The Knight's Tale Read Free Page A

Magistrius! Who would dare to
poison me?”
    “What is the last thing you remember clearly?”
Ridmark said.
    Sempronius blinked and looked at Ulacht. “You,
headman. I saw you…I went to Rzoldur at your invitation, to heal an
orcish woman with a putrefying wound.”
    “Aye,” said Ulacht, “Ulacht remembers.”
    “The healing was a difficult one. After that I felt
like talking a walk,” said Sempronius, “to the top of the hill, to
clear my thoughts.”
    Which would take him near, Ridmark noted, the dark
elven ruin atop the hill.
    “After that…all I can remember is a gray mist,” said
Sempronius. “Then I was standing here, with you, Linus, and…and
this Knight of the Soulblade.”
    “Sir Ridmark Arban,” Ridmark said.
    “Magistrius,” said Ulacht, “it is as you said, you
did heal Uzrbella…but that was six weeks ago!”
    “Six weeks!” said Sempronius, aghast.
    “How long have the children been missing?” Ridmark
said.
    “The first disappeared eight days ago,” said
Linus.
    “The first orcish child,” said Ulacht, “six.”
    “Children?” said Sempronius. “What is going on?”
    Ridmark opened his mouth to answer, and then the
rattle of armor came to his ears.
    He turned and saw five men-at-arms in chain mail
approaching the base of Sempronius’s tower, hands on the hilts of
their sheathed swords. At their head walked a stocky, balding
knight of about thirty, his face like that of a disgruntled
bulldog. To judge from his oft-broken nose and the scars on his
jaw, the man knew how to fight.
    The men-at-arms stopped, and the stocky knight took a
few steps closer to Ridmark, his eyes hard and flinty.
    “So,” said the knight, looking Ridmark over, “it
seems Lady Gwenaelle was correct.” His mouth twisted, just a bit,
at the mention of the name. “We are honored by the visit of a
Knight of the Soulblade.”
    “I am Sir Ridmark Arban,” said Ridmark, offering the
knight a bow.
    The knight bowed back. “And I am Sir Thomas Cultran,
son of Sir Hamus Cultran, the lord of this village.” He looked at
you. “My father and his…wife have heard of your arrival, and sent
me to escort you to their presence. They wish to meet you.
Now.”
    His tone was just short of a threat. Ridmark decided
it was best not to offend the local lord.
    “I would be honored,” Ridmark said, “to meet Sir
Hamus Cultran.”
    Sir Thomas relaxed a little, and Ridmark realized
that the older man feared him. Or, at least, he did not want to
fight Ridmark. Understandable, given the power granted by a
soulblade. “Thank you, Swordbearer. Please, follow me.” He looked
at Linus and Ulacht and Sempronius. “Father, headman, Magistrius,
you might as well accompany us.”
    Sir Thomas led them through the village of Victrix to
his father’s keep. Victrix looked prosperous enough, with houses of
whitewashed brick roofed in red clay tiles, but Ridmark saw a pall
hanging over the village as they passed through the streets. People
kept to themselves, and mothers pulled their children close as
Ulacht passed. The aura of fear was plain, and Ridmark wondered how
long it would be until the villagers did something drastic.
    Sir Hamus’s keep was stout and grim, and Thomas led
Ridmark to the great hall. Fires blazed merrily in twin hearths,
and tapestries on the wall showed scenes of Arthur and Lancelot,
Gawain and the Green Knight, and other tales of Old Earth. Sir
Hamus himself, a man of about sixty, sat upon the high seat. He did
not look well. If Thomas abandoned exercise, stuffed himself with
pastries every day, and aged thirty years, he might look like
Hamus.
    But Ridmark barely noticed the old knight.
    The two women standing at Hamus’s side captured
Ridmark’s attention.
    The first was an old, old woman in a loose black
dress, so old that her skin looked like parchment and her hair like
tufts of white thread. Her green eyes were amiable and unfocused,
and she hummed to herself, looking at everything and nothing.
    The