Forever Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 3)

by Brad Clark

  “Wake him yourself,” Conner snapped back. “I’m trying to think of a way to get out of here.”

  Hargon started to move, but a voice froze him. “Touch me, and you will die.”

  “He’s awake already,” Hargon said to Conner.

  “I have been for some time,” the voice replied. “It is impossible to sleep with the loud noise coming from your nose.”

  “I do not snore,” Hargon said.

  “That sound almost killed you. Another five minutes of that horrendous noise, and I would have smothered life out of you.”

  Conner chuckled.

  “Emperors do not snore,” Hargon said sharply.

  Laughter came the file of blankets. “You are no more emperor than I am the Creator. You smell. Now shut up so that I can sleep.”

  “I am Emperor Hargon of the great Taran Empire. Do not talk to me that way!”

  “Fine. Nice to meet you, Emperor Hargon,” the voice replied. “Now shut up. My head hurts.”

  Hargon stood and walked over to the cell door and tried to open it with several tugs. The locking mechanism did not hold the door tight, so it banged loudly with each tug. He bent over to look at the lock, poking his finger through the keyhole from the other side.

  “Pick it,” Hargon said with a commanding voice.

  “What?” Conner replied.

  “Pick it.”

  Conner gave Hargon a perplexed looked.

  “Do you not know how to?”

  “No, of course not.”

  “Oh,” Hargon replied, still bent over, looking at the keyhole. “I thought all your kind knew how to do that sort of stuff.”

  “All what kind?”

  “Peasants. Little people. Riffraff. Dredges of society. Your kind.”

  Conner looked at the ragged man who stood in front of him. It took him a moment to realize that the man had been, or claimed to be, the emperor of Taran. Somewhere, underneath all the dirt, filth, and ragged hair was a man of aristocracy. His voice and demeanor certainly kept reminding Conner of that fact, but his looks did not.

  “When they find out who you are, they will take you back to your brother to properly deal with you.”

  “And what about you?” Hargon snapped back. “Hundreds, thousands, saw you. If you are recognized, how will you explain that you are alive?”

  “Anyone who saw me is miles away in another city. I doubt any of these centurions know who I am, either. I will walk away from here alive, but I don’t think you will.”

  “Is that a threat?”

  “Silence!”

  Hargon and Conner both turned to look at the person behind the voice. He was hunched over, standing directly in front of them. A large knot was on the side of his head that looked very painful. But their stunned silence was not because of the force of the man’s voice, or the large bump on his head.

  “You have those ears, too,” Hargon said.

  Glaerion had opened his mouth to continue his outburst, but instead he said simply said, “Too? What do you mean, too?”

  “We met others like you,” Conner said. “They were getting fresh water and we came across them. They gave us a ride here to Iseron. We were out of supplies and they were kind enough to help us out. Are you with them?”

  Glaerion narrowed his eyes. “Kind enough? Hardly. I doubt an elven sailor would go out of his way to help the likes of the two of you. You certainly couldn’t pay them either. You don’t have enough coin and they wouldn’t take it. Maybe I should kill the both of you and be on my own way.”

  Conner let out a snort.

  A smile crept across Glaerion’s face. “Oh? You doubt my skill? Before you could blink twice, I would have you both on the ground, begging for mercy. But there would be none.”

  “You shouldn’t underestimate strangers,” Conner said. He did not like this elf at all. There was something about him that was just a bit off. He’d met many people in the past year that were just plain unlikable, but none quite like him.

  “And nor should you,” Glaerion replied.

  “How about you both kill each other,” Hargon said. “And then I’ll hide under your bodies. When they carry you out, I’ll make my escape.”

  Conner and Glaerion continued to stare at one another while Hargon stepped between them. “How about you both just cool off and we figure out a way to get out of here together. Then we can go our way, and you can go your way.”

  Conner broke his gaze away first. Everything about this elf just turned him the wrong way. It was more than just the tone in his voice, or the angry words that came out. It was as if there was just some deep seeded hatred between them. He could not explain it, because he didn’t know anything about him. It was like the hatred he had felt for Neffenmark, but at least with the fat man, he deserved every bit of the hatred. But this elf had done nothing to deserve the anger, other than be snappy and short with his tone.

  “Stand aside,” Glaerion said as he pushed his way past Conner.

  Conner did so, but was slow enough to get in the elf’s way. The elf was light and skinny, thin like Conner, but not nearly as muscular. Conner felt a bit of satisfaction as the elf could not just push Conner aside. But Glaerion simply ignored Conner and pulled out a long, thin, pointed piece of metal. He pushed into the lock from the outside of the door and twisted and tugged until the lock clicked and the door swung open.

  “If you could pick the lock so easily, why did you not do it before?” Conner asked.

  The elf stepped through the doorway and touched the knot on the side of his head. “I was unconscious until your snoring woke me.” He suddenly turned. “I cannot have anyone follow me.”

  “Where are you headed?” Conner asked. “We are going east to Karmon.”

  “I am…” Glaerion almost revealed why he was here in the land of man, but he caught himself before the words came out. “Not east.”

  “Then you don’t have to worry about us following you.”

  “It is not you that I am concerned about.” He turned to the open archway that led to a room full of sleeping centurions. “I cannot have them following me. Once they discover that we are gone, they will come after us.”

  “I am good at hiding my tracks,” Conner said. “They will not find us.”

  “I’m sure you are,” Glaerion replied. “But history tells me that sometimes it is better to be lucky than good, and I cannot afford for one of these soldiers to get lucky.”

  “What are you saying?” Hargon asked.

  “We must kill them. All of them.”

  “What!” Hargon exclaimed. “No!”

  Conner hesitated. For a moment, the thought repulsed him. A tingling sensation started on his upper chest and he touched himself where the crossbow bolts had penetrated his body. He did not remember them being in his body, and he did not know why he knew where they had struck him, but he did. There was no wound or marks left as Hargon’s healing had taken care of that. It had been centurions that had shot those bolts at him. Centurions had imprisoned him and left him to fend for himself in the arena where he had died. He did not know owe these soldiers anything; in fact, he was owed their blood.

  “Yes,” Conner said coolly. “We cannot have them coming after us.”

  “That is murder,” Hargon said. “These were my men!”

  “These are your brother’s men,” Conner replied. “Not yours. They will care not who you are. They will just chase you down and throw you right back here, if they don’t kill you first.”

  “More will come,” Hargon promised. “There will be legions of them that will come and hunt us down. They will not stop until we are found and painfully executed.”

  “We will have several days’ head start,” Conner said. “By the time they can organize a hunt, we will be gone and our trail will be gone, too.”

  “I will have no part in this,” Hargon said. He moved away from Conner and Glaerion towards the fire pit where there was just a soft red glow from the burning embers.

  “T
here will be weapons in the rooms where they are sleeping,” Glaerion said. “We must be silent. One mistake, one shout from any one of them, and we will be discovered, and our fates will be sealed.”

  Conner nodded his head as he looked into the darkness of the room where the centurions were sleeping.

  “He said these are his brother’s men,” Glaerion said just above a whisper. “Was he commander of this barracks?”

  Conner chucked. “No, he really is, I mean was, the emperor of the Taran Empire. His brother, Tarcious, tried to kill him and took his throne. I am Conner. What is your name?”

  Glaerion looked Conner up and down. After a moment’s hesitation, he realized it would not do much harm to give his name. He wouldn’t be staying around here much longer anyway. “Glaerion. Now can we get on with this?”

  Conner nodded his head and started towards the centurion’s sleeping chamber.

  After a two steps, Glaerion said, “You surprise me, Conner.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “I did not think you had this in you.”

  “I didn’t either,” Conner replied.

  ***

  Conner slid out the front door of the garrison’s barracks first. He moved quickly and silently through the shadows towards the wall. Glaerion was right behind him, but Hargon was nowhere to be seen. Conner’s heart was pounding so hard he was sure that the elf could hear it beat in his chest. Although it was cold outside, a layer of sweat covered his body. They had done it. LEach and every one of them was dead. Conner had found it too easy as he followed the elf’s instructions on how to quickly kill. He did not hesitate, even on the first one, and that surprised him. He thought that he would be afraid to kill or have second thoughts, but he didn’t. Keeping the memories of his time in the arena foremost in his thoughts, he used anger and revenge to keep him moving. It did not matter that it was not any one of these centurions that had mistreated him, or fired the crossbow bolt that would temporarily kill him. What mattered was that they were Taran centurions, the enemy. It was them or him. That was what he had to tell himself each time he plunged the small dagger into the center of a centurion chest.

  When he was living on his own in the forest, he had to do many things to survive. None of them were anywhere near to the level of killing another man, but survival was most important. In order to continue to live, sometimes certain lines had to be crossed. He did not like it, but he knew it was fact. Once he had eaten a rabbit raw in the middle of a rainstorm because he couldn’t light a fire to cook the meat. It had disgusted him, but he knew he had to do it. Without that food, he would have starved. Just like eating raw meat when starving, killing these men served a purpose that would allow him to continue to live. It was a necessity that he had to live with.

  His stomach suddenly churned and he discharged its contents onto the hard ground at his feet. Maybe his body was telling him something his mind refused to acknowledge. He wiped his mouth and looked up to see the elf approach. Glaerion let out an unsympathetic grunt and pushed him forward.

  They moved along the wall in the grayness of the early morning. Sunset was still some time away, but the eastern horizon was starting to lighten. Conner knew they had to be far away before the centurions were found. If not, their execution would likely be slow and painful.

  Light shown through the window of a corner tower. There would be at least one centurion up there watching the outside perimeter as well as the main gate. They hoped the guard’s attention would be outward and not inward. There were not many places to hide other than the dark shadows, but as long as no one was looking in their direction, they would not be found out. Conner kept an eye on the window, but he never he saw any hint of a guard, although he knew there would be one there.

  With his attention directed towards the tower’s window, the sight of a door opening right in front of him caused him to let out a sharp cry. Before he could react, Glaerion pushed him out of the way and thrust his dagger at whomever it was coming through the doorway. But just as the dagger was about to strike flesh, the elf pulled it back.

  Hargon stepped through, his face drained of all color. “That was close,” he said.

  “You should be more careful,” Glaerion snapped back.

  “The guards,” Hargon said with a nod towards the tower. “They will not see us leave.”

  “Are you sure?” Conner asked.

  “Fear not,” Hargon said. “All the towers are clear.”

  “What happened to these being your men?” Glaerion asked.

  Hargon looked past them towards the main gate. “You both pretty much sealed our fate, so I did what I had to do.”

  A wry smell fell across Glaerion’s face. “You, I might end up liking. Lead on.”

  Hargon led them along the wall until they reached the gate. It was open, inviting them through. Conner half expected a regiment of crossbowmen on the other side of the gate to cut them down as soon as they stepped through. Only the still of the woods met them as they walked through.

  Once the garrison was fully out of sight and they were deep into the surrounding woods, Glaerion suddenly said, “I will go my own way, now. I would say that it was a pleasure, but it was not. Although killing the soldiers was a nice highlight of our time together.”

  “You found that fun?” Conner asked incredulously.

  The wicked smile was becoming his normal look. “Well, yes. Did you not find it so?”

  “Of course not!”

  “Well, men and elves have an ancient history and none of it is real pleasant. There are some moments, however, that do make up for the unpleasant ones. And anytime an elf can kill a human, well, that is a pleasant thing.”

  Conner took a threatening step forward. “We killed those centurions to save ourselves. There was no pleasure in murdering innocent men.”

  “Is the man-child having second thoughts?” Glaerion said. “They are soldiers and they are not innocent. And maybe your usefulness is done as well. Maybe I should just kill you.”

  “I would like to see you try,” Conner said with a sneer. “I don’t know who you think you are, or what you are, but I don’t like you.”

  “Yeah, but I saved your life. If it was not for me, you would still be stuck in that cell and they would figure out that this old man is really the emperor and that his brother is after him. And some centurion would just decide that you are too much trouble and will just have you killed. Him, though, he’ll be given back to his brother to be tortured and killed. And just as easily as I saved your life, I could end it.”

  As quickly as he had ever seen anyone move, a dagger appeared in Glaerion’s hand. “The dagger is the song of the elven-kind. There is no other weapon that we desire more than the simple blade of the dagger. I can hear it now, and it is singing for the blood of man!”

  Conner had kept his dagger as well and pulled it out. Both daggers were long with thin, twin-edged blades. At first, he held it awkwardly out away from his body, but as he studied the elf, he shifted the blade in his hands. He held it low and near his body, the blade ready to move up, down, or out with a sharp thrust.

  “Enough of this!” Hargon shouted out. “Put those away before you hurt someone!”

  “I have spent thousands of years waiting to spill the blood of men once more. The centurions back there did nothing to satisfy my hunger, but you will do.” The Glaerion leapt forward, driving his dagger down from shoulder height towards the center of Conner’s chest.

  The move took Conner by surprise. Although he could feel the anger coming from Glaerion, the attack was not something that he expected. But though he was surprised, it seemed to Conner that the elf was moving in slow motion. His eyes followed the blade and he knew when and how to parry. With reflexes that he had forgotten that he had, he reversed his hold on the dagger and easily turned away the elf’s attack. Conner thought he saw a change in the elf’s facial expression, but he did not have time to ponder it as Glaerion continued the attack. But with each thrust, or slash, Conner parr
ied easily. He thought it would be tough to fight with a dagger because it was a much smaller weapon than his swords, but he found the dagger light and nimble. He still much preferred his Sak’turana, but he could see why the elf liked to fight with the daggers. With quick and graceful movements, the dagger could be a potent weapon. But as quick as the elf was, Conner was just as quick.

  Conner did not attack back, even though he could have easily slipped his dagger inside of the elf’s thrust to draw blood. He simply stood back and let the elf thrust, slash, and chop until his breathing became labored and his quickness left him. After one final sloppy attack that Conner easily turned away, Glaerion lowered his dagger and took a step back.

  Glaerion’s chest heaved with each breath, even though he tried hard to not show that he was winded. He looked Conner up and down carefully until he could speak without panting.

  “You say you are from the east?” the elf asked.

  “The kingdom of Karmon,” Conner replied. His breathing was easy and controlled. It made him feel a flash of sadness as he thought about Master Goshin, the one person responsible for who he was as a man and a swordsman.

  “What is your name?” the elf asked.

  Conner was a bit surprised at the question, but he answered anyway. “Conner.”

  “Who was your mother?”

  “What’s with the questions?” Hargon interrupted. “We’ll soon have the entire Taran army chasing us down and you two first try and kill each other, and then you ask questions about his family? We are still too close to the garrison and Iseron. We need to be far away before the sun comes up.”

  Glaerion ignored Hargon and asked again, “What was your mother’s name?”

  Conner glanced over at Hargon and then back at the elf. He shrugged his shoulders and replied, “She and my father are dead. Long since dead.”

  “Their names!” Glaerion impatiently snapped back. “What were their names?”

  “Corwin,” Conner replied. “My father was named Corwin. My mother was Anna.”

  “And they were like you?”

  “Why are you asking me these questions? Of course they were just like me!”