Sir Kendrick and the Castle of Bel Lione (6 page)

He knew he was fortunate to be involved in such a significant mission. He had only been a Knight of the Prince a short time and had little experience in actual combat. It was truly a privilege to be mentored by a knight of Kendrick’s caliber.

But why couldn’t Kendrick have more respect for
Duncan’s
abilities? The man treated him more like a squire or even a wayward child than a fellow knight. He seemed determined to deny Duncan what he desired most—the opportunity to prove himself.

The dilemma of discovering the true identity of Sir Casimir was just such an opportunity, and Duncan was not about to let it pass by. If he could verify that Sir Casimir was indeed a Vincero Knight and possibly discover the origin of his stronghold, then their mission would be successful and he would have proven himself as a worthy knight.

For the past two days he had been working out a plan to do just that. All he had to do now was wait for the dark of night to fully envelop the town. He turned again in his bed, listening to the night sounds and hoping the plan would work. It was simple but bold and risky.

A lot depended on the girl Duncan had befriended at the inn—a maid named Abbra. A little coaxing and a few coins had proved sufficient to enlist her promise of help. He just hoped she had managed to arrange what he needed.

Finally the occasional barking hound returned to silence. The second hour of the night arrived. It was time.

Duncan rose, fastened a knife to his belt, and quietly exited the room, leaving his sword behind. Careful not to stir a soul, he made his way from the inn to an alleyway behind the Black Crow Tavern nearby. He located a basket and withdrew a long hemp rope.

Duncan smiled. Abbra had done what she promised.

He traveled east through the silent streets of Attenbury, avoiding the occasional drunken forms of recent tavern patrons, until he reached the Crown Inn. According to Abbra, Casimir’s room was on the top floor, two windows from the north corner.

He noticed that most of the windows, including Casimir’s, were open to draw in the cool night air, for the preceding day had turned unseasonably warm. Duncan’s only chance of gaining entrance to Casimir’s room was through that window, and getting into Casimir’s room was the only way left to find out for sure whether the knight wore a Vincero medallion.

A sliver of moon was Duncan’s only light as he made his way to the back side of the inn near the kitchen. This portion of the building was only one story tall, with the chimney for the kitchen ovens jutting up next to the second story. Duncan climbed onto a barrel and hoisted the rope onto the roof. From there he clambered onto the kitchen roof and used the sill and casings of one of the second-story windows, along with
the stones of the inn’s chimney, to climb to the second-story roof. He fastened the rope around the chimney and carefully made his way along the steeply pitched surface to the place just above Sir Casimir’s window.

Duncan paused to catch his breath from the challenging climb. As his breathing grew quiet again, his heart began to race. All of his planning could not prepare him for the intensity of this moment. If he was discovered—and if Sir Casimir was indeed a Vincero Knight—then Duncan’s chances of surviving would be very slim.

He had never considered failure and what that would mean not only to him but to the rest of the Knights of the Prince. His muscles tightened and his legs began to quiver as his mind entertained potential calamities. He was quickly losing his nerve.

Stop it! You’ve come too far to turn back now.

Duncan steeled himself against the encroaching fear, took a deep breath, and slowly lowered himself down the rope to the sill of Casimir’s window. The rope was just long enough for Duncan to reach the window, and he was grateful the sill was wide enough to stand on. Using the rope to help him, he was able to balance at the side of the window, listening for any indication that he had been detected. There was none. He quietly opened the window farther and slipped into the room.

Duncan stepped out of the faint moonlight that entered through the window and into the dark shadows of the room. He edged to the left, hoping nothing was there to topple. Then he paused, listening closely to the sounds of deep breathing across the room. He hoped Casimir was as exhausted as Kendrick had seemed to be.

Duncan willed his trembling muscles to relax as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. This room was a fair bit larger than the room at their inn, which was expected since the Crown Inn was nearly twice the cost and reserved for prestigious guests. He scanned the room quickly, hoping he might be fortunate enough to see the medallion on a table or clothes hook. Then he moved across the room, one step at a time, testing each floorboard for creaks before placing his full weight on that foot.

It was a painstakingly long process, but he finally arrived at Casimir’s bedstand. He felt the top gingerly with his fingers, searching for the token of evil that would confirm his suspicions about Casimir. His lack of reward forced him to consider the possibility that these Vincero Knights never removed their medallions from their persons.

He felt for the handle of a drawer in the bedstand and gently pulled. It creaked, and Casimir stirred. Duncan froze. Casimir mumbled and rolled toward the edge of the bed nearest Duncan. Duncan slowly moved his hand from the drawer handle to the hilt of the knife on his belt. He waited for Casimir to open his eyes as his mind went wild, considering what might happen next. Much to Duncan’s relief, Casimir stilled.

Duncan remained motionless and his muscles began to ache as he waited for Casimir’s breathing to become heavy once again. The tension subsided with each passing moment, and Duncan realized he had neither seen nor heard the medallion about Casimir’s neck.

Duncan returned his hand to the squeaky wooden drawer and lifted it slightly before pulling slowly once again. With the slides lightened of their burden, Duncan was able to quietly open the drawer far enough to verify that the medallion was not there. He slowly closed the drawer, wondering if he and Kendrick were wrong about Casimir.

He was scanning the room once more, preparing for another trek across the floor, when his eyes came to rest on Casimir’s sword. It leaned against the wall, within Casimir’s reach. Duncan stepped closer and saw the glint of a chain about the hilt. He reached behind the scabbard and felt the cool metal of a medallion suspended by the silver chain wrapped about the hilt.

Barely breathing, Duncan lifted the medallion out of the dark shadows near the floor. He tilted the sword away from the wall, carefully removed the chain, and returned the sword back to its balancing point on the wall. Careful not to let the chain jingle, he brought the medallion closer to his eyes, adjusting it back and forth until the minuscule
amount of ambient moonlight reflected off the image enough for him to inspect it.

The sight of the dragon suspended above Arrethtrae brought chills to his entire body, for the eyes of the dragon seemed to glow and pierce him like fiery darts. In an instant he recognized the presence of evil—and not just one evil knight, but an entire evil force. It was as if this man Casimir was the quintessence of Lucius himself.

Fighting the fear that swelled within him, Duncan forced himself to inspect the medallion further, hoping to find more clues as to Casimir’s origin. He flipped it over to see more intricate etchings and a word he did not recognize:
RA.
He turned the medallion over once again and noticed a clearly indented area within the raised map of Arrethtrae, in the central region of the kingdom.

Duncan finished his inspection of the medallion and hung it once more about the hilt of Casimir’s sword. As he set the sword carefully back against the wall, he suddenly became overwhelmed with the desire to flee. Handling the medallion unnerved him. So did being in the room with a man whose soul had been darkened by the evil of Lucius and his Shadow Warriors.

Duncan forced himself to move slowly and quietly back to the window. As he lifted himself to the sill, he heard a sound that nearly petrified him. It was subtle and soft at first, then grew with each passing fraction of a moment. The hilt of Casimir’s sword was sliding across the wall, leaving its point of imperfect balance. In another fraction of a moment the sword, scabbard, and medallion would crash to the floor, and Casimir would be instantly on his feet.

Duncan thrust himself out of the window and onto the sill as a startled cry and the brilliant crash of steel filled the room with noise that seemed louder than thunder. He reached for the rope and gripped it with one hand as he swung to the side, balancing beside the window with a foot on the edge of the molding.

Duncan heard Casimir’s sword slide from the scabbard and looked wildly about him, not knowing what to do. He could never climb the rope to the roof in time to escape Casimir, and jumping to the ground would probably break his legs. He had seen how ruthless Casimir could be in the tournament and knew nothing would stop the man from killing a would-be thief in his own room. He listened to the slow deliberate footsteps approaching the window and imagined a deadly blade preceding them.

Desperate, Duncan readied himself to jump. But then he felt a slight tug on the rope from above. He looked up but saw only the rope bent over the edge of the roofline. Had he imagined the tug?

Hoping against all odds, he reached up and grabbed the rope tightly with both hands. He lifted himself off the sill and then was whisked up and out by a force he could not see.

It happened so quickly that Duncan thought there must be a whole team of men orchestrating his bizarre rescue attempt. He cleared the eave and was set quietly onto the wooden shakes beside a man who seemed as large as a mountain. The rope attached to the chimney was wrapped tightly around one of his muscular arms, and his strong hand held tightly to the portion of rope Duncan was clinging to.

Once Duncan had his balance, the man raised one finger to his lips, and they waited. Duncan heard Casimir at the window below them. After a few moments, he heard footsteps back into the room and the sound of a sword being sheathed.

Duncan took a deep breath and looked up at his rescuer. The man’s arms were as big as Duncan’s thighs. His jaw was square, his blue eyes penetrating. He said nothing, just gestured with his head toward the place where Duncan had first climbed up.

They moved quietly off the roof and back to the ground. The large fellow strode down the alley away from the Crown Inn. Duncan followed him until the man stopped.

“Thank you,” Duncan said, not sure what to expect from this unusual ally. The man was a tower of muscle, and Duncan felt small next to him in more ways than one.

“You know who Casimir is, then?” the man asked in a deep voice.

“Yes,” Duncan said. “Who are you?”

The man glared at him. “Tell Sir Kendrick that the battle to come is at Bel Lione.” Then he turned to leave.

“What is your name, sir?” Duncan risked the question but expected no answer, and the man offered none. He just turned and disappeared into the night.

Duncan took a few moments to recover from the intensity of the night’s events and then made his way back to their inn.

“Bel Lione,” he whispered to himself.

How was he going to explain any of this to his mentor?

A NEW DESTINY

“You did what?” Kendrick stood paralyzed by anger, his horse half saddled, completely at a loss as to how to deal with the irrational, impetuous actions of his protégé.