The King's Foresters
by Michael Gallant

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Rejoyce and Be Glad! King's Foresters, that was featured as a series here at QM, is now available in a dead tree version and as a PDF download. We have left Chapter I up as a sample. (See below) Synopsis: Captain Corill Lintemacil of the King's Foresters is just trying to safeguard the frontier with his band of misfits, but when a renegade Baron takes unwelcome liberties with an Earl's daughter, he is plunged into a maelstrom of kidnapping, escapes, swordplay, battle, stealth, seige, and magic. And loses his best pair of boots. Available at: Amazon.com & Lulu.com

Chapter I

I looked down at the two bodies and shook my head. The buck's body lay where it had fallen, a messy wound behind the shoulder where the bolt had entered and then been cut out. The head was gone, but nobody had bothered to skin or gut the animal. Although it probably hadn't been there more than a few hours, the crows had already been to work. At nightfall, larger scavengers would be along, thankful for an easy meal in the last stages of winter.

The man lay beneath a blanket a few yards off to one side. The best that could be said for him was that he was doing a bit better than the buck.

I drew back the blanket my troops covered him with. He was a mess of bruises. One eye was swollen shut, his lips were split and tiny bloody bubbles burst as he breathed.He had a good sized lump on the back of his head, and while he drifted in and out of consciousness, he had yet to utter a coherent sentence.

A quick guess would put his occupation as poacher. His clothing was that of a peasant, or had been before my Foresters cut it off to check his injuries. He still wore an archer's leather guard on his left wrist. A broken and bloody bowstaff lay nearby. The snow and ground around were churned up, but there were enough unspoiled tracks to show what happened.

As a Captain of the King's Foresters, it was one of my duties to prevent poaching. I've never been real zealous about it. I'll turn a blind eye to a commoner taking an occasional deer for food or hide, especially when the winter stores are running low. This was a bigger crime. I ran a hand through my hair, and tried to figure how we should proceed on this one.

I squatted down to examine him closer. His face was pale, with a greyish tint I didn't like. I put my ear against his chest on both sides, paying more careful attention to the left, where the bruises lay thicker.

"Dammit," I muttered, "his breathing's diminished on the left. Daeron," I said to one of the Foresters nearby, "get my bag." The young man nodded and jogged off. While he was gone I set water boiling on the fire my troops had started.

"So, what do you think, Cap?"asked Loriel.

"I think," I said as I continued my examination of the injured man, "that our friend here was poaching, and someone found him, took away his bow, beat the shit out of him with it, stole the head of the deer and left him here to die." My people had done a decent job with the fellow's injuries. His obviously broken left leg was splinted, his head and shoulders were propped up to make his breathing easier, three swollen and purple fingers were immobilized and bandaged, packed with a rag full of snow to keep the swelling down. I pressed on the nail of a finger on his bandaged hand. It turned white but the color returned right away when I released it. Good. At least he still had some blood flow to the fingertips.

"Who?"

"A'Maserk," I stated simply.

Sergeant Miren rubbed his chin and cautioned, "You'd better be sure before you accuse a Baron, Captain," his use of rank rather than name was strictly for the benefit of the younger Foresters. He and I had been friends for as long as either of us could remember. We enlisted together and served together for seven years. The sergeant was tall and thin, with fair hair and pale skin that never tanned. Miren would go from white to red then back to white when he finished peeling. A man of few words, he usually served as the voice of reason, carefully weighing facts before speaking or acting, which I find useful. I tend to want to kick in doors and bust heads when confronted with a problem.

I indicated the prints in the snow. "Riding boots. See the marks of the heels? That limits it to soldiers or nobility. I also doubt like hell that some villager or bandit wants a trophy on his wall more than food on his table. This was A'Maserk or his hired swords out for sport." Sorcery could provide further proof, but I didn't see any reason to go to such lengths when the evidence on the ground was so clear.

Daeron returned with a heavy leather satchel from my saddlebag.

"Thanks," I took the pack and rummaged until I found a small, leather wrapped bundle. I opened it, and removed a hollow needle. I dropped it in the water. I then took a small flask and poured a bit of spirit onto a clean bandage. I felt along the man's ribs below his left collarbone, picked my spot and swabbed it.

"Alright, boys and girls," I addressed the three Foresters with me, "lesson time." I removed the needle from the water, wiped it with another bit of spirit-soaked bandage and placed the point on my chosen spot. "This man has a damaged lung. It's leaking air into his chest, which is squeezing his lungs and keeping him from breathing. See how lousy his color is?" Nods all around, which pleased me, "I'm going to release the air with this needle, and his breathing should improve. Assuming I'm in the right spot and don't pierce an artery," I smiled. As the two younger Foresters laughed nervously, I thrust the point in.

I was rewarded by the hiss of escaping air. When it stopped, I placed a bandage over my needle and withdrew it, then covered the spot with a greased bandage. "The dressing will keep any more air from getting in when he breathes." I explained. By the time I had my instruments cleaned and put away, the man's color had greatly improved. Depending on the damage to his lung, I may have to do it again later, but for the moment, he was doing better.

"Think he's going to make it?" asked Daeron.

I shrugged. "He has some broken ribs, broken fingers, broken leg, facial injuries, and that lung. All that will mend if we keep an eye on him, and the wounds don't get feverish. I have no idea about the head wound. Either it'll heal or it won't."

We Foresters know more healing than most soldiers. It was one part of the lore of the lost kingdom of Aldor that we took pains to preserve. We operate in small teams, far from support and often, if we can't care for our injured, they won't make it. That said, I'm no surgeon. This man had a bad crack on the head. If his brain was damaged too badly, he would die, if not, he would live. Maybe he'd lose some of his wits, maybe not. That was beyond my skills.

"What are we gonna do, Captain?" Loriel spoke up. She was the one who'd found the deer and followed the bootprints back to the injured man. "Can't let some lord's thugs hand out beatings like this. Poacher or not, they should've brought him in to be tried."

I smiled at the eager expression on the young woman's face. She would cheerfully see the Baron dragged in chains before the local magistrate. Growing up as a child of impoverished tenant farmers had left her no great love of the nobility. About twenty, she was some five years younger than Miren or I, and still retained a charming idealism after serving three winters with the Foresters. She was tall and athletic, a decent swordswoman and the best archer in the company. She had the makings of a good sergeant, given some more experience.

"I suppose I'll have to go have a word with His Lordship and hear his story before we take any action," I sighed, "then, if he won't co-operate, we bring charges."

"Let's hope he does co-operate," commented Miren pessimistically. In appearance and manners he resembled a clerk or librarian more than a warrior. He was always coldly logical. I had to remind myself that the sergeant put most of that intellectual talent toward the study of weapons and warfare. He read the memoirs of all the great commanders he could lay his hands on. Buying books on a sergeant's pay showed great dedication. He was also one of the deadliest blades in the Kingdom.

Nonetheless, his lack of indignation at the crime irked me. I joined up to protect people from this kind of brutal treatment.

"He's breaking the King's Law!" I snapped, "I'm not going to coddle him. Even an accused poacher has a right to justice, not just an arbitrary beating. Probably a fatal one if we hadn't found the poor bugger. And if they didn't take the rest of the deer, they're as bad as any poacher. That buck could've fed a family. That hide could clothe them. People have to live off of the land, not pillage it. You know why the law is there. Remember what happened in Irendi a few years back? The harvest failed and the commoners weren't allowed to hunt. The nobles used the famine to drive the freeholders off the land. Why do you think so many starving Irendish showed up in our ports looking for any work they could find? By Kerra, a quarter of the Royal Army is Irendish immigrants. I'm not saying that's what this is about, but we can't allow the precedent," I was in rare form, quoting our charter of duty to the letter. As I was on a roll, I kept on going. "We haven't spent the last seven years fighting bandits, border raids and the last Kerra-be-damned Frensean army to cross the river just to see the people robbed and beaten by their own nobles. I'll be civil to the Baron, but he will learn that this is a crime. And we have authority to deal with criminals."

As I finished my impassioned speech, my jaw no doubt set with heroic intensity, I realized how foolish this must have looked. Four of us, knee deep in the snow, dressed in homespun and leather, probably looking a lot more like poachers ourselves than Royal troops, and me making a speech in my best backwoods patois. No, flowery speeches are for nobles and warlords to make to their hordes of followers in a heated audience chamber or on the back of a mighty stallion, not a stocky soldier of humble origin.

Loriel did me the courtesy of looking inspired, but that may have been youth. Daeron and Miren just patiently waited for me to wind down and give an order.

"Let's head back," I said with a twisted grin at my own fervor, "we'll rig up a litter for this poor bastard and bring him to the base. If he recovers, maybe he can tell us something. No point in freezing out here. I'll pay the good Baron a visit tomorrow."

* * *

Earl Erken A'Konnel looked up from the map spread across his desk as his daughter Tauriel swirled into the room. He smiled fondly at her, remembering the enthusiasm with which he viewed the world at seventeen. She was turning into a woman as beautiful and full of life as her mother had been.

"Father," she began eagerly, twirling a ringlet of auburn hair around a finger "the Baron A'Maserk has invited me to go riding tomorrow."

The Earl's eyes narrowed with the suspicion than all fathers of young women harbor regarding the attention paid by young men. "And you wish to join him?"

"Why, yes," she replied, puzzlement at the question showing in her blue eyes.

His mouth twisted into a wry smile, "Have you met the Baron?"

"Not really. We've been introduced at formal functions, but that's all."

"That explains your enthusiasm," he growled.

"Father," she reproached, matching his smirk, "Don't judge so quickly. He seems a gentleman."

"Hmph," the Earl ran a calloused hand through his greying hair, looking for more objections, "Why isn't this Baron at the Royal castle preparing for the King's campaign against Frensea? The army marches soon. If it hasn't already."

His own son led the A'Konnel troops out several days ago. He was both anxious for the boy and envious of him. He would have preferred to command his troops himself, but the lad was old enough for his first campaign, and needed to learn if he was to succeed to the County. The Earl wondered why the Baron was not as eager to serve the Crown.

Tauriel shrugged, such politics beyond her sphere of interest. Her father's sour smile returned.

"Very well. You careless youngsters carry on while old warhorses like your father fret over the fate of the Kingdom. I'll arrange for an escort for tomorrow morning."

She thanked him and bounded out. The Earl shook his head and called for a sergeant to command the escort. The soldier stopped two paces before the desk, snapping to attention.

"Sergeant, tomorrow you shall accompany the Lady Tauriel to Castle A'Maserk," the Earl ordered, "While you are there, get a good look at the troops. I want to know why he hasn't marched. Find out their morale, numbers, composition, what rumors they've heard, that sort of thing."

"Spy on 'em, m'Lord?" asked the sergeant innocently.

"Sergeant Berrith," the Earl chastised, "we do not spy on our fellow nobles of Kerthor. We merely observe our allies and assess their strengths."

"As you say, m'Lord," the warrior grinned, "D'you trust this Baron with your daughter?" Long years in service to his Lord had given the sergeant license to discuss such matters, as long as they were out of earshot of the rank and file.

"I think the Baron is an irresponsible young man who's shirking his duty to the Crown so he can meet with young ladies," he answered dismissively, "I trust he's still a gentleman. Tauriel knows what is and isn't appropriate. I've no fears on that count."

"As you say, m'Lord," Sergeant Berrith replied, hoping his tone was free of skepticism. Even his years of service did not allow him to pursue the matter further.

* * * It was pitch black when a soft rap on the door woke me. I raised my head and grunted an interrogative.

"Sir," a hoarse whisper came through the door, "It's an hour till sunrise. You left word to wake you up."

Oh. That. "Thank you, Daeron," I croaked. A good officer always remembers his people's names, even an hour before sunrise. My head thudded back onto the pillow and I had a moment of silence for the tragic loss of an hour's sleep. Marshaling my courage, I flung off the covers and crawled out of bed, stifling a groan.

The bedchamber was freezing. As captain, I had a private room, so I allowed myself the luxury of whispered curses. I quickly dragged a tunic over my head and pulled on some trousers, the same clothes I'd worn the previous day. The rough cloth felt even colder than the air, but I knew that would pass.

I asked myself, as I often did in the cold darkness of early morning, why I had chosen to enlist in the Foresters rather than following in my father's footsteps. I would be a master woodcarver now. Steady work, a warm workshop, apprentices to light the morning fire. In the frigid predawn that didn't sound so terrible.

Padding into the main room, I saw that the sentries had stirred the embers of last nights fire back to life and piled new fuel on the blaze. Someone mercifully started a pot of tea. I poured a mug and took a long sip of the bitter, steaming liquid.

"Remind me to promote you," I smiled wearily at Daeron.

"Aye, sir," the younger man chuckled, warming his own hands around a mug. "Just got off duty in the tower. It's cold as a moneylender's heart up there."

I laughed quietly, "They don't play up this aspect when they swear you in, do they? ‘Come freeze your rocks off for the greater glory of Kerthor! Join the Foresters today.'"

The shared bitter humor actually reminded me why I turned down my father's offer. At first, it was a simple love of the outdoors, a fascination with nature and a desire for adventure. When I compared the idea of defending the borders of Kerthor against evil marauders to making figureheads for ships and chess pieces for the wealthy, the choice hadn't been that difficult for a restless youth of seventeen.

After the first campaign, though, it became much more than that. I remembered the carnage of the Frensean invasion, the villages looted and burnt, the old or feeble lying dead among the ashes. The invading army was bad enough, but bands of freebooters sprang up around them like vultures. Deserters, thieves and common rabble took advantage of the chaos of war, the breakdown of normal peacekeeping forces to slake their lust for blood, rapine and plunder.

I think faces of the survivors bothered me more than the dead. The shock in their eyes is burned in my brain. Eyes that seemed vacant, fixed on something only they could see. Young girls who had been raped, villagers of all ages who had lost family, homes, everything. The commoners were overlooked by the kings and generals when war passed through, but not by the marauding hordes, bent on easy prey.

I swore then that while I could draw a bow and swing a sword, I would do all I could to prevent these horrors from ever befalling the people of Kerthor again. After falling into command of the unit, I worked hard to make this company into a shield between the commoners and those who would victimize them. That included patrolling the border for raiders and hunting down bandits. Or curbing the excesses of noblemen.

After my tea, I checked on the injured man. Our guest still hadn't talked. He seemed to be doing alright, his color was a normal healthy pink, where it wassn't black and blue, but there was no way to know how long before he'd recover enough to tell his story, if ever. I had no choice but to ride out to visit the Baron.

I took up my sword and slipped the blade from its sheath. It was a far better sword than a commoner like me had any right to expect. I'd earned it on the field of battle. I watched as the red light from the fire glinted off the ripples where master smiths had folded the steel again and again to give it the strength to turn a blow and the hardness to hold an edge. The blade was straight and without decoration, about thirty inches long, sharp on both edges and tapered slightly toward the point. The guard was simple, polished iron, curved slightly away from the grip. This allowed more freedom of movement for the wrist than a complex hilt would. The pommel was a heavy oval of iron, designed not to carry decoration, but to balance the blade. The weapon balanced perfectly in the hand, light enough to be quick with a parry or a thrust, heavy enough to cut. To swing it was to appreciate its beauty. It was like a poem that could cut.

It even had a name, like all the swords of heroes in the old tales. Its name was North Wind, because it was cold and swift and sharp and men would feel its bite through the heaviest of clothes.

Like I said, a far better sword than any son of a craftsman could hope for, or buy on the wages of a soldier.

I walked out to the cleared yard in front of the cottage. The wind bit through my tunic, but I grit my teeth and ignored it. I'd work myself warm soon enough. I assumed a shivering guard stance as the grey light of false dawn crept into the eastern sky. For the next quarter of an hour, I went through the motions of cut and thrust, advance and retreat, parry and lunge. If the rest of the company had been awake, I'd have drilled with a partner, but I wasn't a bastard enough to drag some poor soul out of a warm bed to work with me, so I ran through the drills alone. Not as good as with an opponent, but better than nothing. Fighting was our trade, and we would not let our skills deteriorate; too many people depended upon them. My

Foresters needed to work to keep their skills sharp. I didn't see how I could stay worthy of their respect if I let mine lapse. Too many officers forget that they are warriors first. The daily drill helped me stay focused on that. Whenever the tedious slog of running the company drained at my soul, I went back to my sword to remember our real job.

When I finished, I walked back inside just as the rest of the company was rising. That was always good for morale. Troops should see their officers working harder than they do. I passed into the bathchamber, stripped and washed the sweat from my body. I felt nearly human by that point. I then dressed in my cleanest and newest tunic, as I was going to see a Baron today. I made a quick breakfast of some of yesterday's bread and this morning's bacon. Day old bread isn't bad if you grill it for a bit in the grease, and I didn't have time to wait for the fresh stuff baking.

"All prettied up, Corill?" Miren sat on the bench beside me, "I guess you're going to speak to his lordship then."

I nodded, my mouth full of bacon. "Lend me your new cloak," I mumbled, washed down my bite and continued, "I don't have one that's still recognizable as its original color."

"Fine, it's on the peg by the door," he looked me up and down, "You look almost presentable. Think you can remember your manners?"

"Sure, sure, don't spit on the floor without asking and always remove your hat before striking a lady," I grinned.

"You don't own a hat."

"Well then, I'm all set."

I washed the last of the crust down with another mug of tea, saddled my horse and set off.

* * *

Baron Deyf A'Maserk smiled as he watched his servants hang the new rack of antlers above the fireplace in the great hall. He was quite proud of that buck, eight points, his personal best. He played the hunt over again in his mind's eye. Everything had gone perfectly. His hounds had located the beast and flushed it from cover, and his men had driven it right past him. He had placed the bolt through the beast's shoulder at thirty yards. He felt quite the predator, the chief wolf whose pack runs down the prey but who is first at the kill. Of course, that filthy peasant had almost ruined eveything when the buck nearly blundered into the oaf and changed direction.

Had the Baron been less of a marksman, the beast might have escaped. His men did teach the churl a lesson he'd long remember.

Satisfied with the placement of his trophy, he turned away and strode to a mirror. He looked with approval on his long dark curls, his carefully trimmed beard and the cut of his clothing. He threw his cloak back rakishly over one shoulder to better display his tunic of deep blue velvet, heavy with embroidery.

The Baron felt particularly pleased this morning because he had arranged a rendezvous with Tauriel A'Konnel. He met the lass at a ball the previous autumn.

Her beauty was remarkable, and he heard tales of a fiery temper, a strong rebellious spirit. He read into this a certain wantonness, and savored the anticipation of the meeting. He was not modest regarding his appeal to women. The Earl's daughter would make a delightful conquest. Two successful hunts would be just the thing to put him in the spirit for the coming campaign.

* * *

Tauriel and her escort, consisting of Sergeant Berrith and four troopers, reached Castle A'Maserk about mid morning. The day was cold, but bright and clear and the afternoon would likely bring splendid riding weather. The Baron greeted them with all courtesy.

"My Lady," he bowed, "you look radiant. Come, I shall give you a brief tour of my humble abode. From the tower you should be able to see most of the area I've selected for this afternoon's diversion. We shall set out after lunch," he turned to her escort, "Sergeant, you and your men will find my troops' dining accommodations adequate. I assume you shall wish to accompany us on our ride?"

"Aye, m'Lord!" snapped Berrith.

"Very good. You shall be summoned. My dear?" he offered an arm to Tauriel.

She curtsied in reply, took his arm and was led off. The Lady, for her part, was captivated by A'Maserk's courtly manner and the splendid surroundings of the castle. Her father's keep was far more spartan, a stronghold whereas this was palatial, a country house within a walled courtyard.

Sergeant Berrith was less impressed. He had assaulted and defended enough fortresses in his service to the Earl to see the flaws in Castle A'Maserk. The forest grew too close to the walls, a bowman could creep unseen to within twenty paces. The arrangement of the buildings in the courtyard left too many blind spots and areas of dead ground which archers in the towers could not cover if attackers breached the wall. He also noted that many of the Baron's men were strangely armed and armored, likely foreign mercenaries. He harbored a native soldier's disdain for these hired swords. All this information would be of use to his lord.

"We'll see if this Baron rides as well as he dresses," he muttered to his men as they set off to find the offered meal.

* * *

I reached Castle A'Maserk shortly after mid morning. Fifteen miles, give or take, with the weather cold enough to keep the trail under the snow hard. If my interview didn't go too long, I could be back by nightfall. I was thankful for small favors, during the mud of spring thaw, the trip would be a full day in either direction.

As the sentries admitted me through the gate, I drew my cloak -well, Miren's cloak- more closely about my body. In the shadow of the walls, away from the bright sunlight, the wind cut like a knife. I rode to the stable, dismounted and led my horse inside.

A groom looked up from polishing a saddle, "What can I do for you, Cap'n?"

"You could start by seeing to Morlinte," I indicated my mount, who, knowiong that a stable after a long run meant food, was already prodding my shoulder with his forehead, wondering what was taking me so long.

The groom ran an appreciative eye over the black. "Tor, ‘e's a grand one," he whistled, "I'll see he gets a good rub down and a hot mash."

"I should be so lucky," I muttered. I handed the groom a silver mark, at which the man's grin widened, "My thanks."

"An honor to serve you, Cap'n," the man called as I walked out, confident that the horse at least would enjoy the stay.

Leaving the warmth of the stables, I hurried across the windswept cobbles to the main keep, shoulders hunched against the cold. Passing through the great doors, I found two guards clad in mail and helms flanking the inner door.

"What's your business?" demanded the first.

"I am Captain Corill Lintemacil of the King's Foresters," I replied tersely, "here to see your master on behalf of His Majesty."

One of the soldiers ambled off to relay the message. I waited, rubbing the circulation back into my hands. Though the guardroom was out of the wind, the cold still seeped through the stone walls, and the outer door stood open. I listened enviously to the crackling of the fire in the hall beyond.

After a long wait, the guard returned, smirking.

"His Lordship is involved in important business an' cannot be disturbed," he announced, "he bids you return tomorrow."

I gave the man my best icy glare. It must have worked. The smile fell from the soldier's face. He stepped back a pace and glanced at his superior.

"I said,"I grated, "that I am here on His Majesty's business. I have ridden far and have other duties to attend to after speaking with the Baron. I am going to see him. Right now," I gave the guards a look I normally reserved for erring recruits in their first week of training. "Trying to prevent my doing so would be obstructing the King's justice." And just the excuse I need to bust a few heads.

The senior guard, a burly sergeant, wavered a moment, caught between contradictory orders. Eventually, he reasoned that while a Baron outranked a captain, he personally did not, and a Royal officer's authority superseded a Baronial order. Like countless soldiers through the ages, he decided to follow the forms and pass the problem on to his superior. I guess he figured he'd let the two of us figure out who was boss.

"You'll find his Lordship in the chamber at the top of the stairs," he said flatly, "but I warned you."

"Noted, Sergeant," I brushed past the sentries. I walked across the hall, fighting to control my anger. The poacher's beating was bad enough, but my reception deepened my sense of outrage. Who did this Baron think he was, to break the law, then dismiss Royal authority? As I approached the fire to warm my hands, I tried to think like Miren, cold and logical. No good would come of anger. I reached the hearth and looked up to see a newly mounted rack of antlers.

I stopped cold. All thought of diplomacy and restraint vanished. After a brief moment of angry silence, I spat on the hearth and turned toward the stairs, no longer needing the heat of the fire.

I admit, I didn't ask first.

* * *

Upstairs, the Baron and Tauriel stared at one another in mute outrage. Her hair was disheveled and her gown torn. He was red faced and gasping from a blow her father taught her shortly after she began to attract male attention.

Tauriel recovered speech first. "How dare you lay a hand on me?"

"Don't act so shocked!" he snapped, "You're not that bloody naive! Why did you accompany me up here unchaperoned if you're such a pure unspoiled maiden?"

"You said we were coming up here to look over the terrain and decide on a course for today's ride," she blurted indignantly.

"Near enough a description," he snarled.

Words failed Tauriel as she searched for an appropriate response to this unforgivable slur. A heavy blow on the door interrupted her thoughts.

"I said I am not to be disturbed!" shouted A'Maserk.

"My Lord," came the forceful reply, "it is not my intention to take much of your time, but in the name of the Crown, open this door!"

"Pushy bastard," muttered the Baron. He seized Tauriel and thrust her through an open doorway. "You keep quiet. We'll finish this conversation shortly." he hissed, slamming the door and shooting the bolt.

The Lady found herself in a small corridor connecting chambers, probably for the servants' use. The door at the far end proved to be locked. She was shocked at the nerve of the Baron. Her father would see the man horsewhipped. She considered calling out to the Baron's visitor, but if he were a minor official or servant he would not likely oppose a noble in his own castle. She would wait and listen. In the meantime, she looked about for a suitable weapon in case A'Maserk continued to press his advances. With her father's men in the castle, she did not fear too greatly.

The Baron would come to his senses, she told herself, he could ill afford to harm her. As the daughter of a powerful noble, she had never known danger and it was slow to impress her.

* * *

I was about to strike the door again when it opened. Not waiting to be asked, I stepped into the room, bowing almost imperceptibly.

The Baron was a few inches taller than I, lean and athletic. He was handsome by any impartial assessment. He wore his curly black hair long enough to brush the expensive embroidered fabric of his collar. He looked down his aquiline nose at me and I felt my natural resentment smoulder. His look suggested his most distant ancestor had been a nobleman and he had just finished inspecting the gods on the parade ground and found their turn out lacking. His glance swept over my stocky form, no doubt taking in every flaw from my windburnt face to the scuffed leather of my boots.

"My Lord." May as well add my common accent to the list.

"Captain."

"I am here regarding a grievous breach of the King's law by your Lordship or your retainers." Judgement called for more diplomacy at this point, but emotions were not listening.

Baron A'Maserk's eyes narrowed. "Explain yourself."

"My Lord," I managed to keep my voice level, "My Foresters found a freeman badly beaten and left for dead. There was a deer beside him, the head and antlers missing. I noticed a new set above your mantle."

"And you blame me, why?"

"The prints around the man and the carcass were of expensive riding boots. The meat and hide were left behind. A common poacher would have taken them. The people need the game to get by until they can plant. I believe you or your retainers were hunting, found the man after he killed a deer--"

"I slew that beast." he stated haughtily. His superior expression made me want to slam an axe into it.

"--beat him and then took the trophy and left the body to rot. Sometime yesterday, about two hours ride east," I appealed to any sense of compassion he might have,

"The man may not recover."

"You disturb me for this?" the Baron asked incredulously, "you come here, interrupt my solitude to tell me -- me! A Lord, by Guth!--that I am to forego sport so that some unwashed peasant could take that deer? He nearly spoiled the whole hunt. And the poxy whoreson was poaching anyway. What concern of mine is it if he lives?"

The man's arrogance dispelled any patience I had left. "If it is sport you're after, we would be happy to have Your Lordship and your men along on our patrols. We find hunting bandits and raiders adequate entertainment. If you find simple beasts and unarmed commoners more to your...tastes and abilities..." I let the sentence hang unfinished, watching to see what effect the barb would have.

It seemed Baron A'Maserk was not accustomed to being insulted. Or he was just slow. In any case, several seconds passed before realization dawned. When it did, his face went red, his mouth worked mutely with rage.

Just when I figured he was about ready to speak, I heard a pounding on the side door of the chamber, and a woman's voice calling. "Let me out!"

The sound caught me off guard. The Baron too, judging by the stare of persecuted disbelief he directed at the door.

"Do you always keep your ladyfriends locked in the closet, my Lord? Or perhaps the maid locked herself in. Quite a trick, considering that the bolt is on this side," I strode to the door.

"I forbid you to open that!" ordered A'Maserk.

I ignored him. I was finished even attempting civility to the Baron. I carried the King's commission to uphold the laws of the realm. Maybe I was here to discuss one infraction, but it seemed that I'd found another. No amount of bluster from this spoiled aristocrat was going to stop me now.

The Baron watched in stunned shock as I drew the bolt and opened the door, ushering an attractive young woman into the chamber. "Are you well, my Lady?" I asked doing my best imitation of gallantry. She certainly seemed it, apart from a torn gown. I thought that look worked for her, but was too polite to say.

"I am, thank you sir," she replied, "but given a few more minutes with that lecher--"

"I will not be spoken of in this fashion!" the Baron shouted, "Not by a tease of a girl and a loutish commoner with a commission! In my own castle, by Guth!" He snatched up his sword. "Well, you won't live to boast of it!"

"My Lord," I managed to keep my voice steady, a final appeal to the Baron's reason, "I am a Royal officer. For you to kill me would be an act of treason."

"Ha!"

"And highly unlikely," I added a twisted smile. I should have known better, but I was spoiling for a shot at this arrogant bastard.

"You impudent dog!" snarled the Baron, "I'll teach you respect for your betters!" he lunged, driving his point towards my favorite heart.

I retreated a pace, twisting to my right and parrying with my own blade in the act of drawing it. Stepping clear, I came on guard facing my adversary. My blood was up. I felt my pulse quicken and my senses sharpen. I smiled with the thrill of combat that all warriors feel but the virtuous refuse to acknowledge.

A'Maserk hacked at my head. I parried and cut at the nobleman's side. The Baron counter-parried and thrust. I deflected the attack and darted past my foe, slashing at the Baron's head in passing. A'Maserk ducked, whirling to face me.

Now that the first heat of emotion was out, I realized that he had been well trained as a swordsman, and I assume he recognized my skill. This wasn't going to be an easy victory for either of us, and neither of us was real eager to get killed, so we circled, probing and seeking an opening. His training was clearly of the classical dueling school of fencing. I had learned basic military swordplay and dirty tricks, but studied classical styles as well.

It's a good thing I had. In the close quarters chaos of a battlefield there isn't any room for fancy footwork or complex bladework, but if I tried the old stab, hack and slash here in a one on one duel on a nice smooth floor with room to maneuver, he'd put a foot of steel through me in the first three seconds.

I guess the Baron expected to skewer me early. A scruffy commoner who knew how to fence didn't seem to fit his view of the world. He launched a strong offensive. He hacked at me and I kept a tight guard, gauging his skill. A'Maserk couldn't keep it up forever, and as soon as he began to slow, I followed a parry with a thrust at his chest. Overextended as he was, he still managed to slap my attack aside, but it was a close thing. My point ripped a gash in his pretty blue tunic. Right about then, the Baron must have realized that this wasn't going to be as easy as he thought, or maybe that his own anger was hurting his bladework. Or maybe he just decided to cheat.

He bellowed for his guards.

I cursed and seized the initiative, driving him back. The Baron gave ground, parrying desperately. I wanted to finish him before help got here. Somewhere around that point I began to wonder if I could have maybe handled this more diplomatically. I'm sure there was a point at which I could have done better. I pushed the thought aside. Right now, there was only me and him. I focused totally on the cut, parry and thrust of the moment.

I heard footsteps pounding up the stairs. I'm sure he was happier about that than I was. His retreat brought him past a bookcase. As he parried with his sword, he grasped the heavy piece of furniture with his left hand and heaved it over at me. I sprang back to avoid the bookcase as it ponderously lurched over and crashed to the floor. The Baron took the opportunity to retreat into the hallway and a guard rushed in, sword bared.

Oh, balls, I thought as I glimpsed the mass of soldiery filling the passage outside. The first few were unarmored, which was a small comfort. Seizing the initiative, I lunged at the first man, evading a simple parry to drive my point into the soldier's chest. He apparently hadn't studied the finer points of fencing. The warrior grunted and shuddered, his weapon slipping from his grasp as he sank to the floor.

As the guard fell, I leapt to the doorway, hoping to hold it and prevent the enemy from using their numbers to full advantage. Two men faced me through the narrow entrance. I blocked a cut from the man on the right and threw a quick riposte at him. As the second soldier thrust at me, I struck his blade aside to the right into the first man's way, then whipped my sword around in a great shearing cut at his head. North Wind slammed into the guard's temple and bit through his skull, spraying bone and blood and brains. He jerked and fell against the warrior to the right. While the other tried to disentangle himself from his comrade, I kicked him in the midriff. As the unwounded man staggered out into the hallway, the young lady slammed the door and bolted it.

"My thanks," I panted, leaning against the wood.

"On the contrary," she replied, "I'm grateful for your courage, good sir."

The door shuddered from heavy blows. I dragged a chair over and jammed it under the latch, thankful for the Baron's taste in solid, heavy furniture. Now what? I wondered. I looked down at the human wreckage at my feet. The man whose skull I split was dead, the other was well on the way, lying facedown in a spreading pool of blood. I wiped my blade on the nearst man's cloak, wondering if these two had been with the Baron yesterday in the forest. Serves ‘em right if they were, I thought, Here's one commoner you won't beat with his own bow.

That didn't help me much at the moment. I wondered if maybe Miren had been right about urging caution. I did a qick scan of the room, but found no other obvious answer to my dilema, just a young lady and a pair of corpses.

"You fought bravely, sir."

"Thank you, my Lady," I replied, taken aback.

These weren't the first dead bodies I'd seen, not even the first I'd helped along, so they didn't upset me much. What did surprise me was the way the young lady held up so well in the face of such messy death.

"What do you propose to do?"

Well, I could hardly admit that I hadn't the foggiest, so I came up with a plan. Not a good one, but a plan.

I rushed to a window and flung it open. It looked out on a small, secluded coner of the courtyard. No servants or guards seemed to be about. That was a good thing. I gauged the distance to the ground and grimaced. Less good. I did a quick inventory of the room. Furniture, tapestries, corpses, lady. No, still no ladder, rope or battalion of Royal Cavalry. Perhaps...

"I hate to postpone an introduction to so charming a lady, but I think we had best be going." I said to woman as I struggled to remove my cloak.

Alright, Miren's cloak.

"Might I inquire as to how?" she asked.

"We're too high to jump, and I believe the door is out of the question. I trust you found no exit through the other door, so we need a rope," I gestured at the two bodies, "If you would be so kind as to assist, I need cloaks, belts, anything that we can tie together," I saw a sturdy looking tapestry and began hauling it off of the wall. "My Lady." I added belatedly.

She wrinkled her nose in distaste at the task, but quickly began to remove the cloak from one of the fallen guards. "You may dispense with the formality," she said, trying not to look at what remained of the dead man's face, "Having saved my life, you may address me by my name. Tauriel A'Konnel, daughter of Earl A'Konnel," she presented the liberated garment with a smile.

Well, I reasoned, if we got out alive, an Earl's gratitude would be a good weapon in a feud with a Baron. I accepted with a hasty but respectful bow, "Corill Lintemacil, Captain, King's Foresters." I wondered how she retained her composure in such a situation. I was happy that she was able to function, but did not really expect it from a young noblewoman. I was only just this side of hysterics myself. If it seems I gave her the nasty end of the stick, I must say that the heavy tapestries required more brute strength to free from the walls than the belts of dead men, and I trusted the knots I tied. She was apparently quite brave, but hands that soft probably hadn't done a lot of work with rope.

"What of the soldiers in the hall?" she asked, fastidiously looking away as she removed the belt from a corpse.

"It's a stout door," I replied, measuring what I had already tied, "just pray they don't send for axes."

We continued our work in silence. When we had completed as much as time and materials allowed, I anchored the makeshift rope to the leg of a heavy table, too large to fall out the window even if our weight pulled it. I made a loop in the loose end, glancing nervously at the much abused door. If the alarm hadn't spread throughout the castle, and if we got out before they got the door down, and if we managed to get to the stables...

Too many ifs.

"Forgive my presumption, but my Lord your father didn't have you schooled in climbing by any chance?"

"Tragically, no."

"Well, put your foot in the loop, hang on and pray. I'll lower you down first, then climb."

The descent was trying but successful. Reaching the ground, we raced for the stables. I was pleasantly surprised to see that the alarm in fact hadn't carried this far. I shouted to the groom to saddle the Lady's mount and swiftly saw to my own. The groom got one look at our flushed faces, disordered clothing and obvious haste, and jumped to an erroneous conclusion.

"In a bit of a hurry, Cap'n?" he leered, clearly as impressed with the my taste in women as in horses.

"A bit," I agreed quickly, realizing that the truth would be unlikely to help in this situation, "There's a silver mark in it if you hurry!"

The incentive proved sufficient. Shortly, we mounted up and I flung a handful of copper to the groom. At that moment, soldiers burst into the stable. A zealous sergeant seized the bridle of Tauriel's steed. The Lady, more indignant that afraid, lashed him across the face with her riding crop. As he fell back, cursing and clutching his cheek, she urged her horse through the soldiers.

Morlinte sent forehooves flying about the ears of several guards who grabbed at his bridle. With a desperate plunge, he carried me to freedom.

The guard at the gate, apparently not aware of developments, heard the approaching cacophony and stepped curiously out into the path of the oncoming riders. I urged Morlinte straight at the man. To the soldier's credit, only at the last moment did he spring away, missing trampling by the narrowest of margins. Once through the gates, we galloped at breakneck speed for the cover of the forest.

Click to enlarge

Rejoyce and Be Glad! King's Foresters, that was featured as a series here at QM, is now available in a dead tree version and as a PDF download. Synopsis: Captain Corill Lintemacil of the King's Foresters is just trying to safeguard the frontier with his band of misfits, but when a renegade Baron takes unwelcome liberties with an Earl's daughter, he is plunged into a maelstrom of kidnapping, escapes, swordplay, battle, stealth, seige, and magic. And loses his best pair of boots. Available at: Amazon.com & Lulu.com

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