The Rogue Knight

"What now?" Thibault asked, swinging into Rascal's saddle.

"We should head south to the river and find a boat to Bordonne. We'll reach it faster sailing downstream than riding."

"A boat for two men and three horses?" Thibault asked, "it will cost us."

"We don't have very long before the revenant rises in search of his helm," Vesian replied. "It will be worth the money."

Thibault shrugged. After all, it was not his money they would be spending. Tying Gotila's reins to his saddle, he spurred the horse south and Vesian followed.

The road grew thicker with traffic as they approached the great river. Peddlers, pilgrims, and farmers alike traveled the main highways. They rounded a bend in the road before an old abbey to find a small merchant's caravan headed the other way. A painted carriage led four wagons laden with boxes and barrels, guarded by four sergeants in brigandine and kettle-hats. The leader of the caravan was a middle-aged woman, thick around the waist and in the jowls thanks to her prosperity. She nodded respectfully at Vesian and his squire as her caravan approached, when they all turned their heads at the sound of a cry from the nearby field.

Vesian's hand went to his sword as he tried to discern the source of the noise. All of a sudden, there was a great woosh and a wyvern soared over the treetops, heading right for them. The guards panicked and cast aside their glaives, some standing transfixed with awe while others fled for the safety of the abbey while the wagon drovers ran for cover in a nearby orchard. The merchant woman's horse bolted, throwing her to the ground. The wyvern swooped in on it and seized the animal in its talons. There was a great cracking sound and the horse went limp.

Sword in hand, Vesian fought to steady his own horse for an attack. The beast wanted none of it and threatened to throw him as it had the woman, so he deftly dismounted. Thibault did the same, but managed to free their lances from the packhorse and arm himself with one. He tossed the other lance to Vesian, who caught it as he rushed to the wyvern.

Ignoring all of the panic around it, the wyvern had torn into the poor horse right away. Razor-sharp teeth tore through the horse's saddle, tack, and flesh all at once and the wyvern gulped down chunks of meat with voracious desire.

Vesian dropped his sword to the dirt and leveled the lance in front of him. Thibault readied his own lance, slowly circling around to the other side of the wyvern. The monster stopped its feasting at their approach and fixed Vesian with a frightful stare. Its reptilian eyes gleamed with low cunning and malice. Vesian twirled the lancepoint in front of the wyvern, hoping to draw its attention with a hypnotic pattern. The creature shifted atop the dead horse and flared its wings out to the side.

Aware of how small and feeble he was before the monster, Vesian fought down his fear and did not give ground. Thibault was almost in position.

"Look here!" he shouted, slashing the lancehead forward. "Ha! Here! Hey! Have at you, beast!" The wyvern's focus was wholly locked onto him, its stinger-tipped tail coiled behind it for a strike.

Thibault lunged forward, plunging his lancepoint into the wyvern's side. It roared in pain and buffeted at him with its wing. The tail flashed forward, narrowly missing Thibault. As the monster's head swung toward Thibault, Vesian struck as well. He sank the lane half a foot into the wyvern's other flank, twisting the head as it went in.

The wyvern flailed about in agony, knocking Vesian down with a buffet of its great wing. He rolled in the dirt, releasing the lance, in order to avoid the strikes of the venomous stinger. Thibault clutched his lance in a deathgrip, hanging on for dear life as the wyvern thrashed about. The ashwood shaft flexed in his hands, lifting him off his feet as he rode the wounded beast.

Vesian scrambled to his feet, retrieving his sword, and charged back into the fray. He ducked the wyvern's wing and drove the sword's tip into the wound opened by the lance. He fell back in a rush to avoid the wyvern's snapping jaws, feeling the rush of hot air on his face as they snapped just short of his exposed head. On the other side, Thibault heaved his lance free and slashed at the wyvern's wing. He opened a great rent in the thin skin and the wyvern flailed about madly at the source of its newest wound.

Vesian nearly lost his sword in the struggle but drew it out only to stab again at the wyvern's scaly hide. He was battered to the earth by the thrashing tail, but by the grace of the gods avoided the stinger once again.

"It's dying, back away and let it bleed!" he shouted to Thibault, who did the wise thing and obeyed. The wyvern staggered forward, maddened by pain, but lost its footing on the horse's corpse and crashed to the ground. Its wing fell over Vesian's prone form and he scrambled free, clutching his sword tightly. The monster moaned in its death throes as Vesian stood over its head. Looking into the creature's eyes, he drove his swordpoint deep into its skull, ending its struggle.

He stepped back and looked to Thibault. His squire was bruised and battered, but still mostly unhurt.

"It got me with the wings, but never the poison," Thibault gasped breathlessly.

"Fortunate thing, that is. Aines forgot to give me any wyvern venom antidotes before we left, and I don't think we would make it back in time."

"You made it through alright?" Thibault gasped.

"I did, though it's more than I can say for the poor horse here." He nudged the corpse with his foot. Unlike the corpse he had encountered the day before, it stayed dead. Turning at a sound behind him, he saw the merchant woman approaching. She was dusty and disheveled but appeared to be unscathed by the order.

"It's dead?" she asked in wonder, "thank the gods!"

"Aye, madam. It's dead and gone, though I fear your horse is as well."

"Shame about that," she replied, her eyes walking over the grisly remains. "It was a loyal creature, coming all the way out here from Sacreville. More loyal than my guards," she cast a scornful look towards the abbey where they had fled. "But thank you for your valor, sir. Might I have your name?"

"Vesian de Surrac, madam. This is my squire, Thibault. We are errants of the Order of the Griffon."

"Yes, I know your order's arms, though I only make your acquaintance now. You have my gratitude and once I am safely home, I will make a generous donation to your order."             

"I am pleased to hear it, madam. Though our services to the king provide for us well enough, all aid is welcome."

"It will be done. But if you will excuse me, sir, I must see to what has become of my guardsmen." She stomped off in the direction of the abbey.

"Those poor fellows will surely lose a day or two of pay for this," Thibault remarked.

"Likely undeserved, for what guardsman joins up to fight wyverns? In any case, let us take a trophy from this beast so we might tell the story at Chateau Valeur later."

Thibault steadied the dead thing long enough for Vesian to hack off its horn for proof. It was hard work and by the time they were finished the merchant woman had returned with her sufficiently chastised guardsmen. She angrily took her seat at the front of a wagon next to the drover who had crept slowly back from the orchard with his fellows. Clapping her hands impatiently, the woman spurred the caravan back into motion. Vesian gave her a friendly wave as they passed by, which she returned with an exasperated smile, though her guards avoided his gaze.

"Well, that was a bit of excitement for today," Vesian remarked as the caravan disappeared around the bend.

"The men at Valeur will hear of this before we even return," Thibault added, mounting his horse again.

"I hope to be able to add the story of the revenant as well. Come on then, lots of ground to cover still."

They reached the town of Gens along the riverbanks late in the afternoon. It was near dark when Vesian secured them passage on a riverboat. The journey downstream was quick and uneventful, and four days later they arrived on the quay in Bordonne.

The largest city in the realm, Bordonne lay along the river's north bank some thirty miles upstream from its marshy mouth. Near to the city, the river was thick with boats and barges carrying grain, clay, ores, and hides. Seagoing ships ventured no further upriver than Bordonne, but their cavernous hulls and strangely attired crews were in evidence all along the harborfront.

Their riverboat moored on the far upriver end of the quay and the captain allowed them to disembark before he set his crew to unloading his cargo of timber, wine, honey, and tin.

"How do you plan to find these bandits?" Thibault asked once they had disembarked onto the quay with their horses.

"The local constable should be able to point us in the direction of the people who would be buying stolen relics. Then all we have to do is wait for Almaric to arrive."

"Hm," Thibault replied, unconvinced, "You've never been the waiting type."

"The city has plenty of diversions while we wait." Vesian gestured over his shoulder to the Palace behind him. "But first, we should pay a visit to Odo."

Leading their horses by the reins, they made their way down the pier and through the city's narrow streets to the constable's office by the West Gate. The squat stone building overlooked a small square in front of the Temple of Caerran. Merchants filled the square with carts, wagons, and colorful stalls.

Two guards sat lazily outside the front door, their halberds leaning against the wall. They looked up Vesian's approach, but waved him by upon seeing his surcoat. A groom emerged to take their horses and Vesian and Thibault ascended the short staircase into the constable's office. The office inside was well-appointed despite the austere exterior of the building. A thick fur rug lay across the floor before a wide desk of polished oak. Two walls were lined with cubbyholes filled with scrolls while a glass-fronted lantern hanging from the ceiling provided light without the hazard of setting the room ablaze. Beside the desk was a leather chair, currently occupied by Odo, the city's constable.

Odo was a man nearing the end of middle-age, with salt and pepper hair and a graying beard that grew more unkempt every time Vesian met him. He wore the king's colors on his surcoat but the city's crest of a willow tree on his sleeves. His left eye was milky white, ruined by the same blow that had left the side of his face scarred.

He looked up from a scroll as Vesian entered.

"Sir Vesian," he growled, "It's been some time since I've seen you. What brings you to my door?"

"The work of a knight-errant, I'm afraid. I seek a band of tomb-robbers. There are four of them, perhaps more. They are led by a man expelled from the order, Almaric de Condorce."

"Almaric," Odo said in recognition. He rose from his seat and went to the shelves of scrolls. He scanned along them for a moment before drawing one out. He unfurled it and handed it to Vesian.

"If you're looking for him, you might as well claim the bounty while you're at it." Vesian nodded in appreciation and handed the scroll to Thibault, who whistled in surprise.

"That's a lot of money. What's he done to deserve such interest from the seneschal?"

"He has killed one of the prince's friends is what he's done. I don't know the circumstances, but a bounty is a bounty."

"Well, when last I saw him, he had stolen something from an ancient warrior's tomb and planned to sell it here. Who in the city would buy something like that?"

Odo leaned back in his chair, deep in thought. "There are dealers in arcane items by the docks, but as for who would touch something stolen, your first candidate should be Savarics. I've had a dozen reports of him dealing in contraband, but nothing strong enough to bring him in. Yet. He operates out of an old warehouse near the harbor. Look for the Queen's Fountain and head west from there. You should see it just past the Baking House."

"Well, I hope that we might be of service to you. We will begin our search there at once. Can we leave our horses with you?"

Odo shrugged. "I suppose I can take care of them for a while. I'll let my men by the docks know to look out for you. If you need help, many members of the Watch frequent the Three Princes Tavern just north of Queen's Fountain. They'll muster right away if one of my men calls them."

"We'll keep an eye out for them."

Vesian and Thibault disguised themselves in some common cloaks borrowed from the guard and made their way casually toward Savarics' house. The front of the house was on a wide thoroughfare, but Vesian and Thibault circled around to the rear, where the street was narrow and shielded from the sun by beams crossing above. The street was empty except for themselves and a single beggar dozing in his squat. The building was old and worn, with blotches of grime on the brick exterior. Vesian moved slowly along the building, trying to peer through the boarded windows. Inside, the rooms were lined with dusty shelves crowded with all manner of odds and ends.

He stopped at the sound of voices. Ushering Thibault closer, they peered through the cracks in a window. Within, four men were wrestled with a woman. She wore a plain peasant's dress and cloak, but she was shackled, blindfolded, and gagged. Three of the men were broad-shouldered toughs with the look of dockhands, while the fourth was a tall, lithe man with wiry red hair. The four of them dragged the woman, kicking and screaming, into a closet, and shut and barred the door.

Behind him, Vesian heard Thibault draw a blade.

"We need to find a door," Vesian whispered back. They crept along the wall at a low crouch until they reached a door in the wall. It was of stout construction, Vesian could tell just by a cursory examination.

"We might be able to reach the second floor by climbing," Thibault suggested, but Vesian had other ideas. Together, they set themselves before the door and threw their shoulders against it. The door shuddered and buckled but did not come all the way off. Within, they heard alarmed shouts. They charged the door again.

This time, the door flew off its hinges and crashed into the hallway. Swords drawn, Vesian and Thibault shed their cloaks and advanced into the building. Across a wide room lined with crowded shelves, Vesian caught sight of two of the toughs. One broke off and hurried deeper into the building while the other hefted an ironbound cudgel.

Vesian stood up straight, displaying the Order of the Griffon crest on his surcoat, and the thug took a concerned step backwards. Just as he might have been reconsidering, his companion reappeared from the side.

"Look out!" cried Thibault as the thug came rushing on with a hatchet raised. Thibault sidestepped the man's brutish attack and stabbed at his thigh as he went by. The man staggered into range of Vesian, who delivered a calculated thrust to his chest. Blood began to well under the man's shirt, and Vesian plunged the swordpoint through the back of his neck. The man crumpled to the floor.

"Why does the Order of the Griffon break into my house?" the redhaired man demanded as he appeared behind the cudgel-wielding thug. He carried a short thrusting sword in one hand and a parrying dagger in the other. Somehow, he had found the time to slip on a mail shirt.

"Are you Savarics?" Vesian demanded. He heard the slightest creak in the room behind him. the man's thugs were dim in appearance, but had cleverly surrounded them. He subtly pointed at the source of the noise for Thibault's benefit and the squire nodded.

"You break into my home and make demands of me? Are you a knight or a common brigand?"

"You speak to me of brigands? Who is that woman you abducted?"

"She is a witch," the man replied. "I intend to claim the bounty on her."

"And why have you thrown her into a closet instead of at the constable's feet?"

"The constable and I are not on good terms," the man said, "I require time to smooth things over before I claim my bounty."

"I am in good standing with the constable," Vesian offered. "I could act as your broker."

"For a fee, no doubt. No, I will do this myself."

"I will charge no fee. I only wish to see this criminal handed over to the appropriate authorities. Come, let us go now and turn in this witch for the bounty. It is surely quite substantial."

The man's eyes narrowed. "You break into my home to offer me your services?"

"I came in pursuit of justice, and a man called Savarics. Have I found either here?"

"I tire of your questions, knight. Time to die!" his hidden man came rushing from behind them as the redhaired man and his other surviving thug attack Vesian from ahead. They rushed across the open room with weapons at the ready and hate in their eyes.

Vesian left the man attacking from behind to Thibault as he advanced to meet the redhaired man and his companion with the cudgel. The cudgel man came on cautiously, while his redhaired companion charged ahead. Vesian parried a stroke of the thrusting sword and darted around to the man's side, putting the redhaired man in between Vesian and the big fellow. The redhaired man struck again, attacking with no concern for his companion's own angle of attack at Vesian. The redhaired man had had some training, and clearly some natural talent with the blade, but in his hateful frenzy he was easy to predict. He flailed about madly and Vesian parried each strike in a whirl of steel.

The cudgel man stood behind him, unsure of what to do as he looked from Vesian to Thibault and the men they battled. The redhaired man had his thrust turned aside again and stabbed his parrying dagger at Vesian. The blade struck home but became entangled in the thick surcoat instead of pulling free. As the man fought to free his weapon, Vesian brought his own blade down on the outstretched arm.

There was a cry of pain and he fell back. The dagger fell from his hand, but Vesian came on. The man tried a desperate thrust with his sword, but Vesian easily evaded it and drove his own swordpoint through the man's neck. The cudgel wielding man threw aside his weapon and ran for the door in a blind panic. His companion who tangled with Thibault could only stare shocked at his abandonment until Thibault slashed his throat open with his sword.

Surveying the damage, Vesian sighed.

"I had hoped to get some answers out of this man," he nudged the redhaired man's corpse with his foot. "We still don't even know if this was Savarics."

Thibault looked around the room at all of the oddities on the shelves. "This would look to be the place."

"Perhaps their prisoner can tell us more," Vesian said. He went to the closet door and pulled it open. Inside, the woman had slumped to the floor in despair. Vesian knelt by her and removed her gag and blindfold. She blinked her almond eyes in the dim light. They were green and inquisitive, while her dark brown hair was tied up in a bun behind her head. She was pale and pretty, with red lips and thin, arched eyebrows. She fixed her stare on Vesian as her mouth worked with unspoken questions.

"A knight-errant?" she said in surprise, "what are you doing here?"

"I have come on a different errand, but it is fortunate that I did. Who are you?"

"My name is Ava," she said after a hesitant pause. "Those men took me off the street, but I know not why."

Vesian held her hands up by the bronze shackles. "You are a witch," he said matter-of-factly.

"I am not a criminal!" she insisted, stomping her foot on the floor. "Nothing I do is against the king's law!"

"Calm down," Vesian reassured. "I did not accuse. But I suspect you know why they took you."

Ava bit her lip and looked down. "My sisters told him. I am a fugitive," she continued quietly. "I fled my coven when they asked me to do too much. I tried to hire a ship to take me away, but Savarics and his men caught me first. They were going to hold me until my sisters arrived and collect their reward."