The Reformation Wars: The Unmarked Swordsman

Chapter 1

"Pack yourself five days' provisions and saddle your horse, Thomas, for in an hour, we depart for Alconte." 

Tom Holt glanced up from where he propped his booted foot on an empty ale barrel and polished the battered toes. He eyed his grandfather Alden in the young rays of the rising sun that filtered through a lattice in the nearby stone wall. Tom's own brow furrowed, an expression the hoary-headed man's features constantly retained without any particular effort. The old man possessed a face ridden with scratches and tears acquired over the years, chief of which was a jagged vertical scar running from just under his left eyebrow to the cheekbone beneath it, the mark crossing over a missing eye. 

"Alconte?" Tom echoed, "What have I missed?" 

"You have missed only a High Council meeting where your attendance would have been quite illegal, I'm afraid." 

"Ah, I see. I still fail to understand why we're called the Knights of the King's Table, when in reality only ten men at any one time are given such an honor. While the rest of us stand around and get the lowlier tasks relegated to us." 

Alden chuckled as his good eye, cobalt blue in hue, darted over his grandson's face. "You fail to see many things, Thomas. But alas, that is indeed the curse of youth." 

"And what's the curse of old age? Thinking you know everything?" 

The old man laughed again and laid a warm hand on Tom's shoulder. "At times, perhaps. But do not fail to forget the honor that attends being even the lowliest of knights in our fair kingdom. For even if you are given the task of cleaning the very horse stalls, you are still contributing to the success of your brothers. And that is not to mention the honor and renown we carry with us everywhere, merely for being Monteraynian knights." 

Tom shrugged. "I suppose you're right. But may I finally have an answer to my question? Why are we going to Alconte?" 

"You are an inquisitive one." Alden remarked affectionately. "Senator Alice Delquez has requested our order's services in sending two knights to serve as bodyguards for an upcoming trip of hers." 

"But...if she's a senator...surely she has her own security force. How then can our presence be anything more than redundant?" 

"Her messenger proved quite sparing in details, so even I know not much more than you. But even if our presence merely makes the lady feel safer, I should be glad to attend to it." 

Tom rolled his eyes. "I'm absolutely certain you only agreed to this because you're sure it'll be nothing more than a bread run. If it were...say, a Rostacian border town crying out for assistance in staving off an Innutukian encroachment, we both know you wouldn't lift a finger." 

Even more lines appeared on Alden's forehead. He grunted. "Just...just prepare yourself for our journey, Thomas, will you? We shall not discuss this any further." 

"Typical." Tom muttered, pivoting on his heel. 

His shoulders moved in tempo with his legs as he strolled down the corridor hugging the outer wall on the east side of the hall for his order, the Knights of the King's Table. A well-kept longsword swung at his hip in its scabbard, the reddish mahogany hilt accented by a ring of silver in the middle. The pommel gleamed in the trickling sunlight, adorned by the seal of Monterayne. 

The clean-shaven man's masculine gait prompted his meandering fellow knights to steer clear of his purposeful steps. As he passed, he glanced over the shoulder patches fixed to each swordsman's gray uniform jacket. Invariably dyed in hues of red, blue, or violet, the patches represented the three styles of swordsmanship in the kingdom, and whatever color a particular knight donned indicated which discipline he had studied.