Roz King’s Brethren of the Sword: The Maiden Quest is a legendary thrill ride—brimming with vivid battles, sharp twists, and cliffhangers that land like the clang of steel. Leon DeGodfrey, the most daring of three exiled brothers, sets out to find and protect the chosen one—a maiden whose innocence may be the key to lifting a dark curse—while his brothers must rally an army and reclaim their shattered homeland.
What sets this tale apart is King’s cinematic, fast-paced style: the battles are intense, the camaraderie is real, and the banter hits just when the tension peaks. Scenes unfold like a film with a cast of richly drawn characters you’ll wish were on your side. It’s a story driven by honor, loyalty, and the kind of heroism that makes you want to charge into battle.
After the final page, you won’t just remember the quest—you’ll be ready to rally your army, follow your destiny, and proudly join the Fold.
The tournament grounds trembled under the pounding of hooves. Knights charged forward, lances lowered, eyes blazing with raw determination.
Leon DeGodfrey—known as the White Knight—stood apart. His heavy, gleaming armor shone like a beacon under the relentless sun. Across from him, his opponent, the Blue Knight, sported a striking blue plume that cut through the field’s monotony.
Then the charge erupted.
Metal clashed. Sparks flew.
Leon’s lance shattered against the Blue Knight’s shoulder plate. The sound was explosive. The crowd roared its approval.
In a heartbeat, Leon’s squire was at his side, delivering a replacement lance with precise efficiency. Leon grasped it firmly beneath his arm, feeling its familiar heft. With a decisive click, he snapped his visor shut. He planted his feet in the stirrups, adjusted his grip, and centered himself for the next assault.
On the opposite side, the Blue Knight regrouped with practiced ease. He lowered his lance and shield. Each measured breath and soft clink of armor built the tension. For a moment, the two adversaries stood at opposite ends of the field like duelists locked in a silent contest of wills.
Their eyes met—no words exchanged, only mutual respect and unspoken rivalry. Then, as if cued by some silent signal, both knights tightened their grips. Their squires exchanged quick nods. The air was electric, heavy with anticipation.
They surged forward again. The Blue Knight’s lance slammed into Leon’s shield with a thunderous impact, jarring him to his core. Still, Leon stood resolute. With swift precision, his lance dipped under his opponent’s guard and grazed the Blue Knight’s leg—a move both risky and brilliant. The spectators erupted in a roar of approval.
In a synchronized dance of steel and muscle, both knights wheeled their horses. Leon’s steed charged with renewed vigor, powerful legs pounding the earth. The Blue Knight’s dark horse matched him stride for stride, rippling with raw power under its glossy coat.
Their lances met once more. This time, the Blue Knight aimed high. His lance struck Leon’s helmet with a crack that echoed ominously. The blow was brutal—Leon’s head snapped back—but he clung to consciousness, his grip on his lance unyielding.
At the end of the run, Leon slowed his horse to a cautious trot. His body screamed in protest. Leaning down, he murmured a quiet word of thanks to his loyal steed before readying himself for what could be the final encounter. The Blue Knight mirrored his composure, fully armed and undaunted.
With the tension so incandescent it was almost tangible, they charged once again.
Leon shut out the pain and focused on the rhythmic beat of his heart, the weight of the lance a steady reminder of his purpose. As the distance closed, he aligned his weapon with lethal precision. It struck true—piercing the Blue Knight’s chest with a force that sent him reeling. The impact drove Leon’s lance deeper as his opponent was thrown from his saddle with a heavy, metallic clang.
The applause was deafening. Leon emerged not just victorious, but transformed—a knight who had stared down death and prevailed. His squires rushed to retrieve his lance as he halted his horse. Removing his helmet, he revealed sweat-drenched hair and a face etched with the intensity of battle.
A tournament official approached with a ceremonial flourish, presenting Leon with a heavy purse filled with coins—a tangible token of valor and exceptional skill. Leon accepted it, feeling the reassuring weight in his hand.
Exchanging a respectful nod with his fallen opponent—who rose and bowed with dignified grace—Leon raised his fist high. The crowd erupted, chanting, “Leon! Leon!” Their voices carried the weight of not just a contest, but a testament to the enduring spirit of a true knight.
****
As the last echoes of applause for Leon's victory faded into the distance, the brothers, Leon and William DeGodfrey, moved away from the clamor of the jousting arena. The air around them grew fresher, imbued with the earthy scents of trodden grass and stirred soil, a sharp contrast to the dust and sweat of the tournament.
As they walked, the cacophony of the day's events softened; the rhythmic thudding of archers' targets and the metallic clashes from the melee fields became distant murmurs.
"Who’s next on the list?" Leon asked with a slight grin, his blue eyes scanning the bustling scene ahead. The thrill of the fight still lingered in his veins, giving him a vibrant, almost restless energy.
"It’s your misfit brother," William replied, his voice light yet tinged with amusement as he gave Leon a playful nudge. Despite his more measured demeanor, a spark of mischief flickered in his gaze.
Leon chuckled, "He’s your misfit brother too." His response came with a wry smile, reflecting the shared burden and affection of their brotherhood.
Together, they navigated the lively tournament grounds in search of their younger sibling, Balwin. Both tall and robust, with sun-kissed blonde hair and skin weathered from many battles, they moved with a syncopated grace that spoke of a lifetime of training and camaraderie. Their strides were swift and deliberate, cutting efficiently through the crowd without rushing, embodying the poise and purpose of seasoned knights.
As they passed by the eastern ring, their attention was momentarily captured by the mounted skill-at-arms contest in full swing. Knights on horseback charged across the field, their spears aimed with precision as they galloped full tilt. The clatter of hooves and the collective cheers of the onlookers lent a vibrant backdrop to their search.
Continuing their walk, Leon teased, "If you didn't coddle him so much, he might actually move up the ranks."
William laughed heartily, a sound that rumbled deep from his chest, as he playfully slapped Leon on the back. "A fine knight indeed, much like yourself," he retorted, his eyes following Leon’s to a group of ladies nearby. William noticed Leon stealing glances and couldn't resist a jibe, "Yet, not as skilled with the ladies as you might be, brother."
Caught off-guard, Leon quickly turned his head away, his cheeks flushing. He straightened up and cleared his throat with feigned indignation, "Not quite following you, William."
Their laughter still filled the air as they strode across the crowded grounds. Suddenly, a noticeably exasperated messenger, his feathered cap bobbing with each hurried step, threaded his way through the throng. The young man was panting from his efforts to keep up with the swiftly moving brothers and finally caught up to them, clutching a dispatch marked with the royal crest.
Leon raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with anticipation, "Looks like trouble catches up, brother."
Reaching them at last, the messenger gasped out, "DeGodfrey!" as he extended the message towards them.
William stepped forward, his expression turning solemn as he took the scroll. "At your service," he declared solemnly, meeting Leon’s gaze.
Together, their voices merged into a single, urgent question: "Where is Balwin?"
****
As Leon and William’s laughter mingled with the distant clamor of competition, they left the tournament grounds behind. Still in search of their brother, Balwin, they stepped into a new world—the marketplace. Here, the clash of armor and shouts of knights gave way to the vibrant hum of commerce.
The marketplace unfolded like a woven tapestry of life. Traders shouted over booming deals, craftsmen displayed intricate wares, and villagers bartered with animated gestures. Stalls overflowed with the season's harvest—piles of vivid fruits and vegetables whose rich aromas mingled with the smell of freshly baked bread and sizzling meats.
In the distance, the imposing stone walls of Palace DeFortius Crossing loomed, their long shadows hinting at tales of strategic importance and prosperity. The sun glinted off the battlements, adding a touch of grandeur to the scene.
Then, without warning, a crash shattered the rhythm of commerce. All eyes turned toward a nearby inn. From a second-story window, Balwin—the youngest of the DeGodfrey brothers—tumbled out comically. His arms flailed wildly as he plummeted into a hay-filled wagon parked conveniently below.
For a heartbeat, William and Leon stood transfixed before watching Balwin emerge from the hay, brushing off loose strands with a sheepish grin. Amid the rustle, he muttered anxiously, “My sword!” Almost as if in answer, a sword shot out of the window above, narrowly missing Balwin’s head before embedding itself with a metallic clang into the wagon’s wooden bed. Balwin grabbed the sword; his face lit up with relief and mischief as he shot a playful glance back toward the window.
Leon chuckled, shaking his head at his brother’s antics. “Ah, Balwin. Always finding new ways to stir up trouble.”
William nudged Balwin ahead, his voice filled with brotherly exasperation. “Indeed, before your latest escapade becomes the talk of the entire realm.”
Just then, an angry man leaned out of the window above, red-faced and shouting, hurling various objects in their direction. “I'll get you for this!” he bellowed.
Quick on their feet, the DeGodfrey brothers weaved through the chaotic marketplace, narrowly dodging the flurry of airborne objects. Their rapid retreat carried them deeper into the heart of the bazaar. Around them, the din of traders, the clinks of pottery, and the sizzling of food on open grills mingled into a vibrant cacophony.
Every step plunged them further into a vivid maze of stalls draped with colorful fabrics and glittering trinkets. The angry shouts faded, swallowed by the market’s ceaseless rhythm.
William pushed on Balwin's back, “We must get to the queen. She awaits us.”