A King's Hate

The King's Hate is a short story set in the fictional world of Idroos. It follows Sherwood Eastling, a knight who's had little luck in life and now has to face his biggest challenge.

The King’s Hate

They rode out to cross Eastbridge at a brisk pace. The captain, named Greybeard for the glossy facial hair he bore, wanted to arrive at Moonvei before nightfall, so he pushed the column of riders forward. The Moon tower, known as Moonvei in the old Fiolan language, was the largest garrisoned tower in the region. Young Sherwood remembered it well: a fort erected on high ground and standing guard over Bellemis, the longest river of Idroos. The soldiers rode towards Eastbridge to reach the Moon Tower, where they would join the troops stationed there.

Sherwood trotted next to Tombird and Sir Teelos. My mentor. My captain. Tombird was just named Tom, but a soldier had given him the nickname due to his love for whistling out a tune as they trotted forward. The lowborn man-at-arms was poorly equipped, holding a spiked club and nothing else. Still, he confidently strode forward, making up a whistled melody as he went.

Sherwood Eastling advanced beside Tom, uncomfortable in his small helm and ill-fitted chainmail. His long hair awkwardly fell over his face in buckles as it squeezed out of the helmet. His old cloak was forest green, the color of the city of Iris. The longspear Sherwood held had been a gift of Sir Teelos before they left Iris. It was a better weapon than what most horsemen carried, but he still felt ill-equipped next to Sir Teelos’ sword. A sword is always better, Sir Teelos said. It cuts through the dirk, breaks the spear, and is swifter than the ax.

They advanced amongst the scattered trees that grew before Eastbridge. They were at the source of the river Bellemis, near Telle, the slave city. Sherwood rode with the cavalry provided by the riverlands of Iris to fight against the Third Rebellion of the slave city. The revolt was led by nine knights who had turned their cloaks. It was supported by the citizens of Telle. Citizens who had sworn fealty to the king. Knights who had betrayed their holy vow, and for that, they had to die. Sherwood was part of their death sentence.

Greybeard was concerned, Sherwood could tell, as was Sir Teelos. No outriders had returned with any sight of man, friend, or foe. That’s the problem. Where in the boiling hell is everybody? Everyone had expected to fight a few scuffles with lost rebels or find a group of royal soldiers on the way to Moonvei. They were disappointed. Wild bushes rattled at the side of the road as a gentle wind blew over, but no other sounds welcomed the horsemen.

Sir Teelos squinted towards the bush as if he was expecting someone to come out of them at any moment. “Will the rebels be in Telle or on the field?” Sherwood asked.

Sir Teelos looked thoughtful and answered “They would be fools to wait for us in the city. They must have moved, but where, I don’t know.” I don’t know. He doesn’t say those words often.

“Sir, tell me about your life. Your wife, for example. I know nothing about her.” Sherwood asked. “Nor should you,” the knight replied. “You are my squire, not my lord.” Sherwood recoiled in silence, ashamed of his question. Sir Teelos glanced at him with his serious look. Then he sighed and smiled “My wife is a wonderful lady. She keeps an inn at the Blue Lake. She has gorgeous red hair and a birthmark on her neck shaped like a key. She works all day and never complains. She’s the reason I’ll be glad to come back home at the end of the fighting.” Sir Teelos was looking above him as if he could see his wife staring back at him amongst the clouds that scattered the cobalt sky.

Sherwood thought of what Sir Teelos had told him. “What if you never come back home? What if the last time you saw her face was… Well, the last time?” The knight stirred his horse forward, frowning “Then… I hope that she finds someone else to make her happy. She deserves it.”

Sherwood’s ear caught a hiss, which ended as abruptly as it had started. More hisses followed, sparking a hint of familiarity in Sherwood. I know that sound. What is that sound? Sir Teelos stopped and pushed his horse sideways, breaking ranks. He hears it too. I’m not crazy. The hisses were becoming more pronounced until they reached them. Then came the arrows.

They fell amongst their ranks. A couple of arrows hit a horse two rows ahead of them and the animal fell, throwing its rider on the grass. More hit the ground with a solid thunk to mark their appearance. Soldiers twisted their horses and turned their heads, trying to identify the attackers. Amongst the chaos, Greybeard’s voice was heard “An ambush! Ride for the Moon Tower!”

“To Moonvei!” Sir Teelos echoed him right away. Sherwood followed his mentor and rode, praying that no archer played loose-the-arrow with his back. Most of the column moved forward, but a few riders lingered back. They helped wounded friends on their horses. A couple even charged towards the trees where the archers were hiding, ending up dead in the grass. No one looked back to pray for them.

They galloped on the road and came to an elbow where the trees cleared to reveal Eastbridge, with Bellemis roaring underneath. There, Sherwood knew they were lost. “Boiling hell!” Sir Teelos never curses, either. The boiling hell is truly facing us.

The banner set atop the Moon Tower displayed a red hare on white. Red meant one thing in the Fiolan kingdom: rebellion. The color was forbidden on banners or emblems, as it was the tint of the Huruteese, archenemies of the Fiolans. Anyone bearing red would be signing their death sentence, stamped with the king’s hate.

At the foot of the tower stood soldiers armed for battle, hundreds of them. They stood on the bridge like a pack of wolves observing a stag before devouring it alive. The cloaks, caps, gloves, or simple cloth ripped and tied around one arm they bore were branded with the red hare. They could only be rebels of Telle. The Moon Tower had fallen before they had arrived.

Sherwood saw that most riders, like him, had stopped at the sight of the rebels on the bridge. However, the wait had allowed the archers behind them to catch up with them. Arrows started falling amongst their broken ranks, and before he knew what to do, horsemen started charging forward, away from the falling arrows. “No, no, you idiots, go back! Back!” Sir Teelos tried to stop them, but no one listened. A loud hiss fell next to Sherwood, and Tombird fell from his horse without a sound.

Sherwood’s horse felt the terror around him and ran with all the others. In front of the column, Sherwood saw Captain Greybeard unsheathe his sword and lead the charge. He gave up reason and tactics and is trying to win with heart. But we are too far. The column reached the bridge and the deafening clomp of hundreds of hooves on hard stone joined their charge.

The longest bridge crossing the Belliemis, Eastbridge was not built to host a quick charge. The horses rushed forward, but they grew tired. When they reached the middle of the bridge, most horses and men were panting and sweating. The rebels stood their ground. The b******s will simply watch us ride our way into hell.

Rebel archers loosed arrows on the charging soldiers, dropping a few riders up front. Back, we need to go back to where we came from. There are too many of them ahead. Sherwood thought to go back, but his body kept moving with his horse all the same. He could not turn the tide, he could only follow it.

Sir Teelos reached his side on his war destrier, looking calmer than most. He had to scream to be heard over the roaring gallop “We either cut our way through there, or we die, son. Stay close and watch my back!” Sherwood looked at him in desperation. He would have hoped that his mentor for the past few years would have something more encouraging to say in their worst moment together thus far.

The knight saw the despair in the eyes of the young fighter and tried to reassure him “Just slash and parry. You’ll be alright. Besides, you’re young, and life has a lot in store for you.” If I ever get out of here, I hope I’m left alone for a while. I think I’ve seen enough battles for a lifetime.

The horses’ gallop lifted dust off of Eastbridge, and the rebels waiting for them at the other side became invisible. Sherwood, elbow to elbow with Sir Teelos, could only see the few riders next to him. The screams receded, and for a moment he was back home in Aksis, learning his first words. The moment flashed in front of him, then moved to the next. There he was playing horse with his little sister. Then he was saving peasants from the floods in the Misty Hills. There he rode into beautiful Iris, untarnished and splendent. The flashes came and went, and Sherwood forgot about the fighting for a moment.

A loud crash came and grew. All the sounds of the battle flew back into his ear. The first rows of riders charged the pikes and shields of the rebels, shoving them aside as they came through. Sherwood held his spear in his sweaty hand and Sir Teelos wielded his sword. Slash and parry. The row in front of them crashed, then came their turn.

The wave of shields met their exhausted horses. Sir Teelos brought one rebel down with his sword, whereas Sherwood only managed to stick his spear into a solid wooden shield. At the next instant, however, the knight was brought down. An arrow stuck out from the fallen horse’s neck. Sir Teelos rolled out of his saddle and started exchanging blows with three rebel soldiers at once.

The charge had been disorganized, and Sherwood could already tell that the battle was lost. The soldiers had charged in too many different directions and were scattered across the red sea of rebels. More importantly, they were on a bridge, a place far too narrow to properly attack a large number of fortified enemies. Slash and parry. I’m carrying a spear, though. What do I parry with?

Sherwood charged through the swarm of shields, screams, and flying arrows. Sir Teelos has a sword, he knows what he is doing. Still, I have to protect him. Stay close and watch my back, he said. He rode around fighters and dead men to try to reach his mentor.

From the right, a rebel moved into Sherwood’s field of view. He had a huge red beard and wielded a two-handed ax that dripped blood, and looked right at him. Then, he lifted his ax and charged him, howling wordless screams. Before Sherwood could do as much as lift his spear, his horse backtracked and stumbled. The animal tripped on a root in the ground, and Sherwood fell backward, hitting the ground hard. The bearded man was now a few paces away, ready to split his skull with his ax. As Sherwood tried to wield his spear, he saw it was stuck underneath the animal’s weight. He stared at the ax ahead of him, its sharp edge raised high in the sky. For a few seconds, Sherwood accepted that his life was over. He closed his eyes, listening as the man’s howls filled his ears. The last sound I will ever hear. Not peaceful at all.

When he opened his eyes again, he was still there, kneeling and holding his spear. The horse was gone, heading as far away from the bridge as possible. The bearded howler was also gone; the battle raged on around him. As he looked around him, Sherwood saw an arm cut off at the shoulder, still wielding a two-handed ax. “Common, kid! Slash and parry!” Sir Teelos fought against another rebel, his sword dripping from the blood of the bearded man.

With newfound strength and courage, Sherwood stood up and stole a dirk from a rebel corpse on the grass. To parry, he also picked up a small shield from the ground.

He turned, ready to fight alongside his captain. But Sir Teelos was not fighting. He was stumbling over corpses, his sword forgotten at his side. Blood spluttered from his mouth. Sherwood’s mouth opened, but he never heard the scream.

He ran forward, then stopped in front of him. My captain. My mentor. What do I do? What do I do? He almost asked Sir Teelos that question as he stood there, looking at the bleeding knight. A gush of blood spurted between his gorget and his armor, falling on the floor. Red, redder. Damn all the red!

The battle furiously continued around them; no one seemed to look at the wounded knight and his helpless squire. Sherwood’s eyes were only for Sir Teelos “Don’t speak, don’t talk, I’ll get you out of here.” The knight knelt and exhaled, looking at Sherwood with tired eyes. He wants to speak but he can’t, Sherwood realized. Only red blood came out of the knight’s mouth.

With an effort that seemed to take all of his concentration and strength, Sir Teelos lifted his sword towards his squire. But it was held the wrong way, with the hilt facing Sherwood. No, no, you need that, to slash and parry. Sherwood grabbed the hilt to hand it back to Sir Teelos. If anything, a knight deserved to hold his sword in battle; even wounded, even dead. As he took it, Sir Teelos slumped backward, and Sherwood was left with just his sword.

My mentor, My captain. The knight lay down on the floor, still as death. Sherwood shed no tears for Sir Teelos. There was no time. He could only stand and fight. He squeezed the handle of the sword hard as if he wanted to break it. If he could not bring his knight back, at least he would avenge him.

Sherwood raised his sword, ready to kill enemies. Two rebel soldiers cut down a horseman and turned to face him, wary of his sword. Sherwood slashed, but the clang he heard did not come from his hand. His head exploded in pain. His knees gave in. Sherwood fell in a swirl of red and black.

# # #

Stay close and watch my back. Sherwood Eastling quickly strolled through Oiwen, the capital of the Fiolan Kingdom. The early sunlight illuminated the longroad cutting through the city. His sword was at his side, but he walked alone.

Sherwood had fallen in the battle, close to where his fallen mentor lay. Maybe I should have remained there. Instead, he had been saved by someone, a rider retreating with the few survivors of the Massacre of the Moon Tower. He had woken up with a pulsating head, riding a horse that wasn’t his. He had wished it all to be a bad dream, a trick of his mind. But Sir Teelos was not riding next to him, nor would he ever again.

Sherwood walked through the capital alone. I may have other friends, but none will be Teelos Gardinell.  His hands brushed the scabbard he wore at his side and reached the sword hilt he had once squeezed so hard. He left me his sword. Slash and parry.

Sherwood had been a knight in Oiwen for over a year now. There was not much to do there. Knights nowadays were only good for watching over lazy peasants and catching vegetable thieves. The days became long, and the nights were longer without sword fighting.

The night before had been another long night. Sherwood had joined Tanner at The Drunken Seagull, the soldiers’ tavern. After sharing jests and ale, the two friends had stumbled home belting out old tunes such as To the Sea and Under. Sherwood had passed out on his bed only to wake covered in piss. The messenger bearing the king’s summons had come in before he could clean himself up. I hope His Grace won’t have to stand too close to me, Sherwood thought.

At least, he had managed to don his armor and make himself presentable for the king. His gray-blue eyes gazed at the road, weary and absent, veiled by his long curls. His lean body, bearing his knight’s armor, grew hot and clammy under the heat.

The main street was animated as usual. The sunlight revealed the coming and going of traders, masons, and farmers. A few shaky stalls offered dirty carrots, turnips, and purple beets. Captains sought new trainees for the Royal Army. The Royal Army had been hiring new soldiers since Sherwood had been a four-year-old boy crawling around the crowded market of Aksis. They never seemed to draft enough.

His father almost joined the Royal army, before he met the woman who became Sherwood’s mother. He had fought as a mercenary since he was old enough to wield a spear and figured he could just continue doing the same for the king. However, she had convinced him to join her dyeing business and move away from fighting for a living. 

Sherwood’s thoughts went to his family back in Aksis. He thought of the warehouse where they used to dye all their silks and fine wool. As a kid, Sherwood had loved to walk around in that warehouse and drink in the profusion of colors. He could still feel the pungency of the dyes in his nose. Monberia, the head of the warehouse, always asked him to not touch any of the silks but allowed him to stay.

One day, when he was ten years old, Sherwood had climbed to the rooftop of the warehouse and lay there staring at the workers through a crack in the roof. He loved it. It was almost like watching an ant colony, each person running their errand diligently. After a while, the half-rotten roof had given in. For a few seconds, Sherwood had flown through the air, free. Then, he hit the floor hard.

He woke up on a straw mattress back home. His head was bandaged and his father was there, Lord Eastling. At the time, he did not know his father’s first name. He just called him dad or father on formal occasions, and everyone else seemed to call him Lord Eastling. He had put on his angry look before Sherwood woke up, and the little kid had feared the worst. A good scolding and banishment from the warehouse for a year was all he had faced, luckily.

A few years back, his sister had taken up the wool business from their aging parents. She was smart and learned the trade quickly during her mentorship. On his last visit, she told him she was doing better than most other merchants in Aksis. She had gifted a lovely silk dress to Mabel, who had traveled with Sherwood to finally meet his family. My Mabel. His chest stung as the memory hit him.

His wife Mabel had left him only a year ago, but it felt like an eternity to him. The dragonchills had taken her; her forehead had heated like a stone set in the fire, yet she herself felt cold, always cold. Being a knight hadn’t helped him save her. Slash and parry. You’ll be alright. The night she died, he had gone to sleep as Sir Sherwood and woken up as just another man, fighting without a reason to fight. Sherwood melancholically went on, trying to block the memories flooding in.

“Good morning!” Sherwood was startled out of his daze and looked to his right. There stood Tanner Varnhome, knight of the Fiolan Kingdom, who two days before had drunkenly fallen face-first into the common latrine. He wore no steel armor, opting instead for a brown gambeson and striped breeches. “Morning Tan; seen anyone else on the way?” He scowled “Nah, they probably had more sense than us and went to the w***e house. Why in the boiling hell are you wearing all that rubbish?”

Sherwood looked down at the armor he had taken the time to put on that morning “Why aren’t you?” 

Tanner laughed at him “I’m not aching to look like a pig clothed in steel. Unless there’s any fighting to be done, you won’t see me wearing armor” They headed for the tower together.

“Why do you think the king summoned us?” Sherwood was anxious to know. Tanner shrugged “How would I know? I’m a knight serving the king, not his Guardian of Secrets.”

“That’s why I asked what you think, not what you know.” Sherwood replied, “Could it have anything to do with Heartsmith?” “Of course it does. Everything has to do with him ever since he ran away to the woods.” 

Sir Durstan Heartsmith was one of the most famous knights in the Fiolan Kingdom. A few weeks ago, the king had sent him to Iris to arrest the protector of the city, locally known as the riverking. Few had expected him to defy the king’s orders to detain the riverking and ride in the thick forest west of Iris. The king had proclaimed him a traitor and requested his head. The last few days the capital had been swarming with armed cavalrymen promising his head to the king and riding out to the riverlands.

Whether the summoning of the knights in Oiwen had to do with Heartsmith’s defiance, Sherwood could not say. He hoped Heartsmith’s rebellion would not escalate to war. The last battle he had fought had seen him lose many friends and gain nothing but a pouch of copper.

“Anyways, what happened to Heartsmith isn’t the worst thing, you know.” Tanner said as they walked past the brewery “There’s good squirrels and boars out there, and most outlaws lead a better life than we do here. I bet he’s glad he disobeyed the king. Life’s easier when you don’t have a tyrant watching over your shoulders.” Sherwood nervously looked around him to make sure no one was listening.

Tanner went on, oblivious to his friend’s worry “Like back when we met in the riverlands, remember? Riding horses and fighting battles. That was all we ever should have done.” “We did that for the king.” Sherwood reminded him.

“Sure, but we didn’t care about kings back then. We fought against soldiers, in a fair fight. It could have been for one king or the other, I wouldn’t have known. Nowadays, King Averyl sees traitors everywhere: in his army, his Guardians, even us knights…” Tanner gestured towards the armory where knights were trained in the capital.

Sherwood frowned “Can we blame him though? Heartsmith did betray him.”

“He didn’t. He went against the king’s orders. Loyalty and blind obedience aren’t the same things” Tanner replied.

Sherwood scoffed skeptically “So he’s still loyal to the king to you? You think if he was brought before King Averyl he would bow down and apologize? We’re more likely to fly to the top of the Crowned Tower on a great eagle.” The great silver-breasted eagle was the king’s sigil. It emblazoned the entrance of the home of the king, the Crowned Tower, which rose at the western end of the capital.

“Loyal, not loyal, does it matter? Half of that stinkin bunch they call the Royal Army is not loyal to the king, yet you don’t see anyone chasing their heads, do you?” Tanner shook his head “I’m saying that the king does not care who is loyal to him; only one thing matters to him: are you doing as he says, or not?”

Sherwood had no answer for that. As they strode through the city, the knight’s thoughts circled back to his first meeting with Tanner in Iris. He’s right. Too much has changed. Back then, we rode, we ate, we drank. We fought. Life was easier. Sir Teelos was still there. He was my captain.

# # #

As they strode forward, Sherwood noticed a familiar man walking toward them. A fellow knight perhaps? He bore a yellow cloak, patched and faded, over a rusty hauberk. He cannot be a knight, he is walking the wrong way. King Averyl had summoned all knights to the Crowned Tower, which rose at the western end of the city. But he’s heading east. Towards us.

As the man came closer, Sherwood managed to get a better look at him. He saw a pointed nose and large eyes sitting wide apart, glowing a bright green. A handsome soldier, this one. He glanced sideways at Tanner, who had also spotted the man. “Royal army,” Tanner said. Sherwood nodded in agreement.

They marched forward, and the man walked up to them without hesitation. “Sir Sherwood and Sir Tanner, I assume?” he slightly bowed. Tanner hated it when soldiers bowed to him. He could see his friend getting unnerved, so he took over. “At your service. And who are you?” Perhaps I was too blunt. “Sir?” He added after a pause, to rectify his mistake. The soldier did not seem to take offense, however “Captain Mallard of the Royal Pikemen.” Tanner took a suspicious look at the captain. Not my captain.

Captain Mallard laughed, and Sherwood realized he and Tanner had been staring at him in silence for a while. The captain smiled “Loosen up, I’m just here to escort you to the King. Nothing more.” Sherwood relaxed, but Tanner remained hostile. “Why do they send you for that? The Royal Army doesn’t have enough soldiers for you to tyrannize?” The Captain smiled again and replied, “Mere soldiers are not enough for knights of your caliber.” The captain made for the Crowned Tower with the two knights walking at his side.

Most of the Royal soldiers were foolish simpletons who only knew how to hold a sword, guzzle thinned redwine and shout insults to any passersby. The captains were more weathered fighters, but the war horrors they had witnessed had made them callous and cruel. Sherwood had fought alongside them against the outlaws of the riverlands. The thought of them brought up times he did not wish to remember. 

Captain Mallard walked with the confident stride that all Royal soldiers had. Confidence rooted in fear, the fear peasants bore for them. Too many of them had been raped, robbed, or killed to trust a Royal soldier again. “Have you heard the morning news?” The two knights looked confusedly at the captain. Mallard’s eyes opened wide, his mouth twisting into a smirk. “That means I get to be the messenger of the good news. Ooh, you have no idea how glad that makes me.”

Tanner scoffed impatiently “Just tell us already, or shut up.” The captain took a long breath, savoring the wait “Well, you sirs have one less sir. Sir Durstan Heartsmith’s head was brought to the king early this morning. The traitor’s life is over.”

Sherwood slowed down, and Tanner stopped. They had not expected Heartsmith to be caught so soon. Eventually, yes, of course. But it had only been a few weeks since he rode out of Iris and hid out in the woods. Sherwood thought he would have been able to elude capture for a couple of months.

What does this mean for us? Tanner inquired what Sherwood had been wondering. “Why does King Averyl want to see us knights? Not to give us the good news himself, otherwise, you would not have told us.”

Mallard winked at Tanner “Smart knight. Sadly, I cannot tell you why you have been summoned. The king is waiting, however. On we go.” Mallard continued walking down the road, and Tanner and Sherwood had no choice but to follow him. Tanner yelled at his back “Since when are Royal soldiers aware of such news before knights?”

“Since knights became the soldiers of yesterday. You may wear armor and a sword at your side, but we do most of the fighting nowadays.” Sherwood opened his mouth, then closed it again. The captain laughed again. Not my captain.

The trio turned left, away from the longroad, and as they passed the fletcher’s shop the Crowned Tower came into full view. Home to the Fiolan King for more than a thousand years, the tower stood powerful and strong at the western end of Oiwen.

The tower had been built with dark stones, each one bigger than a full-grown man. The stone slabs were painted yellow, the royal color. Hard buttresses rose to about half the height of the tower. The entrance, a lilac wooden door. was marked by the pearl eagle, the King’s symbol. The bird proudly stretched its ink-black wings, showing its lustrous silver breast. Four wardens stood at the door, two at each side. They wore their vivid lemon cloaks on top of cream garments, along with spears and sheathed daggers.

Sherwood looked up to the top of the tower, full of wonder. He did so every time he had the chance to see it. The crown towered over him, unbothered by the high sea winds. It rested at the head of the tower, as tall as three men standing on top of each other, built in dyed purple alabaster. Its nine points were tipped with crystalline quartz, sparkling in the morning sun. A terrace lay inside the Crown, where only the King was allowed to stand and watch over his kingdom.

The stone was gilded with strands of gold and silver, swerving and crossing through each other. They formed outlines depicting the victories of the Fiolan kings, though they were too far to be visible from the ground. Only the king could witness the illustrated history from the terrace inside the crown.

The tower guards yelled out, and the two of them stopped a few steps before the lilac doorway. “State your names and business!” Tanner stepped forward “We are enchanters, come to steal the crown from the tower and throw it in the sea.” The guards didn’t understand the jape and lowered their spears suspiciously towards them. Tanner got annoyed and pointed at himself and Sherwood “We are knights, imbeciles! Tanner Varnhome and Sherwood Eastling, here to see the king himself. So you better let us get through unless you want to take it up to the king yourselves.” They dubiously looked at each other, but Captain Mallard gave a reassuring nod. After a moment of tense hesitance, one of them ushered them in and the others pushed the doors inwards. The two knights and the captain stepped inside the tower.

# # #

The Crowned Tower was deceptively spacious on the inside. The tall hallway showcased a row of four marble sculptures, set on Sherwood’s right side. He had only been inside the tower a few times, but he recognized them immediately. Four busts with sculpted scenery, each different from the other. Pyrro, Pantho, Idro, and the Nameless God. 

The vigorous faces embodied the four deities of the Fiolan Kingdom, the creators of the world. Idro, the water spirit of the land of Idroos, was last in line. The torso rose from a sea of spewing waves and foam. Sherwood and Tanner murmured the gods’ plea as they walked by “Until the sea shall settle, until the fire shall languish, until the earth shall become tainted, until all that is nameless shall become known, I live by you.”

They walked through a short corridor watched by a guard in cream and lemon and started moving up the Sky Stairway. The stairs climbed all the way to the Bowed Hall, where the king received out-of-court visitors and met with the other Guardians to rule his kingdom. 

Halfway, Tanner huffed and panted, sweat dripping from his long nose “When the king decides to move to the harbor, I’ll visit him every day. Until then, bugger him and his stairs. If I wanted to reach the sky I’d have grown a pair of wings by now.” Sherwood looked amused “You seem out of shape, my friend. When was the last time you held a sword?” Captain Mallard cut in their conversation from a few steps above them “Probably so long ago he doesn’t remember which side has an edge. See what I said? Soldiers of the past, no more.”

Tanner scoffed again “Maybe we’ll get to test our sword skills at some point, Mallard. We’ll see then if you have such a long tongue.” Mallard looked back at them, his green eyes glowing in the dim stairwell “Don’t wish to eat the bear when it is roaming free, they say.”

They completed their ascent and two guards let them into the Bowed Hall. The rounded walls that gave the chamber its famous name were covered with tapestries and pennants bearing the king’s eagle. Two rows of columns sectioned the hall in three parts.

King Averyl was sitting at the end of the hall. He was surrounded by knights, as he sat on an adorned wooden throne. His blond, pasty hair fell on his purple tunic as he studied the soldiers in front of him. He wore no crown: in Idroos, the only real crown was the one that rested atop the Crowned Tower. His robe also indicated his status: purple was only worn by a King and his liege lords. No one else could afford the expensive dye. His icy stare gave Sherwood a chill down his spine. Averyl’s eyes pierced through skin and flesh as easily as a crossbow arrow. Let’s hope that his intentions are more sympathetic than his gaze, he reflected.

About twenty-five knights faced Averyl. The walls of the hall were lined with Royal soldiers wielding spears and axes. King Averyl trusted the Royal Army because he had more copper than anyone to buy their loyalty.

No one spoke as Sherwood and Tanner moved in line with the others. The king followed them with his icy stare. Captain Mallard joined the soldiers on the right side of the Bowed Hall. No one had no time to talk. King Averyl addressed the Knight General, Sir Luxius, a bold, tall man with a stern face “Are these all the knights of the capital, sir?”

Sir Luxius stepped forward to reply “The ones that showed up, Your Grace”

The king did not like that answer. He smirked and motioned Luxius back in line.

Sherwood had been afraid of King Averyl since he had been crowned about four years ago. From his first day as Guardian of the Kingdom, the king had seen ploys throughout Oiwen, the capital of his realm. Sherwood and the other knights witnessed their metamorphosis at court,  going from being the King’s armor to becoming the court’s forgotten soldiers.

“Knights of the Fiolan Kingdom,” Averyl paused for a moment as if he doubted they merited the title. “As you all know, the kingdom recently suffered the treason of one of your fellow knights.”

“As knights, you swear that until the sea should froth, you shall be by the king’s side, sword at hand.” We are here, are we not?

“When the fire roars, you will attack the king’s enemies and slay the usurpers.” There are no usurpers to slay. You got Heartsmith’s head today, is that not enough?

“When the fertile earth shall sprout, you will not take from the poor. You will protect the weak and shield the innocent.” That’s low. Royal soldiers prey on the peasants more than anyone else!

“Finally, you protect the named and the nameless equally.” We used to, maybe. Now the named crush the nameless, and the knights idly watch. 

Averyl pressed on, his cold eyes glancing at the knights in front of him “This is all you are, right? You live by these rules, these oaths.”

“You claim to be all this, yet one of you, one of the very best of your sort, disobeyed my word. He refused to do as I told him. Even worse, he avoided the king’s justice and fled in the woods like a common outlaw.” To that, Sherwood could not disagree.

“Is this the kind of knights I have been breeding in this city? Am I guilty of spreading a plague, a disease throughout the kingdom by sending you out to protect my people?” The king asks a lot of questions but never waits for the answer. Clearly, he is sure to already know the answer.

“You are the finest soldiers this Kingdom has? You who lie, cheat and defy me, your king?”

Tanner stepped forward and interrupted Averyl “Your Grace, Heartsmith refused your word because you told him to kill the Lord of the Floodlands, your liege,  for no good reason. No honorable person would carry out such a foolish order.” Sherwood’s heart skipped a few beats. He alarmedly looked up at the king, then at Tanner. His friend had stepped forward and was now defiantly standing out of the line of soldiers facing the king, alone.

Averyl stood up from his wooden seat. His hands shook with fury as he pointed a finger at Tanner “He names himself ‘Riverking’. He allows his people and the slaves of Telle to lead a jovial life, leaving us with the crumbs. He has disrespected me in every way! His people laugh at me! It’s about time that I take that buffoon’s head along with his timber crown. Silence!”

The king cut off Tanner’s answer before he could speak it out. The knight took a step back into line. He kept his head high, however. “I will not have it anymore.” The king paused, still standing in front of his throne. His eyes stared down at the knights, freezing them one by one.

King Averyl resumed his monologue, uninterrupted this time “It is enough. Enough lies. Enough betrayal. You are done.” Done? All the eyes in the room were only watching the king. Averyl picked up a scroll from the little table next to his throne and read its content aloud. “I, Averyl Crowhill, King of the Fiolan Kingdom, Guardian of the Realm of Idroos, Lord of Lords, the authority on all royal matters, outlaw knighthood and all its privileges and pledged. From this moment on, the lands and goods owned by former knights will become the property of the crown. From this moment on, all knights loyal to the Fiolan Kingdom shall hand in their swords and prove their loyalty to the crown by serving in the Royal Army for a minimum of 5 years. From this moment on, they shall obey captains, fight for the crown, protect the king, as by the king’s word.”

Silence rang out as the king rolled up the scroll. “You are done” he repeated. Knighthood is outlawed. We are outlawed. He looked around, but everyone else seemed as stunned as he was. The king sat back down, tapping his fingers on his wooden throne.

Captain Mallard stepped in front of the knights with two other captains of the Royal Army “So, you heard the king. If you are ready to serve us as royal soldiers, drop your swords and step forward. Otherwise… this is your other option.” He unsheathed his dirk and held it high for all to see. The other captains laughed aloud. Sherwood felt the eyes of the whole room on them, the king’s most of all.

Sir Wardell was the first to unbuckle his belt and drop his sword on the marble floor with a loud clang. He took one step forward and knelt to the king. Next was Sir Robert, then Sir Cassian. After a few instants, most of the swords were abandoned on the floor, their owners kneeling to their king and their new captains. Sherwood’s hand hesitated over his belt buckle, then returned to his side. Not my captains. Not my king. With him stood six other knights, amongst which Sir Luxius and, of course, Tanner Varnhome.

The unarmed knights who had knelt were escorted behind Sherwood, out of the tower and to the barracks of the Royal Army. The seven knights stood still in a line broken by the empty spaces left by their former companions.

“You are the ones that would have betrayed me had I not done this, then.” King Averyl had stood up again. He watched them like a headsman would look at the head he is about to cut off. Tanner unsheathed his sword but did not drop it to the floor. Instead, he raised it high in the air “We won’t kneel. I’d rather die than drop my sword to the floor. That, or I take off your head. I can live with either one. I probably won’t have to anyway.”

Averyl sized them up, seven knights against at least two dozen soldiers. His eyes stopped at Tanner “Kill them, and start with that one.”

The silent hall rang with the unsheathing of steel. Sir Luxius dropped two royal soldiers with two quick hacks. Sherwood held his sword, the one that had been Sir Teelos’. Slash and parry. 

He set his feet on the floor, spinning and slashing at a soldier who charged at him with an ax. Sherwood’s sword was by far the better weapon, but the soldier was quick and dodged the blows that came at him. At the next blow, Sherwood whirled to his side, and the soldier’s weapon cut empty air. Sherwood’s sword found the soldier’s arm. Where the man’s hand had been holding his weapon was only a gloved forearm dripping red, as he fell on the hard floor.

The knight breathed hard and looked around him: half a dozen royal soldiers had been slain, but two knights already lay on the floor, dying. Too little of us, too many of them. Sherwood attacked another soldier, this one bearing a lance and shield. This one did a good job at keeping Sherwood at a distance with his lance. Sherwood’s blows barely scratched his opponent’s shield. The knight moved left and right to keep the soldier out of balance, but before he could think of a way to get closer to him, a sword was sticking out of the man’s chest. The soldier went down, and Tanner took his sword out of the dead man’s back.

They came back to back, catching their breath and preparing to fight more soldiers. Stay close and watch my back. We fight against soldiers, in a fair fight. He’s right, this is a better life. I wouldn’t mind dying right here. Tanner sword’s rattled against armor behind Sherwood. The knights began dancing together, cutting down soldiers and dodging blows.

Soon, only three knights remained standing out of the seven who had refused to kneel; Tanner and Sherwood, still watching each other’s back, a ring of fallen men surrounding them. Sir Luxius fought against a group of lanced soldiers, knocking them to the floor like ripe lemons.

King Averyl still stood at his throne, watched by two royal captains. The third one, Captain Mallard, was now in front of Tanner, teasing him with his dirk. “Ready to face a real soldier of today, then?” Sherwood didn’t see what Tanner did, but heard the clang of sword against dirk, and knew that the duel was on.

Sherwood slashed and parried. Blood ran across the floor, making it slippery and treacherous. Damned red! One soldier fighting Sherwood slipped and hit his head on the floor. Another bled his guts out as Sherwood slashed at his exposed belly. More kept coming.

Tanner screamed. Sherwood recognized his curse right away. He turned, forgetting the guards ready to stab him. Tanner was kneeling on the floor, his thigh bleeding profusely. Mallard stood in front of him, wielding his dirk as well as Tanner’s sword. “What did I say? You are done and gone, like the sea’s low tide. Goodbye, yesterday’s soldier.”

With surprising speed, Tanner stood up and lept on Mallard, who had no time to lift either of his weapons. He put his hands on Mallard’s face and pushed the captain backward, towards the wall of the Bowed Hall, towards one of the large windows of the Crowned Tower. Sherwood had no time to say a word. Tanner and Mallard stumbled backward and tumbled over the ledge. They did not come back up. Sherwood stared at the window, shining bright with the morning sun. Then something pinched hard at his side.

The guard’s lance had scraped his right hip, leaving a long bleeding cut. Sherwood screamed in anger. He gave another glance at the window, but all he saw was sunlight and sky. Sir Teelos. Mabel. Tanner. Enough. Enough. He lifted and slashed his sword, harder than he ever had before. The soldier’s cheap helm broke like a wooden stick, and his head cracked open. 

As the blood poured out of the man, Sherwood was transported back to his captain’s death. The blood was vividly red and blinded him. His mind stumbled from one memory to another, while he cut, severed, and sliced. Watching his Mabel gasping for breath, falling through the roof of the warehouse, his captain raising his sword, Tanner tumbling over the ledge, again and again. 

Sherwood faced the king filled with rage, but too many soldiers stood in the way for him to get close. His mind was reeling and his body was tired from the brutal battle. Sir Teelos is dead, Tanner fell from the tower, who’s back do I watch now? Just give me another back to watch over, I won’t fail this time, I swear. 

Sir Luxius, the only other knight standing, yelled at him as he parried blows “Get out of here, kid!” Sherwood did not see Sir Luxius. He saw Tanner tumbling down, felt Mabel’s body cool in his arms, and he heard his captain, Sir Teelos, tell him to get out of there. With his mind in disarray, Sherwood could do but one thing: obey his captain. So he slashed and parried as he found his way out.

# # #

Sherwood spurred his horse ahead, hooves trotting on the soft grass. He had just left the last houses of the capital behind him. The tears he had not yet managed to leave behind.

He cried for his dead mentor, for his wife who left the world in anguish, and for his friend who was killed for defying the king. More than anything, he was lost, alone. He had gotten out, but to get where? Where was he supposed to head now?

Sherwood was not a knight anymore. The sword he carried was forbidden in the Fiolan kingdom, as well as everything he had stood for since Sir Teelos had handed him that sword. King Averyl had read out his decree and abolished what he lived by in an instant. Just as quickly as Tanner fell from the tower.

Sherwood gave himself no false hopes regarding the fall of his friend. The tower was too tall to give Tanner any chance for survival. He was gone, just like his wife and Sir Teelos. The knight felt horribly guilty for leaving his friend’s body behind, but he had had no time to carry him away. There was only time to get out.

The Sky Starway had seemed infinite as he ran down the steps, clumsy in his armor. Surprisingly, Sherwood had encountered no guards on the long stairway. Perhaps King Averyl had expected no one to defy his orders. Seven knights had proved the king wrong. The difficult part had come when Sherwood reached the hallway that followed the entrance to the Crowned Tower. The four deities of Idroos were attended by half a dozen guards in lemon and cream garments, ready to stop Sherwood if he attempted to exit the tower.

I am almost there, almost out. Yet so far. Sherwood had thought his escape was over at that point. He had wielded his sword, ready to die a fighter rather than a kneeler. When he took a step towards the arched entrance of the hallway, his eyes had fallen on the window of the tower. That window might represent his only chance to survive. The same window Tanner fell out of. The knight had taken a moment to look out the window. The field around the tower was quieti Peasants walked by, unaware of the huge struggle going on above them. Sherwood had gathered his courage, taken a deep breath, climbed the ledge and jumped.

Luckily, the window was pretty close to the ground, and Sherwood had walked away with only a bruised ankle. As he stepped towards the royal barracks to steal a horse, he saw his friend lying broken in the grass. Tanner’s hand clawed around Captain Mallard’s neck as if they had been struggling as they fell. Tanner’s sword was broken, as were his legs. Other than that, he almost looked asleep, at peace. Sherwood had not been able to mourn for his friend there, to say a prayer, even to kneel and pay his respects to the knight who had defied the king. He had to leave him there and go.

So he did like Sir Teelos had told him in the tower. Sir Luxius told me. Sir Teelos is dead, he died in my arms at Moonvei. He rode out through the meadows bearing beautiful red poppies and daffodils. Beautiful and sad. I should have watched his back better. I was literally at his back, though? How could I have watched it better? Sherwood wept as he rode forward, and the red poppies blurred. They became the red pool of blood in which Sir Teelos knelt as he died. The sun shone hard on him, as hard as it had hit his eyes after Tanner had fallen from the tower. Sherwood became blind, but he rode on.

Why do I ride on? I have nothing left to fight for. No one left to protect. No one left to die for. His hand held the sword to his side, as he had his whole life. Sir Teelos had given him that sword, the last thing he had done before perishing on the battlefield. Sherwood had assumed that his mentor had handed him the sword knowing he was about to die. If so, why did he give him the sword? I failed him. I failed him, just like I failed Mabel. And now I failed Tanner. I have no one left to fail.

Sherwood had failed to realize it, but the scenery around him had changed. The poppy fields were gone, replaced by trees and wild bushes. The beginning of the Little Wood, at the end of Oiwen’s peninsula. He must have been riding for hours, although he had lost all perception of time.

He found a thin stream running with clean water, and realized how thirsty he was. He jumped down from his horse and drank the fresh water in big gulps, cupping it with his coarse hands. He had no provisions with him, of course. The only things he had with him were his horse, his sword and his armor. His armor was heavy, though, and the day was hot. At first, he removed one vambrace to give some water to his horse. Then, he took off the other vambrace. He felt less heavy. Tanner was right, it was easier to walk and move without all that metal on one’s back. Soon, Sherwood’s full armor was dumped at the foot of the stream, reflecting the colors of the dead leaves.

Sherwood sat next to the stream as well, clutching his knees to his face. He did not know what to do. “Where do I go now? Who do I fight for?” He asked no one specifically, yet he received an answer from somewhere to his right, in an unknown voice. “You. Who else matters?” Sherwood jumped up, sword in hand. He was ready to fight, to die. He came face to face with a man wearing dirty patched clothes. No, not a man. A boy, acting like a man. But the boy has not left him yet. It is still there, behind the tough stance and the slingshot in his left hand, scared yet curious.

“Who the hell are you?” Sherwood had no time or will for courtesies. He just wanted to be left alone. The boy stayed at his place, staring at Sherwood with wide-open eyes. He seems surprised. He almost forgot to answer the knight’s question, but the sight of Sherwood’s naked steel waving towards his face made him speak “Pesker. It doesn’t matter who I am, though. Who are you?”

“It’s none of your business, I would say.” The kid stared at him in disbelief “Really? You’re the one sitting and wining in my creek after you dumped all your metal in the water. I’d say that it is very much my business. Who are you, and where did you get that sword?” Your creek? I’d like to see what King Averyl thinks of that.

The boy moved to grab a shoulder guard, but Sherwood got in his way, sword in hand “Get away from that, or I’ll cut off your hand. Yours won’t be the first hand I cut off today, trust me.” The boy looked defiantly at the knight and his sword. Sherwood presented himself "I am… Sherwood. Just Sherwood." The boy in ragged clothes showcased his slingshot “I could put a hole through your head quicker than you could lift that sword, you know? Don’t worry, I won’t. You seem like you could be of some use to Bald Ralph. Are you a knight?"

"Not anymore." Bald Ralph. Sherwood finally put it together. The creek. The forest. The boy with the slingshot. “You’re an outlaw.” The boy slowly nodded. Sherwood put down his sword, uncertain of his next course of action. Who am I fighting for? The king who killed my friends and outlawed my sword? Do I kill this boy, bring his head to the Crowned Tower and demand the pardon of King Averyl? Sounds like a foul plan. Do I become an outlaw? Join Bald Ralph and his company? Doesn't sound much better.

“Bald Ralph is known as a cutthroat in the capital. You serve him?” Sherwood asked the boy. The kid pulled out his chest and mocked him “We don’t have to kneel to no king out here, and Bald Ralph wears no crown. We work together, and share the bounty we get. That's all. It’s not much, but it’s enough to go by. All that’s left is used to build homes and hire more of us. At least we live a free life, out here.”

Sherwood scoffed at the kid’s audacity “You know nothing about freedom, kid.” “Oh, and you do? You served a king your whole life. The only thing you know how to do is take orders and follow them. You only fight for other men, but what about yourself?”

The knight squeezed his sword, but he was out of rebuttals. He sat back down at the stream, staring at the fast-flowing, clean water “Who would you have me fight for, then? Who am I supposed to protect?” The boy stepped next to Sherwood “No one but yourself. Protect those you think deserve protection, and fight those who threaten them. Take orders from no one.”

Turning his back to the stream, Sherwood looked at the boy. He’s just a boy. I’ll keep the sword, Sir Teelos. Thank you for your faith. The knight stood up and walked away from the stream, leaving his armor in the water to rust. The boy hopped next to him.

Sherwood side-eyed his new companion “Do you ever catch squirrel out here? Or wild boar?” The boy nodded again “That and more: stag, wild mice, foxes… Sometimes we keep ourselves going with berries for a week or two. It depends.” Sherwood smiled sadly, embracing the trees with his eyes “Is a sword any good for catching beasts in the forest?”

The boy eyed his sword, the jealousy in his eyes clear as day "No. A sword is good for killing men." Killing men. I feel like I have been doing that for far too long. Maybe I should hand my sword to this boy, and live the rest of my days in these woods. They seem rather peaceful.

Sherwood walked in silence in the forest, listening to the crunching leaves beneath his feet. The spring sun had finally set, and the long day was over. He stopped and sighed. I have one man left to kill. "Bring me to Bald Ralph. Tell him I am going to kill the king, and I need his help."