Sir Kendrick and the Castle of Bel Lione (13 page)

LOYALTY’S COURAGE

The Northern Mountains lay a two days’ ride to the northwest—a far more rugged range than the gentler peaks surrounding Bel Lione. Morley the cooper had insisted that Kendrick make his search on foot, so he found a small farm at the base of the range to quarter Pilgrim. Then he began the arduous climb, following the directions the wild-eyed Mr. Morley had given him.

By the day’s end, Kendrick was partway up one of the peaks, high enough to feel the bite of snow on his feet. His breath swirled up as white vapor in the evening mountain air as he stopped to look around him. He was sure that he was at the place Morley had told him of, for the landmarks matched the description perfectly, but there was no evidence of the dwelling Morley had described.

He traversed an area of snow-covered rocks and then passed through a stand of pine trees that released their burden of snow when he jostled the branches. When the pines thinned, he spotted a high ledge and decided to climb toward it to gain a better vantage point. As he stood there plotting his course, he heard a familiar sound, the creak of leather binding upon itself.

Someone close behind was recoiling for a strike with a weapon.

The next instant, Kendrick heard the tightened leather clothing of his attacker release and realized he could not escape the blade. Assuming his attacker was right-handed, Kendrick quickly withdrew his sword from his scabbard and inverted it, holding it vertically along his right shoulder with the hilt raised slightly above his head. He braced his shoulder against the flat of his own blade just as the sword of his unseen foe slammed against it.

Angry with himself for being taken by surprise, Kendrick whirled to face his opponent. But before he could fully position himself, he had to thwart another slice and then a thrust. Kendrick countered the blows and then attacked, hoping to bring a pause to the brief but intense fight and get a better look at his unknown enemy.

The man before him was at least twenty years his senior. His closely trimmed beard was white, his flowing hair nearly so, but his body was well muscled, and he possessed the fierce demeanor of an experienced fighter. His purpose seemed singular—to kill Kendrick quickly.

“I come in peace!” Kendrick exclaimed as the blades flew.

The man didn’t seem to listen. He just used the pause to recover and then launch another furious volley of cuts and slices. Kendrick matched his opponent’s attack, realizing the engagement might well end with someone’s blood staining the white snow beneath their feet. He settled into the fight and searched for the rhythm of this man’s battle.

It was a masterful duel. Soon both men were breathing hard, and the thick white vapor of their breath testified to their exertion. After a lengthy time of fighting, Kendrick was able to take advantage of a split-second break in the man’s defense. He thrust through the opening but pulled up short before his sword could pierce the man’s side. Then he retreated and paused once again.

The man hesitated, for it was obvious to a swordsman of such expertise that Kendrick had purposely held back from drawing blood.

“I do not come to harm you,” Kendrick said, “but to ask for your help.”

This time the man replied not with his sword, but with a skeptical look. “Vincero Knights do not ask for help. They come only to kill.” Without warning, he launched another attack.

Kendrick defended and countered. “I am not a Vincero Knight,” he shouted above the clash of swords. “I am a Knight of the Prince.”

The fight paused again. “I know of no such order,” the man said.

Kendrick thought of Duncan and felt the urgency of his mission again. He looked the man in the eye. Then, very slowly, he lowered his sword and opened his arms. He took a great risk in doing so, for he would find it difficult to recover in time if the man chose to take advantage of his evident vulnerability.

“We are an order of peace … and of hope,” Kendrick explained to his opponent. “We have only one enemy—Lucius the Dark Knight and his Shadow Warriors.”

This statement visibly stunned the man, and his sword lowered slightly. “What is your name?”

“I am Kendrick of Penwell.”

The man hesitated, not completely relinquishing his defensive posture.

Kendrick opened his arms wider. “I am at your mercy, sir, for I come on behalf of a fellow knight. His life and now mine will be determined by your choice this moment.”

The man hesitated. “Remove your breastplate.” He tightened his grip on his sword as if to ready himself for an attack.

Kendrick sensed he needed to trust this man, yet struggled with the courage to do so. He thrust the tip of his sword into the snow in front of him with the hilt still within arm’s reach. Then he removed his breastplate and let it fall to the ground.

The man approached slowly, never taking his gaze from Kendrick’s
eyes. He reached up with his left hand, grabbed Kendrick’s tunic by the collar, and pulled it down to expose Kendrick’s chest to the chill of the mountain air. His gaze slowly dropped to Kendrick’s chest—as if probing his heart for his true intentions—then back up to his eyes. Finally he released his grasp on Kendrick’s tunic and stepped back.

“I am Landor,” he said. “Come with me.”

Relief flooded through Kendrick as he recovered his breastplate, sheathed his sword, and moved to follow the other man through the snow. Landor walked quickly, despite a slight limp in his gait. He led them deeper into the mountain forest, climbing steadily until eventually they reached a steep and rocky cliff. Once they had scaled it, Kendrick turned about and realized he could see the entire southern approach of the mountain range from this vantage point. Another fifty paces on, behind a thick curtain of pine trees, stood a small secluded cabin.

Kendrick entered behind Landor and discovered a comfortable, neatly kept dwelling. There was only one room, for the place was obviously meant to shelter but a single man. It appeared to Kendrick that Landor had lived here for a very long time.

“Sit.” Landor pointed to the single chair next to his table. He placed some bread and an urn of water on the table between them, then retrieved a stool from the corner and sat across from Kendrick.

Kendrick nodded his thanks but didn’t eat or drink. Neither did Landor. He just sat and looked at Kendrick through narrowed eyes. “Regardless of the words you are about to speak, one of us will die today.”

Kendrick understood instantly. Landor would kill or die rather than let anyone know of his existence or his location.

“If this is true,” Kendrick replied, “then I have journeyed in vain to find you. For my quest involves saving lives, not destroying them.” Kendrick met Landor’s hard stare as he searched the man’s deep blue eyes for the slightest hint of compassion. He found something else instead.

“How did you know to search for me here?” Landor asked. “Why did you come?”

“You can be at peace. No other sane Arrethtraen knows you live on this mountain.”

Landor’s brow furrowed as if he didn’t understand.

“As for my purpose, I have a friend who is in great peril, and I am told that you are the only one who might be able to help me.”

Landor huffed out a mirthless laugh. “I help no one.” He looked away. “It is not my … purpose in life.”

“I hear your words,” Kendrick replied, “but I see something very different.”

At that Landor looked back and nearly sneered at him.

“I am here, alive, and sitting in your cabin,” Kendrick said. “Your allowance of my presence here testifies to something more in you.” He leaned forward to make his argument. “You are a master swordsman, disciplined by nobility. And surely you realize that there is nothing more noble than to save the life of another.”

Landor gazed down at the table. For one brief instant, the mighty man looked sad and afraid.

“Tell me, Landor, what do you fear so greatly down there”—Kendrick nodded toward the base of the mountain—“that you would die up here rather than face it?”

Landor snapped from his moment of reflection. He pushed to his feet with both hands on the table and leaned across it, his face red with defiant anger.

Kendrick wondered if their fight might resume at that instant. He kept his gaze steady. “I have felt the mastery of your sword. Even the Vincero Knights are no match for you. Why do you fear them?”

Landor’s face twisted into something between anger and pain. Clenching his fists as if fighting for control, he stalked away from the table, then turned back to face Kendrick.

“I do not fear the Vinceros,” he retorted with a bitter smile. He
opened the top portion of his leather doublet to reveal his chest. “I am one!”

Kendrick almost stopped breathing.

On Landor’s chest, over his heart, was the scarred brand of the same insignia Kendrick had seen on the medallion in Chessington.

A LIFE FOR A LIFE

Kendrick’s heart pounded as he stared at Landor. He had assumed this man was hiding from the Vincero Knights. That Landor might actually be one of Lucius’s evil henchmen had not occurred to him. Kendrick’s eyes opened wide as he frantically considered his options. Why had he ever disarmed himself in Landor’s presence?