“It is so big. Where are we?” he asked, looking around.
“We are just south of Tarsis. The snows are slowly subsiding and Malbeck has begun his march to Finarth,” she replied.
“How long do they have?”
“Several months at least, depending on how long it takes Malbeck to destroy Cuthaine and the other villages and towns unfortunate enough to be in his path.”
Jonas shook his head in wonder. “How will we fight that? There are so many,” he asked in stunned amazement.
“Strength is in the heart, my young cavalier, not in numbers. Just look at yourself. What you did in the Hallows defied all possibilities. It was your mind and your heart that gave you the strength to hold that shield and release my fire.” She continued to speak in her soft voice, turning to face him again. “Now, once you reach Cuthaine you must make haste and depart immediately as dark forces lurk there as well. Stay with King Kromm and his family and get them to Finarth safely and quickly.”
“What happens after that?”
“You will know when the time is right,” she answered, reaching out with both hands to cup his face. Jonas closed his eyes at her touch and her warmth flooded his soul. She gently touched her lips to his forehead and the same warm light exploded in his mind and then…
…he awoke to find himself lying on his back, draped with a cloak and a warm wool blanket. Nestled by his side was Myrell, sleeping soundly, her face snuggled up against his shoulder. Her body was warm and it surprised him how good her touch felt.
He felt refreshed and his head no longer hurt. He glanced around him seeing the remaining members of their group sleeping soundly, tightly huddled in the middle of a small clearing. They were still in the Hallows, that much was obvious from the gnarly skeletal branches floating above them and the thorny dark foliage surrounding them like hungry demons.
“Good to have you back.”
Jonas flicked his gaze to his right, pushing himself up on one elbow. King Kromm sat on a log with his right hand resting on the hilt of his great sword. The other end was sunk into the soft moss covered dirt. Even in this dark place and covered with black soot and burns, he looked like a king of legend.
“I guess it worked,” Jonas replied. “I remember the roaring of the flames and that is about it.”
“It was incredible. You destroyed a sizable section of the forest, including those creatures. You saved us, again, and again I thank you,” Kromm said, standing to his full height.
“Thank me by getting to Finarth safely, and quickly,” Jonas responded.
“Done,” Kromm said. “Now let’s get moving so I can make good on that promise.”
After the group’s quick rest they made it to the gate without any further conflicts. It was similar in appearance to the gate they had entered earlier, though luckily this one was not under water. Two large stone columns rested in a clearing surrounded by the same dense black trees and foliage. The columns appeared ancient, gray fingers reaching up from the ground, frozen in time, their rough surfaces mottled with black moss and patches of white.
Allindrian stepped up to the columns whispering several words of power under her breath. Suddenly the clearing thrummed with magic and everyone could feel it vibrate deep inside them.
Eager to leave the Hallows they each quickly stepped between the pillars, disappearing in a blue flash.
Eight
The Shadow of Night
Kiln was restless. None of his scouts had returned and the problems and difficulties in managing the refugees and preparing the city for siege seemed insurmountable. He slammed the ledger shut, gazing out his window into the dark night.
The royal coffers were running dry and they still did not have enough supplies to last through a long drawn out siege. They needed more coin, more food, more weapons, and more trained soldiers. More importantly they needed information. They needed to know Malbeck’s location, how large of an army he led, whether or not they had cavalry. They needed to know something, anything to give them an idea of what they would be facing.
He sighed heavily, scratching the back of his neck as he arched his tired back. It was late; he had been up all night perusing books and charts. He stood up and walked to the slow burning fire, placing several large logs onto the red embers. The flames jumped up immediately, chasing the chill from his body. Warming his hands by the fire he lost himself in the dancing orange and yellow flames.
His room was small but cozy. The bed was large and comfortable, the goose down mattress fully capable of draining the tired tension from his body, which it had done on many occasions. There were chairs and a desk covered with books, charts, maps, and ledgers. The large fireplace occupied one wall. The thick solid oak mantel was supported by two columns carved in the shape of two beautiful women, elegantly posed in wispy gowns that clung to their bodies. Above it was a burgundy tapestry that bore the Finarthian mark, a fist within a rising sun, embroidered in gold. There were two doors in the room, a heavy oak door that led to the hallway outside, and an oak door that opened to a small balcony three stories above one of the four courtyards in the king’s inner castle. The small window in the room looked out to the balcony and beyond to the outer wall of the inner castle. Kiln could see the glow of torches in the distance as knights vigilantly walked the castle wall.
Kiln’s silver plate armor hung on a wooden rack off to the side of the bed. The king’s own metal smith had spent a month crafting the suit for him and it was magnificent. His sword belt with his sheathed blade hung from the rack within an arm’s reach of his bed.
Kiln withdrew his hands from the warmth of the fire and rubbed his tired eyes. He would do no one any good if he didn’t get some sleep, so he decided to retire for the night. But before his working mind would allow his body to rest he needed to meditate, to calm his body and mind so that sleep would come to him more quickly.
So he moved to the foot of his bed and took three deep breaths, attempting to slow his breathing and his heart rate. On the third breath he put his hands down to the cold stone floor lifting his body easily into a handstand. Kiln was beyond fifty winters but his body was as strong and flexible as someone much younger. He balanced perfectly for a few moments, breathing slowly, before lowering himself into the position of Ty’erm. His head met the floor softly as he settled his knees on the back of his bent elbows.
Ty’erm was the position of power, taught to him by a Sharneen chief many years ago after he had left the service of Finarth. For two years he lived with the fearsome nomadic warriors far to the east, and he had developed a relationship with one of the many tribal chiefs. Kiln taught them formation fighting techniques, while they in return taught him many secret combat skills, from sword fighting to hand to hand combat. But the most important tool that was taught to him was how to achieve Ty’erm, the state of mind that enabled him to focus on the world around him in a different manner. The position of power enabled one to meditate and focus one’s energy in a way that allowed the person to experience the mental state of Ty’erm. It was how Kiln learned to control his body in a way that he didn’t think possible. Once the position was mastered, entering the mental state of Ty’erm could be done in mere moments, without assuming the position. In that meditative state Kiln was able to hear and see things he would otherwise not notice. His senses became sharpened and he was able to react on instinct, not emotion. It was an invaluable technique that had helped keep him alive for over twenty years.
Kiln was already exhausted so it only took him a few moments to enter the state of Ty’erm. His breathing and heart rate slowed quickly and his mind seemed to fold in on itself. Everything was quiet and still as his mind found its focus, its center, and then he began to sweep all the tension and worries away until he was left with a feeling of peace and surrounded by an aura of contentment.
Opening his eyes, he lifted his body back into a handstand, holding the position perfectly still for a few more deep breaths before flipping his legs under him and standing up str
aight with his eyes still closed. Now that he was calm and relaxed, he would be able to sleep soundly without focusing on all the problems that had been hounding him for weeks. He moved softly over to the table, blowing out the candles and blanketing the room in shadow. He took off his cotton shirt, leaving on his comfortable black cotton breeches as he climbed into his soft down bed.
Kiln lay on his back, breathing deeply, and drifted off to sleep.
***
Alerion the wizard sat at a large table made of thick oak. Across the table were various scattered old tomes bound in leather so old and dried that it seemed they would crumble and fall apart when opened. But they hadn’t, and Alerion had spent the better part of the day carefully going through books and parchments, looking for anything that might help solve the riddle.
An IshMian with the blood of Finarth flowing through his veins, Alerion whispered the riddle over and over again inside his head. There had to be something here that would give him a clue as to the meaning of the riddle.
He glanced up, rubbing his tired eyes. The room was large and filled with tall book shelves lined with tome after tome of ancient works. He could tell the sun was beginning to set for its rays of light had moved slowly down the north book shelf as it penetrated the large window behind him. Besides Alerion, the room was empty except for the aging “watcher”, as they called him. His job was to organize, care for, and “watch” the many valuable pieces of literature and tomes of knowledge in Mynos. His name was Xerandus, and he had been guarding the books for most of his lifetime, which was quite extensive as his long gray beard and wrinkled visage suggested.
Xerandus looked up from a scroll he was reading to make sure everything was as it should be. He was very meticulous and he did not like anyone touching his works without his permission, even a powerful court wizard. He glanced at Alerion momentarily before looking back at his work.
“Xerandus, I cannot find anything in the ambassador’s family tree. Do you perhaps have anything of his personal writings, or writings from his daughters?” asked Alerion.
Alerion had been looking for information pertaining to an ambassador of Mynos who had lived over a thousand years ago. His name was Catarus Milfis, and he had traveled to Finarth with his daughter. This event had become the subject of Alerion’s research. It was this daughter, whose name was Larrea, who may have had a secret relationship with King Ullis Gavinsteal when he was just a boy, a relationship that no one knew about, but had been mentioned in his own personal journal. If this liaison had brought forth a child, then there may be another royal blood line in existence today. There were a lot of maybes in this possibility, but it was worth investigating.
Xerandus looked up from his scroll and stood up slowly. He used a crooked cane to support his bent body as he walked.
“Let me check for you, Master Wizard,” replied the old watcher as he slowly made his way to a tall book shelf on the far side of the room. The wall was as high as eight men and books lined the shelves that rose to the ceiling. A ladder mounted on rolling tracks reached to the top.
Alerion eyed the old man curiously, wondering how he would be able to climb the ladder, if he indeed needed to. The answer to his question came quickly, however, as Xerandus stopped in front of the shelf and whispered several soft words into the staff that he carried. The staff glowed instantly and a small whirling form appeared in front of the watcher. The glowing form was made of a swirling translucent mist, but it didn’t seem to take on any particular shape. It spun and danced around the old man for a few moments before it shot up the book shelf to one of the top rows.
“You are a wizard, Xerandus, I did not know,” Alerion said in surprise.
The old watcher looked at Alerion, shaking his head slowly. “I am no wizard. The staff is called the watcher staff. It has the power to call forth a small wind elemental. I have used the staff for fifty years and it serves me well to maintain the tomes and books for the royal family.”
“I see,” Alerion said just as the little elemental brought several books down from the top shelf. The books floated and danced in the air as the elemental quickly moved them to Alerion’s table, gently setting them down. “Thank you, Xerandus,” added Alerion.
Xerandus nodded his head in acknowledgement and whispered several more words. The little elemental flew towards the old man, disappearing into the top of the staff.
“One of the tomes before you contains the writings from Ambassador Milfis himself. The other is from his wife, who died at an early age giving birth to their youngest child. That is all that we have in our records. I hope it will help,” he said as he slowly ambled back to his desk and scroll.
“Again, thank you for your help,” replied Alerion as he eagerly dove into the books, hoping that there would be some insight, some speck of knowledge to help enlighten him.
***
Delvin stood quietly still, bored out of his mind. His post was important, and in fact it was only the most veteran knights who were given such a post, but it was tedious nonetheless. His job was to stand guard outside of the Commander General’s door. Sometimes he guarded the king’s room, or those of the other important generals or high ranking officials. There was always someone to watch, and it was nearly every night.
He yawned, trying to shake the sleepiness from his mind. He disliked the task, but he was still a Finarthian knight, and a knight would not fall asleep at his post. He glanced down the dark hallway seeing the same thing that he always did…nothing.
The passage to his left led to stairs that went up to the king’s own personal chambers. There would be two more guards there, probably struggling against the same monotony that he was fighting.
To his right was another passage that led to an anteroom. That room always housed several more guards, who were probably sleeping now, thought Delvin. From that room was a flight of stairs that went down to more hallways and more rooms that would be set aside for more of the royal family and their guests.
There were two metal wall sconces flanking his position and each was now lit, casting a faint glow against the cold stone that formed the passageways. The light only illuminated a few paces out in the hallway, leaving the ends of the corridor as dark as night.
Delvin leaned back against the wall, setting the back of his head on the cold stone. He looked up at the ceiling of the passageway and let his mind drift to Cora, his girlfriend. He missed her. It had been over a week since he had caressed her soft skin and stroked her glossy black hair. All the knights had been constantly busy trying to prepare the city for the siege that was sure to come, and he had had little time to spend with her. He smiled openly as he pictured her milky white skin, and oh how he missed her fragrance of rosemary and lavender. It always bewildered him how women managed to have such pleasing aromas.
As he shook the pleasant thought from his mind he lowered his head back down from the wall, barely catching a flash of movement in front of him. His eyes caught the blur of a dark form before everything went black.
Uthgil slowly slid his blade from the dead guard. The assassin had moved forward like a wraith, quickly ramming his knife under the guard’s chin and into his brain. The man died instantly, falling forward into Uthgil’s arms. He was heavy, but the sturdy assassin managed to maneuver the guard’s lifeless body to the ground without a sound.
Three other guards lay dead in the anteroom and Uthgil wanted to quickly perform his task and get out before the bodies were found. The castle was busy and more alert than it normally would have been, but Uthgil was a hunter and the night was his home. It had not been overly difficult to get into the inner sanctum of the royal castle.
The door would be locked and the Sharneen didn’t even bother to check it. He pulled back a dark sleeve withdrawing a slender metal pick from a leather sheath at his wrist. There were other various tools there but he only needed one.
After a few seconds Uthgil heard the familiar subtle click of the lock disengaging.
But so did Kiln.
Kiln’s eyes bolted open and he held his body still, listening for any other sounds that were out of place. He had been sleeping, but in his calm state of mind he could still hear and sense his surroundings. It was something that he had learned to do a long time ago.
There was no further sound, but then his eyes flicked toward movement by the door. In fact it was the door. Kiln noticed a thin sliver of light penetrate the darkness of his room from outside as the door slowly opened. The hallway was mostly shadow, lit only by a few sconces, so the light that entered Kiln’s room was not bright, but it was enough.
His eyes glanced to his sword hanging on his armor no more than an arm’s length away.
Uthgil held his small crossbow in his right hand as he silently floated through the tiny gap in the door like a nightly breeze. Both of the darts loaded into his crossbow were poisoned; he would take no chances with this one.
Uthgil quickly located the man’s bed, aiming the crossbow at the still form lying there.
Kiln slowly gripped the edge of his thick fur blanket keeping his cold gaze on the assassin entering his room. He slowed his breathing, focusing on the man’s movements. The killer lifted something, aiming it at Kiln. Suddenly Kiln was a blur, hefting the blanket and whipping it out in front of him as he leaped from the bed towards his sword.
Uthgil reacted on instinct to the movement. He fired his crossbow, shuffling quickly to his left, toward the balcony, and spinning the weapon he fired the second bolt.
Both bolts slammed into the thick blanket getting caught up in its folds. Kiln dropped the blanket, gripped his blade and in one smooth movement drew the weapon and reversed his direction. Quickly he rolled backwards over the bed, coming up with his glowing weapon in front of him.
Uthgil recognized the man’s speed and grace and felt as if he were looking at himself in a mirror. Finally, a challenge he thought, dropping his crossbow and drawing his two deadly blades from their sheaths at his thighs.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 24