Bloodless Knights (30 page)

I
turned to Thespis, “So, when thou helped Asher and I escape from jail, we
weren’t really
escaping,
thou simply let us out?”

Thespis
nodded, “Sorry my boy, I couldn’t let thee meet thy death; I’d promised thy
mother.”

I
stared harshly at the friar, “Asher is probably dead. He saved my life. The
dragon carried him away. Brendan is alive, I guess. He’s in Hereford, so that
should be cause for rejoice.”

The
friar smiled faintly, “It’s wonderful about thy brother. Sorry about Asher, he
was a good lad. Many people have wrongly died. Sheifa confessed that the king
forced her to poison thy mother. He threatened to kill her and her family if
she did not. Then, sadly, soon after thy mother was pronounced, the house
servants found Sheifa hanging in the wine cellar. They say she did it herself,
but I’m sure it was by order of the king.”

Anger
boiled in my veins. Brendan was right; my father had to be destroyed. I opened
the door to the stall, “Anything else thou needs to say, friar?”

“Yes.
That dragon must die. I knowest not how it’s intertwined with the king’s ways,
but methinks it’s here as a consequence for what he has done.” The friar walked
from the stall. I closed the door behind him.

Trave
cleared his throat, “It’s a simple task; we kill the king, the dragon goes
away. Sir Tristen, let’s be on our way now. We have things to do and no time to
waste.”

As
Thespis walked away, I grabbed him by his thick arm. He turned to look at me.
“Thespis, can I trust thee not to interfere with what we’re about to do? I need
thy word. Ye must stay out of my business, unless we bid for thy help. Is that
clear?”

The
friar nodded. “Aye, my boy. I will be at the convent if ye require my
assistance. I bid thee luck with thy endeavors.” He turned again and walked
away. I let him go, and addressed Phil by pointing at him.

“Mr.
Phil, stay in this stable. Thou didn’t hear or see a thing here, if anyone asks
thee.” Phil waved his hand at me without even looking up from his carving.

I
chuckled a bit. Phil never gave two cents about what people did around him. If
people were made of wood, perhaps he would care a little.

“Get
back in the wagon, Tristen.” Trave grabbed a bucket of water, holding it for
his horse to drink from. I situated myself in the wagon. I had decided not to
fight with Trave, or make snide comments about him telling me what to do,
because it would only waste what precious time we had.

When
I was covered and playing dead, Trave lead his horse from the stable and we
were on our way to the castle. My heart beat quickly as I thought of the next
step in our plan. It simply had to work.

 I
thought of Vivian, and the daughter she had. Profound sorrow filled my heart,
as it became clear to me, why the woman had seemed so sad and withdrawn. Then,
I was a tad jealous of my cousin, who I never knew. He had married the woman
and made a child with her. I felt sick.

The
wagon stopped abruptly. While I had been entirely lost in thought, we had
reached the castle gate.

“State
thy business, sir!” A man, who I assumed was a guard, shouted at Trave.

Trave
spoke sharply and immediately, “I have a gift for his majesty! I have brought
Sir Tristen Dow’s body to him. I seek my reward. Let me in the gate!”

Mumbling
voices murmured all around me. I wondered exactly how many soldiers guarded the
gate. I tried my best not to breathe; for fear that the cold air would give me
away.

“How
do we knoweth its Sir Tristen?” The unidentified guard inquired.

Trave
jumped from his horse and pulled me from the wagon. He twisted me around for
all to see. I let my head slump to one side. “See! It’s him! Now let me
through!” He dropped me back into the wagon, my armor clanking loudly. I heard
the gate slide open.

I
laughed inside at Trave’s gruff display. As much as he hated me, it was nice to
know he could set aside his feelings and help me. It also didn’t hurt any, that
he was a large man, who looked even bigger and scarier in his red armor.

We
rolled forward as the gate shut tight behind us. It was going to be a challenge
to maintain the position I was currently in. I hoped Trave would get me out of
the cart quickly. As if he read my mind, the wagon seemed to quicken across the
bridge.

Soon
the cart stopped. I heard Trave’s boots hit the dirt as he leapt from his
horse. He pulled a blanket from the wagon. The next thing I knew, he pulled me
from the cart as if I weighed nothing, dropping my body onto the blanket. I
knew he was being rough with me, because he could, and I really wanted to punch
him. I remembered wanting to punch Asher too, then I silently took it all back.

Trave
dragged the blanket across the ground. It was a challenge for me to stay quiet
and still, but I managed.

The
dragging stopped, and the castle door opened. A man inquired Trave’s business.
Trave explained again why he was there. This man wasn’t as forceful as the
gatekeeper, probably because he figured we were already in the gate, which was good
enough for him. The dragging began again.

“Let
me get our commander, sir. He will escort ye to the king.” The man’s friendly
voice resonated through the castle hall.

Trave
was silent a moment, then exclaimed, “Aye, by all means, get thy commander.”

I
heard the man’s boots pound the stone. When I couldn’t hear them any longer,
Trave dropped the blanket.

“Let’s
go!” I whispered, as I stood up and straightened my rumpled clothing.

Trave
nodded and let out Vivian from his bag. The little cat looked around, surveying
the area. Trave petted her, holding her in one hand and drawing his sword with
the other. Knowing that heads would roll; I drew both of my swords. We rushed
toward the stairs and ascended them, two at a time.

When
we reached the top of the staircase, I turned to the left and ran quickly until
we reached a right turn. I slowed to check around the corner; nobody was in
sight. Either the king had lost soldiers, or he had relaxed his security.

Trave
studied the ornately painted halls. He whistled, “Thy father’s paintings seem
real, like I could walk into one.”

“Aye,
Trave, that’s what he’s aiming for. We’ll look at the pretty pictures anon.
Right now, we need to get to the tower. I’m sure that’s where the fool is this
time of day.” I continued running down the hallway.

Suddenly,
two soldiers appeared in the hall ahead of us. I ran full speed toward them,
startling them both. As they reached for their swords, it was too late. Both of
my swords met their uniforms, and I felt a great satisfaction pressing the
blades through my family’s crest.

As
the men fell, I pulled my blades free. We continued running without looking
back. A left turn took us to another stairway. This set of stairs was special.
There were many tall, stone and wooden stairs, leading to my father’s tower.

I
noticed something at the bottom of the stairs. Painted on the floor, was a
female body in a royal purple gown. The woman seemed to really be on the floor.
Her face looked exactly like my mother’s; her eyes were closed, but the same blonde
hair wisped around her lovely pale face. The same delicate features were
disturbingly emblazed on the stone floor. Wings protruded from her back, and
her lifeless head rested on her arm. The rest of her body curled in a fetal
position. Words scrolled over her head, “My Fallen Angel”. The depiction
angered me, and I tore up the stairs with Trave at my heels.

The
stairway was long. When we reached the top, I wanted to put my fist through the
wall. My father had painted an exact replica of himself at the top. His hands
were placed on his hips, as he peered down the stairway with a look of
satisfaction drawn on his face. I looked down the stairs to the point the
eerily-real eyes had focused on; my mum.

I
ground my teeth together and felt my face burn with heat as I gripped tightly
to my swords. I didn’t even bother to try the tower door’s latch. My adrenaline
pushed me forward. With a furious kick, I splintered the frail door off its
hinges and charged through the barrier that - I hoped - had my father behind
it.

Trave
followed me into the room, resting the kitten Vivian on the ground. She
immediately transformed into her human form. We all searched the room. At first
glance, it didn’t appear that my father was there. What was there was a large
desk, covered with paints and all sorts of drawings. The room had several
chaise chairs, also strewn with pictures he had created. The air in the room
was old and stuffy, not unlike my father.

The
tower was circular, with colorful windows lining the entirety of the top. The
stones between each window were covered with vivid colors, illustrating female
angels in minimal clothing; their bodies were plump. Each one ate different
foods that actually appeared edible. Gold coins covered the entire floor and
one-fourth of the way up the walls. The paint was so realistic, we seemed to be
walking on gold and wading in a room full of it.

From
the floor, in a corner behind an easel, came my father’s bored voice. “Trust in
Tristen to destroy things. Always making a smashing entrance, are ye not? Why
must you ruin everything, stupid boy?”

“Because
I’m
thy
son, murderer!” I shouted, running at him. Vivian grabbed me.
Trave put his hands on me, which wasn’t necessary with Vivian’s beastly grip.

“Not
yet, Tristen. We have to find out what’s going on here.” Trave whispered.

Ladislas
was painting more gold coins on the floor. He slowly stood, nonchalantly
setting his brush onto the easel lip. “Aw, Mrs. Dow. I see thou
still
haven’t done what thou were supposed to. I guess, at least, ye helped me with
something else that was to wait - but needed to happen anyway - grammarcy.”

“Brendan’s
alive!” I screamed at my father, who patiently walked toward the door. Trave
dropped my arm and put himself in my father’s path.

“Don’t
even think of it.” Trave growled at my father.

Ladislas
laughed like a crazy loon, “No, Tristen, I assure thee that thy brother is
dead! Dost thou wonder how I know that? Because once Ms. Vivian slaughtered
him, my painting greatly improved.”

My
father spoke to me like I knew what he was talking about. Although I did know,
I didn’t know why he thought I would.

Vivian
pushed me behind her, getting in my father’s face, while Trave held his sword
at the king’s back.

“I
didn’t want to kill anyone! Thy minion threatened my daughter, then killed her
anyway. Thou art a despicable, disgusting man.” Vivian slapped my father square
on the face. I smiled.

Sudden
footsteps sounded on the stairs. Many sets of boots charged toward us. All
swords were drawn, but it was a voice on the stairs that caught Vivian’s
attention. Her face twisted and a fire crossed her eyes.

“My
king? Are ye quite alright?” Sheriff Albott’s familiar voice crawled through
the splinters on the door, arousing a ferocious presence in the room.

In
a flash of black and orange fur, a giant tiger darted through the door with a
deafening roar.

Thoughts
came together in my head in a way that maybe should have connected before;
Sheriff Albott was Mr. Hat. Vivian would never forget his voice.

Trave
and I watched in awe, as thick red blood sprayed all over the walls and floor.
Lugina dragged the sheriff by the throat, swinging him around the tower,
throwing blood all over the walls and every drawing in the room. She violently
jerked him, hurling him across the room. His lifeless body slumped over my
father’s desk.

Soldiers
charged into the room. Trave waved his sword at them. One of my swords
connected with the jaw of a young soldier; the other sword was aimed at an
older man charging toward me. Lugina stood over Sheriff Albott then turned her
fierce yellow eyes our direction. The giant cat leaped into the mess of
soldiers that had been either immensely brave, or incredibly stupid, to enter
the room.

First
the soldiers aimed their swords at Lugina, but the ferocity in her growl, and the
sharp claws flying around the room, caused the smarter men to turn and flee.
The few who remained were torn to shreds by massive teeth and claws, amidst
minor scrapes from Trave’s and my swords.

When
the bloody slaughter had calmed, I searched carcasses for my father; he was
nowhere. I violently screamed, “Where is the devil? Where is he?”

Lugina
sniffed the floor and followed a scent toward a tall wooden bookcase. She
stopped there; growling. Of course: a secret door. We searched, but couldn’t
find a way to open the escape hatch. I hit and kicked the shelf but nothing
happened.

I
was furious that my father had bested me, yet again. My rage poured out as my
fist slammed against the wood of the shelf. I shouted in agony, as pain tore
through my arm; warning me that I needed to stop hitting solid objects.

“Let’s
get out of here, Tristen. I knowest thou art angry; so am I. We have to
continue on and end this. We can do it! Forget him. We can take down
his
‘secret weapon’ with
my
‘secret weapon’.” Trave’s face clouded in
mystery. As I was about to ask what weapons he was talking about, a gold glint
on the bookshelf caught my eye.