The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck

by Jason McWhirter

  Addalis stepped from the darkness, wet and covered in grime, limping slightly on his right leg. But his eyes blazed with fury as he stepped closer to the downed wizard.

  Gullanin looked up as Addalis whispered the words to another spell, raising his right hand at the same time. Gullanin was struggling with the pain, but he was finally able to pull himself to his feet and recite the words of a quick spell. He had used up most of the energy stored in his staff and he didn’t have time to bring forth more, so he simply spoke the words necessary to trigger the release of the remaining energy in his staff, pushing it all forward, and hoping it would be enough to at least interrupt the wizard’s spell casting.

  Two magical bolts shot from Addalis’s hand as a weak wall of force hit him in the stomach. It was enough to push him backwards and knock the wind from his lungs, disrupting the spell before he could send more of the bolts at the evil wizard. The two magical missiles, shaped like glowing crossbow bolts, struck Gullanin in the chest. He grunted in pain, but Gullanin was an ancient wizard whose power was strong, strong enough to counter the magic from the missiles. He had been wounded, but it would not be enough to stop him.

  Addalis had keeled over from the attack and was gasping to get his breath back. As Gullanin slowly stood up, Addalis reached for the magical throwing daggers at his waist. The evil wizard smiled wickedly at Addalis, fully confident in his ability to deal with the threat.

  But then it was Addalis’s turn to smile as he saw the giant form of Kromm stand up behind the wizard, smoke rising from his burnt body, his huge sword already screaming in a deadly arc towards the wizard’s neck. Gullanin’s smug expression disappeared instantly as Kromm’s blade separated his head from his shoulders. Gullanin’s wizened body fell to the ground, and Kromm stumbled forward to his knees as the strength he had brought forth to kill the wizard vanished, and the pain from the lightning bolt again consumed his body.

  Addalis rushed to Kromm’s side as the king struggled against the pain. His body was badly burned and his mouth tasted like a combination of metal and charcoal.

  “My King, take this,” Addalis said, producing a healing potion. It was the last one that Addalis had, and he had been saving it for just such a moment.

  “No,” the king said through clenched jaws, “give…it…to Sorana.”

  As if on cue the cries of Queen Sorana directed their gaze to a building on their right. There, the queen was kneeling over the still body of her son. Kromm growled, a combination of anger and pain as he tried to stand.

  “Help me up,” he ordered, his voice strained with fear. Addalis allowed the king to use his body as a crutch and they both hobbled over to the prince’s inert form. Kromm quickly dropped to his boy’s side while Addalis, not needing an order, uncapped the healing potion.

  “Does he live?” Addalis asked fearfully.

  “Yes,” Sorana said, weeping. “But I know not the extent of his injuries. His pulse is weak and I cannot wake him.”

  “Give him the potion,” the king ordered frantically, as he cradled his son’s head.

  Addalis gently opened the boy’s mouth and poured the small amount of fluid into it. The magical elixir seeped down his throat and they all waited for any sign that it had done something.

  The sound of booted feet turned the king’s gaze from his boy to a group of fifty armored Free Legion warriors running up behind them from a side street. The group, led by General Kurraris, immediately sent his men to reinforce the struggling warriors who were still fighting the orcs, while he and several other men ran towards Kromm.

  “King Kromm, are you okay?” he asked, his worried eyes gazing over Kromm’s body, still smoking from his burns.

  “No, but I want my boy healed first. Do you have a healer?”

  “Yes, I will see to it,” the general said, motioning for the two men with him to take the boy. “What happened?” the Free Legion commander asked.

  “Later, General, my wife needs medical help. And I need it as well,” Kromm said, his voice obviously strained.

  “I’m sorry. I will see to it,” General Kurraris said as the two Free Legion warriors carried the young prince off. “Altair!” the general yelled to a young warrior at the rear of their force. “Bring men, and get the king and queen to a healer!”

  ***

  The heavy hammer came down with a crack, connecting solidly to Jonas’s knee. Jonas did not notice it before, but there were spaces under each knee and elbow, and his limbs were cinched down tight with black leather straps on either side of the space. He was completely immobilized, but as the hammer descended, his instincts took over and he screamed, trying to jerk his leg out of the way. But the straps would allow no movement as the hammer struck his kneecap.

  As the pain exploded in his leg, he realized the purpose of the spaces. The hammer shattered his knee, forcing the joint backwards, hyper extending it and driving bone and flesh backwards into the space under the joint.

  Jonas screamed again, desperately seeking Shyann as the excruciating pain pulsed rhythmically through his knee, matching the rapid beats of his heart. Yet still she eluded him as he pleaded for her help deep within his heart. Where was she? Why wouldn’t she help him? He screamed the questions in his head.

  “I can make the pain go away, Cavalier. Just denounce your goddess and pay homage to Dykreel. It is as simple as that,” the thinner cleric whispered in Jonas’s ear. “The Forsworn will make all your dreams come true. Submit to them and you shall know true power!” The cleric’s whisper had grown to a shout.

  “Never,” Jonas grunted through the pain.

  “Very well, Raykin, do the other leg,” he ordered.

  “As you wish, Dakar,” Raykin replied as he moved to the other side of the table, an evil smile contorting his face. Jonas opened his eyes through the cloud of pain and saw the blood covered hammer descend a second time.

  Again Jonas jerked, instinctively trying to move his leg, but the magical straps held him tight and the hammer struck his other knee, again smashing bone, tendons, and muscle. His screams reached a crescendo of anguish. He thought that he could not feel any worse pain, but he was wrong. Fresh waves of it racked his body and he continued screaming, louder than he thought possible, tears streaming down his face, his body shaking in agony. He searched for his center as he fought to control the pain, but his mind was scattered and fragmented, and the only thing he could concentrate on were the spheres of fire pulsing at each knee cap.

  The last thing he heard before he lost consciousness was a gentle whisper in his ear, “Submit…and it will all…go…away.”

  ***

  The king and his family had all been taken to a temple dedicated to Ulren. Falstis, a heavyset priest, tended to the royal family while other lower ranking priests cared for the injured Free Legion warriors that were brought in after the battle in the streets.

  With the help of General Kurraris’s men they had finally defeated the orcs and what was left of the Blackhearts, but it had been at great cost, and the powerful Gould-Irin had killed many of the brave warriors.

  Kromm and Sorana stood above their son who was still lying unconscious in a makeshift cot in the middle of the temple. Allindrian, too, lay motionless nearby and her condition looked no better. Many of the benches and seats were being used as beds and resting places for the injured while the priests went from man to man to tend to their wounds. The low ranking acolytes did not have the power to heal, but they did have some knowledge of medicine, a subject taught to all priests when they came into the fold. The magic granted by Ulren to his followers was given later as they proved their loyalty and faith and the quality of their hearts became apparent.

  Falstis had sent healing magic into the young prince immediately before seeing to the king. Kromm had been adamant about that. The large priest had told Kromm that if it hadn’t been for the healing draught he had taken earlier, that his son probably would have died. The power of the wizard’s strike had caved in his armor and crushed his stern
um, breaking numerous ribs, several of which had punctured his lungs. The young prince would have suffocated in his own blood if the healing potion had not stopped the bleeding. But he could not explain why the lightning bolt had not cooked him from the inside out. There were no signs of burns or damage from the bolt.

  “You say he was hit with lightning and the force of the bolt flung him fifteen paces?” Falstis asked incredulously.

  “Yes, will he live?” Queen Sorana asked desperately.

  “He will, but that bolt should have killed him. It almost killed you,” Falstis said, turning to King Kromm, “and yet I see no signs of burns on your son. The only damage I see was caused by the impact. I don’t understand it.”

  “I care not how it happened, just that it did,” Kromm said with gratitude.

  High priest Falstis spent the next hour using his magic on Queen Sorana and Allindrian, while another high ranking priest used Ulren’s power to heal Kromm’s damaged body. With a little rest and some food and water, they would be fully healed before the morning.

  King Kromm and his wife sat by Riker’s side for over an hour before Falstis was able to return. “How is he doing?” the high priest asked as he approached them. High priest Falstis was characteristically a jolly looking fellow. But now, however, his chubby cheeks were flushed and he was sweating profusely in the cool evening air. Many men had needed his care, and there were still others waiting for help. The constant work was taking its toll on the heavy man. He was obviously exhausted, but he smiled nonetheless as he neared the king and queen.

  “His breathing seems strong,” Kromm said. “I thank you, Falstis, for helping us, we are most grateful.”

  “Think nothing of it, it is my duty and my pleasure.”

  “Lord Kromm.” Allindrian’s voice came from behind him and they all turned to see the Blade Singer walk towards them. Her healing had taken well and she was moving with the same grace as she always had.

  “Yes, Blade Singer,” Kromm replied.

  “We need to talk. Fil is very agitated and I’m afraid he will go after Jonas on his own, and I agree with him. We cannot delay any longer. We must find a way to locate him. I fear that if he has not returned by now he may already be in their hands.”

  “You are quite right. Where is Fil?” Kromm asked.

  “Outside in the courtyard with Durgen and Addalis.”

  Kromm turned to his wife, kissing her and holding her at arm’s length. “You will stay here with Riker. I have to go after Jonas,” he said, kissing her again on the forehead.

  The queen did not argue for she knew it was his duty and the right thing to do. “Come back safe, and bring Jonas with you, we owe him much,” she said, pulling him in for one last embrace before the giant man turned and walked toward the courtyard with Allindrian just behind him.

  Kromm walked through the open door and into a small square courtyard paved with red stones and surrounded by a stone wall about waist high. In the middle of the courtyard was a statue of Ulren surrounded by stone benches. Bare cherry trees lined the walls and the entire area was tranquil and quiet.

  Durgen was sitting on one of the benches with his hand resting casually on his axe while Fil paced, clearly agitated. Addalis was sitting on another bench carefully reading pages from his spell book. The group looked tired and ragged, but their expressions told Kromm that they were all ready.

  “King Kromm, thank Ulren you are well!” Fil said, hurriedly approaching the monarch. “But we must go after Jonas. I fear he is in great danger.”

  “How’s yer boy?” Durgen asked, standing up from the bench.

  “He will live,” Kromm replied with a forced smile. “Where is Kilius?” the king asked as he looked around for him.

  “He did not make it,” Allindrian replied. “His neck snapped when the wizard flung him against the wall”.

  The king shook his head sadly. “And Myrell was killed as well?”

  “Yes, an arrow struck her in the throat.”

  “I lost Dandronis in the catacombs. He gave his life for me. He saved me from that fireball,” Kromm said, more to himself than anyone else. “So much death, I am sickened by it all,” he continued softly. “And we do not want to add Jonas to the list of lost warriors. We must find him!” the king said more forcefully. “What do you suggest?”

  There was a pause as everyone tried to come up with some ideas. It was no easy feat. How would they find Jonas in this vast city? Was he captured? If so, where would they take him? Was he dead? Everyone wanted to find him, but no one knew how to accomplish that goal.

  “I have an idea,” Addalis announced thoughtfully.

  “What is it?” Fil asked eagerly, desperate to find his friend.

  “I have a spell of location, but…”

  “But what?” Fil interrupted.

  “But it will not work unless I have something of his, something that was close to him or his body. Does anyone have something that belonged to him?”

  There was a pall of silence following Addalis’s question, as nobody could think of such an object that Jonas might have left behind. As they digested the grim reality of the situation, their expressions went from hopeful to sad resignation.

  Then Allindrian spoke up. “I might know of something,” she said hesitantly.

  “What is it?” Fil demanded.

  “Well, last night, Myrell spent the night with Jonas, and in the morning, when she rushed into the room, she was wearing his shirt.”

  “That would do,” Addalis said hopefully. “I don’t like the idea of taking a shirt off of a dead woman, but…”

  “She would have it no other way. Where is her body?” Fil asked.

  “The orcs and Blackhearts have all been taken outside to be burned, but the Free Legion warriors that fell were taken to the funeral grounds to be buried with honor. I made sure she was among them, as well as Kilius,” Allindrian replied.

  “Then let’s go, we have no time to spare,” Kromm said, turning to leave the courtyard with his companions eagerly following.

  They found the funeral grounds easily enough as Captain Hadrick had led them there personally. He had been helping bury his fallen men and he was more than happy to bring them to the bodies of their comrades. The grounds of the cemetery consisted of a long expanse of cut grass lined with hundreds of stone markers, each etched with the name of one of the fallen. There were at least thirty bodies lined up for burial, each wrapped with a heavy wool cloth. There were many men about, as well as priests, each going about their duties, preparing the dead for burial. It was still dark, but torches stuck into the ground at various intervals lit the area so the men could work into the night digging the graves. It was tough work, but the Free Legion warriors considered it an honor to give their comrades and friends a decent burial.

  Captain Hadrick quickly took them to Myrell’s body, and they all turned around to give the dead respect as Allindrian removed Jonas’s shirt from her cold form. The Blade Singer did not enjoy the task, but she knew it had to be done, and she knew that Myrell would understand. It was obvious to the ranger that the young village girl had cared for Jonas, and it would help settle her spirit knowing that she had helped in Jonas’s rescue.

  Allindrian, kneeling at Myrell’s side, gently closed her wide staring eyes, settling the wool blanket back over her face. She then whispered the ancient elven burial blessing, “Kuthware ulnos tai amos ruathos.” May you find peace in the Ru’Ach. Allindrian stood and turned to the others. “I have it. Let us go.”

  They moved quickly back to the courtyard where Addalis could prepare the spell. He closed his eyes, concentrating on the words as he held Jonas’s shirt in both hands. As the magical words appeared in his mind, he focused intently on the correct pronunciation of each word and the proper syntax of the phrase. When he fully felt prepared, he opened his eyes and began to recite the spell. Since the spell was fairly short, it took only a few moments to finish. With a slight raise of his voice and a flick of his wrists, he sent the
shirt into the air and enacted the magic. Instantly the shirt burst into a green flame, quickly shrinking and coalescing into a small sphere of floating green fire about the size of a closed fist. Addalis smiled and turned to his companions. “Are you ready?”

  Their response was a hefting of axe and bow and the ringing of steel as blades were drawn from their scabbards.

  ***

  Jonas woke up to a sharp sting in his chest. His vision was blurred and it took him a few seconds to orient himself. Standing over him were the two priests and Dakar, the leader, was putting pressure on his chest with both hands. Again he was hit by the pain in his chest, and was horrified to see that the Dykreel cleric was using a small blade to slice open the skin on his chest all the way to the bone. Jonas screamed, his muscles straining against the straps that held him securely to the table. How long had he been unconscious? He had no idea. The pain from his crushed legs had sent his mind away to hide, but now, the pain, as his chest was slowly being sliced open, jerked him back to the awful reality he was facing. He cried out again in agony, in fury, and in utter frustration.

  “How does it feel?” Dakar whispered. Jonas could not respond, nor did he care to. It was all he could do to stay conscious as the cleric continued slicing an X shape into his chest. And then, using his bare fingers, he reached into the cuts and began to pull up on the flesh and skin. Jonas screamed again in agony as more pain than he could possibly imagine flooded through his body. Dakar was pulling the flaps of the incisions up, using the sharp edge of the knife to cut away any flesh that was still attached to the bones on his chest. He was being flayed open as he lay helplessly on Dykreel’s altar. His vision swam and he hoped that consciousness would leave him and end the agony.

  Raykin, the larger of the two clerics, approached Jonas and lifted something over his chest. Jonas’s mind was retreating again, but he struggled hard to stay awake, to try and get a look at what was happening to him. Would they now kill him? What was he holding? Jonas squinted, just catching the shape of a black loop of barbed wire about as big around as a skull, being lowered onto his chest.