The living armor surrounding the warden exploded outward displaying gleaming sharp tips at the end of protruding spikes. Dozens of the needled spikes rammed into the detention shield. The barrier shattered, and globules of blue energy shot skyward before scattering and fading.
Jeremy’s eyes widened with fear, and he eased backward stepping away from the warden. “That’s impossible.” His slack jaw hung open in amazement.
The warden raised the polished burgundy staff and pointed it toward Jeremy’s chest. “It’s not impossible. Your king has simply led you astray.”
Ronan watched the exchange with growing fascination, and he’d forgotten the dung clinging to his face. He’d listened to Rika’s stories, but thought she’d exaggerated.
The heartwood stave shimmered under the warden’s direction. Green flows of energy circled the stave causing the wood beneath to appear as red liquid. The warden directed his staff toward Jeremy, and its end shot forward racing with a crossbow bolt’s speed before smashing into the knight’s shield. Jeremy’s spirit shield blazed with blinding blue energy but held strong.
Ronan covered his eyes as the sphere’s light flashed across the village.
The heartwood staff’s tip lodged into the knight’s shield like a harpoon, and its liquid form began oozing across the surface.
Fear touched the corners of the shield knight’s eyes as he staggered backward. Knights often sparred with each other to hone combat skills, but never faced enemies with equal strength intent on harm. Jeremy lost his footing in the mud covered lane and slipped landing on his backside.
The heartwood spread like hot wax over the spirit shield until it covered the entire surface like a red eggshell.
The warden raised his left arm toward the sky, palm open, and squeezed.
A muffled boom rattled Winter Haven causing the gathered crowd to flinch in unison.
“I tried to tell him,” Tyrell shook his head staring at Jeremy.
Ronan hadn’t even noticed Tyrell’s approach. “That’s a warden?”
The heartwood surrounding the sphere sagged inward losing its circular shape. It collapsed and oozed over the shield knight wrapping him in a heartwood sheath. The heartwood retreated from Jeremy’s face allowing him to breathe.
Tyrell nodded. “A warden carrying a fair amount of strength and experience. Poor Jeremy never stood a chance.”
The warden strolled toward Jeremy with his staff extended, and it shortened as he approached. With a flick of his wrist he tossed a few seeds beneath Jeremy.
A mass of twisted black vines burst from the seeds wrapping Jeremy in a prison of tangled weeds. Unlike the ones containing Bryson, these vines carried no thorns.
Jeremy’s ashen complexion and sunken eyes signaled a knight sapped of energy. The act of holding his shield drained him like a barrel with a hole drilled in the bottom.
“Do you know him?” Ronan said.
“No. Although I know a few of Lora’s Guard, and it’s been several years since I visited the Heartwood,” Tyrell said.
The inn’s front door burst open. Monsieur Marez scuttled outside wearing a look of concern. “Oh, Monsieur Ronan. I’m so sorry. I watched everything from the window.” He held out a warm wet towel to Ronan. “Please. Take this cloth. You are welcome to clean up further inside.”
He took the towel from Monsieur Marez and gave a slight nod of thanks. “Thank you Monsieur Marez, and you have nothing to apologize for.”
“I insist that you and Monsieur Tyrell stay at the inn tonight.”
“We can’t do that Jacques.” Tyrell motioned toward the trapped knights. “When these two escape those vines, they’ll be plenty angry. I think it’s a good idea you come with us. These knights might give you trouble after we leave.”
He stared open mouthed at Tyrell. “I can’t leave my inn.”
“While Merric Pride is king, this country isn’t safe for Ayralens,” Tyrell said.
Ronan finished mopping the dung from his face. “You saw what they did to me. We can’t leave you behind with these thugs.”
He nodded. “I love my inn, but if you say it’s too dangerous to stay in Winter Haven then I trust you. I’ll need a few minutes to gather my belongings. Please excuse me.” Monsieur Marez bowed and disappeared into his inn.
The warden walked over and offered his hand to Ronan. “Are you okay?”
The warden spoke with a light Ayralen accent that reminded Ronan of Rika’s accent. He shook the warden’s hand. “Yes. I’m fine. Thanks for intervening. I’ve never met a warden let alone see one do that.” He gestured toward Bryson and Jeremy. “My name is Ronan Latimer.”
He bowed and offered a warm smile. “It’s an honor to meet you. I’m Kelwin. Kelwin Finn.”
Ronan’s stomach fluttered.
“Are you okay? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost,” Kelwin said.
“I’m sorry. It’s your last name. It caught me off guard. My best friend shares the same last name.”
Kelwin’s expression softened. “Is your friend a young woman?”
A tingle ran along Ronan's spine. “She’s Ayralen. I’ve spent every day of the last five years with her. Her name is Rika. Rika Finn,” Ronan said.
Kelwin’s eyes widened with shock, and he gripped Ronan’s shoulders. “That’s my sister. You know my sister!”
Redkeep
Betty began trotting as Ronan and Tyrell rounded the corner. Ahead, the banner of House Tyrell danced in the brilliant blue of the afternoon sky.
Ronan stroked her neck with a warm touch. “You know home when you see it. Don’t you girl?”
Betty snorted and whinnied her approval.
Ronan’s stomach fluttered as Redkeep’s garrison loomed ahead. He would’ve spurred Betty into a full gallop, but the mare had pushed hard with little rest traveling from Winter Haven. “Does he know I’m alive?”
Tyrell raised an eyebrow. “Sir Alcott? He never believed you were dead, but he doesn’t know that for fact. I feared sending word ahead. No need to take chances.”
The clip-clop of Betty’s horseshoes echoed on a wooden bridge traversing Deer Lick Run. Behind the mare, Monsieur Marez drove a wagon laden with food, supplies, and his famous ale. He waved to the soldiers atop the battlements, and several soldiers hustled down a ladder.
“Monsieur Marez will have half the garrison waiting on those kegs,” Ronan said.
“Jacques’s as famous for his food as his ale. I think he’ll have plenty of customers,” Tyrell said.
Kelwin pulled his stallion even with Reggie. “Master Tyrell, you’re sure Redkeep will welcome an Ayralen warden?”
“Rest easy Kelwin. My brother Devery runs Redkeep. Relax and take time for rest. You’re among friends.”
Kelwin eased back in his saddle. “I apologize for asking again, but I’ve grown wary of Meranthian soldiers during my travels.”
“There’s no need for apologies Kelwin. I understand,” Tyrell said.
Ronan had spent hours talking with Kelwin while traveling from Winter Haven. He’d detailed the events spanning the last five years holding nothing back. Ronan told him of Rika and the friendship he’d formed with her. He relayed the information Rika and he had gathered about Kelwin’s father, James Finn.
Kelwin told Ronan of his own journeys. He’d searched for news of his sister and father’s disappearance in villages friendly to Ayralen travelers. Kelwin avoided cities, especially Freehold, declaring them too dangerous for any Ayralen. But, he’d never stopped searching for his lost family.
Betty trotted under the portcullis taking a direct course for the warm stables. A stable boy took Betty by her bridle and led her toward several stacks of fresh hay.
Ronan searched the courtyard for any sign of Sir Alcott but didn’t see him. As Betty sank her teeth into a fresh pile of hay, Ronan spoke with the stable boy. “Is Sir Alcott here in Redkeep?”
“Yes M’Lord. I saw him in the great hall at breakfast.”
Across the courtyard, a
door burst open, and a long familiar voice filled the courtyard’s air.
“Is he with you Patron? Did you find him?” Sir Alcott strode past Ronan without bothering to glance in his direction.
Ronan’s chest tightened, and warmth radiated throughout his body. An involuntary grin spread across his face as he laid eyes on Sir Alcott Agers for the first time in five years. “Sir Alcott.” Ronan’s voice trembled as the unsteady words left his lips.
Sir Alcott froze mid-stride pausing in the middle of the courtyard.
Tyrell grinned with a sly smile nodding to a spot over Sir Alcott’s shoulder.
“Patron if you’re joking, I swear to Elan, it’ll be the last one you ever tell,” Sir Alcott said.
Tyrell’s stark white teeth cut a swatch through his dark close-cropped beard. “Don’t believe me? Look behind you.”
Sir Alcott’s shoulders sagged as he circled in place to face Ronan. His eyes brimmed with tears, and he stumbled the short distance until he stood before Ronan. He reached out with shaking hands and touched Ronan’s shoulders as if he might disappear. “Ronan? Is that you lad?”
Ronan let go a short laugh and nodded as Sir Alcott’s face blurred through a filter of his own tears. He reached out and pulled his teacher into his arms and let the years melt away. “I thought I lost you old man. It’s me Sir Alcott. I’m okay.”
Sir Alcott squeezed Ronan in a great bear hug and slapped him on the back. “I knew you were alive. You’re a fighter. Just like your mother.” The words came out rough and laced with heavy emotion.
The familiar scent of pipe smoke lifted from Sir Alcott’s jacket, and years of tension drained from Ronan’s shoulders. For the first time since his mother’s death, he felt safe. Ronan had found his way home.
Sir Alcott took a step back and glanced over his shoulder at Tyrell. “I told you Patron! I told you he lived!” Sir Alcott’s smile spread across his face, and he appraised Ronan from head to foot. “You’ve grown into the man I knew you’d become. It’s wonderful to see you lad.”
“It’s good to see you too Sir Alcott,” Ronan said.
“Alcott, I’m sorry to cut this short, but we haven’t much time. I expect a company of shard knights to arrive at Redkeep within days.” Tyrell said. “Where’s Devery?”
“He’s working the forge.”
Tyrell turned to the stable hand. “What’s your named lad?”
The stable boy snapped to attention. “Fitz M’Lord. Fitz McNichol.”
“Well Fitz, can you do me a favor?” Tyrell flipped the stable hand a coin.
Fitz snatched the spinning coin in midair. His eyes widened when the golden coin flashed in his palm. “Yes M’Lord.”
“Send word to Lord Devery that we’ve arrived. Ask him to meet us in the great hall,” Tyrell said.
“Yes sir. Right away!” Fitz spun and dashed from the stables.
Sir Alcott slid his arm around Ronan’s shoulder and steered him toward a set of double doors leading into the great hall. “Let’s get you fed. You’re skin and bones!” He glanced over his shoulder at Tyrell. “Patron are you starving the lad?” He motioned to a nearby steward. “Master Salford, have dinner prepared. The prince has come home.”
***
Redkeep’s Great Hall buzzed with hungry soldiers, clattering silverware, and busy servants hoisting pitchers of ale and unloading trays stacked with hot food for the evening meal. Ronan, Patron Tyrell, Sir Alcott, and Kelwin Finn sat at the Lord’s table awaiting Devery Tyrell.
Monsieur Marez shuffled through the kitchen door carrying his own tray filled with piles of fresh venison, hot dinner rolls, sautéed onions, and roast garlic. He sidestepped tables filled with officers from Devery Tyrell’s Lost Valley Militia and set a course for the Lord’s table.
Ronan’s mouth watered as the tray clattered to a halt on the worn oak table. “I’m glad you found the kitchen Monsieur Marez. That food smells delicious,” Ronan said.
“Thank you Monsieur Ronan. The head chef at Redkeep is an old friend and let me work in his kitchen.”
The double doors leading into the great hall swung open, and a tall, well-muscled man wearing a trim gray beard entered the dining room. A smile touched the face of Devery Tyrell, the lord of Redkeep, as he caught sight of Monsieur Marez serving the guests seated at his table.
“Monsieur Marez, what a rare treat having you at Redkeep.”
A warm smile radiated from Marez’s face. “I thank you for your hospitality Monsieur Tyrell. If there’s anything you need while I’m a guest at Redkeep simply ask.”
“You didn’t happen to bring any of your signature ale did you?”
Marez beamed. “Of course! I wouldn’t travel to Redkeep empty-handed. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll bring some out right away.” The round little innkeeper bowed and disappeared through the kitchen door with the empty tray tucked under his arm.
Patron Tyrell stood and shook his brother’s hand. “Devery, I’d like to introduce you to Prince Ronan Latimer.” He gestured toward Ronan.
Devery gave a slight bow toward Ronan. “I’m happy to see you alive and with us today Your Highness.”
Tyrell gestured toward Devery “Ronan, this is my brother, Devery Tyrell, Lord of Redkeep and Commander of the Lost Valley Militia.”
Ronan stood and offered his hand to Devery Tyrell. “Lord Tyrell, thank you for extended me an invitation. I know it comes at great personal risk, and it’s a pleasure finally meeting you.”
Devery shook Ronan’s hand. “I find Merric Pride a much greater risk, and you’re welcome.” He nodded in appreciation.
Kelwin, Sir Alcott, Tyrell, and Devery Tyrell stared at Ronan as if in expectation.
Ronan’s mind froze as he stared around the table in confusion. Had he overlooked some strange custom unique to people in the Lost Valley? Until Devery invited him to sit, he felt it polite to wait on Redkeep’s lord.
His stomach fluttered as the realization struck home. As their rightful prince, these men deferred to his leadership. Ronan eased into his seat, and the other men followed suit.
Slow heat simmered in his cheeks. Ronan hadn’t considered himself royalty in such a long time he’d forgotten people’s expectations. The men and women gathered inside Redkeep’s walls considered him the rightful king of Meranthia. He’d hidden in the shadows for so long, driven by revenge, he never considered his responsibility to the kingdom. That others relied on his leadership for their own well-being made his past actions appear petty and selfish. His mother would’ve expected more than he’d shown. He felt her disappointment like an iron weight around his shoulders.
Amid murmured conversations and clattering silverware, Ronan straightened his back and leveled his gaze at each man around the table. “I believe I owe you gentlemen an explanation for my whereabouts over the past five years.”
Conversation ceased as every eye and ear turned attention to the young prince.
As dinner progressed, Ronan spent the next hour detailing for Sir Alcott, Devery, and the others every significant life event since the night of his mother’s murder five years ago.
“The two shard knights at Winter Haven would travel south to Torr’s watch before engaging us in Redkeep,” Devery said. “Patron, how fast can a battle knight make the trip to Torr’s Watch?”
“Three days if he traveled alone using his entire energy reserve,” Tyrell said. “Double the time for the return trip including a full company of troops.”
“Add three days traveling from Winter Haven to Redkeep,” Sir Alcott said.
“With the wagon slowing us, we made the trip in five days,” Ronan said.
“Which means they’d arrive at Redkeep in a week,” Kelwin said.
“I’d make that six days in case our calculations are off,” Tyrell said.
“I want every person garrisoned at Redkeep ready to leave five days from now,” Ronan said.
“Devery, have you received any word from Ayralen?” Tyrell said.
“I’ve rece
ived no messages.” Devery said.
“Damn.” Tyrell slumped back in his chair. “I sent word to the Prime Guardian seeking aid, but I’ve no way of knowing his response. If Lora’s Guard were coming, I would’ve expected their arrival days ago.”
“The last message I received came a few weeks ago,” Kelwin said. “Lora’s Guard remains entrenched in a defensive position around Elan’s Gap. They’re protecting Meranthian refugees fleeing the country. I’ve heard no word of providing aid to the Meranthian Resistance.”
“We can’t change the past. It’s time to forge ahead with a new plan. Devery, what do your scouts know about the northern detention camp?” Ronan said.
“The Meranthian army holds Ayralen women and children in the northern camp. It’s the likely location for Miss Finn,” Devery said.
“I’ll not leave Rika in that death camp a day longer than necessary, but we also need to stop Pride’s slaughtering of more innocent people. We need to remove him from power, and I want your ideas,” Ronan said.
The men seated around the table remained still and silent while Ronan waited in uncomfortable silence. “I rushed ahead without careful planning the first time, and it resulted in my best friend’s capture. I want to find the plan with the greatest chance of success, and I need your help.” Ronan glanced at Sir Alcott. “Sir Alcott, what’re your thoughts?”
Sir Alcott shifted in his seat. “Pride attends church every Saturday. We could plan an assault on his carriage?”
“He’s under heavy guard inside his carriage and at the cathedral,” Ronan said. “He’s surrounded with a spirit shield anytime he leaves the palace.”
“We could feed false information to Lord Randal about your ring. When Pride takes the bait, we spring a trap.” Tyrell said.
“There’s no guarantee he’d leave the palace to follow the lead. Pride doesn’t like putting himself in any danger, and he’d send Lord Randal or another of his worms after the ring,” Ronan said.
Redkeep’s servants refilled wine and ale glasses then cleared away empty plates while the men at the table went silent.
Shard Knight (Echoes Across Time Book 1) Page 17