by Chuck Black
“Now I need you to turn around—slowly.” Quinlan stood ready to calm both Lilam and Kalil if need be.
Lilam slowly turned around until she stood face to trunks with Kalil. To Quinlan’s surprise, she did not jump, or scream, or even gesture. Instead, she reached out a hand. Kalil reached out with his central trunk and sniffed, then wrapped the trunk around her wrist.
“He’s amazing,” Lilam murmured without taking her eyes of off the penthomoth. “What’s his name?”
“Kalil. It means ‘friend.’ ” Quinlan went to stand beside Kalil and rested a hand on the animal’s back. “This is your monster penthomoth from the Dunes of Mynar.”
Lilam reached over to rub Kalil’s sand-colored head, and the penthomoth groaned with pleasure. Quinlan smiled, glad his friends had become friends too.
Nine days later, Quinlan and Lilam arrived on the outskirts of Mankin, a small city tucked away between the Tara Hills and the Great Sea. After ordering Kalil to stay in the woods outside town, they hiked into Mankin. They asked about stables, but only the town prefect had them, and Quinlan was quite sure Kobalt would not be there.
“The blacksmith sometimes keeps horses,” the owner of the weaver shop offered.
They made their way toward the blacksmith’s shop, expecting the familiar smell of red-hot iron, the sound of pounding hammers, and the sight of white steam. When they arrived, however, the coals of the forge were cold and the tools were all put away.
“Quite odd how the shop is open and unattended,” Quinlan said.
He nodded to Lilam that they should leave, but then they heard the clop of hoofs coming their way. A large man appeared from around the right corner of the shop with three horses in tow.
“Kobalt!” Quinlan hurried over to his steed, who nickered in recognition. The animal looked well fed and groomed.
“He is a battle horse now,” the man said in an accent Quinlan had never heard before. He handed the reins to Quinlan.
“Thank you, sir,” Quinlan said. He closed his eyes for an instant and saw a violet afterimage.
The warrior handed another set of reins to Lilam. “For you, Lady Lilam. Her name is Adira. It means ‘strong.’ ”
Lilam took the reins with a look of disbelief. “How did you—”
“You will need her in the days to come,” the warrior said.
“Thank you, sir,” she finally managed to say.
The man went to shut the doors of the shop.
“Are you closing so early?” Quinlan asked.
The warrior turned. “I have been here many years, and now my work is done.” He looked to the horizon, then crossed over to his own steed. “The days are short, and I must go to prepare for them.”
He gave them a salute as he mounted. “The King reigns!”
“And His Son!” Quinlan and Lilam answered as he rode away.
“Well, Lilam,” Quinlan said as he mounted Kobalt for the first time in many months. “Now the search begins.”
Lilam swung a leg over Adira. “Lead on, Commander.”
Quinlan looked at her, a little taken aback, but she just waited.
“To Blackbridge … and the scoundrel who waits there,” he said with a smile. He slapped Kobalt’s reins and they launched their steeds south.
Commander, Quinlan said to himself as he rode. That’s going to take some getting used to.
GATHERING OF SWORDS
Quinlan and Lilam arrived in Blackbridge on a warm spring afternoon and wondered how they would ever find the man they sought. The town was once his home, according to Taras, but he was used to living a secret life, and Quinlan was certain the secrecy would continue.
They approached the village square, where a crowd of people had gathered.
“Sticking an apple with a knife at thirty paces is impossible,” a voice called out. “No one here believes you.”
Quinlan dismounted and handed his reins to Lilam. “I’ll be back in a minute.” He stepped up behind the crowd and peered over heads and shoulders. In the midst of them, sitting on a stump and peeling an apple, was the very person he wanted to find.
Quinlan laughed to himself. Secret life—sure.
“You’ll have to prove it,” another person yelled.
“Why should I prove it to you?” Purcell calmly took a bite of the apple, and juice dripped down his scraggily beard. “I know I can do it.”
“Aw, he’s just blowin’ smoke,” the first man said. “Why don’t you put your money where your mouth is?”
Purcell smiled. “I’m not a gambling man.”
The man sneered. “See—just blowin’ smoke!”
“But,” Purcell continued, “since I know I can do it, it wouldn’t be gambling, now would it?”
The man stepped forward and placed coins on the stump next to Purcell. “Two florins says you won’t even come close.” He turned to the crowd and grinned. Shouts of affirmation rose up.
Purcell grabbed a fresh apple and got to his feet. “Hold out your hand,” he said.
Looking to the people for encouragement, the man slowly lifted his hand. Purcell put the apple in it.
“You hold the apple,” he said. “If I hit it, you pay me four florins. If I miss, I pay you six.”
The crowd muttered, and the man grew nervous. “I’m not risking my life for six florins.” He slapped the apple back into Purcell’s hand and grabbed his coins.
Purcell smiled and shrugged. He threw the apple into the air and caught it.
“Is there no one brave enough to take my challenge?” he yelled as he held up the apple.
There was no response except low murmurs from the crowd.
“Then I shall keep my knives in hand, and you will never—”
“I’ll do it!” Quinlan shouted. Heads turned to see who had spoken.
Purcell jerked his own head around and squinted to see who had accepted his challenge. Quinlan stepped forward, and the crowd parted to let him through. He was surprised that Purcell didn’t seem to recognize him. Evidently his full beard and strengthened body had changed his appearance significantly.
“Now here’s a man of heart!” Purcell called out to the crowd, gesturing toward Quinlan.
“Not all would think so,” Quinlan said.
At hearing Quinlan’s voice, Purcell squinted again and peered closer. Recognition came slowly, but it came. Purcell’s nostrils flared as anger filled his eyes.
Quinlan did not flinch. He reached out and took the apple from Purcell and set it on his own left shoulder, just above his heart. The crowd began to buzz with excitement.
Purcell continued to stare intently at Quinlan for a moment, then turned and walked thirty paces. When he turned around, the crowd cleared a wide berth behind Quinlan.
Purcell lifted his knife and prepared to throw it. He made a quick motion as though he were making an attempt, then pulled up short of releasing the knife. Quinlan stood as steady as an oak tree. The onlookers held their breath in anticipation.
Purcell readied himself once more, then recoiled and released the razor-sharp knife on a trajectory that would carry it straight to the apple … or Quinlan’s heart.
The crowd gasped as the knife flew, then hit—sending the apple careening over Quinlan’s shoulder and onto the ground. The people erupted in thunderous applause. Quinlan bent to recover the apple and the knife, and walked over to Purcell. The two men glared at each other in silence for a moment.
“The Prince is calling, and the Swords of Valor are gathering,” Quinlan said in a quiet, steady voice. “Those brave enough to fight again are meeting at Stockford in a fortnight.”
Purcell glared. “Fighting beside an inexperienced squire who hardly knows which end of a sword is which isn’t brave. It’s suicide!”
Quinlan met Purcell’s eyes a moment longer, then pulled the knife from the apple, flipped it into the air, and grasped the blade. He handed it to Purcell as he leaned close to him and spoke softly.
“When’s the last time you saw a Shado
w Warrior?”
Purcell’s hard stare eased as he considered Quinlan’s question. His silent response gave Quinlan the answer.
“That’s what I thought. You don’t think they’ve gone away, now, do you?” Quinlan turned up one corner of his mouth, realizing all evidence of his facial twitch was gone. “You’re either losing your edge, or you’re so far off the front line that you don’t matter to them anymore.”
He took a bite of the apple, turned to walk away, but hesitated and turned back. “Just in case you’re interested, the man standing beside the blacksmith’s shop”—he gestured with his head—“is not of this kingdom, and he’s been watching you since I arrived.”
Quinlan turned and walked to where Lilam stood holding the horses. As he was mounting up, Purcell called after him. “My knife could have just as easily pierced your heart. You took a big risk.”
Quinlan settled into his saddle. He wheeled Kobalt around to face Purcell. “You threw the knife, Sir Purcell. What was the risk?” He slapped the reins and they bolted away, leaving puffs of dust where hoofs once were.
Quinlan now set their course for Castleridge. Each evening after the day’s travel, he called for Kalil, and the penthomoth bounded joyfully into their camp. Now that they were riding horseback, Quinlan was surprised Kalil could keep up, but he seemed to have no trouble. The animal seemed to know he was a stranger in a strange land and kept well hidden throughout the day, but he always appeared delighted to join them at night. Quinlan was amazed at the joy and comfort the animal’s presence brought him.
After three days of travel, Quinlan and Lilam arrived in Castleridge, Sir Drake’s city of origin. They found no trace of him there, but they did discover a lead that sent them to the neighboring town of Rossborough.
The haven at Rossborough had grown quickly and become a launch site for many missions for the Prince. Quinlan knew the knights here required the finest training—a job well suited to someone experienced and proficient with the sword.
“We’re looking for a knight named Sir Drake,” Quinlan asked of the haven leader when they arrived in Rossborough. “Do you know of him?”
The balding man smiled as he looked up from a parchment. “Of course. You’ll find ‘im near the stables with the wee ones.”
“Wee ones?” Quinlan asked.
“Aye, the wee ones,” the man said. “Tenderhearted bloke—not much for the sword, so we’ve got ‘im teaching the wee ones.”
“Must be a different Drake.” Quinlan turned to leave.
“Large fellow?” the man asked. “Blond hair?”
Quinlan turned back. “Yes …”
“Wouldn’t dare take him into battle, but he sure does wonders with the little ones.” He pointed. “You’ll find him over there.”
Quinlan furrowed his brow. “Thank you.”
Following the man’s directions, Quinlan and Lilam walked past a training arena crowded with knights engaged in a sparring contest. Shouts and cheers rose up with each cut and thrust. Quinlan stopped for a moment to admire the intensity of the fighting. Then he looked about, spotted the stables, and walked that way. Near a fence, he saw a large fellow kneeling in front of a dozen or so young children. Each child clutched a wooden sword and wore a tunic that bore the mark of the Prince. Even from a distance, Quinlan had no doubt their teacher was indeed the mighty Sir Drake.
Quinlan and Lilam approached from behind him and watched the children’s faces as they became enamored with a story Drake was telling them. Punctuating his tale with broad gestures, the big man told them about the Prince’s encounter with the Dark Knight before he revealed himself as the Son of the King. At one point, Drake drew his sword and began to reenact the epic duel that had determined the fate of the kingdom.
“The battle between the evil Dark Knight and the good Prince raged on.” Drake swished at the air with his sword. “The rain poured down, and the Dark Knight advanced. The Prince stumbled over a rock and fell to the ground!” Drake keeled over dramatically, and the children gasped.
At that moment, Quinlan jumped into the scene, his black kerchief pulled over the lower part of his face. He held his sword toward Drake’s chest and exclaimed in an evil voice, “Now I will kill you and rule all of Arrethtrae.”
Drake looked up, stunned by the sudden appearance of a dramatic partner, but Quinlan wasted no time in keeping the drama going. He executed a vertical cut straight toward Drake’s head, and the children yelled for their teacher to move.
At the last second, and much to Quinlan’s relief, Drake executed a quick parry that deflected Quinlan’s blade. The sword tore into the ground to the left of Drake’s shoulder. Drake rolled to his right and onto his knees, exposing his back to Quinlan.
Quinlan brought down another vertical cut, but Drake locked his sword above his head and caught Quinlan’s blade with his own. He simultaneously rotated on one knee and exploded a horizontal slice that arced full circle around to Quinlan. Quinlan jumped back as the tip of Drake’s sword flew past his chest. This gave Drake enough time to recover and reestablish his position.
“My Father loved you, and you spurned His love,” Drake said with a voice that boomed across the camp.
The two men engaged again, and Quinlan could see the thrill of the fight in Drake’s eyes. With each cut, slice, and parry, the intensity of the swordplay increased. Soon the knights from the training arena began to filter over and watch. Before long, every knight in the haven stood open-mouthed as the meek Sir Drake and this stranger demonstrated a level of swordsmanship they had never seen before.
Drake advanced with a sequence of powerful cuts that forced Quinlan into retreat. Then Drake executed a powerful slice, and Quinlan played the finale well. He stumbled backward onto the ground as his sword flew from his grip. Drake stood over him with his sword pointed at Quinlan’s chest.
“My Father has postponed your judgment for now,” he proclaimed. “Though your final destruction is yet before you, it is a certainty!”
The final moment hung in the air as if curtains were being dropped. The children applauded and shouted their glee, but the knights stood in awed silence. Drake sheathed his sword and reached a hand down to his unknown costar. Quinlan grabbed hold, and Drake lifted him to his feet.
“Whoever you are,” Drake said soberly, “you’ve ruined me.”
Quinlan removed the kerchief from his face. “I think you’ve been acting for more than just the children.”
Drake turned and looked deeply into Quinlan’s eyes. Recognition dawned, but he said nothing. Instead, he turned and beckoned for the children to gather around him. They came with wooden swords in hand, ready for action.
“Remember, children,” he said, “it is the Prince and the Code that gives your sword its power. Never forget that. Learn the Code, and live it well.”
The children’s eyes were large and full of wonder that Quinlan knew would not soon diminish. Drake dismissed the children. Head lowered, he walked through the crowd of knights. They respectfully stepped aside. Quinlan followed him.
“I never imagined you as a teacher of children.”
Drake didn’t miss a beat. “Of such is the kingdom of the Prince.”
They walked over to the fence, and Drake rested his elbows on top of it. Quinlan propped his right foot on one of the lower rails and took a breath, unsure how to start.
“You’ve improved.” Drake turned to look at Quinlan. “Significantly.”
Quinlan leaned against the fence. “I’ve relived that dreadful day a thousand times in my mind, wishing I could change the outcome. I don’t know why things happened the way they did, but I do know the Prince still needs the Swords of Valor to ride for Him.” Quinlan let his words take effect. “Lucius is advancing, and our brothers and sisters need our help. I’ve been made aware of a new scheme to destroy much of the work of the Knights of the Prince, and I can’t just stand by and watch it happen.”
Drake eased himself away from the fence and shook his head. “I’m don
e, Quinlan. With Sir Baylor gone, his work just can’t go on.”
Quinlan’s heart sank. “If that is true, then the Dark Knight has indeed won.”
Drake leaned on the fence again and looked away.
“Those who are willing are meeting at Stockford in ten days.” Quinlan started to leave, then stopped. “Drake, this isn’t my work or your work, or even Sir Baylor’s work. It’s the King’s.”
Drake turned and leaned his back against the fence, then crossed his arms in what seemed an unmovable posture.
Quinlan saluted, then moved on. He and Lilam recovered their steeds and headed for Greyloch and his last chance at recruitment. Thus far he didn’t feel very successful.
It took Quinlan and Lilam four days to travel to the seafaring village of Greyloch, on the coast just north of Cytra. Quinlan had learned from Drake that Kessler worked as a hand loading and unloading wares from the boats that frequented the harbor, so he figured the man wouldn’t be too difficult to find.
The strong smell of fish hovered around them as they walked along the shore, avoiding the droppings of sea gulls that wheeled overhead. When they came upon a shirtless, well-muscled dock hand who whistled while carrying a burden that would have been a challenge for two men, they stopped. Quinlan motioned for Lilam to hold back.
Kessler dropped his load onto the deck of the boat and turned around just as Quinlan arrived at the dock. Without a hint of surprise, he stepped back up onto the dock and walked toward Quinlan. Quinlan wondered if perhaps he still hadn’t recognized him.
“What took you so long?” Kessler wiped beads of sweat from his swarthy brow.
Now it was Quinlan’s turn to look confused. He cocked his head to one side. Kessler walked right past Quinlan and on toward the shore.
“Coming?” Kessler said over his shoulder. He grabbed his shirt from the dock post and walked to where Lilam was standing. “I’m Kessler, miss. Pleased to meet you.”
Lilam raised an eyebrow and stuck out her hand. “Lilam.”
He nodded for her to walk with him. “He treating you well?” Kessler asked as she fell in step with him and continued down the walkway.