Then, within the ancient stones of the castle, a deep rumbling grew to a crescendo, sounding like a powerful earthquake. All four of the men put their hands to their ears to shut out the piercing noise. As the sound reached its pinnacle, there came a loud clap followed by a bright purple light at the ceiling, above the altar. The light was translucent and it spun clockwise, like a whirlpool.
“It is working!” yelled Gullanin. “I have opened up a gate to the Ru’Ach!” Gullanin unconsciously moved backwards until he and the priests were standing against the wall. As they bumped into the stone, a bolt of purple energy shot from the gate hitting the statue of Gould. The man strapped to the statue shook violently as the energy shot through him, his legs and arms convulsing, his back arching involuntarily. The bolt lanced through him for several seconds before it rescinded back into the gate which disappeared before the four men could blink.
It was deathly quiet and pitch black. They silently waited several seconds before Gullanin noticed a pair of red glowing orbs from across the room.
“Do you see those red dots?” whispered Kane. “What are they?”
“They are eyes,” Gullanin quietly replied. As he said that, several more sets of red eyes appeared in five other spots around the room. Then it came to him.
“The black knights; they are awake,” the wizard whispered excitedly.
“They are not the only thing that is awake!” a deep booming voice rang out from the darkness. Simultaneously the braziers came to life, spreading their orange glow over the contents of the room.
Standing before them was a tall muscled man, completely naked. It was the man from the statue, but he looked different. He was taller, a full head taller than a Gould-Irin orc, with a bluish tone to his skin. His face was still hard, but it had changed as well. His features were more pointed and angular, his ears almost elvish. His teeth came to razor sharp tips and his eyes were a translucent white. Short, choppy, jet black hair framed a chiseled, but demonic face. The man, if it was a man anymore, was flexing his arms and hands and looking at himself in wonder. His massive striated muscles grew in size as he flexed them.
Then he laughed. The sound was loud and gravelly and full of power. His laughter reverberated in the circular room like an echo. Instantly the four men fell to their knees and bowed.
Gullanin was the first to speak. “My Lord, welcome back to Kraawn.”
One
The Meeting
Jonas stumbled down the town’s main road, his awkward gait punctuated by the wooden crutch that Gorum the baker made him for his fourteenth birthday, one year ago. His twisted hands could barely hold onto the crutch and the stale loaf of bread that his mother sent him to fetch.
It was a good day for Jonas. The cold winter air and heavy snows kept most people in the warm confines of their homes, which meant there were few people on the street to stare at his crippled and misshapen body as he slowly ambled home.
It was cold, the mountain air freezing him to his bones, his old battered and threadbare clothing doing little to keep him warm. Despite it all, he felt happy. There were no appalling looks from the townspeople, and Jonas’s stomach grumbled as he thought about the bread on their table tonight. It was indeed a good day.
Jonas was born a cripple. His bones never grew straight and he struggled to get his muscles to react to his commands. They always tightened up on him, causing him to spasm, twisting his legs and body into unnatural positions. Even his face would contort at times, making it difficult for him to talk. But his mind was sharp and his personality was uncharacteristically gentle and kind for someone in his position.
Despite his twisted and awkward body, his eyes sparkled with an inner light, and if anyone had bothered to stop long enough to talk to him, they would have noticed the intelligence and warmth hidden there. But few took the time to look past his frail and contorted form. Despite his obvious physical handicaps, Jonas’s face was handsome with bright eyes and wavy dark brown hair.
Cripples were often abandoned and left to die. It was believed that the goddess of the hunt, Shyann, disapproved of the birth and left her mark upon the child. More often than not, crippled children were seen as a bad omen for the town and the family. In a mountain town like Manson, ones very survival teetered back and forth on the whims of winter storms, wild animals, and roaming monsters looking for their next meal. It was important for the townspeople to believe in something that offered strength and to offer disdain to those who brought weakness. Jonas understood, but it didn’t make it any easier.
When Jonas was born, his father, Liam, a reputable hunter, trapper, and warrior, refused to accept the child into his home. His mother had saved his life that day which forever cast a shadow over his family name. She would not allow Liam to abandon him, protecting Jonas and forcing her husband to leave.
His father left the small mountain town of Manson, never to return. It was on that day that he and his mother became outcasts, shunned by most, tolerated by few. It was only the baker, Gorum, who treated them with any kindness. He often traded them old bread for some of his mother’s wild onions or various other plants that she grew by their mountain cabin. Gorum became the only positive male figure in Jonas’s life.
The sound of horse hooves crunching on the frozen ground brought Jonas from his thoughts. He looked toward the noise just as his crutch slid on the icy path, pitching him hard to the right, sending the stale loaf of bread into the air and cracking his head hard on the frozen ground.
Dazed, he slowly moved his twisted hands around for the crutch, hoping that the bread did not land in any slush or mud that covered the road.
“You okay, son?”
A deep concerned voice came from the road but Jonas couldn’t turn his head in that direction until he found the crutch and lifted his tiny frame from the cold ground.
He felt strong hands lift him easily and hold his body upright. Jonas steadied his shaking body before studying the man closely.
He was tall, lean, with the look of a hawk, eyes that blazed with energy and a hooked nose that made him look regal and fierce at the same time. He had long dark flowing hair and his face was covered with the rough growth of a traveler who hadn’t shaved in several days. But his hardness disappeared when he smiled warmly at Jonas.
He wore a silver shining breast plate and a wool traveling cloak hung down his back, draping his strong legs. Powerful shoulders were encased in polished steel and his arms and legs were also covered in plates of glittering metal. The man’s feet were covered in thick leather riding boots capped with bright metal and everything seemed to sparkle with diamond brilliance. Although he was unshaven, the man was clean and his clothes and armor appeared brand new and of the highest quality, as if he had just purchased everything from a fine merchant’s store. There was no sign of mud or dirt typical of a mountain traveler.
The steel breastplate he wore caught Jonas’s eye for it was embossed with a silver symbol that looked like a four pointed star on top of a smaller circle. Under the amazing armor Jonas could make out the silvery metal edges of a chainmail shirt.
He looked back at the symbol in the middle of the man’s chest for it seemed to draw his attention. It was simple but beautiful, the lines elegant and strong, each point of the star emerging from the circle. Jonas’s wide eyes moved down to the man’s belt where he wore a magnificent sword and a hunter’s knife. The sword handle looked like it was made of a light wood or bone with silver wire adorning the handle. The pommel of the hunting knife was the same, an obvious mate to the sword.
Jonas looked into the piercing but warm eyes of the stranger, trying to smile back, but knowing that his action looked like a sneer, his muscles in his jaw not able to form to his wishes.
“Thank you, sir…..I slipped,” Jonas said awkwardly, his deformed mouth making it hard to pronounce the words. Cold weather had an adverse effect on Jonas’s ability to relax his muscles, making it more difficult than normal to talk and walk.
Jonas remembered
his bread and looked around for it.
“Looking for this?” the man said as he held up the loaf of bread in his hand. “I caught it as you slipped”.
Jonas noticed that the man’s hands had two identical marks on the top of them, a circle with a four pointed star in the middle, the same mark that was on his polished cuirass.
The man noticed him staring. “Do you know what these are?” the man asked gently.
“No sir, I’ve never seen anything like them.”
“Really,” the man said, “do they not teach you about the gods here?”
“I’m sorry sir, I only know of our goddess, Shyann, the goddess of hunting and farming. I have heard my mother mention the High One, but I know little of him.”
“Well, that’s a start. What happened to you, boy, were you injured or born as a cripple?” the man asked kindly.
“I was born this way, sir. The gods did not want me,” answered Jonas, his head hung low in shame.
The man knelt so that his face was close to Jonas’s and held onto him with his strong callused hands.
“What is your name, boy?” the traveler asked gently.
“Jonas. Jonas Kanrene.”
“Listen to me, Jonas. If the gods did not want you, then you wouldn’t have been born and you would be dead already. Remember that. Do not let people’s superstitious ideas cover your life with a black cloud. The gods have a plan for all of us, including you. Is it just your body that is afflicted?”
“I’m sorry, sir, what do you mean?” asked Jonas.
“I mean,” said the man as he softly tapped Jonas’s forehead, “is your head intact? Can you think, or did your brain get damaged along with your body?”
“My head is fine sir. My thoughts are clear, but talking is difficult because my muscles tighten around my face making it hard to move my mouth as I would wish.”
“I see,” the man said thoughtfully.
The warrior stood up and moved toward his horse, which was the most magnificent animal Jonas had ever seen. It was tall, strong, and its coat glistened as if it was recently cleaned and brushed. The horse’s muscles rippled like an ocean’s wave as the man leaped up gracefully onto its saddled back.
Jonas noticed a long black bow and quiver of arrows strapped to the side of the horse. He had never seen a more impressive bow. It was wrapped with silver wire and covered with intricate carvings. Everything on the horse shone with brilliance; every buckle, strap, and harness was immaculate. Jonas wondered how a traveler could keep himself and his steed so clean.
To Jonas, the warrior looked god-like sitting erect and strong on the massive back of his warhorse.
“My name is Airos. Remember what I said, Jonas. You are a good boy with a pure soul, for I can see into the hearts of men. It is very rare to lack the taint of evil, especially for one afflicted as you are. You should be proud of that.”
Airos rode forward, brought his horse close to Jonas, and, leaning down, he handed Jonas something.
Jonas grabbed it awkwardly and looked at it. It was a shiny gold coin.
“Take that home to your mother. It was nice to meet you, Jonas,” the man said with a smile.
“It was nice to meet you too, sir,” Jonas murmured, a little stunned by the unique encounter and the heavy gold resting in his palm.
The man nodded his head in farewell, and gently touching his steed’s flanks, they slowly trotted down the snow covered road.
Jonas looked at the heavy gold coin in his hand. He had never seen gold before, but he knew the shiny sparkle promised enough food for a month. Jonas forced his muscles into a smile. It was indeed a good day.
Jonas continued to walk down the town’s main road toward the north gate. Though Manson was a small town, it did have an impressive log wall that guarded the villagers from the dangers of the Tundren Mountains.
As he patiently made his way to the north end of town, a snowball came out of nowhere hitting him square in the shoulder. Stumbling, he used his crutch to catch his fall. Jonas turned toward the direction the snowball came from only to catch another one in the face. The snowball was mostly ice and it stung fiercely as it struck him on the chin. His head jerked back and he was knocked to the ground. Jonas heard the laughter of boys as he struggled to get to his feet, the pain in his jaw causing his eyes to tear up. He fought back the tears, not willing to give the boys the satisfaction of making him cry.
“Look what we have here, the town’s cripple!”
Jonas recognized the voice of the butcher’s son, Wil. When he stood up he saw Wil and two other boys walking from a side alley.
Wil was Jonas’s age, but much taller, with long black hair. Next to him was Filstar, but most people called him Fil. Fil was short and stocky of limb with curly locks of golden brown hair. Lastly, there was Kohl, the son of the town’s mayor, and he was holding a snowball in his right hand. Kohl had a fat face, which matched his large round frame, a visual reminder that his family never went hungry.
“What’s in your hand?” asked Kohl with scorn as they strode closer to him. Jonas unconsciously hid the loaf of bread behind his back as he awkwardly stood up.
“Nothing of your concern,” Jonas replied. He was hoping that they would just leave him alone, but they seldom did. His real worry was that they would take the bread, or destroy it.
“Really?” Kohl replied. “Maybe we’ll just beat you and take whatever you have. How does that sound?”
Jonas noticed that Fil was standing back from the other two boys. He had never had any problems with Fil and he hoped he wouldn’t today.
Suddenly Jonas remembered the gold coin he had tucked into his pocket. Losing the bread would be bad, but losing the gold coin to these ruffians was something that Jonas couldn’t let happen. Steadying himself he lifted his stout cane before him gritting his teeth in determination. “Don’t come near me. I have done nothing to you. Just let me be on my way.”
Wil and Kohl looked at each other and laughed. Fil stood back from the others, looking at Jonas with concern.
“What are you going to do with that?” asked Wil through his laughter.
Jonas knew he couldn’t really do anything. Holding the stick before him was one thing, but swinging it with enough power to do any damage was another. So he changed tactics. “Do you really want a stale loaf of damp bread?” Jonas asked as he brought the bread from behind his back.
The boys laughed again. This time Fil stepped forward. “Let’s go. Leave him alone,” he said.
“Why? He’s just a cripple,” snarled Wil with obvious disgust.
“Which is why we should leave him be,” responded Fil.
“You a cripple lover?” asked Kohl.
“No, I just have better things to do than threaten someone who can barely stand and defend himself. Let’s go, we need to build the fires in the grange before your father has our hides.”
Kohl looked at Jonas and then back at Fil. Finally his face relaxed, dropping the snowball. “You’re right, let’s go. He makes me sick just looking at him.”
Jonas lowered his cane in relief. Wil gave him a disdainful look and pushed him hard as he walked by. Jonas slipped, again falling hard on the snow covered ground. Awkwardly he struggled to get up to defend himself. As he propped himself up on his elbow, he looked up and watched the boys walk off. Wil and Kohl were laughing loudly as Fil brought up the rear, looking back with a troubled glance.
Jonas brushed his wavy brown hair away from his face, slowly lifting himself to his feet. His jaw hurt but he still had his bread and gold coin. Smiling, he shook his head in disbelief. From his perspective, he was actually happy that he came out of that ordeal with just a bruise. It wasn’t right, but it was his reality. His happiness was relative to how much pain and scorn he could avoid. Jonas tried to never pity himself, so he shook off the incident and continued his long journey home.
The mile walk to their cabin took Jonas over an hour. His weak frame and the heavy snow hindered his progress. The walk, howeve
r, always seemed to go by quickly for Jonas, for he spent his time within the safe confines of his own mind. He watched the birds flying gracefully through the air, and the deer jumping with such ease over the brambles, and wished that he could move like them. Sometimes he would get angry and curse the gods for what they did to him. Today however, he thought about what the man had said. Maybe the gods did have a plan for him, but what would they want with a cripple? Maybe it was a test, as his mother always told him. They would sit at their hearth at night and his mother would tell him that the gods were testing his strength and his resolve, and that if he met their expectations then when he died and went to the silver city of the High One, he would be rewarded with a strong body and a wonderful afterlife. He would be able to meet Shyann, their goddess, and she would show him a life of peace and wonder.
It was a wonderful thought, but it didn’t always make his days in Manson any better. I have it better than some, he thought. I am alive, and that is something. I have a mother who loves me and we have a roof over our heads and we are not starving, although sometimes food is pretty scarce. It could be worse, Jonas thought as he emerged from the woods into the meadow that housed their little stone cabin his father built twenty years ago, before Jonas was born.
Suddenly Jonas stopped in mid-stride. Lying in the snow before him was the carcass of a large mountain elk, rare at these times since the snows usually pushed the animals to lower elevations to avoid the harsh winter conditions. A white feathered arrow protruded from the elk’s side. The animal had been gutted recently and its innards lay in a steaming pile just to the side of the large beast. The blood was fresh and the animal was obviously still warm.
Suddenly Jonas felt a gentle breeze and then something cold pressed up against his throat as a powerful hand clamped around his mouth. A strong smell of wood fire and sweat washed over Jonas as he struggled in the iron grip. Jonas was shocked by the speed and stealth of the attack.
“You wouldn’t be think n’ of stealen me kill, would ya boy?” Jonas’s assailant hissed in his ear. His breath stank of strong tobacco, similar to what Jonas had smelled from many of the men in town as they smoked their wood pipes. Jonas shook his head from side to side, his eyes wide with fright as the man’s blade moved up closer to his left eye, allowing him a glimpse of the glimmering steel. “Are you that crippled boy, Jonas?” the man asked in his ear. The man’s voice was soft and raspy but was filled with a quiet strength. Jonas nodded his head up and down in reply. Finally the man released his grip and Jonas turned around to face him.
The Cavalier Page 2