In Malbeck’s left hand he held a small book bound with old worn leather, the Shan Cemar, the ancient elven text that held the secrets for tapping into the energy of the Ru’Ach. Whoever held the book held vast amounts of power, power that Malbeck planned to use as he spread the Forsworn’s darkness across Kraawn.
Leaning against the white throne of Tarsis was Malbeck’s battle-axe. The twin blades each curved to deadly points, and carved into the flat blades were depictions of demons and other denizens of the lower planes. The handle, made from the same light steel, was wrapped with the tough scaled skin of a black dragon.
Malbeck shifted slightly as the large double doors to the throne room opened. Gullanin, Malbeck’s follower and a powerful wizard in his own right, entered the throne room and prostrated himself before his master. The man was old and frail, and he wore a silver skullcap engraved with Gould’s white eye.
Behind him were three high priests to the Forsworn, Janrick, high priest to Gould, Cuthare, high priest to Dykreel, and Kane, high priest to Naz’reen. They, too, bowed before their master.
“What is your report?” asked Malbeck, his low voice deep and resonant.
“My Lord, Tarsis is in ruin and the Tarsinian army is destroyed,” replied Gullanin.
“What of Kromm?” interjected Malbeck.
“He escaped with a small group, but we know he is near, he can’t have gotten far,” Gullanin replied quickly.
“We must find him and kill him.” Malbeck turned his milky white eyes toward the high priests. “Are you ready to serve me in this task?”
Janrick stepped forward and bowed his head. “Of course, my Lord, what would you have us do?”
Malbeck smiled wickedly and stood up from the throne. His form was impressive, strong arms, chest, and shoulders, tapered to a thin waist surrounded by rippling muscle. “Hunt him down and rip his heart out.”
Janrick shifted uneasily and looked sideways at Gullanin who stepped back away from him, as if to distance himself from something diseased.
“How would you like us to do this?” Janrick asked.
“With your own teeth and claws of course,” Malbeck replied, taking one big step toward them.
Cuthare and Kane stepped back from their lord, unsure of what was happening, his words making no sense. Janrick held his ground but looked about nervously.
“My Lord, I’m not sure what you mean,” said Janrick.
“You will serve the Forsworn in the ultimate way, by giving up your life to their service.”
Janrick, Cuthare, and Kane started to back away slowly, their eyes going wide with fear and surprise.
“But my Lord, we brought you back, we have served you well…” stammered Kane.
“You did not bring me back, Gullanin did. And yes, you have served me well, which is why I am giving you this reward. You will become the Hounds of Gould, and serve him in this task.” Malbeck approached the trio slowly as he whispered a few words of power. The priests were backing away from Malbeck when they froze in mid-step, unable to move.
“Gullanin, please cut their throats,” whispered Malbeck as he began another spell. His words whispered around the trio as they struggled to free themselves from the powerful spell. Their eyes widened with fright at the Dark One’s words.
Gullanin unsheathed a razor sharp blade and approached Janrick from behind. He did not hesitate as he brought the sharp edge across the immobilized priest’s throat. Janrick’s blood squirted from the deep cut and splattered onto the stone floor. Malbeck’s spell held Janrick’s body upright as his blood continued to pool at his feet. Cuthare and Kane suffered the same fate and then Gullanin stepped back from the dying trio.
Malbeck continued to chant.
The words were not familiar to Gullanin, probably ancient words from the Shan Cemar. He tried to concentrate on the words, tried to remember them, but they seemed to waft around the room and then disappear from his mind.
Malbeck’s staff was glowing brightly as he came to the end of his spell, his voice a crescendo of power. Suddenly the tip of the staff flared brightly and three beams of light shot forth to strike the pools of blood that had formed at the feet of the dying priests. Almost immediatly the light disappeared, leaving behind three pools of blood, sizzling and boiling.
All three of the bodies fell to the floor with a dull thud as the blood began to boil and froth even more. Gullanin stepped back and watched the transformation as the three pools expanded and boiled more violently. As he watched, the boiling blood began to take form, growing from the ground, emerging from the crimson pools. The three forms pulsed with life, growing slowly into a writhing rust colored mass that grew to the size of a small horse. Four clawed legs began to push from the flesh, as a head that resembled a dog strained forward, stretching the translucent skin.
Gullanin retreated farther away as the beasts took on a more defined shape.
“Have no fear, Gullanin. You have served me well and they will not harm you,” Malbeck said as he moved closer to the writhing shapes.
Gullanin stopped and looked at the beasts more closely. Their glistening skin had transformed into a more solidified look, huge and muscular, their skin rough like stone but the color of rusted steel. They were shaped like a large cat crossed with a bull, with strong powerful legs that tapered to padded feet tipped with black claws the size of knives. Their heads were dog-like, but much larger, with thick powerful jaws lined with black teeth. Their red eyes were sunk into a knobby forehead that was covered with a ridge of sharp spikes that went all the way down their spine. The spikes on their heads were as long as a man’s forearm, tapering down in size the farther down the spine they went.
The three beasts stretched and opened their mouths, emitting low, deep growls. They pivoted their red eyes toward Gullanin, causing him to step backwards even more. Malbeck approached them, reaching out with his left hand. One of the beasts moved toward him, its black claws clicking on the hard stone. Its chest puffed out as it growled, sniffing Malbeck’s hand. The beast curled its lips exposing sharp teeth dripping saliva. Malbeck stroked the beast’s head as the other two gathered around him. They sat on their haunches and then began to whine as if they were pets seeking attention from their master.
“The Hounds of Gould, Gullanin. Do you like them?”
“They are magnificent, my Lord,” replied the wizard uneasily.
“Do you have the article that I requested?”
“I do, my Lord.” Gullanin reached into his robe and pulled forth a gold crown glittering with jewels. “The crown of Tarsis.”
“Good. Bring it forth,” ordered Malbeck.
Gullanin approached the Dark One cautiously, the Hounds of Gould eyeing him hungrily. As he walked by them he detected a strange smell, like burnt hair. The beast’s red eyes bored into him. Gullanin shivered slightly as he handed the crown to Malbeck, then shuffled away from the hounds.
“Now, my beasts, smell the crown and get his stench.” Malbeck brought the crown to each beast and held it to their noses. They sniffed the metal and licked it with their rough tongues. “Hunt him down and kill him, and then return to me. Gullanin?”
“Yes, my Lord.”
“How many Gould-Irin orcs do you have?”
“One hundred, my Lord.”
“Good. I want you to lead fifty of them into the Tundrens. Use this amulet to follow the Hounds of Gould. Make sure that Kromm and what is left of his followers are slain.” Malbeck handed Gullanin a red stone hanging from a black chain. “The amulet will give you control of the beasts and allow you to track them. Make sure that King Kromm and everyone with him is killed.”
“As you wish, my Lord.”
***
As soon as they had materialized back in the king’s tent, Kiln, with the injured and incapacitated prince on his shoulder, ran to the soft bed in the corner of the room. He gently laid the naked and bloody prince down and looked to Jonas for help.
“Jonas, can you help him?” he asked with concern
.
Jonas had immediately followed Kiln to the bed and knelt next to the unconscious prince. “In Shyann’s name,” he whispered as he surveyed the wounds. There were several long pink scars on his abdomen and more than a handful of open and bleeding lacerations on his arms and legs. His face was bloody and bruised and his lips were torn and bleeding in several spots. He had obviously been repeatedly and severely beaten. Also, burned in the middle of his forehead was Dykreel’s brand, a circle of spiked wire. But the worst of the damage was to his groin. They had cut off his manhood leaving nothing more than a bloody stump of flesh. Jonas had never seen anything so horrible.
“Is the prince alive?” asked Alerion as he quickly moved next to the bed.
“Yes, he is breathing. But he has been tortured and severely wounded. By the looks of it they completely slit open his abdomen and then healed the wound with magic, just enough to stop the bleeding. Kiln, what are we to do? Those evil vermin have taken his…”
“Heal him, Jonas,” Kiln interrupted. “Bring him back from the darkness. But cover his body first.” Kiln’s voice was low and dripping with anger at the vile deed that had been done to such a good man.
Jonas was shaking with anger as well. How could someone do this to another human being? It was incomprehensible to him, and the dark deed just added fuel to the fire that was burning deep in Jonas’s soul. Dykreel, dark god of torture and pain, the third ranking Forsworn had marked this man, and that act alone was a violation of all that is good. Nothing would dampen the flames of vengeance. And Jonas knew that Kiln felt the same way. He could see it in the hard set of his face and in his ice cold eyes. As Jonas looked at him, an understanding was shared between them. Nothing would stop either one of them from stamping out the evil that was responsible for this act.
“Heal him, Jonas,” Kiln repeated.
Alerion draped the prince’s body with a light red blanket as Jonas laid both his hands on the mortally wounded prince. Jonas closed his eyes and prayed to Shyann, asking for her power to heal this man who embodied all the qualities of goodness.
He felt her power rise deep from within him and he channeled it into his hands. Instantly they glowed blue and he released the healing magic into the prince’s ravaged body. Tendrils of magic surged into the prince, searching out all that was corrupted. Shyann’s magic first sought out the prince’s forehead, drawn to the evil mark that was burned there. The magic healing tendrils were like hunting dogs sniffing out their prey. The magic grabbed hold of the mark and wrestled with the dark magic there in.
Kiln and Alerion saw smoke rise from the scar as it glowed brightly. But Jonas’s eyes were closed and he didn’t see the reaction. He felt it. Dykreel’s darkness tried to hold on but Jonas gritted his teeth and sent a strong burst of light into the mark, chasing the shadow of darkness from Prince Baylin’s body.
Then Jonas found the other wounds, and there were many. The cleric of Dykreel had slit open the prince’s abdomen and pulled sections of his intestines out while he was still alive. Then the torturer replaced them and healed the wound, just enough to keep him from bleeding to death. This had been done several times and Jonas cringed thinking about the pain that Prince Baylin had gone through. Jonas could see the damaged and bruised sections deep in his abdomen. He worked quickly to heal the area and sealed all the lacerations on his body, after first pushing out the salt that had been poured on the wounds to maximize his suffering.
Lastly he went to work on the Prince’s groin. There was nothing he could do for the missing flesh so he simply did his best to heal the wound with the least amount of scarring. Jonas knew that an opening would be needed for the prince to relieve himself of his fluids, so he found that spot and sealed the flesh around it. Finally Jonas opened his eyes, took a deep breath to steady his body before standing up from the prince’s inert form.
Prince Baylin’s chest was rising in slow deep breaths and his flesh was no longer pasty white. The scar on his forehead was gone and it looked as if he had never been burned.
“He will be okay, but I think he will need to rest for a while,” Jonas said softly.
“The damage that the prince sustained was not just physical. The mental trauma alone will likely keep him unconscious, at least for a while,” Kiln said, looking at Alerion and Jonas both. “We will speak to no one of this, do you both understand? No one must know of his injuries.”
“I understand,” replied Alerion gravely.
“I will tell no one,” added Jonas. Kiln nodded his head as if to seal the oath they both took.
“You both have exerted a lot of energy, now go get some sleep, I will stay with the prince,” Kiln said as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket all the way over his prone body.
“Very well, Kiln.” Jonas was indeed tired. He had been fighting constantly for two full days and it was time to get some rest. “Please inform me if you need anything,” he said as he turned to leave.
“And me as well, Commander,” added Alerion as he left the room on Jonas’s heels, leaving Kiln and the prince alone in the dimly lit tent.
Kiln looked down at the unconscious prince. “I’m sorry, young king. But don’t worry, you will get your justice, and I will be standing right beside you.”
The morning came quick. They had a new task before them, one filled with uncertainties and danger, but also hope. Their task was to find the warrior king, Kromm, who was fleeing for his life in the mountains around Tarsis with what was left of his followers.
Tarsis had been destroyed by Malbeck the Dark One, and his forces were now moving on Finarth. Jonas knew that something was hunting King Kromm with the sole purpose of destroying him, and this something was probably of another world, something that only a cavalier could face. They had to find the king and bring him back; it was necessary for the survival of the land, although Jonas had not yet been told why.
King Baylin Gavinsteal and Kiln would be preparing the defenses for Finarth while Jonas, Taleen, and Fil went on this mission. They could wait no longer, it was time to leave.
Their nighttime mission had been successful. Lord Moredin was dead and they had rescued the prince. Hopefully the retreat would now go unhindered since Lord Moredin and the other enemy commanders were now dead. It would take Malbeck many months to reach Finarth and the winter season would slow them as well, giving Finarth the time needed to prepare for a long drawn out siege. Also, no one knew if Malbeck would stop along the way to plunder other cities like Cuthaine, a free city just outside of Finarth’s borders and in Malbeck’s path. Either way, the people of Finarth had a lot of work to do, as did Jonas. He had to find the King of Tarsis and bring him back.
All three of the warriors were saddled and ready to ride. Kiln had given them all provisions and the necessary supplies for the long journey.
Fil had a hard time masking his excitement. He sat proud and tall on a sturdy warhorse that Kiln had given him. He was wearing his chain mail shirt draped with a charcoal gray tunic and black breeches and he carried his traditional footman’s short sword and dagger, as well as a stout long spear. He was ready for this mission.
Jonas and Taleen sat on their cavalier mounts. Everything sparkled in the morning sun as their huge warhorses pranced about, eager for their mission. Tulari would be leading them, and he shook his head back and forth in anticipatory eagerness for the adventure.
Jonas was wearing his polished helm, the deer antlers jutting from both sides like a noble stag. Endowed with magic, the magnificent piece was almost weightless. Jonas sometimes forgot he was wearing it. It felt a little different now that he had no hair, but that would grow back, creating a softer bed for the helmet.
The edges of the God Mark that had been burned into his forehead could be seen under his helmet. The blue symbol was slightly raised, like a scar, its lines smooth and its edges straight. Jonas often brought his hand up to touch it, marveling at the feel of the gift that Shyann had given him for his service. He did not need a religious symbol on a
chain around his neck; his symbol was embedded in his flesh, where it would never go away.
A small crowd of men were out to watch the departing trio. It was an hour before dawn but word had spread throughout camp and many of the men had come to wish them well.
Kiln was there, along with Alerion and several knights with whom Jonas had traveled. Graggis stood like a block of stone holding his huge battle axe. He nodded his head to them as they made eye contact.
Dagrinal was standing next to him in full battle armor, casually resting his hand on his long sword. Jonas smiled and Dagrinal smiled back, nodding his head in farewell.
Suddenly the men around them parted and began to cheer, “Finarth! Finarth!” as an armored man moved through them with purpose. It was the prince, now the King of Finarth, and he approached the trio dressed in full battle armor.
The men were yelling and cheering for their king. Rumors had spread quickly of his rescue but no one had yet seen him. He looked tired but he had healed fully and he moved with determination. He moved close to Jonas and looked up at him. They shared something briefly, a knowing, and a silent thank you. Words about what happened did not need to be spoken. It was understood and it did not need to be discussed.
“Thank you, Jonas, and good luck. May Bandris guard you and bring you back safely with the help you seek.”
Jonas leaned down and gripped the young king’s hand. “Just hold out long enough to give me time to get back,” he said with a wry smile.
“It will be done,” replied the king, his soft voice emanating power.
Something had changed within the man; Jonas could see it, could feel it. His face was hard and cold, and he looked like a volcano ready to erupt. Something had died within him and something else was born, and growing.
The Cavalier Page 49