The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow

by Jason McWhirter

  After seeing the wounds Hagar had suffered from the claws and teeth of the demon hound, he thought the strange beast had perished. When they had left him in the mountains he was unconscious and barely breathing. Jonas had done his best to heal him but the ogrillion’s wounds were terrible, and Jonas had been exhausted. He could do no more than seal the lacerations so he would not bleed to death. But Hagar had made it and somehow found his way to Finarth with the Free Legion. The ogrillion had not been allowed into the city and even Tuvallis and Jonas understood that precaution. His heritage and immense size, in close proximity with thousands of nervous people, was a recipe for disaster. So Hagar had been forced to set up camp in the forest near the city, while his friends, who were some of the most powerful warriors in Finarth, would bring him food and walk with him along the outer wall's edge. The idea was to get as many citizens and soldiers accustomed to seeing the ogrillion, for when the time came to bring him inside, which was sure to come soon, they hoped it would not create panic. The people of Finarth had thus grown more accustomed to seeing the beast, and he was becoming less of a worry, and more of an ordinary figure who was ready to face the enemy with them.

  When the survivors of the garrison battle arrived with the ogrillion they had come in with just under two thousand refugees. They had lost General Ruthallis, Sar-gathos, the elven Ekahal, Lord Dynure of Annure, and a thousand men and dwarves. Their severe losses were mostly the result of the deadly breath and claws of the mysterious demonic dragon. But, despite their terrible losses, they had given the Finarthians several more weeks to prepare the city, and everyone was working hard on their preparations so their deaths would not be in vain.

  “Father, I am trying,” Riker gasped, equally frustrated, as sweat poured off his brow. “The strength of your attack makes it difficult to keep the shield up.”

  “Do you think Malbeck will hit with any less power?” the king retorted.

  “No, sir,” Riker replied softly.

  Kromm relaxed subtly, realizing how hard he had been pushing his son. Riker was actually an excellent fighter, trained since he could walk by the best warriors in Tarsis, including himself. But he was young and lacked the experience and confidence needed for what was to come. It would do no good to berate him. “I’m sorry, son. Look, when the strike comes, try to angle your shield to deflect some of the power. You may even throw your opponent off balance. But you have to be constantly shifting your weight. Sword and shield work is a dance. Never get caught flat footed. The warrior is constantly shifting and adjusting his weight to better capitalize on movement and speed. It’s all balance, stay on the balls of your feet and be ready to adjust quickly.”

  Riker fought with his own armor, shield, and sword. Tihr-Alliam, the sword of light, was resting in its sheath under constant guard in his private chamber, along with the magical armor and shield. Riker had been allowed to draw the blade and he could still remember the feeling. He had heard a hum as he felt a pulse of energy shoot through him. He had never felt so alive, so confident, and so powerful. The sword had flared with a bright light that briefly blinded him before it receded into the mirror like finish of the blade. Kromm and King Baylin agreed it would not be wise to train with the blade in the open, but he could work with it in the evening inside and under guard. They could not risk a thief or assassin taking the blade, not after what they had gone through to get it. They had lost two Dakeen warriors, and soon they would lose Lor-telliam, the highest ranking Ekahal in their midst.

  They exchanged a few more blows and then Kromm came at Riker hard. He swung his blade in a powerful upward stroke before smashing it down with all his strength onto his son’s shield. Riker lifted the shield, taking the blow dead center, then quickly stepping to the right, angling the shield down and swinging his blade in a sideways arc towards his father. Kromm went with Riker’s momentum, spinning away at the last moment, away from his son’s blade.

  “Well done, boy!”

  “But I did not make contact,” Riker said, shaking his head in frustration.

  “No, and you’re not going to easily make contact with me, nor with Malbeck. But you threw me off balance. I had to spin away too narrowly avoid your blade. Well done indeed,” Kromm repeated as he gave his son an affectionate slap to the back.

  Riker was almost as tall as his father, though with a slightly less imposing frame. Kromm was heavy with solid muscle, while Prince Riker had longer limbs, like his mother. He had long strong arms with sinewy muscle, while Kromm’s resembled pythons, bulging and powerful. But their faces were spitting images, with long blonde hair that cascaded over fine narrow features and an angular jaw. Their eyes were ice blue splattered with gray, and they were so piercing that many found it difficult to look at them for too long.

  They were training in a small courtyard inside King Baylin’s inner castle. Stone walls rose up four stories from all sides, boxing in the duo as they fought across the cobblestones. Two guards stood at the west entrance, while another two watched the east entrance.

  Jonas walked through the west entrance, and the guards, recognizing him, quickly stepped aside. Kromm, seeing Jonas enter, stopped fighting and lowered his sword. Tulari was with him and the night wolf lay down quietly at his feet. But now she looked more like a large dog than a night wolf. Jonas had learned that she could indeed change her form to better match her surroundings. Her fur had been black and gray, but now it was more white and gray, reflecting the color of the various stones that made the giant city.

  “I heard the sounds of a swordfight, thought I could join in,” Jonas said with a smile. Prince Riker wiped the sweat from his brow and joined his father, smiling back at Jonas. Kromm had asked Jonas to come and help train his son. The Tarsinian king respected the young warrior and knew that he had spent over two years training with Kiln. That kind of experience was invaluable. But Kromm had not told Riker that he had invited Jonas to train with him. The young prince idolized Jonas, and if he had told him that he’d be crossing blades with the ex-cavalier he would have never heard the end of it. It would have distracted him from his own work with him. “You have some energy left in those muscles?” Jonas grinned.

  Riker stood up tall and looked at his father, then back at Jonas. “Yes, sir,” he said.

  “First, don’t call me sir, I’m only four years older than you and I was born a common village farmer,” Jonas said. “King Kromm, may I?” Jonas asked.

  “Of course. Listen well, son. Many noblemen would pay dearly to have a private lesson from a cavalier,” Kromm said, cutting Jonas’s retort off with a wave of his hand. “Jonas, you will always be a cavalier to me.”

  Jonas nodded appreciatively and tossed Riker a warm roll fresh from the baker’s oven. “Prince Riker, eat this and take water, then follow me. Let us take a walk.”

  “Yes, sir…I mean, Jonas,” Riker said, stumbling over his words.

  Riker followed Jonas out of the inner castle to the main city below. The two guards followed them and several more guards were ordered to do the same. By the time they left the inner castle and entered the city, there were five Finarthian knights following close by.

  The hungry prince quickly consumed the bread as they talked briefly about the cities fortifications, meandering through the packed city streets. The city was overflowing with people. Every spare space was now occupied. Every person was doing their part in preparing the city for Malbeck’s army. People were gathering water, food, and firewood, while others helped blacksmiths and engineers prepare the city’s defenses. All able bodied men and boys continued to train outside the walls in basic formation fighting.

  All people of Finarth, including the new refugees from Cuthaine, who were camped outside the gates, were now being brought inside. Some had set up temporary tents and sleeping areas on the ground between the first and second walls. This was the killing ground, designed to force any invaders who broke through the first wall to bunch up before the moat and come under archer fire from the defenders on the main inner
wall. But for now the space had to be occupied as every available space inside the city was already filled. People were sleeping in courtyards, alleys, and even the king’s rooms in his inner castle were occupied.

  The two young men were readily recognized by many of the people as they walked down the main road of the city. Jonas, even without his cavalier armor, had become quite a celebrity, and although the prince was a relative newcomer, his father, the legendary battle king, was well known. Many of the Finarthians could not help but gaze with admiration and hope at the duo, as they made their way through the city streets.

  “Where are we going?” the prince asked.

  “Right now we are just walking. What do you see?” Jonas asked the young prince.

  “Just a bunch of people,” Riker said as he scanned his surroundings.

  Jonas stopped and looked the prince in the eyes. “They are more than just a bunch of people. They are the reason why we are here, the reason we are defending this city. They are the reason that you must don ancient armor and take on the mantle of hero. These people are who Malbeck wants to destroy. They are the obstacle to his desires and they must be protected. Without them, the world as we know it will end.”

  Riker looked about more seriously, taking in the facial expressions of the men, women, and children that scurried about performing their tasks with practiced efficiency. “Do you think we can win?” Riker asked the young warrior.

  Jonas sighed. “It will be a…challenge,” Jonas said, picking the last word carefully. “But if situations were never bleak, then we would never need heroes. I am not much older than you, but I have seen things that no twenty one year old should have witnessed. I have been in situations that seemed hopeless, but the courage of the men and women who stood with me brought us through them. We will prevail. We have to prevail.”

  They continued their walk, crossing through the main gate and onto the massive bridge that spanned the moat, joining the countless refugees, soldiers, and merchants who continuously crossed the expanse as they went about their daily tasks.

  “Are you afraid to die?” Riker asked, surprising Jonas with the question.

  “I have been, but I am no longer. I have felt the cold grip of death several times, and from those experiences I was eventually able to accept the reality of my mortality, and to be at peace with the constant possibility of death associated with what I do. We are warriors, Prince, and you are of royal blood, both Finarthian and Tarsinian, and men such as we will frequently face death. But no less so than the farmer who scrapes his existence from the soil, barely surviving the harsh winters and roaming marauders while attempting to protect his family with little or no martial skill. Disease, famine, and brigands can kill just as easily as the claw of a demon or the spear of an enemy. A good friend once shared some wisdom with me, and now I will share it with you. You have more weapons than most to face the spectre of death. You are strong and from a line of great warriors. You are wise for your age and courage boils in your veins. You will face Malbeck, and you will live or die in the struggle. Only fate knows which. Do no fret over that which you have no control. Face your enemies with an iron will and courage in your heart. You will not be alone. The blades of Shyann,” Jonas said as he tapped the black handled swords that hung from his hip, “will be with you.”

  The prince was silent for a while as he took in Jonas’s words. By now they had moved outside the outer gate. Refugees were everywhere, hurriedly attempting the impossible task of taking down the tent city that had been erected over the last six months and moving everything inside the inner wall. Jonas stopped amidst the crowd and looked around intently.

  “What are you looking for?” Riker asked, wondering why they had walked here.

  “There they are,” Jonas said as he looked down the long outer wall that protected the city. Two men were sparring and Jonas immediately started walking towards them. One was Graggis, wearing his Finarthian armor and carrying his huge battle axe. The other was Fil who was holding an infantry shield and spear. Riker quickly caught up with Jonas and soon they were all standing together.

  “Prince Riker, you know Fil, but I’m not sure if you have met Captain Graggis, Third Lance of the Finarthian knights,” Jonas said.

  “Uh, yes, good to see you again, Fil,” Riker said as they gripped hands warrior style. “Graggis, sir, it is an honor to meet you,” Riker continued, gripping Graggis’s hand in the same manner. “I have heard much about you.”

  Graggis was famous in Finarth. Not just for his fighting prowess and sheer size, but also for his unorthodox behavior and the crazy sparkle in his eyes. Everyone in Finarth loved him, and all his enemies feared him.

  “Well met, Prince Riker,” Graggis growled. “So ya ready to feel my axe?” the burley warrior asked, hefting the impressive weapon.

  Riker glanced at Jonas uncertainly. “I thought I was training with you.”

  “You are, after you train with Fil and Graggis. It is rumored that Malbeck fights with a huge battle axe and a long magical spear. I have seen no better than Fil with a spear, and Graggis, well, by the look in your eyes you have already heard about his axe. You need to be prepared for what you will face. They will help you do so. And so will I. But you and I will start tomorrow, as I believe you will not be fit to train further today,” Jonas said over Graggis’s chuckle. “I will train with you daily. And we will try to find some time in the busy schedules of these two warriors to work with you as well,” Jonas said. “You ready?”

  Riker nodded his head and turned determinedly towards Fil and Graggis. He drew his long sword and held his shield up high. “I’m ready.”

  “Now! Position one!” Allindrian yelled. One hundred bows came up and held their arrows nocked at full draw while the Blade Singer inspected the line of women. She had recruited these women from over five hundred volunteers. Most were young, in their twenties, but some were well beyond that. There were several that were in their fifties but they were strong and fit from working long hours on their farms while bearing and raising children along the way. Hard work and lack of resources had not allowed them the luxury of vanity, so most were not much to look at, but that mattered not when it came to combat. They could draw the training bow, and they had shown courage just by volunteering. “Janniss, a bit higher,” Allindrian encouraged as she quickly inspected the line.

  A small diminutive girl, maybe eighteen years of age, lifted her shaking arms to the correct position. She was struggling to hold the position, as were many others, but they more or less got the position correct this time. Allindrian had been working with them for a week now and she figured she had two, maybe three more weeks to prepare them. In one more week each volunteer would take fifty more women and train them. Hopefully they could eventually end up with several thousand decent archers.

  After she had walked down the entire line she gave the order to fire. One hundred arrows flew from the bows and arced into the air towards their targets. She had painted handfuls of rocks and placed them intermittently along lines all the way across the expansive grass clearing outside the outer wall. It had taken a group of several hundred women to perform the task. The white rocks marked one hundred paces while the red rocks beyond were placed an additional hundred paces further. The idea was that each position of the bow and arrow marked a specific angle, one that would carry the arrows the correct distance to one of the colors. Position one would propel the arrows to the white rocks, position two would carry them to the red rocks, while position three would take them a hundred yards further.

  The arrows flew true, most landing along the line of white rocks. “Nock and draw! Position three!” Tired arms set their arrows and brought their bows up to a higher position. Fatigue had begun to make them clumsy and Allindrian had to wait a few seconds to allow everyone to reach the correct position. Several of the women had dropped their arrows and had to hastily grab another. She walked quickly down the line and helped a few of the women adjust their bows. And although most of their arms s
hook from the strain of the intense training, they gritted their teeth and doggedly struggled to follow Allindrian's instructions, not wanting to disappoint the Blade Singer. They looked up to her with the utmost respect and admiration, and were very grateful that she had given them the opportunity to take part in the battle to come. When she reached Janniss again she saw that the poor girl was trembling so badly that she had lowered her bow and was shaking out her right arm.

  “I’m sorry, Blade Singer. I’m not very strong,” the young girl said.

  “Fire!” Allindrian yelled, not wanting to hold up the others any longer. They released the shafts and the black arrows shot into the sky in a long arc, pounding into the ground all around the marking stones. “Take rest,” she said as she turned back toward the young girl. She was plain, but not unpleasant to look at. Her strawberry blond hair was pulled back and tightly secured with a leather thong. Her round face made her appear even younger than she was. She had sky blue eyes and a dusting of freckles across her cheeks. Her nose was small, though a bit pudgy, and her lips were thin. But when she smiled she exposed two rows of beautiful straight white teeth. “It’s okay, Janniss, you’ve only been training for a week. What did you do before these troubled times?”

  “I was apprenticed to my father who was a tailor at Gromsweld, a small town just south of the Gildren Garrison.”

  “Can you make clothes of silk?” Allindrian asked.

  “Oh no, not yet anyway. Silk is very expensive and difficult to work with. Only a master tailor can work with it well.”

  “And how long have you been an apprentice?”

  “Ever since I can remember.”

  “Mastering the bow is the same. It will take you many months just to gain the strength in your arms and shoulders to wield a bow comfortably, then years to fully master speed and accuracy. Do not fret about your skill, Janniss, you have just begun,” Allindrian said reassuringly.