Knight Fire

by Brad Clark

  For a short time around dusk, it rained, bringing a coat of slipperiness to the trail. Their pace didn’t slow, and he ended up slipping several times. Never once did he complain. He just picked himself up and kept moving. As darkness became complete, the clouds moved off bringing in a cold that was actually welcome. If they were marching this hard in the middle of summer, he would not only be tired and sore, but he would be soaked with sweat.

  Marik suddenly stopped and looked up, seeing a sky full of stars.

  It took Ilasha several steps before she realized that Marik was not right behind her. She turned to look at him. “Are you tired?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied. Although he was indeed tired and sore, his body was holding up better than he expected after nearly dying from the dragon’s breath.

  “What is it?” She asked, also looking up into the sky.

  “It is good that the stars came out. They give just enough light to see by.”

  She walked back to his side, her eyes still gazing upwards. “It is fortunate. If the clouds stayed and rained on us, it would be a miserable walk. It’s a little chilly, but as long as we keep moving, we’ll stay warm.”

  Marik looked at the amazing sight above his head, wondering what all those points of light really meant. Just as he was about to continue on, she continued talking.

  “I wonder where it went?” she asked.

  “Where what went?”

  “For many months there was a bright star that shone day and night. As quickly as it came, it disappeared. I wonder why it went away.”

  Marik laughed. “I am not priest or prophet, so I cannot answer such a question!”

  “But you have an idea?”

  “No, well, I don’t know. There was talk among many that it meant that the Creator was returning to take his place back here on Earth. Throughout history, he has given us signs that help us to read his plans, but I do not know if that bright star was part of his plans or not.”

  “You say you’re not a priest, but you talk of the One God as if you know all about him.”

  “A good friend of mine taught me much about him. He was a Hurai.”

  “Hurai? What is that?”

  “Not a what, but a who. They are people that live far away. It is said that the Hurai are the favored people of the One God and he bestows upon them favors that he does not give to everyone.”

  “Well, that doesn’t sound fair.”

  Marik smiled and chuckled. “Well, he gives them favors, but he also demands much from them. It is a tradeoff.”

  “What does he demand from them? Gold? Gems?”

  “No, nothing like that. He simply demands obedience. The Hurai live their lives in devotion to the One God, to serve him.”

  Ilasha let out a grunt. “That does not sound like fun. It sounds like being a slave.”

  “Receiving favors from God is probably a good thing.”

  “Well, maybe you’re right. But it does seem odd that the moment that evil comes into the world, that star goes away.”

  “Yeah, I was thinking the same thing.”

  “And you have no idea what it means?”

  “Maybe it means nothing. Maybe it was just a bright light in the sky?”

  Ilasha looked at him closely, as he was looking right back at her. “But you don’t believe that do you?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “I have seen too many things in the past year that questions my beliefs, but I do believe in the One God, and I believe that he will give us the strength to defeat these monsters.”

  She took his hand and gave him a slight pull to get him to follow her along the path towards the tower. “Well, come. The tower is not far from here. And if we are to fight those monsters, we will need to be rested.”

  He followed her, his hand comfortably in hers.

  It didn’t take them long before they could see the black shadow of the tower against the starlit mountains. Although they were still some distance off, seeing it gave them a renewed strength to push forward through the weariness that was slowing them down. They entered a thick grove of trees that blocked their view of the tower, but when they came out of the trees, the tower stood tall and straight, right in front of them.

  It rose almost fifty feet above the ground and was made of smooth stone blocks. The top of the tower was ringed with battlements that told Marik it was indeed a former garrison as Ilasha had suggested. A field of tall grass surrounded the tower. It was over a hundred yards from the edge of the trees to the base of the tower, giving bowmen plenty of time to fire a multitude of arrows at any attacking force. Although the grass was now high, he presumed that when the garrison was operational, the field was trampled flat from constant training. There was one other building in the area. Near the southern treeline was a wooden building that had a collapsed roof. Marik presumed it was the garrison’s stables, which made him think how great it would be to have a horse to carry them through the mountains.

  They approached the tower warily, almost expecting to be challenged by knights coming out from the open doorway. Only silence greeted them.

  “It is safe, right?”

  “I have used the tower on occasion. It has many rooms that are dry. There is a central chimney so you can light a fire in one of the rooms and the smoke will go up the chimney and out the top of the tower.”

  Marik rubbed his chin. “It is cold enough that smoke from the fire would be visible.”

  “It is cold enough that we might freeze without one.”

  “Yes, I know. I guess we will have to risk it.”

  “The chimney is high enough,” she said. “If an army marches by, maybe that wouldn’t even see it in the dark.”

  “If an army marches by, it better be led by Karmon Knights.”

  “Well, there are others that might be up here,” she said.

  “Who else would be up here in the mountains?”

  Ilasha turned and pointed to the mountains to the north. “Look between those two peaks. There is a valley that leads down to the northern steppes of Thell. You can’t see it now, but the kingdom of Thell is there. From atop the tower, you can even see Thellia, their capital city.”

  Marik peered into the darkness, squinting his eyes to try and see the city, but it was too dark. Maybe if the city were lit up with lights, he could see it. But all he saw was darkness. “It is no wonder a garrison was put here to protect that pass. But I have never heard of this tower or a garrison this far north.”

  “Neffenmark,” Ilasha replied.

  Marik let out a long sigh. “Neffenmark. Of course. He was in league with Thellians. There was no reason to garrison the tower because he was in control of the mountains. The last thing he would want on his land would be a hundred Karmon Knights watching over him.”

  “Neffenmark was an evil man,” Ilasha said, spitting out his name as if it were a curse word.

  “Indeed he was.” A shiver went up his spine. “If we stay out here too much longer, the sun will rise on us, and we will not have the energy to finish out journey.”

  Marik followed Ilasha inside the tower. A rising stairwell followed along the outer wall, circling upwards all the way to the top of the tower, effectively making the inner rooms a second tower inside the first. The lowest level of the tower was an open room with debris and remnants of furniture and weapon racks that might have once held swords. Ilasha led him up the dark stairwell and entered a room on the second floor. She lit a torch and closed the door. The light from the single torch filled the room, giving them plenty of light to see. There were more broken pieces of furniture in this room, and when Marik looked it over, he realized that the pieces were intentionally broken. He used them to start a fire in the fireplace. It didn’t take long for the heat of the fire to quickly warm the room.

  Ilasha pulled out a thick wool blanket that had been rolled up and tucked away in a corner of the room.

  “You have been here before,” he said with a smile.

  “The fire will warm us,
but we will be comfortable under the blanket.” She saw the wide-eyed look on his face, and she added with a yawn, “Do not get any ideas! I trust your honor as a Karmon Knight.”

  Marik laughed uncomfortably. “I am very tired myself, and I would never consider taking advantage of you.”

  She batted her eyes at him, and he blushed and turned away. With a soft chuckle at his embarrassment, she spread the large blanket on the floor and pulled it around her.

  “It is a large blanket. There is plenty of room for both us.”

  “It will be warm enough with the fire.”

  “Do not be silly!” she exclaimed. “We are not young and immature children. Can we not share a blanket to stay warm without violating some knight code?”

  Marik let out a grumble, but he relented. Still feeling quite uncomfortable at the situation, he began to crawl under the blanket as well.

  “You sleep with your sword?”

  Marik touched the sword at his side. “Well, of course,” he said. With the look that she gave, he decided to unbuckle the sword and set it aside.

  Settling under the blanket, he added, “Do we have enough wood for the night? It’s very dry and will burn quickly.”

  “The blanket will keep us warm,” Ilasha said with a sleepy voice.

  “Of course,” Marik replied, feeling the warmth of her body next to his. Many thoughts came into his head, and he wished circumstances were different. He could love her if he let himself, but there was a war to fight, and too many good people were dying. There was no way that he could let himself get close to her. Maybe someday if they survived the war.

  He didn’t spend much time pondering his thoughts as weariness consumed him and he quickly fell into a deep sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Hargon woke with a start, and he sat up in a panic. His blanket fell off his shoulders and the cold morning hit him hard, bringing him from a sound sleep to fully awake in seconds. Directly in front of him was the torch-lit face of Sir Gossmire.

  “Are you awake?” Sir Gossmire asked.

  “Of course I am!” Hargon snapped. The fire that had once warmed the small house had gone out and a sharp chill replaced the warmth that had put him to sleep. “It can’t be morning already. I just went to sleep.”

  Sir Gossmire stepped back and lit an oil lamp that brought a dull light to the entire house. “It has been a few hours. At least you slept. I brought some bread. I wish I had more, but there is not much else.”

  Hargon stretched his sore back. Despite not having slept in a comfortable bed in many months, his muscles still craved it.

  “We are gathering at the village’s granary,” Sir Gossmire said. “And hurry. This won’t work without you.”

  Hargon rubbed his eyes and hoped that he was really fully rested. Although there was still some weariness in his body, he did feel fully energized and should be able to cast as many fireballs as needed. Sir Gossmire turned to leave. Hargon noticed his arm was still tied tightly to his chest. A bloodied bandage was wrapped around his upper arm.

  “What happened to your arm?” Hargon asked.

  Sir Gossmire glanced at his arm. “It is nothing. Took an arrow.”

  “It is broken?”

  “I can manage.”

  Hargon tossed his blanket aside and shivered at the cool air. “No, you can’t. Sit.”

  Sir Gossmire sat on the bed while Hargon knelt in front of him. Hargon touched his arm and closed his eyes as he had done hundreds of times before. Having tapped into the Web of Magic to cast spells, he now knew how different his ability to heal was. There were no words to use to focus on. There was only his own innate ability, almost as easy as breathing. As the power of healing swept through him, he could also tell it came from a similar place as the spells he cast. The tingling feeling of healing was also the same when casting a spell. The real difference seemed to be that healing was a part of him while casting spells were something he had to learn.

  It didn’t take long before Sir Gossmire flinched and let out a grunt. Then he stretched his hands as feeling suddenly came back to his arm. He pulled the sling off and moved his arm.

  “It is healed!”

  Hargon smiled at what he had done, but it was not a smile for himself, but for Sir Gossmire. Simply the thought of helping his fellow man warmed him on the inside.

  “Thank you,” Sir Gossmire said.

  “It is going to be a tough day. We need everyone as healthy as can be.”

  Sir Gossmire gripped Hargon on the shoulder. “You are a good man. Eat, but quickly. We need to get started before the sun rises.”

  Sir Gossmire quickly left, leaving Hargon alone with some cold, stale bread. Hargon ripped a chunk of bread from the load and shoved it into his mouth. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Then he let out a long sigh as he thought about the colder air outside the house. Putting his cloak on, he pulled it tightly around his body and left the house.

  It was indeed much colder outside. The clouds that had kept the previous evening tolerable were gone. Uncountable stars painted a speckled canvas above his head. The moon had risen to the west, and it glowed bright white, casting eerie shadows throughout the village. There were a handful of people about, and most of them were slowly moving towards the granary, which was the largest building in the village. They were all dressed in cloaks with hoods pulled over their heads, but their size told him that they were likely knights. His suspicions were confirmed when he approached the building, and one of them looked at him from under his hood. The eyes of the knight were sharp, and his face was grim. After a slight nod of greeting, the knight brushed past and stalked through the granary’s open doorway.

  The granary, which had been emptied of any usable stores, was now packed full of men of all sorts. There were Karmon knights clad in their battle armor, as well as farmers and merchants who were holding a sword for the first time. There were young and old alike. Everyone knew this was their last chance for survival and no one gave a second thought to picking up a weapon and joining in the fight.

  Some of the knights held torches above their heads to give light to the inside of the building. Hargon was one of the last to come and stayed by the door. At least this way he would be one of the first to be able to leave. It was a bit crowded for his tastes, so hanging back by the door suited him just fine.

  There was a soft buzz about the room as the Karmon men muttered to one another in nervous chatter. They all knew what was going to happen and they were all anxious to get it over with. Everyone was tired, wet, and cold. No one needed any extra motivation, as they did not relish another night in the village. As seconds ticked by, the soft buzz grew as the tension of the moment was relaxed. Hargon even heard some laughter. It was not long before everyone was talking and the small room became very loud.

  Movement at the front of the caught his attention. He straightened up to see what was going on, but there were too many knights between him and the front of the room. Suddenly Lord Martin appeared, having stepped up on a box so that his head was above the crowd, allowing him to see everyone and everyone to see him. His cheeks were red, and his hair was matted from perspiration. Although it was warm in the room, it wasn’t that warm. Hargon could see his mouth open and close, but the volume of the chatter throughout the room was too loud, and his voice did not carry over the din of the excited knights and soldiers.

  After a few moments of trying to gain everyone's attention, Sir Gossmire let out a harsh shout. It took only a moment for everyone to quiet down. Hargon couldn’t help but smile as Lord Martin struggled to maintain composure. For too long he had witnessed this fat oaf trying to take a leadership role with the knights and survivors. But he was a coward who only thought about himself and what he could attain in power and position. He could see it so well because he had been there once himself. Seeing it in others made him feel guilty for what he had done in the past. He vowed to never let that happen again.

  As the noise of the room diminished, Lord Martin smil
ed the smile of an aristocrat and took in a deep breath. “Thank you, Sir Gossmire. I wanted to take this opportunity to…”

  Hargon couldn’t take the man’s voice anymore. It had a high-pitched squeal to it, especially as he tried to project it throughout the room. Straightening up, he took in a deep breath and shouted out, “Are you serious?”

  All eyes turned to him, but no one said anything or moved to silence him.

  Lord Martin seemed flustered for a moment, but then he caught himself and said, “Excuse me, but I was talking.”

  Hargon knew these people needed a leader. Everyone that was capable was gone or dead. Having watched Lord Martin closely since they had left South Karmon, nothing about him told Hargon that he had any capacity for true leadership. Many of these men were about to die and needed to know that what they were doing meant something. Without the belief that their actions were worthy enough for sacrifice, they wouldn’t do what was necessary to win the upcoming battle. He didn’t care that he was not Karmon. He felt like he was now one of them and he needed to make sure that they survived another day.

  Hargon wished that he had more time to ponder his words, but they were out of time. When he was emperor, he had days to consider his words, to perfect not only the actual words but the pitch and delivery of them as well. What he said wasn’t as important as how he said it, for no one would remember the words, but they would remember the speech.

  While Hargon pushed his way forward through the mass of knights and soldiers, Lord Martin looked at Sir Gossmire, but the knight remained still, arms crossed, and eyes locked on Hargon.

  When Hargon reached the front of the room, Lord Martin asked with as much force as he could muster, “Who are you to interrupt me?”