Eternal Knight

by Matt Heppe

  Hadde ignored the look of anguish that crossed Nidon’s face. “Leave him to you?” she asked. “You Saladorans let this happen. I will end it. Let go of my bridle.”

  For a moment Nidon held her horse fast, holding Hadde’s gaze in his own. Finally, he released Lightfoot. “Aim true.”

  Hadde urged Lightfoot through the open stable entrance. The Great Keep’s courtyard was dark but for a few torch-lit entrances and the brightly illuminated gatehouse. Snowflakes brushed her cheeks as she rode toward the gates. “Who goes there?” a knight asked as she approached.

  “Hadde of Landomere. Open the gate.”

  “The gates are sealed.”

  “Why?” Hadde glared at the forbidding gates in front of her.

  “By the king’s order.”

  “Did you let Earl Waltas through?”

  “Yes, but the gates were not sealed then,” he said, crossing his arms.

  Hadde rode a few closer to him and pointed at the gate. “You let a murderer through.”

  “There was no reason to stop him.”

  She held back the rage that threatened to overwhelm her. It would do no good to scream at the fool. “If that murdering bastard escapes because you delayed me at this gate I shall make certain you take full blame for it. Open the gate.”

  “I cannot, Ambassador. You’re forbidden from departing.”

  “Open it!” Morin’s voice boomed. She turned and saw him striding toward her. The guard recoiled at the prince’s onslaught.

  “But the king—”

  “I’m Prince Morin, Lord Protector of Salador. If you defy me I’ll have your head.”

  “Yes, my lord,” he said. “Open the gate!”

  Morin turned to Hadde and grasped her hand. “I just spoke with Nidon. I know you won't wait for us, so I’ll not ask it of you. But we will be close behind. Don’t risk too much.”

  “Thank you for letting me go.” He truly wasn’t like other Saladorans. Not only was he letting her go, but he assumed that she could handle herself alone. Morin released her hand and she put her heels to Lightfoot. They raced through the city streets, the houses a blur in the darkness. Hadde ignored the snow that stung her face. There was no hint of the coming morning.

  At the city gates a soldier hailed her. “What’s going on? The alarm bells rang, but we’ve had no other word.”

  “I’m Ambassador Hadde of Landomere. There has been a murder attempt in the Great Keep. A maiden lies on her deathbed. Has anyone passed this gate tonight? The villain is attempting to escape.”

  “No one has passed this gate.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m certain of it.”

  Hadde looked around in desperation. She had assumed Waltas was heading for the South Teren. “Is there another gate?”

  “There are two others on the East Bank. The East Pass Gate and the Ost-Oras Gate. Both in that direction.” He pointed. She rode hard for the next gate. There, the Gate Captain told her Earl Waltas had passed through.

  Hadde dismounted as they opened the sally port for her. “Does this road lead to Del-Oras?”

  “It ends at the East Pass, a hundred miles from Del-Oras.”

  What was Waltas up to? Had he decided not to return to his homeland? Was he taking a different route? She cursed the snow as it fell more heavily. His trail would soon be covered. “Where does the East Pass lead?”

  The captain shrugged. “The land of Belen, but nobody has used the East Pass in hundreds of years. It’s closed.”

  “Thank you, Captain. Send word to Prince Morin that Waltas passed this gate.”

  “I will, Ambassador.” The sally port slammed shut behind her. Light from the gate illuminated partially obscured hoof prints. The trail followed the highway to the southeast. She switched leads and mounted Windwalker.

  As long as she didn’t lose his trail, she could catch Waltas. Saladoran warhorses were large and strong but they were not suited for fast-paced rides over long distances. She rode hard, almost missing the indentations in the snow marking where Waltas had ridden his horse off of the road.

  She glanced back toward Sal-Oras. Darkness and the falling snow obscured the walls from view. Even the torches lighting the gates were invisible. She guided Windwalker down the embankment. The horse slid but kept his balance.

  At first Hadde thought Waltas had made a mistake in leaving the road. The broken country around Sal-Oras would only slow him down. But soon she saw the purpose in it. Waltas had ridden into a pine forest where the snow had not penetrated. She found herself forced to dismount on several occasions as she searched for disturbances in the fallen pine needles carpeting the ground.

  She could tell from his horse's hoof prints that he was pressing his horse hard. But his haste had also made his trail easier to follow. He had knocked clumps of snow from some branches, and in a few places he had snapped small limbs.

  “He's in too much of a hurry,” Hadde said aloud as she patted Windwalker's neck. Or he had not thought Hadde would be the one pursuing him—the one person in Sal-Oras who had no problem seeing well in the dark. And the one person who had been a forest huntress for almost a decade.

  She still didn't understand the Saladorans’ night blindness, but right now it was to her advantage. Waltas had gained ground on her, of that she was certain. But he had also failed to lose her. She knew her two little Landomeri horses would make up the lost time.

  The sky lightened as she came upon the Del-Oras Highway. She stared southeast, into the South Teren. Waltas’s trail ran straight and clear. He was heading home. She set off after him.

  As dawn brightened the sky the snow slacked off. There was little sound besides the breathing of her horses and the thudding of their hooves on the road.

  The arrowflights rapidly passed as the cloud-hazed sun slowly crawled into the sky. Hadde reined in Windwalker as she came upon a disturbed patch of snow. She dismounted and searched the ground—quickly finding a broken wagon wheel partially obscured by the snow. Waltas’s horse had fallen, she realized. She jogged along Waltas’s trail as it continued South. A grin crossed her face. His horse was lame. He would never escape. She mounted Lightfoot and set off in pursuit.

  In only a few hundred strides she caught sight of him. Waltas led his limping horse through a shallow valley. Beyond him she spied a small village nestled in a tree line. Perhaps if he made the village he could find remounts, or even allies to help him fend her off. Who knew what story he would tell them? All they would know was that he was a Saladoran nobleman in need of help. A few crossbowmen could make her task impossible.

  But he wouldn't make the village. She would make certain of that. Her heart thudded in her chest. She was a huntress, and he was doomed. He would pay dearly for what he had done to Maret.

  She untied Windwalker’s lead line and let it fall. Pushing Lightfoot to a canter, she rose in her stirrups, her legs evening out the ride. Waltas cocked his head and turned. Hadde was close enough she could see the look of horror that crossed his face at the sight of her. Just as fast, he dropped his horse’s reins and ran.

  Hadde calculated the distances and smiled grimly. He had no hope of escape. A part of her enjoyed watching his futile efforts. She wanted the bastard to taste some of the fear Maret must have felt.

  Waltas was still a hundred strides from the nearest hut when Hadde pulled abreast of him. He yanked his sword from its sheath, but she rode well clear of him. Narrowing her eyes, she drew her bowstring and let fly. Waltas tumbled to the ground in an explosion of snow.

  Hadde nocked another arrow as Lightfoot skidded to a stop. Waltas struggled to his feet, her arrow protruding from his thigh. He still held his sword. Blood streamed down his face from a gash in his scalp.

  Grimacing, he glanced at her and then at the village. She didn’t give him time to think. Her second arrow hit him just above the left knee. Screaming, he toppled to the ground. Hadde pulled another arrow from the bowcase.

  “Stop. No more,” he moaned as he
clutched at the shaft in his thigh. His blood stood out starkly against the white snow. Hadde drew the bowstring to her ear. Before he could react she loosed the arrow. He screamed as the arrow struck him in the shin. She guided Lightfoot closer.

  “No. Please, no more.”

  She nocked another arrow.

  “They will hang you,” he said. “You can’t kill a noble.”

  Pausing, Hadde glanced toward Sal-Oras. Would they? She turned back to him and shrugged. She was beyond caring.

  “They will string you up by the neck,” he continued, his voice stronger. “Run now and you might escape.”

  She would run, but not yet. Soon enough. She would ride to Landomere and be done with these Saladorans. What did she have to stay for? She thought of Morin. Would he punish her for killing Waltas? Would he turn against her?

  She shook her head. The Saladorans hated Waltas as much as she did. They wanted revenge for what he had done to Maret. And she wouldn’t give Waltas a chance to talk himself out of trouble. Waltas deserved this. The Way of the Forest didn’t protect murderers. He had forfeited his right to live.

  “You tried to kill Maret. How could you?” She stopped Lightfoot five strides from Waltas.

  “I didn’t mean to,” he grunted. “I didn’t know it was her.”

  Hadde half drew her bow and aimed it at Waltas’s face. He closed his eyes and lifted both arms for protection. “She was innocent,” Hadde said as she shot him in the arm.

  Crying out, he clutched at the newest arrow. “It was supposed to be you,” he gasped. “Everyone heard about Morin’s letters. Why did you send the girl?”

  “I didn’t send her, you bastard. She read my letter and thought it was for her. She loves Morin and wanted to see him.”

  She half-drew another arrow. He flinched back and she shot him in the other arm. “No more—” An arrow impaled his palm as he tried to defend himself. “Argh! Whore!” he yelled. He rolled in agony. Red slush plastered his body. “If you’re going to kill me, be done with it!”

  She ignored his pain, pushing it out of her mind. He was vile. He deserved every moment. “What was that? Five? Six?” Hadde looked down at her bowcase. “We’ve just begun.”

  “Bitch.” He groaned through clenched teeth. “You whore.” An arrow hit him in the shoulder and he fell onto his back. Hadde pictured Maret on the surgeon’s couch and nocked another arrow.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Hadde stared at the still form of Waltas. Blood spattered the snow for strides around him. Her rage was gone, leaving only emptiness. She stared southeast toward home. It would be so easy. The Saladorans would never catch her. She would be free of them forever. But how long was forever? How long until everyone in Long Meadow died?

  She turned at the sound of approaching horsemen. Two black cloaked men on big warhorses—and they had Windwalker. How would they react to the sight of Waltas laying dead in the snow? Her hand moved to her bowcase. Fight, flee, or return to Sal-Oras?

  The horses pounded closer, their hooves thudding in the fresh snow.

  Morin. It was Morin and his friend Astor. Relief washed over her. Her decision delayed for a short time at least.

  “You’re safe?” Morin reined in next to her.

  She nodded. “Maret? How is she?”

  “Not well, but she lives.” He looked past her. “You caught him.”

  “It’s done. But, I don’t know what to do. I want to see Maret. But what will happen because of this?” She nodded in Waltas’s direction.

  Morin shook his head. “There’s no going back to Sal-Oras. Not for a while at least.”

  “Because I killed Waltas? He said that they would hang me.”

  “No. My brother wouldn’t kill you for that alone. But it might give him the excuse he’s looking for.” Morin glanced at Astor and then back to Hadde. “You have a decision to make, Hadde. You can ride for home, alone, or you can ride with us to the East Teren.”

  “I don’t understand. What excuse? Why does he want to kill me? And why the East Teren? If I can’t go to Sal-Oras I want to go home.” Hadde slid her bow into its case and took up Lightfoot’s reins.

  “Maret is alive and safe, but Orlos died in the effort to save her.”

  “What? No! That can’t be. He’s the last of the spiridus. Now Landomere is truly dead.” A tremendous sense of loss filled Hadde. She hadn't even known Orlos existed just a short time ago, and now she felt his death as strongly as she would had anyone in Long Meadow died. The fact he lived had given her some hope for the Great Forest.

  “My brother blames you for Orlos’s death,” Morin said, his face grim. “He said it never would have happened if not for you.”

  “If not for me? What of Waltas? He nearly killed Maret. He’s responsible for Orlos’s death.”

  “We know that.” Morin’s glance included Astor. “There’s more. Boradin found the second half of the prophecy yesterday. It couldn’t be worse timing. He thinks Orlos, the prophecy, and you are all related. He will arrest you if you return to Sal-Oras.”

  Hadde stared down at her hands toying with the reins. “Everything I have done has been for nothing. Everything I touch comes to harm,” she said.

  “I promised to help you, and I will. You have the Spiridus Token. If you want I’ll give you more gold as well. You and Astor can ride for Mor-Oras and buy all the supplies you want for your people.”

  Hadde raised her head. “Astor and I? What about you?”

  “What—” Astor started, his face showing surprise.

  Morin raised his hand to cut them off. “It's not what I want. I want both of you to come with me to the East Teren. Hadde, Astor has found a way for us to save everyone. He’s found the Orb of Creation.”

  She stared in disbelief. “How do you know?”

  “I’ll explain as we go. We cannot stay here—I don't want my brother's men to discover us. Please, have faith in me.”

  Have faith? What had faith in Saladorans gotten her? Hadde looked toward home. She pictured her parents’ faces. How much she wanted to see them. But what had she accomplished? She would return a failure. But if Morin was right… if he possessed the Orb….

  “Your part in all of this isn’t finished,” Morin continued. “It wasn’t chance that gave you the Spiridus Token. You must see this out.”

  “Just the three of us?" Hadde asked. “If we’re to retrieve the Orb, shouldn't we take a larger party? And what of your brother?”

  “We don’t need more people,” Astor replied. “Please, we must go. Captain, she doesn’t have to come.”

  Morin ignored his friend and stared at Hadde. “We have little time. I want you to come with me. Not because of any prophecy, or your Token, but because I want you there with me when I take the Orb.”

  Hadde met Morin’s gaze. He was her last hope to save Long Meadow—whether it was through the Orb or a gift of gold and supplies. But it was more than that... it was more than just what he offered Long Meadow. “I’ll come,” she said.

  “Good. I’m glad.” He smiled at her and then glanced toward Sal-Oras. “We can’t wait. Let’s ride.”

  “A shame to leave good arrows,” Astor said as they rode past Waltas’s corpse. “There must be two dozen in him.”

  “Fifteen,” Hadde replied. “One for each year of Maret’s life.”

  He looked at her, dumbfounded.

  “What should we do with him?” Astor asked Morin.

  “Leave him,” Morin replied. “He's an akinos. By his deeds he gave up the right to a noble treatment. Let Dromost take his soul. Hadde, do you want your arrows?”

  She shook her head. “I'd leave them in as a warning to anyone who hurts a friend of Landomere, but I only have five remaining to me.”

  As Hadde dismounted Astor called out, "You won't need them! Let's be on our way."

  “Who knows what we might run into?” Hadde said.

  “I do know,” Astor replied. “You won't need them.” He looked to Morin for support.

>   “Come, Hadde, we must ride,” Morin said. She gave Waltas’s corpse one last glance and then mounted Lightfoot. She felt no emotion toward the South Teren noble. Pulling the arrows from his corpse would have meant nothing to her. She only felt regret at leaving the good arrows behind. Who knew what might happen as they rode for the Orb?

  Morin led them south along the highway until they reached the village Waltas had been running for. It turned out to be long abandoned. As they rode through it Morin used his magic to light several of the buildings on fire. “It will obscure our path and sow confusion amongst our pursuers,” he explained.

  They rode south the entire day, only leaving the highway to avoid a town blocking their path. Hadde and Morin rode around the town while Astor entered to purchase supplies. He met them on the opposite side where they halted for brief meal out of sight of the road. The day had become warm enough to melt the night's wet snow.

  “How much further south will we travel?” Hadde asked.

  “We'll turn east now,” Morin replied. “I think we have confused the trail enough.”

  “And how long until we recover the Orb?”

  “Six days,” Astor said, “unless the weather turns against us.”

  “How can you be so certain?”

  “You've heard of the Messengers, I'm sure,” Astor said, meeting her gaze. A smile crossed his face. “I captured one. From him I learned that Akinos holds the Orb near Ost-Oras.”

  “Akinos?" Hadde asked. "Who is he? Who would be known by that name?"

  "Not just some person," Morin said. "It is the Akinos. The Slayer."

  “It is him,” Astor said, his head bobbing with enthusiasm. “The Orb has sustained Akinos’s life, but now he’s ancient and dying. Morin can take the Orb from him.”

  “I don't believe it,” Hadde said. It went far beyond seeing magic to believing that Akinos the Slayer still lived and wielded the Orb of Creation. And that Astor had somehow learned of his location. “If what you say is true, why do the Messengers or the varcolac not take the Orb for themselves?”