by Chad Corrie
Rowan did so, attempting a subtle search for his parents among the crowd as he made his way from the altar in as dignified a manner as possible. He continued through the double doors opposite the altar and found himself in the much cooler hallway that was already filling with an overflow of knights, family, and former dedicates.
Searching through this growing crowd, his face beamed upon catching sight of a woman with a handful of goose feathers mixed with the locks of her dark blond hair. A set of colorful glass beads encircled her neck, helping her brown cloak and the rest of her hide outfit stand out in contrast. Behind her stood a massive man with tanned leather breeches, matching boots, and a chest covered in a simple bearskin vest. He was taller and more muscled than most other Nordicans in attendance, with a red face burned from icy winds and strong summer sun. A few braids stood apart from his brown hair, which scraped the tops of his shoulders.
Pushing through the sea of bodies as respectfully as he could, Rowan eagerly made his way toward them. When he was within arm’s reach, they drew together into a group hug.
“We’re so proud of you,” said Logan Cortak, Rowan’s father.
“I’ve missed you,” Rowan managed to squeeze out, once the initial pressure of the embrace had subsided. It felt good being with them again. In some ways this reunion even surpassed his joy at being accepted into the knighthood.
“I’ve missed you more.” Jenna, his mother, kissed his cheek, dropping a few of her tears in the process.
“Come with me.” Rowan started down the hallway, directing his parents to follow. “I’ll take you to my quarters. It’ll be cooler there, and I can finally get out of these robes.”
“So I took it by its tail and spun it around in the air until it howled like a fiend. Then I threw it into the lake. Best fight I’ve had all year!” Logan chuckled, a sparkle in his eye.
“And your father thinks he’s losing some of his strength as he ages,” Jenna said, rolling her blue eyes as she joined in her husband’s mild mirth.
“Well, it was only a cub,” Logan stated. “I couldn’t have done it to a full-grown beast cat, not even when I was in my prime.”
“Still, it’s quite the feat.” Rowan gave his father a hearty slap on the back. “If you keep this up you’ll be the strongest elder in the tribe’s history.”
Rowan’s quarters were housed in the upper level of the keep. He, like the rest of the dedicates, was given a windowless room to reside in, but with the aid of the candelabra made from deer antlers that rested on the small table beside the bed, most of the darkness had retreated to the far corners of the room. Outside of a plain table, a chest, and the bed upon which the three of them sat, it was simple and clean. He was looking forward to seeing what sort of accommodations he might get next now that he was officially a knight. This small pleasure was just one of many new privileges awaiting him.
As a test of the discipline the new knights would exemplify, dedicates weren’t allowed outside the walls encircling the keep except once a year, when they were allotted a brief family visit. Constant training and adherence to the code were the young men’s only pursuits. The visits were permitted to ensure they never completely lost touch with the people they were to serve and protect.
Rowan and his family had suffered through this and survived, but it was taxing on them all. Rowan, particularly in the early years, had felt especially alone. The brief visits allowed him to catch up with most of the tribal issues and stay generally informed on anything else of importance. He was also able to watch the passing years touch his parents with a bit of gray, while reminding himself just how blessed he really was to have such a family. Not all of the dedicates could say the same.
“So when do you want to leave for Hosvir?” He peered again into his parents’ loving eyes.
“I doubt we’ll see you for some time,” said Logan. “You’re a Knight of Valkoria now, and freshly knighted at that. You have battles to fight and causes to champion.”
“No, Father. I’m sure to get a brief rest before I take up any obligations. Who would order a mission so soon for a new knight—and on the very day of their knighting ceremony?”
Rowan didn’t like the way his father was looking at him, nor the sigh that escaped his lips. “You’re not your own anymore, son. You have responsibilities you must keep and an oath you’ve sworn to honor. Your commanding officer will probably have a mission for you sooner than you think.” Logan’s arm encircled Jenna as she hugged her husband tight. “You have a service to perform. A service not only to humanity but to Panthora as well.”
“I’m sure they’d make allowances for someone who was just knighted.” He attempted an optimistic rebuttal, but it was a fleeting hope; his faith in his previous plans had been dealt a strong blow by his father’s logic.
“Maybe for a higher-ranking knight, but not a new one like yourself. I doubt you’ll have much of a say in such things for some time.”
“Don’t worry.” He placed his hand on his mother’s arm as fresh tears began sliding down her cheeks. Though she tried, she couldn’t hide the flow. “I’m sure I’ll be able to stay at Hosvir for a while, or at the very least be posted close to it.” He didn’t really believe this either but still hoped against hope his words would become reality anyway.
“What?” Rowan had been summoned to Fronel’s room just a few hours after the ceremony. He’d thought the journey knight wanted to offer his congratulations or perhaps give him some news of new quarters becoming available. What he discovered instead was more than unexpected.
“You’re to leave Valkoria at once, Sir Rowan.” Fronel’s eyes fixed on him, a stoic look on his face. He sat behind a large pine desk, its base supported by four great, carved panthers.
On Fronel’s right stood a tall shelf lined with various books and scrolls— records that had been kept of all the knights and their activities over the years, of which Fronel was one of the chief chroniclers. A bright lantern hung above them, shedding enough light into the room to write by, but no more than that. Behind the hulking journey knight, next to a narrow, clear glass window, was a small bronze shield emblazoned with the knighthood’s crest—a constant reminder of what was now forever before him.
“It is vital you leave as soon as possible.” Fronel addressed the young knight with the dry formality that hierarchy often instilled in ranked officers of any institution.
Journey knights were the midrange administrators of the Knights of Valkoria. Lesser knights, like Rowan, took on the tasks they dealt out. The higher-ranked knights were called champions and served as a sort of council and advisory group to the grand champion—whom all served under—acting in conjunction with the priests of Panthora, the other residents of the keep.
“Journey Knight Fronel, I think there’s been some type of misunderstanding. I was under the impression I could have some time with my family.” Rowan did his best at keeping his face blank. Somewhere amid the excitement of being part of the knighthood and immersed in his training he’d let himself forget just what he was preparing to become. It was like his father said: he wasn’t really his own anymore. He had responsibilities . . . duties to his goddess and order.
“Then you were misinformed, Sir Rowan.”
“I see. Will this mission take long?”
“It all depends on your ability to see it through.”
“May I ask where I’m going then, sir?”
“You’ve been chosen to go to Taka Lu Lama.”
Rowan knew of the place from his training, part of which sought to educate the future knights on the basic geography of the lands beyond the Northlands, where the knighthood and the Nordicans dwelled. Taka Lu Lama was located in a northwestern pocket of Talatheal. It was a jungle that skirted the northern and western edges of the Marshes of Gondad. A strange terrain to be found in a land given to more temperate climates, but one which had existed even before the days of ancient Gondad. It was also a fair distance away—a few weeks at least—if he had his figures right.
“Reports have reached the grand champion from trusted agents in the field, saying there may be elven imperial movement in the area.” Fronel’s tone flattened, like a sage reciting figures and dates to his pupil, as he rustled through some parchment pages on his desk. “And from what those same agents have been able to gather there seems to be some interest in exploring the jungles of Taka Lu Lama.”
“For what purpose?”
“We’re not quite clear, but some reports talk of a few drunken elven soldiers mentioning ruins in the jungles along with information there that might help them rebuild their empire.” Fronel ceased his scavenging of parchments and looked Rowan full in the face. “We can’t let that happen. We all know what happened the last time the elves were allowed an empire.”
“Yes, sir.” Rowan nodded, thinking on his training and the stories of the ruthless empire the elves of Colloni had crafted millennia before. That empire was what brought about the Imperial Wars, along with the chaos and sorrow that followed in their wake. One incarnation was more than enough for Tralodren to endure.
“You’re to travel to Talatheal, find out if the elves really are seeking to rebuild their empire, and retrieve or destroy the information if it exists. A rather simple task, but one of great importance.”
“Surely there are others who could do this mission in my place—other knights more worthy, perhaps.” Rowan hoped this might be true. Maybe if someone else was he’d be given some lesser assignment. One closer to home.
“You should be honored, Sir Rowan. Not every knight is given their first mission so soon after being knighted. Have you forgotten the way to excel in the knighthood is through service to the Queen of Valkoria?”
“Forgive my outburst.” He took in his feet for a moment, trying to get his warring emotions under control.
“Your boat leaves at dawn. Pack what you can and get to the docks. May Panthora be with you.”
Chapter 3
So let’s cast our sights on the Yoan.
And may Perlosa grace our plans.
And may we return as richer men,
hale and healthy too.
But until we do let us make it through
these waves of icy blue.
—Old Nordic sailing song
Rowan woke to the musky odor of the windowless cabin he’d been given on the Frost Giant, the ship to which he’d been attached. He’d been sailing in it for close to two weeks. And while he knew they were making progress, out in the open water it was hard gauging such success. Swinging himself out of his hammock, he wiped the sleep from his eyes, shuffled over to a small bucket of cold rainwater, and splashed himself into full awareness. He donned his pants and shirt over his light gray undershirt then strode out of his cabin and into the cool dawn air.
The caravel was a rather simple vessel with three decks and two masts. From these masts flew deep blue sails striped vertically in a shade of brownish red that reminded Rowan of dried blood. The morning’s sun shone clear and bright, free from any trespassing clouds, and the Yoan Ocean was in constant motion. Thankfully it rolled with the ship rather than against it. The crew of forty strong Nordicans dominated the seasoned deck and rigging as the waves carried them and their cargo along their southern trek. They were rugged and tempered from their exposure to the open ocean, wearing dense beards, which protected their faces from the ravages of the salt and wind. Simple drab garments covered their leathery skin. Each also carried a sharp knife at his side and a charm of protection from Perlosa’s wrath about his neck.
Rowan knew, of course, such trinkets were more superstitious than anything, but many a sailor swore the goddess of the sea would protect them if they possessed such an amulet, which consisted of a sliver of silver bent into a crescent moon. While it wasn’t the same as the Silver Crest used by priests and the true followers of Perlosa, by wearing it the sailors believed they could appease Perlosa without outright worshiping her.
He knew from his training—and now personal experience—that the sailors felt they couldn’t hold to just one god, instead keeping to their own miniature pantheon: Endarien, Perlosa, and even Rheminas being common deities upon which they often called. The fact that many still held to such beliefs was a sign of how much work those who honored Panthora had before them in bringing even their fellow tribesmen into the truth.
Rowan watched some of the sailors joke with their mates as they devoured their meager rations of salted fish and dried bread, washing it down with flagons of watered-down wine. This would be their sole meal of the entire day unless they caught more fish. The past two days had turned up nothing, which struck Rowan as odd since they were near the outskirts of Arid Land. He’d heard accounts of good fishing to be had in the area. But empty nets or full, they’d probably make sight of the mountain and pine-encrusted land sometime later that week if the winds held and the ocean continued being kind. Something new to look forward to, he supposed—at least for a few hours.
He strode to the port side of the vessel and peered over the railing. He noticed the ocean had changed from the frosty blue green common to the Northlands to a deep, murky green, often found in warmer climates. He was delighted. The change meant he was all the closer to his destination. Another small ray of hope in his overcast thoughts.
A thumping series of footfalls drew his attention toward the captain as he made his way onto the main deck. The rotund man swaggered over with a reassuring smile about his bearded face. “Don’t worry, lad. You won’t be on these waves forever. Soon enough you’ll go ashore, do what you must, and be back to Valkoria in time to enjoy the Harvest Festival.” He gave Rowan a hearty slap on the back. “And there’ll be plenty of girls looking for a dance with a knight just back from a mission, I’m sure,” he added with a knowing wink.
Rowan looked intently into the horizon. He knew the captain only wanted to cheer up a homesick boy, but his efforts met with limited success. “You’re right,” he half muttered. “It won’t be long at all.” He feigned a smile.
“That’s the spirit! Can’t have a Knight of Valkoria getting glum on his first mission, now can we?” The captain gave Rowan a final pat and slowly waddled his way around the deck, stopping every now and again to look over a few crewmen and examine some of the ship’s rigging. Rowan renewed his focus on the water. When he did so he noticed a large black stain swimming into view beneath the emerald waves. He knew dolphins and whales frequented the area along with the greater numbers of fish, but the shape of this shadow was unfamiliar.
“What’s that?” he called to a sailor coiling some rope nearby.
The sailor finished his task before making his way to Rowan’s side. He bent over the railing and stared into the water, where he spotted the dark blotch moving alongside the ship as fast, if not slightly faster, than the Frost Giant itself.
“It looks too big to be a dolphin,” said Rowan.
The sailor only grunted as he studied the creature. Rowan followed his gaze and caught sight of a tail and a long neck attached to a reptilian head. A head that seemed to be peering up at them as the dark image continually grew closer . . . and larger.
All color faded from the sailor’s face as he rose with a shout. “All hands on deck! Midgard off the port bow!” He ran for the back of the ship, where the weapons were stored, shouting even louder as he did so. “All hands—”
He never finished his sentence. A massive force struck the Frost Giant’s port side, sending all on deck to their knees and Rowan onto his back. A deep roar erupted from the starboard, followed by a hissing sound as a large cloud of boiling mist engulfed all those on that side of the ship.
Rowan stared transfixed on his side as the screams of sailors and the sound of sizzling meat issued out of the cloud. Men ran out of the mist in terror, covering their tortured eyes with hands of boiling flesh. Their clothing and weapons had melted away in some parts, leaving behind smoking, dripping remnants. Before he could react, the captain grasped him with both hands and yanked him to his feet. “
What are you doing standing about? To arms!
“To arms!” again the captain shouted. “All swords at the ready!”
Rowan watched, frozen, as the crew rushed about, dispensing swords in a frenzied fashion. The captain slapped his shoulder, freeing him from paralysis. “Get your sword! We need all the help we can get, and there’s none better than a Knight of Valkoria, now is there?” He pushed Rowan—almost throwing him—to his cabin before running into the fray.
Rowan sprinted into his room, where he tore out his leather armor from the chest beneath the hammock. He tossed aside the bracers, pauldrons, and greaves in favor of the cuirass, which he slapped on his torso while also seeking out his sword. He threw the scabbard to the floor as he pulled the blade free with his right hand, finishing the cuirass’ buckles with his left.
He could hear the captain shout as he rushed back on deck. “Keep a level head and away from its breath!” Rowan tried making a quick assessment of the growing melee. He’d been trained to do so but had never really fought in a true battle—and never against a linnorm.
Both captain and crew amassed on the starboard deck, which was now pitted and worn as stone after a sandstorm. He watched as the captain raised his broadsword in challenge while peering over the partially eaten railing. Fear squeezed Rowan’s heart when the linnorm rose above the waves. Its maw was huge and elongated with thick, deadly teeth poking out of scaly lips like jagged reefs. It had the long neck and sleek body of some great eel or serpent, along with grayish-green scales speckled with a soft blue. Like most Nordicans, Rowan had been raised with tales of dragons and linnorms, but it was quite another thing seeing one in the flesh.
The Midgard’s sea-green eyes seemed to mock him, almost dare him to attack, appearing more intelligent than any simple beast. As the moment extended and the world around him seemed to slow, he thought he could actually see the linnorm’s delight in attacking them. It was actually enjoying this. And it was on the heels of that sudden revelation that those same haunting eyes smiled back at him with chilling mirth.