The Veneer of Injustice

Part 4

Earth Moon 9, 1527 C.Q.

My hand slowly reaching for my sword-hilt, I watched as, with a few quick moves, an armored figure climbed down a tree that grew close to the side of the road. The figure turned toward me, and the moon's light illuminated his face through the glass of his helmet: Dyre. His hands held no weapons; his sword was still sheathed, and the tip of his crossbow peaked out of his quiver.

Dyre raised both hands. Then he said, a note of desperation in his deep voice, "Just Knight, if you have made it so far, there is no question that you will easily defeat me as well. I must fight you, or answer to His Highness, but, since Pons will not know, I beg of you this promise: one of those prisoners is my sister, Britta, and you must take care of her where I cannot. Please, do not let her be taken into the cells. I know what happens there."

Hating that one of my people had been pushed into this position because of my orders, I nodded.

A desperate light kindling in his gray eyes, Dyre asked again, "You will take care of her?"

I nodded again.

Dyre smiled slightly and lowered his head in a sign of prayer. Then he raised his head, and his face hardened. He drew his sword and charged at me, his stride angled enough that his attack would come at my left side.

I quickly drew my sword and blocked his attack, though the force of his blow was enough to jar me. Removing my foot from the stirrup, I kicked his shin so that he stumbled. I disengaged and then hit the top of his head with the pommel of my sword.

His knees immediately buckling, Dyre collapsed and fell forward on the ground. "Bless you," he wheezed. Then he evidently lost consciousness, for he lay still.

I urged the horse to continue towards the castle as a familiar bitter taste filled my mouth. I reminded myself that I was ensuring that my people lived, that the enemies of my princedom did not invade and destroy them, but I hated that I was the source of any harm at all to them. Even if the harm I caused protected them and prevented greater harm, I hated it.

I sighed, directed the breezes to flow outward from me in every direction, and again refocused my mind. I had a still mission to finish. Sixteen on the ground to go.

Within minutes, I detected the chinks of air colliding with metal. Large quantities of metal. I noted the thin grooves on the left side of the road which indicated that a fork approached. The right fork would approach the castle's gates, while the left led to the dungeons' entrance. The castle, built six centuries prior with defense as an utmost priority, was virtually without weakness and had only these two entrances. If I did not rescue the arrestees before they were taken inside the castle walls, I would most likely fail in my mission.

Deciding on a new tactic, I nudged the horse towards the side of the road. Rubbing his head gently, I dismounted and leaned my forehead against his. Then I stepped back and pointed in the direction of the castle's main road. The horse whinnied, with perhaps even sadness in his voice, but I waved once, turned, and headed into the trees. Every guard's horse was trained to return to the castle, so I knew I would find him there soon enough. But I could not finish this rescue on horseback: even with my spells, horse-steps were not so quiet that the sixteen on the ground would not hear me approaching, and the height that I gained would make me too visible as a lone rider.

Instead, I climbed a tree for the second time that night. Again murmuring the spell that invoked the wind and called upon it to support me, I leapt from tree to tree and pulled out my sling and stones. My shoulder throbbed where Ursa's blow had bruised me, but I ignored it.

Within moments, the back of the remaining caravan was in sight.

Absorbing the excess momentum from the rustling pine-needles, I continued to leap forward until I judged that I was at a point that the middle of the caravan was just about to pass. I pivoted on the tree branch upon which I had landed and readied my sling.