Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  “Why isn’t he here himself?” he demanded. “And where is my brother?”

  “Who’s your brother?” Serix returned, curiously.

  His patience was starting to grow thin; how could this guy be in league with Merlin and not know who his brother was? Was he truly who he said or was this a trick; another agent of the Phoenix?

  The mage looked at him, studying his face. “Little fellow? Timid, long brown hair? I think I know who you’re talking about. Didn’t catch his name, sorry. We only met briefly. He and Merlin had come to see a friend of mine and we were attacked by goblins. During the battle, Merlin fell through a portal and I followed after. We were transported to the Dierdan Desert, and by use of the same spell, I was sent here to help you break this siege.”

  “This is madness, my Lord,” Mark stated, moving around the table. “The mage in which he refers is wanted in connection with your father’s murder. Any associate of his—.”

  “Merlin was perfectly innocent of those accusations and he helped uncover the true assassin. If not for his help, this castle would be burning, and its inhabitants enslaved,” Windel broke in, rushing to his former comrade’s defense.

  The general bristled, eyes narrowing. “Says who? An elf who abandons his post and a black robed magician that nobody has ever heard of?”

  “Mark!” Bendor snapped, making the other guy flinch. “Th’ laddie main be a green advisur, but he’s a trained Guardian, fa did his duty protectin’ his prince an’ returned oan his ain, ben th’ lines ay an oncomin’ horde, tae warn us ay a traitur, fa was at ‘at huir uv a moment lettin’ those vermin intae uir haem! As fur th’ mage, Ah dornt hae tae loch it, but th’ man’s reit, can we pure turn awa’ help? Ur ye ‘at confident we can repel th’ invaders?”

  “This castle has never fallen into enemy hands; it won’t fail us now!” Mark snarled, glaring at the two newcomers. “Throw the mage from the walls and banish the elf back to the palace where he belongs!”

  “General Brasten—,” he began but stopped with a glare from the dwarven commander.

  Bendor hopped down from his bench and approached the fuming man. “Ye need tae tak’ a donner.”

  Mark’s eyes were bouncing from Serix to Windel, then finally to the dwarf standing before him. “Maybe I do,” the man snapped, then brushed past, and stormed out of sight.

  “I’ve never seen him that fired up,” Brigette commented, as Bendor watched his second in command take his leave.

  “A lot has happened in a cuttie time, lass,” Bendor said, shaking his head. “Ah kin his anger, e’en if aam less vocal abit it. Constantine’s death, Clint’s betrayal, mysterioos mages an’ disappearin’ princes—it’s bin quite a lot, an’ ye hae tae wonder, fa can ye pure troost?”

  He had watched it all with quiet reserve, waiting to see how it’d all play out. He could force his involvement, but it was Bendor’s place to reprimand one of his own. The dwarf answered to him, but the rest answered to the dwarf. The general had moved towards the window and was stepping onto a small bench in order to better see the countryside beyond. The others were quiet, not wanting to break the silence and get their heads bit off.

  He had no such worries.

  “Do you know where my brother is?” he asked the mage.

  Serix looked at him, tearing his gaze from the dwarven general. “According to Merlin, he’s coming down from the peak and about to head south.”

  He wanted to ask for what purpose, but after reading his father’s letter, he could hazard a guess. They were looking for something called Excalibur; whatever the hell that was. He decided to push away his doubts and take a leap of faith. He reached out and offered the mage his hand. “Thank you for coming and we accept.”

  Serix took it and smiled grimly. “Now we just have to make it out of this thing alive, eh?”

  II

  Riding free of the forest, Amysta stared across the plains and used her keen elven sight to spy ahead. They didn’t see anything; not to her surprise. Their enemy had a huge head start and she knew that the legion to her rear was slowing her down. Luckily for her, it had never been Erik’s intention to give chase with a full legion at his back.

  She turned in her saddle and glanced at her comrades. Uriens and Pendoran looked at her expectantly; they knew what was coming next. “I’m going to need twenty volunteers from the Knights of the Realm; the rest are to ride south with the legion and go to Lancaster’s defense.”

  “And where do you think you’re going, my Lady?” Pendoran asked pointlessly.

  “I’m going after my daughter,” she told them, “as you full well know. There’s no chance of catching these vermin with marching soldiers and supply trains. Speed of horse is needed.”

  Uriens was shaking his head. “Erik would not—.”

  “Erik’s not here!” she snapped. “I’m the Queen and I’m giving you a direct order. Obey it or I’ll see you reduced in rank and sent home.” The young elf bit off the retort that had been forming and took to fiddling with something on his saddle, head bowed.

  Good.

  “You can say what you want to my young friend here, my Lady, but I’m afraid that I fear your husband’s wrath should something happen to you, rather than any punishment you could devise,” Pendoran pushed, not backing down like his brother-in-arms. “I can tell there’s no persuading you not to go,” the elf smirked as she turned to face him. “So, let me put it this way—I am your first volunteer. Either accept that or my resignation.”

  She couldn’t think of a response that would persuade him otherwise; it was obvious by the elf’s tone that he was completely serious and would not follow any order that sent him south. Either she accepted his resignation and sent him packing, or accepted his help finding her daughter. She considered it for a moment, then finally nodded, seeing no other way forward.

  She needed him and he knew it.

  “Uriens, take control of the legion and march south to Lancaster by the fastest route available. Meet up with Tar Reiz and tell him that his knights are to follow your orders. Give him this for confirmation,” Pendoran stated, handing over a scroll for the younger elf to take. “Take the druids with you. They are better off with you, as they are not used to riding hard, and we can’t wait for them.”

  Uriens was splendid in his armor, his face resolute; despite the verbal bashing he’d taken. He reached out, took the offered scroll, and after quick nod her way, moved off to begin giving orders to move south. She watched him go, sorry that she had snapped; he’d only been trying to look out for her welfare. Well, it was too late to take it back and she would have to mend that fence if they ever met again.

  The Knights of the Realm rode next to the column of soldiers, their armor shining brightly in the morning sun. Pendoran glanced at her once more, then donned his helm and went to gather his men.

  She fingered the saddle for a moment, sweat beginning to drip as the temperature increased. She wore golden armor, light, but still confining and hot to the touch. The crown upon her head slipped a bit and the heated metal slightly burned her forehead. She reached up and pushed it back into place. She twisted the reins around her wrist and turned to watch the knights come to a halt. From a distance, she listened to their commander address his men.

  “Fellow knights, a gigantic host has besieged Lancaster and it falls on us to think not of one life, but the loss of many that may result from our inaction. This is what we were created for and we are honor bound to protect innocents regardless of the cost,” Pendoran hollered at them, and the men roared in agreement. “Before you march to glory, I need nineteen volunteers to ride west and run down the vermin that kidnapped our princess!”

  Despite the speech about rushing to Lancaster’s aid, she was surprised to see two hundred hands raise in the air. It warmed her heart and almost made a tear form on the corner of her eye. Pendoran smiled at his comrades and selected the men he needed; seemingly at random. The rest he placed under Uriens command and turned his horse to come by her
side once more. Nineteen knights gave their comrades their farewells, then broke from the larger host and formed up behind their commander’s stead.

  “Ready to depart, my Queen?” Pendoran asked, eyes turned west.

  She spurred her horse around and followed his gaze. There was a thin line of smoke in the distance and her heart quickened; were her daughter’s kidnappers finally within their sights?

  “The enemy is on the horizon! Let’s run them down!” Pendoran yelled to his comrades and kicked his horse’s flanks.

  She had quickly followed suit, her own reflexes only seconds behind Pendoran’s. She was not focusing on rallying the men. Hope had begun to flower in her heart that she might actually see her daughter again and she had no time for words of encouragement or long-winded speeches. Bella was right there! Nothing mattered more than getting to her quickly and holding her once more.

  Her horse launched across the grasslands as they raced to catch their target; praying it wasn’t too late.

  III

  Revan sat by his King’s side, thinking of the last moments they had talked to one another. He felt guilty for his friend’s state, for despite what the King believed, he truly considered the man a friend; one of the few he had. Yet, he had been harsh in his comments relating to his friend’s daughter, their princess, despite the emotional response it might invoke. It had been cold, and though true, the wrong thing to say to a grieving father.

  Then there had been his pushing of meeting with Lancaster’s messenger, his vehemence in defending a fellow magic user, and the ignorance of the King’s condition as he pushed to make his point. He could see the reaction the man was having and had kept going anyway. When Erik fell to his knees screaming, he had been caught off-guard, not knowing what was happening or how to help his fallen King.

  Then Amysta had been there, bashing him with insults and questions, her husband in her arms. He had stepped back in confusion and looked around, aware that the King’s scream had drawn onlookers. Acting quickly, he had ordered the human envoy to give him a hand, and together they carried the King back to his chambers.

  Amysta had been by his side, watching them wearily, heavily concerned with the fate of her husband.

  Once they had removed his armor and placed him in his bed, Revan had called upon his powers and probed the fallen monarch. He appeared to be in a coma; vivid dreams and memories raged through his mind, some familiar, others alien. There was no sign that Erik would wake any time soon and he was forced to make a hard decision regarding the King’s welfare.

  “My Queen. I know that you blame me for this, but on my soul, I have no idea what just happened. I will do what I can to help him, but you cannot stay; you need to go,” he told the grieving wife.

  Amysta had stood there stunned, eyes cautious. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to just leave him like this!”

  Jared interrupted them by barging into the room; eager to check on the welfare of his sovereign. Revan had ordered the aide to guard the door and make sure no one else entered or knew what was happening within. Seeing that his King was resting and in no immediate danger, the elf had reluctantly stepped out and left the four of them alone. The messenger was sent back to his room with a strict warning not to speak a word of what had transpired. The man had been quick to depart, leaving the Magister to deal with the fuming Queen alone.

  “Are you going to cast some spell to make me forget what’s happening? To force me to leave?” Amysta asked, stepping forward until her face was within inches of his; her breath controlled and hot upon his chin.

  “No, I’m simply going to tell you how it is and you can decide. Erik was able to persuade the council members to go to war this morning on his will alone, but he made a couple of enemies in the process. If Haymdal were to learn what has happened, he will see it as an opportunity to move against him; we can’t afford that. The army must march immediately or not at all. Nothing has changed. Your daughter’s kidnappers are out there and someone must chase them down,” he had explained, trying to make the Queen see reason.

  “So, you’re just going to hide him in the dark and hope that no one notices he didn’t ride out with the others?” she asked with disbelief.

  He nodded. “If the knights march now, then no one will know that the King isn’t with them. Jared and I alone will take care of him, to keep the circle small and closed. Jared will not open his mouth, he’s loyal to Erik and knows the stakes.”

  “I can’t leave him,” she moaned, but he knew that she was slowly coming around to his line of thinking; only resisting by reflex.

  “The longer we debate, the further your daughter gets. Do you trust anyone but yourself to find her and see her home?” he pushed and knew that he had won by the resignation on the woman’s face.

  After a few stern instructions concerning the welfare of her husband, she had relented and gone to change into her armor. She had to move quickly if she were to stay ahead of the rumor mill and get the army out of the castle before the delay was noticed.

  Now he was sitting next to his King alone, the occasional meal snuck into the room by the King’s aide. Jared confirmed that everyone believed Erik had ridden with his knights and was currently heading towards the kingdom’s western borders. Those that had heard the King’s bellow had nothing to follow up on, and though there was some gossip concerning what happened, they assumed that their Lord had pushed on and had gone seeking his daughter. As long as no one ventured into the King’s chambers, their secret could be preserved.

  He reached out and touched his friend’s temple, allowing his mind to drift along with the monarch’s thoughts. It was too jumbled, too frantic; he couldn’t understand any of it. It was as if two minds were occupying the same space, battling for control. He had no clue how to fix it and couldn’t call one of the clerics for assistance; lest their secret be revealed.

  He was going to have to wait it out and see if it resolved on its own. If it worsened, he would summon a cleric and pray for the man’s silence, but otherwise he would have to continue his silent vigil.

  Briefly, he’d considered if this was an illness brought on by poison or a spell, but he could sense neither and was adept enough to know he was right. No, this was an internal struggle of the mind, not the physical. Whatever was going on, it would fall on Erik to see his way through it alone.

  Laying his head back, he shifted and tried to get comfortable. He had an uneasy feeling that he was going to be there for a while.

  Chapter 2

  The Horseman

  I

  “Rí ruirech, we hae wuid frae Kamdeac,” the dwarven aide announced.

  The dwarven King was attempting to finish his meal; the stag was too raw and the Grog was stale. He was going to have to talk with the cook; this would not stand. He liked his meat well cooked and hated seeing the blood squishing under his knife. He downed the flat Grog and motioned for his steward to refill his chalice. “Open a different barrel, thes Grog taste loch Grobi!”

  “Rí ruirech—,” his aide insisted, but he raised his hand to cut him off.

  “Ah heard ye th’ first time, ye ur interruptin’ mah tatties an’ neebs, sae it’d better be important!” Waldemar growled at the man. His aide was hopping from one foot to another, very unlike the usually stoic man that served him. He laid down his fork and gave the dwarf his full attention. “Weel, whit is it? Yoo’re actin’ loch yoo’re bladder is foo, ye dornt need permission tae gang use a chamberpot.”

  Lennart bowed and quickly began talking. “My Rik, a messenger arrived frae Branham. Rí benn Keegan hud scoots sent north tae Kamdeac when wuid spreid ay goblin hordes roamin’ th’ plains unchecked. Nane ay them returned. He sent twintie kazhunki tae investigate, tois came back riddled wi’ plague. They waur quarantined, an’ affair they descended intae madness, they tauld Keegan ‘at Kamdeac was naethin’ but a fortress ay th’ deid.”

  “Makk aln ha’ak!” the King swore, suddenly feeling his food even less desirable. It was a good
thing dwarves had healthy appetites. He cut another piece and purposely took another bite. It was important for a ruler to not show weakness of any kind; to do so would invite an attack. “Is Keegan sure?”

  “He’s afraid tae send anyain else tae check. Th’ cleric tendin’ th’ tois kazhunki got th’ plague an aw,” Lennart told him grimly.

  Despite the grim news, he almost felt like laughing. Keegan was a nervous paranoid dwarf, always jumping at shadows. If there was any chance of him catching whatever this plague was, he’d run in the opposite direction, his retainers rushing to try and catch him. “Is ‘at aw?” he pushed, the aide was still hopping around.

  “Nae, mah Rik,” the Dwarf muttered. “An envoy frae Lancaster—.”

  “Anither a body? They still holdin’ ontae ‘at madman?” he cut in.

  Lennart shook his head. “An enemy horde has besieged th’ castle an’ they request aid, mah Rik.”

  He gave the aide a look of disbelief. The Phoenix’s lackeys hadn’t been seen south of the Deadlands in decades; the reports couldn’t be accurate. “Did Bendor send it ur did a body ay Constantine’s advisors?”

  The dwarven aide’s head bowed. “Constantine is deid; murrdad by a mage named Merlin wi’ th’ help ay his son; mah Rik.”

  “Goblinshit!” he swore, slamming his hand on the table. His Grog sloshed out of his chalice and splashed upon his food. Well—maybe it’d improve the taste. “Hae they caught th’ dobber?”

  “Nae, mah Rik. They ask ‘at if we fin’ them, we hauld them until they can be escorted tae Lancaster tae be hanged,” Lennart bowed his head to his King.

  “Ha! I’ll sae them th’ time an’ dae it myself. Constantine main be a human, but he was a guid cheil an’ mah mukker. Main Goibniu reciefe heem weel,” he toasted, raising his chalice then taking a deep gulp of his Grog. It was fresh and better fitting for the moment. It splashed on his long red beard and he used the sleeve of his maroon robe to wipe it off.