Lady Squire- Dawn's Ascension

by Leonard D. Hilley II

  Xylus laughed. “I’ll make it easy for you, dog. Tell me where I can find the rest of your Order, and I’ll kill you and the old man swiftly, lessening your pain. That’s about as generous an offer as you’ll ever get from a Vyking.”

  “We don’t know where the rest of our members are,” Lehrling said. “That’s why we came here.”

  Bausch frowned at Lehrling and shook his head. “Don’t give him any information.”

  Xylus smiled evenly. “Torture yields better information more quickly, so he might as well tell us.”

  Bausch brought his sword up in an offensive stance, but he didn’t make an immediate attack. The Vyking’s sword was twice the length of Bausch’s bastard sword and probably weighed double. He figured the first glancing strike between the swords would snap his in half, leaving him fully exposed.

  Xylus’ strange yellow eyes flickered. His pupils altered and looked much like a serpent’s. He opened his mouth and his forked, dark blue tongue hung out momentarily.

  “Are you part demon?” Bausch asked.

  “My mother is a demon. Stop delaying the inevitable. You wanted a chance to fight with a weapon. Your weapon is in hand. Use it.”

  Bausch snarled and said, “To the memory of Queen Taube!”

  Xylus didn’t wait for Bausch to act. Instead, the Vyking prince rushed forward. Bausch braced for the attack and brought up his sword. Metal clanged. Sparks flickered. The impact didn’t break Bausch’s sword, as he had feared it might, but the force of the blow sent Bausch reeling backwards. Before he could correct his footing, Xylus dropped his sword and swung a solid right into Bausch’s jaw, rendering him unconscious. He fell on his back, unconscious.

  Xylus looked disgusted at how easily he felled his opponent. He picked up his sword and sheathed it. He looked to the two Vykings and said, “Place him on a horse and tighten the noose around his neck. When he awakens, we’ll see if he has anything to say before his death.”

  Lehrling shook his head. “We don’t have any information to give.”

  “Then he dies quicker as will you.”

  Xeus brought a small vial to Xylus. “I found this in his pocket.”

  “What is this?” Xylus asked, staring at Lehrling.

  “A potion. I need that. Please.”

  Xylus dropped the vial onto the hard icy ground and crushed it underfoot. Lehrling’s heart sank. He closed his eyes and fought tears. Now, he wished he had drank it before they had entered Glacier Ridge to alleviate his nagging pain, but he had hoped they’d find a medic to help him. Not that it mattered now.

  ***

  Bausch roused and shook his head. The rough rope scratched against his throat. The taut noose kept his head upright and even with his hands free he couldn’t ease the tightness. He strained with his eyes to see the Vykings and Lehrling standing nearby.

  “How you were ever chosen to be a knight puzzles me,” Prince Xylus said. “I didn’t even need a weapon to take you down. A shame really. Waxxon can readily rule over your city since your kind is so pathetically weak. He deserves such a city, if all it has are others like you to defend it.”

  Angered, Bausch tried to speak, but the tight noose prevented him from speaking above a hoarse whisper.

  “Don’t trouble yourself with a reply. Your comrade told us that you don’t know where others in your Order are. But at least you can face your death like a man even though you couldn’t against me.”

  Soft menacing laughter drifted with the sudden sharp wind that rose from the Vale of Frozen Tears and blew harshly against him. Bausch closed his eyes. Tears froze at the edges of his eyelids. The image of the blind witch’s shack in the Woodnog swamps came to mind. The laughter was Lez’minx. He didn’t have time to weigh the hindsight, but the gift he was given had come with a price, one that he hadn’t honored. His failure to acknowledge his appreciation and adoration to the swamp god had undoubtedly granted him an early death.

  Prince Xylus smacked the back of the horse’s hip with a fierce hand. The massive horse reared and charged forward. The drop was swift and Bausch’s world went black.

  Chapter Forty-three

  Lehrling sat behind an icy log with his hands shackled. His busted ribs hurt, but his mind ignored that pain. The harsher pain was the death of Bausch, which was something he’d never erase from memory. The ache weighted his soul. Near tears, he wished the Vykings would go ahead and kill him, but for some unexplained reason, they had decided to return him to Waxxon in Hoffnung.

  The three Vykings sat on logs facing the heat of their small fire where they roasted the large ram they had killed at the edge of the cliff. While they ate, they boasted of various coastal attacks and the spoils of ransacked villages. Their talk ceased when something rustled in the icy forest.

  A large branch snapped.

  The Vykings rose with their weapons drawn.

  “What is that?” Xeus asked.

  From the shadows of the ice-coated trees a man stepped out into the open. He wore the dark armor of the Dragon Knights. His eyes narrowed with hatred and determination as he stared at the three Vykings.

  “How?” Hobus said. He glanced from the man to Xeus and then to Prince Xylus. The words that next escaped his mouth were filled with fear and disbelief. “We hanged you!”

  Prince Xylus searched the trees with fear growing in his strange eyes, which was a response Lehrling never expected from the Vyking prince. “There must be a sorcerer. It’s sorcery. It has to be. This one cannot be alive.”

  Lehrling rose enough to see over the log. He recoiled in horror. Approaching their camp was Bausch. Stunned, he wasn’t certain whether to offer praise to the Three Goddesses or curse. He had seen Bausch drop, and the tight rope snapped his neck. The brief remembrance sickened Lehrling. There was no possible way Bausch could have survived the hanging. Even if he had, he couldn’t have gotten down. His body still swayed on the rope.

  His spirit had returned and sought justice, which meant he might kill Lehrling, too, for not doing something to stop his death.

  Hobus said, “But it is! It’s his ghost!”

  Xylus turned and grabbed Lehrling, yanking the old man to his feet. “Stay back, whatever you are, or we’ll kill your comrade.” Genuine panic claimed his trembling voice and nervous eyes.

  The threat didn’t deter Bausch’s approach. His eyes were dead set on the three Vykings. He never blinked. The harsh bitter wind whipped and ruffled his cape. His boots crunched the icy ground as he approached.

  “Bausch,” Lehrling whispered. “No. They will kill you again.”

  The old man shook his head and blinked hard several times, hoping that what he was seeing was some dark nightmare, and that he could jar himself awake. Had he been transfixed by the magic of a wizard or mage? If not, something far worse approached them from the depths of the afterlife. He shut his eyes tightly until tears edged out and froze on his cheeks.

  When he opened them, Bausch continued walking toward them.

  “No further!” Xylus shouted. “I swear I’ll kill him.”

  A second after the words left Xylus’ mouth, a thrown dagger rammed through the prince’s right eye. His body stiffened, arched, and his grip on Lehrling lessened. The serrated blade that was pressed against the old man’s throat dropped onto the hard snow-covered ground.

  Hobus flicked a glance toward Xeus. “Our prince is dead . . .”

  Another dagger zipped through the air and struck Hobus in the throat. He gargled in his attempt to shout. Dark blood leaked from around the blade, dripped, and painted drops of crimson on the snow as the Vyking fought to remain on his feet. He tugged at the hilt and finally yanked it free. Blood oozed from the gaping wound. Hobus searched Xeus’ eyes for understanding but collapsed to the ground, gasping his final desperate breaths.

  Lehrling fell to his knees and crawled across the snow. Each movement stabbed into his chest. He winced and rolled himself against a log behind the Vykings’ horses. He inhaled deep gulps of icy air into his lungs,
which increased the pain. But his fear overcame the hurt. What approached couldn’t be Bausch because Bausch was dead. Something, it seemed, had taken Bausch’s body for its own.

  Xeus saw Xylus and Hobus drop to the ground dead. Fear widened his eyes, and he was running toward his warhorse. Lehrling watched in disbelief. He had never heard of any Vyking fleeing a fight. But instead of mounting the horse, Xeus reached to the side of the saddle. He tugged and pulled, until he freed a short bow. Xeus hurriedly set an arrow and turned. The Vyking seemed unsure of how to aim, but proceeded anyway.

  Bausch flung a third knife, but this one was small and deflected off Xeus’ armor. Xeus released the bowstring, but Bausch stood defiant and never flinched, almost as if he challenged Death. The arrow sliced through the air and missed his head.

  Xeus fumbled with another arrow. Lehrling held no doubt that this Vyking had never used a bow before. Why he even had a bow was a mystery. Lehrling had never received any witnessed reports of a Vyking using such a weapon in battle. They preferred steel weapons and savored hand-to-hand combat.

  Before the Vyking drew back the arrow completely, Lehrling kicked the back of Xeus’ knees hard, dropping the man onto his back.

  Adrenaline rushed through Lehrling, making him ignore the jabbing pain in his ribs. He wanted to protect Bausch. At least he hoped it was Bausch, and if that possibility existed, he couldn’t watch him die again.

  Xeus scrambled to his hands and knees, glaring as he crawled toward Lehrling with a dagger in his hand. Lehrling clasped his hands together and swung hard. The blow struck Xeus in the jaw with enough force to flip the Vyking onto his back. Lehrling pushed upward and flung his body atop the Vyking. He positioned his legs and straddled the Vyking. He brought his hands up over his head and came down, battering Xeus in the face.

  Xeus shook his head and blinked erratically. Instead of peering directly at Lehrling, he looked past the old man and screamed. Lehrling brought up his hands again and hammered downward, over and over, until Xeus silenced and ceased breathing.

  Blood leaked from the Vyking’s nose and mouth. Lehrling’s bloody hands shook. Rage burned inside him. “That’s for hanging Bausch.”

  Panting, he waited to see if the Vyking stirred. The massive man’s chest didn’t rise or fall. Thick blood meandered down into the Vyking’s beard. Timidly, he rolled off the dead Vyking and noticed Bausch approaching. Lehrling scooted away, until his back rested against the large log. His lips trembled and his body shook.

  “Don’t kill me,” Lehrling pleaded.

  Bausch folded his arms, smiled, and shook his head. In a gentle soothing tone, he said, “I’m not going to kill you.”

  “I tried to stop them from hanging you, Bausch. I offered my life for yours. Don’t you remember?”

  “I’m not Bausch.”

  Lehrling stared at the man for several moments. Slowly the man’s real appearance was revealed. Although he did resemble Bausch, there were other differences, too. Had magic cloaked this man beneath a darker force?

  “What is this, spirit?” he asked. “You wear his clothes. I’m not an old fool. What trickery is this, Death? Have you come to get vengeance?”

  The stranger offered a smile. “I am not a spirit. I’m very much alive. I wear the armor of your comrade because well . . . he was dead and had no further need of them.”

  Lehrling took a deep breath, and the action reminded him of his injury. “I could have sworn you were he. Who are you?”

  “I’m Roble.”

  “From what land?”

  Roble smiled. “One you would not know.”

  “Perhaps, since I don’t venture too far from my homeland.”

  Roble offered his hand. Lehrling hesitated and studied the man’s eyes. Nothing sinister reflected in his gaze, so Lehrling reached up with his cuffed hands and allowed Roble to help him to his feet.

  “Then why did you venture here?” a small figure said, standing upon Roble’s shoulder.

  “A faery?” Lehrling stared at her, stunned for a few moments to see her with a human. He glanced back at Roble with a confused smile. “How did you come to possess her?”

  “He does not possess me,” the faery replied.

  A grin formed on Lehrling’s lips. A spirited little sprite. “My apologies. I meant no offense.”

  Roble went from dead Vyking to dead Vyking, searching them for whatever they possessed. “Shawndirea and I are on a mutual journey.”

  “Oh, I see,” Lehrling said softly. “And does that journey consist of robbing a hanged man of his clothes and pilfering through these bounty hunters’ pockets?”

  Roble shook his head and released a nervous chuckle. “This is a slight detour.”

  “No one detours to Glacier Ridge. One must deliberately venture here.”

  “Why’s that?” Roble asked.

  “It’s a den of thieves and the end of the road on this mountain. To the best of my knowledge it only has one way in and out.”

  Wolves howled from deep in the valley. Roble turned his attention toward their cries. “Are they near?”

  Lehrling shook his head. “No. “We’re on the icy plateau that overlooks the Vale of Frozen Tears. That’s where the wolves are. There’s no path that leads down from this ridge into the valley. The only way in is from the other side but getting there is almost a guaranteed death sentence.”

  “I see. I suppose that’s comforting.” Roble stared at the Vykings and lifted one’s dead hand. He marveled. “Who are these men and why did they have you as their prisoner?”

  “They were bounty hunters.”

  Roble dropped the one’s hand. “They’re damn near giants.”

  “They are Vykings. They are not native to our continent. They are plunderers and now our most ruthless enemy.”

  “How’s that?”

  Lehrling explained how the Vykings had invaded their port, killed the queen, and now were following Waxxon’s orders to find and kill all of the Dragon Knights. He also told them of how he had raised and trained Bausch as if the young man was his own son.

  “I see. But that doesn’t explain the extra thumbs and the largest one’s scaly skin. He’s not like the other two,” Roble said.

  “He’s the son of the Vyking King, Obed,” Lehrling replied.

  “Their king is like this?”

  Lehrling shrugged. “I’ve never met him, but my guess is probably not. From what he told Bausch, his mother is a demon.”

  “He does look part demon,” the faery said.

  Prince Xylus’ mouth hung partway open, revealing his jagged teeth and dark forked tongue.

  Roble knelt and looked closer. “I’d hate to get bitten by something like that.”

  Shawndirea gasped.

  “What is it?” Roble asked.

  “Their runic tattoos.”

  Lehrling looked at them, too. “What of them? Do you recognize their meaning?”

  The faery’s eyes widened. “There is a darkness attached to them. I have no doubt that he is part demonkin.”

  Roble sighed and glanced around the tall silent trees. “So there’s a bounty on you?”

  “One on you, too, for as long as you wear Bausch’s armor and his pendant.”

  Roble took a key off the prince’s belt and unlocked Lehrling’s cuffs.

  “Thanks.”

  Roble shrugged. “Don’t mention it. I’m sorry that I had to take the armor from your friend, but I wasn’t dressed for this bitter cold.”

  “How did you get here?” Lehrling asked. “You would have had to travel quite a while through the frigid climate, and dressed in lesser clothes, you’d have frozen to death well before you’d have ever reached this height of the mountain.”

  “We were deep inside a cavern. We found a weakness in the wall and pushed through and wound up out here. This seemed safer than venturing back through the depths of the dangerous cavern.”

  Roble yanked the dagger from Xylus’ right eye, wiped the blood onto the bottom of his boo
t, and then went to retrieve the other blades.

  “Why take back your knives,” Lehrling asked, “when you can claim their swords?”

  “I’ve never used a sword.”

  “Never?”

  Roble shook his head.

  “How could you not know how to use a sword? All lads are brought up learning how to fight with a blade. You’re great at throwing knives. I’ve never seen anyone else with your accuracy, but knives also limit you in protecting yourself against a foe wielding a sword.”

  “I don’t doubt you, but it wasn’t something I was . . . exposed to as a young boy.”

  Lehrling frowned and slowly shook his head. “Young warrior, how have you managed to survive for so long?”

  “By avoiding fights.” Roble grinned.

  Lehrling chuckled and immediately regretted it. With his adrenaline fading, his pain reminded him of his injury.

  “He desperately needs training,” Shawndirea said.

  Lehrling smiled at the faery. Her beauty was far greater than any woman he’d ever seen in Aetheaon. He was careful not to gaze at her for too long. He had heard how bewitching a faery could be to lonely men and she could place them under her spell. He wondered if Roble was bound to her for such a reason.

  “No need telling me,” Lehrling replied. “Anyone not trained to use a sword is a fool.”

  “I’ll manage,” Roble replied. “I survived these.”

  Lehrling nodded.

  “Barely,” Shawndirea said in a scolding tone.

  Lehrling glanced at Shawndirea. He noticed the tattered ribbons of what were once the faery’s magnificent wings. “My dear little one. Whatever became of your wings?”

  Pain of her loss creased the faery’s facial expressions. Her sad eyes looked down. “An accident. It is why Roble is carrying me to my homeland.”

  “Do you have hope to regain them?” Lehrling asked.

  She nodded and quickly changed the subject. “You said that you trained Bausch. Can you train Roble?”

  “Aye, I could. But it was ages ago when I trained Bausch. I’m an old man now.”

  “But you could teach him basic maneuvers, could you not?”