by Matt Heppe
He couldn’t find it. The varcolac’s leg was in the way and Nidon’s sword belt had turned. The varcolac seized Nidon’s visor again, and with his other hand struck Nidon another blow.
Nidon’s vision darkened. Then he found the long rondel Garrun had given him. Nidon drew it and plunged it into Ragos’s side.
Ragos bellowed in fury, and struck Nidon again. And again. Over and over they traded blows.
Then the world went black.
***
A child cried nearby. In the distance, the rumble of thunder. Nidon blinked his eyes open, but his helm was still askew and he could see nothing. How long have I been here?
The varcolac lay atop him, unmoving. Ragos was dead. It took all Nidon’s strength, but he rolled the varcolac off. And then Nidon removed his own gauntlets and helm and for a moment lay back in the muddy road gulping in fresh air.
He just wanted to lie there. His head pounded with his heartbeat, as if a spike were being driven through it. He wanted to sleep again. But nearby Hadde’s child cried. Nidon pushed through his pain and fatigue and got to his knees. The child struggled against the sodden blanket cocooning her. Near her lay her mother. Nidon closed his eyes and looked away.
Not yet. Not yet. The child.
Nidon shuffled over to the baby and lifted her from the mud. Her cries were weak and she shivered from the cold. Nidon took her to Storm and held her over his shoulder as he opened his panniers and pulled out a wool blanket. In moments he had stripped her of her wet quilt and wrapped her close in his horse blanket.
He glanced over his shoulder to where Hadde lay. A sob broke from his lips. He took a deep breath to compose himself, but tears poured from his eyes instead.
Nidon stumbled across the road to Hadde and fell to his knees by her head. He held her daughter close to him. She had stopped crying, but he could not control his own tears. He sat on the road and cradled the baby in his lap.
“I love you, Hadde,” he said. He reached out and brushed away some of the wet locks that crossed her face. Her eyes were closed. He couldn’t have borne it if they hadn’t been.
“Gods! If I had only known it was you on the road. Together we could have saved your baby. And then…”
And then we would have gone away together.
“Gods! But did you even think of me? What was I to you? I am such a fool, and now you are gone.”
The baby was asleep. He stared down at the peaceful face and saw Hadde in it. The queen would not stop hunting the child. Nor would Morin. They both wanted her for their games. She would never know peace.
The sky grew lighter. The rain had stopped and still the child slept. So tired. She does not deserve this. But they will never stop hunting her. They will burn Landomere looking for her.
Unless you are not in Landomere.
Nidon stared at Hadde’s restful face. “I will keep her safe, Hadde. I swear to you, so long as I shall live, no harm will come to her.”
Chapter Forty-one
Maret strolled along a path on the highest reaches of Belavil. Bright white everbloom surrounded her, lining the paths and filling the gardens. Its scent filled her heart with hope for the future.
The Great Spirit lives again.
Below her, the Landomeri worked at rebuilding the ancient stone homes the spiridus had inhabited centuries before. Others tended to the terraced gardens planted in the summer when the decision had first been made to return to the great city.
Orlos was awake and alert in her arms. His bright eyes took everything in. Everyone adored him. The last spiridus. But to her he was just a fat baby.
The sound of falling water serenaded her wherever she walked. Some thought it simply the end of the Wasting that had started the water flowing again, but most knew the truth. It was the return of the spiridus.
“Maret,” Calen’s voice called from behind her. He dismounted from his mud-spattered horse and walked to her.
He was exhausted. It showed clear on his face. And on his body as well. He had had a rough time of it.
“Any word? Did you find her?” Maret’s heart thudded in her chest. But hope died at the expression on his face.
“It is hard. The Saladorans hate us – at least the nobles and soldiers do. We have to be careful everywhere we go.”
“But what of Enna?”
He shook his head. “We tried. Arno is still out there. He sent me back. But… well, I’m afraid the trail is cold.”
“But she is still alive. Tell me she is.”
Calen shook his head. “We hope so. We don’t know.”
Maret made no reply, she just stared off over the forest. Hadde’s death left a great emptiness in her life. An emptiness in her heart. Finding Enna would not fill that hole, but it would give her death some meaning. They could love Enna the way they had loved Hadde.
Orlos reached up and tugged at her braid. She looked down at him and stroked his cheek.
“There is an Idorian here to see you,” Calen said, breaking into her thoughts. “His name is Kael. He was one of the men—”
“I know him,” Maret said, smiling. “Kael is a good man. He helped save Orlos.”
“I’ll send him up.” Calen strode to his horse and sprang into the saddle. With a shout, he galloped off, too fast for the winding path down through the city.
Not really a city. Too light and beautiful. Too much nature to be a city.
Maret walked to her home. It was on the highest ring of the city. The Landomeri had insisted that she live there. They would never let Orlos be stolen away again.
The hike was inconvenient if she ever wanted to go down to the forest. But the view was spectacular. High above the great oaks, she could see… forever.
In the sky above the forest, a spirit bird whirled and dove, playing in the breeze. The sunlight shone on her feathers so that they seemed to glow in silver and gold. Maret smiled at the sight.
On a path below her Kael approached with four escorting hunters. “Hello, Maret,” Kael called, waving up to her.
“Hello, Kael!” She waved in reply. He just wore simple linen and wool Saladoran clothes. He looked thinner than before, but healthy. The four hunters were all armed. He was not.
Maret turned to the Landomeri escorts as they approached. “Thank you for bringing my friend to me. You can go take your ease.”
“But he is—”
“A friend. He saved Orlos. He saved me.”
The Landomeri didn’t want to leave, it was clear. “Go ahead. I am safe with Kael.”
They reluctantly departed. Well, not entirely, Maret noted. They were still in easy bowshot.
“They worry for you,” Kael said.
“They worry for Orlos.”
“He looks healthy,” Kael said, looking at Orlos.
Maret glanced down at her smiling son. “He’s a good boy.” She couldn’t help but think of little Enna and the corners of her mouth turned down. She couldn’t help herself. Tears filled her eyes.
“I am sorry for the loss of your friend.”
Maret nodded, but didn’t try to speak. She looked down at Orlos and tried to hold back her tears.
“I looked for little Enna,” Kael said. “The Saladorans don’t have her.”
“You are certain?” Maret said, looking up.
“I am. The people I spoke with would have known. She’ll be found and she’ll come back to you.”
Maret sniffled and forced a smile. “I hope so.”
“When I leave here, I will search for her again. There are places I can go where the Landomeri cannot.”
“Thank you, Kael. You are good to us.”
“When she’s found I would like to come back.” He paused and gazed over the terraces and ancient ruins. “This is a wondrous place. I am glad that you and Orlos are safe here.”
“You will always be welcome here.”
The sun was low on the horizon. The tops of the great oaks shone in the light. They made a carpet of leaves that looked as if you could almost w
alk on it. A cool summer breeze made waves appear to roll across the treetops.
“Will you go back to Captain Saunder?” Maret asked. “Or will you do something else?”
“I don’t know what I will do next. I thought a lot of you while I was recovering,” Kael said. “I wanted to see how you and Orlos were. I’m glad you escaped.”
“I’m glad you lived. And I am glad you came here. Now I can thank you for saving us.”
“Ah, Captain’s orders, you know.”
“That’s why you almost died for us? All in a day’s work?”
He paused a moment, glancing past her, before meeting her eyes again. “Maybe there was more to it,” he said. He smiled and offered his hand to her.
“I’m glad there was,” she said, taking his hand in hers.
The spirit bird swooped closer and then circled overhead. It shone brightly and it almost appeared that a trail of light followed it as it flew.
Orlos wriggled in Maret’s arms, cooing and laughing as he reached out towards the bird.
The spirit bird wheeled and dove, calling out with a cry like a hawk. To Maret it was a joyous, victorious call. The bird plunged closer and then spread its wings and, catching a breeze, soared into the clear summer sky.
I am with you, a voice said. I will always be with you.
Fresh tears came to Maret’s eyes. She knew the voice. Hadde’s voice.
Epilogue
The big farmer looked over his handiwork and shook his head. They weren’t the straightest rows he had ever seen. In fact, they were downright crooked.
He was sure it was the mule’s fault.
Nearby a little girl toddled around the yard chasing a chicken. She wore a green linen dress that he still needed to tailor. But he was proud of his work nonetheless.
She had brown eyes, and dark brown hair. He had pulled her hair into a ponytail on top of her head to keep it out of the way. It looked like something a crazed Tysk warrior would wear.
She laughed as the chicken ran away.
He swept her up in his arms and she giggled.
Their house was stoutly built. Two stories, the lower stone, the upper heavy timber. The roof was almost all slate, except where he had used wooden shingles to repair it. He’d fix it properly when he had time.
It was too big for two people. But it was secure, and out of the way. Not the kind of place someone would wander up to. It had taken a good bit of work to make it livable. The Wasting had not been kind to it.
But he had done it. He had done it for her. He had made a promise.
“Time for a bath, stinky.”
He carried her to the door, trotting like a horse, a particularly large warhorse, perhaps. He made horsey noises all the way. She laughed with a child’s glee.
They got to the door and he reached his free hand up and took the Idorian axe from the peg high above where she might reach it.
Before entering the house, he gave one last glance down the valley to make certain that it was clear.
Acknowledgements
I could not have published Child of the Knight without the help of several people who are very special to me.
First and foremost I want to thank my critique partner, Mike Shultz. He has been a part of this novel through every stage and his contributions were invaluable.
My editors, Ann Emery and Jackie Reeder, were tremendously important when it came to turning a rough manuscript into a novel. They cut the unneeded paragraphs, polished the rough edges, and I cannot thank them enough for their hard work.
Joan Shal copyedited the novel, catching my many spelling, punctuation, and grammar errors. Of course I made changes after her last sweep and probably managed to insert a few new mistakes. All errors are mine.
Carol Heppe, Cindy Kirschenmann, Harvey Lapp, Kelsey Tarzia, and Robin Tarzia served as my beta readers. My sincere thanks for your corrections and suggestions.
Ken Henrix revamped the Eternal Knight cover as well as creating a new cover for Child of the Knight. Steve Sandford is responsible for the amazing map. Both men are wonderful artists. Thank you for sharing your talents with me.
Once again, I’d like to thank my dad for teaching me the positive attitude and goal-setting skills that carried this project to its conclusion.
I’d like to thank my wife for her patience as we went through this process once again. I love you.
Child of the Knight is dedicated to my mother. She started my love of reading. It is a gift I cannot thank her enough for.
You can find me on the web at:
mattheppe.blogspot.com
Facebook:
facebook.com/mattheppeauthor
Twitter:
@mattheppe
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