thrust his sword, his blade opening a line of blood on the thug’s jaw. The first thug caught his balance, and Mazael laughed in delight. Good! Let them come! He would kill them all...
Reccard fled through the back door, and his thugs followed.
Mazael laughed again and started to pursue them, but some of the mad rage drained away, and his reason reasserted himself. Reccard had retreated...but he was a powerful man among Knightport's robbers, and could summon more men than Mazael could fight. Worse, Reccard was in the service of the Lord of Knightport. Reccard could claim that Mazael had murdered the dead thug...and the town's militia would believe him, not Mazael.
It was time to go.
Just as well. Knightport had grown dull.
Mazael collected the scattered coins from the card game, and then hurried out the tavern's front door. Night hung over Knightport's streets, though the sounds of laughing and singing came from the taverns near the docks. Sailors from across the realm came to Knightport, and Reccard would have no trouble hiring enough muscle to kill one landless knight.
Mazael made his way to the hostel and retrieved his horse from the stables. A bribe to the watchman opened the gate in the town's wall, and Mazael rode to the east. The road climbed into the hills, and he had a fine view of Knightport and the ships crowding the town's harbor. Pine trees covered the hills, and Mazael soon found himself in a forest, the air tangy with the smell of sap.
He led his horse from the road, tied the beast to a tree, and bedded down in his cloak. Mazael would have preferred a bed, and a woman to warm it, but this would serve well enough. The gods knew he had spent enough time sleeping in the wild, ever since his father had exiled him...
For a moment, just a moment, he felt a pang. Sorrow, perhaps? Grief? He had loathed his mother and held his father and brother in contempt, but he missed his sister Rachel.
He pushed aside the thought. Tomorrow, he would go in search of new battles to fight and new glory to win. As he had told Reccard, he loved fighting...and the realm had no shortage of opportunities for a strong man with a sword.
Mazael drifted to sleep.
###
The next morning Mazael saddled his horse and took the road east.
The pine-cloaked hills rose around him, and he considered his next move. Should he ride south? The Dominiar Knights ruled Mastaria, and they kept an iron hand over the Mastarians. No opportunities there. North, perhaps? North would take him through Knightreach and to Greycoast and the great city of Barellion. But Lord Malden of Knightcastle and Prince Everard of Barellion ruled with firm hands, and their lands were orderly. Little work for a wandering knight.
Besides, Mazael had spent some time in Barellion, years ago, and had no wish to return. He had seduced a noble widow, and if Mazael returned, she might very well hire the Skulls, Barellion’s brotherhood of assassins, to take off his head.
East, then. East would take him to the deep valleys and forests of the Stormvales, where the Stormvales’ petty lords warred against each other constantly. Their feuds offered opportunity for gold and glory. Mazael decided to ride for Knightcastle, take the road east to Tristgard, and then north to the Stormvales.
Then he heard crashing in the underbrush to his left and drew his sword.
Fierce eagerness filled him at the prospect of a fight. Had he walked into an ambush of robbers? Or had Reccard sent men after him? Mazael's hand tightened around his sword hilt.
He loved battle…and he would dance laughing through the blood of any foes.
A moment later a boy of eleven or twelve years stumbled onto the road, breathing hard.
Mazael blinked in surprise.
The boy glared up at him. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and wore chain mail, trousers, and fine leather boots. A blue tabard adorned with a silver greathelm sigil covered the mail.
"Do you, sir," said the boy, "do you mean to rob
Reccard fled through the back door, and his thugs followed.
Mazael laughed again and started to pursue them, but some of the mad rage drained away, and his reason reasserted himself. Reccard had retreated...but he was a powerful man among Knightport's robbers, and could summon more men than Mazael could fight. Worse, Reccard was in the service of the Lord of Knightport. Reccard could claim that Mazael had murdered the dead thug...and the town's militia would believe him, not Mazael.
It was time to go.
Just as well. Knightport had grown dull.
Mazael collected the scattered coins from the card game, and then hurried out the tavern's front door. Night hung over Knightport's streets, though the sounds of laughing and singing came from the taverns near the docks. Sailors from across the realm came to Knightport, and Reccard would have no trouble hiring enough muscle to kill one landless knight.
Mazael made his way to the hostel and retrieved his horse from the stables. A bribe to the watchman opened the gate in the town's wall, and Mazael rode to the east. The road climbed into the hills, and he had a fine view of Knightport and the ships crowding the town's harbor. Pine trees covered the hills, and Mazael soon found himself in a forest, the air tangy with the smell of sap.
He led his horse from the road, tied the beast to a tree, and bedded down in his cloak. Mazael would have preferred a bed, and a woman to warm it, but this would serve well enough. The gods knew he had spent enough time sleeping in the wild, ever since his father had exiled him...
For a moment, just a moment, he felt a pang. Sorrow, perhaps? Grief? He had loathed his mother and held his father and brother in contempt, but he missed his sister Rachel.
He pushed aside the thought. Tomorrow, he would go in search of new battles to fight and new glory to win. As he had told Reccard, he loved fighting...and the realm had no shortage of opportunities for a strong man with a sword.
Mazael drifted to sleep.
###
The next morning Mazael saddled his horse and took the road east.
The pine-cloaked hills rose around him, and he considered his next move. Should he ride south? The Dominiar Knights ruled Mastaria, and they kept an iron hand over the Mastarians. No opportunities there. North, perhaps? North would take him through Knightreach and to Greycoast and the great city of Barellion. But Lord Malden of Knightcastle and Prince Everard of Barellion ruled with firm hands, and their lands were orderly. Little work for a wandering knight.
Besides, Mazael had spent some time in Barellion, years ago, and had no wish to return. He had seduced a noble widow, and if Mazael returned, she might very well hire the Skulls, Barellion’s brotherhood of assassins, to take off his head.
East, then. East would take him to the deep valleys and forests of the Stormvales, where the Stormvales’ petty lords warred against each other constantly. Their feuds offered opportunity for gold and glory. Mazael decided to ride for Knightcastle, take the road east to Tristgard, and then north to the Stormvales.
Then he heard crashing in the underbrush to his left and drew his sword.
Fierce eagerness filled him at the prospect of a fight. Had he walked into an ambush of robbers? Or had Reccard sent men after him? Mazael's hand tightened around his sword hilt.
He loved battle…and he would dance laughing through the blood of any foes.
A moment later a boy of eleven or twelve years stumbled onto the road, breathing hard.
Mazael blinked in surprise.
The boy glared up at him. He had blond hair and blue eyes, and wore chain mail, trousers, and fine leather boots. A blue tabard adorned with a silver greathelm sigil covered the mail.
"Do you, sir," said the boy, "do you mean to rob
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