A Triad of Kings

It was a muggy day in Darok City, capital of the Republic of Darok.  For the past few weeks the prevailing winds brought moisture from the south which would manifest itself in the form of evening thunderstorms which served to cool off the city.  Now the winds have shifted and blow in from the West bringing with them the hot arid air of the desert trapping the moisture over the city and making life generally miserable for those who reside within.

         There was one inhabitant in particular whose life would for ever be changed by this unusual weather pattern, for as the temperature rose, more and more citizens remained indoors making it increasingly difficult for him to ply his trade.  He was hungry, tired and ready to throw caution to the wind.

         His given name was Christian Longstreet but he was generally known as Lucky to those in his trade.  He was given the nickname by a friend as it seemed he was blessed by the gods with the ability to always get out of impossible situations. It was a good skill to have when one makes his living as a cut purse. 

He was a handsome lad, tall and lean with an angular face, raven black hair and an athletic build which served him well.  It was his eyes that were his most distinct feature as they were the color of sapphire.  It was as if nature had set the stones in his head and turned them into eyes when he was born.

         He stood in the alleyway, well hidden in the shadows, watching his prey as a hawk watches a mouse.  Sweat rolled down the back of his neck and dripped from his forehead as he stood motionless in the stifling confines of the lane. He started to step forward and as he did his stomach growled and shot pangs of hunger through his body.  He froze.  His stomach growled again louder than before.  His eyes darted about knowing that the noise had alerted the guard but if he heard he took no notice.

Easy now, he thought to himself, just be quiet long enough for me to finish this and it’ll be roast quail for you tonight.

         He moved to the end of the passage for a final check.  The coach was a scant fifty feet away from him, one guard was posted near it armed with a sword and his escape route, an alley across from the coach, was clear.  His plan was simple; he would stager out of the alley toward the guard clutching his stomach, his shirt was stained with fresh blood, courtesy of the butcher shop around the corner, which he had contained in a pouch underneath.  He would collapse claiming he had just been stabbed and when the guard went for help he would grab his prize and be gone before anyone knew what happened.

         His prize was no mere trinket however; it was the Royal Coat of Arms of the Kingdom of Kalem.  He had taken a good look at it yesterday; it was made of gold and platinum and was secured to the back of the coach by three leather straps.  Inset into the crest were small rubies and sapphires and one large diamond was set above it all.  It was there for the taking and he knew it would feed him for months.

All right Lucky it’s now or never. 

He took a deep breath, grabbed his belly and staggered out into the street.

“Help! Help!” He cried in a pathetic voice.  “I’ve been stabbed please help me.”

The guard heard his cry and stepped around the coach to see what was happening.  “By the Gods!” He exclaimed as he rushed forward.
 
Lucky continued staggering; the blood on his shirt now covered his hands and dripped on the street.  That’s it mate, come to papa.  Lucky you should have been an actor.  He said to himself, hiding a grin.  The guard grabbed him and as he did Lucky collapsed in his arms, ten feet from his prize.

“Please sir” he gasped for breath “help me, I don’t want to die.” He looked at the guard with pleading eyes.  The guard gently lowered him to the ground.

“Hold on lad, you’ll be alright.  I’ll get help you just hold on.”

“Please hurry, everything’s going dark.” He began to writhe on the ground.

“I’ll be right back.  Just hold on son.”

The guard, whose sur cote was now covered in blood, stood and ran past the coach toward the white stucco house his master was occupying.  Lucky kept a watchful eye on him and as soon as he was out of sight he sprang into action.  He covered the ten feet in three steps drawing his knife as he moved.  When he reached the coach he quickly cut the leather straps and dashed toward the alley.  Lucky you’re a bloody genius! He thought as he clutched his prize.

         He ducked into the alley and disappeared into the shadows.  Prudence would have dictated that he should have kept moving but he had a curious streak about him that caused him to stop and observe the scene that was about to take place.  After a few moments the guard returned with a well dressed man who had somewhat of a regal appearance about him.

“Where is he?” The well dressed man asked concern in his voice.

“He was right there Milord.” The guard had a bewildered look on his face as he pointed at the blood stained cobblestones.

         Sir Geoffrey Thornwall surveyed the scene; his eyes darting about taking in every detail.  With a pronounced limp he slowly walked over to the bloody cobblestones and very gingerly knelt down swiping his fingers through the puddle.  A curious look came over his face as he ran the blood between his thumb and index finger.  He stared at his finger for a moment then to the guards astonishment tasted the red liquid.

         A look of anger washed over him as he spat the blood on the ground and feverishly began looking about.  His eyes grew wide as they fell upon the back of the coach, his face turned red and he began to tremble with rage.

“You idiot!” He bellowed.

The guard swallowed hard as Sir Geoffrey’s eyes locked on his.

“He wasn’t stabbed, he was a thief and he played you for a fool!”

“I don’t understand sir. He was bleeding, look at the blood.” The guard stammered.

“Its cows’ blood you twit! Look at the back of the coach and tell me what’s missing.” Sir Geoffrey stabbed at the air with his blood stained finger
.
“Oh no” Was all he could manage as he stared at the cut leather straps.

         Lucky felt sorry for the guard as he listened to Sir Geoffrey tear into him.  The knight’s words were loud and echoed through the narrow streets and alleys like ripples from a pebble dropped into a still pond.

“There!” Sir Geoffrey pointed to the ground.  “The bastard left a trail!”

“Yes sir, I can see it.” The guard responded.

Time to go! Lucky chided himself as he turned and ran silently down the alley using the shadows to mask his movements with practiced perfection.

“Well don’t just stand there, follow it you dolt!”

The guard spun around and very methodically began to follow the bloody trail with Sir Geoffrey hobbling close behind muttering a continuous string of oaths.

         Lucky ran down the alley clutching the crest under his arm, he could hear voices behind him calling out.  He saw a narrow street on his right about fifty yards ahead and he knew if he could make it without being seen he was home free.  Take the street on the right, second left, first right and I’ll never eat out of the garbage again. He smiled at the thought. It’s a hot bath, roast quail, and a clean bed for me tonight.  The thought made his feet light as he turned the corner.

Then his world came crashing down around him.

                                                                                                ***********
Sir Christopher Vangaurd walked a brisk pace as he made his way down the narrow street.  He was a large, powerful man with close cropped brown hair, a square jaw and a flat nose that, in the middle, bent slightly to the right from being broken on more than one occasion. He had steel gray eyes and a permanent scowl was etched onto his face.  He wore a suit of plate armor polished to a mirror finish, the gleaming bronze rings of the mail he wore underneath could be seen peeking out at its joints.  On top of the armor he wore a sur cote quartered in blue and yellow and on its center were the arms of the Kingdom of Kalem.  Strapped to his waist was a simple black leather scabbard with the ornate hilt of a long sword jutting above it.

         To his right and one pace behind was William Roahn, his senior squire.  William was sixteen and had learned well all that Sir Christopher had taught him, he was an accomplished horseman, a master swordsman and a skilled archer. 

         It was two weeks ago that he, Sir Geoffrey, Thomas Bunham, Sir Geoffrey’s squire, a soft spoken lad of fourteen years who was more at home studying philosophy than martial skills and eight men at arms left Kalem for Darok.  Sir Christopher was on an errand, as he called it, for the King and was to meet them in Darok City.  The trip was pleasant taking them from Permadon, the capital of Kalam, to Fort Doom, then by shipacross the Azue Sea to Shireton where they would cross Cruth Mountains on the Wayfarer Trail then on to Darok City.  It was in the Cruth Mountains where the trip stopped being pleasant.

         They were on the North Slope of the mountains heading down the trail toward Darok when the attack came.  The first volley of arrows hit their marks with deadly accuracy as the four guards comprising the vanguard were decimated along with their horses.  The group spurred on as the second volley of arrows rained down upon them.  Sir Geoffrey was hit in the left knee and hip, his horse took three well placed shots to the heart and lungs and collapsed underneath him pinning his right leg.  William drew his sword and rallied the guards to the defense of Sir Geoffrey as Thomas tried to free the knight’s leg.  The gnolls rushed in from both sides of the trail screaming a guttural war cry.

         Two of the beasts charged William, snarling and swinging wildly.  William held his ground and with practiced precision decapitated the first and eviscerated the second. Three more followed.  A mace crashed into his shield forcing him backwards; as he stumbled he felt a hammer blow to his right spaulder which sent a shockwave of pain down his arm.

His vision blurred, he swung wildly with his shield and felt a spray of blood on his face as it impacted with the snout of one of the beasts who howled in rage.

“You die slow for that!” The wolf like creature screamed in a broken tongue.

The flash of a blade brought his vision back as it collided with his gorget.  He choked down the pain in his sword arm as he brought his blade up to defend himself. The shouts and cries of battle were all around him as he struggled for survival against his three attackers.  The one with the hammer came at him with a powerful overhead swing as the one with the mace swung at his legs.  William threw himself toward the one with the sword and heard a sickening crack as the hammer impacted the skull of the beast whose snout he had just broken.  The one with the hammer stood in shock for a moment as his cohort collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood.  William seized the moment and adeptly ran his blade through its side.

The one with the sword seized the moment as well and William felt its powerful hand grab his throat and begin to squeeze.  William turned his eyes toward it as he began to gasp for air.  The creature pulled him close and started lifting him off the ground; he could feel its hot fetid breath on his face as he struggled to free himself.  He began to lose control of his muscles, his sword and shield arm fell to his side as the creatures grip grew tighter.

“I eat on you bones!” The beast screamed, just before its head exploded.

         William fell to the ground and gulped air as he scrambled away from the gnoll.  Blood and brains oozed down his face and tabard as he wildly looked about to see what had happened.  He finally locked eyes with Sir Geoffrey who was standing behind the fallen body of the gnoll with a bloody mace.

“If you’re through lollygagging we could use your help.”  Sir Geoffrey stated as a faint smile cracked his lips then quickly faded.

William stood and wiped the ichor off his face and surveyed the scene around him.  Five dead gnolls were scattered around him, Sir Geoffrey and three guards were fighting five of the beasts.  Thomas had managed to get drawn away from the group and found himself in single combat with the largest gnoll of the pack.  William readied his sword and shield and rushed into battle once more.

         He covered the distance to Thomas as quickly as he could but Thomas was no match for his attacker.  The beast slashed at Thomas with a scimitar, the blade sliced through the steel rings of his hauberk and Thomas screamed in agony.  He staggered back clutching his stomach as blood poured from the gaping wound.  William watched helplessly as Thomas fell to his knees and collapsed to the ground.  The gnoll crushed Thomas’ skull under his foot then turned to face William.

“I like human boys their flesh so tender not stringy like old men!”

William ignored the comment as Sir Christopher had taught him and focused on the task before him.  There would be time to morn Thomas later.  The beast smiled a toothy grin and beckoned him forward.  William approached cautiously keeping his eyes locked on his foes.  The beast sprang forward slashing with his sword; William drew his shield in tight and turned to deflect it.  The blow was powerful and slammed into his shield with such force that it split in two. 

William used all of his strength to push the creature away and as he did deftly slashed the beasts left arm cutting it deep. The gnoll wailed in anger and swung again.  Its blow sliced through the top of Williams left vambrace and the blade slice deep into his forearm hitting the bone.

“You armor no good against Grekar’s sword!”  It hissed.

Tell me something I don’t know.  William thought as he struggled to stifle the pain in his arm.

The sword came again and he barely managed to escape the blow.  It was strength versus dexterity and William was quickly tiring of the dance.  He used every defensive move he knew and a few that he made up and the beast kept coming.  He knew he couldn’t keep dodging for much longer so in desperation he decided on a course of action that went against everything he was ever taught.

         The two were facing each other about ten yards apart when Grekar charged.  William watched, waited and mustered all of his remaining strength.  At the last moment he took his sword with his left hand and slammed it against the flat of Gekar’s blade while lowering his head and going into a crouch at the same time.  Grekars forward momentum coupled with the impact of William’s helmeted head against his genitals sent a convulsion of pain through his body that was more than he could stand. William was knocked backwards as Grekar plowed through him.  The beast stumbled and fell wildly to the ground releasing the scimitar, grabbing its groin and yelping in pain.
 
William drug himself to his feet, he was dazed by the force of the impact and shook his head to try and clear it.  He staggered over to Grekar who was now in a fetal position whimpering softly. William stood over the head of Grekar and raised his sword.

“No kill!  No Kill!” Grekar pleaded.

William screamed an oath and plunged his blade through Grekar’s head.

         Once again William turned to survey the scene.  Only Sir Geoffrey was left standing and he was engaged by what appeared to be the last two of the gnolls.  William was in pain.  He knew his left arm was broken and something was definitely wrong with his right shoulder.  His head and neck hurt from the impact with Grekar and his strength was fading quickly.

Once more into the breach, he took a deep breath and ran to assist Sir Geoffrey.

         The gnoll fighting Sir Geoffrey never knew his executioner as Williams’s blade pierced its heart from the back. William recovered and sliced at the one to his left removing its arm at the elbow.  It howled in pain and died choking on its own blood as Sir Geoffrey slashed its throat.

         The two of them stood in silence and surveyed the carnage before them.  Eleven gnolls were dead and in varying forms of dismemberment.  Five guards killed, three wounded.

“Where is Thomas?” Sir Geoffrey asked as his eyes searched in vain for him.

William looked across the trail and then into the old knight’s eyes and Sir Geoffrey knew immediately what William could not bring himself to say.  His face softened and his eyes began to fill with emotion.

“He fought a good fight Milord but he was out matched.  I tried to get to him but I was…”

Sir Geoffrey raised his hand and shook his head.

“He never wanted this William; he was a thinker not a brawler.  He begged his father to send him to a monastery but as he was the oldest his father wouldn’t hear of it and he sent him to me.”  A single tear rolled down the knight’s cheek and he began walking toward the body of his squire.

         A glint of light drew Williams’s attention and he rushed toward Sir Geoffrey.  In an explosion of leaves a gnoll archer sprang up from the underbrush and loosed a shaft at the old knight.  William saw it and leapt in front of the aged warrior.  He felt a burning sensation and a jabbing pain in his chest and then, mercifully, everything went black as another arrow impacted his helm.
         
                                                                                                  ********
Lucky made the turn and as he did he saw someone step out of the shadows directly in front of him.  He was caught by surprise and moving too fast to stop.  He collided with the figure and as he did he felt a sharp pain in his belly.  As he crashed to the ground, the crest still held tight under his arm, he knew something was terribly wrong.

         He began gasping for breath as he felt the handle of the dagger that was buried to the hilt in his stomach.  The man from the shadow stepped forward and knelt beside him and Lucky recognized him immediately.

“I’ve been watching you all morning Lucky.  That was a well planed, well executed heist, it was truly brilliant.  Too bad you won’t get to enjoy the profits of your labor.”

He knew he was dying.  He could feel his strength ebbing from his body as he began to choke on the blood that was rising in his throat.

“It’s fitting you know, a piece of trash like you dying in the gutter. Let’s see that luck of yours get you out of this one.”

His vision began to blur and he felt a trickle of blood flow down the corner of his mouth.  His breathing was weak and ragged and he realized his life was over.  He made eye contact with the man and struggled to speak his last word.

“Why?”

“You never showed me any respect Lucky.  All the times I had you cornered and instead of just giving up you made me look like a fool.  Nobody makes Constable Darius Agrilus look like a fool Lucky, nobody.”

                                                                                                **********
It was the patter of rain on the roof and the low rumble of thunder that woke him up.  He lay there listening to it for a long time as he slowly took stock of his surroundings and cleared his mind. 

He was in a very comfortable bed and covered in fine linens and heavy quilt.  The room was large and opulently furnished and through the two large windows he could see the flash of lightning as the storm rumbled on.

         He tried to sit up but as he did his head began to pound and he felt nauseous so he gently lowered his head and waited for the room to stop spinning.  His body ached; his left forearm was wrapped in bandages and was throbbing, his neck was stiff, his back hurt, his right arm was in a sling and his chest was on fire.

Where am I?  He thought as he recalled the last events he remembered.

His thoughts were interrupted by the squeaking of a door hinge. He looked toward the portal and watched as the figure of a tall thin man followed by two larger men came toward him.  A bolt of lightning flashed and briefly illuminated the room.  He stared in disbelief as he immediately recognized the tall man.  Instinctively he tried to rise but his strength was lacking.  The tall man saw his attempt and motioned for him to stay put.

“There is a time and a place for formalities Squire William but this is neither the time nor the place.” The tall man said in a very elegant voice
.
“Thank you for your tolerance Your Majesty.”  William managed to squeak.

         King Stephan of Kalem walked to Williams’s bed side and sat down.  He was dressed in a blue silk shirt and black velvet breeches, a blue and gold brocade doublet hung from his shoulders and an ornate circlet of gold rested upon his head.  He stood just shy of six feet, was well proportioned for his height and had green eyes and red hair that was graying at the temples. 

“Sir Geoffrey tells me that you single handedly killed five gnolls including the leader, what was his name again Geoffrey?”

“Grekar, Milord.”

“He also tells me that as badly wounded as you were you still managed to muster enough strength and courage to throw yourself in front of two arrows that were meant for him.”

William struggled to remember the last part but his mind was still clouded and the recollection failed him.

“I honestly can’t remember Your Majesty.” William replied in a soft voice.

The King rose and placed his hand on William’s.

“Rest Squire William, you and I will talk again when your strength returns.  Is there anything you need?”

“No sir.  Thank you Your Majesty.”

King Stephan turned and walked toward the two others who had come in with him.

“Geoffrey, are you firm in your demand?” He asked in a hushed tone.

“I am Milord.”

“No objections from you Christopher?”

“I have none Milord.”

“Then so it shall be.  Christopher let me know as soon as he is well enough.”

“As you wish Sire.”

                                                                                  **********
“May I say something Milord?”  William asked.

“You know you may always speak your mind to me when we’re alone.” Sir Christopher said as he turned his head toward William.

“You could have unseated Sir Prilemar on your first pass but you chose to lower your lance and hit his shield on the lower left side.”

“I hit what I was aiming at.”

“I don’t understand Milord?”

Sir Christopher reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a flattened copper Tupence and handed it to William.  William took it and stared at it in disbelief.  He knew the only way to squash a Tupence like this with a lance would be to hit it dead center.

“I am truly impressed Milord.”  William said humbly, handing the copper back to Christopher.

“Why would you be impressed with a feat that you can do yourself?”
It was well known throughout Kalam that William Roahn was as good a jouster as Sir Christopher and late at night in dark corners of pubs and taverns all over the Kingdom in hushed tones most said he was better.

“Flattening a Tupence mounted on a stationary target is easy, but to manage it as you did on a moving target with only a split second to aim and make corrections is unheard of.”

“It’s not unheard of, those of us who can do it just don’t brag about it.  You’ll see what I mean next week when you tilt against me.” Christopher had a grin on his face as he spoke.

William looked at Christopher with a confused expression.

“Next week is the Grand Tournament of Kalem sir.  The rules expressly prohibit squires from participation.”

Christopher stopped and turned to William removing something from his large belt pouch.

“True, the rules do state that a squire can not participate but a Knight of Kalem is more than welcome.”

Christopher handed a polished set of spurs to William.

“You’ll need these.” He said with a look of satisfaction.

William stared at the spurs for a long moment as the meaning of them slowly sunk in.

“Congratulations William, I can not think of anyone more deserving than you and if my memory serves me well you will also be the youngest knight in Kalem’s history.”

William was in shock, he had dreamed of this day since he was eight when he became Sir Christopher’s squire.  He was speechless.