held high.  He had no purpose, other than to show off his new clothes.  He meandered from one corridor to another, taking a path that had the most voices.  The finely dressed courtiers that walked the halls themselves all nodded their head to him, not caring who was in the clothes.  He smiled back.  Soon he was getting comfortable with the nods and the smiles.  Faces that he recognized no longer looked down upon him, but acknowledged him as an equal.  And that’s how he felt.  Finally, as an equal.

He ate lunch on the lawn behind the castle, overlooking the crashing waves of the ocean.  It was a surprising invitation and he still did not know who it was that invited him.  But as he was striding purposefully, he came across a group of slightly older men and ladies, all finely dressed as he was.  Two servants walked behind, caring large baskets full of food.  He had long since stopped only nodding to those who passed him by, but offered a word or two of greeting.  After a short conversation later, he was given the invitation to join them on the cliffs.

The lunch was a good meal of dark bread, cheese, and fruit.  He would have preferred something a bit meatier, but it was tasty none-the-less.  With his belly full, and the conversation of the weather and late spring flowers grown dull, he leaned back on his elbows and looked out across the bay.  Somewhere over there was a different land.  The Empire of Taran.  He had rarely thought about the empire, but now, as he looked across the wide expanse of water, he wondered what it was like.  He had heard a little about it, mostly stories from the other villagers who had heard stories from travelers.  Some of the tales, such as wizards walking the streets casting spells left and right seemed just a bit too fantastic.  But others, of grand cities stretching for miles upon miles, boggled his mind.

“My young man,” one of the courtiers said, interrupting his thoughts.  Mayfair was the eldest son of one of the king’s advisors.  He had lived his entire life at the castle, only making his way into the city when absolutely necessary.  He spoke with the same nasally tone as Filbert did.  It was an odd tone, and it seemed entirely unnecessary.  It was as if they wanted to speak differently than everyone else.  “Your eyes look far and wide across the bay.  What thoughts do you have this day?”

Mayfair sat down next to Conner, joining him in looking across the water.  Conner wanted to laugh at the self-described poet, but he held it in.  He was tall and thin, and didn’t seem to have an inch of muscle on his entire body.  He probably had never lifted anything more than a hair brush his entire life.

“Taran,” Conner said.  “Just thinking about what it would be like to visit there.”

A couple others joined them on the soft green grass.  Robert was another son of some lord from the south part of the kingdom.  Lauran and Gayle were both children of knights.  Their brothers were squires in training, but they spent their days in the castle, waiting for a husband to take them out of the castle.  They were both young and pretty, but could barely hold a conversation.

“Oh,” Lauran said, fear spreading across her face.  “That is an evil place.  I hear they sacrifice their first born to their god, Wartell.”

The others murmured agreement.

Mayfair laughed.  “You are silly young children”.  He seemed to be the leader of the group of courtiers, possibly the eldest, but also clearly the smartest.  “Taran is a grand empire of incredible culture.  They have the greatest scientists, able to move water from the rivers around their great cities to the center of town without so much a bucket.  They have medicines that can cure diseases that would fall the greatest knight.  And their works of art are beyond belief.  Paintings and sculptures.  Poetry and works of literature that would make the strongest man cry like a baby.”

“You have been there?” someone asked.

“Yes,” Mayfair said softly to the astonishment of them all.  His voice was low and soft.  “When I was young, my father went on a diplomatic mission to Tara, their capital city.  I was young, four I think.  All their streets are cobblestone, but smoothed from a thousand years of foot traffic.  Their buildings, stone structures built to withstand eternity, stretched as far as one could see.”  He paused to look back over his shoulder.  The city of South Karmon could be seen behind them, stretching quite a ways in the distance.  But beyond, they could see the forests.  “Our city would be but a small section of Tara.  Of the memories that I have, I remember looking out from a small tower of the emperor’s palace, and seeing nothing but stone buildings and wood houses.  We can see the trees of the forest from here, but from the center of Tara, the only thing you see is more city.”

Conner listened intently and was enthralled.  He had lived his life in the forests, hunting for his food, huddling close to the warmth of the fire during the cold winter months.  And when he came to South Karmon, he was amazed.  The castle was impressive, but the city was just as amazing.  There were so many houses and buildings.  More than he could have ever imagined in one place.  But as Mayfair continued to describe the city of Tara, Conner became enchanted with his poetic descriptions.   He described stone buildings that were bigger than their castle, taller than the tallest tower.  Some were wider and bigger than the entire grounds of the castle, including the gardens.  His mind wandered as he pictured himself walking the cobblestone streets, filled to the brim with people walking here and there.  The tall buildings sending shadows across the streets.  With Mayfair’s poetic voice, he knew he was there, even if it was only in his mind.

“I will go there,” Conner suddenly announced.

“But you are just a boy!” Gayle exclaimed, covering her mouth in astonishment.  “It is not a place for you.”

Conner laughed.  Where he was now was not the place for him, but he did not share those thoughts.  “I will ride my horse down the cobblestone streets, from the first city gate to the palace.  And then I will make audience with the emperor, and I will meet him.”

“The emperor meets with no mere man,” Mayfair said.  “There are millions of people in the empire.  All would want to see him, but hardly any will.  Only the greatest of men will have audience with him.”

“Then I will be the greatest of men,” Conner declared with a wide smile.

This caused an outburst of laughter from everyone around them.  He sat up, laughing himself.  But their laughter seemed just a bit too hard.  And just when their laughter was about to subside, they would look at him, and their laughter would begin anew.  It didn’t take too long before he realized that they were doing more than just laughing with him, they were laughing at him.

“I’m serious,” Conner said with some force.  “I will be the greatest of men and I will go before the emperor.  In fact, he will ask to see me.”

This caused more laughter.  Lauran, between fits of laughter, said, “But you are just a peasant boy.  You are nothing.”  And then the rest burst out into an even greater fit of laughter.

Conner stood and proclaimed, “I am the Princess’ champion!”

For a moment, the laughter ceased, as they observed his anger.  But then one giggle led to another, and then their laughter continued.  The anger didn’t just come to a slow boil, like a pot of water, but it exploded from nowhere.  He picked up Mayfair by the front of his tunic, grabbing more than a handful of silk.  His fingers ripped right through the thin fabric, but he had grabbed enough to hold firm.  He pulled the taller, but much lighter man to his feet and tossed him like a rag doll across the lawn.  Mayfair went tumbling towards the cliff.  Only a small hedge kept him from falling to his death.

Conner turned to the next man, another skinny courtier who tried to scurry away on his hands and knees.  But Conner caught him, pulled him to his feet, and planted a closed first across the cheek.  Screams followed.  Lauran and Gayle had been closest to him and they hiked up their dresses and ran crying towards the castle.  Two want-to-be heroes stood up to Conner, but they had spent their lives being primped and cared for.  They did not know how to fight.  One push, one punch, and they both fell and crawled away.

The two servants had run away, calling for help.  Almost immediately, two royal guards showed up, armed with short swords.  The anger still burned inside of Conner and it did not abate even when he saw the armed guards running towards him.  He did not think, he only acted at what he perceived to be the threat.  He moved forward, unafraid that being unarmed and going into a fight with armed soldiers might not be a wise choice. Goshin had taught him well.

Conner moved left just as the two guards approached, ensuring that he would take on only one guardsman at a time.  They tried to speak to him, to calm him down, but Conner was not listening, his newly found instincts had taken over, and his anger was strong.  The first guard took a fist in the face, his nose exploding in blood and mucus.  He fell to the ground, dropping his sword and holding this broken nose.  The second guard, attacked with his sword, not stabbing as he would normally do with the short sword, but swinging with a wide blow, the flat of the sword aimed at his head.  It was not meant to kill, but only to incapacitate him.  Conner, recognizing the non-lethal strike, took the blow with his left forearm, and drove his foot into the knee of the guard.  The knee popped, and the guard fell.

“Hold fast!” the shout of a familiar voice broke Conner from his anger fueled outburst.  Conner stood still, but Marik shouted again, “Hold fast!”

Then Conner turned and noticed two other royal guardsmen perched atop the castle walls, bows in hand, arrows aimed directly at him.  Marik was not shouting at him, but at the guards who were about to plant arrows in his back.