Interlude: A Peaceful Village

Interlude: A Peaceful Village

The Knight glanced around, noting how different the village had become since he had last visited the village many years ago. Where once it was surrounded by a wooden fence, there was a greater wall made of earth around it, as well as several outposts.

Fifty steps out from the village, the earth had been shifted, allowing the village to overlook the land around, and the nearby river had also been moved with some effort so it provided a barrier to one side.

‘Are they preparing for a war?’ Sir James’ lips turned into a smirk. For half a moment he believed Sir Harold was preparing to face against the King, but such a thing was utterly preposterous. Even if this little village did form some defences, what could they do against the might of Aldland and its armies?

The villager guided the Knight and his companions further inside, through the newly built gate, and towards the centre where the Chief was currently waiting to deal with the Knights. He was an older man, old as the day was long during noonval, bald, with a thick beard. He was thin, like a stylus, and clutched a staff tight in one hand to assist him in his day to day living.

“Hello, good Sirs, how may I assist you?” the old Chief asked, smiling nervously at the Knight and his companions.

“Where is Sir Harold?” Sir James asked, his eyes scanning the area, showing no regard for the Chief. He was searching for Sir Harold, or Sir Royce, who was another great figure he had wished to meet during his journey. He would never have come to such an irrelevant village like this, though at his King’s command, and with the opportunity to meet two great figures, he could not refuse.

“They’re not around at the moment, but if you’d like to join us for some tea, they should appear soon.” The Chief’s offer of hospitality was forced, due to the rank of the figures before him.

Sir James was no typical Knight, and though the title alone would have allowed him to push around anyone within the village, Sir James was a man who wore a red cloak with a gold trim. These cloaks were gifted by the King himself, and only to those who had managed to achieve the rank of Master, warriors of great prowess. The blade at his side, with the golden crown pommel revealed that Sir James was from the Order of the King, a King’s Blade.

The Chief had been surrounded by many great warriors recently, but he understood the difference between the Iyrmen and the Knights. The Iyrmen’s strength was great, yes, but they followed the laws of this land, the very same laws which allowed any Noble to act with almost complete impunity.

Of course the Nobles had to pick and choose when to exercise their powers, for trying to deal with a group of great adventurers had its issues, but to small villagefolk like them? The King’s Blade could cut him down and walk away, hands fresh with blood, but without a single crime committed.

“Very well,” the Aldishman replied. As a Knight there was some decorum to be had, and one such rule was to accept tea from the likes of Chiefs and other Nobles. It would have been rude to refuse, and would have brought a stain on his honour unless he had a great reason to refuse.

As the tea was made, brewed within the iron pot, with a splash of milk and the smallest bit of spice, the sounds of heavy wings beating caught the King’s Blade’s attention. The magical gryphon landed down nearby, and the man in plate armour dismounted, before stepping closer towards the Sir James and the two Experts beside him.

“Sir Harold,” Sir James said, smiling towards the great warrior before him. Even in his twilight years, Sir Harold held a great presence about him. He removed his helmet, revealing his chestnut hair and his thick moustache. “Sir James Kalloway, Commander of the Seventh Company.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Commander,” Sir Harold replied, bowing his head gently. ‘A Commander?’ There were ten companies under the King’s command, and each Commander ruled over one hundred and twenty soldiers total, with the First Company holding almost double the number of soldiers.

Harold understood that the situation was far more serious than he first realised. ‘If he has sent a Commander...’

“I am sure you understand why I have come,” Sir James Kalloway said. “The King requires your assistance.”

“I appreciate you coming all this way, Sir James, but I must apologise.” Sir Harold spoke meekly, his voice low. “I am retired now. I am no longer the King’s Sword.”

“You swore your Oaths, Sir Harold.”

“I did. I swore my Oaths. I swore them to the King’s grandfather, who at one point I called my closest friend. When he passed, he released me from my Oaths, and asked me a favour. I remained to guide his son, the King’s father, and when he passed away suddenly, I remained to advise the King.” Sir Harold stared at Sir James, who was a Master, and had been so for a short while though he was only in his mid forties. “My guidance was refused, so I retired.”

Sir James Kalloway was going to speak up to defend his King, but seeing the look in Sir Harold’s eyes, he thought twice. Everyone knew the pain which had been caused to Sir Harold back then, and as much as he could feel the rage of the massacre build up, Sir James kept his heart calm as a breeze. “The King requires your assistance.”

“I am retired,” Harold repeated. “I must ask that you drink your tea and leave.”

“The King requires your assistance,” Sir James said, louder now. “This is not a request, but an order, one for a subject of our great King. This is a great honour, and you must oblige as a willing subject of our great country. It is your duty.”

“I know my duty, King’s Blade,” Sir Harold stated, his voice deeper now, holding greater strength. “I have completed it.”

The Knights all drew their blade, pointing it towards the stranger who was leaning against a tree nearby, his arms crossed. He was a handsome fellow, so handsome that Sir James thought him to be of Noble blood. He was fairly tall, lean, and wore a blade at his side, yet was unarmoured.

“State your name and business,” Sir Dominic said, as though giving the man a chance.

“I don’t think I will give my name,” the stranger replied, still leaning against the tree. “Not to a bunch of dead men.”

Sir Dominic smiled. “What? You believe yourself to be so capable? Even Sir Harold would think twice against the dozen of us.”

“I don’t think so,” the man said, stepping away from the tree, flashing the most cocky smile the Knights had ever seen. “He might be an old, handsome guy, but he’s not that weak he needs to think about the likes of you.”

“How dare yo-,” Sir James called, before they heard the twang and the whistling, before their horses whinnied and cried, before falling. They snapped their heads back, as over twenty villagers appeared, crossbows in hand. Some wore thick hides, studded with plates of metal, and carried at their backs large shields. Some wore blades at their sides, and others long spears. They had taken out a number of horses in an instant, and as the moments passed, the remaining horses were dealt with.

“What do you think you are doing?” Sir Dominic asked, turning his attention to the villagers for a moment, before looking back at the stranger again. “How dare you draw your weapons against Knights of Aldland.”

“They did not,” called a familiar voice, and Sir Harold stood, not twenty paces away, having appeared from almost nowhere.

Sir Dominic’s head snapped to Sir Harold, before Sir James stepped beside him, motioning his head to the stranger, where another man appeared. He was tall, well built, and carried a large maul.

“What is the meaning of this?” Sir James asked, noting they were surrounded by villagers, and the trio of great warriors. He could feel it, the great strength each of them emanated. He knew Sir Harold and Sir Royce, but the stranger who had spoken was someone he did not recognise, but he was sure that even the stranger was great, at least as powerful as himself.

“The villagers were hunting, and they will retrieve the horse meat,” Sir Harold said.

“Hunting we were.” Sir Royce chuckled. “What a bounty we found.”

Sir Dominic’s eyes stared deep into Sir Harold’s eyes. He understood what was happening, and what was soon to occur. He gripped his blade tighter.

“Hey, you all stay out of this,” the stranger said, pointing his blade at the villagers. “I won’t be able to protect you if you get too close, and if you shoot me, not even your precious King’s Sword will stop me from beating you.”

“Azazel, please.” Sir Harold sighed. He wondered if he really should have brought this man to the village, but the dreams kept whispering to him.

“A mercenary?” Sir Dominic asked. “Have you sullied yourself so much?”

“Mercenaries are better than Knights,” Azazel said. “Less troublesome.”

The King’s Blades and their companions had formed a circle to face off against the trio, all the while the villagers had walked around to form a circle around them, just in case the three did not manage to kill the Knights.

“Are you sure you wish to do this?” Sir Dominic asked.

Harold bowed his head.

“The King will seek justice.”

“It must be done,” Harold replied, drawing his blade.

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These Interludes don't count for the chapters that I owe. However, there are three of them, so please be merciful to me. I will catch up on the chapters that I owe, i swear.