Knights End

by Brad Clark

  A spear was thrust at him, but he dodged away. Then a sword strike hit him across the right arm, cutting deep into his armor and his skin underneath. The spear was thrust at him again, and he blocked it, but the tip still clipped his armored thigh. The blow didn’t cut him, but it did cause him to stumble and nearly lose his balance. He was tired, beat up, and wounded. If he lasted another minute, he would have been surprised.

  A sword caught him on the side. Again, his armor kept the blade of the sword from cutting into him, but the force of the blow took his breath away, and in his already dazed state, he stumbled to one knee. He turned towards an enemy soldier who was standing over him, sword ready to strike down in a killing blow. Desperately, Marik put up his sword, but he knew it would be too late to stop the blow. Then, the man suddenly froze, his sword hanging in the air, poised over him. The tip of a wide-bladed sword appeared from the center of his chest. The man dropped to his knees and then fell forward, landing right in front of Marik. Standing behind him was a Taran Centurion in dirty, bloody clothes. Then the enemy soldier next to him lost his head. Two warriors, each wielding two swords cut down every enemy around him easier than he had killed goblins. The enemy soldiers had been so intent on killing the Knights, they had not seen these three warriors come up from behind.

  The Taran Centurion stepped forward and held out a hand. It was covered in a bloody bandage. Marik gripped it, and despite the grimace of the Centurion’s face, he pulled Marik to his feet.

  Still grasping his hand, Marik took a step towards him and said, “Thanks.”

  He released the Centurion’s grip and looked around. The area around them had been cleared. Not only were there the two warriors slicing the enemy soldiers to bits, but large fur-clad hairy men were beating the remaining soldiers with large clubs and rusty swords. He spotted his sword a few feet away. It had been pushed into the mud by the fur-clad men as they swept through the enemy soldiers. He pulled it free and wiped its blade across the back of a dead soldier. Exhaustion overwhelmed him, and he dropped back to a knee and lowered his head.

  A moment later, his helmet was taken off, and he looked up into the dark, small eyes of a woman too beautiful to be a warrior. Blood covered her face, and he wondered for a moment if it were hers. Her mouth moved, but he did not hear what she said. He could not believe that he was still alive and wondered for a moment if he was dreaming. More fur-clad warriors streamed by, screaming loudly, letting their berserker rage fuel them.

  “Can you stand on your own?” she asked again.

  This time, he heard her and nodded his head. He looked her over carefully. She was dressed in a light, loose tunic and leather trousers, similar to what a man might wear. Her hair was tied back behind her head in a single braided ponytail. Her eyes were as cold as steel and showed no emotion.

  The Taran Centurion and the other dual sword-wielding warrior stood at her side.

  “Where did you come?” Marik asked.

  “From the west, in Taran. The big Dragon came to us through the ring of fire. We followed her back through. You are hurt. Can you still fight?

  “I am still standing,” Marik replied confidently. His body ached all over as the rush of battle swept away the adrenaline that was energizing him. He tried to lift his left arm, but a shooting pain rocketed up from the tips of his fingers to his shoulder. With his right hand, he gripped his sword tighter, and it took all his focused effort to keep his sword from slipping out of his grasp.

  “I can still fight,” Marik added. He looked closer and his saviors and said, “You don’t look Taran. He doesn’t either. But he does.”

  “I am Princess Nikki of the Hurai. This is Kile. We are Sak’Hurai. This is General Aeneas of the Taran Empire.”

  “Nikki? Hurai?” Marik repeated wearily. “I have heard that name before. Conner is Hurai.”

  “You know Conner?”

  Nikki’s eyes went wide with recognition, and she nodded her head. “Yes! He is a good friend.”

  “Nikki! Yes, of course. You are the one that helped him retrieve the Spear of Salvation.”

  “Yes, and now we are here to help him fight this enemy.”

  “Just in time.”

  She looked around her. There were many dead enemy soldiers, but there were also many dead Karmon Knights. “Just in time for some, too late for many.”

  Then she looked past Marik to the walls that surrounded the castle. They had taken massive damage and were still being bombarded by catapults hidden in the trees at the top of the valley. Most of the rocks that were being thrown exploded in midair, but some made their way to the wall, or over the wall. Another army was marching from another forest on the other side of the valley, heading directly for the castle.

  The two dragons appeared from high in the sky and flew over the marching army, sending their fire through their ranks, killing hundreds in only seconds. Many of the soldiers scattered, but not to run away, only to avoid the deadly flames. Scores of arrows were launched high into the air from the top of the walls and descended with deadly accuracy into the marching soldiers, but they were undeterred. The forest continued to expunge ranks upon ranks of soldiers, marching with deliberate efficiency towards the castle.

  “This battle is far from over,” she said. “The Bargoroth have turned the tide of this side of the battlefield, but there is still a large army to fight.”

  Marik looked over his shoulder at the barbarian army that was now chasing the enemy soldiers back into the mountains. His eyes caught the dead laying on the ground. Many of them were enemy soldiers, but many were also Karmon Knights. There were few moans from the dying, but none of his Knights were moving. They had all fought to the end. His heart broke at seeing the devastation of his dead brothers.

  “I hope there are more Karmon Knights behind those walls?” Nikki asked, watching Marik solemnly take in the sight of his fallen comrades.

  “No,” he replied soberly. He turned his back to the dead and looked firmly into Nikki’s eyes. “There are no more Knights, but there are still many more that can fight. We also have Hargon.”

  “What’s a Hargon?”

  Marik did his best to allow a smile on his dirty, bloody face. “Hargon is a who. He has saved us before. He’ll need to save us again.”

  “One man can save us?” Nikki asked.

  “He is a powerful man,” Marik replied.

  “I hope so.”

  “We are alone with the dead and dying,” Kile said anxiously, looking around to see if any stray enemy soldiers were wandering around, looking to continue the fight. “We need to get to the safety of the castle.”

  Aeneas walked up to Marik and asked, “Can you make it?”

  Marik looked Aeneas over and almost laughed. “You look worse off than me. Can you make it yourself?”

  Aeneas laughed.

  Marik took a tentative step, and his wounded leg held up. “Let’s move. The Karmons that are gathering behind the wall will need our help.”

  Marik took two steps and his leg buckled, but he caught himself before he fell onto the mud. Aeneas quickly stepped over and put Marik’s arm around his shoulder to help keep as much weight off his leg as he could.

  “You’re limping, too,” Marik observed.

  Aeneas shook his head. “Not at all.”

  With Aeneas’s support, Marik was able to move forward at a slow jog.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Hargon focused all his energy to keep the ring of fire open. Unlike fireball spells, which were extremely easy to cast, the spell to keep the ring open needed his continual and sharp focus. In his right hand, he squeezed the red gem that Hallendrielle had formed from the Dragon’s Egg. It burned hot, but not enough to burn his skin. He rejoiced in the pain he felt, using the agony to fuel his concentration on the spell. He ignored everything around him. All sounds and smells were pushed away. His eyes centered on the ring of fire that burned in the middle of the field, just north of the valley that the castle overlooked.

 
Then he felt something odd. It was like a steady breeze that suddenly stopped, and he could now hear the buzzing of bugs and the chirping of birds all around him. Within a single heartbeat, all the external noise became sensory overload. It all pressed in on him and threatened to overwhelm him and bring him to his knees. He had felt this same feeling before when he had first become emperor. All sorts of political factions had pulled him in every direction, and he had come within hours of having his reign overthrown by the powerful Taran senate. He did the same thing now that he had done then. He focused on one thing. It didn’t need to be the loudest or quietist. It just needed to be the one thing. Pushing aside all other sights and sounds, he focused solely on a single bird that sat deep within the needles of an evergreen tree. It had just flown from the south part of the continent, as it did every year, and it had come across a chaos that it did not comprehend. It only knew that all the noise around it were threatening its life. He did not think about how he managed to sense only the one bird, and it was over a mile away, but he focused on it anyway. Hargon reached out to it, touching it with his mind, comforting it, letting it know that he was there to protect it, and everything else in this world.

  Then he took one step back and sensed the spring scent of evergreens. One thing at a time. That was how he took control of his empire, and how he would control the Ark of Life. One easily became two. Two easily became three. In what seemed hours to him, but was only another handful of heartbeats, he no longer felt overwhelmed. The Ark of Life was pure power. It was a power that could consume him if he let it. He did not let it. Slowly, one step at a time, he controlled it as he had once controlled the immense power of the Taran Empire. Those around him saw him smile, as he knew he could control it. There was nothing in this world, or outside of it, that could stop him.

  He drew his focus closer to those around him. He felt each tendril that linked someone to the Web of Magic. He traced those vines back to their source and was able to identify each Elf that was connected to the Web of Magic. Glaerion had once mentioned that he could sense when magic was being used, but he could never know exactly who or where. As magic was being used, the links swelled, and he could sense who it was that was casting magic, and he could also know where they were. The power of the Ark of Life was indeed far greater than anyone could imagine.

  Quickly, he scanned through all the tendrils that he could until he found one that was different than the others. It was like an instrument playing out of tune. He knew it was there, but it took great focus to find it. When he did find it, the dark power was obvious and overwhelming. He knew it was the Deceiver, and he could feel pure evil emanate from it in waves. Even feeling it from afar he could feel it trying to corrupt him, trying to convince him that its dark power was good. It reached out to him, singing a song of enticement. That power could be ten-fold from what he had now. Not only would he be able to easily conquer the enemy in front of him, but he would also be able to conquer the world. The Taran Empire would be just a village compared to what he could rule.

  Then it was gone. The thread snapped, sending a mental shock back to him that caused him to physically take a step back. For a moment, he felt the loss of what could have been, but then as the shadow of the darkness disappeared, he realized the danger and evil of what it would have been. He knew now how easily his brother had been corrupted by that power. Tarcious had a wicked heart to begin with, which would have made it easy for the Deceiver to trap him into his game. Hargon knew he was no saint, but he never felt that he was a bad person. He now realized that he was corruptible and susceptible to evil influence. It made him mad at himself, and to question all that he had ever done. Everything that he had done in his life had been for himself, to gain power. Unlike his brother, he tried to do it the right way, but like his brother, he had done it by stepping on others underneath him. He had tried to rule his Empire justly and wisely, and maybe he had done it, but he really had only done it in a way that gave himself more power.

  Tears came to his eyes as he realized his failure. Despite all his power, all his prestige, he had been a failure because he had lived only for himself and never for anyone else. The tears were not of sadness, but of anger. The Deceiver was dead, but he felt like he had lost the war. His heart sank with his own failure. He squeezed the red gem tightly with anger, its sharp facets cutting painfully into his palm. The baby Dragon Melissa had given its life so that he could have this gem and the power that came with it. He knew that he could never allow himself to make that sacrifice, and that made him even angrier. The world was much bigger than he was, and if they were going to come out of this war and rebuild it, those with the power had to be willing to sacrifice everything.

  His focused waned, but he was still able to keep the large ring of fire open. Blinking through his tears of anger and frustration, he could see the enemy still marching towards them. The fur-clad barbarians were still rushing through, racing to engage the enemy that was coming from the north. They were joining the fight and willing to sacrifice their lives without even knowing what they were fighting for. He turned towards the enemy soldiers that were marching out of the forest. Soon enough, they would need to be engaged, and although there were Elven and Hurai warriors, the majority of their remaining army were men and boys who had everything to lose. They were not soldiers. They were regular people who had lived good lives and had lost all they knew except their lives, and now they were willing to give up that.

  It was time to do what he was meant to do. The Dragon’s Egg had given him the power he needed, and he was going to use it all to destroy everything that was left of the Deceiver. Even though it had been the plan all along, he had only accepted his role so that he could be the savior, the hero who would rise up afterward to rule them. What needed to be done needed to be done without reservation, without condition, and without recognition. It needed to be done because it was the right thing to do.

  He looked back at the ring of fire, and the last of the Bargoroth ran through. He stopped the spell, and the ring quickly collapsed upon itself until it was a large ball of spinning blue and white light. A moment later, it disappeared, and he could see the mountains in the background again.

  The red gem blazed brightly in his hand, but he didn’t feel any pain. He took in a deep breath and into his mind came a spell that was similar to what he had used to kill the goblins, but much more powerful. With a wave of his right hand, he cast it up into the air, immediately knocking all the catapult-launched rocks into oblivion. Then he turned his attention to the army that was still marching towards them, but hesitated, as the power that he once felt was suddenly diminished. He tried to squeeze the gem harder, to pull more energy out of it, but it was losing its power. Opening the ring of fire to a field hundreds of miles away had taken so much out of the red gem that it would not last much longer. He could still cast one last army-killing spell before the power of the red gem was fully gone.

  “Hargon!”

  At first, he ignored the shouting of his name, as he needed to concentrate on his spell, but when it happened a second time, he angrily turned away from the death and destruction that he was about to unleash. Standing in front of him was one of the Deceiver’s creatures. It stood almost as tall as he was with gray, hairless skin. It had large, black eyes, and a mouth full of sharp teeth. He could not believe that one of the Deceiver’s creatures would dare confront him. Didn’t they know how powerful he was? He lifted his hands to crush the life out of the creature when it shouted his name again.

  How did it know his name?

  His hesitation allowed his mind to refocus, and then he saw that across both arms, the creature was carrying a woman that had long, flowing blonde hair. For another heartbeat he looked at the woman, trying to figure out why she looked so familiar.

  “Hargon!” it shouted a fourth time.

  Hargon blinked, and then realization hit. “Marila?” he asked.

  Marila took another step forward, and then he could see that tears were streaming o
ut of her large eyes. For a moment, it made her seem Human.

  “Help her!” She lifted Elissa up as if she were presenting her to Hargon.

  “Elissa?” Hargon asked. He glanced back at the army that was marching towards him. Soon, they would be close to the wall. More rocks were being launched from the catapults. If he didn’t start attacking them soon, the inexperienced Karmon army would be forced to engage them.

  “Yes! Help her. She is hurt badly. She might be dead.”

  “Dead?” Hargon repeated, trying to understand what Marila was asking of him. A fogginess surrounded him, and he couldn’t think straight. His head was pounding with indecision. He turned his body to look at the Deceiver’s army, and then back at Marila and Elissa.

  The sight of the Karmon queen brought him back in time many, many years when Tarcious had purposely killed a small animal just so that he could heal it. He had been young but couldn’t remember exactly how old. Maybe it was eight or nine. It was a long, long time ago, and not only in years. His brother, who he had once loved, had squeezed the life out of a small rabbit and set it at his feet. It was the first time he had realized there was evil in the world. He had resisted at first, but the sorrow he felt for the dead rabbit finally convinced him to try.

  “You can heal, right?”

  The voice was his brother’s, even though it came from Marila. He knew he could, but he was afraid. He had always been afraid. Of his brother. Of his power. Of failing.

  “You have to hurry! Before it’s too late!”

  He never understood how he could bring dead things back to life. If they were dead, how could they then become alive? Eventually, he figured out that if they were too far gone, then he could indeed no longer heal them. Plants could be revived after being dead a long time, but Humans and animals could only be revived within an hour or so from their death. He also couldn’t heal catastrophic wounds. If she had her head chopped off, there would be nothing that he could have done. Her wound was in her chest, and his power could heal that. As long as he had the strength, he could save her, but he knew his power was quickly waning.