The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow

by Jason McWhirter

  Scouts had returned the previous day with news that King Oleguard and his brother, Lord Dynure, were massing their armies together again, the second time in sixth months, and they would be leaving Annure in a fortnight. After the battle at the Lindsor Bridge the king had taken his army back to Annure. But they knew that they would be returning. They had taken that time to regroup and resupply their forces. Lord Dynure was the Prince of Ta-Ron, a vassal city to Annure and to the king. Annure was a rich and massive kingdom dominating the lands south of Finarth, and the city itself sprawled along the banks of Lake Lar’Nam. King Gavinsteal of Finarth had called on his neighbors in his time of need, and now, his son, King Baylin, who took the throne after his father’s assassination, called on them again. The banner of Annure would soon be flying next to the fist and the rising sun, the symbol of Finarth. Everyone knew that if they did not stand together against this dark force, that they would surely fall individually.

  Kiln and the dwarves passed through the inner gate to the bridge that crossed the moat when Tooley’s voice halted them.

  “Ah, by Moredin’s hammer, this will not do,” Tooley announced as he stood on the tips of his toes to peer over the bridge rail. The stone bridge was huge, over twenty paces wide and over twice that long.

  “What is it?” Kiln asked as he stopped to see what had concerned the dwarf.

  Tooley lifted his head up inquisitively. “Commander, have you any contingency plans to drop the bridge?”

  “You mean if the enemy gets past the first gate?” Kiln asked.

  “Aye, what if?” Tooley asked.

  “Standard military procedure is to shut the gate and bombard the enemy with arrows and stones as they bottle neck here. The bridge was made long ago and strengthened by magic. I’m not sure if we could drop it even if we wanted too.”

  “Phffff,” Tooley replied. “Any bridge built can be dropped.”

  “That would be devastating to the enemy, but we need a way across the moat. If we drop the bridge we will be trapped.”

  “Floating platforms linked together can be built…a temporary bridge after this one falls.”

  “How would we fall the bridge?” Kiln asked with interest. It would indeed create chaos and the idea of thousands of the enemy falling to their deaths into the deep moat piqued his interest further.

  “We take out the two support columns underneath,” Tooley said, his eyes crinkling from the smile hidden by the mass of hair covering his face.

  “There are two columns on either side and each one three paces wide. How would we do that?” Kiln asked skeptically.

  “That is dwarf work. Do we have yer permission?”

  Both dwarfs looked at Kiln expectantly. Kiln hated to think of the magnificent bridge lying at the bottom of the moat, but if it came to that, it certainly beat the destruction of the inner wall and the enemy overrunning them.

  “You do. Do we have time for that kind of work?”

  “Hmmm, not sure,” Tooley grumbled, “but life be nothin’ but uncertainty. Let us look at the front gate,” he said as he strode past Kiln across the large bridge.

  The outer gate was open and beyond the walls were hundreds, if not thousands, of make shift homes and shelters for the refugees that were still pouring into the city. The road that led to the bridge was more or less clear and looked lonely in comparison to what flanked it. Tooley slowly walked around the gate inspecting everything from the woodwork, the giant steel hinges, and even the mechanisms in the gatehouse just inside. People nearby stared curiously at the trio and their armed escort, then returned methodically to their daily tasks. It was a testament to Kiln’s reputation that he still elicited stares and a bit of awe from the people of Finarth.

  “What of war machines?” Ballick asked as he used his eyes as an engineer to carefully inspect everything around him.

  “We have travel catapults and larger rock throwers positioned just inside the inner wall,” Kiln replied.

  “How many?”

  “Twenty two-man catapults and just fewer than ten larger four- man machines.”

  “What of the projectiles?”

  “We have stone, oil jugs, and whistling chains,” Kiln said. The whistling chains were two metal balls, each the size of a skull, connected by a length of spiked chain. The projectile had a devastating effect in close quarters as it spun and whistled through the air, shredding the enemy ranks.

  “We need fire spears,” Tooley announced as he scanned the large crank mechanism used to open and close the gate.

  “What are fire spears?” Kiln asked.

  “They be large balls, twice the size of me head, covered in thick canvas and soaked in oil. Inside are many metal balls ‘bout as big as a boy’s hand. The ball is lit and flung into the air by the catapult. As the canvas burns it falls apart, releasing all them balls that fly out and into the enemy ranks.

  Kiln smiled. “I’ll get my men on this right away. Jarvorium, come here,” Kiln addressed the guard that followed him like a shadow. “I need you to get Master Tooley here anything he needs. He has my permission to begin any work that he deems necessary. Am I understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” the knight said, slamming his fist into his cuirass in salute.

  Just then three horn blasts sounded clearly through the morning air. It was the signal from an approaching pandar, a group of fifty knights, likely a patrol party returning from the north garrison. Pandars were constantly patrolling the northern and eastern borders, moving from garrison to garrison along the main roads, searching for any of Malbeck’s scouts. Finarth was protected by two major rivers, the Sithgarin River and the Gildren River, its tributary. There was no way to get to Finarth from the east without crossing one of the two rivers, and the only way to get an army of any size over the rivers was to use the bridges. One was located on the Gildren River and guarded by the Gildren garrison. The other bridge was the Lindsor Bridge and to reach the Lindsor an army coming from the north would have to get past the Tuvell Garrison which guarded yet another bridge on the Tuvell River. Malbeck’s army would have to go through one of the two garrisons so the Finarthian scouts were monitoring those locations constantly. Malbeck’s scouts would be arriving soon in front of the demon lord’s main army, and their presence would signal them all that war would soon be upon them.

  “Master Tooley, if you will excuse me I need to see the patrol. If you need anything just ask Jarvorium here,” Kiln said.

  “Hmmmf,” Tooley grunted as he deftly moved his small hands around the gears near the main crank handle that opened the gate, continuing to methodically inspect the machines.

  Kiln and the rest of his guards moved towards the main road and the approaching knights. It was early and the sun’s rays were low in the sky, enough to reflect off the bouncing lance tips of the approaching knights. As Kiln watched the knights’ advance, he glimpsed a lone rider much nearer than the main group, galloping rapidly towards them.

  “Commander, a rider,” one of his guards said, seeing the rider at the same time.

  “I see. He seems in a hurry.”

  A small crowd of people began to form as they saw Kiln move towards the fast approaching horseman. The rider was close enough now that Kiln could make him out. He wasn’t a knight, that much was clear. He wore a long green cloak that flapped in the wind, and his horse was smaller than the typical Finarthian warhorse.

  It was a scout, Kiln realized. All pandars were sent out with a trained scout, a tracker, someone who could move about quickly and collect reconnaissance for the pandar’s leader. Something must be afoot if the patrol’s commander sent the scout ahead.

  The horseman road in quickly and pulled in expertly, pivoting the tired horse sideways. Kiln recognized the man. His name was Brogan, a stern looking veteran scout who was well known as being the best tracker in the king’s service.

  “Commander!” Brogan spat as he finally brought his prancing horse to a stop.

  “Calm, Brogan. Take a breath, and then tell me the news
,” Kiln said.

  “Sir, Jonas the cavalier is back. He is with the main column.”

  Kiln’s face lit up with a smile that seemed uncharacteristic to the men around him. They looked at each other wondering if they were seeing the same thing, an actual smile on Kiln’s face. But his smile did not disappear. “That is wonderful…have…”

  “Sir, I’m sorry. But that is not all. He is sick, sir…unconscious. He has not moved since we found them four nights ago.”

  “Them? Are Taleen and Fil with them?”

  “I did not see another cavalier. But yes, Fil is with him and so are others.” Brogan hesitated as if he didn’t know how to phrase his next words.

  “Spit it out,” Kiln snapped, more out of worry for his friend, who by all accounts was seriously hurt.

  “Sir, Allindrian the Blade Singer is with him…and…King Kromm of Tarsis, along with the queen and prince and their court wizard,” Brogan said. “A dwarf from Dwarf Mount is in their company as well.”

  Kiln had forgotten Jonas’s mission in his excitement in hearing that he had returned. His mission had been to find the King of Tarsis, who, after his city was destroyed by Malbeck, was forced to retreat into the wilderness. Shyann had wanted him to bring the Tarsinian king to Finarth, although no one knew why. It looked like he had succeeded, though at what cost? Taleen was not with them, and that fact did not bode well with Kiln. And Jonas was hurt, unconscious, and for many days it seemed. This was indeed dire news.

  “Keegan, alert the castle and tell the chamberlain to have rooms, food, and baths prepared for the Tarsinian royal family and the Blade Singer. Get the healers ready as well,” Kiln ordered.

  Keegan, a short blocky knight that was part of his personal guard, banged his fist into his metal chest plate and ran off through the open gate.

  Kiln swung his eyes back to the tired scout. “Brogan, take leave and get some rest.” Kiln looked down the road expectantly as more refugees, attracted by the tension in the air, moved closer to get a better look at the commotion.

  * * *

  “How is he?” Kiln asked as he moved to the bedside. Jonas had immediately been moved to a comfortable room in the king’s inner castle, along with the Tarsinian royalty and the Blade Singer. The guests had been hastily escorted to their chambers and orders were given to the party that found them to keep their identities unknown. Kiln wanted to find out what had happened before any formal announcement was made. Durgen the dwarf stayed with his friends from Dwarf Mount, while Fil was allowed to stay with Jonas. It was he who Kiln found sitting by Jonas’s side.

  “No change, Commander,” Fil said with a look of utter despair.

  “I talked with our priests and they do not know what to do. They are afraid that whatever they do may injure him more.”

  Fil shook his head and sighed deeply. He felt so helpless. He didn’t understand what had happened to his friend, and if the high priests didn’t know what to do, what could he do?

  Kiln pulled up a chair to sit by Jonas’s side, opposite Fil. “Tell me now what happened,” Kiln said softly. It had been such a mad rush to get everyone inside the castle that Kiln had not yet had time to talk with Fil in any detail.

  “Where do you want me to start?” Fil asked.

  “For now, just tell me what happened to Jonas.”

  “As I told the priests, we were in the catacombs underneath the city of Cuthaine. We had used an escape route from the gaming house after the establishment had been attacked by Malbeck’s warriors.”

  “What kind of warriors?” Kiln asked.

  “They were mostly orcs, but they were huge, not like any orcs I had ever seen. And there were men as well, blackhearts, as the people of Cuthaine call them,” Fil said.

  “I’m familiar with the term. As far as the orcs, Lord Kromm said the same. He said they stood as tall as he and much broader. And smarter than their cousins as well,” Kiln added as he tried to imagine what they might look like.

  “We ended up getting away while Jonas stayed behind to cover our backs. The enemy had dark clerics, or warlocks or something. I am unsure, but magic was used for we were attacked by walking corpses. It was horrible, Commander. They kept coming, but luckily for us we were able to escape down a side tunnel,” Fil continued.

  “What happened to Jonas?”

  “King Kromm was the last one and Jonas told him to leave him. He was supposed to be right behind him but he never came out of that tunnel.”

  “You just left him!?” Kiln asked, incredulously.

  “No. Of course not,” Fil replied vehemently. “We would never do that!”

  Kiln shook his head wearily. “I know, Fil. I’m sorry, I did not mean that. So what happened when you went back for him?”

  “Allindrian said that the opening had closed up completely. It was a stone wall.”

  “Magic,” Kiln hissed angrily.

  Fil continued for some time to tell Kiln everything he knew. Kiln had mulled cider brought in along with some smoked meats and cheeses. Finally, after the tale was told, Kiln leaned back in his chair and sighed with frustration.

  “So, you found him standing on shattered legs, almost naked, fighting in some underground arena?”

  “Yes, basically as you see him now.” Jonas no longer had any armor or weapons and they had covered him with loose cotton leggings and a tunic after they found him. The white shroud of Ulren still draped his body and whenever the priests removed it Jonas writhed and moaned as if he were in great pain. Needless to say they did not keep Ulren’s shroud off him for long. “We could barely recognize him. And he did not recognize us. He tried to kill us, Kiln,” Fil said with astonishment.

  “It was not him. Of that you can be sure,” Kiln whispered softly. “Dykreel’s symbol is magically embedded in his chest, and you can bet that the Forsworn have a tight grasp on him as we speak.”

  “Can’t the priests get that evil thing out of him?”

  Kiln shook his head sadly.

  “Why hasn’t Shyann helped him? What are we going to do?” Fil asked pleadingly.

  Fil stared at Kiln, and for the first time he saw a look of uncertainty on the otherwise unwavering face of the warrior. “I don’t know,” was all he could say.

  Everyone was in audience…that is, everyone except Jonas. They were all allowed a day of rest from their long ordeal and now they sat around the large table in King Baylin Gavinsteal’s throne room. It was an impressive group.

  The dwarves of Dwarf Mount were represented by Master Trader Durgen, Ballick, and both Dakeen warriors.

  Kromm, the Tarsinian king, was sitting with his wife, Sorana, and their son, Prince Riker. Addalis, Kromm’s court wizard, sat to his left. They had all been given comfortable clothes befitting of royalty, and they now looked nothing like the ragged group that had stumbled into Finarth just a day ago.

  Allindrian sat next to Kromm. As a Blade Singer she represented the elves of Mel’un-riam. Word had been sent out many moons ago for help, but the elves from the north had not yet responded. No one was really surprised though. Elves were generally a reclusive race that rarely interacted with the other races of Kraawn. Still, everyone held out hope that some help would arrive from the fair skinned folk.

  The Finarthian assembly consisted of King Baylin Gavinsteal, General Ruthalis, General Gandarin, General Kuarin, Commander Kiln, Fil, and Alerion, the Finarthian court wizard. Manlin, high priest to Shyann, was sitting near the king wearing a long simple gray robe. A necklace of bright silver hung from his neck and dangling from the end was a medallion embossed with a beautiful blue and silver oak tree.

  “Thank you all for being here,” King Gavinsteal began. “I know that many of you have suffered hardships beyond imagination. We are living in a precarious time and a very real threat to our lives is only weeks from our gates. I am asking each and every one to help defend my city with the hope that we can stop Malbeck here, and prevent the foul stain of the Forsworn from spreading death and destruction to the rest of
Kraawn. I cannot do it alone, and I think that maybe we have all come together for this very purpose. We need to pool our resources, stand together, and end this here. Let us discuss the most recent events so that we may better plan our course of action. King Kromm, would you mind telling us what has befallen you and your family over the last few months?”

  Kromm leaned his giant torso forward and rested his muscled forearms on the solid oak table. His long blonde hair fell loosely behind his shoulders and he wore a simple but elegant crème colored tunic lined with purple and gold. “King Baylin, first I’d like to thank you for your hospitality. As you know, I have no place to call home any longer. Tarsis was destroyed by Malbeck and my people are either dead or scattered with the winds throughout the lands. I, my family, Allindrian, and most of my elite guard escaped. We ran for weeks deeper into the Tundrens, fighting the enemy along the way. We finally broke through the picket lines and I thought that we had a clear path to Cuthaine.”

  “Lord Kromm, if I may ask,” General Ruthalis interjected, “How did Malbeck’s army defeat you? Legend of your battle prowess is well known, and, if I may be so bold, it is hard to understand how your city was overrun so quickly.”

  “It is a fair question, General. We did not even know that Malbeck was beyond our gates. He used some type of magic to send a poisonous mist over our walls. The mist killed every guard throughout the entire city. In one stroke, Malbeck had eliminated thousands of my warriors and defeated the defenses that manned the gate. He had a wizard with him who was able to get inside the castle and open the gates after the guards had been killed. The mist masked all noise, and before we knew it we were being attacked in our beds. It’s a miracle that we made it out alive. In fact, we would not have if Allindrian had not warned us in time.” Kromm finished with a brief nod of acknowledgment to the Blade Singer.