Malice Rising - Knight Penitent Pt. 2

Short fiction from the world of Lordes, cont.

Thanks for checking out the first installment!

Here’s the second of four short pieces that make up the story. This one gets really violent, so skip it if that’s not your thing.

TWO

The rain hadn’t ceased in three days on the road, and showed little sign of doing so. Rain had started out running in little rivulets in the wagon ruts, but after the first half day, they’d become streams.

Now, the horses were covered in mud to the fetlocks and seemed as miserable as their riders. Two men heavily cloaked against the weather, one large, heavy and darkly bearded where the other was built spare and fairhaired, cleanly shaven with hawkish features.

The last sign they’d passed had said Vorwyn was no more than another 5 miles from here.

“Here’s trouble,” said the fairhaired one, his voice almost cheerful as he shared the news.

Alleyn squinted into the driving rain. He could see three figures, little more than silhouettes, stepping out into the roadway. Two more sat astride horses several yards further on. “Likely,” he agreed, knowing firsthand what it looked like.

“Gentlefolk!” Called one of the riders over the sound of the rainfall, raising his hand in a gesture that seemed both greeting and condescension in one. “Welcome to the region. Just yon lies the bridge over the Smallwater, if you seek lodging in Vorwyn and a refuge from this supernal emiction.”

“That we do,” Alleyn replied, loud enough to be heard.

“Sage.” The rider again. His voice and carriage were of elevated status, though Alleyn could make out no feature as he wore a brimmed hat low, and a cloak with high collar covering the lower part of his face. “I make no recommendation of lodging nor comestibles, as there exists only one such establishment in the vill. ‘Tis no hardship to find, even in weather, and you’ll find it suitable enough, compared to remaining without, I suspect.”

“I suspect we may. We thank you then, and pray you bid your men clear the roadway that we might put this plan in motion,” said the fairhaired one, whose name was Gwyll, but all called Golden by nature of his locks. He’d come from high stock himself, as was evidenced in his speech. His voice was smooth, friendly, yet commanding in tone.

“Ah. There lies the issue then, for you see, they are under my own orders not to clear this thoroughfare until proper courtesies have been spoken and proper offers weighed.”

“What speak you of offers, sir, and by what name shall I address you?” Golden spoke again, Alleyn content to let these do the speaking. Beneath his long cloak he loosened his sword in its sheath, watching the three men in the road for any telltale movement of violence or ill intent.

“You have the good fortunes of trading pleasantries with Sir Eldyr Fairburn, and the offer I speak is a fair but not altogether unweighty taxation levied by myself, under local laws, on those who use this fine and well-maintained road (and yon causeway), the whys and wherefores of which are of course well known and understood by all men of good breeding and sound mind.”

“Your speech is like a flower that gives way to an ill-seeming fruit, sir. We are free men on a mission from the church itself, and pay no tax nor yield the road to any man in our way. I give you warning only once. Command these -” Golden flicked his wrist in a dismissive gesture - “to clear the roadway, and do the same yourself, or come to know swiftly firsthand how we have made use of most of our hours in this life,” and with this last he indicated the blade hanging in well-made scabbard.

Alleyn shook the rain from the hair hanging in front of his eyes. The threat in Golden’s voice was plain, all pretense of friendliness gone. They’d shared the road for a short time, but Alleyn suspected he was a killer through and through merely in the way he carried himself, though he’d spoken little of his past, save that he was a knight in service of Caryllion. This was deemed enough explanation of his presence accompanying Alleyn, and Alleyn had queried no further.

The silence was broken only by the sound of rain falling in puddles, and the horses shifting from foot to foot, a jingle of harness.

Sir Eldyr’s hand dropped from its elevated position. An arrow whistled by Alleyn’s face close enough to nearly feel the fletching. Men off the roadside. Another missile flew, past him, burying deep into Golden’s horse, which reared, throwing its rider into the water and mud, charging headlong into the group of highwaymen and throwing their formation into disarray.

Alleyn dropped from his own mount and slapped its flank, sending it careening after the other, and charged in behind it, tearing his cloak’s pin with his free hand and letting it fall from his shoulders. Beneath he wore leather and mail, and he gripped the familiar and comforting wrap of his sword with both hands as he ran.

The first man to recover his footing took the brunt of Alleyn’s first swing in the side of the head. No steel cap to protect the skull. It shattered under the blow, bits of skull, a spray of blood and his right eye following the path of the sword, until he checked the momentum, stepped the other way with his lead foot and dropped his rear hip into the backswing.

The second man had as little chance as the first, though he tried to bring his blade up between them, Alleyn was a big man and the attack was made fresh and with all his might behind it. Blades struck, and Alleyn’s drove his opponent’s own sword back into his face, carving a ghastly wound into his forehead where the bone shone white in the wet. He stumbled backward, lips split in half over the wreckage of teeth, and the next blow came in low, a thrust to the belly that went clear through.

He was aware of Golden to his right, having made short work of the third man in the road, gripping the harness of a mounted man’s horse and taking his leg off above the knee with one heavy blow. The other, Sir Eldyr, was riding his horse at a gallop across the field toward the wood. No other arrows flew from unseen bows.

“Are you sound?” asked Golden, himself covered in mud and bleeding from the chin. The wound looked to be from the fall and not the combat.

Alleyn looked down at himself to see. You never knew, not always.

“Sound.”

“Well. By my sword. That was some excitement, eh?”

Alleyn nodded, squinting through the rain for the horses.

I hope you enjoyed this one. If you do, I’d really appreciate a share on any platforms you frequent, or just with friends.

Let me know what you thought of it. I’m still a bit shy about sharing my fiction writing but I’d like to do more of it if folks are enjoying it!

Keep your blades sharp!