The hunt of the king, p.9
The Hunt of the King, page 9
part #1 of Symphony of Madness Saga Series
The following morning, Sinod discovered Sir Gerhard had not lied to him when describing the Valley among Waters. His eyes saw with astonishment how buildings slowly started rising all around him. At first, they were only tiny farms and stone houses, but quite soon they turned into tall lively buildings: Taverns with some drunken men clamorously arguing in front of their doors, inns from where heavily-armored knights kept coming and going, and large red-curtained buildings where barely-dressed women tried to entice, with seductive voices, as many men as they could see.
By dusk, they went into the Inn of the Gray Tree, one of the smallest in the road, but as well one of the few that still had rooms available, such situation the consequence of a royal decree that established that every knight who would partake of the Hunt of the King had to receive free accommodations. This, however, had turned into a big problem, as many innkeepers could not tell a knight from a mercenary. Thus, when the company went in, Sinod could only spot a couple of knight-looking men among a sea of stinky messy people.
Still, Sir Gerhard was a very outgoing man, and he soon joined the rest of the people, caring not whether they were knights. Sir Larson, on the other hand, sat behind an empty table next to Sinod. The innkeeper’s daughter, a chubby red-haired woman with a blue bow on top of her head, brought them two jars of malt beer. She winked at Sir Larson as she put the jars over the wobbly wooden table, but the knight did not pay her the slightest attention.
Sinod had never cared for the taste of malt beer but, his thirst overpowering him, he drained his whole jar in a few minutes. With his throat burning and his eyes itching, he felt as if the whole chamber had started twirling, his eyes going from Sir Gerhard and his squires, laughing in hysteria next to a pair of drunken mercenaries, to Sir Larson, who kept gulping beer after beer. The knight got so intoxicated that he began flirting back with the innkeeper’s daughter. Forcing his mind to come back into reality, Sinod fastened his gaze upon him, realizing this was his best, and perhaps only chance.
“Sir Gerhard says we’re very close to Myrr,” said Sinod. “He says that if we hurry, we can reach the city in four days.”
“Yes,” answered Sir Larson, his eyes revealing his inebriation, yet his voice as strong as ever. “It’s been quite a long journey, but we’re finally going to end it. Although… of course… there’s still the matter of slaying that thing…”
“I still think it would have been better if we had crossed through the Valley among Waters,” said Sinod.
“Perhaps.” Sir Larson seemed to have forgotten what he had said about the savages. “But the king’s orders were clear… March toward the Golden Road and then to Myrr… Crossing the Scree was the shortest route toward the road and I… just… simply… obeyed.”
“Would the king have noticed if we had taken a small shortcut?”
“Listen carefully, boy!” he ranted, raising his voice. “The king commands, and the knight obeys. It’s always been like that and someone like you is not going to change anything.”
“I thought a knight should —”
“Well, you thought wrong!” Sir Larson bashed the table, the sound of crystal cups shattering drowned in the racket of the tavern. “Damn you… if Thore were here, he wouldn’t be bothering me as much.”
“Well, I’m sorry he’s not here.”
“Of course you are… you and your father are the ones to blame for that… Your damn ineptitude at forging weapons left him… left him… crippled.”
Sinod noticed a tear running through Sir Larson’s cheek, the tiny drop giving a glitter before falling into the jar of beer. Indeed it was as some people in Litten claimed: Indeed the knight cared for Thore with all his heart and soul.
“You could have brought any of the other —”
“Oh, I could have… but you needed a punishment.”
“You could have humiliated me in front of —”
“Humiliate you?” Sir Larson laughed, his hard voice full of disdain. “What’s another humiliation for someone like you? No… no… you needed something… greater… something that would break your soul… something that would shatter the little spirit you have left.” He took a long sip of malt beer. “And that will happen… let there be no doubts in your heart that it will happen. When we go into that bloody forest… when we confront that cursed beast face to face… then you’ll feel a fear as you never thought possible… Your spirit… your courage, if you still have it… even your desires to live… everything will die…”
“Is that why you brought me, then… to scare me… to leave me scarred for life?” Sinod could almost feel some tears welling in his eyes, but Sir Larson only laughed—a sound full of hatred and contempt.
“No, boy.” He took another long sip of beer. “I brought you here so a boar would impale you in the leg… so you would bleed in the middle of the forest… screaming desperately for help… Only that I will not go to your rescue… no one will.” Sir Larson took another sip, but the beer ended up spilled all over his suit of armor. “There’s a saying in this kingdom, you know? A man is as worthy as what he can provide to his town… You proved to be an inadequate warrior, a helpless hunter, and now… now even your skills as a smith have disappointed. What can a man like you provide to Litten? I’m sure your parents will miss you, boy… but time heals even the deepest wounds… even the deepest wounds.”
At that moment, Sir Larson let go of the jar of beer and stood up. He tottered toward the innkeeper’s daughter, put a strong arm around her waist, and started whispering to her ears.
But Sinod did not stay to watch them. Promptly abandoning the first floor, he climbed up the stairs, his feet leading him to the tiny room they had assigned to him. After locking himself in, Sinod threaded his way across the impenetrable darkness, his hands finding his bed after almost two minutes of clumsy march. Several warm tears were now running through his cheeks, a feeling of anger and impotence slowly flooding his body. He suddenly started thinking about Litten, about everything he hated about that tiny town, and yet, at the same time, about everything he would never see again: His house, the smithy, his parents…
There’s no such thing as fate, his father had told him. If you live or you die, it will be your own doing.
“No, father,” he said out loud, not even the tiniest shred of doubt within his words. “It will be Sir Larson’s.”
Sinod did not know when he fell asleep. Everything he knew was that direful nightmares assaulted him during the whole night, supported by the increasingly dark thoughts that had started springing in the depths of his mind.
CHAPTER 8
Memories of a Coward
Sinod could hear many different voices: High-pitched and low, sneering and disappointed, mournful and hateful. So many they were that he could feel them piercing through his ears and going into his head, gashing his insides as if they possessed long and keen claws. And such passion they all bore, such anger, such hatred, such deep desire to make him want to weep and scream. So many voices they were, so distinct, so varied, some familiar to his ears, others foreign and unknown to his mind. And yet all were saying the same word: Coward.
He was with his father, walking slowly through the dense trees of the Forest of the Boar. Looking at both sides, he noticed several people were doing the same thing, immense pride standing out in the parents’ faces, edgy laughter fluttering from the children’s mouths. They walked for about ten minutes before arriving at a great glade, where the light of the sun seemed to turn the ground into a bright golden carpet. The glade was cleared of trees with the exception of an old willow that stood in the very midst of it. It was larger than any other tree in Litten and its vicinities, and could be seen from all the high points in the town.
When Sinod and his father arrived, there were already many people around the old willow. Some boys had brought their whole families with them whereas others stood alone, some were smiling from ear to ear while others kept looking to the ground, as if they had been forced to show up. Sinod recognized many of them: Gamel, his hair as orange as a recently-harvested carrot; Frans, his nose hooked and his black hair grazing his shoulders; the twins Erik and Roger, who looked identical except for a birthmark on Erik’s cheek; Ramus, his yellow hair shining to the gentle light of the sun; Rolf and his little brother Rickard, who had already started looking for worms in the dry ground… There are so many, Sinod thought as he kept remembering faces and names.
One figure drew his attention more than the rest, however. The young man was taller than anybody else, his dark messy hair grazing his nape, his beard and moustache quite grown, a black shiny mail-armor garbing his body, and a white blade hanging on his belt. Quite alluring features those by all means were, yet most conspicuous about him was the expression of arrogance and pride standing out on his face, as well as the grins most people gave him as they passed in front of him—smiles he would reciprocate with an aloof nod, all the while clenching his fists in and out, as if he were ecstatically coveting something.
Three weeks had now passed since that boy’s great feat, since Thore scared off that pack of wolves. Sinod never found out the specifics of the effort, but he was witness to the repercussions. The whole town had given him several honors and had started calling him a hero—though he had only been a bully until then. Sir Larson found in him the son his wife had never given him, and every young woman in Litten fell for his looks, including her, including Merryn. The girl was standing still near the willow tree, simple clothes garbing her body, yet looking as gorgeous as ever. When Sinod fastened his gaze upon her, he gave her a smile, to which she responded cheerfully with one of her own. But the rest of the time, all her gestures went to Thore. The girl would smile to him whenever he was not looking and, when he would actually look at her, she would lower her sight and blush, nibbling her lips and pretending she had been gazing at the flowers all along, at that colorful broadloom festooning the ground of the glade.
It was painful to look at her, yet he could not help doing it, time flying by as a soaring eagle without his slightest realization. One minute, or one hour, how much time had truly passed? He could not tell. All he knew was that the people kept increasing in number, soon replacing the wall of trees and turning the wood hemming in the glade into flesh. Almost half the population of Litten had shown up in the forest when Sir Larson made his appearance, wearing the silver armor he had taken to the war and the red cape he had used during his glorious return. Everybody took a knee as soon as they saw him, and they did not stand up until the knight stopped in front of the willow tree.
“My friends,” the knight said with imposing voice, “I greatly appreciate your presence here today. It’s always an honor to share my time with my beloved Littians. You may be wondering, though, why I summoned you to this bewitching place. As you all know, Thore,” the knight pointed at the boy standing next to him, “has become my apprentice.” Everybody clapped, Merryn with particular enthusiasm. “The courage he brandished by facing that pack of wolves is worthy of our respect and admiration, and, in my humble opinion, has turned him into the man with the most promising future in the whole town.” More clapping was heard. “However, I haven’t summoned you here for bestowing more honors on Thore… I believe there was already time for that.” The knight let go of a laugh, and everybody mimicked him, perhaps remembering the unbridled parties they had organized in honor of Sir Larson’s new apprentice. “No, my friends.” The laughter stopped almost immediately. “I’ve summoned you here because Thore’s feat made me realize something… The blood of Litten is strong and powerful.”
“Bravo!” shouted a couple of men with jubilee.
“Yes, my friends,” continued Sir Larson. “The Littians are full of courage, determination, and boldness. If we are pushed in the right courses, we will achieve great things. And that’s the reason why you are here now. Thore is already my apprentice, and I’m sure someday he’ll become a great knight. But that doesn’t mean there’s not a potential knight in all of you.” He had started looking at the youngest ones. “It’s my wish that all of you become the best you can be. It’s my desire that all of you become great and your names become known in the entire kingdom… But don’t get fooled, boys… Being a knight is not an easy task. Only the strongest and most capable will be able to withstand the life of a knight and, as one of them, it’s my duty that only the best prevail.”
Everybody was looking at the knight, wondering what he had in mind.
“And so, my friends, before your eyes, the eyes of the Gods, and recalling the presence of the king, I summon the Rites of Midten.”
Nobody said anything. They just looked at each other, the glade falling into an acute silence. Sir Larson still had a smile on the face, despite having probably expected a more enthusiastic response to his announcement. Knowing he needed to explain himself further in order to get a desirable result, he rushed to continue.
“You may be wondering what these rites are… well, they are tests.” Sinod’s heart started beating faster. “Tests that will not only measure your physical and mental proficiencies, but also your mettle, your instincts, and your will. You will feel fear as you never thought possible and your skills will be tested to the limit. But the reward… the reward will be greater than anything you could have ever dreamed of. You’ll become my apprentices… I’ll teach you everything I know, I’ll turn you into real men, and someday—and this I swear—we’ll go together to the Ivory Towers of Vittarn and tell the king about all the feats you’ve carried out here henceforth. And, let there be no doubts in your hearts, he will appoint you Knights of Midten without a single moment of hesitation.”
The people started clapping again, despite having their hands red and achy. Some of the parents, enraptured and stirred, had begun to talk to their children, perhaps giving them as much advice as they could come up with. The ones who had come alone were quivering, and it looked as if they were about to swing around and run away. Sinod, on the other hand, did not know what to think. His mind became resolute, though, when he sensed his father’s hand pressing his shoulder. Looking up at him, he noticed an immense pride and hope shining in his eyes, an expression that feasted his soul with sinew and vehemence.
For several minutes, the people stood agitated, all mumbling, and chatting, and laughing, and all submerged into a joy and expectation that met no match. It was then, though, when something took them out of that state of absorption, a powerful sound that resounded in the glade as the call of a horn. It had been Sir Larson’s voice, which reverberated as stalwart as ever.
“Well then… we better get started.”
Absolutely everyone was taken aback by those words. Gentle whispers now filled the glade—the restive voices of men and women ignoring what was about to take place. And, as it had been before, it was Sir Larson who brought back the quietude, though this time he did it with a whistle, an action that prompted a couple of men to come out of the trees, carrying a cage full of rabbits. Merryn let go of a little scream, one that got lost in yet another increasing racket. The girl and her father had bred the rabbits themselves. Sinod knew it perfectly well since he had helped them with the task.
“We’ll start with something easy,” Sir Larson said as he opened the cage and let the rabbits loose. The small animals rushed into the trees and got instantly out of sight. “Get them!”
All the boys ran into the trees in pursuit of the small rabbits. Abandoning his father’s side, Sinod left the clarity of the glade, an immense excitement growing in his heart. Before breaking into the forest, though, he heard Sir Larson’s voice. “You can also play if you want, Thore… and you too, girl.”
Sinod had never fancied the Forest of the Boar. The crowns of the trees were not thick enough to obscure the light of the sun, but the terrain was rocky and scabrous, turning the simple act of walking into a difficult task. To make matters worse, the sounds of the forest were quite hard to distinguish, ranging from the gentle crawling of a tiny insect to the stentorian movement of the leaves, perhaps orchestrated by the wind, perhaps by one of the many wild boars that inhabited the deepest sections of the forest—a thought that made him startle with fright.
All the same, Sinod managed to keep his fear under wraps as he threaded his way through the trees, the hours passing by without his realization. He searched everywhere—inside hollow trees, within long-stemmed bushes, and even deep down holes mysteriously dug in the soil. Yet, no matter how arduous his efforts were, he could not spot even the slightest hint of a rabbit. He started to walk in circles, hoping to run into one of the animals and, at the same time, not to get lost inside the forest. But it was hopeless. The darkness of the night was almost upon him, the boughs of the trees overshadowing his path, yet both his hands were still empty. He was preparing to go back to the glade, shivers running down his spine, when a barely audible sound made him stop.
Slowly and carefully, he searched for the source of the noise, spotting it after jumping over a bush of lilies. The rabbit was tiny, its fur white as snow, its eyes as red as rubies, its figure as fragile as a snowflake. The animal was standing motionless next to a broken gray branch, apparently unaware of his presence.
As heedfully and silently as he could, he approached it, his heart pounding his chest with unwavering strength. But when he was only three feet away from it, the animal raised its head and looked at him into the eyes. Sinod thought he would have to start running after it, but the rabbit did not move an inch. It just stood there, its eyes set upon him. He wanted to keep moving forward, to get the animal and bring it back to Sir Larson, to take the first steps in the life of a knight. But something bizarre had happened, something had prevented him from acting: Something in the eyes of the rabbit had left him paralyzed.
Confused and stunned, Sinod suddenly remembered a story his mother once recounted to him, something about how occasionally the eyes acted as a window to the soul, how some individuals could get to know a person better by looking at them directly to the eyes for just a couple of minutes than by listening to their words for numerous years. She had even said that there were a couple fortunate, or maybe unfortunate, who could actually sense what another person was going through with just a simple glance. He had never been sure of his mother’s words, but he had to admit there had been instances in his life wherein looking at someone’s eyes had been enough to fill him with all different kinds of emotions.
