by Chuck Black
The message of the brothers drew many to the Prince and offended even more, for to hear them speak demanded a response from the souls of those who heard, a response to either follow or reject the Prince. Numerous times they were confronted by guards, Vinceros, and even Shadow Warriors, but none could stand against them, for they wielded their swords as the Prince Himself had, and the armor of the King was impenetrable.
As the days went by, they also began to realize they were not alone. News of the Resolutes’ battle in Cameria had already swept through the kingdom, and Rowan was moved to see Knights of the Prince emerge and rally in response to that courageous stand. The Resolutes’ example added fuel to Rowan’s own purpose as well, and he resolved that the sacrifice of his friends—of his own beloved Mariah—would not be in vain. In his own mission he carried theirs as well.
After the fourth week of travel since leaving Nedehaven, they crested the northern rim of the Chessington Valley. Chills flowed up and down Rowan’s spine as he beheld the great city of the King far below them.
Just beyond the city, over the waters of the Great Sea, rolling thunderclouds flashed lightning back and forth across the sky. A storm was coming. And if the Prince’s words were true, a great storm was coming to Arrethtrae. Standing here, Rowan could sense the terrible evil that had the city in its thrall. And yet he could feel something else … a deep yearning of the King’s people to hear the call of the Prince.
“Where there is great evil, there is even greater good,” Sir Aldwyn had told Rowan once when he was just a boy. At this moment, looking down on Chessington, Rowan felt the truth of that statement in his very bones. Never before in the kingdom of Arrethtrae had people known such tyranny, but that very tyranny made them ache for that greater good … for Him whom they had rejected … for a perfect and good King.
Rowan looked over at Lijah. In the few weeks that they had journeyed, proclaimed, and fought together, he had come to know his brother more deeply than brothers who had lived a lifetime together, and he was grateful for the opportunity to stand beside such a man.
Lijah looked back at Rowan. The soberness of their duty and the reality of what it meant to the lives of countless others in the kingdom stole away their smiles, but not their joy.
“The people of the King are waiting,” Lijah said quietly.
Rowan nodded. “Give me ten deaths to die!”
They spurred their horses and rode forward fearlessly toward the city that seemed to hold the future of the kingdom.
Rowan had never visited Chessington, but from the moment he and Lijah rode into the outskirts of the legendary city, he felt strangely at home—like he belonged there. And yet the city felt strange as well, as if hung with an aura of gloom.
Word of their coming had clearly reached the people of Chessington, for many scooped up their children and scurried from sight while others ran from their shops and homes to the street hoping to see the two knights who had stirred the hearts of many and stood openly against Alexander Histen’s oppression.
Rowan looked into the eyes of the people and saw himself in their past and in their future. He saw confusion, disbelief, despair, and great pain. It reminded him of the pain he felt at losing Mariah. Here, the people had suffered great loss, and it was the Dark Knight, Lucius, who had robbed them both.
There was a complete absence of joy, much as if perpetual night had fallen on the city. The iron shackles of a great tyrant had been locked upon their souls. Rowan and Lijah had seen firsthand a portion of Histen’s evil, and if it had fallen as far north as Cameria, then the darkness of this man’s heart was great indeed. He was certainly a man in league with the Dark Knight himself.
Rowan looked at Lijah and saw in his eyes the same fiery resolve that was rising in his own bosom. He knew what pride felt like and the ugliness it brought to one’s spirit, but the determination that now governed his thoughts was nothing like the stubborn hunger for glory that had once driven him. He and Lijah had been given a mandate by the Prince Himself. They would prevail in His strength, not their own, and neither the Shadow Warriors of Lucius nor the strong arm of Alexander Histen would stand in their way.
Before they had traveled far into the city, four guards approached them with the now-familiar request to present their travel papers.
“We have none,” Lijah returned.
His terse reply seemed to offend the leader, and his hand fell to the hilt of his sword. One of the other guards leaned near to the leader.
“It’s the two knights we heard of coming from Chandril,” he said quietly.
The leader looked from Rowan and Lijah to his cohort.
“I don’t care who they are,” he snapped at the guard. “We carry the authority of Governor Supreme Alexander Histen.” He turned to Rowan and Lijah. “You will follow us to the consulate and present proper identification for travel papers in accordance with Governor Histen’s edict.” He hesitated a moment and then motioned for his subordinates to circle behind the two knights.
“No,” Lijah replied evenly. “We will not comply, for we do not recognize Histen’s authority here.”
The guard turned back, nostrils flaring, seemingly at a loss as to how to respond to such blatant disregard for Histen’s power. “You will relinquish your swords and follow us!” he finally blurted out.
“We are here to proclaim the Prince to the people of Chessington and to destroy the works of Lucius,” Rowan stated. “Those who oppose us and our mission are enemies of the King and will be dealt with as such!”
The leader and his men began to draw their swords, but Rowan and Lijah did not wait for them. Their swords were arcing toward the guards before the blades had cleared their scabbards.
After the first clash of steel, one of the guards was off his horse and another’s blade was broken just forward of the handle guard, the blade falling harmlessly back in his scabbard. Then Rowan engaged a second man while Lijah took the leader. Within seconds, Rowan’s opponent had backed away, and the leader’s sword lay harmlessly in the dirt near the hoofs of his steed. He smartly backed away and rode off, an expression of shock on his face. The fallen man remounted his horse and galloped after the three other retreating men.
Rowan and Lijah rode to the city square and dismounted. They walked to the center of the square, where a massive oak tree stood. Rowan knelt down and reverently touched the ground beneath it.
“Is this the place?” he asked Lijah.
Lijah nodded almost imperceptibly. “This is the place.”
“Here the Prince went to the tree an innocent man and paid our price.” Rowan looked about and tried to visualize the thousands of people who had gathered to see the Prince’s execution. He imagined a legion of Silent Warriors waiting to charge upon the foolish people at the sound of His voice … but the Prince did not call them. Instead He silently went to His death—beaten, bruised, and rejected.
That was not the end, however, for if Nedehaven was the place of beginnings, this was the place of new beginnings. The Prince yet lived. Rowan had seen Him with his own eyes, and he was humbled at the realization that he and Lijah had been called to prepare the way for the Prince’s glorious return to reign in Arrethtrae. Ahead were days of great glory and days of great woe for many.
“Do you come from the King?” Rowan heard a young voice ask. He stood up and turned to see a boy of perhaps thirteen looking at him.
“We do,” Rowan replied.
“We’ve waited long for a message from the King,” the boy said plaintively. “Is there a message?”
The yearning for hope in the boy’s eyes tore at Rowan’s heart. “There is indeed a message from the King,” he said. “Go and tell the people to come hear it.”
The boy’s eyes widened; then he turned and ran down one of the streets that opened onto the square, yelling for the people to come and hear a message from the King. Before long the people began to gather. A few pointed to Lijah and nudged each other, as if they recognized him.
Lijah walk
ed over to the highest knoll in the square, just in front of the tree, and began to speak.
“Chessington, we are a chosen people. Long ago, when the kingdom turned against us and persecuted and imprisoned us, the King heard our cries and delivered us from the treachery of Fairos. Here He brought us to a land of great wealth and prosperity.” Lijah held out his arms as if to embrace Chessington and the valley in which it lay.
“When we turned our backs on Him again and were carried into captivity by the Kessons to Daydelon, He had mercy on us and brought us back to this great city and rebuilt our homes once more. In spite of His faithfulness to us, you have once again rejected Him, and because of this, His judgment has come upon you!”
Lijah’s strong words immediately caused a stir among the people. “Why this judgment?” one man yelled out. “How have we rejected Him?”
Rowan pointed at the crowd that now had grown to twice its original size. “You rejected the King when you rejected His Son—the Prince!” Rowan gestured to the tree. “Here you killed Him, and you have endured many years of strife because of it!”
The people stirred again—some to anger, some to confusion, a few to grief and mourning.
“I don’t even know what you’re talking about,” cried one woman.
“Who are you to accuse us?” one called. “What gives you the right?”
Finally, one man at the front of the crowd fell to his knees with his arms outstretched. “We are weary and afraid, for our city has fallen into the hands of evil men. Help us—”
“Silence!” screamed a voice from behind the crowd.
The crowd gasped and fell silent as a force of twenty guards descended on the people. The crowd split open to make way for them to approach Rowan and Lijah.
“You are in violation of Governor Histen’s edict and will be imprisoned until you are judged accordingly!” exclaimed the leader of this contingent, who wore the telltale Vincero medallion, the sign of the knights who served Lucius.
Silence hung in the air while Rowan and Lijah slowly drew their swords. The people began to back away, distancing themselves from Rowan and Lijah’s impending doom.
“By the power of the King and of His Son, we will stand before the people of Chessington and proclaim the truth,” Lijah shouted. “Retreat, or endure His judgment!”
No more words were exchanged. The Vincero Knight charged with his men against Rowan and Lijah, and the people gasped as the scene unfolded. Rowan and Lijah fought back to back against impossible odds, but Arrethtrae had never seen the skill, armor, and swords of such men in all its days. Their swords flew in a blaze of cuts and slices, methodically destroying the contingent of guards one and two at a time.
At one point in the fracas, Rowan engaged the Vincero and another guard simultaneously. Although the Vincero’s skill was much greater than that of the other guards, within just a few moments, Rowan’s blade had pierced him through. He stumbled backward and fell over the body of one of his men, never to rise again.
The fight continued until only five guards remained. The clashing of swords stopped suddenly as they came to the full realization of what they were facing. They slowly retreated away from the square, not daring to turn their backs on Rowan and Lijah.
The crowd gawked in the aftermath of the fight, slowly returning to Rowan and Lijah. But they did not cheer as one might expect. Instead, the tears flowed. The testimony, the swords, and the boldness of Sir Rowan and Sir Lijah shouted to the people that the King had not abandoned them, and many wept for their shame and their deliverance all at the same time.
“No one could do what you have done unless he comes in the power of the King,” one man shouted.
“Tell us more about this Prince,” another cried out. “Help us to believe.”
Rowan and Lijah proclaimed the Prince to the people of Chessington, and many became Followers that day.
For many, it was a day of beginnings.
For others who chose to turn away, it was the beginning of the end.
THE FINAL STAND
For many days, Rowan and Lijah walked the streets of Chessington, openly proclaiming the Prince, and their presence fueled a firestorm of response. City officials were enraged. Knights of the Prince who had gone into hiding were inspired to reveal themselves. Hope took hold of some citizens, while others looked around them in fear. The cauldron of the times boiled hot with emotion.
Rowan and Lijah daily met the attacks of Vinceros and guards, but they triumphed over them time and time again. Their armor did not falter against the blades and arrows of evil men. They were aware, however, that there was more—and worse—to come. They saw Shadow Warriors lurking in every shadowy alcove and wondered when Lucius would unleash his minions to the battle.
Meanwhile, the fame of Sir Rowan and Sir Lijah spread throughout the land. People from the far corners of the kingdom embarked on pilgrimages to come and hear the profound and bold words of the two unconquerable Knights of the Prince who had defied Alexander Histen in his own city. As in the days of the Prince, there were many, both citizens of Chessington and Outdwellers, who came to accept Him as the Son of the King. Some refused and found themselves in a desolate place somewhere between an unfulfilled promise of their King and the tyranny of an evil man. Unfortunately, there were countless more who came to despise and hate Rowan and Lijah for the words they spoke. Day by day as the two bold knights stayed in Chessington, the fervor of the kingdom elevated.
Each evening, Rowan and Lijah returned to the tree in the central square, keeping watch through the night and sleeping in shifts. The citizens of Chessington brought them food and water, even though city officials forbade it. Every day their needs were provided for. Occasionally they journeyed out into the surrounding region and proclaimed the Prince to others, but they always returned to Chessington. They had no home, no bed, and no table to eat upon.
One morning, three weeks after their mission in Chessington began, a prominent-looking Vincero appeared with six guards in tow. Chin in the air, he announced, “Governor Supreme Alexander Histen desires an audience with you.”
Lijah gazed at him and said nothing. The silence slowly crumbled the Vincero’s arrogance until he began to look nervously about.
“We do not recognize Histen’s authority,” Rowan finally said.
“Nevertheless,” the knight insisted, “his governorship would like to speak with you.”
“We are here and will be here today, tomorrow, and each day after that,” Rowan said. “We speak our words openly for all to hear.”
The Vincero stared at them for a long moment, then huffed and turned away.
“When will our mission end, Lijah?” Rowan asked as the Vincero and his men departed. He was not weary—in fact, quite the opposite was true—but the kingdom seemed to be tearing itself apart, and he was curious about the days to come.
Lijah put a hand on Rowan’s shoulder and offered him a gentle smile. “I don’t know, my brother. Darker days are coming—that’s for certain. The people of Chessington need the hope of the Prince to guide them through those days.”
Rowan nodded, still wondering.
Then, that very afternoon, Alexander Histen himself came to them.
Rowan had never seen the man before, and he could not deny that Histen was much more than he had envisioned him to be. His muscular black steed snorted as he approached, shaking its harness as if it wanted to trample the brothers underfoot. Histen’s regal-looking armor was elaborately trimmed in gold and silver, and a purple velvet cape fell from his shoulders to drape over the horse’s massive hindquarters.
Clearly, this man was more than a crafty politician who had maneuvered himself into a position of power. He was also a man of means and seasoned in the art of war. For the first time since their mission began, Rowan had to steel his nerves against potential fear.
Histen gazed emotionlessly down at them for a moment, then slowly dismounted. Two of his warriors did the same. Histen’s boots rang on the cobblestones as
he walked slowly toward the brothers, and Rowan’s heart felt darkness flow in and around him as the man approached. He stopped in front of Rowan and stared into his eyes.
The man was slightly taller than Rowan and just as muscled. His face was long and chiseled, with a narrow blade of a nose and an angled jaw. A prominent brow shaded black eyes that seemed to peer into the soul. Rowan shuddered, caught off guard by the probing evil in the man’s stare.
Histen then turned toward Lijah. As they faced off, Rowan’s thoughts turned to the day the Prince had encountered the Dark Knight when he first came to the kingdom so many years before. Had there been a face-off like this before that battle?
Slowly Histen turned his back on both of them and looked out at the crowd that had gathered. As he did so, the people turned away, shrinking back from his gaze.
Histen didn’t even bother to turn his head as he spoke to Rowan and Lijah. “You two have caused quite a stir in my city … in my kingdom.”
“This will never be your kingdom,” Rowan said.
Histen froze, then spun about and lunged toward Rowan, stopping just inches from his face.
“I already own it, foolish knight.” Histen’s voice was low and menacing. “From Nyland to Cameria, from the Wasteland to Chessington—every castle, every lord, every city, town, and village—it is all mine!”
Lijah stepped toward Histen with his hand on his sword. Histen’s two warriors advanced with their hands grasping the hilts of their swords. Muscles tightened, with another ferocious fight just one draw away.
Lijah scowled. “You will never own that which is the most precious to have.”
“What is that?” Histen asked.
“The hearts of good people,” Lijah said. “They will always belong to the Prince!”
Histen hesitated, then relaxed and backed away. His warriors took their cue and did the same.
“I don’t need their hearts.” Histen smiled coldly. “I’ll just crush them one by one until none remain.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “We could banter back and forth all day, I suppose, but what would it gain any of us?”