Eternal Knight

by Matt Heppe

  His smile widened as he handed her the bow. “I saved it when Lightfoot was brought into the stables after they arrested you. I kept it for you.”

  Hadde traced her hand along the bow’s back. “Thank you. Thank you so much. But why are you in armor?”

  He yanked his spear from the ground and hefted it. “The king needed soldiers to fight Akinos. And after what you did, saving the prince and such, I had to help.”

  “No, Puddle, you didn’t have to do that.” She stared at the boy. He looked barely able to stand under the weight of his equipment.

  “I thought of you when they called for soldiers to join the ranks. I remembered what you said about being noble. And look, King Boradin made you one. I’ll be a noble, too.”

  “You have to stay safe. Don’t risk too much.”

  “I’m in the last rank.” He frowned. “But if I’m lucky, I’ll get my chance to be a hero like you.”

  “Don’t try. It will get you killed.”

  Movement out of the corner of her eye caught Hadde’s attention. Nidon emerged from the king’s tent and, after a moment, he marched in her direction. Boradin had offered Hadde a large tent, but she settled for a quieter and more familiar lean-to set off on its own.

  “May I join you?” Nidon asked as he approached. Puddle gasped and stood at attention at the sight of the champion.

  “Please do.” Hadde waved Nidon to a spot next to the fire.

  “Take your ease, Puddle,” Nidon said as he crouched. He raised his hands to the heat. “Not many fires like this one tonight.”

  “Years as a Huntress,” she said. He nodded.

  A wolf howled in the distance. No, not a wolf, Hadde realized. A man imitating a wolf. “The varcolac have returned,” Nidon said.

  “Akinos knows we’re coming.” Hadde stared into the fire. “I’m afraid that we might lose, Sir Nidon. I think the army was delayed too long. And it’s too weak. Too tired.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” he said without looking up.

  She looked up at him in surprise. His face was calm. “How can you say that? Of course it matters.”

  Nidon turned back to Hadde. “The army’s size and fatigue don’t matter, because the way of the warrior is death.”

  Hadde and Puddle stared at Nidon. “When the odds are even between life and death, the warrior chooses death.” Nidon stared solemnly into each of their eyes in turn. “There is no need to think about it. There is no choice at all between a hero’s death and a coward’s life.

  “I wouldn’t care at all if Akinos rode at the head of an army of black-winged veden and I stood to face him alone. If it were my duty to fight him and die in doing so, I would do it without thought.” Puddle gazed at Nidon, awestruck.

  “I don’t think I’m a warrior, then,” Hadde said.

  Nidon laughed and clasped her shoulder with his big hand. He leaned close. “You’re a warrior. You may not think it. You may not want to be one. But you know what has to be done, and you do it. That’s why you ride with us into the maw of death.”

  ***

  For two more days they marched north. Varcolac and Tyskmen dogged their movements, but no army blocked their path. Hadde rode at the head of the column with Boradin and the red-cloaked Knights of the House. Knights from all three Teren marched behind. More and more from the West Teren joined them each day. Behind the knights came vassal foot and guild mercenaries.

  Hadde tapped Lightfoot’s flanks and the little horse trotted to the left of the Knights of the House. She pulled her cloak closer about her and watched as Boradin’s army deployed on the slope of a low hill on the bank of the Treteren River. A few flakes of snow drifted past. Ominous clouds promised more.

  A stream ran across the front of the army, and beyond it rose a larger hill. There rested Akinos’s army. A chill passed over her, but it wasn’t from the cold. The army was bigger than she remembered.

  She searched for any sign of Akinos or Morin amongst the soldiers of the opposing host, but saw none. A shout drew her attention. Below, where the stream fed into the river, lay a small town. Blue liveried Sal-Oras soldiers with pole-axes and crossbows cleared the town of the few Tysk who occupied it.

  Ahead, along the stream bank, Saladoran footmen took up position. Crossbowmen to the front, spearmen in support. Soldiers from the West Teren held the left flank. Behind the spearmen rested two battles of knights in long lines. At the crest of the hill stood the Knights of the House.

  Unlike Boradin’s hill, the spur upon which Akinos’s army stood had only been partially cleared of trees. At the edge of the woods Hadde saw movement, and from time to time Tyskmen emerged to jeer at the Saladorans. Hundreds more Tyskmen spread themselves in a ragged line across the floor of the valley between the two armies. The Tysk were well out of crossbow range and seemed content to crouch under their cloaks and observe the might of Salador deployed before them.

  Lining the ridge behind them stood thousands of Akinos’s Rigarian soldiers. Brightly colored banners and the hulking shapes of urias clearly defined each company. There were no varcolac or capcaun to be seen, nor any sign of Akinos. Dozens of mounted men rode amongst the Rigarians, but most wore the white cloaks of the Eternal Knights. None wore Morin’s black.

  She searched the enemy army, hoping for some sight of him. She feared for him in the coming struggle. Boradin might win the battle, but in doing so slay Morin. She wanted nothing more than an end to the Wasting, but what if it cost her Morin?

  No. She shook off the fear. Morin would live and be restored to human form again. He was too strong—too smart to fall. He would escape and flee to Landomere with her.

  The Tyskmen on the valley floor got to their feet and hefted their spears and javelins. As one, the voices of the Rigarians behind them rose in song. It started softly and increased in volume and intensity. As they sang, they crashed their spears against their shields. The words were indistinguishable, but the meaning of the music was clear. The song was one of victory, and she could hear the strength of the army in it.

  A nearby trumpet blared a clarion call. Hadde looked to the herald. He rode with King Boradin and his escort in front of the Knights of the House. Three times the horn called, and then the Knights of the House raised their lances high and shouted.

  “For the king, for the shield, for the land of Salador!”

  More horns joined the herald’s. As their call ended, the knights of the three Terens joined their voices with those of the House.

  “For the king, for the shield, for the land of Salador!”

  Soon the entire Saladoran army joined in and the valley echoed with their voices. All the while the Rigarians had kept up their own song and the hills reverberated with the noise. Hadde sat on Lightfoot’s back, awed at the emotion and power of the music. Over the spur marched hundreds of Rigarian musicians. Trumpets and flutes joined the rumble of drums.

  And then the music stopped.

  From the opposite ridge rode three eternals—two entirely white-clad, the third in a tabard of yellow emblazoned with a black dragon. It was Maret’s father, Earl Seremar. As they approached the valley floor, Hadde saw that each eternal carried a sword by its blade, hilt pointing skyward. They passed the line of Tyskmen and continued toward the Saladoran army.

  “Come to me, Lady Hadde.”

  Hadde jolted in her saddle as Boradin’s voice sounded in her ear. She looked to where he waited with Nidon in front of the Knights of the House and, putting her heels to Lightfoot, trotted up to them. “What are they doing, Your Majesty? Why do they hold their swords like that?”

  “They wish to parlay. I’m going to speak with them and wish for you and Champion Nidon to join me. You’ve met Akinos and these Eternal Knights before. I wish for you to advise me if I have need of it.”

  “Yes, Your Majesty.”

  Boradin led Hadde and Nidon down the hill to the bank of the stream. Nidon held his sword in the same manner as the three eternals. The king held Forsvar, tendrils of blue fire circl
ed the shield as if it anticipated battle. Across the stream, twenty strides away, the three eternals waited.

  “My king,” Seremar called out as he bowed his head toward Boradin.

  “You call me your king? You, who march with my enemy’s army.”

  “You are still my king. I am sent to seek peace between you and Akinos, wielder of the Orb of Creation. Akinos does not come as a conqueror, but as a redeemer. He does not wish your throne.”

  “He lays waste to my country. How can I befriend him?”

  “All the harm that has been committed has been done in the name of our salvation,” Seremar replied. “It was unavoidable.”

  “Unavoidable?” Boradin shook his fist at the eternal. “He could have delivered the Orb to me and all this suffering would have been avoided. He can still do so. Tell him to return what is rightfully mine.”

  Seremar shook his head. “Akinos has selected another path. Lay down your arms and join him in salvation.”

  “It isn’t salvation he brings us, but destruction,” Boradin said, anger rising in his voice. “I’ve been warned of the peril of the Orb. You eternals are the cause of our demise. You are the Wasting. You are our downfall.”

  “I know not of what you speak. We shall all become eternal, and in that find peace.”

  “Go back to Akinos and tell him I’ll fight him. Tell him that I’ll not let the Wasting take us all.”

  “Tell him yourself.”

  The Rigarian drummers sent a wave sound washing across the valley. Soon their horns joined in and the music swelled. Another battle line of Rigarians appeared over the crest of the distant spur and marched into the valley.

  Hadde gaped as they appeared. The second wave was larger than the first. She turned her head as a murmur of dismay swept through the Saladoran army. Restless movement swept through the crossbowmen behind her.

  “Look! Look to the woods!” one of them shouted. Hadde and others turned in the direction he pointed. Hundreds of Saladoran knights emerged from the trees on the Rigarian right. All wore some white emblem in addition to their East Teren yellow. A knight in black rode at their head. Hadde’s heart lurched in her chest. Morin. No… she leaned forward in her saddle. This man rode a roan horse with white socks. Astor. The knights halted just outside the forest edge.

  “Traitors,” Nidon muttered.

  For a moment the Rigarian army stood motionless. Then, to Hadde’s surprise, the entire army about-faced and knelt toward the spur to their rear.

  Over the hill appeared two companies of giant capcaun, each a score strong. All wore shining suits of gilded scale armor, and each had a huge two-headed axe resting on his shoulder.

  Moments later two larger companies of varcolac appeared and flanked the giants. All wore mail of burnished steel and had cloaks of white fur draped over their shoulders. White bear-masks were drawn over their faces, and each bore two heavy javelins in his hands. Swords and short-hafted axes hung from their belts.

  Between the two bands of giants appeared a huge wagon pulled by more capcaun. Three times the size of any ordinary wagon, it was painted in a rainbow of colors and inlaid with gold and silver. But despite the gay colors and ornaments, it was a machine of war. Long, polished blades curved out from the hubs of each wheel. Hadde shook her head in amazement. Each gleaming blade was as tall as a man. As long as the wagon was in motion it would be impossible to assail from either side.

  Varcolac manned the wagon, each bearing a pole-axe. Forty Eternal Knights escorted the massive machine. Akinos sat on a richly decorated chair mounted high in the center of the wagon. He raised the Orb of Creation, and it flashed with brilliant golden light. As the Orb pulsed, the drums and cymbals of his army’s band crashed into a frenzy of noise that washed against Hadde with a physical impact.

  And then silence. The Rigarian army rose and turned to face Boradin. Akinos’s host was far more powerful than Hadde had imagined.

  “You’ve no hope of victory,” Seremar said, echoing her thoughts. “Come with me, King Boradin. Speak with Akinos. He will tell you the truth. He will show you the glory of the Orb.” Hadde glanced at Boradin. His gaze swept across the Rigarian army, she saw doubt in his eyes.

  “Akinos will welcome you,” Seremar continued. “Your son is our salvation. He shall wield the Orb. Come and speak with Akinos. He will respect the truce we have called.”

  Boradin nodded. He opened his mouth to speak, but Hadde cut him off.

  “No! Your Majesty, you cannot. I’ve heard their arguments. I’ve touched the Orb. It feels like kindness, love, and goodness, but it’s a lie. Akinos’s efforts are the Wasting, and no matter how wonderful it feels or sounds, it is killing us.”

  “Be silent,” Nidon said. “You may have been knighted, but it gives you no right to speak to the king in such a manner.”

  “But—”

  “Who is she who rules your kingdom?” Seremar said. “Come with me, King Boradin, and all will be made clear.” He raised his hand and offered it to Boradin. “With a single touch—mine, Akinos’s, or the Orb’s—you’ll feel Helna’s grace. You’ll feel the life-giving glory that will save us all.”

  “No!” Hadde grasped the King’s forearm. “They can hold you powerless, drain the life from you. Morin—”

  “Unhand him!” Nidon said.

  Boradin yanked his arm from Hadde’s grip. “Be silent, Lady Hadde.”

  “You cannot win,” Seremar said. “Prince Morin marches to us as we speak. He brings his Teboran and Namiri allies with him. You’ll be overwhelmed. Don’t let it come to blows. Let there be peace.”

  “I’ve heard enough,” Boradin said.

  Hadde stared at the king, hoping he would reject Seremar, but fearing the worst. Nidon glared at her, daring her to speak again.

  “Tell Akinos there will be no peace between us,” Boradin said. “He will surrender the Orb to me or face the might of Salador.” Hadde exhaled with relief as the king spoke the words. There was still some small hope that the Wasting would end.

  The king took his mace from his belt. “Our parlay is ended. Return to your master or feel my wrath.” Blue flames engulfed the mace’s head.

  Without a word, the three eternals turned their horses and rode toward Akinos’s warwagon. Hadde wiped her hand across her sweaty brow. The fate of the world would be decided on the ground beneath her.

  “Seek a place of shelter, Hadde,” Boradin said. “But don’t stray too far.” The king thrust his mace into the sky. Brilliant light flashed from the golden head. He reared his horse around to face his army.

  The assembled forces raised their weapons and cheered. Boradin saluted them, and with Nidon riding close behind, galloped across the face of the Saladoran host.

  The first wisps of snow fell from a steel grey sky.

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Hadde stared on as Tyskmen shouted war cries and sprinted forward. Massed Rigarians followed in close order. The battle had begun. The Knights of the House leaned forward in their saddles, clutching at their lances, eager to charge. Boradin and Nidon sat at their head.

  Well below them, Saladoran crossbowmen aimed at the advancing Tyskmen and let fly a volley of deadly bolts. Dozens of Tyskmen fell, but hundreds more continued forward. Some of the Tysk were bow armed and stopped to loose arrows at the Saladorans. Most of the Tysk charged ahead, shields held high.

  As the first Tyskmen reached the stream, they hurled their javelins at the Saladoran line. A few crossbowmen fell, but it was a rare Tyskman who lived to cast a second javelin.

  Hadde wanted to block out the shouted orders, the snap of crossbows, the sick thuds of missiles striking home, and the cries of the wounded. The snow fell harder as more and more men from both sides died.

  Akinos’s Rigarians halted a hundred strides from the stream as their drums reached a crescendo. Two ranks of spearmen knelt in front of six ranks of archers.

  They raised their bows and a thousand arrows flew into the snow-laced sky. The Saladorans quailed a
s the storm arched toward them, crying out in dismay as the arrows streaked downward. For a short time the Saladorans held on, but it wasn’t an even contest. The Rigarian archers each wore an aketon and stood behind a shield wall of armored spearmen. The Saladoran crossbowmen fell back.

  Hadde rode up to Boradin. “Why don’t you raise a wind and blow their arrows away, Your Majesty?”

  “I can only do so much. Would you’ve me waste my strength defending these crossbowmen? I must save myself for Akinos and the Orb of Creation.”

  “But—“

  “If I spend myself now, I will have nothing later.”

  “Is that… is that what happened at the Great Keep?” Hadde asked.

  “I was foolish,” Boradin replied. “I wasted myself on the gate and that eternal. I nearly killed myself saving the maiden. I can’t let that happen here.”

  “They’re soldiers,” Nidon said. “They do what they’re told. Some will die, but that’s war. And this snow hurts archery; Akinos will have to close with us. It favors us.”

  The Rigarians ceased their arrow storm and advanced to the stream bank. Once again the spearmen knelt and the archers loosed arrows over their heads. Only thirty strides separated the two armies. But unlike the fleeing crossbowmen, long kite shields, iron helms, and aketons protected the Saladoran spearmen who now stood before the Rigarian archers.

  Horns blared and the Saladoran spearmen advanced into the stream.

  The two armies crashed together. Men grunted and yelled as they thrust their spears. Some slipped and fell on the muddy ground to be trampled by their comrades or drowned in the stream. Hadde scanned the ranks of Sal-Oras spearmen for any sign of Puddle. It didn’t take long to spot his striped cloak. The little stable hand struggled through the stream, his shield pressed against the back of the man in front of him.

  A sudden burst of snow obscured the soldiers, and she lost him in the melee. Hadde wouldn’t let Puddle die. “I cannot stand idly by and watch this.”

  “Have at them,” Boradin said, waving her off. He didn’t even look at her. She rode toward the fighting.