CHAPTER 30: "The Lone Sword"

SIR GALEN

Boys, not men, the cowards on the wall.

Sir Galen had been Captain of the Guard for years, and for many of those years, he prodded his boys into manhood. It was only in recent years, as he saw the Youngblood lobby corrupting and sapping the land, that he allowed for his discipline on the knights to waver. If those protecting the Lord were as incompetent as the Lord, it would be easier to end the reign once and for all, and begin healing Nightingshire.

This sabotage ached Sir Galen, for many of these lads were not bad men. In fact, many of them were sons of smiths or artisans or cooks, and they fought their way to their status through vigor, not privilege. Sir Galen admired self-made men, and hated depriving those men of enlightenment.

Sir Galen also hated killing the Prince, but again, the reign must end. No more Youngblood tyranny. That is why he had brought Prince Richard out onto the bailey with the spearmen. All the knights, including Sir Galen and the Prince, were heavily armored and had the finest steel shields. Sir Galen knew, however, that all of the metal in the world would not save them.

The dragon had been hovering over the walls for some time now, scanning the perimeter for any signs of life. The party crept slowly out from under the arched doorway, one by one. One of the knights (Thomas, Sir Galen believed his name to be) led the way, knees trembling, shield to the sky. The other knights held off, staying under the protection of the ceiling.

When Thomas saw that no one followed him, he turned to accost his comrades. “You craven pansees! You—“ Thomas said before the dragon’s grotesque jaws emerged onto the bailey swallowed him whole. While the whole party screamed in horror, Sir Galen counted how many men he projected the dragon could swallow at once. I am guessing eight.

“This is no fight,” the Prince claimed. “There must be another way, a more effective way.”

“Show us, then, My Prince,” Sir Galen nudging him forward.

“Enough!” a girl yelled from behind them. Sir Galen turned to see the girl that was Jason, Sir Oliver, the spy, Bard, the smelly stable orc and a platoon of those wretched witches In Blue. All of them had some kind of weapon drawn, bow or blade or baton. “We are taking the Prince, and these knights, and we are escorting the people to shelter,” Jason ordered.

Sir Galen laughed. A nervous laugh. He did not laugh ever. “We should have hanged you sooner, girl. I do not have time for this.”

Sir Galen drew his sword and prepared to do battle. “I suppose I will have to do this quickly,” he said, before he turned quickly and drove his blade into Prince Richard’s side.

“NO!” Jason screamed.

The blow was enough to send the young boy toppling over the parapet. Jason rushed to the edge and Sir Galen moved in on her, only to find his sword intercepted by Sir Oliver's. “Not while I breathe,” the Lion Knight growled. The blades chimed as they scraped and broke loose.

“Ari,” Sir Oliver called Jason. “Go to him. And do not be afraid to do what you must, do you understand?”

“I…” Ari stammered.

“Do you?” Sir Oliver asked.

“Yes,” the girl replied doubtfully.

And so Ari went down the bailey hall, to the stairs whence she came, the orc and Bard following her.

“Go with her,” Sir Oliver told the Sisters behind him.

The Woman In Blue at his side, bow focused on Sir Galen, asked, “Are you certain, Lion Knight?”

“I am,” he answered.

The Woman In Blue pulled her bow down and began to back away.

“The people,” Sir Oliver told her. “Go. I shall vanquish the traitor.”

“Rather subjective word at the moment, is it not?” Sir Galen asked. “’Traitor.’”

“Not to my sword, Sir Galen,” the Lion Knight replied, pointing it downward towards Sir Galen’s gut.

“Aye, but it is a lone sword, yes?”

“Sounds like a fair fight, then,” Sir Oliver joked, nudging his head to the men behind Sir Galen, a few sprinting off to the other side of the bailey. Three stood uncertainly, blades drawn, but not ready for a fight.

“Will you stand with him, men?” asked Sir Oliver. “One who would strike your Prince?”

The three knights that remained looked around at each other and at Sir Galen. “He did push Thomas out to die,” claimed the cowardly oaf, Brendan of House Woodsman. The other two nodded in agreement.

“Leave now, and I—ah—I will not kill you boys,” Sir Oliver told them, cringing. He still aches from the poison, Sir Galen deduced.

The knights trotted off.

Years and years of planning reduced to combat with Sir Oliver Boumgarden. Sir Galen’s anger would only slow him down, though, he realized. He would need all of his attention to battle a Knight of Cambria, even if the toxin still lingered in him.

“You are not yet your best self again, are you, Sir Oliver?” Sir Galen asked rhetorically.

“I shall not need my best to kill a coward,” Sir Oliver told him, and began the dance with a lunge at Sir Galen’s head.

ARI

He cannot be dead. He cannot.

Ari found that the Prince had fallen into a bail of hay on the side of the bailey. She ran to him, heard him groan, and felt relieved. She crouched down to him and held his hand.

“Ari,” Barnacle said, “the dragon is near.”

Ari ignored him and helped the Prince. “Richard,” she said, putting pressure on the stab wound in his side. She began removing his armor to get a better look.

“I will live,” he said, wincing. “The sword went just beneath the skin. The armor stopped most of the blow.”

“My Prince…” Ari said, cupping his face.

“I am fine, truly,” Richard told her. “What of the town?” he asked, glancing around at the burning city.

Ari did not gloss it over with sweet lies. “The town is dying. The people have nowhere to go. Where did you and Sir Galen emerge from?”

“A path,” Prince Richard answered. “A tunnel. I will sh—ahhhh.”

Ari held the wound with her palm. “Here, girl,” Fatime said, handing her a torn piece of cloth from her cloak. Ari padded some of it on Prince Richard’s wound and used the rest to tie it around his back and ribs. He grunted, “We need to move. I can show you the tunnel. Hel… Help me up.”

Ari did so, and Richard was slow to rise, but he did. He pointed west and they walked. “The door is through the pub over there," Prince Richard said, "behind the bar.”

“I shall gather the people,” Fatime promised. “I will bring them.”

“Thank you, Fatime,” Ari said, leading the Prince away, as the dragon passed back and forth in front of the moon.

SIR OLIVER

Sir Galen could have contested with any normal man. He was a master, one who had found a way to channel his rage into violence instead of allowing it to consume him. And with Sir Oliver unable to summon the will of Osha, Sir Galen was his equal.

He matched the Lion Knight blow for blow, even threw in a few dirty kicks to the shins. He is less armored than I, though, Sir Oliver realized. Sir Galen managed to poke him in the shoulder good. It stung, but Sir Oliver shook it off and kept hacking. Getting reckless, old man. Not now. Sir Oliver and Sir Galen clashed, held, scraped and released, and when they did, Oliver managed to swing a cut across Sir Galen’s back, tearing his cape.

That one went through to the skin, Sir Oliver cheered.

“Gods!” Sir Galen gasped, hand over the long cut.

“Yield,” Sir Oliver commanded him.

“When I die,” Sir Galen shot back, with another quick poke to accompany it. This one landed too, a nice, deep one in Sir Oliver’s sword arm. Blood rushed to the arm, energy there fading. He would drop the sword soon. Need to make this count, he thought.

Sir Oliver finally landed a dirty kick to Sir Galen’s legs too, and then a punch to his breastplate, another to his face. Sir Galen’s hooked nose was broken and bloody. He took a step back.

“Why did you come here?!” Sir Galen yelled, out of character. “To Nightingshire! Why could you not have simply declined the quest?!”

“I wish I had,” Sir Oliver admitted, falling to his knees. The blood loss was starting to take its toll. He dropped his sword.

Sir Galen drew back his sword to deliver the killing blow. Murder was in his eyes, more than it had ever been. These were the eyes of a man infuriated by his own failures. Sir Oliver was ready to die, for a moment, until he saw the ugly, stone-like head of the dragon come down onto the bailey and devour Sir Galen whole.

Sir Oliver fell back onto his side, frightened, and suddenly energized by adrenaline. He did not watch, but could hear the crunching of bones and metal and knew that Sir Galen would trouble them no more.

Sir Oliver crawled down the rocky hall of the bailey, but felt life fading from him out of his wounds.

He was bleeding out.