Sir Bentley and Holbrook Court (5 page)

OUTCAST OF
CHESSINGTON

The day closed in as Bentley rode with all speed to the northeast edge of the city, carefully avoiding the known routes of the Noble Knights. He didn't know how extensive the search for him would be, but he felt better once he was outside the city limits.

Finally he found the place he'd been looking for. He entered a grove of trees and located a hollow where a small creek flowed through. He slowed his horse, looking for Esmond in the dwindling light.

It was here that gloomy thoughts overtook him. What if
he
had fallen into a trap? A ransom for one of the wealthiest sons of Chessington would finance the cause of the Followers for years to come. After all, he knew almost nothing about this band of peasants turned knights. Just what he'd observed as an enemy… and what his own heart told him.

The tall shadows of the forest trees seemed to bend down on him, and he wondered if he had played the fool. He turned his horse to bolt from the hollow and proceed on his own just as a voice called out to him.

“Sir Bentley, this way.” The voice was farther up the creek.

Bentley hesitated, then rode that direction. Esmond met him there,
and together they rode north away from the city—up the Chessington Valley and then east.

Just before cresting the valley ridge line, Bentley paused and looked back on the magnificent city that had been his home for nineteen years. It looked peaceful and sleepy nestled next to the Great Sea. Would he ever see his home again? He turned and urged Silverwood onward.

They traveled by moonlight until the twelfth hour, then found a grassy nook within a grove of trees to spend the night. Bentley awoke the next morning to find Esmond packing his horse.

“I must leave you now,” he said, “but I've arranged for someone to meet you here and take you onward. His name is Demetrius, and he will take you to a place where you will find your answers.”

Bentley thought about Esmond's statement and didn't really like it. He was ready for answers that were not shrouded in mystery. His countenance must have conveyed his thoughts, for Esmond's brown eyes softened.

“I'm sorry for the secrecy, but please understand we must be cautious when dealing with the Noble Knights. We have suffered greatly because of your—their efforts. Trust me and wait here. I've left some breakfast for you, and Demetrius will come to you shortly.”

Bentley gave Esmond a long look and finally nodded.

Esmond mounted and prepared to leave. “Sir Bentley, Demetrius is mute.”

Bentley's eyebrows lifted, but he shrugged. “I understand.”

He watched Esmond depart through the trees, then settled down to a hearty breakfast of bread, cheese, and fruit. He saw to his horse's needs and rolled his meager belongings back into the saddlebags, hoping to get done before the mysterious Demetrius arrived. Then he settled in to wait.

And wait.

By midmorning, Bentley was becoming impatient. He wasn't used to waiting for others, and this wasn't the quest for truth that he had imagined. Eventually, he spotted a lone rider ambling toward him over
the knoll from the north. The man wore a drab hooded tunic that concealed most of his face except for the scraggly gray beard. He rode hunched over in the saddle. All in all, his appearance was unimpressive, even shabby.

Bentley mounted and waited. The man came near and stopped.

“Demetrius?” Bentley called.

The man simply nodded, then turned his horse to the northeast. Bentley followed and wondered where this strange older man would take him.

They rode the entire day in silence. At evening, they made camp near a small stream. The mute walked with a limp. He never removed the hood or the black leather gauntlets that covered his hands. He was a strange duffer, and the sword secured to his steed seemed out of place.

Bentley wondered if there was any point in attempting a conversation with the man, but he couldn't contain his curiosity.

“Where are we…I mean, are we close to our destination?” Phrasing his questions to fit yes and no answers was definitely a challenge.

The man briefly looked at Bentley from under the shadow of the hood and shook his head no. A full day's travel and they weren't close? Bentley sighed and resigned himself to a long, tedious journey. After all, he had nowhere else to go and nothing else to do.

They journeyed many days to the north and east, across the Wick-mere River, through the grasslands of Venari, and to the Crimson River. The land here rolled from hill to hill, eventually merging into the foothills of the Boundary Mountains.

They followed the Crimson River north until they came to a sign that announced the village of Holbrook. Even from a distance Bentley could make out the enormous and beautiful castle that surely housed the lord of this land. The village nestled up against the base and outer courts of the castle, and the Crimson River cradled both within its curved banks. With the majestic Boundary Mountains as a backdrop to the castle, village, farms, and country, the picturesque view invited one to dream of daring knights, lovely maidens, and tales of great valor.

However, as they neared the village the beauty faded. They began to pass fields where ragged men, women, and children toiled. Their gaunt faces were almost expressionless, yet their very posture told a tale of great hardship. This surprised Bentley, for though he had seen poverty at various times and places in Chessington, he'd never seen this kind of
pervasive want. The woeful images only worsened as they entered the village. Not even the children were smiling.

Bentley looked toward the castle, and it still held its magnificence, with bright banners snapping crisply in the breeze. He marveled at the stark contrast between nobility and peasants.

“Are we staying here?” Bentley asked Demetrius. He was relieved when the mute shook his head. He wished they had bypassed the city altogether.

They traveled farther down a road and eventually came to the ridge of a large rolling hill. Here the road split. The northern road swayed through the hills and disappeared into a small forest. The eastern road continued along the top of the ridge until it disappeared down into a distant valley.

They were at a higher elevation than Holbrook. Bentley could just make out the village and castle and was glad to have them in the distance. The fresh smell of wild country filled Bentley's nostrils, and the Boundary Mountains looked close enough to touch. To the south, across the river, spread the grassy expanse of the Brimshire Plains.

He had never been this far from Chessington. The kingdom looked so big, and he felt so small. So many people… so vast a land.

What does it really matter if one man seeks for truth?
he wondered. Was it really worth it—to risk everything for something he wasn't even sure was real?

Demetrius brought his horse beside him and pointed. Bentley followed the gesture and could just make out a small cabin not far away. “That is where our journey ends?” Bentley asked, and Demetrius nodded.

“Will I meet with someone there?” he asked, and again the man nodded.

Bentley's spirits lifted. He had come to appreciate Demetrius's service to him on this journey and had even come to enjoy the man's silent company, but he longed for someone to speak with—someone to give him answers.

Bentley wanted to gallop the rest of the way to the cabin, but Demetrius kept his steady slow pace. This leg of the journey seemed the longest of all.

When they finally arrived, Bentley noticed that the cabin appeared unoccupied. He scratched his head and looked at Demetrius, but the mute just dismounted and secured his horse to a post. Bentley did the same.

The cabin was surrounded by a sea of lush green grass. Tall trees created a lofty border to the south, and to the east the Boundary Mountains loomed against the bright blue sky. The cabin's roof sloped forward to cover a small porch in the front.

They entered the cabin. Bentley noticed that although unoccupied, it was not abandoned, for he saw furniture, and firewood was stacked near the fireplace. There was a small kitchen with a table and chairs to the left and a door to the right that led to what looked like a bedroom. There was also a ladder that led to a loft.

“Who am I supposed to meet?” Bentley asked, forgetting that the mute couldn't answer.

Demetrius walked over to the hearth, and Bentley immediately realized that his limp was gone, his back straight. The man removed his leather gauntlets and laid them in a nearby chair. Bentley was taken aback to realize both of Demetrius's thumbs were missing.

Demetrius slowly removed his hood. He turned to face Bentley. And spoke.

The word was slightly muted, as if formed at the back of Demetrius's throat, but still unmistakable.

“Me.”

COUNTING
THE COST

Bentley stared at Demetrius, unnerved. The man's eyes were piercing, yet warm. His gray hair matched his beard, and there was the strangest sense of familiarity about him.