Oliver looked away for a moment in thought before looking at Dech and nodding. “I suppose he does at that.”
“Such is the way of life,” Arundel said. “We do not often get to choose where we end up. Let the priests and philosophers search for meaning in it all. We have invaders, traitors, and Underealm monsters to worry about.”
“That we do,” King Harold said as the door opened. Dispensing with the usual deference paid toward him with a wave of his hand, the monarch crossed the room and leaned against a table near Gilbert Arundel.
“You bring news from the mage council?” Harold asked.
“We do, Sire,” Dech replied.
“Before we discuss Mirkness, I seek your opinion on something else.”
“Of course, Sire.”
“Every report from our scouting efforts says the force we take to the field outnumbers Malig’s by a fair margin. Knowing the area where we will fight, I favor doing so at night. The darkness will conceal our numbers and with the moonlight available and mages bringing forth wisps to illuminate the field, we will be able to see once battle does commence. Most concur with me, though Gilbert here does not,” he said with a gesture at Lord Arundel. “What say you?”
“The numbers on the eve of battle may be very different than they are now, Sire. I agree that the darkness will hide your numbers advantage should you have such, but so would the terrain if the forces were placed wisely. Formations are difficult enough to keep intact under the best of conditions. Night maneuvers will become chaotic in little time.”
“You have a better tactic?” Oliver said.
“No, Sir Oliver. I expressed my opinion as asked by Our Majesty.”
“You make a sound argument, Sir Dech,” Harold said. “Much the same as Arundel’s. Still, I believe Malig will be taken by surprise should we attack at night. Given time to drill such maneuvers prior to battle, that gives us an advantage. Malig does not expect boldness from his younger half-brother. I’d sooner surprise him than be predictable. Now, let us speak about your mission. You seek to eliminate Mirkness?”
“We do.”
“How long will it take to reach the Castle of the Dark Forest?”
“Ideally, three days. Given the terrain, dense forest, and presence of mercenaries, four or five is a more realistic estimate.”
“You have three. Three nights from now, we join Malig in battle if he cooperates.”
Dech nodded. “We’ll find a way to be in position to engage at that time,” he said having no plan to accomplish this task.
“Splendid. I do not relish Olk Mirkness providing aid to Malig, be they mercenary or worse. Now, what has the mage council determined? Is derkunblod the cause of this Cataclysm we face?”
“Derkunblod is not the initiator, King Harold,” Granum said before Dech could speak. “It is simply Olk’s form of magic now. Mirkness is, however, the agent Laerdavile requires to open rifts into the Mortal Plane.”
“You are sure of this?”
“Sure? No, King Harold. I am confident enough that I intend to travel into Nevar to see and aid in bringing Mirkness down.”
Harold looked to the warder. “Is this man on my mage council? I do not recall him.”
“He is not, Sire. This is Adelbert Granum, an old colleague and friend of Andre Fillister and like his friend, a man of many talents. He has been aiding the council for some time.”
Harold raised his brows and nodded at Granum. “Good for you.”
Looking back to Dech, he continued. “And you? All of the murders and libraries burned over dark and blood magic have no connection to the Cataclysm?”
“I am inclined to agree with Granum, Sire. Mirkness is opening rifts from the Castle of the Dark Forest. That seems to be the sole purpose of the work party sent there by Sinfor, to provide a place to do this. I also do not think it mere coincidence that knowledge of derkunblod is being suppressed at this time, though why it is so remains elusive. There must be a separate reason. Maybe we find this reason in Nevar.”
Harold looked away in thought for several seconds. “If Olk Mirkness remains at this castle, will stopping him end the Cataclysm?”
“No,” Granum replied, “only sending Laerdavile’s avatar back to the Underealm will begin the end of it. History says the avatar will not appear this early in the process. Stopping Mirkness now may prevent other rifts from opening, King Harold. Even if stopping Mirkness has no effect on the opening of rifts, we may learn much in the bargain that might aid us in ending the Cataclysm. The altar there likely contains many answers.”
Harold fell silent again. He walked to the window and looked out for a time before turning back to the others.
“Sir Dech, as I said in Cruxford, as much as I want you to be a part of the force that opposes Malig’s, I can think of no one else capable enough to pursue Olk Mirkness. Take what you need to stop him.”
“I hoped there might be contrition knights available here, but as there are not and time is short. Those with me will suffice. We will need to move with haste through challenging terrain without being detected. A small mobile group is best for our purpose.”
“And if these mercenaries secure the castle?” asked Sir Oliver. “How does a single knight and a few non-combatants accomplish the task?”
“Our mission is to end Olk Mirkness,” Dech replied. “Only those in our way need to be dealt with. We are not without martial skill.”
“Very well,” Harold said. “You know what must be done. Three days before we clash with Malig. Best you leave at first light. May the Creator grant you swift and safe passage.”
“And you as well, Sire.”
. . .
“Three days to reach the castle?” Granum said as they left the keep on the way to their tent. “That will be most difficult.”
“It will,” Dech agreed. “We’ll need more mounts and pack animals. Change horses often and pray we have few delays. I may be up much of the night securing horses and tack.”
“Perhaps the king might aid us? He seems a reasonable fellow… for one of royalty.”
“I’ll not trouble him, but Lord Arundel will see to it we have what we need.”
Dech reversed course and spoke with a clerk he knew, asking him to relay a message to Lord Arundel when the man was available.
It was just minutes before Lord Arundel met Dech outside the keep.
“Horses, milord,” Dech said as Gilbert neared.
“I think I know why,” he replied with a laugh. “You’ll have them. I will send word to the hostler at the corral just outside the wall. Whatever you require.”
“Thank you, milord. I’ll trouble you no further.”
“Trouble me all you wish if it means you survive the mission you pursue. We have infernal foes to battle and Duke Philip to deal with after we defeat Malig and I aim to see you in the midst of these fights.”
“I go where ordered.”
“That you do, Sir Dech. Do not think I take that lightly. A reckoning comes, a balancing of scales. It may not right all wrongs or provide full redress for deeds foul or good, but it comes.”
Dech gauged Arundel’s statement as an honest one. The man had never lied to him, but he also knew many intentions failed to meet their goals. He nodded. “That is beyond my control and I have a task to perform, but thank you, milord.”
Bidding Lord Arundel goodbye, he went to the tent his group had been assigned.
. . .
“We cannot leave until morning,” Dech said to his companions in the tent. “Do as you wish, but be ready for an early departure.”
“I saw that Gerald and Allan are in the encampment,” Mayhaps said. “Are you going to seek them out?”
“I just might. You?”
“I will. There are a few others I want to see as well.”
Dech looked at Dissy and Josip. “What about you?”
“I’m going to sleep. Too many knights and other titled people for my taste,” Erie said.
“I wouldn’t m
ind saying hello to Allan, but I’ll pass,” Dissy said. “Too many nobles and my mouth is apt to rankle.”
Before Dech could ask, both Dealan and Granum announced they chose to stay clear of the crowds of martial beings.
. . .
Dech left the walls that surrounded the keep and made his way to the corral Arundel mentioned. Talking with the hostler, he found Arundel spoke true and orders for horses and tack be made available to Dech’s force had already arrived.
Walking to the large tent not far away, Dech could hear the sounds of men and women of several races reveling, speaking, arguing, and singing, precisely the activity usually heard at such gatherings. Feeling the same trepidation as he did weeks before when he entered the crowded great hall in Cruxford, Dech slowed before he entered wondering what reactions his presence might cause.
Pushing through one of the flaps, he entered the tent and pushed his way into the crowd. He drew glares and questioning looks from many and even more stopped him to shake his hand or pat him on the back. Many were known to him, others were not. As he reached the central part of the tent, he heard a boisterous laugh that could come from but one man, Allan Fairdale. Looking over the crowd, he spotted his friend standing next to Gerald Moore. Not far away was Robert, his blond hair making him easy to identify as he spoke with other young people. Two of those with Rob were companions on their journey where they encountered Dech.
Winding his way toward them, Dech heard a raised voice said, “Watch your coin purses.” A remark contrition knights often heard, one meant to rile. “Armor or not, once a crim—”
“You’ll hold your tongue or pay a price for loose talk,” another knight said. Hearing the voice, Dech recognized it from Marquess Neville Harwood’s lands, that of Sir Peter. “You speak of a man that bested Malig’s elite and one my liege lord speaks highly of.”
“He speaks true,” another voice said.
Pausing to look back at the exchange, Dech saw Peter walking toward him.
“I thank you for the intervention,” Dech said.
“It was nothing. I would have you know that your efforts have created a monster, Warder,” he said with a smile.
“You have me at a loss,” Dech replied.
“The marquess’ youngest,” he said, his smile growing. “The boy shows considerable skill. No other youth in the household can stand against him with sword and shield. That is your doing.”
Dech smiled in return. “I lent a portion. I assume you and at least some of the other knights have helped as well. See he doesn’t become arrogant. Overconfidence can be every bit as harmful as the opposite.”
“I well know that. I tend toward brashness as you saw at the marquess’, though I strive to curtail it. The boy seems a calm sort and his father wishes us to keep him that way. Were he but a head taller I would have brought him along and set him upon Malig’s forces.” Peter’s smile diminished and his tone took on a more serious quality. “The marquess told me of what you did in the war with Malig, of your friendship with Greve Gerald Moore. I was rude in my approach to you. My lack of knowledge concerning the order led me to an assumption. The marquess’ intervention prevented a painful lesson befalling me.”
“I may not be as skilled as the marquess stated.”
“Perhaps, Warder, though he is not oft wrong and I do not seek to confirm his opinion.”
“Is the marquess here?”
“No, Warder. He takes most of his force to Byrmont to the Great Rift in support of Duke Frederick. I lead a small contingent he spared for the fight to come with Malig.”
“The marquess was most generous.”
Peter laughed. “Most generous? I suspect he was merely sending his riffraff south.”
“Or making sure he struck a blow at Malig. I wish you well in the battle to come.”
“You’ll not be there? The Cataclysm… I see. I know most of the order goes to Byrmont. I wish you well in return.”
The two shook hands and Dech began his journey to Gerald and Allan once again. He didn’t make it far before a pair of knights stopped him.
“It’s true then?” one of them said. “You still live.”
“Word was you died years ago,” the other said.
Dech didn’t recognize either man and it was apparent they were both slightly drunk.
“The word is wrong,” Dech replied. “Who—”
“Warder Dech,” another knight said as he approached. “You look not a bit different than last we met… over ten years ago.”
A look revealed two knights Dech once knew well, Sirs John and Owen.
“A convergence of those who fought at Creator’s Rock,” Sir John continued. “Five of us right here.”
“Grand to see you,” Sir Owen said as he and John pounded Dech on the back as the two inebriated knights shook his hand simultaneously.
“Fighting the good fight hasn’t killed you,” Owen said. “It will be an honor to take to the field with you once more.”
“The honor would be mine,” Dech replied, “but I am sent elsewhere.”
“And whose daft idea was that?” John asked.
“King Harold’s.”
“A shame, all of it,” Owen said. “I know you’re not to be speaking with us with so many around, but sometime we’ll cross where there’s not so many eyes. Until then.”
Owen and the other three shook his hand before moving on.
Dech grimaced as he wound his way toward Gerald and Allan, a flash of bitter anger at the restrictions that kept him from old comrades, even if he couldn’t recall two of them. They had shared a battlefield together and a victory at that, a day Dech counted among his best as a knight. Drawing in a deep breath, he pushed the anger aside.
His two old friends showed what appeared to be restraint when he approached, but he saw the happiness in their eyes he hoped showed in his.
“So you somehow managed to join us. That must be quite the tale,” Allan said.
“You might think that, but you’d—”
“We finally get to speak, at least for a bit,” Gerald said.
Dech smiled. “We do. I see you brought Robert,” Dech said gesturing in the direction where he had seen the young man.
Gerald grimaced and said, “Yes, though the fight we march to is not what I would wish for his initiation to war.”
“He’ll not be among those in the ranks,” Allan said. “I’ll see to that. Even if he should be called upon to fight, he’s ready, wouldn’t you agree, Dech?”
“I would. He is as skilled as we were at his age,” the warder replied.
“But less experienced,” Gerald said. “We had more than a year of tourneys and real fights under our belts at the same age. Years more before we fought Malig. Mine is the same worry my father felt when we set out to make names. I would not have allowed him to accompany us if he were not able. I take solace knowing the two finest knights I know have given him instruction.”
“So we’ll be on the same battlefield once again,” Allan said.
“I fear not,” Dech replied. “King Harold sends me elsewhere.”
“And a hazardous elsewhere it is no doubt,” Gerald said with disappointment. “Where would this be?”
“I trust you to not share this, Nevar. The Castle of the Dark Forest. Olk Mirkness conjures there.”
Allan’s expression soured. “Mages, never a straight fight with them. So the rumors be true then? Mirkness lives.”
Gerald nodded in agreement. “Mirkness, Malig, and the Cataclysm… this is not simply coincidence.”
“You have your father’s keen sense,” Dech said.
“Perhaps. He’d agree with me that it would be better to send someone else. Mages are best dealt with by other mages, but getting them there would be a chore. If you must go, take Mirkness’ head quickly.”
Allan nodded. “I’ve never seen a mage cast spells after losing their head.”
“I cannot stay long,” Dech said. “I must plan a route and we leave at first light
.”
“Drink an ale with us and promise to visit Spring Shire when this is all done and we’ll let you depart in peace,” Gerald said.
“Fair enough,” Dech replied with a smile, “though you get the poor end of the bargain.”
Allan laughed. “That’s not the whole of it, old friend. You must agree to not get yourself dead on this wild mage chase you’re being sent on.”
“No sureties, but I’ll do all I can to see I do that. Consider yourselves bound by the same agreement, no matter what foes you face.”
The two men smiled and nodded. “Consider it done,” Allan said.
. . .
Dech made his way to the exit, simultaneously happy, angry, disappointed, and elated. Stepping into the night, he made his way toward the tent his group shared.
“Sir Dech!” came a call from behind as he walked down the row of canvas-covered structures. The warder recognized the voice of Robert Moore. Stopping, he turned and saw the young man trotting toward him.
“I wished to talk to you, but you departed before I could catch you in the tent.”
“It is easier to talk here.”
“True enough. You are the topic of many a conversation back there.”
“Many people from my past are in that place. Quite a few thought me dead. A problem that goes with the role I serve. You have a major campaign for your first true fight.”
Rob nodded with a glance back at the tent. “I know Allan and my father will place me somewhere clear of battle. I understand why, but cannot help but feel disappointed. Relieved as well.”
Dech laughed softly. “‘A knight’s desire and affinity for combat should always be tempered by reason.’ Your grandfather said that to me when I was his squire. Even if you are not placed into one of the battle companies, you need to stand ready. Battle devolves into chaos in most cases and you may find it comes to you. Those that are surprised by such fortunes are vulnerable. Do not be one of those.”
Rob smiled. “I intend to be ready should that occur. Will you be a part of this endeavor?”
Dech shook his head. “I am called elsewhere.”
“It was said you met with King Harold. I’ll not pry, but it is something he deems important you pursue?”
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