by Chuck Black
The Prince looked out across the great valley once again. “Arrethtrae, and Chessington in particular, is on the precipice of great evil and great judgment, and you will be in the center of it all. Many will try to kill you for speaking the truth about Me. Alexander Histen’s power is great in the land and will be greater, but I send you to be a stumbling block for him.”
The Prince looked back and set His gaze upon the two brothers. “Rowan … Lijah … you are mighty men prepared for this day. Will you be My voice in Chessington, bringing many to the King through My name?”
Rowan and Lijah simultaneously knelt again before the great Prince. “We will, my Lord,” they replied in unison.
“Then rise and drink from My flask of the bitter wine. The Life Spice within will give you strength to stand in the days to come.”
Rowan and Lijah stood as the Prince lifted a leather strap from around His neck. On the strap hung a smooth leather flask, which He handed to Rowan. Rowan lifted the flask to his lips and drank. The wine tasted sweet in his mouth, but when he swallowed, it became bitter in his stomach, and he winced. He handed the flask to his brother, and Lijah did the same.
The Prince took back the flask and tucked it away in His tunic. “Now take that which you were given as infants, and journey due west across the valley to the foothills of the Northern Mountains. Follow the rivers north until you come to the place of beginnings. There you will clad yourselves in the armor of the King—in defense against the swords and arrows of Lucius. For a time, none shall overcome you while you proclaim Me to the people of Chessington!”
Rowan heard the pounding of many hoofs behind them. The mounted warriors of the Prince thundered up the knoll, bringing the Prince’s white stallion with them.
The Prince put His hands on their shoulders. “Do not be afraid, for I will be with you to the end.”
The Prince took the reins of His horse from the nearest warrior and quickly mounted. He raised His hand over the brothers, then turned and led the contingent of Silent Warriors west into the Altica Valley. Rowan and Lijah stared after them for a long while, until their hoofbeats faded into the shadows of the closing day. When they returned to their camp, fresh venison hung from a tree limb, and a basket of vegetables was waiting near the fire. They feasted and replenished themselves with the food of the Prince.
Afterward Rowan looked across the fire at his brother. “Lijah, I owe you an apology and a great debt of gratitude. Forgive me for not believing you.”
Lijah nodded.
“And I want to thank you for risking your life to save mine … even when I didn’t believe you. I hope that I can someday be as noble a brother to you as you have already been to me.”
Lijah pushed to his feet, and Rowan did the same. Rowan offered his arm, and Lijah took it. It was the beginning of a bond that a legion of Shadow Warriors could not break—two mighty brothers fully committed to the Prince.
When they prepared their bedrolls that night, they were satisfied, anticipating the journey ahead. But sleep was a long time coming for Rowan.
“What is the place of beginnings, brother?” Rowan asked as he lay beside Lijah in the darkness.
“It is that place where Sir Peyton and Lady Dinan long ago ruled the kingdom,” Lijah answered sleepily. “Nedehaven.”
“Nedehaven,” Rowan mouthed the word to himself, remembering the story Sir Aldwyn had told him early in his training. The fall of Nedehaven is what had eventually brought the Prince to Arrethtrae.
Rowan stared up at the stars for a long time that night, contemplating many things. When he thought of Mariah, the ache in his bosom threatened to overwhelm him. Had he failed her, failed them both? What if this new mission met the same fate as the last one? How could he and Lijah possibly prevail against the evil they were facing?
Then he seemed to hear the voice of the Prince once more, whispering in his ear, “You must do it in My strength, not your own … Trust Me.”
And Rowan whispered once more as sleep finally came to him, “Yes, my Prince. No matter what happens … I will trust You.”
THE ARMOR OF THE KING
It took Rowan and Lijah two long days to cross the vast Altica Valley and make their way into the foothills of the Northern Mountains. On the evening of the second day, they reached a wide river that Lijah called the Frates and made camp beside it. The next morning they found a place to ford the river and traveled north along its banks toward the confluence of the Frates and Tisgri rivers. Lijah seemed to know the way, and Rowan found himself content with following.
By early afternoon, they came to an area that seemed forgotten by time itself. It was a scene of ancient beauty. The Tisgri flowed nearby, tumbling gently over shallow waterfalls. The trees seemed larger than usual and widely spaced, and the ground between them was padded with thick grass and soft mats of forest moss. Green vines and brightly colored flowers provided a garden atmosphere, and a canopy of leaves and pine branches filtered the sunlight into golden spires.
They walked quietly through the trees until they came to the ruins of a forgotten estate. The outer walls had crumbled, and the rusted iron gates had fallen from their hinges. Rowan and Lijah walked through the gate and stood in the outer court of what once must have been a majestic palace. The trees and vines had nearly swallowed the blackened structure, and it looked as though it were trying to return to nature, but its residual magnificence was unmistakable.
“Nedehaven,” Lijah breathed. “It must be.”
“But how could there be anything of worth for us here?” Rowan asked.
Lijah shrugged. “It seems unlikely, but let us look just the same.”
They combed the ruins for several hours and found nothing. Finally, Lijah sat down on a fallen stone slab that sank deep into the soft ground, as if the vines and moss were gradually pulling it under.
“Can you imagine the splendor of such a place before Lucius came to destroy it?” Lijah asked, sweeping his gaze across the ruins.
Rowan came to sit beside him, but with his last step his foot sank deeper into the moss than before. He pushed harder with his foot and realized the moss had overgrown a void at the base of the stone Lijah was sitting on.
“What is it?” Lijah asked.
“I’m not sure.” Rowan knelt down to the impression in the moss. He dug in with his hand and began peeling back the thick layer of moss.
“Look, Lijah.” Rowan peered down through the small hole he’d dug. “I think this stone you’re sitting on is covering a stairwell.”
Lijah knelt to look and help pull back the moss. They were able to uncover a portion of the first step to what looked like a circular stone staircase.
“It makes sense,” Lijah said. “This would more than likely be the location of the great hall. We’ll need to move this slab.”
The stone was too heavy for even these two powerful men, but they were able to leverage a timber into the hole and slide the stone far enough off the steps to allow them to crawl through the opening. The light from the opening wasn’t enough for them to see beyond a few steps, so they fashioned a couple of torches from a portion of a horse blanket and sticks. Setting them aflame, they started down the staircase.
At the base of the stairs, they found themselves in a hallway that led to numerous chambers. All of them looked strangely untouched by the tragedy that had happened above so long ago, but there was nothing of significance for Rowan and Lijah. At the end of the hall, they came to another staircase that led deeper into the ground. Rowan was a little unnerved as he looked down the steps that seemed to be swallowed up by the blackness. Lijah didn’t hesitate, however, and Rowan followed him down.
At the bottom of this staircase was a single door. It took both of them to force the door open, for it was heavy, and the rusty hinges creaked in defiance of the movement. They entered the chamber and immediately knew there was something special about it. The chamber was empty except for a monolithic square column in the center. Embedded in the column was a metal pl
ate with a small opening that looked like a keyhole.
The flames of their torches flickered off the walls of the chamber, and Rowan’s threatened to die out soon. He looked at the dancing shadows that fell across Lijah’s face.
“One marked child with a key,” Rowan said, reciting the words from Lijah’s scroll that Mariah had read.
Lijah took a deep breath. He lifted the key from around his neck and looked back at Rowan. It appeared to be a perfect fit.
Lijah put the key in the lock and turned it. The click of the lock echoed in the room, but that was all … at least at first. A few seconds later, something rumbled beneath their feet, and then Rowan heard the sound of large iron rods sliding across granite. Escaping air filled the room, and puffs of ancient dust shot from the corners of the far wall. Rowan heard something akin to a gate winch rumbling; then slowly the far wall began to sink into the floor.
As the upper portion of the wall dropped down, Rowan could see a void beyond it. He held his guttering torch up higher, and the weak light spilled into another chamber behind the descending wall. Within a few moments, the wall had disappeared into the floor, and both men stood in wonder at the hidden chamber before them.
It was circular in shape, approximately fifteen paces in diameter and equally as tall. Eight massive marble plates hung around the perimeter of the room, each one framed by elaborate moldings and bracketed by sconces holding large, ornate oil lamps. Lijah lit one of the lamps, and Rowan did the same. There was enough light to see that this chamber had been fashioned by craftsmen of remarkable skill. They finished lighting the lamps and gazed around them, awed by the chamber’s beauty.
Rowan walked over to one of the marble plates, his eyes fastened on an exquisitely carved image. It was a detailed scene of a battle between great warriors. Chills ran up and down his spine as he took it in. Rowan put his hand up to touch one figure that stood majestically above the rest. Across a gulf stood another figure equally as powerful, but with a countenance that portrayed a darkened heart.
Rowan went from plate to plate, mesmerized by each one. Each portrayed a grand scene of apparently supreme significance, although the two men could only guess what the significance might be.
“Mosiah,” Lijah called.
Rowan broke his gaze from a plate that depicted a strangely familiar city on a hill skirted by a sea. He walked to the plate that Lijah was inspecting. Two knights wielding swords stood back to back, locked in mortal combat against a seemingly endless sea of enemies. Below the carving were words he had seen before.
“It’s the verse from the scroll your mother gave you,” Rowan said.
Lijah nodded. Rowan began to read it aloud.
Farewell peace on the river, farewell peace one and all,
Fear not dark in the evening; hear the Prince and His call.
Two babes born in sorrow—a husband weeps for his wife—
One child raised by his people, one child raised in strife,
One marked child with a key, one marked child will roam,
One marked child with an image, one marked child comes home.
The Code, the Key, and the Image, a chamber revealed for two.
A mission beckons My people. Words of the Prince be true.
Two men chosen in armor, abandoning life for the call.
Two men face the Dark One: to Chessington herald and fall!
Rowan slowly turned and looked at his brother. His grave countenance perfectly expressed what Rowan felt in his heart. Lijah reached out his hand and touched the last word of the verse.
“ ‘Herald and fall,’ ” Rowan repeated. “What does it mean, brother? Are we being sent to our deaths?”
“The Prince said He would be with us to the end,” Lijah said quietly.
“Yes,” Rowan mused, “but what if Chessington is our end?”
Lijah slowly turned his head and looked at Rowan. “Then I can think of no better way to die than in service to our great King,” he said, his voice building confidence with each word.
Rowan didn’t know how to respond.
Lijah put a hand on his shoulder. “Through the ages, everything the King and His Son have promised has come true, and they have promised the people victory over the Dark Knight and his Shadow Warriors. If we fail in this mission, thousands … perhaps tens of thousands will die from his evil hand.”
Lijah paused and Rowan thought on his words.
“To fall can mean many things, Rowan. But if it should mean we die that many others might be saved, then give me ten deaths to die, that all the more might be saved.”
Rowan could not help the smile that crept across his lips. “I am honored to be your brother, Lijah. I doubt there is another knight in the entire kingdom with a heart like yours.”
Lijah met Rowan’s eyes, and a subtle grin flashed across his usually somber face. Then he turned his eyes back to the inscribed verse. “ ‘One marked child with an image,’ ” he read out loud. “I guess it’s your turn.”
Rowan shook his head. “Even if I have an image, how could that help us?”
“I don’t know,” Lijah replied. “But there must be more reason for us to be here than to discover the last few words of the verse. Are you sure you weren’t given an image of some sort?”
Both men turned their eyes back to the marble plate. “Just a birthmark that Mariah—”
Rowan’s gaze fell once more on the scene of knights in combat and he froze. On the armor of one of the knights was an image he had seen before. It looked just like the sketch that Mariah had drawn of his birthmark that night back in Eagle’s Nest.
Rowan reached out to trace his finger around the image on the marble and then pushed. That portion of the marble plate receded inward, and the entire plate began to descend into the floor, just as the wall had done.
What was revealed this time left both of the brothers in awe. The light from the chamber spilled into an alcove that held two magnificent suits of armor and two swords of un-Arrethtraen beauty. Rowan lifted one of the helmets from the armor display stand and held it aloft, amazed at how light it was.
“Remarkable.” Lijah inspected a pauldron that guarded a shoulder of the other suit. “I’ve never seen anything comparable in Arrethtrae, and this is ancient.”
Rowan placed the helmet on his head and lifted the visor. It was a perfect fit. “I don’t think this was made in Arrethtrae,” he said.
Lijah looked over at him and nodded. They donned the armor and lifted the swords and scabbards from their stands in the alcove, then fastened them to their belts. They twisted and turned, enjoying the flexibility and light weight of the armor. Then a silence seemed to fall upon them, and they turned slowly to face each other.
Lijah nodded solemnly at his brother. “Are you ready for this?”
Rowan nodded.
“Our mission begins now”—Lijah extended his arm—“and Chessington awaits.”
Rowan grasped his brother’s arm with an iron grip. “To Chessington.”
CHESSINGTON’S PROMISE
The journey to Chessington took many days. The farther south they journeyed, the more oppressed the people seemed to become. The closer they came to Chessington, the more Rowan felt as if they were slowly entering the lair of a dragon. Each village they entered seemed crowded with skulking men that Rowan was certain were the wicked servants of Lucius, the Vincero Knights. He and Lijah even began to see Shadow Warriors, who did little to hide their identity. Rowan was at first alarmed by their bold appearances, but then he found himself growing indignant. What had begun as a mission of obedience was becoming a true passion of his heart.
When they reached Bremsfeld, Rowan and Lijah tarried there and began to proclaim the Prince to the people on the street who would listen. Crowds gathered, and the people responded dramatically to their bold words. Some cheered, some jeered. A few actually fled with haunted looks on their faces, but more replaced them. After just two hours, it seemed as if the entire town had gathered to hear these two
gallant knights speak powerful words of warning, chastisement, and hope.
When they began to denounce the tyranny of Alexander Histen, the city officials became concerned and sent guards to quiet them, but they would not be quieted. Their passion for the Prince welled up to an unstoppable outpouring of truth.
When they would not remain quiet, eight guards approached with swords drawn. The crowd became alarmed, shouting both blessings and curses at the brothers.
Rowan pointed at the town prefect. “Recall your men, or the sword of the Prince will be against you!”
The prefect sneered and ordered his men to disarm Rowan and Lijah and take them into custody, but that is not what happened. The brothers drew their swords, and the crowd drew back. The guards advanced, but only momentarily. Rowan and Lijah made quick work of the first four guards. The other four pulled back, dragging their wounded comrades with them. Rowan saw fierce-looking men observing from afar.
By this time it was apparent that the people were no longer listening. Rowan and Lijah exchanged a glance, then turned to mount their horses.
“Hear the words of the Prince, people of Bremsfeld,” Rowan shouted above the roar of the crowd. “Those who follow the Prince shall receive His reward, but those who deny the truth of His throne are enemies of the King.”
Then he kicked his horse, and the two brothers rode out of Bremsfeld.
And so they continued their journey south through towns and villages, dividing the hearts of men and women by their bold proclamations. A trek that might have taken but four days became a mission unto itself, for Rowan and Lijah could not shut up their passion for the Prince.
Three more weeks they sojourned in the lands north of Chessington, stopping to speak in Keighwick, Attenbury, Chandril, and many a smaller village. Word of their mission spread across the kingdom before and behind them until the blaze of their words swept across much of Arrethtrae.