Warrior of the Void (Fantastica Book 4)

by M. R. Mathias

  The knight looked at the chaos of the encampment and let out a sigh. "Come, Sam, I know we saw the princess die yesterday, yet the prince may still be alive," he said, climbing out of the cage and helping the terrified girl down.

  A balding man with six jagged, scab-covered lines scratched over his head came around the cage and swung his sword at them. Sir Jory pushed the girl to Cryelos and ducked the blade. He then sunk a finger into one of the man's eyes all the way to the knuckle. The man cried out and made to stab Sir Jory, but the knight jerked the man's head to the side by the eye socket, and the sword fell to the ground when a horrible, pain-filled scream erupted behind them.

  A man whose face had been scorched so badly that you could see his mandible and teeth where his cheek had been charred away, stumbled into the cage near them and fell. Jory pushed the bald man on top of him and picked up the dropped sword.

  "You get the horses," Cryelos said to the knight. "Head south down the cart road, the dragon will stop any pursuit." He then led the terrified girl around the cage away from the gory scene.

  Braxton watched from atop the wheel cage. The knight fought off a man that came upon him while he was trying to untether the horses. Swords clashed, and sparks flew from their grating impact. Sir Jory spun and stabbed, but the man was no slouch, and easily swatted the blow away. He continued with his own whip-like swing. Sir Jory jumped back, but got sliced across the upper chest. He took the blow with barely a grimace. He half-turned one way, then just as the man committed, the knight swung back around and hacked his attacker's sword arm just below the elbow, leaving it dangling by small bits of tendons and gristle.

  Blood shot in spurts from the veiny stump, and the man stumbled and fell away.

  Dawn broke the horizon and the sky lightened considerably. The knight had just gotten a few horses free when a crossbow bolt shot by him and embedded itself into the horse he was tending. The animal bucked, brayed out in pain, and bolted. Sir Jory turned just in time to see the man who had loosed at him get attacked by a screeching white falcon.

  Braxton saw that Sir Jory was back freeing horses, probably terrified by all that was happening around him. After tearing up the crossbowman's face, he saw that the horses being freed were scattering from the carnage.

  Jory had seen many things, and been in more battles and tournaments in his life than most, but he'd never been as scared as he was right then. Behind the man getting his face shredded by the deliberate falcon, he saw a blue-scaled dragon snatch another man up and shake him until his body was a ruin. Then, as the dragon lifted into flight, part of the man's body, his lower torso and legs, were dragged along the scorched grass until the entrails caught in the dragon's teeth finally snapped.

  Sir Jory was a sworn Knight of Ormandin, and a fully-fledged member of the royal guard, yet he was trembling so badly that he gave up trying to untie the animals and started cutting them loose with the sword he'd picked up. The horses were scattering, and he was scared witless, but not so much so that he was going to leave without the familial sword these men had taken from Prince Trovin. It was Jory's sword, and he'd given it to the prince to make their identity switch more believable, but he would die before he left it behind, for it was a gift from his long dead father, Sir Jamen.

  He found it in the wagon that the men kept their supplies in, and when he looked around, he found there was no one left in sight, not even the dragon. Only the white falcon was there, and it was perched on the supply wagon in the driver seat, looking at him with its head cocked to one side as if it were waiting on him to hurry up.

  Cryelos looked back to see a wagon coming down the road. It was being pulled by two horses. The girl stumbled and made a whimpering sound, but he held her up with a hand under one arm. She'd been sobbing the whole way, thinking that some wild creature had taken her. She probably thought the knight was dying back there in the burning wreckage. Another glance and the elf saw a white falcon perched on the knight's shoulder, and he waited there until they slowed to a halt beside them. The poor girl was so relieved that she crumpled to the grass from where she stood and said a prayer.

  Less than twenty paces away, the ragged man from town that Braxton had seen hiding in the grass the night before, watched them. He had been on his way to tell the captain of Prince Venom's men that a goddess on a dragon had brought back a girl from the dead, and that the knight he thought he had crippled had been healed as well. He thought that the captain would surely give him enough coppers to buy his way in Greenswatch for the information. Now, though, he wasn't sure if the captain was still alive. He only understood the Ormandin language a little bit, enough to understand words like "dead," "no pursuit," and a few others the Ormandian prince and the wilding had spoken to each other. He was feeling hopeful Prince Venom might pay handsomely for the truth of what happened to his men.

  He waited until the cart pulled away, then made his way toward the roiling cloud of smoke pouring from the encampment. He could make out words like, "fierce-winged creature," "dragon's breath," and, "torn apart" as he drew near, but it wasn't until he got there that he began to comprehend what had taken place.

  The men he could hear speaking were both mortally wounded and sitting against the wheel of the cart cage. They were drinking from a skin, trying to comprehend what had just happened to them and mumbling prayers to their gods and each other.

  The only other man alive was the old bald-headed captain he'd come to warn. He looked as bad as the other two, with one of his eyes laying across his cheek, the socket empty, the orb hanging like a squashed grape. His head was torn and bloody, and he sat there on the ground, breathing heavily in and out.

  The villager was afraid to approach, but as he nervously crept closer, he tripped over the torso of another man and saw the face of the one who had run the girl through in the village. When he saw the trail of guts leading off and the pile of organs, he immediately vomited.

  "Who goes there?" the captain rasped. His voice was hard but full of unmistakable fear.

  "My name is Forbe. I'm just a villager coming to warn—" he began heaving again before he could finish his words.

  After Forbe stopped vomiting, the captain barked sarcastically, "You are a little fargin’ late with your warning, Forbe. Come over here and help me."

  The captain had Forbe cut the loose, hanging stuff away from his socket with a dagger, which caused Forbe to vomit yet again.

  The captain screamed and cursed in anguish and ordered Forbe to fetch him wine from the supply cart.

  Cautiously, Forbe said, "They took the supply cart. The prince from the cage was driving with a white hawk perched on his shoulder. The prince's man who was wounded in my village and the girl who was run through were healed by a silver goddess on a blue dragon not long after you left them.

  The captain moaned. Clearly it wasn't for the escape of the prisoners or for the loss of the men, or even his eye in the fight, but for the lack of wine. Then he wailed out a sound full of sorrow and crawled to the corpse of a charred girl a few yards away.

  "Oh, my daughter," he sobbed. "By the gods, I swear I will kill each and every one of those who did this to you." For a long time, Forbe just stood there unsure of what to do. Then finally, the captain spoke, "I'd give a dozen coppers for a flask of wine."

  To Forbe, a dozen coppers was half a fortune, and he would loathe to pass such an offer up. He jogged across the camp to where the two dying men were sitting and snatched the half empty skin from the one who was holding it. The man reached up at Forbe angrily, but he was fast enough to elude his grasp. He had to ignore the curses thrown his way as he left, and he noticed that the other one must've been dead for he didn't say a word.

  He was thinking of how to discuss getting payment for the wine, but decided to give it to the captain and then look for more. For Forbe realized on his way back that if he got the captain drunk, he could chase down a horse, hook it up to the wheel cage, then load up all of the armor and weapons he could gather and haul it all to Gre
enswatch, to Prince Venom. If he brought the captain, too, he figured his reward might be enormous.

  Cryelos held his tongue on the ride back, although Sir Jory had gotten him to tell him the condition of the prince and princess. Cryelos had to convince the man that he was not a wildling, or a darkon, but an elf. An elf that had saved his life, he added. Sir Jory then thanked him and held back his questions.

  Sir Jory had thought the princess dead and the prince crippled, for sure. He wasn't sure what a Chureal was, but he was thankful that one had healed his liege’s son. He was frightened and amazed to be riding in the wagon with the silver-haired, yellow-eyed elf, and a white falcon.

  He'd grown up hearing crib tales about the children stealing elves who lived in the forest, but those elves were supposedly tall and fierce. The elf beside him was the size of a slender human woman and easily three times as graceful. He noticed that Cryelos wasn't wild either, though his yellow eyes made him appear that way.

  Sir Jory was maybe a hand shorter than Braxton and twice as broad. It was plain to see, even beneath his fineries, that he had spent many years swinging a blade for hours a day. His hair was dark brown, almost black, and cut exactly as Prince Trovin's.

  Cryelos understood how and why these two would be double for the prince and princess of Ormandin. He'd read about many similar strategies used to protect members of royal families in times of war. Theirs was an effective guise. From twenty or thirty paces away, they looked reasonably the same, though anyone who knew them well would be able to tell them apart by body size alone. Though their hair and height were the same, Sir Jory was twice as thick, and well-muscled, and no amount of clothing could hide it from a trained eye.

  Sammani was beautiful. Her hair was long and black just like Trava's, but her facial features, like Jory's, were rounded and less severe. Cryelos thought she might be a little plump, but her dirty silk and velvet girdle was cinched tight and it was hard to tell.

  Braxton had flown ahead of them a while back, no doubt to check on Chureal. Cryelos couldn't believe that Braxton left her with Trava, and without even Cobalt to look out for her. He didn't remember that Braxton's human form had been back in the camp with them all along, that the falcon was only a magical projection of him.

  Suddenly, the horses whinnied and balked, and Sammani let out a gasp of fear. Cobalt, with Chureal and her chainmail armor shining brightly in the sun, came sweeping down out of the sky. Even when the girl giggled and waved as they sped by, Sammani didn't relax.

  They were just about halfway back to the village the dark prince's men had torched. Cryelos wondered, as he silently enjoyed the big knight's unease, why the villagers were angry with the prince and his group, and not the king's men who had killed their people and burned their homes.

  The midday sun was suddenly eclipsed, and Sir Jory had to stop the wagon to keep the horses under control. Sammani let out another, more terrified gasp when the wind from the dragon's wings blew her hair back. Then Cobalt landed in front of them.

  "Hi, Cryelos," Chureal said happily. "Braxton said for me to tell you that Prince Trovin and Princess Trava want to start west toward Grey Rock, whatever that is. The prince wants you to stay away from the village and Braxton wants me to bring them some food from the supply wagon that Sir Jory took, and —"

  "Chureal," Cryelos held out a hand. "Take a breath." Then he turned to Sir Jory. "Do you know of this Grey Rock?"

  "Yes, it's a stronghold held by Lord Amicuss, uncle of the royal twins."

  "Is it safe?"

  "It is," the knight answered, then turned to Chureal. "Lady Chureal, I owe you and your mighty dragon my thanks. By saving the lives of the prince and princess, you have saved my honor." He stood in the wagon and bowed respectfully.

  From Cobalt's back, Chureal giggled and cocked her head to the side. "Are you really a knight? Are you from Ormandin, too? I was born in Ormandin, but I never met a knight before, or a beautiful handmaiden like her," she pointed at Sammani, who blushed through her fear. "Braxton says I have to hurry back, so I guess Cobalt and I will go."

  "Chureal," Cryelos almost yelled, but checked his frustration. "Don't forget the food." From the back of the wagon, Sammani handed a few parcels, some cheese, and a whole loaf of bread up to him.

  When Cryelos climbed out of the wagon and carried the stuff to Chureal, Cobalt stretched his long scaly neck toward the wagon, giving the horses a look that froze them stock still. The wyrm then met Sir Jory's gaze. "You foughtss bravely, knightsss," Cobalt hissed, then let out a snort of laughter, probably at the man's fear.

  After Chureal took the items from Cryelos, Cobalt pulled back and turned, then took two awkward steps and leapt into the air.

  "See you soon," Chureal called back to them over her shoulder.

  Part II

  Prince Venom

  Chapter Six

  The guardsmen at the citadel of Greenswatch's outer wall all wore leather armor. Some had banded steel plates attached, some were studded, and some were covered with steel rings. A few of the men wore vests of chainmail over the leather, but all of them wore pale, mint-green cloaks, indicating they were official Greenswatch guards. They were well trained in the use of steel, be it sword, axe, or arrow. When the wheel cage bearing Prince Venom's personal mark, carrying the weapons of many men, all eyes went to the dirty peasant who was driving, and all hands went to their weapons.

  Forbe was worn and tired. Twice the harnesses and horse collars that connected the animals to the cages broke, and twice he had to rig the straps without knowing anything about them just to get them this far. What should have been a two-day journey had taken four.

  Forbe looked left, then right, and all he saw were angry men along the tall black stone wall that extended each way as far as the eye could see. It reminded him of the sea wall near the docks where he was born, only there was no ocean to hold back, only a vast grassy plain.

  He swallowed hard and focused his eyes straight ahead on the iron-banded, wooden double gate. Above the wall, beyond it, he could see several lesser towers and a few of the taller ones, all backdropped by the sharp grey mountains that thrust up out of the otherwise flat landscape. On each side of the gate was a watch tower, and at the top of each watch tower, half a dozen shiny, barbed crossbow bolts were aimed at him. He had expected as much, and knew this would be the hardest part, but he hadn't counted on fear snatching his tongue.

  The gate sergeant would be the one with green bands on his arms, he remembered. When he saw him, he recognized him. He was the man who had broken his father's wrist once with the flat of his sword, and he couldn't bring himself to speak because he was so afraid.

  Luckily, he was saved by the drunken, one-eyed captain who startled them all when he sat up from where he had been slumped in the wagon seat.

  "Open the gate, you fargin’ green cloaked bastards. In the name of Prince Verdin," he bellowed loudly. "I order you."

  Forbe had the misfortune of hearing the man's anger and sorrow over the loss of his daughter, and his eye had swollen so much that it now looked like two plums smashed together. For a moment, no one moved, but the gate sergeant took a few steps forward and leaned over the edge of the wall to better see who was speaking. He seemed to be trying to figure out who Forbe was, something Forbe hoped didn't happen, for if it did they wouldn't let him in.

  "It is I, Captain Skallin, you fool. Open the gate. I must see the prince at once."

  The sergeant held his tongue and wiped some spittle from his unshaven face, then motioned for the gates to be opened. Forbe suddenly understood why the bastard treated the merchants and peasants who used this gate so badly. He was just as mistreated by the prince's guard, and probably the lords and their men, as well.

  Forbe, however, felt a wave of respect for Captain Skallin, and filled with sudden bravery, he scoffed at the gate sergeant as they passed. He decided that he might not take the captain's coppers after all. He had gathered plenty from the fallen men as he stripped them of their armor
and weapons. He had more than enough to live well for a season or two, if he could keep from being thrown out of Greenswatch.

  "You'll need a bath and some clothes," the captain said gruffly.

  "What do you mean?" Forbe asked as if he'd never heard of a bath.

  "I'm not so blind and drunk that I would present you to the prince as you are, fool," the captain barked out. "You smell worse than you look, and I'm only looking through one eye. As you are, they won't even let you into the high tower. I wouldn’t really care, but I need your tale to back mine. It's not often that an entire patrol gets wiped out by winged demons and yellow-eyed wild men."

  He fumbled at his feet, and once he found the wine skin there he drained it. "Now take some of the coins you pilfered and buy me a flask of the strong stuff over there," he pointed to an establishment on a busy lane.

  Inside the wall, Greenswatch was a full functioning city, though from the outside, it looked more like a stronghold. Forbe was glad to be there, so he did as the captain bade him. He had to ask the captain, though, how to say the words he needed to say to get what he wanted, for only at the gates and the fringes did they speak without so much accent that he could understand.

  Once he had procured the flask of liquor, the one-eyed man directed them straight to a bath house, which sold semi-fashionable, as well as expensive clothing in the front.

  The clothes and the bath and the services of the women there cost enough coppers for Forbe to live a month, but he wasn't about to deny Captain Skallin anything. One word from the man and he could be labeled a grave robber or an idiot and hung from one of the gate towers just to feed the fat blood ravens who flocked there.

  He had enjoyed the services of the bath house girl, and he was starting to think he could get used to this sort of life. Maybe the prince would reward him well. Maybe Captain Skallin would let him serve as a squire, or a valet, or something. He would have asked, but the captain's expression was still full of grief, pain, and anger.