by Chuck Black
He had never considered failure and what that would mean not only to him but to the rest of the Knights of the Prince. His muscles tightened and his legs began to quiver as his mind entertained potential calamities. He was quickly losing his nerve.
Stop it! You’ve come too far to turn back now.
Duncan steeled himself against the encroaching fear, took a deep breath, and slowly lowered himself down the rope to the sill of Casimir’s window. The rope was just long enough for Duncan to reach the window, and he was grateful the sill was wide enough to stand on. Using the rope to help him, he was able to balance at the side of the window, listening for any indication that he had been detected. There was none. He quietly opened the window farther and slipped into the room.
Duncan stepped out of the faint moonlight that entered through the window and into the dark shadows of the room. He edged to the left, hoping nothing was there to topple. Then he paused, listening closely to the sounds of deep breathing across the room. He hoped Casimir was as exhausted as Kendrick had seemed to be.
Duncan willed his trembling muscles to relax as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. This room was a fair bit larger than the room at their inn, which was expected since the Crown Inn was nearly twice the cost and reserved for prestigious guests. He scanned the room quickly, hoping he might be fortunate enough to see the medallion on a table or clothes hook. Then he moved across the room, one step at a time, testing each floorboard for creaks before placing his full weight on that foot.
It was a painstakingly long process, but he finally arrived at Casimir’s bedstand. He felt the top gingerly with his fingers, searching for the token of evil that would confirm his suspicions about Casimir. His lack of reward forced him to consider the possibility that these Vincero Knights never removed their medallions from their persons.
He felt for the handle of a drawer in the bedstand and gently pulled. It creaked, and Casimir stirred. Duncan froze. Casimir mumbled and rolled toward the edge of the bed nearest Duncan. Duncan slowly moved his hand from the drawer handle to the hilt of the knife on his belt. He waited for Casimir to open his eyes as his mind went wild, considering what might happen next. Much to Duncan’s relief, Casimir stilled.
Duncan remained motionless and his muscles began to ache as he waited for Casimir’s breathing to become heavy once again. The tension subsided with each passing moment, and Duncan realized he had neither seen nor heard the medallion about Casimir’s neck.
Duncan returned his hand to the squeaky wooden drawer and lifted it slightly before pulling slowly once again. With the slides lightened of their burden, Duncan was able to quietly open the drawer far enough to verify that the medallion was not there. He slowly closed the drawer, wondering if he and Kendrick were wrong about Casimir.
He was scanning the room once more, preparing for another trek across the floor, when his eyes came to rest on Casimir’s sword. It leaned against the wall, within Casimir’s reach. Duncan stepped closer and saw the glint of a chain about the hilt. He reached behind the scabbard and felt the cool metal of a medallion suspended by the silver chain wrapped about the hilt.
Barely breathing, Duncan lifted the medallion out of the dark shadows near the floor. He tilted the sword away from the wall, carefully removed the chain, and returned the sword back to its balancing point on the wall. Careful not to let the chain jingle, he brought the medallion closer to his eyes, adjusting it back and forth until the minuscule amount of ambient moonlight reflected off the image enough for him to inspect it.
The sight of the dragon suspended above Arrethtrae brought chills to his entire body, for the eyes of the dragon seemed to glow and pierce him like fiery darts. In an instant he recognized the presence of evil—and not just one evil knight, but an entire evil force. It was as if this man Casimir was the quintessence of Lucius himself.
Fighting the fear that swelled within him, Duncan forced himself to inspect the medallion further, hoping to find more clues as to Casimir’s origin. He flipped it over to see more intricate etchings and a word he did not recognize: RA. He turned the medallion over once again and noticed a clearly indented area within the raised map of Arrethtrae, in the central region of the kingdom.
Duncan finished his inspection of the medallion and hung it once more about the hilt of Casimir’s sword. As he set the sword carefully back against the wall, he suddenly became overwhelmed with the desire to flee. Handling the medallion unnerved him. So did being in the room with a man whose soul had been darkened by the evil of Lucius and his Shadow Warriors.
Duncan forced himself to move slowly and quietly back to the window. As he lifted himself to the sill, he heard a sound that nearly petrified him. It was subtle and soft at first, then grew with each passing fraction of a moment. The hilt of Casimir’s sword was sliding across the wall, leaving its point of imperfect balance. In another fraction of a moment the sword, scabbard, and medallion would crash to the floor, and Casimir would be instantly on his feet.
Duncan thrust himself out of the window and onto the sill as a startled cry and the brilliant crash of steel filled the room with noise that seemed louder than thunder. He reached for the rope and gripped it with one hand as he swung to the side, balancing beside the window with a foot on the edge of the molding.
Duncan heard Casimir’s sword slide from the scabbard and looked wildly about him, not knowing what to do. He could never climb the rope to the roof in time to escape Casimir, and jumping to the ground would probably break his legs. He had seen how ruthless Casimir could be in the tournament and knew nothing would stop the man from killing a would-be thief in his own room. He listened to the slow deliberate footsteps approaching the window and imagined a deadly blade preceding them.
Desperate, Duncan readied himself to jump. But then he felt a slight tug on the rope from above. He looked up but saw only the rope bent over the edge of the roofline. Had he imagined the tug?
Hoping against all odds, he reached up and grabbed the rope tightly with both hands. He lifted himself off the sill and then was whisked up and out by a force he could not see.
It happened so quickly that Duncan thought there must be a whole team of men orchestrating his bizarre rescue attempt. He cleared the eave and was set quietly onto the wooden shakes beside a man who seemed as large as a mountain. The rope attached to the chimney was wrapped tightly around one of his muscular arms, and his strong hand held tightly to the portion of rope Duncan was clinging to.
Once Duncan had his balance, the man raised one finger to his lips, and they waited. Duncan heard Casimir at the window below them. After a few moments, he heard footsteps back into the room and the sound of a sword being sheathed.
Duncan took a deep breath and looked up at his rescuer. The man’s arms were as big as Duncan’s thighs. His jaw was square, his blue eyes penetrating. He said nothing, just gestured with his head toward the place where Duncan had first climbed up.
They moved quietly off the roof and back to the ground. The large fellow strode down the alley away from the Crown Inn. Duncan followed him until the man stopped.
“Thank you,” Duncan said, not sure what to expect from this unusual ally. The man was a tower of muscle, and Duncan felt small next to him in more ways than one.
“You know who Casimir is, then?” the man asked in a deep voice.
“Yes,” Duncan said. “Who are you?”
The man glared at him. “Tell Sir Kendrick that the battle to come is at Bel Lione.” Then he turned to leave.
“What is your name, sir?” Duncan risked the question but expected no answer, and the man offered none. He just turned and disappeared into the night.
Duncan took a few moments to recover from the intensity of the night’s events and then made his way back to their inn.
“Bel Lione,” he whispered to himself.
How was he going to explain any of this to his mentor?
A NEW DESTINY
“You did what?” Kendrick stood paralyzed by anger, his horse hal
f saddled, completely at a loss as to how to deal with the irrational, impetuous actions of his protégé.
“What are you trying to do, Duncan?” He clenched his jaw, trying to stay calm. “Compromise our mission and get yourself killed?”
Duncan lifted his chin. “I only did what was necessary to discover the truth about Sir Casimir. And I was successful. How is that being foolish?”
“It was foolish because you did it alone!” Kendrick spoke more loudly than he’d intended. His horse danced away nervously, picking up on the tension, and Kendrick put out a calming hand. “Easy, there, Thunder.”
Duncan’s countenance dropped, and Kendrick knew his words had hit their mark.
“Duncan, our mission is the same and our efforts must be unified. If you want me to trust and rely on you, then you must not act on your own. Why didn’t you talk to me about your plan?”
“I … I guess I thought you would object,” Duncan replied.
“Your suspicions of my intent are not enough to risk your life for!” Kendrick took a deep breath. “Next time talk to me before you act.”
Duncan looked down to the ground for a moment and then back to Kendrick. “I will. I give you my word.”
Kendrick allowed his countenance to soften slightly. “Now … tell me what you learned.”
“We were correct. Sir Casimir is indeed a Vincero Knight, for I held his medallion in my hand.” Duncan lifted his hand and gazed at the palm as though the silver disk still rested there. “I saw something else. On the back of the medallion was a word I didn’t recognize. RA … Do you know what it means?”
Kendrick lifted his right hand to his chin. “No, I don’t. Perhaps it has something to do with the location where the man was trained.”
“Maybe,” Duncan said. “But I don’t think so.”
They both stood in silence as they contemplated Duncan’s discovery. Then Kendrick returned to saddling Thunder. “Are you certain Casimir doesn’t know you’ve discovered who he is?”
Duncan didn’t reply. Kendrick turned slowly around to face him again. “What happened?” he asked sternly.
Duncan looked sheepish. “Just as I was leaving, Casimir’s sword and the medallion fell to the floor. He awoke and investigated, but I was out of sight before he came to the window. He may suspect an intruder, but I’m quite certain he doesn’t know it was me.”
“Let us hope not.” Kendrick reached down to tighten the girth.
“There is one more thing,” Duncan said.
Kendrick waited, perturbed at Duncan’s piecemeal confession.
“I wasn’t alone last night,” Duncan added.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“When I was nearly discovered by Casimir, a large man lifted me to the roof and helped me escape. I don’t know who he is or where he came from.”
“Did he speak to you at all?” Kendrick asked.
“When we were a safe distance from Casimir’s inn, he told me to tell you something—that the battle to come is at Bel Lione.”
“Bel Lione,” Kendrick murmured.
“Do you know of it?”
“Yes, though I’ve never actually been there. My home was in that region of the kingdom, south of Bel Lione.” He paced a few steps away, then back again. “But how can we possibly trust the word of this stranger? Why would he help us? We don’t even know his name.”
“True, but he saved me from Casimir.”
Kendrick stopped pacing. “We aren’t looking for a battle, at least not now. We’re looking for Casimir’s place of training, and we need more to go on than the cryptic message of a—”
“Kendrick!” Duncan’s eyes lit up. “Where is Bel Lione?”
“It is in the center of the kingdom, near a small mountain range. But—”
“That’s it! When I was inspecting the medallion, I noticed an indented mark within the outline of the image of the kingdom. It was right in the middle of Arrethtrae.”
Kendrick considered this. “I noticed the same thing on the medallion we inspected back in Chessington, but it was in a different region of Arrethtrae. I thought it was just a blemish on the medallion … but what if the indented areas signal different strongholds, different regions of influence for Lucius?”
“The Vincero Knights serve the strongholds?”
“And our friend Sir Casimir may be tied to one at Bel Lione.” Kendrick went to his pack and drew out a rolled vellum map of Arrethtrae. He spread it on a nearby bench. “Show me where you saw the indentation on the medallion.”
Duncan traced a rough rectangular-shaped region with his finger, and in the center was the city of Bel Lione.
“It looks like your large friend may truly be an ally. Perhaps he is one of the King’s Silent Warriors.” Kendrick smiled as he saw Duncan’s face illuminate with surprise. He put a hand on Duncan’s shoulder. “Although I don’t condone your method, young knight, I must admit you have gathered enough information to make our mission a success.”
Duncan beamed. “So what do we do next?”
Kendrick pondered this for a moment. “Chessington is far to the south, and Bel Lione is even farther to the north. We would lose many days if we first traveled south to report to the Council of Knights.” Kendrick rerolled the map and returned it to his pack. “Let us see what lies on the hinder side of those mountains then, shall we?”
“Yes, let’s leave for Bel Lione as soon as the tournament is over.”
“There is no need to stay for the tournament.” Kendrick reached to unfasten the breast collar that helped secure his jousting saddle. “We have what we came for.”
“But you are undefeated, and today is the last day,” Duncan argued. “If you beat Casimir at the Joust, you could be the tournament champion!”
“We are not here to win a tournament. I participated only to find a knight with a medallion, and your discovery last night has taken care of that. We will leave at once.”
“But I am told that jousting is your best event!” Duncan protested. “Surely it could do no harm to finish out the tournament.”
Kendrick looked hard at Duncan. “I never planned on being tournament champion, no matter what scenario we faced.”
“What do you—You mean you would throw the championship round? Why?”
Kendrick raised an eyebrow, and Duncan shook his head in disbelief.
“Winning this tournament would only draw attention to us, which is something we don’t want to happen. But beyond this, when I knelt to become a Knight of the Prince and understood my purpose in His plan, all the accolades of others and the prestige of tournament trophies became pale and worthless to me.” Kendrick pointed to the tournament grounds not far away. “This is all silliness when compared to the incredible mission of saving human souls from the clutches of the Dark Knight by the power of the Prince.”
Duncan stared at Kendrick, took a deep breath, and nodded. “I understand … I think. But won’t your withdrawal bring attention also?”
“You will report to the tournament officials that urgent news from a friend has called me away. That isn’t unusual. They will probably deduce that a family member has died.”
“As you wish.” Duncan left to find the officials.
Kendrick continued preparing Thunder for travel instead of battle, but his mind was already on the road north. What would he and Duncan encounter there?
Sir Casimir was truly a powerful knight and a dangerous adversary. But Kendrick suspected that someone or something far more powerful—and more evil—awaited him and Duncan in the city of Bel Lione.
THE MYSTIQUE OF BEL LIONE
Kendrick and Duncan traveled north toward a snow-peaked mountain that seemed a hundred-day ride in the distance. Although Mount Quarnell was not the tallest mountain in Arrethtrae, it certainly was one of the most majestic, for it rose dramatically out of the plains and seemed to stretch high enough to pierce the sky itself. A range of smaller foothills clustered around it, and before it lay a beautiful, crystal-cle
ar lake, fed from the crisp streams of the mountain range.
As they neared the mountains three days later, their progress slowed. Bel Lione was nestled in the northern foothills of the range, and it took Kendrick and Duncan another full day just to travel to the opposite side of the range.
They entered Bel Lione late one afternoon and were struck by the beauty of the town. Had they not suspected Bel Lione was a potential source of concern for the Knights of the Prince, they would have thought the whole place had been lifted from the pages of a fairy tale.
A small river flowed from the mountains down through the center of the town, spilling over a number of gentle waterfalls along its way. The scent of evergreen and wildflowers filled the air. The shops that lined the immaculate streets had been constructed beyond mere functionality; clearly they were intended not only to embrace the beauty of the surroundings but to add to it. Decorative moldings and ornate wooden carvings trimmed the gables, windows, and eaves of all the shops—shoemakers, tailors, barbers, bakers, butchers, taverns, a blacksmith—and most of the homes. The living conditions of the average citizen seemed quite beyond what Kendrick and Duncan were used to seeing in towns of similar size.
In spite of the town’s beauty and apparent affluence, Kendrick sensed a slightly forlorn spirit among the people of Bel Lione as he watched them carry on with their work. Had the living conditions been poorer, Kendrick would have thought nothing of it, but the melancholy seemed out of place in such a picturesque setting. He cautioned himself against reading too much into his perceptions. Still, he was sure that something was amiss.
“Where do we start?” Duncan asked as they rode down the cobble-stoned thoroughfare.
“Where stories are told that are grand, seldom true, and sometimes based on a few threads of fact,” Kendrick replied.
“The tavern.”
“Right.”
They guided their steeds into the center of town to what looked like one of the largest taverns. As they secured their horses, a cluster of boys a few years younger than Duncan approached. Kendrick found their conversation curious.