Songs of Ademar

Author's note: this story is set in the same world as my 'Duchess of Lust' and 'Knight of Lust' stories. However, it begins many decades before those other series, so prior knowledge of my other works is not required.

**

None of the stories or songs had prepared Ademar for how dreadfully bloodyboringwar could be. Perhaps if his father had warned him of the tedium instead of the carnage, Ademar might have actually stayed home.

Ademar yawned as his weary legs shuffled further along the walls. Strained eyes gazed out over the countryside: silent vineyards, abandoned farms, empty hamlets. Somewhere out in the darkness lurked the enemy scouts and raiders, but they'd not shown their faces in more than a week. Thus the greatest threat to the squire was the possibility of tripping and tumbling down from the walls.

Sighing, he glanced over to the great keep of Harradai. Within the courtyard sprawled a camp consisting of the peasants who had sought shelter within the keep's walls. The baroness' generosity had kept them safe and well-fed, at least for the time being. The complaints about dwindling supplies grew fiercer by the day and it was only a matter of time before the peasants would risk the raiders' wrath so they could forage or return to their farms.

A song rose into the night, followed by a few muffled shouts, urging the bard to keep it down. The singer went quiet but Ademar hummed the tune under his breath as he maintained the patrol.

The song had been one of his favorites, an old tune calledThe Black Blade's Rose, about a wicked knight who fell in love with a nun, setting aside his evil ways for the sake of his beloved. It was one of the many grandiose songs which had inspired Ademar over the years, guiding him to the path of knighthood. Was it ridiculous, inaccurate, and overblown? Of course it was. But that didn't stop it from warming his heart and distracting him from the dreadful boredom.

Ademar's route took him through one of the outlying towers of Harradai. A crossbowman leaned against the wall beside the arrow-slit, drool leaking from his lips as he snored. Ademar cast the lazy man a glare and loudly cleared his throat. The man let out a soft yelp, his eyes fluttering and his hands fumbling for his crossbow.

"Eyes open, soldier," Ademar chided the man, who was one of the locals sworn to Baroness Selinora. Had the sentry been a true knight, Ademar would not have dared to speak to him in such a way.

"Piss off," the man grumbled. "I know you're just a damned squire so I'll not be lectured by the likes of you."

The reminder of his status as a squire caused Ademar's eyes to narrow. Telling himself that he still had a patrol schedule to maintain, Ademar huffed and brushed past the crossbowman. As he slipped through the door and back onto the walls, Ademar resolved to devise a witty insult if he found the man slumbering on his next circuit of the castle.

Two more militiamen watched over the next section of the wall, engaged in hushed conversation. Their gossip did not detract from their duties; their gaze remained affixed upon the countryside as they spoke.

"Landric cannot keep this up for much longer," one man murmured. "And surely Duke Valentin will intervene; he can't have two of his baronies at each other's throats like this."

"On the contrary," said the second soldier. "I'd wager this all works to Valentin's benefit. Two of his vassals fighting, diluting their strength...it strengthens his position. Makes both Baron Landric and Baroness Selinora less of a threat."

Ademar walked past, caring little for their gossip or for the intricacies of Tsannori politics. All that truly mattered was the vow he'd sworn to Selinora's cause, and he would cling to his vow as fiercely as the knights had done in all those ancient songs.

When he arrived at the next tower, he reached for the door and braced himself for the possibility of seeing another slumbering sentry. Inside, he found a slender man wearing a tattered surcoat and a wide-brimmed helmet. Slung over his back was a crossbow and his hand rested upon the hilt of a long, sheathed dagger. At the sight of Ademar, the man blinked and cast a quick glance over his shoulder at the closed door behind him.

"You're Sir Galen's squire, right? Ademar, was it?"

"Aye," Ademar said, his eyes drifting from the man's dark eyes to the door beyond him. "Just doing my routine check of the walls."

"Not to worry. Galen and I are watching over the northern section here."

During all their time holed up in Harradai, not once had Galen ever taken the night watch. Ademar's fingers tightened but he did not yet reach for the mace in his belt. Instead he offered the stranger a warm smile.

"Good. I've been meaning to speak to Sir Galen anyway; I need his advice about getting my helm refitted."

"Seek him on the morrow, then," said the crossbowman. "As I said: he's busy on patrol."

The forced warmth of the man's smile chilled Ademar's blood. He risked a quick glance back over his shoulder at the other militiamen further down the wall, who still murmured and bickered over the state of the war.

By the time he'd glanced back at the other man, he'd taken two steps forward, closing the gap with the taller squire. Steel gleamed in the torchlight; his dagger was half-drawn.

"Easy, easy," the man said, still smiling. "Just...turn right back around and patrol elsewhere. It shall all be over soon, then you'll get your knighthood."

The sight of bare steel caused Ademar to reach for his mace. The man's hand trembled but did not fully raise his dagger just yet.

"Where is Sir Galen?"

The man's gaze shifted to Ademar's mace.

"For a squire, you are shit at obeying orders."

The dagger jumped from its sheath. As Ademar tore his mace free from its loop on his belt, his other hand lashed out, grasping the man by the wrist before he could raise the blade.

"Sir Galen!" Ademar bellowed, the shout drowning out the smaller man's curses.

He brought his heel down upon the man's toes, turning a curse to a yelp. As the man reeled back, Ademar brought up his mace and cracked the haft against the side of his head. Simple. Smooth. Clean.

Just like Sir Galen had taught him.

The man crumpled, dropping his dagger and letting out a low moan. Grateful that he'd not killed the man outright, Ademar rushed for the door the man had been blocking. He paused for a moment, wondering if there had been a banal explanation for the man's bizarre behavior. Perhaps Sir Galen was just beyond the door cavorting with a local whore, and he'd simply asked that soldier to keep his debauchery secret from his squire.

That did not explain why the man had been so quick to draw his blade, however. Fearing the worst and imagining his master dead upon the wall, Ademar murmured a prayer to the saints and swung the door open.

Sir Galen's corpse would have been a preferable sight compared to what actually awaited him.

The night wind rustled through Sir Galen's gleaming golden hair as he leaned over the battlements. Beside him, a thick rope had been secured to the parapet. A shadowy figure ascended the rope, reaching up to grasp Sir Galen's outstretched hand.

Ademar's jaw dropped as a figure ascended with Galen's help. The leather-clad man had an axe, with a shield slung over his back bearing the sigil of Baron Landric: a rearing horse upon a field of poppies.

Treason.

After years of extolling the virtues of chivalry and tutoring Ademar in the ways of a knight, Sir Galen had betrayed his vows to Baroness Selinora.

Baron Landric's soldier noticed Ademar before Galen did.

"One of yours?" the intruder asked.

Galen glanced up from his treacherous work, his eyes widening before drifting over to his sword and shield, which he'd leaned against the parapet.

"Ademar," Galen said quickly. "Good. Just the man I wanted to see. I think it's about time I made you a knight. Just help me-"

"Oathbreaker," Ademar said, his voice quivering.

His world shattered. He'd been at Galen's side for countless skirmishes, raids, and tournaments. He'd bandaged the knight's wounds, handed him lances before jousts, fed his horses, sharpened his blades, even wept at the man's side as they'd buried comrades.

He'd even saved Galen's life and the knight had returned the favor many times over.

And now he stood as a traitor, helping the enemy over Harradai's walls.

As Galen guided a second man onto the walls, Ademar took a deep breath.

"Arise!" he bellowed. "North wall, north wall!"

Galen and Landric's men cursed. The first soldier closed in but his ascent had rendered him breathless, and Sir Galen had taught his squire well. Ademar ducked beneath the first wild swing and cracked his mace against the man's hip. He squawked and staggered back, giving Ademar a chance to follow up with a brutal bash of his mace against the man's chin. Something cracked in the man's jaw and he crumpled, sprawling down beside Galen's sword and shield.

"Ademar, stop!" Galen bellowed.

Other shouts rose through the keep. A horn shrieked from another tower.

The second of Landric's men closed the distance as Galen dove to collect his blade. The attacker's sword skimmed along the chainmail protecting Ademar's arm. The point caught against the links, just barely pricking through and grazing along the leather coat beneath. The brief burst of pain could not break through the fiery rage coursing through Ademar's body.

He closed in, denying his foe advantage of his longer blade. A fist caught the attacker in the gut and the mace smashed into the noseguard of the helm, forcing the steel to bite into the man's flesh. Before he could recover, Ademar swept the man's legs out from beneath him and brought the mace crashing down, crumpling the top of the man's helmet and leaving him still upon the stone.

Galen stood beyond the fallen men, sword in hand. Shouts rose from the darkness below the wall, along with huffs of exertion as more men struggled to rise.

The knight hesitated, his steel gleaming in the moonlight.

Panting and reeling, Ademar snatched up the axe dropped by one of Landric's men.

"Wait!" Galen shouted.

Ademar brought the axe down, tearing into the thick rope. It snapped just as a hand reached up to grasp the parapet. Curses and yelps erupted from the darkness, followed by a wail of pain.

"Why?" Ademar spat, fighting tears of rage.

"Lands and titles," Galen said, taking a slow step forward, keeping his eyes on Ademar as he bent to scoop up his shield. "Landric takes half of Selinora's lands, then distributes the other half between me and one of his knights. And you can be there at my side, Ademar. As a knight."

"As a traitor. An oathbreaker."

Footsteps thundered behind Ademar. The two gossiping militiamen had arrived, spears and kite-shields at the ready. At the sight of the fallen attackers, they cursed, glancing with wild eyes between Galen and Ademar.

"What happened?" one blurted.

"Sir Galen has betrayed us."

More horns tore through the night.

One of the militiamen snarled. Tension erupted in his limbs and he leapt forward, even as Ademar let out a cry of warning.

Too late. Galen's steel and skill made short work of the vengeful sentry; his sword batted aside the clumsy spear-thrust and a shield-bash forced him to lower his guard. A brutal, precise slash of his blade opened the man's throat and sent him tumbling to his knees.

The other militiaman let out a faint whimper at the death of his friend.

"Together," Ademar hissed at the wavering man.

He'd sparred with Galen enough to know that this would be no simple fight.

What other choice did he have, though? If Ademar turned to run, that panicking militiaman would quickly die, Galen could lower another rope, and more of Landric's dogs would swarm into the keep.

"Together," he growled again.

The spearman turned and ran, sputtering out prayers as he fled, leaving Ademar all alone to face his mentor.

"One last sparring lesson," Galen said, kicking the fallen man's shield over to his squire.

The breaking of his oath had not completely shattered the knight's sense of chivalry.

Tensing, Ademar dipped down to pick it up, taking a moment to let his hand adjust to the unfamiliar grip.

"There was a reason why I did not ask you first," Galen said, bracing his sword against the top of his shield. "I knew you'd react this way. But you just had to be a diligent sentry, didn't you?"

"Landric will not honor his word," Ademar said, glaring at the knight and taking a slow step back. "Why would he keep his agreement with an oathbreaker? He'll discard you rather than look over his shoulder for the rest of his reign."

"I would rather take my chances with Landric as my lord than rot away in this keep."

With that final word, Galen advanced, his sword jabbing with expert, brilliant precision. Flinching, Ademar let his shield absorb the blows but could not find a way to counter. Whenever the squire adjusted to find an opening, Galen would press the attack, forcing the squire further and further towards the tower.

His back thudded into the stone. The next thrust of Galen's sword put a deep chip in the wooden door. Ademar made a desperate advance at the knight's left flank, trying to give himself more room to maneuver. Like a viper lunging at a mouse, Galen's blade struck home, slashing against Ademar's leg. Leather parted before steel, leaving a shallow slice along his thigh. The force of the strike still nearly threw him off his feet. He stumbled, his head slamming into the parapet. Blood erupted from a deep gash just above his brow. Warm crimson flooded his vision.

Panting, Ademar countered with a wild blow that clanged against his mentor's shield. Half-blinded but unable to risk wiping the blood away, he steadied himself.

"Come on," Galen hissed. "I taught you better than that."

Indeed he had. Rather than unleash another wild swing with his mace, Ademar made a careful advance until his boot bumped into the fallen axe he'd used to hack at the rope. He kicked it with all his might, sending it flying towards Galen's leg. Galen twisted to the side as the haft scraped against his shin.

Ademar's mace burst forth but Galen raised his shield just in time. The corner of the shield shattered, sending wooden fragments spraying into Galen's face. The knight cursed and Ademar seized upon Galen's lessons, surging forward to exploit the opening.

Two more mace-blows rained down upon the shield and each impact sundered it even further. Now little more than a useless wooden ruin, the shield tumbled from Galen's grasp.

Had he been facing any other foe, victory would have swiftly followed. One last blow from his mace could have shattered Galen's skull or torn apart his jaw.

But Galen was not any other foe. He was a knight whose steel had claimed dozens of lives, whose skill had honed Ademar into a fierce warrior in his own right.

Rather than cringe, flee, or dart away, Galen instead advanced, ducking beneath Ademar's swing and twisting to slam the hilt of his sword just beneath Ademar's guard and into his gut. The blow knocked the wind from the squire and Galen followed it up by bashing his shoulder against the shield, sending the younger man sprawling onto the bloody stone.

The sword came down. Ademar raised the shield. Wood cracked.

Another swing ripped the shield asunder, sending splinters raining down upon the younger man.

Cursing, Ademar lashed out, kicking at Galen's knee. The impact threw off the next swing. Rather than bury itself into the squire's skull, the blade scourged the side of Ademar's face, slicing through his cheek and ear. Pain burned bright, joining with the roaring flame of Ademar's terror.

His howl reached an inhuman pitch as he batted the blade aside. Blood and agony reigned. Ademar managed to kick at Galen again, forcing him back. His mace rose to slam against the blade and sent it spinning from Galen's grip.

Galen stepped back and flailed, grasping for a fallen axe.

Bleeding, panting, and growling like a beast, Ademar rose to his feet.

"That's more like it," Galen said, grinning. "Now come on, lad. Earn that knighthood."

With a renewed howl, Ademar obeyed his mentor one last time. His first blow caught Galen across the shoulder, sending him slamming into the parapet. The knight countered with a slash of the axe that tore through the chainmail links, scattering metal out into the night. Ademar's clumsy counter-stroke took Galen in the side of the neck, drawing forth a wet cough. A steadier blow might have broken the man's neck but instead it just sent him reeling. Galen recovered quickly and whirled back into the fray. His axe rose, tearing into Ademar's knuckles; the agony forced Ademar to drop the mace. Though unarmed, Ademar still had plenty of fury to spare.

Ademar ducked low beneath the next axe-swing, doing as Galen had taught him; when steel failed, brute force remained a knight's most potent weapon. He wrapped his mentor in a fierce grapple, bloody arms tightening around his waist. Both men howled as Ademar lifted Galen up and over the parapets.

Galen tumbled over the edge into darkness, down to join those who had tried and failed to ascend the walls of Harradai.

Sobbing, Ademar sagged backwards and collapsed in a heap. Only then did he realize that one of Landric's men was still alive, taking in slow and wet breaths as he rested limp upon the stones. The man took a few more breaths and went still.

How long until Ademar joined that man in death?

Horns and bells continued their horrific clamor but his senses slowly faded. Voices stormed around him. Shadowy hands grasped at his wounds but he felt no pain. Darkness wriggled at the edges of his vision but did not consume him, though the world did shift to a dull gray.

Warm water cascaded over him, followed by bursts of ice upon his wounds. He screamed until he was hoarse, until he wept.

The darkness made a slow retreat. A dull, cold agony replaced the fiery pain. A semblance of awareness returned and Ademar found himself upon a cushioned cot, covered in a thick, sweaty blanket. Naked and confused, Ademar looked around for a few moments, unsure if he were dreaming or if this was the next step on the path to the afterlife.

Would the saints meet him with smiles and open arms? Would the knights of old greet him as a worthy warrior? Would Sir Galen's ghost be there to finish their duel?

Wincing, Ademar slowly rose from the cot and gingerly pressed his fingers to his wounds. Herbal bandages covered the side of his face that had been slashed by Galen's blade...the very blade he'd trained against so many times. Similar bandages were wrapped around his knuckles and leg. Censers dangled from the ceiling, spewing forth dark green smoke which he recognized as a rare, expensive treatment for wounds. The alchemical incense filled his lungs, easing his pain and fortifying his body against infection.

Each step worsened the throbbing in his skull but he shuffled across the room to find his clothing in a neat pile: freshly washed, free of sweat and blood. He paused to catch his breath before donning his clothes.

Slow, painful steps brought him up a narrow staircase and into a small garden, which rested within the heart of the castle in a private courtyard. Most of the plants had been stripped bare: anything edible had been harvested long ago to feed the refugees.

He raised a hand to shield his weary eyes from the sun's glare.

Harradai had stood until dawn, which meant that Landric's scheme had failed. The thought strengthened his next few steps, bringing him to a wooden door at the far side of the garden.

With his pain matched only by his hunger and thirst, Ademar opened the door into a narrow, empty hallway. He tried to call out but his voice emerged as a hoarse whisper. The painful march continued until he reached a door with white runes upon the weathered wood. Unsure of their meaning, he grunted with effort and opened the door.