The Cavalier

by Jason McWhirter

  “It is a hard life, Jonas, never knowing where you’re going or where you’ll be. Forming relationships is almost impossible and the constant threats and challenges a cavalier faces can wear one down. It is a tough road to travel, and few can do it,” Prince Baylin said.

  “I do not know you well, Jonas, but you seem a fine young man,” Graggis addressed Jonas seriously. “You are brave, and from what I’ve heard, do not lack skill. I saw you stand up to that demon with nothing more than a sword in your hand and courage in your heart. I think you’d make a fine knight, or cavalier, and Shyann wouldn’t have picked you if she didn’t think so too.”

  “I thank you Graggis,” Jonas said modestly. He felt uncomfortable with the conversation and the focus on him, so he turned to Dagrinal. “Dagrinal, my sword training was cut short. Would you mind sparring with me when we have time? I would be grateful to learn from you.”

  “It would be my pleasure, Jonas. Master Morgan told me that you were the best among the apprentices and you have potential to be a master swordsman.”

  “I want to learn all that I can. I would appreciate your help.”

  “How about now?” asked the tall swordsman standing up from the fire.

  Jonas smiled. He stood up and drew his sword in response.

  ***

  The terrain began to change as they headed farther west towards the Tundrens. Rolling grasslands gave way to forested hills, and the peaks of the massive range slowly grew larger. Their horses made good time through the grasslands but progress slowed as they moved deeper into the mountains. The terrain grew steeper and they had to carefully pick their way through rocky trails. Their pace was hampered as the horses stumbled occasionally, making the slow progress dangerous as well.

  It was on the second night in the forested mountains that they sat around their fire to discuss how to continue their journey.

  “Prince, I think it is time that we leave the horses. We will need to take to the game trails now and the horses cannot navigate them,” Nogris informed them, throwing more wood on the fire.

  “Do you agree, Beorth?” asked the prince.

  “Yes, my Lord,” affirmed Beorth. “I was going to suggest that myself.”

  “Then so be it. Largress, Togin, I want you to stay with the horses until we return. We will need them to get back to Finarth.”

  “Yes sir,” they both said.

  “How long should it take us to reach our destination?” the prince asked Beorth.

  “It is hard to say. It is summer so the trails will be open. We do not know the exact location so we will have to scout the surrounding area.”

  “In your estimation, how long will that take?” asked the prince.

  Beorth chewed on that question for a few seconds before responding. “Probably five or six days. Then it may take another several days to scout out Kiln’s exact location.”

  “Okay. Largress, Togin, give us three weeks, one to get there, one to get back, and one for some extra time in case something happens. If we have not returned after three weeks then take the horses back to Finarth.”

  “Yes my Lord,” they replied.

  “Let’s get some sleep. We have a long hard trek ahead of us,” added the prince as he got up and moved to his bed roll. Jonas lay down on his own blanket and looked up at the mountain sky. He could make out pockets of the night sky through the dense trees. The stars sparkled in the clear sky as a soft breeze rustled the leaves. Jonas felt at home here, and he closed his eyes drifting off to sleep.

  The next four days of their journey were more difficult, though there were no complaints from the hardy men as they carried their heavy packs over boulder strewn switchbacks. Jonas loved the strenuous activity and the landscape was breathtaking, reminding him of his home, or at least what used to be his home. The game trails were fairly clear and the summer sun kept things warm and dry. They slowly gained in elevation, continuing deeper into the mountains.

  On the fifth day of their march they decided to camp next to a cascading waterfall that plunged heavily into a placid pool. On the far end of the pool the creek continued down the mountain, carving a shallow rift through the earth. Soft green moss covered patches of ground that otherwise was flat rock. The moss was thick, a perfect bed for their blankets. They lit the cooking fire and roasted some venison from a deer that Beorth had killed early that morning. They couldn’t carry the entire animal so they cut the choicest pieces, which were roasting over the hot fire. The fat, dripping into the hot coals, sizzled with small eruptions of delicious aromas.

  Jonas and Dagrinal were sparring on a large flat rock that jetted out over the pool. The stone was over four paces wide and twice as long. Jonas had learned much from the warrior over the last couple weeks and they had quickly developed a strong friendship. Dagrinal emphasized to Jonas that good swordsmanship was a combination of balance, strength, and speed. He said that most men were lucky to possess just one of those characteristics, but very few possess all three in enough quantities to become master marked.

  Jonas and Dagrinal circled each other, as they often did when sparring. Jonas lunged at Dagrinal, attacking him with lightning quick strikes, but Dagrinal was there every time to counter them. His agile footwork on the flat rock always kept him in the correct defensive positions. Dagrinal smiled confidently as he picked up his speed, changing from counters to attacks. Jonas backpedaled, trying to counter his impossibly quick moves. After various exchanges, Dagrinal smacked Jonas twice with the flat of his blade, once on the thigh and the other on his side.

  Jonas lowered his sword in frustration. “I just can’t keep up. You’re too fast!” Jonas said with frustration, sweat dripping freely off his nose.

  “Of course I’m too fast, Jonas. Don’t get frustrated. I’ve been using the sword for over twenty years. How long have you?”

  “Almost two years.”

  “Exactly. Listen, no one starts off an expert at anything. It takes time. You are by far the best swordsman I’ve seen for someone your age. You are better than most trained soldiers. It doesn’t matter how good you are, there is always someone faster, stronger, and more skilled. To you I seem unbeatable, but when I fight Master Borum, I feel just as you do now. Do you understand?’

  “Yes, sir, I think so.”

  “You need to remember, if you want to become a master swordsman worthy of the mark then you must also possess patience and tenacity.”

  “I will remember that,” said Jonas lifting his sword again. “Let’s keep going.”

  “You certainly have no problems with tenacity,” laughed Dagrinal, lifting his sword in response.

  Suddenly Jonas felt the familiar sting on his chest. His eyes grew wide in alarm as he looked about frantically.

  “What is it, Jonas?” asked Dagrinal with concern.

  Jonas grabbed his chest feeling the familiar sting again. “We’re in danger,” he replied seriously.

  Prince Baylin, who was sitting by the fire, hearing Jonas’s words, stood up quickly. “What is it?” he asked.

  Jonas moved toward him quickly, scanning the forest surrounding them. “We’re in danger! Someone, or something, is coming!”

  “To arms, men!” ordered the prince loudly.

  Everyone reacted quickly, forming a hasty perimeter. Beorth, Jorm, and Jonas grabbed their long bows, nocking arrows and scanning the forest for any threat. Jonas’s heart was beating fast. He was frightened, not just for himself, but for these men who had sworn to protect him. What manner of threat was this? Was the demon back? That thought alone caused fear to explode inside him sending a deathly chill down his spine. His chest tingled one more time, this time more severe.

  “I believe the threat is near, my Prince,” Jonas said, his voice quivering with fear. Dagrinal touched his arm lightly, reassuring him with his presence. Jonas looked at these men, all standing ready, swords and bows out, their intent eyes searching the forest for any threat. These were good men to die with if that was his destiny. He lifted his bow,
searching the forest, trying to focus on something, anything other than his shaking bow arm.

  Suddenly a huge boulder sailed through the air crashing into Nogris’s back. Jonas heard Nogris’s bones break and his body shatter like dry wood as it was launched into the water behind them.

  Jorm screamed for his brother and everyone dove behind whatever cover they could find. But there was none. Several more boulders landed around them, crushing rocks, logs, whatever they hit.

  Piap dove to the ground just as a huge rock landed on his right leg, crushing it into pulp. His screams filled the evening air.

  Everyone looked on the opposite side of the little pool where the rocks had come from and saw three hill giants push through the dense forest. Each giant was more than twice the size of a man. They were thick and stout like trees and covered with coarse black hair. Their appearance was similar to an ogre, but Jonas thought they seemed less animalistic. Dirty furs draped their waists and they wore nothing on their thick calloused feet. They were human-like except for their massive size and the long canines protruding from their thick lips. Each of the giants carried a club that looked more like a limbed tree. With their strength and size they would be formidable weapons.

  The giants growled ominously, stepping into the water and moving towards them with hunger in their eyes. Their long strides and height enabled them to push their large bulk through the little pool quickly.

  “Form up, use the bows!” yelled the prince. The hardy warriors quickly reacted to the attack. Jonas, Beorth, and Jorm stepped to the edge of the rock face pulling their powerful bows back. The strong bent wood and taut bow strings sounded like the creaking of an old barn door. They fired at will, each arrow thudding into the thick hides as if they were hitting tree trunks. The arrows didn’t seem to slow them down much. In fact they looked like little needles sticking from their colossal bodies.

  A crunching, cracking noise, like wood being split, alerted the prince that someone, or something was now behind them. Prince Baylin, Graggis, Dagrinal, and Sal all turned to face the new threat.

  Three more giants pushed their way through the dense forest. They easily pushed the trees out of their way, the wood splintering like twigs. They lumbered into the clearing, logs in hand, eyeing the four warriors. One huge giant, easily several heads taller than the others, mumbled something unrecognizable. The deep baritone voice seemed to shake the ground they stood on. The other giants growled in understanding, approaching the warriors with saliva dripping from their mouths. Their intent was obvious.

  Jonas had no time to wonder about the sounds behind him. He continued firing his bow at one of the giants. The twang of his bow sounded with each beat of his heart. His fourth arrow took the beast in the eye finally slowing it down. The giant roared in pain and swung its tree-like club into the water with frustration, splashing water all over the place as it stumbled around in the pool. They were only fifteen paces away now so the water splashed over the three bowmen. The flat rock they were on was a full pace above the pool’s surface, which put the giant’s heads even with the top of the rock. The giants would have to climb up the rock, which would expose them to an attack.

  Jonas fired his last arrow into the stumbling giant before dropping his bow and drawing his sword. It was a good shot and the close range drove the arrow deep into the giant’s throat. The beast roared again, its anger apparent as it continued swinging its club wildly. The injured, and apparently dimwitted beast, swung its club at an unseen foe and hit a nearby giant in the side of the head. That giant stumbled, roaring in agony and grabbing his smashed and bleeding nose.

  Graggis faced the giants, his axe held in front of him. His bulging arms flexed as he clenched the axe handle firmly in anticipation of battle. He smiled eagerly for the challenge. “Come on tree swingers; let’s see how you handle my axe.”

  One of the giants stepped toward him swinging its thick club in a sideways arc. The giant was huge and strong, but not very quick.

  Graggis roared defiantly, diving forward under the club, and rolling up right by its tree trunk legs. The bewildered creature looked down as Graggis swung his magical axe with all his strength into the beasts exposed thigh. The blade sunk in deep and blood erupted from the giant’s severed artery. The giant grunted in pain trying to bring the end of its club down on Graggis’s head. Graggis sidestepped, swinging his axe into the giant’s hand, the razor sharp blade severing the giant’s thick fingers. The beast dropped the log, roaring in surprise. The giant’s bloody fingers fell to the ground like thick summer sausages.

  Prince Baylin and Sal flanked another of the behemoths as it stormed toward them. The screaming giant kicked out with its right leg trying to crush Sal. The beast’s huge foot glanced off of Sal’s side as he dove out of the way. Sal grimaced with pain as he felt several ribs crack. But he was a Finarthian Knight and it would take more than a couple cracked ribs to take him out of the fight. He landed, rolling back up into a fighting crouch just in time to see the beast’s massive foot descending upon him.

  Suddenly the giant howled and its foot stopped as he stumbled backwards. Prince Baylin had struck the beast several times across the back of its hamstring, his magical blade slicing through the thick skin easily, scoring several deep wounds.

  Dagrinal faced the third giant on his own. He slowed his breathing and calmed his beating heart as the giant bore down on him. Where Graggis fought with rage and power, Dagrinal fought with calm precision. He lifted his sword calmly and began his dance. His lithe strong body kept him constantly moving, his razor sharp sword inflicting numerous wounds, a blur of pain gradually slowing the giant. The giant roared in agony and frustration as it tried to crush the dancing swordsman. The beast bled from many gashes along its legs and torso but it still swung the huge club with power.

  Beorth and Jorm also dropped their bows and drew their swords as the two remaining giants, riddled with arrows, moved towards the rock edge. The third giant had finally succumbed to the arrow in its eye and throat, sinking below the surface of the pool.

  “Go for their arms as they try to climb the rock!” yelled Jorm. Beorth and Jonas readied their swords as the giants neared. One of the giants surprised them by throwing its club like a spear.

  “Look out!” Jorm cried diving to the side. Beorth tried to dodge the log but it was too long. The heavy log clipped his shoulder sending him sailing into the air. Jorm looked up just as the second giant, its chest even with the rock edge, swung its massive club downward, hoping to crush the human who lay sprawled before him.

  Jonas looked on with horror. He screamed loudly, willing the log to stop its decent. Jonas felt something shift within his mind, something that he could not explain. In a flash, he saw the scene in hues of colors; everything around him had a distinct glow, or aura. It was like a murky soup of color, everything connected somehow. Jonas didn’t know how, but as he willed the club to stop, it did. It was like all of Jonas’s will and desire flew from his mind and grabbed the club.

  The giant’s club froze in mid-air as the giant looked on dumbfounded, not sure why its club wouldn’t move. Jonas stood with his sword in one hand and his other arm outstretched toward the immobilized club. He concentrated on the log, keeping it still. His head began to ache but he continued to focus on the club. He willed the log backwards, toward the giant’s face, and the log obeyed, smashing into the surprised giant’s nose. It was almost as if he were a puppeteer and the log was his puppet, connected by invisible strands of energy that only he could see and control.

  Jorm was a warrior who had fought in many battles, and he learned long ago to never falter or think about one’s luck while fighting. He simply took advantage of the situation that was presented to him. He jumped up as the giant struck himself in the face with its own club, swinging his razor sharp sword across the throat of the bewildered creature. The blade hissed through the air slicing across the beast’s throat, parting it easily. Blood erupted from the wound dousing Jorm in red splashes. The dying g
iant stumbled backwards falling into the pool, turning the crystal clear water a crimson hue.

  The bleeding giant fighting Graggis shuffled backwards, kicking out its massive leg trying to batter the man with the painful axe. Loss of blood had slowed the beast and its movements were clumsy, but it got lucky as its left leg clipped Graggis in the hip, spinning him backwards. Graggis gritted his teeth from the pain of the kick but managed to stay on his feet and hold onto his axe.

  The giant took advantage of the small reprieve by reaching down with its good hand and grabbing its club on the ground. The huge creature lifted the club easily, chopping it downward, hoping to crush the skull of the man that had caused him so much pain. Graggis quickly regained his footing just as the club was descending toward him. As the club came down, Graggis bolted forward with his axe over his head.

  “Ulren!” Graggis screamed as the giant’s club smashed into the ground, narrowly missing him, his axe head taking the beast in the groin. The magical blade bit in deep and the giant roared in agony. The giant dropped to its knees, never before feeling that kind of pain.

  Graggis stepped back, yanking the blade from the grisly wound. The screaming giant brought both hands to its groin as its eyes rolled back in its head. Graggis growled swinging his mighty axe at the giant’s throat, which was now at eye level. His powerful swing brought the axe through the giant’s thick neck, severing it cleanly all the way to the beast’s spine. Thick red fluid showered Graggis as he stepped back, the giant falling backwards, choking on its own blood.

  Sal and Prince Baylin were taking turns inflicting damage. Sal’s movements began to slow as his broken ribs were taking their toll. This giant was strong, and he was not giving up easily. Sal sliced his sword across the giant’s calf as the beast swung its club at Baylin. The blade stung the giant and it kicked its leg backward hoping to connect with the blonde human again. Sal’s tired body could not react quickly enough and the giant’s heel took him in the chest sending him sprawling to the ground. The wind was knocked out of him and several more ribs cracked from the tremendous force of the kick.