by Chuck Black
Rowan’s heart began to pound. “What does it look like?”
“Lift your shirt,” she said.
She took a pen and a parchment and carefully copied the mark. When she was done, she gave it to Rowan.
The shape looked like a sun with varying lengths and widths of sunbeams shining forth from it. He stared at it for a long time, then finally looked at Mariah.
She bit her lip. “What does this mean?”
“It means I have a strange-looking birthmark and nothing is going to change.” He pulled her to him. “I’m not leaving you, Mariah. My duty is here, with you … with our people. We will raise our children in a free Cameria. All right?”
Mariah nodded and sank into his embrace.
As the days passed, however, he often saw her lost in thought.
The next three months flew by in a frenzy of activity as war preparations and training escalated and all activity in Eagle’s Nest focused on Freedom Day. Rowan volunteered to fly one of the gliders into the city, and his time was soon consumed with training for flight.
Building the gliders had proved to be the most resource-consuming task of all the preparations, for they had to be collapsible for the trek around to the west side of the mountain and then capable of being quickly and securely erected for flight. Sir Scott and his team were constantly making modifications to the gliders as well as training the fliers. Soon the air above the valley was constantly filled with gliders and riders.
The drawback to such an attack was that those who flew the gliders could not wear heavy armor. Modified leather armor would have to do, and it was hoped that the advantage of the surprise attack would offset their armor disadvantage.
Even with lighter armor, Rowan’s glider required additional wingspan and structural support for his large, muscular frame. The trainers were nervous about his first training flight, as was he. The first few seconds of drastic drop left him breathless, but as the glider caught the air and lifted him up, he yelled with excitement. It was the most freeing sensation he’d ever experienced. He quickly learned to control his flight path by leaning and shifting his weight.
He had been told that landing would be a bit more challenging, especially because of his weight, and that certainly proved to be true. He twisted an ankle and tore his leather armor on the first attempt. After two more flights, however, his landings became smooth, even those designed to simulate landing in the close quarters of city streets.
The simultaneous ground assault was to be executed by the other encampments, since they didn’t have access to the gliders or the training. Resolutes from those encampments began arriving two weeks prior to Freedom Day, carefully positioning themselves in the forest of the mountain’s western face.
Through it all, Lijah kept his distance from Rowan. For most of the daylight hours, the large knight hunted, providing meat for the Eagle’s Nest encampment. In the evenings, Rowan often saw him perched on a large boulder overlooking the encampment. Rowan tried to ignore the apparent coincidences of Lijah’s story, but every night his mind filled with questions that seemed impossible to answer. He was thankful for Mariah, and their love for each other grew stronger as Freedom Day approached.
They had decided that she would help with the launches of the gliders and then remain on the mountain until the battle was over. This decision gave Rowan great peace, but Mariah seemed to grow more anxious with each passing day.
The last two weeks of preparation seemed endless and impossible, but on the eve of the battle for Laos, all was ready. Tomorrow they would travel to the opposite side of the mountain and prepare for launch at first light of the following morning. Whitley received word that the ground forces were in place. Freedom Day was here.
Rowan and Mariah walked back from the briefing in the upper cave, discussing what they had heard from the leaders. Rowan sensed the anticipation, the hope, and the anxiety of the Resolutes. Two men had just returned from Thecia with a report that the strongman of Chessington, Alexander Histen, had now gained control over half the kingdom, and it seemed no one could stop him. This was oppressive news for the people of Eagle’s Nest. It meant that even if they were victorious tomorrow, the victory would only be the beginning of a long war to freedom.
Rowan glanced up at the boulder and saw Lijah there, watching as he had been for the last three months. Rowan stopped, and Mariah held tightly to his arm.
“I must talk to him one more time,” Rowan said.
“I know,” Mariah replied. She kissed Rowan and then released him.
Rowan climbed up the boulder and stood face to face with Lijah.
“How can you see what is happening here and just stand by and do nothing?” Rowan asked. “These people need you.”
“The future of these people is not determined by what happens here but by what happens in Chessington.” Lijah crossed his arms. “You are jeopardizing that future by participating in a battle that is not yours to fight.” Lijah took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils on the exhale. “If you should die tomorrow, our mission for the Prince will never happen, and the Dark Knight will win.”
“You don’t know that, Lijah. That is only what you think will happen. I will not abandon these people and my wife based on some bizarre story you may have dreamed up.” Rowan shook his head. “My mission is here with my Camerian brothers and sisters. I stand and fight with them. For whom do you fight?”
Lijah glared at Rowan. “I fight for the King … and His Son!”
Rowan glared back. “So do I. And when the battle is over—win or lose, live or die—I will know I have upheld the Code and did not abandon a fellow knight in battle or in peril.”
Rowan turned around and left without another word. It was a bitter parting, and Rowan vowed that his parting with Mariah would not be so.
The next morning, more than eleven thousand people began their trek to the western face of the mountain. Nearly eight thousand glider riders made the journey with their crafts, with three thousand supporters to help carry gear and prepare the launches. A surveying team had previously calculated a hundred favorable launch sites for the riders, but even so, launching all eight thousand gliders would require just over two hours.
By sundown, all was ready. The force camped quietly, without fires to give themselves away, trying to sleep but mostly wide-eyed with anticipation.
The first glow of the morning sun initiated Freedom Day, and the gliders began to launch. They had hoped for a still morning, and the winds seemed to comply. The glowing lamps of the city stretched out far before and below them. Soon the sky was filled with thousands of gliders and their riders, skimming trees and mountaintops, on their way to the waking city of Laos. It was an eerie and glorious sight.
Rowan was to lead twenty special riders who would maneuver as close to the city consulate as possible, overcome the security sentinels, and capture Prefect Corsan, who ruled the city. Rowan and his unit were the best swordsmen of the camp, assigned to the most important mission of the battle. Their launch position was higher, for their flight was the longest. Their launch time was planned for thirty minutes after the initial wave, and the time was now.
Mariah kissed him once more before stepping aside, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “The Prince be with you!”
“And with you, my lovely Mariah.”
“Come back to me, Rowan,” she whispered.
“I will,” he said. Then he set his eyes toward Laos and launched.
The first step took his breath away as the ground dropped out from below him. This was quite different from the training flights. Within just a few moments, he was thousands of feet above the ground, looking down on what looked like the whole kingdom.
The skies filled with more gliders, and Rowan felt the thrill of battle coursing through his veins. The cool morning air whistled past his helmet and chilled his gloved hands.
The scene was silently surreal. This flight would last longer than any of the training flights at Eagle’s Nest—much longer. Though
the shadow of the mountains still obscured much of the city, Rowan began to make out Gavaah’s forces in a semicircular formation around the eastern perimeter. Still high in the sky, the force of airborne riders was apparently as yet undetected, for there were no shouts of alarm.
With each moment that passed, hundreds more gliders launched. Rowan looked behind himself and felt chills run up and down his spine as he saw six thousand more gliders soaring like eagles to fall upon their prey. The kingdom of Arrethtrae had never before been witness to such a bold and daring assault against the evil of tyranny.
Rowan looked right and left and began to see the gliders separate into formations based on their assigned targets. His advance team was identified by the painted blue tips of each triangular wing. Rowan counted only eighteen of the assigned twenty soaring around him. It would have to do.
He pinpointed the consulate building and made a slight adjustment in his flight path. The rest of the team aligned themselves in a wedge formation behind and above him.
There was something majestic about the opening scene of this battle. It wasn’t just for Laos they were fighting, or even Cameria. This was a stand against tyranny in every region of the kingdom. What happened this day would resonate and echo through hundreds of castles and cities throughout the land.
Rowan saw the first gliders land below him, followed quickly by shouts of alarm and the clash of swords. The battle was underway. He chanced one last look behind him at the city’s perimeter, where the defensive forces were massed. He saw movement back toward the city as thousands of gliders began to land behind them; then the shouts of ten thousand knights rose up as the ground assault from the foothills began.
Rowan focused back on their target, just moments away. Sir Scott’s calculations had been nearly spot-on. They would land just two buildings shy of the consulate. Those who were awake below them looked up with mouths hanging open as the airborne force of Resolutes descended into the streets. A contingent of ten mounted sentinels began shouting alarms, and soon mounted sentinels were making their way down the street toward them.
Rowan was the first of his unit to land. He drew his dagger and sliced through the harness in an instant, freeing himself from the glider. One sentinel was nearly on him. Rowan drew his sword and sliced through the advancing steed’s chest, toppling both horse and sentinel. One of Rowan’s team, who had just landed, finished the job with a quick thrust, and the rest of the team sprang to action as they landed one by one.
Soon all eighteen of Rowan’s unit were advancing toward the consulate. Resistance was yet minimal; evidently, their surprise had been successful. They approached the steps of the consulate knowing that once they gained entrance, finding Prefect Corsan would be paramount. Five more sentinels rushed upon them from the entrance, but Rowan’s team made quick work of them. Now Rowan could hear the roar of battle throughout the entire eastern half of Laos. To Rowan it was the sound of freedom.
Rowan led the charge into the consulate, systematically clearing the building of the enemy. Rowan assigned sentries at access points on the first floor, then led the remaining ten knights to the second floor. Six more sentinels went down, and Rowan lost one man in the skirmish. At last they reached the door to the prefect’s chamber. Rowan blasted through it and into Prefect Corsan’s chamber, with three other knights on his heels.
A man stood up from his chair, his face white with fear. Rowan held his sword to the man’s chest.
“You are under arrest for treason against the people of Cameria,” Rowan proclaimed.
“It’s not him.” The knight next to Rowan lowered his sword. “It’s not Corsan.”
Rowan advanced, and the man backed up until he was cowering in the corner.
“Where is Corsan?” Rowan demanded.
The man stammered nothing coherent.
“Where?” Rowan shouted.
“He … he fled the city,” was all the man could say, but it was enough. Rowan’s eyes suddenly grew wide as realization dawned.
“Out!” Rowan yelled. He ran to the door. “Everyone out!” He and his unit retreated down to the main floor and ran into the street to discover a horror waiting for them.
One hundred sentinels immediately surrounded them, swords at ready, while thousands more marched past them from the west toward the battle in the east. Sitting smugly atop a powerful black steed was a man Rowan recognized but who looked nothing like the man he had known. Gone was the fanciful facade of tournament organizer. Lord Gavaah now looked every bit what he was—a powerful Shadow Warrior.
Rowan’s men looked to him for some sign of what to do, but there was no choice. To fight against this force would be suicide.
“Well, well, well.” Gavaah’s distinctive voice carried easily over the sounds of marching feet. “The long-lost Sir Rowan returns as a rebel.” Gavaah laughed. “Once again you’ve played the part of a fool!”
Rowan’s jaw tightened, and he clenched the hilt of his sword, but he did not move. All around him the sound of clashing swords and the screams of dying men stained the air.
“It’s over, Rowan,” Gavaah exclaimed. “What you hear is the complete and total destruction of the Resolute army. Twenty thousand of my men are descending on the Resolutes as we speak. Die with them if you want. It matters not to me.”
Rowan thought of Mariah and the families of his comrades. He was not afraid to die, and he knew they weren’t either, but it was foolish to die a meaningless death. It took more strength for him to release his grip on his sword than it would have to wield it against these defenders of tyranny, but he did so to save the lives of his unit. There would be another day to fight if he kept their hearts beating.
He dropped his sword, and the other seventeen men did the same. The sentinels fell upon them.
Gavaah urged his horse close to Rowan and looked down on him with utter arrogance.
“How did you know?” Rowan asked as his hands were bound behind him.
Gavaah smiled. “I didn’t. I guessed—although you knaves aren’t so hard to figure out. Kroywen was too obvious. Laos was closest to the mountains and your miserable encampments.” Gavaah looked to the gliders, now broken and strewn about the city street, and sighed deeply. “I suppose some credit must be given for the attack from the air. That was quite remarkable. Pointless, but remarkable …”
Gavaah caught himself and sneered down at Rowan. “Take them to the prisons. If any resist, kill them immediately!”
Rowan wanted to cover his ears to keep from hearing the death cry of freedom in Cameria … and perhaps in Arrethtrae. Was this truly the end of liberty for the people?
How could this be? he asked. Through Gavaah, the Dark Knight had conquered Cameria … How could this be?
More important, what would it mean for the entire kingdom?
THE CONQUEST OF CAMERIA
Rowan and a handful of other prisoners who had been identified as leaders of the Resolutes were taken to Kroywen and imprisoned there. He searched for Julian among the prisoners but could not find him. He was grateful that Mariah was safe in the mountains with her father and Sir Aldwyn, but he knew she’d be sick with worry once she’d received news of the Resolutes’ defeat.
After three weeks in the Kroywen prison, Rowan was taken to Lord Gavaah. Two large warriors stood guard behind Rowan to his left and right, and his hands were bound behind him. Yet he thought that Gavaah appeared much more amicable toward him than when he’d last seen him in Laos.
“Rowan, I understand that your journey these past two years has been rather, ah, challenging.” Lord Gavaah stood from his chair and adjusted his cape—or was it a robe? Rowan couldn’t tell. In fact, Lord Gavaah’s chamber, seat, and attire felt more like a throne room than anything else.
Gavaah took a few commanding strides to reach Rowan. “It is fortuitous that you were not killed in that little skirmish in Laos”—he crossed his arms and smiled—“both for you and for me.”
Rowan remembered back to when he received his v
ictory cloak from Gavaah and how struck he had been by the man’s grandiose personality. Now, the more he was in the man’s presence, the more disgusted he was by Gavaah.
“Now that the rebels have been completely destroyed,” Gavaah said, “I have forged a New Cameria—and a new alliance with Governor Supreme Alexander Histen of Chessington. He will soon be ruler of Arrethtrae, and I will rule along with him.” Gavaah brushed some lint from his cape as if to emphasize the ease with which he had defeated the Resolutes. He cleared his throat. “There is a place for you here, Rowan. You were perhaps the greatest tournament fighter I have ever seen, and I want to offer you a chance to reclaim that which is rightfully yours.”
Rowan couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “Your New Cameria is an enslaved Cameria,” he said, “and my tournament days are over.”
Gavaah laughed. “Oh, I hardly think so. Think of it—you fight for me once again, and I will make you the champion of New Cameria. You will have great wealth, fame, and even power if you want it.” Gavaah leaned closer, and his smooth voice sharpened to a sadistic edge. “And what’s left for you if you don’t? I can have you killed or just leave you to rot in prison until you are nothing but an emaciated worm.”
Rowan swallowed hard as he remembered those horrific days in the cave. Gavaah’s tempting words licked at him like a serpent hypnotizing its prey, and for one brief moment, he considered Gavaah’s offer. How bad would it be to accept this life rather than a life of imprisonment? This mission was a failure anyway. The cause was clearly lost. Perhaps this way he could even use his wealth and influence to reunite with Mariah and actually help the Knights of the Prince?
Gavaah waited, his dark eyes gleaming, clearly enjoying Rowan’s discomfort.
Rowan hung his head in discouragement and confusion. Then the words of the Prince whispered once more in his heart: You are a mighty knight of the King. Time is short, and I have a mission that awaits you.