First Knight: 

Covenant

By

Sean Cornell

1

“I don’t trust him, sire.”

Tristian locked eyes with his First Knight.

“You are speaking of my brother?” he asked.

“Yes.”

Sir Bhren narrowed his eyes and starred at the man sitting across from him in the back of the limousine.

The knight’s military haircut of his bronze hair, the trim of his suit on his muscular body, the stern look on his face would intimidate most men, but not the him, not the king.

Tristian stared out of the window. 

Bhren was there at the beginning. He had been the king’s First Knight since his marriage to Queen Collette twelve years earlier, and he trusted him; as he did all of the First Knights. But they were not advisors, nor were they expected to give their opinions on affairs of State.

Daeren was Tristian’s half brother, his mother’s son; and a member of the Royal Family. He was also the regent for a very important principality. Strategic metals, technical industries and other natural resources that were critical to the country were refined and developed there, which was why Tristian agreed to meet with him. But something in his knight’s tone echoed in his head.

The King’s motorcade sped through the municipality of Lexia. A grey haze suffocated the city, spewed from imposing brick stacks. Large stone factories built to produce the necessities of trade, were infused with decades of relentless smoke. Piles of broken raw material violated the surrounding lots, until such time when they would be transformed into useful products.

The one concession he granted the knight upon arrival at the airbase, was to allow them to travel through the industrial park instead of on the main thoroughfare.

Bhren looked out the window of the vehicle. There were local law enforcement officers escorting them and there was even a small military contingent; however, he had not worked with any of them before, nor had he vetted any of them. He did not know how well trained they were, or in fact if they were even loyal to this king. He was. It was his job. It was his commitment. It was his covenant.

The regents estate was a grand enclave in the heart of the principality. The limousine entered and the massive solid twin gates swung closed. Officers on the inside locked them behind the motorcade.

Bhren took inventory as they approached. The driveway was paved with cream colored bricks, similar to the ones he had seen earlier in the factories, only these were unsoiled.

The landscape was elegant and beautiful. Low hedges flanked the drive, a flawless lawn enveloped the terrain, and stone fountains and sculptures were strewn amongst the estate’s gardens.

The limousines pulled to the main entrance and stopped. A host of personnel were lined in ranks, waiting to greet the king. At the front was Prince Daeren, smiling. He wore his dress uniform complete with a ceremonial sword on his right; brilliant gold buttons, medals, ribbons and badges adorned his chest.   

From inside the limousine, Bhren looked at the king’s brother and wondered if he could identify any of the medals. Then he looked at the three men standing with him; personal security.

The door to the limo opened and the honor guard flanked the blue carpet, ready to receive the king. The knight stepped out first followed by Tristian. The knight put a hand on his back to “assist” his highness from the vehicle. As he did so he turned his head to view Daeren and his guards with him.   

Why does he need guards on his own porch? he thought.

The two brothers greeted one another, shook hands, hugged in brotherly fashion, and then walked together, talking and exchanging well wishes. Sir Bhren was a shadow on his kings shoulder as they entered the palace.

The Grand Hall was just that. The polished marble floor was covered with the finest silk rugs, detailed with ancient poetry or pastoral scenes, or some other obligatory design. Ornate furnishings lined the walls where tapestries, paintings and sculptures were placed. A pair of comfortable looking chairs pointed toward a larger than life portrait of a monarch, as she still held silent court for no more than two at a time.

The entourage dwindled to just six as they passed the halfway point: Tristian, his knight, Daeren and his three guards, who kept pace.   

“Your majesty,” Daeren said at the end of the Grand Hall, “I do not want to keep you any longer than is necessary. The reason I asked you to come here on such short notice is because of an import dispute.”

The king looked at his brother puzzled. “Surely this could be handled by the trade minister?” he remarked.

“I’m afraid not” he replied. “It is of an international nature. I will explain in private. Guards,” his voice raised to gain their attention, “escort his majesty to the briefing room. I will be right there.”

“This way your sire” said the tall, dark haired man, as he led them through a large gilt door. Tristian and Bhren walked for five steps until the knight told them to stop.

“What’s wrong?” the lead man asked.

“You two,” he said, pointing his first two fingers at the soldiers following. “Up there with him.” 

Bhren assessed the regent’s men and found them unprofessional; they walked too close to him and the king, they watched him and each other instead of the corridor; their hands flailed at the ends of their arms rather than remaining at the front of the thighs, so as to be at the ready. 

Incompetent. 

“But sir, we are the rear guard” the square jawed man said.

“Be that as it may, I want you two up there with him. What’s your name?” he asked.

“Lieutenant Nor” the man replied.

“I want you two men to be there with him.” he spoke plainly as if to children, deliberately omitting his name.

King Tristian remained silent. This was not a political discussion, neither was it a matter of public relations. He would not get involved in such things as security, not since the First Knight made it very clear to his highness several years earlier, what the knight’s job entailed.

“Sir, how can we be the rear guard from the front?” insisted Square-jaw.

Bhren inhaled deeply, and as the veins in his neck engorged, his suit tightened, accentuating his physique as he scowled down into the other man’s nervous eyes.

“Sergeant. Corporal.” the lieutenant snapped. “Come up here with me.” The two men complied and the escort continued with three leading and no one behind.   

Tristian attempted to hide a smile.

The guards stopped at large wooden doors, varnished to a remarkable sheen, in which Bhren could just make out his own reflection. Nor entered a code on a scrambled key pad and unlocked them.   

The room was contradictory to the rest of the palace. The knight would have expected to see this room in an office building or a clinic, but not in a regent’s estate. It had a long table with each end rounded in a half circle. The room was utilitarian, but hardly regal.

“Your majesty,” the lieutenant suggested. “If you would be so kind as to wait here for Prince Daeren.”

The knight entered the room and looked around briefly.

“Your highness” he said, stepping aside.

Tristian sat down far from the door. There was no clear “Head” so the king took the seat that commanded attention upon entry to the room.

The two soldiers began to enter the room when Bhren put his right palm on the sergeant’s chest, and stopped him.

“You two stay out here,” he ordered. “You,” he looked at the corporal, “Walk five paces that way and post. You sergeant, five paces that way.”

The men looked at their superior, as if waiting for permission or objection. They received neither and took their posts’.

Bhren watched the two until they halted, then he turned his cold glare to the man left standing in front of him.   

“What is your name again?” he snapped.

“I am Lieutenant Nor, the regent’s personal body guard. Why do you need my name?” he sneered back at his counterpart “Are you going to report me to the regent?”

“No, I am denying you and your lackluster team, access or proximity to the king and his entourage, from any and all official or unofficial movements, in or out of this principality.” The knight stared him down. Nor’s eyes filled with rage.

There was nothing Nor could do. In the hierarchy, the First Knight’s were at the top. Only a monarch could pull rank, unless it was a matter of security, which it was.

The First Knight’s Brigade was the personal protection force for the Royal Family. They were not military, however they had reasonable authority over the armed forces. They were not civilian law enforcement, yet they had powers of arrest. There was no external oversight for them to answer to, and corruption was unheard of. They held themselves to the highest standard.

Sir Bhren broke the silence and told the man to “stand down.” Nor turned and marched down the hall past his men and around the corner.

He stepped into the room and shut the door. “I wouldn’t want your job, my friend.” Tristian said with a smirk. It was not unknown of for the man to call him ‘friend’, but it was rare. Bhren smiled.

***

Moments later, Prince Daeren walked toward the conference room with a valise in his hand and found the sergeant at attention.

“Where is the lieutenant?” he asked.

Before he could reply, a gunshot exploded from inside the room where the king and his knight were. He looked at his regent in shock, heard three more rounds in rapid secession; then nothing.

The sergeant waved for his corporal to come and they both drew their weapons. Standing on either side of the door they listened. The senior guard opened the door and witnessed Tristian slumped over the table with a gaping wound to the back of his head. That was the last thing he saw.

Bhren shot the man as he tried to enter the room, the junior soldier pulled the sergeant’s body back and slammed the door.

“Armed response to blue conference room!” he shouted into his multicom. “Armed response to blue conference room! Man down! Man down!”

An alarm sounded and red lights rotated from the ceiling. The thunder of fast approaching footsteps echoed throughout the stone hallways. Lieutenant Nor was first on scene.

“What happened?” he asked short of breath.   

“We heard gunfire from in there.”  The hall began to fill with uniforms carrying a variety of weaponry, drawn at low-ready.   “The sergeant opened the door and was shot” he continued, looking down at his fallen comrade.

“Did you see anyone inside?” he asked.

“I saw King Tristian, face down on the table. I didn’t see anybody else.”

“He’s in there.” he said referring to Sir Bhren. “There’s no where to go.”

The security team lined up into two flanks on either side of the wooden doors awaiting orders for entry.

“Your excellency, you will need to move to a safe place while we conduct this.” Nor said to the regent. Daeren acquiesced and returned to his office.

“Men,” the lieutenant said in a low voice. “We have a barricaded subject. Keep that in mind when we enter, he is armed and very dangerous. He is lethal even without weapons.”

The team readied themselves to kill the aggressor.

Two soldiers on either side grabbed onto the door handles. The supervising soldier nodded and they were opened, each flank had a different angle of view into the room; the first men in the lines scanned the room, their firearms and line-of-sight moved as one.

The first man on the left gave hand signals, and his crew entered the room as one. The second group followed. Half a minute later, the leader came out of the room and addressed the lieutenant.   

“The king is dead” he said bluntly. “There’s a hole in the wall behind him. Look’s like someone kicked their way through.”

“Thank you, sergeant.” he said sullenly.   

“As soon as we can make the opening bigger, we’ll send men to track him.” he added.

“Good work, thank you” the said. His anger brewed.

“Are you all right, L.T.?” the sergeant asked.

“I have to go tell a man his brother is dead.” Nor turned and disappeared.

2

Standing alone on the balcony outside the queen’s chambers, Kegan faced east as he anticipated dawn. His shift ended with the sunrise and his queen would soon wake. The end of the dark night gave him peace, and he could rest.

He stood two meters from the parapet so he would not be seen from the square five stories down. He did this out of habit, for when the queen made her appearances from here, he did not want to be viewed by the crowd below. It was bad press if the First Knight’s were constantly in sight.

It was a brisk morning, the weather forecasters said autumn would be early this year, and apparently they were right. Kegan exhaled, his breath barely visible in the dim light. Rain was on the way.

He looked over the city. The palace where he stood was on top of a small hill, and in back of that was Her Majesty’s Royal Botanical Garden. Behind that was a national preserve that extended several kilometers among the foothills to the base of Mount Prennen. The preserve was established after it was discovered developers had planned to build dozens of dwellings higher in the hills than the royal residence. The queen mother took severe exception to this, citing “the safety of the Royal Family could be in jeopardy from rouge elements entrenched in a position of tactical advantage up there.” Also, and more important to her, she did not want anyone looking down on her.

Kegan’s blue-grey eyes scanned the city spread before him. Katania was a rich country by comparison; a helium three economy had been a boon for the last thirty years. Mining outposts on Cag: the fourth planet, and the moons around the gas giant, Edom, could not have been colonized without the element.

Helium 3 was exploited from the atmosphere of Edom, and used in fusion reactors, which powered a large part of Aedan’s population, as well as most of the transport ships that traveled to and from the colonies.

He adored his adopted land. Clean, friendly and safe. All countries and cities had their issues, but Katania was the safest nation on Aedan. And Providence was known as “the safest city in Katania”. Kegan was proud of where he lived; the best residence, in the best municipality, in the best kingdom.

The high, thick clouds began to take on color as the sun came closer to the horizon. Burnt red and orange breathed life into the once cold grey pillows. He could now see the bay and sailboats along with immense yachts in the harbor.

He looked at his chronometer then looked back at the queen’s chamber. He felt a small sadness flutter over him, and then guilt. 

Katania had a unique and progressive government; most countries on Aedan were straightforward democracies with a few remaining monarchies here and there. The country was governed by an elected prime minister who could make policy and law regarding domestic issues, but was limited on international and interplanetary policies. The queen had a farther-reaching hand when it came to these political climates. In the colonies and principalities she was known as, The Empress.   

When the off-world territories were founded, the reigning king thought it best to let them govern themselves to a large degree. He said it would “keep the revolutions to a minimum” and in Katania this worked. Other countries had difficulty holding on to their properties.

National tragedies were rare, thankfully; the last one Kegan Finn could think of was the murder of Tristian, five years ago. This also reminded him of the loss of his good friend and mentor, Sir Bhren.   

Prince Daeren promised an investigation to uncover this mystery, but the evidence was inconclusive. He felt that the prince wanted to blame his friend and colleague for his brother’s death, however, this was not stated in the official report. As it was, an ‘unknown assassin’ was charged with regicide, and this did not sit well with the queen, or the First Knights.

In the weeks and months after the king’s murder, Daeren became very close with Collette. They bonded over their similarities; they both lost a spouse to unnatural causes, they were born into royal families, and they were the leaders of their respective governments. These things were unique to them.

Another bonding experience they shared was the birth of Collette’s daughter, Vera. She found out she was pregnant four days after the death of her husband, and Daeren seemed to find a niche in comforting her during this period.

They were married one year after she became a widow, in a grand and celebrated wedding. Kegan remembered that day; a security nightmare.   

He gave one last look at the approaching day.

“Rain” he said, and reentered the palace. His relief would be there in ten minutes.