The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1) (23 page)

The crowd gasped, unsure for an instant if Fairen had been injured. Fairen found his bearings and scampered away from the dead man’s body, unharmed, except for some scratches and scrapes. He returned to his mother and embraced her in an enormous bear hug. Helen frantically hugged and kissed her youngest son, almost as if she was in disbelief that he was still alive.

Razzius stood on the giant table, breathing heavy, his chest heaving from adrenaline. He let out an enormous sigh of relief. He knew he had taken a life-or-death gamble. Had he not been true with his aim, or had Fairen not ducked as he told him, the javelin could have easily found a different target. He knew if that had occurred that no one in the town would have ever looked at him the same way again. Furthermore, Razzius could not have lived with himself if he had killed an innocent child, even if he had been trying to save him. Razzius was thankful he didn’t have to face that, and even more thankful that Fairen wasn’t injured.

The crowd reacted with exuberant elation. They cheered Razzius, patted him on the back, and slapped his hand with theirs. Fairen, Helen, and even Nicholas, embraced him wholeheartedly, tears of joy and relief streaming down their faces. Benni and Lawrence congratulated their friend.

“All hail Razzius Grimm, the greatest Knight of this generation!” Mayor Flint proclaimed. “I decree that a portrait of you will be hung in the Hall of Heroes for all eternity, so that everyone may know of your bravery today! In only your first day of being a Knight you have accomplished a Knight of Haile’s greatest honor. You have saved one of its citizens from certain harm! Thank you, Razzius!”

Captain Maxwell praised Razzius as he held his hand high in the air, turning Razzius around in a circle so that every member of the crowd could feast their eyes on the great Knight. Razzius basked in the glowing admiration of the crowd; this was the recognition he had hoped for when he had signed up for the Knight Guard. This was the vision that got him through those isolated times. He had dreamed of the fame, the fortune, the glamour that came with being one of Haile’s greatest Knights. Whereas all Knights were respected by the citizens, the top Knights were revered, and treated like gods wherever they went. This was the level that Razzius wanted to achieve, and in only a few short hours he had accomplished his goal. He would surely be promoted quickly. From now on, no matter where he traveled in Haile, he would be known as one of the city’s greatest heroes. Sure, word of his accomplishment would have traveled quickly anyways, but he didn’t even need to wait for everyone to learn of his undertaking. No, he had saved a young boy’s life in the most public setting. The mayor himself had seen it with his own eyes.

Mayor Flint motioned to the many servants stationed throughout the festival, and then to a group of bards and musicians. He didn’t want to waste any more time. The servants began clearing away the food and drinks, and the musicians began playing upbeat, joyful tunes. This was a time of celebration, after all. The tables were pushed outward to the sides of the courtyard and a huge dance ensued. Lawrence and Elsie clung to each other, and swayed slowly in the sea of dancing bodies. Elsie was still shaken from the tumultuous events that had just transpired. She grabbed Lawrence tight, embracing him, comforted by the feelings of strength and security she felt while in his muscular arms.

Benni danced with other single members of the Knight Guard in a large circle. He longed to meet that special someone, but was as nervous as every other young man about being rejected. He displayed incredible confidence and skills in his training exercises, but he fumbled his words recklessly when he spoke to the young ladies. He was more comfortable socializing with his Knight Guard brethren over a glass of ale. He glanced regretfully, from time to time, at Lawrence and Elsie, hoping that one day he could experience the unity they shared.

Every young girl wanted to dance with Razzius, the newly anointed hero of Haile. Razzius wasn’t used to this type of attention, especially from the ladies, but he was willing to adjust. He treated each girl with delicate attention and kindness, doing his best not to embarrass them in public with his awkward dance skills. He had found a new confidence when he joined the Knight Guard, and the roar of the crowd and the attention they showed him, only stoked it further. He moved from one beautiful girl to the next, experiencing no rejection from the swooning ladies. The thrill of being the center of attention, especially to the ladies, spared his mind from the melancholy thoughts he had shared with Lawrence earlier. He forgot that his father was at home, probably drunk, and unaware of his son’s great accomplishment.

Strong and spicy, smooth and easy. Welcome to paradise! A legendary brew for all your pains and pleasures. Let Green Bryre Ale lead you to new adventures.

- Street Promotion for Green Bryre Ale

As the festival began to wind down, Razzius parted ways with his new, adoring harem of fans. He said his goodbyes to his friends and rushed home, the sound of the crowd’s applause and adulation still ringing in his mind. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, drugging him with its aphrodisiac high. This was an accomplishment few ever relished, and he had done it only a few hours after being knighted. He would be remembered, revered forever, in the annals of Veronician history. A grand portrait of him would be hung in the Hall of Heroes. Rescuing a citizen of Haile was a Knight’s greatest honor; one Razzius would now share for eternity. He had done it at only eighteen years of age, the youngest ever to record the feat. He couldn’t wait to tell his father of his achievement. Even though his father thought Razzius was wasting his time in the Knight Guard, Razzius was certain that his recognition as a hero throughout Haile would be enough to gain his father’s proud acceptance.

Razzius was drawn from his daydream by the deafening silence of the long, deserted alleyway that led to his home. The lights and commotion of the festival were only a memory to him as he stared at his isolated, quiet, shuttered home beset by the unwelcoming hill that overlooked it. There was barely any light in the alley tonight, even the moon strayed away. Only a small candle flickered inside the front window, no doubt marking his father’s resting place. The outside, though neat and tidy, beckoned him with its foreboding presence. The house always felt like more of a prison to Razzius, and he hated how his return made him feel like he had been sentenced for a crime. Thoughts of his earlier conversation with Lawrence rushed back to him now, and he lamented forgetting to discuss things with Benni. The door creaked open as Razzius cautiously stepped inside the wood frame. He was disappointed he would have to wait until morning to tell his father of his triumph. He knew Wurn would be sleeping, and that it was best not to wake him. His father was terribly irritable if awoken suddenly. The candle flickered in the wind, casting shadows about the main kitchen. Razzius could see the slumped outline of his father, passed out in a large wood chair. The floorboards creaked eerily as Razzius walked over to him. He cleared dishes full of half-eaten food off of the tray on his lap, and two bottles of potent booze.
At least he didn’t soil himself.
His father snored loudly, oblivious to his son’s company.

As Razzius meandered about the dark kitchen, he smashed his foot into a stuck out chair leg. He lost his balance for a moment, and the half-empty bottles of alcohol clanged to the floor, landing on top of each other, spilling their contents. The commotion caused his father to grunt unintelligibly and stir in the chair. It was as though he possessed a bond with the precious substances, the loss of his children too much for him to sleep through. He awoke in a startled, drunken daze.

“What in Sora’s name is going on here?!” he bellowed, slurring his words as he struggled to his feet.

Razzius had bent down to pick up the toppled bottles, but he cringed at the sound of his father’s voice. He didn’t want to deal with Wurn’s over-aggressiveness at this hour. He wouldn’t be able to talk sensibly with his father anyway. He hoped that his father would go back to sleep.

“Boy, is that you? Where have you been all night?” His father had already forgotten about the knighting ceremony, and was almost completely incoherent as he shakily held the candle in front of him to cast a veil of light about the area.

“Hello, Father. I just got home. I’m on my way to bed now,” Razzius said firmly, slowly, hoping that Wurn would accept it and leave him alone.

“What are you doing bent over the floor there, boy?” Wurn prodded. “Stand up when I’m talking to you.” Wurn stumbled closer to Razzius’ position.

Razzius obeyed. He stood up, revealing the stain of alcohol on the floor. He prayed his father would not see it.

Wurn didn’t have to rely on his sight. He smelled the stench of spilled liquor, and like a hawk to its prey, his eyes went wide with fury. “You insolent, no good, useless bastard!” Wurn screeched, horrified at the sight of his lost sustenance. “Why can’t you keep your filthy hands off of my stuff?!”

“Oh, Father, please don’t be upset,” Razzius pleaded. “I have great news to tell you.”

“What, that you practiced your sword fighting with your little friends today? Oh please, don’t waste my time.” He continued mumbling something else, but Razzius couldn’t understand it.

“Well, actually I was sworn in as an official Knight of Haile today. But more importantly, I saved a young man’s life, in front of the entire town. The mayor called me a hero, the greatest Knight of my generation. He even said that a portrait of me would be hung in the Hall of Heroes.” Razzius beamed with a confidence that he usually never displayed in front of his father. It was the crowning achievement of his life, and he was proud to share it with everyone, even his father.

Wurn stared at him intently, hating his son more with every passing moment. The boy who had ruined his happy life now had become a hero to the entire town.
Impossible
. Wurn had toiled for years as a Knight, overshadowed by others more skilled than he, and yet he had never gained the recognition or the admiration that Razzius enjoyed now. Wurn’s hatred at his own shortcomings, his sadness at the loss of his wife, his misplaced ire over his son’s accomplishments, and the powerful effect of alcohol all combined to overtake him. He grabbed Razzius by the throat and forcefully pressed him up against the wall. He snarled, “How dare you, boy! You think you’re better than me! Mark my words; those same people will turn their backs on you someday! The Knight Guard is better off without you!”

Wurn sucker punched his son in the chest. Razzius doubled over in pain, gasping for breath. Wurn kicked him in the ribs repeatedly, drunkenly chastising the boy’s sense of grandeur and passion for his duty.

Razzius squirmed, trying to avoid his father’s wrath, but Wurn continued to pummel him. Blow after blow smashed into Razzius. But he was a man now, a Knight; he didn’t have to accept this anymore.
And to think, I actually saved your miserable life
!

Razzius
screamed with a rage that had been dormant inside of him for years. He rose to his feet, blocked his father’s next punch, and kneed him in the gut. Wurn lurched backwards, struggling to breathe. It was the opening that Razzius needed. Without words or hesitation he unsheathed his sword, a confident glee now covering his face. He stepped aggressively toward his father, and buried the full length of his longsword into Wurn’s stomach. Razzius howled loudly, a catharsis from the years of abuse and torment. The blood oozed down his father’s abdomen, slowly splotching the floor below.

Wurn’s eyes went wide with surprise, as his brain processed what was happening. The alcohol provided him a reprieve from the pain, but it did not prevent his realization that his death was imminent. Razzius slowly pulled the sword from its fleshy home, and stared blankly at his father. He stabbed him again, this time in the side. Then again, and again. The thrusts were deliberate, purposeful. His father screamed, begging his son to stop.

But his words were unheard by Razzius who plunged the blade harder and deeper into his father’s dying corpse. Razzius breathed heavily as he stood over his father who was gasping his final breaths. He dropped his sword and it clunked to the ground. The candlelight that had filled the room vanished, plunging Razzius into a sea of complete darkness. Wurn lay in a mangled, grotesque heap on the floor. Razzius shed no tears, said no prayers for his dead father. To him this was justified self-defense against an evil, vile, hateful man. Razzius had survived his father’s hatred for eighteen long years, and now, he had ended it.