Dishonour by Dee Carteri (simple e reader TXT) 📕

The man held up a small flag, and from his house came five young men, holding up the wooden shields in the direction of the mansion. The shields were three feet tall and two broad, certainly not proper man-at-arms shields, but they would do.

"Now," said the man, "Can you help me in return?"

"What do you need?" asked Dell warily.

"My daughter, she, er, fell in with the wrong type of women." Dell nodded. For years the Sheriff had been trying harder and harder to combat prostitution, but the perverse industry was still growing as never before. The man continued, "Now the man she and her friends work for has bribed some deputies to overlook his business. I want you folks to arrest him."

Dell exclaimed, "Done! In fact, I thank you for bringing this man to my attention, doubly for the shields."

"And," the man went on, "I don’t want his arrest to be gentle."

"The Sheriff holds little love for such men," said Dell simply.

An arrow from the manor flew at the sons, who ducked behind their shields. The shaft missed, but a retaliatory shot from one of the deputies plucked the archer from his window. Another took his place.

The sons reached the trees and hid, passing the shields down the line to the knights. They were indeed made from table planks, with hemp ropes nailed on, supposedly meant to strap the shield to one’s arm. Daken put it on. It rested badly on his arm, and the ropes were not positioned parallel to each other. Obviously the man’s only experience with shields was looking upon them from afar.

Daken looked at the other soldiers. All the knights bore shields, plus Dell and the deputy without a bow.

Rodul shouted, "For the Honor of the Monastery!"

Dell roared, "For the Righteousness of the Sheriff and the Royal Law!"

The deputies stood and loosed a volley at the windows. All the archers ducked, and the knights rushed forward.

They were halfway to the manor when the deputies stopped firing, and Kylinia’s men countered vehemently. He saw the bow pointed at him, and threw his shield up just as the bow twanged. An arrow pounded deep into the planks. Aloce was struck in the shin, but the dart bounced off his greaves. The force of the blow threw him to the ground.

Aloce scrambled around in fear as he heard more bowstings cut the air. Penag threw his shield over Aloce’s back just as two arrows reached him. Realizing his weakness, an archer fired at Penag, striking him in the forearm. Aloce righted himself, and Penag brought his shield back over himself to block three more shots as Aloce began to run forward again. Dell was the first to reach the door, which was shielded from the archers by a stylish overhead arch. Dell kicked hard. The lock broke and splintered, but the door was barred and kept shut. The other deputy reached it next, cast down his shield and thumped the door with his staff. Rodul came into the crowded foyer and drew his broadsword, driving it between the door and the frame, its point embedded into the bar. He held it there as Daken arrived and struck the pommel with his club, as if the sword were a chisel and his club the hammer. The bar began to give just as Penag arrived, followed by limping Aloce. Penag threw his body wholesale against the door, which came down with a crash.

They rushed into the common room, where they were attacked by a dozen swordsmen.

All the knights but Daken drew their Honor Blades and cast aside their clubs. Dell was separated from the skirmish, and quickly found himself surrounded by four grinning fighters, each eyeing gleefully the sign of the Sheriff on his tunic. He rolled to the side, avoiding a downward swing. The other deputy, through the crowd, glimpsed Dell and tossed a staff to him. Dell grabbed it and held it in front of himself to block a broadsword swing that dug almost halfway through the staff. He swung it along the ground at the nearest pair of feet, and the man hit the floor with a crash. The deputy spun the staff, striking the floored man in the chest with the other end of the weapon. The man was winded, and silently screamed at the sound of his lower ribs cracking. Dell leaped to his feet and deflected the nearest sword blow, turning it down to the floor, then spun to fight another aggressor. He backed up against the wall, fighting three men blow for blow. Sweat ran down his face. He concentrated single-mindedly on the three darting blades, trying not to let any of the men get behind him. His staff was so chipped and cut he thought it would break any moment. Gaia, forgive me my sins, for as I die today my body shall give birth to new life and so shall you prevail. His staff was knocked wide by a sword blow. He spun around to throw a thrust downwards, shifting his center of balance forward and jarring the staff against the ground. In the corner of his blurred vision one of the swords came at him, but he could not regain his momentum. The blade darted, strangely slow. Then it disappeared.

Dell shook himself back to reality. Rodul stood nearby, his sword held at the bottom of a swing in both hands, dripping with blood.

One of Kylinia’s men lay nearby, curled around his arm. His hand and dagger lay nearby. The other swordsmen froze and looked around. They were alone, their comrades slain, injured, or disarmed. Aloce and Daken stood behind the men, Aloce’s sword and Daken’s club leveled threateningly. Dell’s deputy lay on the floor, a deep wound in his thigh.

One by one the three remaining criminals threw down their swords. The remaining deputies entered. They bound the prisoners in a far corner and tended the wounded.

Penag entered, holding a knife to the neck of a handsome middle-aged woman. "Kylinia," said Rodul, and Penag nodded.

Penag stated, "There’s a whole armory in the basement. Stolen Honor Blades, cross-bows, objects of dark sorcery, wyvern eggs, everything unholy or stolen."

Dell approached her. "The Honor Blades will be returned to their rightful owners; the rest will be turned over to the Wizard’s Guild for destruction. For your men awaits the lonely life of the exiled; for you awaits the gibbet, Scourge of Tandar."


The victory party was held, naturally enough, at Sir Daken’s home. The men crowded into his common room, drinking deeply from overfilled cups of beer. Dell’s two wounded men were back at the barracks, neither believed to be permanently injured. Of the eighteen soldiers in Kylinia’s house that night, three were killed, two from arrow wounds and one from a sword blow to his neck, and nine were injured through various means. All in all, a sound victory whose lack of fatalities would certainly be noted by Gaia when the time came to receive his blessings before their souls left for the afterlife. Bakine had been roused from his stupor and seemed in excellent health.

Dell walked up to Daken, and gripped his shoulder. "You’re a good man, Lieutenant." He saluted, then returned to the table. Daken watched him, but he did not say the same to any of the other knights. Because I used a club? He wondered.

Sir Aloce was the only man who did not seem to be enjoying himself. He sat away from the others, drinking nothing, eating only a few slices of bread with butter. Daken sat down at the end of the table, and raised his cup in salute. "To Sir Rodul, the leader of the investigation. Victory is yours!" This was in the grand custom of the Knights of the Monastery, and the deputies cheered as well despite thinking the toast to be somewhat oddly worded.

They had a platter of cold meat and cheese going around, and only Sir Penag seemed to be exceptionally drunk. They boasted and laughed for a good long time, during which Aloce neither moved nor smiled.

Daken turned to Sir Rodul and asked, "So what’s his story?" and inclined his head toward Sir Aloce.

Rodul responded, "His father was Baron Drila of Gartu."

"The vampire?"

Penag joined in. "Aye. After the Sheriff of Angelos hanged his father, he sent Aloce and his mother and sisters to Blackmoor, hoping that Aloce could be freed of the dark wizardry practiced by his father. It’s not as if Aloce ever brewed potions with his own peasants’ blood, in fact he knew nothing of that foulness until his father was arrested, but anything to do with wizards was mistrusted in those days. Of course, everyone feared him, the five year old spawn of the dark wizard.

He led a very lonely life, his only friends being his mother and sisters, and the trainer who was hired by the Sheriff to teach him the knightly arts in hope that chivalry would help lead his mind away from demonic influence."

Bakine nodded and finished, "He became obsessed with purity, never laughing so as not to appear a fool, never drinking so as not to show anger and being mistaken for evil, never doing a thing that could possibly hint that he was his father’s son. He joined a band of wyvern slayers at sixteen, hoping to prove his devotion to Gaia, and has done so ever since. But you see, Aloce never really liked people, and they never really liked him. He’s a good lad at heart, even if he holds with no one."

Daken smiled at Sir Bakine. No one but you, as I hear it told.

Amelie walked down the stairs, sleepy-eyed. She glanced around the room and asked, "Victory, I suppose?"

Rodul exclaimed, "Did you expect less? These men before you are the finest knights in the kingdom, with the finest deputies!"

A resounding "Aye" went up through the room.

Daken hurried to her side and proclaimed, "I’m sorry, gentlemen, I haven’t had the chance to make introductions. This is my lovely wife Amelie, and these are the good knights Sir Bakine, Sir Penag, and Sir Aloce. The other man is Dell, deputy to the Sheriff, and those are his soldiers."

Penag clunked his cup down. "Her accent’s Sybürmian, eh?" He spun around and faced Daken. "A regular Sybürmian bitch! And I was just starting to respect you!"

Amelie turned and ran up the stairs. Daken’s eyes turned icy cold.

"Leave my home immediately," he commanded.

"The lad’s defending the whore’s honor! I doubt she respects yours! Probably bedded every man in Whiterift without enough sense to push her-" He was cut off by Daken’s fist. Penag flew backwards over his chair. All the men in the room ran to the sides, forming a ring.

Penag lurched to his feet and laughed. "You’re stronger than you look, boy! And I must say it’s astonishing you found a Sybürmian intelligent enough to learn a decent language, even with-"

Daken struck him again. This time Penag did not rise. He turned to the rest of his guests, anger in his eyes. "Celebration’s over, everyone. Get out now."

Rodul came up to him and said, "My apologies, Daken. His father and brother were hostages in the War and-"

"Just leave," murmured Daken.


Daken opened the door to his bedroom slowly. Amelie lay on the bed, weeping softly. "I hit Penag," he said quietly, then stated, "I love you."

He left his weapons at the door, as always, then sat on the far side