The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck

by Jason McWhirter

  There was no denying it now. Malbeck was back, and he had in his possession the Shan Cemar, a powerful elven book that contained secret words of magic, ancient words of power that enabled the one possessing it to access the power of the Ru’Ach, the energy of all things. No one knew how they would defeat this mighty army, nor how they would counter the magic of the Shan Cemar, but they had to try. Jonas had been told that King Kromm would be needed to defeat the Dark One, so he would do his best to find him.

  The sun was beginning to set so Jonas slowed his mount, pausing by a small stand of low lying trees. He shivered from the cold as the shadows of darkness began to creep along the green grass. “Let’s set up camp for the night,” he said as he surveyed the terrain. He scratched his head, and was again surprised at his baldness. During his fight with the demon prince he had been badly burned. Taleen had healed him but his hair had hung in patches, so Taleen had shaved him clean. It felt strange under his hand, but already he could feel the stubble of new growth.

  “Looks like a good place,” replied Fil, as he moved his tired horse next to Jonas.

  They all dismounted and took off their bed rolls and packs. As Taleen dismounted she asked, “Anyone up for a warm meal?”

  “Aye, that would be nice,” Fil said as he stretched his tired back.

  Jonas and Fil gathered some dry wood and started a fire while Taleen prepared a meal of beans, slices of cheese, and several pieces of milt, a hard bread often used to feed soldiers since it could last weeks before spoiling.

  The fire felt good, and the food was hearty and nourishing. Jonas looked up from his clean plate and gauged the descent of the sun. It was almost eclipsed by the dark peaks, but there was still enough light to see.

  “We still have some sunlight left, would anyone like to spar?”

  “I’m tired, Jonas. Don’t you ever like to rest?” asked Fil.

  “I rested the first fourteen years of my life.” Jonas smiled, “Come, Fil, let’s see how well Master Morgan has trained you.”

  “I’d be happy to cross blades with you, Jonas,” Taleen said, standing up smoothly.

  Fil looked at the two cavaliers, smiled, and shook his head. “Fine!” he said, reluctantly leaving the warmth of the fire to join them.

  They walked into a grassy clearing and drew their swords, the rasping sound of steel sliding on steel echoing in the quiet evening air. Fil grabbed his shield since he had been primarily trained in formation fighting. He noticed Jonas’s amused look when he grasped the heavy shield in his left hand.

  “Well, you have two swords. Seems fair to me,” Fil laughed.

  Jonas smiled confidently. “Flat of the blade…one strike to the body, or two to an appendage?” he asked.

  “Okay, but you better not cut me,” Fil declared, turning to face Jonas while Taleen stood to the side to watch and wait her turn.

  “Well if I do, I know a few people who can heal you,” Jonas laughed.

  “Very funny,” Fil retorted, lunging forward with his sword, hoping to catch Jonas off guard. Jonas spun one blade, deflecting the sword easily, the other blade moving in low towards Fil’s thigh. But Fil’s shield was there to meet it. Their swords came together repeatedly, the clashing sound of metal on metal sounding out of place in the quiet wilderness. It wasn’t long before Jonas scored a hit. Fil swung his sword hard in a downward chop. Jonas, quicker than thought, stepped to the side, both swords striking out, one low toward Fil’s ankle, and one high toward Fil’s head. Both blades tapped him firmly as he stumbled forward. They did little harm other than a small bruise on the side of his head.

  “Not bad, Fil, you’ve improved a lot.”

  “Not enough it would seem. You’ve learned a lot from Kiln, haven’t you?”

  “I have. He is incredible.”

  “Did you ever defeat him?” Fil asked with interest.

  “No, although I have scored a few light hits. Kiln said that I am good enough to earn the master mark, and yet I could not defeat him. But there would be many minutes of sparring before he could find an opening, something of which I am rather proud.”

  Taleen moved in to take Fil’s place. “Kiln has had many years to perfect his skills; you are still young, just twenty winters. You have many years left to practice,” she said.

  “I guess you are right, Taleen. That is just what Kiln said,” Jonas replied, lifting up his swords.

  “In time you may even surpass him,” she said, raising her sword at the ready.

  The thought seemed impossible, but then again Jonas had experienced many things that had at first seemed impossible and yet had happened. Maybe in time, he could become that good. Jonas tucked the thought away, concentrating on their bout.

  They circled each other slowly before Jonas stepped in with an offensive attack. Taleen parried his strike easily, launching an attack of her own. They traded blow for blow for several minutes. Taleen was more skilled than Fil, but that was to be expected since she had trained much longer. She was quicker, and had excellent defensive skills. Her experience in battle made her a difficult opponent for she did not make many mistakes, but after several minutes Jonas saw his opening and exploited it. Jonas noticed that she occasionally overextended herself as she swung her blade from right to left, her balance slightly off as she favored her lead leg. Jonas waited, and then capitalized on her error. She swung her blade as expected and Jonas leaned way back from the attack, but his speed and balance were so perfect that he was able to strike her blade as it came by, causing her to fall forward, slightly off balance. Jonas, quickly snapping back from his sway like a bent bow, leaped forward and to the side, swatting her back lightly with the flat of his left sword as she stumbled by. Taleen quickly regained her balance and stood up smiling.

  “Kiln has taught you well,” she said, catching her breath.

  Jonas smiled at her compliment as he sheathed his blades. “You are skilled, Taleen. I had to hunt for an opening.”

  “And how did you find it? What did I do wrong?” she asked sincerely.

  “Occasionally you overcommit in your right to left attack. You lean too far forward on your lead foot, causing you to be slightly off balance. It was that error that allowed me to strike your sword as it came by, forcing you to stumble forward since you were already off balance. Next time, try to keep some weight on your back leg.”

  “I will remember that. Thank you for the advice. But why are you sheathing your swords…are you tired already?” she laughed. Jonas smiled and again drew his swords.

  They fought for a few more rounds before the sun’s light became too dim. At that point, Fil had the fire stoked and was preparing three mugs of tea. Jonas and Taleen sat down around the fire, taking comfort in its warmth, sipping the hot tea.

  “How much farther do you think we have to go before we will find King Kromm?” Fil asked.

  Jonas glanced up from the mesmerizing flames and swallowed some tea. Their supply of honey was low so it tasted a little bitter, but nonetheless it warmed his body and invigorated his tired muscles.

  “Tulari seems to be on a confident course, but I don’t know how much further we have to travel. I cannot sense anything yet,” Jonas answered.

  “Nor I,” Taleen added. “But we should be halfway to Tarsis. If King Kromm is moving toward us, then we should be close, maybe several days to a week at the most.”

  “But we do not know for sure if he is moving toward us. He could have been captured, or could even be holding up somewhere,” Fil countered.

  “True,” Jonas admitted.

  “In that case it will be longer. We just have to keep moving,” Taleen said, taking a sip from her mug.

  They were silent for a while as they enjoyed their tea and the dancing warmth from the fire. Fil broke the silence again.

  “Jonas,” he hesitated a bit, “do you miss Manson much?”

  “Of course, but not so much the town…I miss my mother, and our home.” Jonas paused and seemed to drift off in thought as he again gaz
ed at the hypnotic flames.

  “What else do you miss, Jonas?” Taleen asked gently, afraid she might be prying.

  Jonas looked up at her and answered her softly. “It sounds strange, but I miss my life,” he replied sheepishly.

  “What? I don’t understand. You were a cripple and now you are a powerful cavalier. What is there to miss?” Fil asked incredulously.

  “I miss the solitude, and the peace that I had with my mother. My life was quiet. I don’t miss being a cripple and I certainly don’t miss the pain and ridicule that the people of Manson threw my way, but I miss what I had with my mother. I miss the quiet evenings together, the walks in her garden, and the warm hearth as her rabbit stew boiled above the fire.” Jonas paused for a moment looking at Fil. “Does that make sense?”

  “Yes, I guess so,” Fil answered, thinking about what Jonas had said. “But surely your life is better now.”

  “Yes, I guess it is,” Jonas replied.

  “I think I understand, Jonas,” Taleen interjected. “Your life was simple and it was mapped out for you. There was naught that you had to think about, but now you hold great power, and that comes with responsibilities, as well as the unknown. You don’t know what will happen to you, or your loved ones, and that is unsettling,” she finished.

  “Yes, you describe my feelings well. Do you ever feel that way?” Jonas asked.

  “Of course,” Taleen replied. “Sometimes I wish I were a farmer and that my life was more simple; hard, but simple. I wish I had a man to share the warmth of our hearth and I wish I could hear the laughter of our children while I made bread. But then I think of all I can do with my power and it makes me proud. I can leave a beneficial imprint on this world, and I plan to do so. If I am to die, I want to die fighting the evil that threatens us. I don’t want to die in a small home with dirty hands from working the fields. I would rather rot in my armor holding my sword than have my crops rot untended in a field because Malbeck’s forces marched through and killed everyone.”

  “You make farming sound so insignificant,” Fil said a little sharply. “Our town survived on hunting and farming.”

  “As did mine, young warrior, I mean no disrespect,” Taleen added gently. “I just mean that some people are destined to mold the world, while others simply live within it. We three are the former, and to not embrace our role would simply strengthen our enemies. I will not let that happen, nor will I spend precious moments of my life questioning it. I don’t mean to make light of your words, Jonas,” Taleen added, glancing across the fire at him. “You are young. You should question things as all young people do, as I did when I was your age, but rest easily tonight, and every night, knowing that your presence saves lives.”

  Jonas was silent, taking in her words. After a few moments he spoke again. “How old are you, Taleen?”

  Taleen smiled softly. “Surely you were taught not to ask a woman that question.”

  “I was…just…”

  “I have seen twenty nine winters,” Taleen interrupted Jonas’s mumblings. “It is okay, Jonas, I was just teasing you.”

  Now it was Jonas’s turn to smile. “You are not that much older than we are.”

  “Nine years is a long time when those years were forged with a sword in your hand and a warhorse beneath you,” Taleen said.

  “Indeed, I can imagine so,” Fil said.

  “What about you, Fil, do you miss Manson?” Jonas asked. Jonas and Fil had not been able to talk much since they had been reunited. Events had progressed so quickly that down time to relax and talk had been virtually nonexistent.

  “I miss my family. I never even found Cole’s body, or the rest of them,” Fil paused as he looked away briefly, “the images of their ripped and torn bodies will never leave my mind. I miss the sound of my mother’s voice and the smell of my sister’s hair. It’s the things that seemed so mundane that I miss the most.” Fil wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. “It’s a weird feeling when your family is no more. It’s like a part of you died with them. Sometimes I wonder who I am. So yes, Jonas, I do miss Manson.”

  “Home has a strong pull within us all,” Taleen said softly.

  “We will just have to make a new home,” Jonas said gently, smiling at Fil and Taleen.

  Taleen met his smile with her own. The glow of the fire brought out the whiteness of her teeth, and gave a warm iridescence to her amber hair. Jonas could not keep his eyes off her, and he did not try. Their eyes met, lingering for a moment before she glanced away, nudging a stick into the fire.

  ***

  Hagar yanked again at the heavy chain that held him, the sturdy iron links clashing together making a harsh sound in the quiet clearing. The chain would not give. It was so strong and securely attached to his manacles that even Hagar’s immense strength was not enough to break the chain or dislodge it from the stout cart to which it was attached.

  Hagar was an ogrillion, half ogre and half orc. He knew nothing about his father and very little about his mother. An adult ogrillion was twice as tall as a man and their thick skin was like leather with bony plates covering much of their body, giving them a natural defense against most bladed weapons. Their facial features were usually a blend of the two races, large bony heads sat atop even wider necks, big misshapen noses, deep set eyes hiding under shelf-like brows, and sharp teeth that could rend flesh from bone. Like both ogres and orcs, they were fearsome in battle and evil in nature, hating all and killing without question. Hagar, however, was an exception. As big and powerful as any ogrillion, he could fight if necessary, but he did not enjoy causing pain. He was quiet and gentle, his evil appearance not reflecting what he felt in his heart.

  When he was young, maybe ten winters, he ran away from his ogre clan. He was never sure of his age, his reckoning of time different than humans. Things were bad for him there; he was beaten and used, made to do menial tasks beneath the pure bloods. He knew at a young age that he did not fit in with the fearsome creatures that surrounded him. Instead, he chose to live alone in the wilds, away from those of his kind.

  Life was not easy. Hagar struggled to learn to survive in the wilderness alone. He ate berries, dug up roots, and scavenged dead animals. Eventually he grew to love the woods, as well as the creatures living there. Unlike his own kind, they let him be and did him no harm.

  Through trial and error, Hagar learned to throw stones with immense power and accuracy, enabling him to fell deer, elk, and wild boar. This allowed him the luxury of having fresh game to eat, though having never learned to make fire, he was forced to eat it raw. Their furs and hides kept him from freezing in the winter and his naturally tough constitution and thick skin made the bitter cold bearable. Hagar was dirty and haggard in appearance, and had the look of a terrible beast, but inside he was gentle and lonely. He did not feel the bloodlust that was so apparent with his brethren. Hagar was an anomaly.

  He grew tall and strong but never learned real language since he had no one to talk with. He remembered a few words in ogrish, but most of those disappeared from his mind as time went on. He could say his name; that was one thing he hadn’t forgotten.

  Slave traders had captured him several suns ago, by Hagar’s limited reckoning. He had seen humans before, at a distance, and typically avoided the trading caravans that sometimes traveled through the forests in which he lived. The slavers came into the forests looking for ogres, but this time they came across Hagar instead. Ogres were often used as slaves in the diamond mines around Mt. Ule. Their immense strength and small brains made them powerful and useful servants, but they had to be watched carefully, and their will had to be beaten down until they were mindless laborers. The slavers were good at that.

  Hagar had already been beaten several times, the slavers starting the slow process of crushing his will until eventually he would become a mindless worker. The thick leather whip barely penetrated his tough skin, but it did sting. It wasn’t long before they had moved on to long flexible staves capped with heavy balls of iron. Th
e slavers could swing the ‘clubs’ from a distance, the flexible wood sending the heavy ends smacking into his flesh with painful thuds. They hurt, and Hagar’s body was covered with welts and bruises.

  Hagar was not an intelligent creature, but he could comprehend basic truths, like knowing that these men were bad, for they had hurt him, and that they were hurting the other human slaves they had captured. There were four carts, three filled with a handful of humans, women and men both, and the fourth filled with supplies and provisions. They were all chained to the bars and only let out once a day to eat and relieve themselves in the woods. Hagar couldn’t count, but he knew that there were as many slavers as he had fingers and toes. Anger did not come to him easily, but his beady eyes narrowed intensely every time he saw one of the slavers. A low ominous growl rolled out between razor sharp teeth every time the slavers whip, or stave, came close to him. The urge to inflict harm was not a normal feeling for him, and he struggled with the emotion every time he saw a slaver treating their captives cruelly or come near him.

  The procession had stopped to make camp for the evening. As the sun began to set, a handful of the slavers were already cooking their meals over the open flames of their fires. They stayed behind, eating their meals and preparing the parties food while the rest of the men had split up into groups and gone off into the woods to hunt while there was still some light. The men ranged in age from their early twenties to their fifties. Some were ex-soldiers who had seen hard times. Others were wandering vagrants finding work where they could. Some were even criminals running from the law in Finarth, Tarsis, and Cuthaine. They were men who had seen hard times and did not expect anything to be handed to them, so they learned early on that you had to take what you wanted. And that was what they did.

  Four of the men at the fires finished their meals, got up, leaving the others to finish the cooking, and approached Hagar who was chained and leaning against a large oak tree. They wore mismatched pieces of plate mail, leather armor, and chainmail. They looked like poor and unkempt mercenary soldiers who seemed to take little pride in their appearance. Hagar growled as they drew near, his large chest emanating a powerful warning. They were laughing and pointing at him in jest, and although he could not understand their words, their meaning was clear enough. One of the humans, a short squat man with curly red hair and several missing teeth, threw him an old stale loaf of bread. The bread hit Hagar in the head and the men laughed. Hagar narrowed his eyes in anger, but he was hungry; he reached out and grabbed the dirt covered loaf, eating it in two big bites.