《Sword of Stone - Sworn Honours》


 Chapter 1: Where the Winds Blow

    Sir Rolan Coytak steadily rode through the hamlet, his pale-brown rouncy, Lyra, trodding along a dirt path, ignoring all the eyes upon him. People gathered in hushed awe at the old knight, his black and grey striped cloak swirling in the wind, his silvery-plated armour glittering in the afternoon sunlight.


    Rolan was a tall figure who loomed over many, with an elegant frame under a fortress of armour. His face was always serious, worn with wrinkles of time, and his hair was greying. Yet he wasn¡¯t sure if that was because of his age or the stress of his duties.


    ¡®A paladin of the holy order,¡¯ a commoner whispered.


    ¡®Witches must be about, I told you,¡¯ said another.


    On a slow-paced grey mule trailing behind him was his squire, Lucan Malrin. A youth of thirteen, the boy was as lean as a thin tree, had arms like branches, and almost always wore a dopey smile.


    Rolan studied their surroundings, seeing a tall building on the opposite side of the crowd¡ªan inn. We¡¯ll rest there, he thought.


    ¡®Find us a room,¡¯ Rolan Coytak said¡ªGrizzly from his aeons as a paladin.


    ¡®Yes sir,¡¯ Lucan rode to the left, feigning seriousness and determination. As he went further out, Rolan saw the cluelessness dawn on the boy¡¯s face. ¡®Where might I find one?¡¯


    ¡®The inn is often the place most start,¡¯ Rolan told the boy sternly, motioning to the building. Lucan¡¯s grey-cloudy eyes widened with embarrassment, and he nodded, steered his mule around, and plodded through the watchful crowd, parting as he went.


    Rolan steered the reins toward the holy monument at the hamlet''s centre, where a priest knelt with his dagger. In front of him, amongst a stony foundation, was the hand of Farkiesh, the father of all sons and daughters. Rolan¡¯s mount drifted closer to it, and he saw the litany of scratches along the palm, where people marked their presence to the great father.


    ¡®May our duties compel us never to forget your lessons,¡¯ the middle-aged priest prayerfully murmured. He rose, his thin lips bearing a surprising smile at the older knight. ¡®Good sir, it is a pleasure to see you here. I am Alaxander, the preist of this little village. Tell me what brings you to these distant lands?¡¯ he asked kindly, pulling away his hood to unveil a fuzzy head like a peach.


    Rolan climbed down his rouncy, holding the reins as he warmly looked on at the priest. It had been weeks since they stopped at a village. The sight of the priest, adorned in the grey robes that secluded his thin frame, brought familiar memories of a simpler time when he grew up in the monastery.


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    ¡®Duty,¡¯ he replied, looking to his right, seeing worshippers approaching with anxious grace. Rolan took his gauntlet off, revealing his harsh pale hands, with the signet of Paladins on the index finger. He lowered it to the people, who, one by one, came to kiss the ring and say a word of grace to the knight.


    ¡®What duty might that be? Sir?¡¯


    ¡®Rolan Coytak. We received word of blood magic across the amber river,'' the knight said, casually making the idea of "Blood Magic" seem unimportant. It wasn¡¯t that the old knight believed it wasn¡¯t a threat; the realms of men were a library of false rumours and fairy tales.


    The priest grimaced at the words. ¡®Dark rumours, yet I do not know if they will bear you fruit.¡¯


    ¡®I pray they won¡¯t.¡¯ The paladin looked to the last of the worshippers, who gently kissed the signet and then left.


    Rolan approached the monument, seeing the many carvings along it from the commoners, priests, and perhaps even lords who came to mark their notice to the father. He Unsheathed his luxurious longsword. The blade¡¯s gilded patterns gleaned under the light, marking his presence on the index finger, where all paladins mark, with a single stroke of his blade. He sheathed his sword and noted how lonely his mark looked.


    ¡®May this mark grant me the strength and wisdom to carry out my duties and to protect me from the seductive nature of the dark arts,¡¯ Rolan murmured in solemn prayer. He turned to the clattering of pots and pans. Seeing the source of the noise, unphased by it.


    ¡®Sir, I¡¯ve done what you¡¯ve asked!¡¯ Lucan shouted, holding desperately at the straps of his bag, which hung low on his back.


    ¡®Where¡¯s your sword?¡¯ the paladin asked, stern but not unkindly, shooting a look at the boy¡¯s empty scabbard. The priest laughed slightly. With embarrassment, Lucan¡¯s face turned a cherry pink, and he started stammering various words. Sighing, Rolan said: ¡®Get it. Wait for me at the inn. I¡¯ll be there shortly.¡¯


    ¡®The order¡¯s newest and brightest?¡¯ The priest asked Rolan as Lucan ran off, clattering all the way.


    ¡®Certainly the newest. He¡¯s a nice lad, and I know he means well. I hope he learns to grow up a little on this journey, especially if these rumours bear fruit.¡¯ The knight held the pommel of his sheathed sword.


    Curiously, the priest turned, stroking his fork-shaped black beard. ¡®If I may be bold to ask, where does this journey take you next?¡¯


    ¡®We¡¯re to travel to the Amberfor for an audience with the baron.¡¯ Rolan saw the priest¡¯s face turning subtly sour.


    ¡®Ah yes, such a tragic young lord. A brother and a father dying with such little time between. Truly, the father¡¯s judgement is a strange thing,¡¯ the priest said, underlined with mockery.


    That took Rolan aback, yet he didn¡¯t enquire further. He was tired and weary and wished to finish this duty. He was also bound by the laws of the order never to involve himself in the politics of man.


    ¡®Well, I¡¯ll bid you farewell, good sir; I pray you safe travels,¡¯ the priest said.


    Rolan gave a graceful bow, then retired to the inn, wondering what trouble his squire would have gotten himself into.

 Road to Amber

    Rolan watched his squire as he tended to the horse and mule by the stream, checking their hoofs for stones and tightening their saddle straps to ensure nothing came loose. They were amongst tall redwood trees that closed around them, their leaves an autumn gold, and the amber river distantly rushing south.


    Seated on a log with a long stick, he flipped the bacon, sizzling and spitting on a pan atop a fire they had made moments ago. Rolan knew Lucan would be thankful for it, as his stomach had complained all morning since they left the hamlet.


    Lucan sniffed the air harshly and moaned: ¡®How much longer?¡¯


    Rolan flipped it one more time, seeing that it was ready. ¡®Finish what you¡¯re doing first, then grab the bread.¡¯


    Lucan did so swiftly, the fastest the old knight had seen him move thus far. Double-checking everything, he took the bread out of the saddlebag and approached eagerly, sitting on the log beside Rolan, handing the bread to him.


    As they began breaking their fast, chewing away at the bacon that crunched and cracked between their teeth, Rolan saw the tired look on his young squire''s face.


    ¡®Those stables must¡¯ve been comfortable last night,¡¯ the knight murmured, chewing between words.


    Lucan scoffed. ¡®Oh yes, Exactly what I dreamt a squire¡¯s life would be like.¡¯


    ¡®Could¡¯ve been worse, could¡¯ve been sleeping in the kennels,¡¯ Rolan japed, chuckling to himself.


    Lusan tried to hide his annoyance, yet his face betrayed him. ¡®Are we going to find a witch out here?¡¯ He asked, trying to switch the conversation.


    ¡®Witch, wizard. We¡¯d be more likely to find fairies and goblins. I cannot say for certain what is true and what is mere fantasy,¡¯ the paladin stirred on the log and sighed. ¡®A commoner will see a shadow on a sunless day and declare the dark prince is amidst them. The lords don¡¯t help by sparking more rumours about those who oppose them. That¡¯s how the world works. It¡¯s our role to determine what is just rumour and false claims, and what is real and a threat.¡¯


    Lusan chewed, thought for a moment, looked curiously at the paladin, and said, ¡®Have you seen a witch? A wizard, goblin, fairy, or what-not?¡¯


    Rolan didn¡¯t react to the question, and memories came flooding in of a time long since past. ¡®I have. That is a story for another time, however. Go on, finish your food. We must make haste to meet the baron before dawn.¡¯


    His squire wasn¡¯t all too happy about that prospect. Perhaps he was hoping he would rest a bit longer.


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    They gathered their supplies and remounted, embarking along the river southwards towards Amberfor. They travelled on for hours along the dirt road, flattened by use, the hoofs of their mounts throwing up dirt and leaves. They passed by wanderers that trailed the path, either heading toward or away from Amberfor. Merchant caravans passed by on horse-drawn wagons, and farmers carried large sacks of grain to sell.


    To their left was the open plains of Ragon, where holdfasts dotted the landscape, with mills here and there and prairies scattered throughout. To their right, across the river, sat the redwoods¡ªmonoliths of wood standing as tall as mountains stretching on for miles. Near the banks of the rivers were hunting lodges, some with hunters outside tying deer up to bleed, with the scent of death blowing across and up the paladin¡¯s nose. Occasionally, rowboats passed them, fishermen with nets full of fresh-water salmon, red and scaly.


    Riding up a little hill, side by side, the paladin and his squire looked outwards toward Amberfor¡ªsituated near the river, atop a steep embankment, ringed by a wooded palisade with towers dotted here and there, men patrolling the walls, peaking through the crenelations, and a small gatehouse, protected by a single drawbridge that spanned the length of the ditch around the base of the hill, following the steep curvature of the low hill. Across from it, nearing the river, was the town of Ambercole, which was lightly defended and had one stone building amongst it, a church, which towered over the smaller houses.


    Going through the town and heading towards the keep¡¯s outer gates, the town¡¯s liveliness greeted them, common folk going through the streets, talking to one another, wearing their tunics dyed in an array of colours: green, blue, with some wearing a light red, and most brown and dull. Some people stopped and gawked, others went to their knees, and most didn¡¯t understand what to do. They trodded up a curvy hill into the inner town, and as they did, Rolan smelt bread freshly baked with other scents of lavender and rosemary. Though that only veiled the smell of shit and sweat that was lingering like a deathly poison in the air.


    They passed under the portcullis into the outer bailey after crossing the drawbridge. Surrounding them were chaotic wooded structures: Stables, workshops, a foundry, barracks, and a small hall situated to the westernmost part of the outer bailey, with no sense of where the buildings were put.


    Here, the heat began to come into its own, and the knight felt himself strain under his steel-plated armour and his skin sweltering. Rolan kept on it without a word whilst Lucan huffed and puffed the whole way through.


    As they neared the keep at the far end of the town, where a closed gatehouse waited, a guard was standing atop the battlements, looking down amongst two crenelations, with two banners baring house Greycrow¡¯s sigil - a grey crow carrying a red arrow on a field of amber.


    ¡®Halt!¡¯ the guard shouted, looking through thin slits on a rounded helm. ¡®State your name and business!¡¯


    Rolan took his gauntlet off and made a fist, showing the guard the ring of Paladins. ¡®I come on orders of the Holy Order of Farikesh. I seek an audience with the baron about dark rumours in the barony!¡¯


    The man was silent momentarily, disappeared behind the crenellations, and reappeared with two others at his side. Rolan could hear them whispering, but not what they were saying because of the blacksmith¡¯s hammer ringing the air around them.


    ¡®Am I welcomed?¡¯ he asked cautiously.


    ¡®Of course, sir,¡¯ the man in the middle said. ¡®Raise the gate!¡¯