Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor (13 page)

When Burkfield was nearly out of sight, Quinlan turned and looked at the country he had called home for so long. Mount Resolute rose up tall out of the landscape, a reminder of the commitment Quinlan had made one strange autumn eve.

Over the next few days, Quinlan meandered south from village to village until he came to the town of Kurryvale on the southern coast. The chilly spring day was made miserable by a spitting mist that threatened to turn into a full rain. By the time he had reached the outskirts of the town, he was chilled to the bone and looking forward to a fire and a meal. He hoped the town had an inn.

As Kobalt trotted along the empty road, Quinlan noticed a dark lump next to a tree near the ditch—perhaps a forgotten gunnysack that had spilled from a wagon. But as he passed, he heard a cough and a wheeze—or thought he heard it. He hesitated, but the lump didn’t move.

Quinlan shivered and rode on, telling himself he had been mistaken. He spotted the town inn partway down the main thoroughfare and picked up his pace, but after passing the first set of shops, he pulled back on the reins. Kobalt nickered as if to question why they had stopped shy of their destination.

Quinlan turned in the saddle and looked back down the road. Then he sighed, turned the horse around, and made his way back to the tree. He dismounted and peered more closely at the dark shape. He heard another cough.

He approached cautiously, wary of being taken by a roadway thief. “Are you all right, sir?” he called while still a couple of paces away.

The man didn’t move.

“I say, are you all right, sir?”

Slowly the man turned his head to peer out from the tattered blanket he had wrapped around himself. His face was deathly pale. Quinlan drew nearer and knelt before the man on the wet grass.

“Do you live here?” he asked. “Is there somewhere I can take you?”

The man slowly shook his head and began coughing again. Recovering from the coughing fit seemed to take nearly every bit of his remaining strength.

Quinlan looked up and down the road for someone else to offer some help, but he and the man were alone.

“What’s your name, sir?” he asked.

“Terrance.” The man’s voice was a hoarse whisper. He looked to be about forty years old, though in his condition it was hard to tell. Matted brown hair hung about his eyes.

“Come, Terrance. Let’s get you someplace dry.” Quinlan put an arm around the man to help him up. The man shivered uncontrollably.

Terrance held onto Quinlan’s arm and the tree to stand up. Quinlan led him to Kobalt and helped him into the saddle. He then led Kobalt to the inn and ushered the man through the doors. An enticing fire burned in the fireplace. Quinlan looked about and saw a red-faced, heavyset woman looking sternly their way.

“Madam, this man needs—”

“Don’t harbor no plague victims here,” she said.

“He just needs some food and a place to lie down,” Quinlan explained.

The woman put her hands on her hips and eyed Terrance closely.

“You got money to pay?” she asked Quinlan.

He nodded, and she exchanged the concern in her countenance for sympathy. “Why don’t you take him to that table near the fire so he can dry up some.”

Quinlan guided Terrance to the table and set him in a chair. The fire was as pleasing and as warm as it looked. Before long, the innkeeper returned with a loaf of bread and two bowls of hot chestnut soup. At first Terrance couldn’t even get his own spoon to his lips, so Quinlan fed him the first half of his bowl of soup. With each spoonful, however, Terrance seemed to regain some of his strength, and his shivering gradually went away.

Quinlan dipped the spoon into the bowl once more, but Terrance
reached out and put his hand on Quinlan’s. “Thank you, sir.” He took the spoon from Quinlan and brought it to his lips, careful not to spill a single drop. He closed his eyes as he slurped the soup from the spoon.

Quinlan let the man focus on the task of eating and turned his attention to his own bowl. It wasn’t the best he’d ever tasted, but the warmth in his stomach felt good. He tore off a nice-sized portion of bread and held it out for Terrance. Terrance looked at Quinlan as if he couldn’t believe someone would be so kind to him. Tears welled up in his eyes as he took the bread.

Quinlan tore a piece for himself and dunked it into the soup. The bread softened and quickly soaked up the seasoned soup. To Quinlan it tasted wonderful. When he finished, he excused himself and sought out the innkeeper.

“Do you have any rooms, madam?”

She crinkled her nose as she looked at Quinlan. “I’ve rooms. It’ll be one florin a night, and there’s only one bed per room.”

Quinlan paid the woman for two rooms, returned to the table, and sat down again across from Terrance, who had just finished his soup. “Why are you helping me?” he asked.

Quinlan mustered a smile. “I am a Knight of the Prince, and this is what we do.”

Quinlan wished he could give him more, but right now he felt like as much of a misplaced wanderer as Terrance looked.

Terrance bowed his head for a moment, then looked up at Quinlan. “Wherever you are going, good sir, know that the kingdom needs more of you. May the King’s joy be your own and His protection follow you wherever you are bound.”

Quinlan stared at Terrance and suddenly felt like he was the one being ministered to. That blessing eased the ache in his heart in a way the man would never know. He smiled and lowered his head.

“Where
are
you bound, sir, that I should be so favored as to receive your kindness this day?” Terrance asked. His eyes seemed full of woe and fatigue, yet he was asking about Quinlan. Perhaps the conversation was a distraction from Terrance’s own life of obvious sorrow.

“I’m not sure,” Quinlan replied. “I think perhaps it isn’t so much where I’m bound as what I’m leaving behind.”

“Ah.” Terrance nodded as if he understood, then turned to face the fire. His whole body shivered once more as he spread his hands to catch the warmth. “I’ve learned that when I quit looking behind me, I quit stumbling over that which lies before me,” he said as he stared into the licking flames.

Quinlan tilted his head, thinking Terrance was not the typical homeless vagabond. “Where are you from?” he asked.

Terrance closed his eyes. “So many places I can’t remember, but the castle of Ironheart was my last place of duty.”

“You’re a proper man, Terrance,” Quinlan said. “What’s happened to you?”

Terrance hesitated a long while.

“I was betrayed,” he finally said. He tried to take a deep breath, but a coughing fit cut it short. By the time he stopped coughing, he looked ready to fall over from complete exhaustion.

“Come, Terrance.” Quinlan helped the man to his feet. “I’ve a room for you upstairs.”

Terrance leaned into Quinlan’s strength. “Thank you,” he whispered.

That night, Quinlan slept peacefully for the first time in many weeks. The following morning, he awoke to a window full of sunshine, ready for another day’s journey.

He checked in on Terrance and was pleased to see the man sleeping soundly. After paying for a couple of meals and another night’s stay for Terrance, he left instructions for the innkeeper to check in on Terrance once he left. Then he found a table near the door of the inn, settled into a worn wooden chair, and ordered breakfast.

He was leaning across the table to swat at a fly when something hard pressed against his ribs. He reached inside a pocket in his doublet, then froze when his fingers found the source of the discomfort—something that confused, saddened, and excited him all at the same time.

He slowly pulled the object from his doublet.

THE CRYSTAL COIN

Quinlan fingered the medallion and marveled once again at its beauty. As he lifted it closer to his eyes, the broken silver chain fell to the table. He returned the chain to his pocket but kept the disk out for further inspection.

Until now, the medallion had been difficult for Quinlan even to look at because it was a reminder of Sir Baylor and the last few moments of his life. Now, with some time between him and that dreadful day, Quinlan began to inspect the masterful work of art with a different perspective. At close range, it looked like … a crystal coin.

The outer rim was silver, with an inlaid gold design that gleamed in the light of the nearby lanterns. The inner disk was colorless crystal with prism cuts around the edge and a flat, clear center. Quinlan looked through it and realized the image beneath was slightly magnified.

Why did Sir Baylor give this to me?
Quinlan wondered.
What was so important about it that he spent the last few moments of his life making sure he gave it to someone?

Quinlan placed his thumb beneath the edge and flipped the coin into the air. He watched as the light of the inn lanterns streamed through the crystal in a moving arc of brilliant color. Quinlan flipped the coin a few more times, varying the speed at which the coin rotated, mesmerized by the colorful effect.

Two men entered the inn, walked to the table in the far corner, and sat down. One of them wore a hood pulled over his head. The other
looked nervously from table to table, and Quinlan could tell some shady deal was in the making—an arrangement to trade illegal goods or perhaps a weapons and arms deal. Either way, there was nothing Quinlan could do about it. He had been reduced to a spectator in a kingdom full of contradiction.

He scanned the inn’s tables once more without looking or thinking about anything in particular. The hooded man was now leaning forward, pointing a finger at his tablemate.

Quinlan flipped the crystal coin in the air once more. It slowly turned end over end, flying to the exact height of Quinlan’s right eye and intersecting his line of sight to the men in the corner. As the coin completed one rotation, his gaze passed through the aligned glass of the crystal coin. In that one brief instant, Quinlan saw something that made the hair on his neck stand up. A faint aura of green light emanated from the body of the hooded man.

Quinlan snatched the coin before it could fall back to his hand. Had he really seen what he thought he saw? He had looked through the crystal before and seen nothing unusual.

“Two eggs and mash.” The server plopped down a plate, interrupting Quinlan’s discovery. “You want ale or water?”

“Water, please,” Quinlan said.

The server poured a goblet full of water as Quinlan looked back at the corner table. He saw the nervous man scan the room again, and Quinlan feigned being preoccupied with his food. When they were locked in conversation again, Quinlan brought the coin to his eye and looked through the clear crystal. Everything looked completely normal except for the hooded man. The faint aura of green light was no trick upon the eyes. The man’s entire body glowed, and the light was brighter at the openings of the cloak, around his gloved hands and covered face.

Quinlan’s heart began to race as he considered what this might mean. Just then, the hooded man looked straight at Quinlan. Though covered by the hood, his glowing green face was as clear as if there were no hood at all, and his eyes glowed a brilliant green. They spewed hatred in a way that shook Quinlan to the bone.