Sir Emerson Lennox

A knight’s code

Part I

 

Grant port of Cediorum will be a hot cauldron this time of year, Emerson thought. A dancing wave of heat alike a halo, over the green-yellow canopy of the Lemon trees. But in a couple of weeks, cold will break out of Sovya, rush down the mountains towards Lesia’s coast. Even things up a bit, his father always said, make the hunt much better. No point in killin’ animals’ blind n’ deaf from heat; hidden alike a ruffian beside a plaguin’ waterin’ hole. Or men for that matter. Want none o’ that.

Lived much as he preached too, always parting about that time of year searching the mountains for more difficult prey.

A lesson in courage this.

Mighty hard for a firstborn to grasp fully.

Hard as an iron nail through the knuckles, his father was.

 

A knight shan’t recoil from peril nor thine enemy.

 

Never failed a hunt for thirty years my brother did, his uncle Grand Lord Miles Lennox always said, in all those family gatherings Emerson loathed attending, years after his father failed to return one day. Emerson with barely a hair where now he’d mostly grey, had to declare him dead before everyone; since his mother had stopped talking the previous day. She never said another word as a matter of fact. In some ways that hurt him more.

Some say direwolves fell on them near the Crull passage. But most whispered one of the Northern Warbands had ambushed them. Not that it mattered. Everyone agreed the man was gone. The Blacksmith had to forge a new blade to put in his empty grave. Young Emerson would not have it.

Took the sword for himself.

 

 

He cleared his throat once, then once more, when the first attempt failed. The wind blowing on his face had brought tears in his eyes and he wiped them with a dirty sleeve catching Glen eyeing him from the sides.

“Plaguin’ dust got in my eyes,” He grunted, not liking seem feeble before the young man. “Fetch me a water pouch lad.”

 

A knight shan’t appear weak.

 

Glen nodded and went to the horses to look for one, giving him the time to compose himself. Dante seeing the opportunity approached him in turn, gleaming goatee giving away his intentions from a mile away.

“I was thinking,” The mercenary Captain started. “Since we are… of the mind, on heading to Castalor—”

“Thought ye weren’t.”

“Well, there’s not really much we can do in Deadmen’s Watch,” Dante explained, leaving out what was there to do for them. Had a refined air about him; two thirds of it likely genuine, a clear unblemished face, perfect straight nose never-broken and Emerson could mistake him for a noble scion, had he not known what the man truly was. “So perhaps paying us for our services will in turn help us with the longish travel.”

On foot was his meaning.

“You want to buy horses,” Emerson said the quiet part aloud.

“Ah… yes, that’s the long and short of it. Those we had before were a rental. Also we had a deal.”

“Glen will bring the coin.”

“Fantastic. Let me just say grasping at this opening that despite my initial reservations and a rocky start, this was an excellent arrangement.”

“Well, seems so. I’m sorry about your man. Left me no option.”

“That’s true,” Dante sighed. “I guess here is where I offer my condolences for your… ehem, previous squire. It was an unneeded loss.”

Last thing Emerson wanted now was going down that particular road.

So he kept it short.

“Uhm.”

And Dante got the message.

 

 

“What’s his problem?” Glen asked him after they paid the mercenary captain. More gold Eagles than Emerson had seen in a while. Not the normal gold variant also, but square heftier pieces of a simpler design. It was a matter this worth looking into, he thought. Not more pressing though than getting the young man to safety.

“I will reimburse half o’ that,” He told him and caught the look in his eyes. “I’m good for it.”

“Just glad, we made it out.”

Emerson appreciated his answer.

“How’s the ear?” He queried.

“Hurts. The bleeding stopped,” Glen said touching the bandaged portion of his face.

They had returned to where they left their horses and Emerson waited for Glen to secure the leather bag on Val. He glanced around for anyone watching them, but didn’t see anything out of place. A good outlaw would know this wasn’t the time to try something. On the road though, he thought. Was a different matter altogether.

“We need to keep moving lad. Best if we head to Castalor today.”

“Can’t we rest here?” Glen asked with a frown.

“Don’t trust the local officials,” Emerson explained trying to sound understanding. Not easy to lose a father, such as he was to him and going all he went through. Glen was surely rattled, he thought. “Place is crawling wit cutthroats.”

“Aye, true,” Glen said looking around himself, as if he could spot them. “We should wait for Lith to return.”

“Listen lad,” Emerson took a deep breath, his innards still hurting from the poison, making the simple act an ordeal. The wound from the arrow was shallow and he’d patched it up well, so it didn’t bother him as much. “We need to talk about that. Now, don’t start protesting before I finish. Been givin’ you a pass due to your injuries, but I won’t tolerate any more lip from you. Is that clear?”

“Fine. You gave her your word though.”

“I did, that’s the darn truth of it,” Emerson grunted, even more lines appearing on his rugged face.

 

A knight shan’t break his pledge.

 

“Is why I stepped to her defense with the mercenaries, but she’s not what I want to talk to you about,” He finally said.

“All right. She can come then?” Glen insisted, oblivious to the bigger picture.

“You have to listen to me. Very carefully,” Emerson said patiently. “Forget about her. Don’t treat her like she’s something different. It draws attention. Whether she wants to come along or not, we don’t have a say. It is her decision. She knows the danger, but her fate cannot be attached to ours. Her problems are her own,” He sighed seeing Glen narrowing his eyes. “We have bigger problems ourselves. You want to finish your father’s mission. Right?”

Glen lost some of his color, then nodded.

“I respect that,” Emerson glanced around them once more. “You see, I failed your father in his hour of need. Fate made it I run on you. Pointed me the right direction. Things happened… how they did. Not proud of it. Wish I could tell you… killing her was a mistake,” He grimaced seeing the young man lower his head. “She was going to die either way. Your… Lith wanted her dead. In a way, finishing her off was a mercy. I would’ve asked for it too. Better than getting eaten by animals in the wilderness. Half-alive.”

Glen scrunched his face as if holding back tears.

“What do you mean, wanted her dead?”

Emerson grunted.

“What I said. Everyone she wanted killed, is dead.”

“She did it on purpose?”

“Lad you’re overthinking it. She may or may not had an agenda. Assume she does,” Emerson explained wanting to move on from the Zilan, to other matters. “As I said. She’s not our problem. Leave her be. Do you understand me?”

“Aye.”

The knight didn’t believe him. But he had to get all his words out, before leaving Deadmen’s Watch. Because they had to leave.

“We’ll be moving towards people. The city,” He started, trying to find the best way to explain, what they needed to do. “Is not the same as the forest back there, you get that right? I let some things slide, because you needed to learn to defend yourself in a hurry. You did, but defending comes not only from your sword.”

“You think we’ll get in trouble?”

“Meeting a royal official for such an important matter is dangerous in itself. You’re the son of a knight, who in turn worked for an important Duke. Your father had family, you carry his name. Your grandfather and it’s on him to accept you or not, is a Lord and a Marshal to the Duke of Raoz. What you do matters.”

“I don’t know any of these people.”

Emerson smacked his lips. “Your father kept you a secret from them, but we don’t know the reason for it. Or his intentions, as… his time was cut short. Whatever that was, it’s on you now and you’ll either run away from it or accept it. You’ve chosen to accept it, moment you decided to return the scroll.”

“Yeah, I did,” Glen replied deflated.

“Yes, you did,” Emerson said likening his response, a rare smile on his face, despite his discomfort. “Take pride. Twas the noble thing to do.”

 

 

Not much later they were on the well maintained road leading to Castalor, riding through the Hunter’s Trap Forest at a comfortable enough pace, to be passed over twice by merchant caravans and their laden carriages. One of the Merchants offered to pay good coin to have them join as extra guards, but Emerson denied him gruffly.

“Why not?” Asked Glen who thought it a good idea.

“Too excessive an offer.”

“That’s a bad thing?”

“Aye,” Emerson said and seeing his frown added. “Not all merchants follow the law, but all of them hate not makin’ profit.”

“You think… they might ambush us down the road?”

“Not on the road, not when there’s still light.”

“Can we make it before the evening bells?”

“If we don’t stop we will. Is why I wanted us to leave so early,” The knight explained.

 

 

Six hours into their ride, with the sky a deep orange above their heads the first houses appeared at a turn of the road. The forest that had stayed with them through the journey, gave away to throngs of people, animals and the tents of a market, as the first fire pits and street torches lit one after another.

“How big is Castalor?” Glen asked sounding impressed.

“It’s not that big. But it has two ports, so that’s something I suppose,” Emerson replied with a grimace, still bothered by the after effects of the poison.

“Wow. Is Issir’s Eagle bigger then?”

“Huh, aye lad. Much bigger.”

“Ever been there?”

“Couple of times. Didn’t much liked it,” He pushed Duke in front of a slow ox drawn carriage, the young man following him.

“You’re from Regia no?”

“Nah. My family lives outside Cediorum.”

“Is that in Lesia? That’s pretty far,” Glen whistled impressed. “Heard some sailors say it’s the biggest port in the Scalding Sea, but they were pretty drunk when they said it.”

“It’s true.”

Emerson pulled the reins to bring Duke to a stop before a well-lit building.

“What does it say up there?” Glen asked.

The knight glanced at the name. “Quiet Cat.”

“Haha. I could read the cat word.”

“Well then, let’s grab ourselves a room, see if we can polish that knowledge further.”

 

 

The Issir behind the counter was overweight, but looked up energetically when they entered through the narrow entrance hallway.

“Welcome!” He beamed, showing four gold teeth between his dancing plump cheeks.

“Greetings,” Emerson replied towering over him. He couldn’t help it, the man was not a head taller than a dwarf. “I’m Sir Emerson, this here lad is my squire. I’d like roof and two beds for a couple of days.”

“Of course Sir Emerson, pleased to have you at the Quiet Cat,” The smiling publican said quickly. “May I suggest separate rooms, for further comfort? We can offer two adjacent,” His smile lost some of its strength seeing the Knight’s solemn reaction.

“One will suffice, plus a couple of spaces in your stable for our mounts.”

“Right away,” The publican pulled a key out a large key ring, hang from his fat neck with a chain and placed it on the wooden counter. “Here it is then. I’ve a man in the stables to take care of your animals. Follow the alley road next to the inn and it will lead ye there.”

“We’ll pay upfront,” Emerson said in a raspy voice and half-turning his head added, this time talking to Glen. “Heard him lad, get the horses tacked in and run straight here.”

“May I offer a refreshment, while you wait?”

“What kind?” The knight asked, listening to Glen talking to Duke from outside.

“A light beer. My recipe.”

“I’ll have a cup. Much obliged,” He grimaced and stretched out his tired from the saddle back. “Slow season?” The publican looked up from where he was filling two large mugs with foamy liquid.

“Aye, we are pretty packed this time of year. Usually,’ He admitted pushing one of the large foam teeming mugs in front of him, spilling some in the process. “But there’s a big royal tournament up in Riverdor. Sucked most of the coin carryin’ tourists that way, traveling merchants followed them and that was that.” The chubby man made a fist then opened it, fingers extended. “Poof. Aye, ye get it. Ah, we’ll be alright, ports bringing in the steadies.”

“Must be quite the tourney.”

“Hah, bet you it will. King ‘ll attend.”

“Which king?”

“The good one. Antoon, is he your patron?”

Emerson scrunched his face not of the same mind, too polite to voice it to a stranger. “Nah, was knighted up in Lesia.”

“Good for you. Seems I got ye there! Haha. Cheers!” The publican beamed and raised his mug, the Knight mirroring him right after.

It was a damn fine beer this.

 

 

The well-oiled mail hauberk sparkled as he placed it on the back of the wooden chair to dry up; minding not to wake the still sleeping young man. Then the knight secured a couple of good quality metal plates on his shoulders, over the thick gambeson he’d put on. Finally wore his gleaming steel spurs on his weathered boots carefully, the latter he’d cleaned up best he could earlier.

Need to buy a new pair soon, he decided.

Feeling his stomach heavy, Emerson sighed, and let rough fingers run on his wild beard as a comb, eyes closed as he went over all the things he would need to do later. Truth be told, the knight hadn’t slept much. Spending the night turning this way and that, mind worrying.

Woke up very early and went into the city to get news and withdraw from his account at a branch of Mclean & Merck, enough coin to return what he owned Glen.

 

A knight shan’t fall to greed.

 

The sum was paid in good faith, as he was a landed Lord and a Knight of good standing. Emerson didn’t know exactly how the Bank kept its books balanced given the distances involved; but no one was foolish enough to steal or even break confidence with the aptly named Bank of Trust.

So maybe it was that.

“Argh…” Muffled Glen waking up, drool covering half his face, the other half mostly under a worn out bandage. “Heard a… jiggle?”

“It’s the spurs,” Emerson explained. “I have a bucket of clean water next to the bed. Make the most of it.”

“What? Is it morning?” He asked yawning hard. The young man brought a hand up to touch his hurting face, felt the moisture, then quickly used the bed covering to wipe it.

“Use the bucket,” Emerson repeated, more serious. “Want you cleaned up and ready in ten minutes. We’ve a meeting in the Vice Admiralty court in an hour.”

Glen stared at him alarmed. “Can we talk about it?”

But the knight had learned to navigate their conversations by now. He pointed a gloved finger. “Bucket. Time is ticking. We’ll talk afterwards.”

 

 

“Tell me again.”

Glen stared for a moment, a panicked look on his face as if he’d done something wrong, but he seemed to get control of his emotions quickly. Emerson admired that, so he forgave him being emotional over the subject.

“My mother died giving birth,” The teen said.

“Glenavon paid this man to raise you.”

“Aye. Crafton.”

“A butcher?”

“Part-time,” Glen cleared his throat. “I think.”

“You should know. Was he living on your father’s coin?” Emerson pushed him again.

“Probably. Aye.”

“Then… your father washed up half-dead.”

“Aye, that’s true.”

“What did he say?”

“Told ya, not much. Find the chest and head to safety or something. He was not well, I could barely understand him,” Glen let it all out, still sounding guarded, Emerson thought. As if he was holding back.

“Let’s have another crack to this part; so a month or so before ye found yer father half-dead, this letter arrived along wit a closed chest,” Emerson rehashed, what Glen had told him earlier. “What did the letter say?”

“That I’d get his stuff in the event of his death.”

“You have that letter?”

“Told you, I lost it trying to get away.”

Emerson grimaced. “Okay, ye have someone to vouch for this bit though. Correct?”

Glen shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know.”

“How about the man that read it?”

“Huh?”

“Someone read you the letter,” The knight explained patiently, searching the young man’s eyes. “Since you couldn’t… can’t read. Right?”

“Oh crap. Yeah,” Glen slapped his forehead hard; he’d forgotten such a detail. Immediately after doing it he howled in pain, tears running down his cheeks. “Damn it.”

Emerson didn’t give him a minute to calm down this time. He pressed on.

“First, mind your language. Second, we talked about this. Now, who was it?”

“Crafton. He read it to me.”

“Will he come forward, if it’s needed?”

Glen pause to think about it, a tad more than necessary, the knight thought.

Answering nonetheless with impressive conviction. “Definitely.”

“Good,” Emerson puffed hard, satisfied he’d finally had most of the story down. Told in sufficiently believable manner. Now was it all true? Probably not. Some details perhaps happened differently, the youth too embarrassed or uncomfortable to recall them. “It will have to do. And I will vouch for the other stuff.”

“How about Lith? Have you seen her?” Glen asked, smile turning to worry.

“I haven’t,” Emerson replied slowly; knew the young man had this strange fascination with the Zilan. Believing gods know what about her. He had to break Glen away, but he’d no idea how. “Truth be told. I think she’s around. But we’re not going to mention her to anyone we speak henceforth…” He put extra emphasis in his next word. “Ever.”