Child of the Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “If she doesn’t there are people who would support the hero.”

  “Peasants do not fare well against armed soldiers.”

  Vilios shook his head. “Not peasants. The Guild Companies.” A nervous grin crossed his face. “They are ready.”

  Nidon stared off across the room. He could feel Vilios’s expectant gaze upon him. Slowly, Nidon shook his head. “I won’t do it.”

  “But it can be done! The queen cannot stop both your force of men and the combined strength of the guild companies.”

  “Lower your voice,” Nidon grumbled.

  Vilios blanched and lowered his head. “Nobody heard,” he muttered.

  “It is not that it can’t be done. It is not that it shouldn’t be done,” Nidon said. “I am concerned about who is doing it. I will not lead the commons in a revolt against the nobles.”

  “It is not against the nobles.” Vilios leaned close, his voice insistent. “It is against the illegitimate tyrant, Ilana.”

  “If there is a problem, it must be dealt with in a proper, lawful manner.”

  “Lawful? What does she care for lawful?” Vilios’s face grew red. “She breaks laws at a whim.”

  “Justice will not be served by a common revolt.”

  “You are not common! You are Champion of Salador. It is for you to uphold the law.”

  “Don’t presume to tell me my duty.” Nidon’s voice grew hard. “I will not be the one who puts it into the head of the common people that they might rise up in rebellion against their legitimate rulers.”

  “Don’t be thick, man!”

  Cold anger spread through Nidon’s chest. Vilios must have seen it and immediately stammered, “My apologies, Sir Nidon. I meant no insult.”

  “Leave. Now. Or things will go ill for you. And believe me, if I see any sign of revolt I will be the first to side with the queen and put you down.”

  “I—”

  “Leave. Not another word.”

  Vilios hastily pushed back his chair and departed. Nidon drank off the last of his wine, ignoring the glances of those in the room who had noticed the abrupt end to his meeting.

  He could do it. The tournament would be the perfect opportunity. The queen would be out of her keep and vulnerable. With the guild companies and his own men behind him he could seize her and find out the truth about King Boradin.

  But what if the truth was that the king was ill? What if the queen, although not as wise as some would wish, was the legitimate regent?

  No, he would follow the course he had planned. The lawful course. He would win his fight and use his reforged status as Champion to reveal the king. He stared into the cold fireplace, imagining the fight. He could expect no mercy. Ragos would try to kill him, but he could not kill Ragos.

  It was an additional challenge to a fight he was already not certain he would win.

  Nidon stood, but his head reeled and his legs nearly gave out from under him. He sat heavily in his chair, hoping that none had noticed his near fall.

  He had only had two cups of wine. And it hadn’t been particularly strong, at that. Maybe it was the fatigue of his bouts that morning catching up to him. Or both.

  Taking it slower, he stood again. His legs felt weak and unsteady. To hide his consternation, he brushed off the front of his shirt and adjusted his sword belt.

  Slowly, he made his way to the stairs, where leaning heavily on the banister, he made his way up. Each step seemed a struggle and a great weariness hung over him. He needed sleep. He had to be rested for the tournament.

  Nidon paused at the top of the stairs. He glanced down to the table where he had just been seated. A kitchen girl was clearing the plates. Have I been poisoned? Or was the wine more potent than I thought. I am certainly not used to such good stuff.

  Listing to one side, Nidon made his way down the short hall to his room. Every few paces his placed his hand on the wall to steady himself.

  One more day and I’ll ride away from here. One more day and I can rest all I want.

  He fumbled at his belt for the room key, and with some trouble unlocked the door. The room was dark, but he didn’t bother with a lamp. Instead he stumbled the last few steps and fell onto his bed.

  Poison? Drugs? He tried to call for Rayne, but it only came out as a whisper. His mind grew fuzzy. Just tired. He closed his eyes and the green forest of Landomere appeared around him.

  I’ll be with you soon, Hadde.

  Chapter Twenty

  Hadde woke with the afternoon sun on the side of her face. She lay on her stomach, her right hand dangling over the edge of the stone table and into the pond. She blinked a few times and grimaced with discomfort. How long had she slept?

  She lifted her head and saw the spirit bird lying in front of her, unmoving. Hadde frowned. What happened? She’s dead. Hadde withdrew her hand from the water and reached out to stroke the bird. The silken feathers were smooth, but no longer gleamed as they had in life.

  I die for you, the voice had said, and we are one. You die for me, and our spirit will be free.

  Only then did Hadde notice her left hand clutched something. She remembered the Spiridus Token and raised her head to look at it. She gasped as she beheld not only the token, its chain wrapped around her hand, but a bloody crossbow bolt.

  Hadde sat upright and stared at her shoulder. Sticky, dark blood covered it, and most of the right side of her body. She dropped the bolt and shoved her tunic collar aside, but couldn’t get a clear view of the wound. Gently at first, and then harder, she probed her shoulder.

  The wound had healed over. Her shoulder ached, but the wound was gone. Landomere has healed me. Her eyes were drawn back to the lifeless spirit bird. But at what cost? Was the Great Spirit dead? Had she given her life to save Hadde? It couldn’t be so. Their whole mission was to rescue Orlos so that Landomere would be saved.

  Or was it just that the spirit bird had died? Just this single manifestation of the Great Spirit has been sacrificed to save me.

  “Thank you,” Hadde said, at first to the bird, and then again, louder, to the whole Spiridus Glade. There was no reply.

  The smell of her own blood, and the stickiness of it against her, brought her from her musings. Hadde pulled off her sword belt and lay it on the stone next to her. And then, gingerly, she pulled her tunic and shirt over her head. She expected searing pain from her shoulder, but there was only a dull ache.

  Only a tender red welt remained where the bolt had impaled her. Hadde raised her arm and moved it in a circle. Her shoulder ached terribly, but her movement was unhindered.

  Her ribs. Hadde glanced down. They were healed as well. A long white scar marked where the bolt had cut her open. She pressed her hand against her ribcage and pushed. Sore, but healed.

  The Great Spirit had healed Hadde. For one purpose. Hadde raised the token. Twin to the token ancient Orlos had worn and that Maret now wore. And although she hadn’t known it the first time she had found it, the token’s message had been, return Orlos to Landomere.

  If Hadde failed, the Great Spirit would die. And the Forest of Landomere with her. What the Wasting had failed to do, Baron Grax would do. And how would Hadde save Enna and Orlos? How would she save Maret? Who would help her?

  I die for you. Was the Great Spirit’s strength gone? Had she used all of it in gathering its animal army? And in healing Hadde? Magical healing was no easy task. Even the Orb of Creation had only been capable of so much.

  “Me, a strange horse, and my sword,” Hadde said. She glanced up at the Idorian horse. It remained very close to where Hadde had fallen from it, munching everbloom. And what about Calen? Was he still alive? He had fought at last, and bravely. But had his pursuers caught him?

  She hoped he had ridden on to Belavil. Coming back to find her alone would just take time they didn’t have. Calen needed to find the Landomeri gathered in Belavil and tell them of their plight.

  How much time had she lost? A wave of fear washed over her. Had she slept a day or mor
e? No. My own blood is still wet on my clothes. It would have dried.

  The Great Spirit’s attack had failed. But the Idorians had been hit hard. They would have wounded to tend to and horses to find. They could not have stolen a march on her. She didn’t have time to waste, though. The horsemen had pursued her some distance.

  Hadde glanced across the pond at the horse. It looked to be a good mount. It had run well the night before, as best she could remember. She could catch the Idorians, but what would she do when she found them?

  Hadde stripped off the rest of her clothing and eased into the pond. It was cool, very cool. But she couldn’t bear the blood and filth that covered her. Quickly, she took her clothes and washed them in the pool, using the stone as a scrubbing board to rub and beat the clothes against. She couldn’t get all of the bloodstains out, but did the best she could.

  The work warmed her against the chill of the pool. There would be no time to dry them, but in short time the summer sun would be up and the wet clothes would be a relief. She felt the effort in her shoulder and ribs. There was no doubt she was healed, but not completely. Can I even draw a bow? Not Talon, I think. Not that I even have a bow.

  As best she could, she wrung out her clothes, and after putting the token’s golden chain over her head, she took up her low boots, clothes, and sword belt and waded to shore. The horse watched her approach, but other than the horse, Hadde saw no sign of animal life.

  Hadde stood still and listened. Silence. The forest was dead silent. Even the everbloom filling the Spiridus Glade was listless, wilted. The Great Spirit was fading, or dead, and with her went Landomere.

  After giving them one more good squeeze, Hadde put on her breechcloth, leggings, shirt and tunic. She hadn’t bothered to unbraid her hair. There was no time for brushing, not that she had a brush to her name.

  But even healed of her wounds Hadde was hungry and weak. She went to the horse, hoping for a stroke of luck, but there were no saddlebags on it, only a leather case with a score or so crossbow bolts in it. No crossbow, of course.

  She pulled on her boots and cinched her sword belt around her waist. No bow and an empty quiver. What could she do to slow the Idorians? At least she was healed. Landomere had given her that. Water would be no issue. There were many streams in Landomere. And sweetberries were in season. She could survive on those for a time.

  Hadde patted the Idorian horse’s neck and then inspected her new mount. Big and strong, but not as large as some of the warhorses she had seen knights riding. Food would be no issue, as long as they could find everbloom.

  She put her foot in the stirrup and mounted. She would scout the Saladoran camp and see what she could discover there. And maybe she could find some way to slow their retreat. Pitfalls and traps, maybe? But she would have to rely on the Saladorans following exactly the path she expected.

  Ride hard, Calen. We need you. And where were the Long Meadow hunters? They had to be close as well. Her father would brook no delay in the pursuit. They have to be close. They must be.

  Hadde tapped the horse into a trot. It was time for the pursuit to begin again.

  ***

  The battle site was a bloody, burned ruin. Dead animals lay where they had perished to Idorian bolts and sword blows. A smoking funeral pyre held charred, half-burned remains of the fallen Idorians.

  Hadde turned away from the gruesome sight and saw yet another fire. Even less successful than the funeral pyre, this fire had been smothered by the Idorians’ effort to burn everything they could not carry off with them.

  Hadde saw saddles, spears, and tent poles on the smoldering pile. Several arrows lay strewn on the ground, dumped from a quiver in someone’s haste to throw it into the fire.

  Riding closer, Hadde saw the burned remains of fine Landomeri composite bows low in the pile. “Dromost take them, those were good bows.”

  Flames licked out from under the gear, and it appeared the fire might finally be taking hold. She was about to turn away when she spotted a closed bowcase balanced against one of the saddles near the edge of the fire.

  Hadde dismounted and stepped atop a saddle at the edge of the fire and grasped the bowcase’s strap. It was hot, but she yanked the case from the fire and threw it on the ground behind her. From its weight, she knew it contained a bow.

  She shook her hand against the pain as she hopped from the saddle. The bowcase was partially singed, but otherwise it was intact. She let the strap cool for a dozen heartbeats and then picked it up and took it a few strides from the fire to where her horse patiently stood.

  Hadde recognized the case’s patterned embossing. It was Bera’s. A good bow, much lighter than Talon, though. She untied the straps holding the hood closed, hoping that the bow was undamaged. Heat was good for a bow. It could dry out the sinew, restoring its draw weight. But too much heat could damage the wood.

  She drew the warm bow from the case. It was unstrung and appeared sound. She wouldn’t be certain until she strung it, but she wouldn’t attempt that until it had completely cooled. She ran her hand down the back of the bow, feeling for cracked sinew.

  A composite bow was a beautiful, powerful weapon. But the smallest crack, or even too much moisture and it could fail disastrously at full draw. Her father had a scar from where a piece of shattered bow had cut his temple. All seemed well and she put it back in its case. At least it was light enough she could string it by herself. Talon was nearly impossible to string alone.

  She had a bow, but no arrows. The case’s narrow quiver was empty. Remembering the discarded arrows by the fire, she managed to scavenge only six intact arrows. More had been stepped on and broken. She took them all, even though there was little hope she could make new ones.

  A bow and six arrows. It would have to do.

  There was nothing else to salvage, so Hadde mounted her horse and set off in pursuit of the Idorians. How long had they stayed after the battle? Long enough, at least, to build the pyre and burn the equipment they could no longer carry. She was a half day behind, at least.

  Hadde pushed her horse hard. She had never been to the northern border of Landomere, but she knew it wasn’t far. One day? Two? Once the Idorians left the Great Forest there was little hope Enna, Orlos, or Maret could be saved.

  She hoped Calen had ridden free. He had to find help. He had to find Father and the other Long Meadow hunters. They couldn’t be far behind. Or maybe Calen would go to Belavil. There would be even more hunters there. But would they come?

  Hadde dismounted near a patch of sweetberries and ate the bushes clean. Nearby, the horse ate wilted everbloom.

  Not wilted. Dead. Dead because Landomere gave her life for me. Hadde picked one of the delicate white flowers and put it to her nose. She still smelled the light, joyful fragrance—the smell of hope. But it was faded. Less than it had been before. She will return. One last gift from me and the Great Spirit will live again. The gift can only be Orlos.

  Hadde knelt by the horse and they both drank from the same stream. The water was cool and she splashed it over her head. She stared into the water for a moment, gathering herself. There could be no failure. She could not live without Enna. Her people could not live without the Great Spirit. And the Great Spirit could not live without Orlos. The odds did not matter. Hadde’s life did not matter. All that mattered was saving the children and her friend.

  Before she remounted, Hadde took Bera’s bow from its case and strung it. There were no tell-tale tics as she stressed the wood and sinew. She drew it full and held it for a few heartbeats before gently letting it back. It seemed sound. As long as it doesn’t break mid-fight.

  Hadde remounted and set off to find the Idorians. She wasn’t sure what she would do when she found them. Attack? She had only six arrows to her name.

  The horse was strong, but it was no Quickstep. Hadde doubted the Idorians did much archery at the gallop the way the horse bounced along when she pushed it to a canter. But it was well trained and responsive to her commands. It would have
to do.

  Evening came, still without a sight of the Idorians. Hadde dismounted from her exhausted horse and led it through the forest at a walk. She wouldn’t stop when night fell. If she were going to do something, to make some attempt, it would be best done in full dark.

  Even in the depths of the night it was no challenge following the Idorians. Thirty or more horses churned the forest floor so greatly any novice hunter could follow them. It was their pace that was the danger. How big a lead did they have?

  Hadde fought off her fatigue and pushed herself faster. Once during the night she found another patch of sweetberries and ate a handful. And twice more she found streams to drink from. But for those few pauses, she forced herself after the Idorians.

  It was near dawn when she found their camp. Smoke still rose from their fires, but they were gone. Perhaps they had just paused to eat and rest their horses for a while. Whatever they had done, she was too late.

  Hadde dismounted near one of the fire circles. The embers were so hot she could have cooked over them—if she had any food. Hadde mounted and rode after them. She rode with an arrow nocked and ready to loose in an instant. They had to be close. She was certain of it.

  For a time she rode cautiously, certain she would catch the Idorians at any moment. But then she realized they weren’t as close as she had thought. She urged her mount to a canter. The Idorians were moving quickly.

  The border is close. They wish to escape Landomere today.

  The thought drove Hadde even faster. She had to catch them. And when she did she would loose her few arrows in one last effort to slow them. She imagined Father and the other Landomeri arriving just in time to cut off the Idorian retreat. When they attacked she would ride in and lead Maret and the children to safety.

  Hadde blinked her eyes open and shook her head to clear her thoughts. Had she fallen asleep? Then she heard a horse whinny and the sound of male voices and her heart froze.

  There was an Idorian near her, riding with his head bowed forward. Riding asleep. Just as I was. Not far beyond him she saw more Idorians. And Grax. He still wore his white tabard, although it was not so white as before.