by Chuck Black
Lord Malizimar. The name hit Rowan like a brick.
“The marauders who captured me claimed they were supporting Lord Malizimar and his cause.” He put his hand to his head as he tried to piece it all together. “But why?”
“Chessington,” Mariah and Zetta both said at the same time.
“Cameria supports Chessington and the King’s people there. Lord Malizimar hates Chessington and wants to conquer it. Cameria stands in his way.”
“I find it difficult to believe that you were a squire under Sir Aldwyn for so many years and he didn’t tell you these things,” Zetta said with a tone that was nearly a reprimand.
Rowan felt his cheeks flush slightly. “He tried, but I didn’t hear much of it. I was too concerned with learning the sword and how to fight in tournaments.” Rowan rubbed the back of his neck. “Where is Sir Aldwyn now?”
“Sir Aldwyn’s gone to join the Resolutes, too,” Zetta added. “And he’s left me here to help others who will join the cause. Prefect Corsan and his sentinels wouldn’t suspect an old woman like me of doing them any harm or the Resolutes any good, but I have my part and I will play it well!” Zetta’s face gleamed with the confidence and determination of a gallant knight.
Rowan felt small in every way. He had been self-consumed before his capture, and afterward he had been caught up with regaining what he considered rightfully his—while many around him were sacrificing everything to save the freedom of people they didn’t even know. He lowered his gaze to the table and fell silent.
“Are you feeling all right?” Mariah asked.
Rowan looked up at her. “Not really.” He gave her a weak smile. “I think I need to lie down again.”
Mariah rose up to help him. He motioned her away and tried to make it on his own, but he faltered. Mariah reached for him, and he sighed. He was tired of being weak.
“Rowan,” Zetta called as he and Mariah turned toward the hallway. “I don’t think Sir Aldwyn expected you to come here. He was told that you were dead.”
“That would be the lying work of Balenteen, my ex-tournament agent.”
“I should think that Sir Aldwyn would be delighted to see you again someday,” Zetta said with a kind smile.
Rowan remembered their last parting and wasn’t so sure. He just nodded, then turned and shuffled toward his bedchamber, with Mariah’s support. She helped him settle to his bed, checking his forehead for signs of a fever. Rowan looked up at her, feeling rather ashamed for who he was and how he’d lived.
“Palson was a good man, wasn’t he, Mariah?”
Mariah stopped and looked down at him. “He was a very good man. Why do you say so?”
“Because you’re a very good woman.”
Rowan closed his eyes and turned away to slumber. Though his body was weak, something sparked in his spirit that morning. At the table of a courageous old woman and in the company of a gallant young woman, Rowan began to heal, and the call of the Prince began to sound … a call to something noble … and he could think of nothing more noble than the mission of the Resolutes.
MYSTERIOUS KNIGHT
Rowan awoke to a dreadful realization. He got out of bed as quickly as he could, stumbled to the door, and opened it.
“Mariah!” he called, but no one answered.
“Mariah!” he called again.
He heard the back door open, and Mariah appeared at the end of the hallway with a basketful of greens and vegetables. She dropped the basket and hurried to Rowan’s bedchamber, sensing his concern.
“What is it, Rowan?” She offered a shoulder of support.
He shook his head. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“Two hours … perhaps three. Why?”
Zetta was now coming down the hallway.
“We have to leave here immediately,” he said.
“Why, Rowan? What’s wrong?”
“All of us are in danger. Balenteen knew that Sir Aldwyn was my friend. I’m sure he’ll think to have the sentinels investigate his home. I’m surprised they’re not here already.”
Mariah’s eyes opened wide. “I’ll gather our things,” she said—but it was too late.
They all froze at the sound of heavy boots on the kitchen floorboards. A moment later, a massive figure appeared at the end of the hallway. Though he did not wear a sentinel’s uniform, Rowan was certain he was a leader of the sentinel force. His black leather armor was festooned with bright silver markings. He stood even taller than Rowan, with a physique as muscular as Rowan’s had been during his tournament days. Dark brown hair was pulled back in a short braid at the back of his head, highlighting his olive skin, prominent nose, and jaw line. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, and his stance nearly spanned the entire hallway.
“Where is Sir Aldwyn?” The man’s voice was urgent, his countenance fierce as he glared at the trio in the hallway.
Rowan stood as straight as he could and stepped past Mariah and Zetta. “I am the one you have come for. Leave them alone,” he said with as much authority as he could muster.
The mighty knight’s eyes narrowed as he strolled toward Rowan. He came within inches of his face, gazing into Rowan’s eyes with fire in his own. He reached up and grabbed Rowan’s neck just below his jaw. Rowan tried to pull away, but he was powerless in the man’s iron grip. Mariah tried to come to Rowan’s aid, but the man just held her at arm’s length while she clawed at his arm.
Surprisingly, the man did not squeeze or attempt to strangle Rowan. Instead, he slowly turned Rowan’s head from one side to the other, as if inspecting him. Rowan held up a hand to tell Mariah to back away, and she halted her fruitless attempt at help. The man looked down at Rowan’s frail form and sneered.
“Impossible! You are not the one.” His voice was thick with indignation. He dropped his hand back to his sword. “Where is Aldwyn?”
Just then the front door of the home exploded inward in a shower of splinters. Rowan, Mariah, and Zetta stood dumbfounded at the sound of many armed men bursting into the front parlor.
“Sentinels!” whispered Zetta with alarm in her eyes.
The large, mysterious knight responded in the blink of an eye. He drew his sword and rushed down the hallway toward the intruders. Aldwyn’s home was instantly filled with crashing swords, overturned tables, and broken pottery. It seemed an impossible fight, for the knight was clearly outmanned. Rowan wasn’t sure who he hoped would win, for either victor seemed a threat.
Zetta urged Mariah and Rowan to retreat with her into the bedchamber, where they locked the door. Rowan quickly donned his boots and jacket.
“What should we do?” Mariah asked, but Rowan just shook his head. This chamber had no windows.
“Help me move the bed,” Zetta said. “Here.” She tugged at the frame. “Against the door.”
Rowan and Mariah looked at each other. “That won’t hold them long.”
She shook her head. “Come—we haven’t much time.”
The ruckus in the home sounded as if the entire place was being destroyed.
They slid the bed up against the door.
“There,” Zetta pointed at a rug that had been covered by the bed.
Mariah knelt down and lifted the rug to reveal a trapdoor. She looked up at Rowan and smiled.
“Each of the bedrooms has one,” Zetta said. “Sir Aldwyn had them dug last year. They lead to the stables in the back.
Rowan knelt down to help lift the door, but he knew that Mariah was bearing most of the burden. Just as the trapdoor was laid back on the floor, the ruckus outside their room stopped.
“Hurry!” Rowan said to Zetta.
Someone tried to open the door to the room, but it hit against the bed. Rowan froze as he realized it would be impossible for them to make it through the trapdoor in time. He looked about for a weapon as the door was forced open, sliding the bed across the floor.
“Come out!” the deep voice of the mysterious knight ordered. He stood as broad as the doorway.
&nbs
p; “Who are you?” Rowan asked.
“I am a Knight of the Prince. Come out! We haven’t much time. Soon they will be back with reinforcements.” The knight kept his sword at ready while he lifted the bed with one hand and turned it on its side to clear the doorway. He motioned for the three of them to follow him.
Mariah and Zetta looked at Rowan, who shrugged and nodded. He still didn’t trust the knight, but what choice did they have? They followed the knight down the hall into a scene of utter chaos. Chairs were overturned, lanterns broken, walls slashed, and eight sentinels lay dead, sprawled across furniture and floorboards.
Rowan looked at the knight and marveled. The scene reminded him a bit of the day he was captured, but he definitely preferred this outcome.
The knight led them out to Aldwyn’s stables. Once there, he turned and glared at them. “It is paramount that I find Sir Aldwyn.”
“Why should we believe you?” Rowan asked.
The man hesitated. “I am Sir Lijah of Chessington. I am on a mission, and I was told that Sir Aldwyn could help me.”
Zetta threw a shawl over her shoulders, then walked up to the man and stared into his eyes. After a moment of strange silence, she turned and looked at Rowan and Mariah. “I believe him. I will take him to Sir Aldwyn.”
Zetta turned to Rowan. “I’m afraid you wouldn’t survive the journey.” She looked up to the Boundary Mountains, then back to Rowan and Mariah. If they were going to the mountains, Rowan knew she was right.
Zetta put a hand on Mariah’s arm. “When he is strong enough, come to the kingdom’s first sun. You will find us there.”
“No.” Rowan tried to stand tall and look strong. “Mariah is going with you.”
Mariah looked at Rowan and opened her mouth to protest, but Rowan grabbed her shoulders.
“You have already done more for me than you should have. You may find your father and your brother up there, and I’ll not stand in the way of that.” Rowan smiled at her. “Go with them. I know of a place here where I can rest and recover.”
Mariah’s eyes softened. For the first time since they’d met, Rowan saw tenderness for him beyond just that of a nursemaid, and it warmed his heart. Perhaps in another time or place, their lives might have crossed with a more fortuitous outcome, but here in the midst of rising tyranny and impending war, it would not be so.
Mariah lifted a gentle hand to his gaunt cheek, then turned and helped Lijah tack up the horses. When all was ready, she handed Sierra’s reins to Rowan and mounted up with Zetta and Lijah. Sir Lijah hurried their departure, and Rowan saluted his good-bye. With tremendous effort, Rowan managed to climb onto Sierra’s saddle. He looked toward Mariah and saw that she was looking back at him once more. He waved, then trotted Sierra out of sight behind the stables and stopped. He leaned forward onto Sierra’s neck and waited … waited for the next wave of sentinels to come. There simply wasn’t enough life in his body to go on.
Random regrets flitted through Rowan’s mind as he sat there. The marauders had indeed killed him in the end, for he was just a shell of a man with no hope of becoming anything more. Any prison in Laos would have to be better than the cave prison of the marauders, he reckoned. He wondered how different his life would be today if he hadn’t let arrogance and the appeal of fame and fortune draw him into their net.
After a few long moments, he heard a galloping horse approaching and didn’t care. The horse and rider flew around the corner of the stables. The steed whinnied as the rider pulled it in.
“You are a very poor liar, Rowan,” Mariah said. “You have nowhere to go except with me.”
Rowan slowly sat up and turned around in his saddle.
“That obvious?” he asked.
Mariah nodded. “Come on. Let’s get out of here.” She kicked her horse, and Rowan followed.
BANDITS
They moved as quickly as Rowan could go to get out and away from Laos. Once they felt safe, their pace slowed significantly. It took Mariah nearly five days to get Rowan back to the farm. The journey to Laos, the turmoil while there, and the return trip to the farm had taken a significant toll on him.
For a while, his condition was almost as bad as when Mariah had first discovered him in the cave. This time, however, Mariah was obstinate about what Rowan could and could not do until he was healthy again. The process was long and slow, but Mariah was a faithful caregiver. After two months, Rowan began to look like a thin but normal man again. After four, he began purposefully to rebuild his muscles and was able to help with some of the duties required to keep the farm going.
Each day that passed, Rowan grew stronger and stronger, as did his affection for the one who had saved his life … twice. He was careful to allow Mariah room to live without feeling any pressure to become emotionally connected to him. She seemed to appreciate this about Rowan, for the loss of her husband was still a wound he knew she felt deeply.
Twice he had passed by her bedchamber on his way to the outbuilding for the evening and heard her softly weeping. The second time he knocked and carefully opened the door to find her sitting on her bed holding Palson’s shirt in her lap.
“Are you all right, Mariah?” he asked gently.
She nodded.
Rowan slowly closed the door and left her to her memories.
When harvest season came, Rowan went to the fields with Mariah, and together they brought in a bountiful crop, considering the small size of the farm. It felt good for Rowan to work hard and feel stronger the next day instead of weaker. At last he had finally crested the recovery peak.
Rowan and Mariah talked often of the events in Cameria. The small village nearby provided some news of regional events, but not enough to satisfy them. Rowan felt torn between the simple life of the farm and the knowledge that Cameria was slowly being conquered from both within and without by foreign enemies. His return to Laos was inevitable. When he did return, he wanted to be prepared.
One day late in the fall, five months after they had returned from Laos, Rowan was chopping wood in a nearby grove of trees to prepare for winter. The ax felt good in his hands, and it reminded him of his nearly forgotten sword. He finished chopping the wood and began loading the cart, wondering just how much of a load Mariah’s old workhorse, Biscuit, could haul up the rise and back to the house.
Just then Rowan heard Mariah scream, and he sprinted toward home.
“Rowa—!” she called out, but this cry was cut short.
When he broke from the trees, he could see two strange horses tethered near the front of the house. Two men were pilfering Mariah’s home, and she was doing her best to stop them—with little success. Rowan chastised himself for not grabbing the ax before leaving the cart, but now it was too late to turn back.
“Back off, woman.” One of the men struck Mariah across the face, then threw her up against the side of the home. He passed through the door for another trip to the food pantry. The second bandit was tying produce and goods to his horse—essentials that Rowan and Mariah had worked hard to harvest and trade for. He looked up and saw Rowan approach.
“Wallen! We got comp’ny!” the man shouted back over his shoulder as he drew his sword. Then he turned toward Rowan. “Stay back, and no one will die t’day.”
The other thief hurried out the door toward the horses with one arm full of booty and the other holding a sword. Rowan saw Mariah duck into the house behind him.
Rowan slowed his approach. “No one has to die today as long as you put everything back and ride away.”
The two men looked at each other and started to laugh. “We’re the ones wit’ the swords, an’ besides, if’n you did ’ave one, a farmer’s no fighter. Now back off!”
The larger of the two thugs jabbed his sword at Rowan to get him away from their horses.
“You don’t seem to understand,” Rowan said calmly as Mariah moved up quietly behind the men.
The thugs hesitated. Just then a sword flew over their heads from behind them, and Rowan snatched it out
of midair. “I do have a sword,” he said, “and I am not a farmer.”
Rowan engaged both men simultaneously. It took him a few strokes to find his rhythm and the feel of the sword, but soon he had both men in steady retreat. They began to panic as his mastery was revealed. At one point Rowan parried, feigned a thrust, and sliced across the sword arm of the larger thug. He screamed, backed away, and cradled his bleeding wound.
“That’s for striking the lady,” Rowan said to the man.
The other man hesitated with eyes wide.
“This next one’s for stealing,” Rowan taunted.
The man threw his sword down and backed away with his hands up.
“You, there,” Rowan said to the larger bandit. “Drop your sword.”
The man dropped it. Rowan maneuvered the men back to their horses. “Put it all back exactly where you found it. Mariah, fetch a cloth.”
Mariah looked at Rowan as if he’d lost his mind. He winked. “We don’t want him bleeding all over the floor, now do we?”
Rowan and Mariah waited while one thief tied a bandage around the other’s arm and both thieves became busy returning all of the stolen goods back to the house. The men looked quite humiliated during the task, but Rowan was not done with them. On their last trip, Rowan took their horses and tied them up on the far side of the home.
“Hey, where’s our horses?” the larger brute said with a scowl on his face when they exited the home.
“You will have your horses back when you’re finished paying for your crime,” Rowan answered. “Down in that grove of trees you will find cut wood, an old mare, and a cart. Load up the cart with the wood; then bring it back and stack the wood neatly alongside the house on the south side.”
The men sneered and hesitated. Rowan stepped toward them with his sword ready. “Hurry along now, before I feel like using this again.”
The men ducked their heads and started toward the trees. Rowan could hear them grumbling at each other as they went.