Five years ago...

The royal capital was a city on the brink of chaos... again. As usual, it was the fault of the conservative faction.

A member of the conservative faction had made a public statement in an open forum that had not set well with the commonfolk who occupied the city, regarding their opinion on reinstating the practice of droit du seigneur, or prima nocta, as a means of putting the common folk in their place. Simply put, the right for a noble lord to take the virginity of any female subject they pleased. This was a custom that had not been enacted in centuries, something that had been practiced by warlords of the age of barbarism, not any modern civilized society. Predictably, a noble stating outright in a public setting that the aristocracy should have the right to, fancy language and verbiage set aside, outright rape any common woman they pleased naturally had violent repercussions.

In all fairness, this noble was a baron, barely a member of the peerage at all, and was not so much a member of the conservative faction as he was a member of the radical conservative faction. The other less extreme conservatives in attendance had been quick to denounce the man for such a statement, but the speaker's fellows within the fringe proved to be far louder despite being much fewer in number.

Before the open forum had concluded, a mob had formed outside, and when the baron in question had tried to flee via carriage, he trampled a dozen commoners before his transport had toppled, then was extracted from the vehicle and lynched right there in the streets. Several other nobles who were known conservatives were also assaulted, but the city guard, reinforced by members of the king's royal guard, cam and broke up the mob before further harm was done to noble or commoner alike.

The king had denounced the now-departed baron's statements, as well as the near-riot and lynching that had occurred, and then put a temporary curfew in place as well as tripled guard patrols across the city to restore order. As a further precaution, he had each patrol reinforced with a belted knight of the realm fully armed and armored, all to show that the king would brook no further disruption to the public order. Thankfully, matters did not escalate further through the city, and order began to be restored...

Until guard patrols in the slums began getting attacked. Patrols came back with stories of being blocked by a large number of common children, led by a mysterious figure that they only called 'King'. This individual openly challenged the knight escorting the guard patrol to an honorable duel, something that a knight could not decline without losing face. Ten times, the 'King' challenged a veteran knight of the realm, and ten times, this unknown warrior defeated their opponent, then claimed the knight's sword as their prize. While none of the knights were killed, each was injured badly enough to force the guard patrol to swiftly retreat with a message from the 'King': Knights are no longer welcome in the slums.

The guards had not tried to press forward to attack, as the 'King' was surrounded by children, and trampling over them to try and reach this individual would not have been a good idea even in less perilous times.

No one could give a good description of the warrior, barring that they had a hideous scar across their face and that he was armed with a quarterstaff. Of his prowess in battle, he was known to be as cunning as a fox, as swift as a hawk, as courageous as a lion, and as strong as an ogre. Upon his victory, the ones escorting this champion hailed him as king.

In a mere three days, ten knights had been laid low, with no one even being able to land a hit upon this fearsome foe.

This could not continue. A noble challenging the authority of the king was bad enough, but a commoner was far worse. It would be bad enough in any city, but having this happen in the capital itself was far more damaging to the king's reputation. If the king could not keep order in the capital, where his power was supposed to be greatest, how could he be expected to keep order in an entire nation? Something had to be done, and quickly, before people in the nobility or commonfolk started getting ideas.

That was why Sir Horatio de Ivenmar was riding into the slums on horseback, unarmored but with a sword at his side. He had declined an honor guard or a guard patrol, instead opting to go alone. A risky venture, but he felt it would be more likely he'd succeed if he didn't have soldiers backing him. After all, the last ten knights had ridden in with more than thirty armed guards at their backs, yet that had not dissuaded the 'King' and his gang. A more subtle approach was needed.

He was riding in not to fight, but to request an audience with this mysterious champion to gain his measure and determine how best to resolve the issue peacefully. After all, defeating this warrior would more likely make him a martyr, starting a movement to overthrow the monarchy. If he could be made to see reason, however, this figure might help to cement the king's authority over the city without further issue, bringing the current crisis to an end.

As the royal fool rode through the slums, he noted that it looked far better than it had in his youth decades earlier. The guard once only came through here with no less than a company, and only when fully armed and armored. Murder was once as common here as arson and robbery, with violence in the streets during broad daylight being the rule and not the exception. While poverty was still clear here, it was cleaner, more orderly, and the people here looked better fed and healthier than during the knight's childhood. It had a long way to go but had certainly come quite far from what it had once been.

As he rode on, he noted a child standing by the side of the road, a red stripe painted diagonally across their dirty face. Despite having the title of the royal fool, Horatio de Ivenmar was not an idiot. He slowly and calmly rode over to the youth, and said, politely, "I was hoping to find the one they call 'King'. Might I ask where I can find him?"

The child looked the knight over for a moment, taking in the knight's fine clothing, then gave a grin that showed several missing teeth. They pointed a finger further up the street and said, "Keep riding that way until you come to the fountain square. He'll find you. Whether you'll want him to or not, well..."

The knight nodded, then reached into the pouch at his belt and withdrew five copper coins. He held them up and said, "If you'll be willing to go to him and let him know I'm coming to talk, not to fight, they're yours."

The child nodded and accepted the coins, then dashed further up the street. The knight rode after at a slower pace.

The "fountain square" was impressively large, sufficient in size to rival that of the city's market square. Not surprisingly, the square itself was empty, barring dozens of children, all of them with a red stripe across their face, all of them blocking the path between the knight and the fountain proper. They were all armed with knives, cleavers, and other simple weapons. The crowd did not move, but one child did come forward, extending their hand towards the reins of his horse. The message here was clear: Advance on your own two feet, or not at all. Dismounting, the knight calmly walked forward, the crowd parting as he went. After a tense minute or two, he finally reached the fountain, where he caught his first glimpse of the 'King'.

He was a lad of perhaps ten years old, the rags that made up his clothing a bit cleaner and a bit less threadbare than that of his followers, an ironwood quarterstaff clasped in one hand as he used the other to dip water from the fountain with a clay mug. The scar, years old, that stretched across his face was everything that had been described, and more. The wound had clearly festered for some time before a healer had gotten to it, and no magic had been used to mend it.

The knight was shocked to realize he recognized the type of injury that might cause that kind of scar, having delivered wounds like that himself a time or two in combat. That scar had come from the combat riding spurs of a knight, spurs meant to serve as both a means of controlling a horse and as a weapon if someone came too close and tried to pull a rider from their mount. A knight had kicked this boy across the face while wearing spurs and had left him to bleed and die in the aftermath.

So, a personal grudge against all knights, or perhaps just one, in particular, was the reason for this entire mess.

Taking a sip of water from the mug, the youth asked, "So, what brings ya to the slums?"

Straightening himself up, the royal fool stated, "I am Sir Ivenmar, and I have come on behalf of the king. Someone, I believe it to be you, has been attacking the knights that were escorting guard patrols here in the slums, and taking their swords. I have been asked by the king himself to retrieve the swords if at all possible and put an end to the attacks so that the king's peace can be restored. I had hoped we might resolve this issue without further violence, so let me put it plainly: What do we need to do so you will return what you've taken, and stop causing problems?"

The lad looked at the king's fool for a time, then placed his mug down and ran his free hand over the scar on his face, seeming to be surprised about something. After a few minutes, he came to a decision. He stated, "Ye seem a decent sort, so I think we can talk this out. The swords are of no worth to me asides from trophies, so I'm willing to ransom them off. What is the king willing to offer for their return?"

Ransom was not an unreasonable request, all things considered. This youngster had fought the knights in a fair duel, then took their swords as lawful plunder. As such, demanding recompense for their return was technically a legal right, and something that both the king and his royal fool had discussed at length before Ivenmar had ridden out to this meeting.

Sir Ivenmar replied, "The standard ransom for a knight is twenty gold coins. However, since you hold only their blades, the king has decided that five gold coins per sword would be an appropriate ransom for their return, so long as you promise that you and your... associates will no longer trouble the guard or any knights who must pass through the slums while on their rounds."

The lad ran his hand along his scar a second time, seeming surprised by something, then took some time to ponder what he'd just heard. After a bit, he admitted, "That's a fair price, at least in terms of gilt. However, there's something else I want, something far more valuable to me than any amount of coin. Ya give me that, and the ransom yer promising, we have a deal."

The royal fool hazarded a guess, and asked, "You're wanting a shot at the knight who gave you that scar?"

The 'King' looked stunned for a moment, then burst out laughing. After a moment, he regained his composure, and admitted, "Sharp man. Aye, that is it exactly."

More seriously, he stated, "When I was but five, maybe six, I saw a knight riding down the street on his way to a tourney, back when I lived in a cleaner part of town. Like any young fool of a lad, I had dreams of being a knight. So, I walked up to him and asked him to make me his squire. He could have refused. He could have ignored me. Either one would have hurt, but what he did was far worse: He kicked me hard across the face and rode off, leaving me bleeding on the side of the street without a backward glance."

He nodded at the disgusted look on the knight's face, and continued the tale, "I nearly died, and it beggared me ma and pa to heal what was done to me. They passed during the winter that followed, leaving just me on my own. I'd hoped making a big enough ruckus here would make the bastard show so I could settle things, but there's been no sign of the godless bastard yet. Ya give me a chance to repay the knight for what he did ta me and mine. That, and the gilt yer offering, that's my price for restoring the king's peace."

Sir Ivenmar nodded, stating, "A knight willing to do such a deed is not worthy of the title. If that is what you require, I'd be glad to arrange it. Do you have the knight's name, or at least his heraldry, so I might know him?"

For a third time, the lad felt at his scar. The knight honestly wondered if the lad thought it had some kind of power to sense lies or some other mystical quality. While others might have discounted such a thought as mere superstition, Sir Ivenmar had seen enough of the world to know that such things were possible, if rare and at times unreliable. The knight preferred using magic charms for such things to detect the presence of lies, magic, or evil and kept them close at all times, even now.

After a moment, the lad nodded and said, "I know not the name, but I'll never forget his banner. It was black bird over a golden moon, on a field of red,"

"Damnation," the king's fool cursed aloud, then admitted, "Aye, I know of him. He-"

The lad suddenly held up a hand, then stood up, quarterstaff clutched firmly in hand as he said, "I fear we have company. This will take just a moment."

Just then, a dozen armed, angry men burst into the square. They had the filthy appearance, rusted, poorly fitting armor, and ill-kept weapons that marked them as a gang of desperados, little more than bandits and criminals. It seemed a band of thugs had decided to take the opportunity to make a name for themselves by deposing the 'king'.

The biggest of the lot, brandishing a heavy ax, began to proclaim, "Ya shits, there's only room for one king in..."

That was as far as he got before the lad dropkicked him in the face, reducing the leader's countenance to a bloody pulp with a sickening crunch before the youngster sprung off of his opponent's falling body and twisted in the air to somehow land on his feet in a seemingly impossible display of gymnastics. The action left the knight flabbergasted: He'd not seen the lad move. Simply one moment, he was standing there, then a blur, and the next second he'd propelled himself across the square and planted both feet into the man's face with enough force to have no doubt killed him in a single blow.

A small charm, hidden under the knight's clothing, began vibrating, announcing the presence of magic. Whatever the lad was doing, and however it was done, magic was involved, albeit a type the knight had never before encountered in his life.

The lad wasted no time in attacking the other desperados, his quarterstaff striking out in a blur of movement, striking the bandits viciously and without mercy, breaking arms and legs without hesitation when not crushing armored torsos or cracking skills. Within less than a minute, the lad had reduced a dozen grown armed and armored men into a pile of pitiably moaning cripples.

Those few still alive would likely never walk under their own power again without potent healing that was unlikely to ever happen. More than one would likely never hold anything in their hands again or chew solid food. It was a terrifyingly impressive display of violence for one so young.

His back to the crowd of children who made up his gang, the lad held a single hand to the sky, his index and middle fingers pointing upwards to the heavens. At the sight, his subordinates began to chant 'King', over and over again. And damned if Sir Ivenmar didn't feel a near-overpowering urge to echo it.

This was why he was called the king of the slums. Not because of wealth, noble birth, or influence, but the sheer overwhelming strength he possessed. Centuries ago in the age of barbarism, he'd likely have become a warlord, carving out a kingdom with his own two hands. Even in this modern age, such an outcome might not be completely impossible with the strength he just demonstrated, along with the charisma he'd used in gathering such a following.

A young lad like this could grow up to be a terror... or possibly an asset to the kingdom if handled properly.

Finally, the lad lowered his hand and the chanting stopped. He then turned around and walked back towards the fountain as his underlings approached the fallen desperados, looting the fallen for anything of value or applying a sharp edge to end the suffering of any who were still breathing. After everything of value was removed, the remains were dragged off. In a better part of town, the knight would have protested, but even now, the slums were a world all their own, and those who dwelt there took care of their own, one way or another.

"Now," the lad said, picking up his mug and gathering up some more water, "you said you knew the bastard what did this to me? Good. Tell me the name and where to find him."

Shaking his head sadly, the king's fool admitted, "The name is easy enough, but reaching him won't be so simple. The only knight who had that heraldry was the so-called 'Raven Knight', Sir Errendal. The black-hearted bastard took part in a coup attempted three years past. He fled when things fell apart for his side, cutting his way through several good men on the way out."

Sir Ivenmar scowled angrily, then admitted, "My eldest son among them. While Errendal is a wanted man, no one can say where he is just yet. So, I'm sorry to say that I can't give him to you, since the day he finally rears his head again, I plan to be the man to take it off his shoulders."

The lad looked the knight up and down, then nodded, stating, "Well, I'll not be the one to deny a father his revenge, and ye cannot give me what ye currently lack. I'll consider that off the table. If ye bring the gilt promised, I'll return the swords, and the king can have his peace. Bargain struck?"

"Bargain struck," Sir Ivenmar announced, then extended a hand which the lad took and shook without hesitation.

After a moment's consideration, the king's fool added, "You know, if you still have it in you to become a knight, I'm without a squire. I suspect that, with the martial prowess you've displayed, you'd go quite far."

The youth cracked a smile, then said, "I'd love to, but someone has to watch over these lads and lasses. Like me, they've got no family of their own, save each other. Without me, who will watch over them?"

Showing his signet ring, the knight answered, "I have a large estate that needs a great deal of upkeep, a lot of land with many a man and woman who'd no doubt be willing to take in a child or two, as well as a wife who loves children dearly. I think we can work something out."

The lad nodded, then said, "Deliver the gilt here tomorrow yerself, in person, and we'll discuss it." He paused, then admitted, "Ah, I've forgotten me manners. I never introduced myself proper. The name is Bertrand."