The Stone of Mercy

by M. J. Evans

  The sun had passed its zenith when the group rounded the eastern shore of the lake. Carling squinted as they marched toward the sun. Within the hour, the walls of a great fort came into view. The entire stronghold was contained behind a wall of thick timbers. The wall was so high, no buildings were visible, but arrow slits chiseled out every so often for viewing and defending were evident. Fort Heilodius looked formidable.

  In the center of the south wall, a large iron gate guarded the entrance to the city. It was currently raised, but several Centaurs in the black tunics of the Heilodius herd, holding bows with arrows nocked, stood guard. Recognizing Clank, they lowered their arrows, nodded their heads, and let them all enter. The guards’ eyes zeroed in on Carling and Higson, examining them closely as they passed.

  Carling felt their eyes piercing her and a shiver went through her body. Tibbals must have felt it, for she said, “We’ll be okay, Carling. Don’t worry.” Carling couldn’t tell if her friend really believed that or not, but she appreciated her effort to offer comfort.

  Once they got past the fort entrance, the group entered a large courtyard. Several Heilodius Centaurs in their black uniforms were marching in formation, their hooves clanging on the stones that covered the open space.

  Around the square, shabbily built structures leaned against one another, holding each other up. Some appeared to be shops that sold armaments and other supplies, while others were inns offering food and drinks. Drinks, mostly.

  Clank led them on a circuitous route, circumventing the military drills, until they were on the opposite side of the courtyard. Here, he headed up a narrow passageway. As they passed the villagers, most of them stallions, Carling couldn’t help but notice the sorrowful, downtrodden appearance of everyone they saw. The mares seemed especially demoralized. There was only sadness in their downcast eyes. Carling tried to reach them with the only thing she had to offer: a smile. Nothing was offered in return.

  The winding street took them to a building of much more substance than the sloppily constructed shacks that lined the square. This building was made of irregular stones in shades of brown and gray that appeared to have been hastily but securely fitted together. The roof was covered with pieces of slate in dark and light gray. No windows adorned the walls on this side of the garrison. Guards were visible as they marched across the rooftop. Watchmen stood stiff and straight on either side of another iron door built into the lower level of the edifice. Carling found it hard to believe that the same race that had created the magnificent city of Minsheen would also have created the collection of hovels they’d just passed as well as this monstrosity. The lack of artistry and craftsmanship should have offended her Duende blood. Instead, the sight of this imposing, massive structure filled her with nothing but dread.

  Clank halted in front of the heavy, solid door. “We desire to see the Commander.”

  “Your business?” asked one of the guards.

  Clank’s mouth curled into a sneer as he snarled, “We have valuable prisoners to turn over to him.”

  “Wait here.” One of the watchmen opened the iron door and disappeared into the foreboding building.

  Clank growled under his breath and started pacing. Carling let her eyes follow him, convinced that impatience and pride would surely one day contribute to his downfall. She realized she was actually feeling sorry for him. Her hand flew to her chest and she pressed the feeling deep inside. She didn’t want to feel any compassion for such a terrible creature…the creature that had killed her parents and then laughed about it. She felt a tear trickle down her cheek and leave a salty trail on her skin.

  The door swung open and the watchman stepped out. With a sweeping motion of his arm, he said, “The Commander will see you now.”

  Head and chin high, Clank stomped past him as he led his band of followers into the citadel.

  The large room they entered was windowless. An overhead chandelier of candles provided the only light. The air was thick and heavy and smelled of damp mold and mildew. The Centaurs’ hooves clattered on the rough stone floor. They were missing the disciplined, rhythmic marching of the solders drilling in the square. It occurred to Carling that she may have been taken captive by a ragtag vigilante group.

  They wound their way down several curving halls, past closed doors and open stairways. Carling and Higson had dismounted from their Centaurs, and now Carling walked beside Tibbals in silence. Wondering what her friend might be thinking, she looked up at her, but Tibbals was looking straight ahead, her jaw clenched.

  Taking her eyes off where she was headed proved to be a poor decision for Carling as her foot caught the sharp edge of a stone in the uneven floor. She fell forward with a cry, catching herself with her hands and scraping her palms and knees.

  Higson was immediately by her side. “Carling! Are you alright?”

  Before Carling could answer, Clank turned around. “Get up and get moving!”

  Higson helped her up and watched with concern on his face as Carling brushed herself off. They continued on. They had no other choice.

  At last they stopped in front of a set of double doors set into an arched entryway. Clank pounded loudly on the thick planks of wood. Hoof beats were heard coming toward the door. With a creak of rusty hinges and the scrape of wood on stone, the door opened.

  “You may enter,” the Centaur who’d opened the door said, glaring at them.

  Carling wondered why everyone at Fort Heilodius seemed so angry.

  Once through the doorway, Carling and her companions found themselves in a large, windowless room. A fireplace at the side provided some welcome warmth, and tapestries depicting Centaurs in battle added some color and even softness to the stone walls.

  Directly in front of them was a piece of furniture that could only be described as a throne. It stood on a raised dais. Lounging across the long padded cushions of the throne was the largest Centaur Carling had ever seen. His body was brown and a long, black tail curled around in front of him, lying across his folded legs.

  The human-like part of the huge Centaur’s body was covered with the black tunic Carling recognized as the uniform preferred by the Heilodius herd. It covered a chest of bulging muscles. However, this tunic was also decorated with a sparkling silver insignia of a crown encircled by stars. The Centaur’s hair was as silver as the symbol on his chest. His dark eyes peered at them beneath bushy silver eyebrows. His strong, square jaw was clean shaven, and his thin lips were pressed into a straight line.

  The Centaur’s strong arms held a silver scepter that he lowered until it was pointing directly at the intruders. “For what purpose have you disturbed me?” he asked, his voice deep and gravelly.

  Clank stepped in front of the group and bowed. “Commander, we have taken these members of the Minsheen herd and these Duende captive. We brought them to you to decide their fate.”

  “And just what possessed you to capture them?” the Commander asked.

  Clank spun around and grabbed Carling and Higson. He shoved them forward. “These two Duende are responsible for an attack on my men.”

  Carling looked up at Clank, then back at the Commander. “We were only trying to protect the young fillies who were being abducted by him and his men,” she said, lifting her chin and staring directly into the leader’s dark eyes.

  “Well, a spunky one. I like that,” he said, raising one eyebrow as his mouth lifted into half a smile.

  “Clank had no business capturing us,” added Higson. “We have done nothing wrong.”

  “I would not be so quick to assert your innocence, young Duende,” the Commander said. “Interfering in our activities is grounds enough to justify your capture. Clank and his men had every right to retaliate.”

  “By whose laws?” roared Tandum. All eyes turned to the young Centaur.

  “Well, well, well. What have we here?” sneered the Commander, apparently noticing Tandum for the first time. “Is not this the son of the Minsheen stallion, the infamous Manti?”

&nbs
p; “I am,” Tandum replied. “And I demand that you order your men to release us at once so we may return to our home. We have been brought here against our will.”

  Tibbals stepped up beside her brother and the Commander looked over at her with both surprise and admiration in his eyes. “Oh, my! Oh, my, indeed! Now this is a pleasant surprise. The prince and princess have left their palace on high and condescended to mingle with the commoners. Learning about the real world, are we?”

  Ignoring his insults, Tibbals spoke, her voice quivering only slightly. “When our father learns of this, there will be severe consequences.”

  The Commander laughed. “Oh-h-h-h, I am so frightened. What to do? What to do?” His fingers stroked the silver scepter. “I guess the only answer is to make sure he doesn’t learn of your fate.” His voice rose in volume. “Put them in the prison cells!”

  “No!” shouted Carling. “You have no need of them. I am the one you want,” she said as she tore open her cloak. “Behold, I wear the silver breastplate.”

  The Heilodius Centaurs all gasped and stepped back.

  The Commander unfolded his long legs and stood up. At first he only stared at her. Then he stepped forward and walked slowly around her. Carling felt an icy terror sprout in her chest and bloom like a cancerous tumor. But she remained standing in place, her head held high.

  At last, the Commander stopped circling and stood directly in front of her. His keen eyes inspected her face. “So, Clank, you have brought me a knightess in shining armor. This is quite a surprise, and it certainly changes the situation. Remind me to give you a suitable reward.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, Carling caught Clank puff up his chest and smile.

  The Commander began tapping his long scepter on the ground with one hand and tapping his cheek with the other, all the while looking at Carling. “So, it’s true then,” he finally said. “There is a silver breastplate. Now the question is: what do we do about it?”

  The Commander returned to the dais, where he settled himself back down on his throne. The enormous Centaur looked over the exhausted rag-tag group that filled his chambers. “Tradition has it that whomever wears the silver breastplate is the heir to the throne of Crystonia. You, my dear little Duende, cannot be allowed to continue wearing that breastplate. Clank, remove it.”

  Higson jumped in front of Carling. “Don’t touch her,” he said, glaring at Clank.

  Two guards leaped forward and grabbed Higson while others held tight to Tibbals and Tandum. Clank stepped up to Carling. “It would be my pleasure,” he said, reaching toward her. The moment his fingers touched the silver breastplate, however, a loud crack like thunder filled the room and Clank fell backward, his four legs crumpling beneath him, as Carling’s breastplate sent out a bright light and a high-pitched hum that filled the room.

  The Centaurs raised their arms in an attempt to shield their eyes and ears.

  When the noise and light had dimmed, Carling dropped to her knees to check on Clank. He was not breathing, and his body was stiff and cold. The Centaurs around her began murmuring.

  “She killed him!”

  “We can’t touch her.”

  “The breastplate is magical.”

  “She’s possessed.”

  Suddenly, out of fear, the guards restraining Higson let him go. As soon as Carling realized he’d reached her side, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I didn’t mean to do that,” she softly moaned. “I didn’t know that would happen.”

  Higson wrapped his arms around his friend.

  “I killed him,” she sobbed.

  “And he killed your parents,” Higson said. “I’d say you got your revenge.”

  “But not this way. I never meant this way.”

  Their whispered conversation was interrupted by the Commander. “So, it appears our little lady has magical powers.”

  Carling looked up into his cold, cruel eyes that were nearly hidden by his silver brows. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

  “So noble of you, I must say. This, however, calls for a change of strategy.” The Commander stood in front of his throne and swished his long, black tail. “It is in my best interest to keep the existence of the breastplate, and its wearer, a secret from the races of Crystonia,” he said, still addressing Carling. “I don’t want it, or you, interfering with my plans to become the ruler of this great land. Therefore, I must keep you in my prison. If you go willingly, nothing will happen to your friends. If you do not, and I lose any more of my Centaurs, one by one, your friends will die.”

  Chapter 27

  Miserable in Prison

  Carling frowned at the bleak circumstances in which she found herself. She had arrived in the cold dank cell hours before after winding down several steps and passing through one of those long dark corridors that cause an involuntary shudder to all who enter. Now, she sat on a stone bench designed for a Centaur that was so high off the dirt floor of her cell that her legs dangled in the air. No blanket or pillow had been provided to her. She could hear rain beating against the prison through the tiny slit of a window that provided her only source of fresh air and light. Exactly how long she had been in her cell she could not say. She had spent most of the time watching a thin ray of light from outside move across the floor.

  She tried not to think of how roughly the guards had pulled Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum down the winding staircase and the long hallway lined with thick plank doors. One by one, she’d watched as each of her companions was shoved into a cell and the door was slammed shut and locked behind them. While Carling had been led to the last cell, far from her friends, no one had dared touch her.

  Now, the tumor of terror that had started growing in the Commander’s chambers completely filled Carling’s entire being, pushing against her lungs and making it hard to breathe. Her body was weak from hunger and tired from the long journey. A vision of her burnt home appeared before her and she was overwhelmed with grief. Here she sat, alone in a dark, damp cell, her loyal friends also taken as prisoners, her parents dead. She had never wanted any of this.

  She forced herself to push the dread deep inside. She was alive, after all, and her mind was still sharp and alert. She made a mental list of all the options she could think of, her first concern being for her friends. Unfortunately, the list was very short. She knew the Centaurs were all afraid to touch her as long as she was wearing the breastplate, but that didn’t guarantee safety for Higson, Tibbals, and Tandum. As long as the Commander held her captive, she could not complete the task of collecting the stones and the war for the throne would continue, perhaps even escalate.

  Her mind was a blur of activity, but none of her ideas seemed to rise to the top as being viable. She jumped down to the floor and started pacing in her narrow cell. As she neared the cell door, she heard someone whisper her name.

  “Carling…. Carling…. Can you hear me?”

  “Who is it?” she answered.

  “It’s Bale, the one with the burnt tail.”

  “Have you come to help me?”

  “I don’t know how…yet. But Dalt, the Centaur you rescued, has made it to the city. I thought you would want to know.”

  “Yes. That is good news. I hope he’ll be alright.”

  “He will be, thanks to you. I brought you some food.”

  “My friends are in the first three cells in the hallway just as you turn the corner. Please give it to them.”

  “I have enough for all of you,” Bale said, shoving a roll and some cheese through a narrow slot at the base of the door.

  What could only be described as ecstasy flowed through Carling’s body at the sight of the food. “Oh, Bale, thank you,” she said. “Thank you so very much.”

  “You showed me mercy. I must find a way to repay it.”

  “You have. Believe me, you have!” she said, almost giggling. She had never been so grateful for food in her life. Of course, she had never gone without food for so long before, either.

 
Suddenly, Carling heard hoof beats outside her cell.

  “I must go!” Bale whispered, fear evident in his voice. She heard him trot down the hall until his hoof beats mixed with those of others. She heard voices bouncing off the stone walls but couldn’t make out what they were saying. She listened as the sound of the voices and the hooves on the stone floor got softer and softer until the sound of them disappeared altogether. She hoped Bale was safe and had been able to give food to her friends.

  Slowly, she took a bite of the bread. The crust was thick and crunchy but the inside was soft and sweet. Next she took a bite of the cheese. It was a creamy white color, probably made from goats’ milk. It nearly melted in her mouth. She couldn’t remember ever eating anything so delicious. Even the bakers and cheesemakers in Duenton would have a hard time competing with this.

  Her hunger satiated, she boosted herself up on her stone bench, lay down on her side, and immediately fell asleep. In her dreams, she was visited by the Wizard but he offered no words of advice or encouragement. He only sat beside her on the stone bench and stroked her auburn hair.

  The heavy wooden door scraped across the dirt floor of her cell. “Wake up, sleeping beauty, the Commander wants to speak with you.”

  Carling rubbed her eyes and pushed herself up into a sitting position as she tried to focus. At first she didn’t remember where she was. Then it all came rushing back and she felt her face flush and her heart pound. The Commander! What could he want?

  She opened her mouth to speak but her mouth was so dry she couldn’t form any words. She swallowed and her dry throat ached. Forcing the air out, she whispered, “May I have some water, please?”

  “Water? Well, I suppose that’s alright,” the Centaur said as he pulled a leather pouch from the belt that cinched the black tunic tightly around his waist. Holding it above her mouth, he dripped some water in as a mother bird feeds its hatchling.