Sir Dalton and the Shadow Heart

by Chuck Black

  “We’re Knights of the Prince,” Dalton replied.

  “The Prince? Who’s that?” the lad asked.

  “He’s the Son of the King.”

  The boy stood on his tiptoes to look at the other trainees who were gathering on the far side of the training grounds. “Which one is He?” the lad asked.

  Dalton laughed. “He’s not here. He lives in the Kingdom Across the Sea.”

  The boy scratched his head. “So why do you serve Him then?”

  “Well, because He came here, and the Noble Knights of Chessington killed Him.” Dalton flushed, realizing that his words sounded quite ridiculous.

  The boy smirked and shook his head. “So you serve a guy in some fairyland who’s dead. Sound’s pretty far-fetched to me.”

  “It’s not like that,” Dalton said, trying to keep from sounding like a complete idiot in front of the boy.

  “How do you know this Prince you serve was really the Son of the King?” The boy looked up at Dalton with eyes of defiance.

  Dalton was at a loss as to how he could possibly explain the Prince to this contrary yet perceptive boy. He opened his mouth to speak but could think of nothing to say. How do I know? he asked himself. As simple as the question was, he had never really considered this before.

  “Never mind,” he finally blurted out.

  “Okay.” The lad held up the bucket for Dalton to refill his empty ladle.

  Dalton huffed, then smiled and reached the ladle into the bucket. Just as he drew the water, the lad dropped the bucket, which smashed down onto Dalton’s foot with a thud. The explosion of pain made him drop the ladle and collapse to the ground. Surely something must be broken to hurt this much. He cradled his foot and closed his eyes, trying to bear the pain until some of it dissipated.

  “What’s wrong?” Koen knelt beside Dalton.

  Dalton tried to take a deep breath and squelch the throbbing with his mind.

  “The boy dropped the bucket on my foot,” Dalton said. He began removing his leather shoe.

  “What boy?” Koen asked.

  By now other trainees had gathered about, and Dalton was beginning to feel sheepish about the attention. He decided to leave his shoe on and brush off the pain, but it was nearly impossible. He looked toward where the boy was, but he was gone.

  “You know,” he said, “the boy who was here with the water bucket.”

  Koen looked confused.

  “What happened, Dalton?” one of the trainees said. “Did you stub your toe?” He and four others laughed and walked away.

  Koen reached out his hand, and Dalton took it. Koen lifted him to his feet.

  “Thanks,” Dalton said just as Brynn arrived. She looked at Koen.

  “Sure,” Koen replied and then left.

  “Are you all right?” she asked.

  Dalton forced a smile. “Of course,” he said and took a step toward the training ground, then nearly collapsed again from the pain.

  Brynn steadied him, and he put an arm around her shoulder for support. She helped him walk, but after a few steps he turned and looked back at the water bucket, which was lying on its side.

  “What’s wrong?” Brynn asked.

  “Nothing.” Dalton shrugged and turned back. Deep in the forest he heard the raspy caw of a large raven.

  THE QUALM

  Dalton was commissioned in early spring with two other trainees. Sir Treffen put them under the mentorship of Sir Gulfar, a stout man with a voice that boomed like thunder. For the next three seasons, they traveled together to the havens at Bremsfeld, Carlyle, and Grisborn to further their training. During these visits, Dalton encountered other knights who were as intense about serving the Prince as Koen and Carliss seemed to be back in Salisburg. It was then that he further realized something in his own commitment to the order was missing.

  He quickly learned to compensate for this apparent absence of knightly passion by mimicking the verbiage and skills of the other knights, and he found that his natural charisma benefited his efforts in the masquerade. What he could not do, however, was ascertain why he was struggling, and his times of solitary reflection increased. He tried to focus on his goal of one day winning Brynn, but even the memory of her beauty and their time together was not enough. Dalton even dared to ask of himself if he was a true Knight of the Prince.

  One day, in his desperation to bring resolution to this internal conflict, he knelt before his sword of the Prince and repeated his vow of service. When he rose, however, it seemed that nothing had changed.

  During his second year of training, Dalton was placed under the mentorship of Sir Putnam, and his travels in the kingdom broadened. Sir Putnam’s particular mission was recruiting knights for the Prince. He was a skilled orator, and Dalton learned much from the man.

  Another spring arrived, then warmed into summer. The two traveled to Millvale, where they were given the mission of helping start a new haven there. They were to help train new recruits as well as share the story of the Prince with the citizens of the village.

  Shortly after they arrived, Putnam sent Dalton to the market for supplies and to acquaint himself with the town. He walked up a street full of carts and stands that advertised the wares of their owners. It was a delightful day, and Dalton enjoyed mixing with the throng of people at the market. He stopped and talked with many people, and the young maidens especially seemed to enjoy his attention. Eventually he stopped to look at a finely made shirt on a tailor’s table.

  “These are the finest shirts in all the town.” A pretty young girl came to the opposite side of the table and lifted the sleeve of one of the garments. She smiled at Dalton and batted her eyes at him.

  Dalton smiled back. “I’m sure they are, miss.”

  “Here,” the girl grabbed Dalton’s hand and pressed it to the sleeve of the shirt she was holding. “Feel the quality of the fabric, and look how tight the stitches are.” The girl tilted her head slightly to the side.

  “Indeed,” Dalton said. “I do believe it is the finest I have ever seen. Is the work yours?”

  “Partly, I hope to be as skilled as my father one day,” she said with pride and motioned her head toward the shop behind her.

  Dalton looked up and saw a man working in the tailor shop. Dalton realized that the girl had not let loose of his hand.

  “The work is indeed impeccable, but I am more in need of a fine pair of boots,” he said.

  The girl’s hazel eyes lost some of their sparkle. She took her hand from his and pointed up the street. “We have a friend who sells boots just up the street.”

  Dalton looked for the booth, but his eyes met the eyes of another man some thirty paces away. For a moment both men stared blankly at each other.

  “Makon?” Dalton said in a hushed voice. “Excuse me, miss.” Dalton began to walk toward the man. He was dressed not in the garb of a knight, but as an ordinary citizen. And there was no sword at his side, but Dalton was sure this was his friend from Salisburg.

  “But sir, we have other clothing you might be interested in,” the girl called after him, unable to hide her disappointment. “I would love to show you!”

  Dalton did not really hear her. He quickened his pace, and the man who looked like Makon turned and bolted up the street. Confused by the response, Dalton began to run after him. When the man glanced back and saw that Dalton was pursuing him, his gait became a full sprint. Both men dodged people and stands as the chase ensued.

  Once, Dalton nearly lost sight of Makon but happened to glance to his left and saw the leg of a man disappear down an alleyway. Dalton quickly made his way there and caught sight of the man disappearing around another corner.

  “Makon!” he called out, but this only seemed to intensify their run.

  Dalton’s curiosity turned to frustration, and he became determined to catch this man no matter who he was. After a few more minutes, Dalton gained significantly, and it became apparent that there was no place Makon could go to get away from him. Dalton was now w
ithin ten paces and breathing hard. They had just turned up another alleyway when Dalton finally had enough.

  He stopped. “Makon!” he shouted angrily.

  At that the man stopped and slowly turned around. It was indeed his friend from training. Both men were breathing hard, and sweat flowed from their brows.

  “What do you want?” Makon scowled between ragged breaths.

  Dalton walked the remaining few paces and stood before his friend.

  “What…where…have you been?”

  Makon took a deep breath and turned away. “That’s none of your business,” he snapped. “Just leave me alone.”

  Dalton stepped forward and put a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “I can help you, whatever it is.”

  Makon quickly turned back and shoved Dalton’s hand from his shoulder. He then grabbed Dalton’s tunic with both hands and leaned in close to his face.

  “No, you can’t,” he said with great pain in his eyes. “And no one can help you either.” He leaned closer, his eyes filled with fear. “He’ll come for you too.” He glanced from side to side as if to see if someone was watching them. Then he pushed Dalton away.

  “Have you completely abandoned the Code, Makon?” Dalton asked.

  Makon snorted. “The Code is a farce, Dalton, written by some obscure person to lead the foolhardy on a wild chase.”

  To question the authenticity of the Code was to question the very essence of the order of the Knights of the Prince. Dalton was stunned by Makon’s statement, and yet he could think of no reasonable or logical reply.

  Makon leaned close to Dalton once more. “Leave me alone,” he said in a quiet but fierce voice. He turned and ran up the alleyway. “Just leave me alone!” he shouted again as he disappeared at the next corner.

  Dalton stood dumbfounded.

  What has happened to him? he wondered. Why would Makon run from him, and why wouldn’t he talk? It made no sense. Dalton remembered the warning that Sir Orland had given the trainees a year and a half earlier about Knights of the Prince disappearing. Was this what he meant?

  Dalton walked back to the busy market street, but his mind was ever upon Makon and the few words he had spoken. The joy of the day had disappeared.

  Two days later, the sun disappeared behind thick dark clouds that seemed as though they would stay forever. In spite of the dreary sky, Putnam and Dalton had managed to gather more than two hundred of the citizens of Millvale. Putnam spoke as Dalton mingled with the crowd, ready to answer questions from the people.

  As Dalton heard Putnam speak the story of the Prince, he watched the people and marveled at the variety of responses. Some became angry, some scoffed, but others believed and grew joyful. Dalton thought about his own response to the story of the Prince and did not find it among the people.

  Why do I feel so numb to these words that dramatically change the lives of people? he wondered. I believe in the Prince and live the life of one of His knights. Tell me, my Prince… what am I missing?

  “That sounds like a pretty good story,” a voice said from beside Dalton. He snapped his head to the right.

  “But it’s missing something,” the young man said as he stroked his chin with his finger. He continued to stare at Putnam as he spoke to the people.

  “What’s that?” Dalton squinted at the man.

  The man turned to look at Dalton with penetrating dark brown eyes.

  “If the King and this Prince truly exist, why do they leave the kingdom in such a mess?” The young man paused for a moment to let Dalton think on his question.

  Just as Dalton opened his mouth to speak, the man continued.

  “For example, there are raids on the people, battles between castle lords, and starvation everywhere you look in the kingdom. If the King is so powerful, so wealthy, so good, then why has He let it go on for this long?”

  Dalton scrutinized the man further. He was a broad-shouldered fellow with dark hair that hung to his neck. He was about Dalton’s age and seemed far too intellectual for the rest of the crowd he was with.

  “The King—,” Dalton began, but was cut short.

  “There can only be three possible answers,” the man interjected. “Either the King and His Son don’t exist, or they don’t care about Arrethtrae, or they are too weak to do anything about what goes on. Whichever it is, only a fool or a man of ignorance would believe their story and follow them.”

  “That’s not true,” Dalton blurted. “The King and the Prince do exist! They do care and are very powerful!”

  The young man leaned close to Dalton and pointed a finger at his nose. “How do you know?”

  The question was simple and direct. But Dalton felt violated, as if this man had entered the room of his inner heart and vandalized the motivations of his soul. Dalton swallowed hard, and his mind froze in fear, as if a beast were stalking him and there was no place to hide. The man’s eyes seemed to darken, and then he smiled.

  “Believe whatever makes you happy, chap,” he said and slapped Dalton on the back. “These people do.” He swept his hand toward the crowd, then turned quickly to walk away. As he did, his scabbard swung swiftly about and sliced Dalton’s thigh with a frayed edge of metal near the tip. Dalton winced in pain and covered the gash with his hand. Blood oozed through his fingers. Angry, he looked back up toward the man, but the crowd had swallowed him.

  “Dalton, I need you, man,” Putnam said as he came. “Where have you—What happened?”

  “Nothing really,” Dalton replied. “It’s just a small cut…an accident.”

  “I’ll get a cloth for you,” Putnam replied, and went to his horse.

  Caw! came the sound of a raven from the top of the tavern to Dalton’s left. He looked and saw another strange, double-winged bird staring down at him.

  Putnam returned with a bandage for Dalton’s cut.

  “Putnam, have you ever seen a raven like that before?” Dalton nodded toward the tavern’s roof

  “Like what?” Putnam looked in the same direction, but the bird was gone.

  “Never mind.” Dalton muttered, continuing to stare at the rooftop.

  Later, as Dalton thought about the encounter with the mysterious young man, he felt the presence of the beast once again, and it frightened him. He tried to put the incident from his mind, but the gash in his leg was a constant reminder. Only thoughts of Brynn seemed to help…at least for a while.

  A VISIT HOME

  As Dalton’s leg healed, the memory of the incident at Millvale faded. He made a trip back to Salisburg and was elated to see Brynn once again. To Dalton, she seemed more beautiful than ever, and his heart was all the more inclined toward her. He visited her numerous times at her estate. Her father seemed cool toward him but did not actually object to the visits. This encouraged Dalton significantly, but what fueled his heart even more was the delightful way in which Brynn responded to him.

  “Your training is almost complete,” Dalton said to Brynn as they walked beneath the sprawling oaks, enjoying the delightful sun of an unusually warm autumn. More than two years had passed since he had left home. “What will you do next?”

  “I’m going to travel!” Brynn said with exuberance.

  “On a mission then?”

  “Not exactly,” she replied. “I just want to see the kingdom.”

  “How’s the haven? Sir Dornan still instructing?”

  “Yes, but it’s not been the same since you left.”

  “Koen still a thorn in his side?” Dalton asked with a grin.

  “No, Badger was commissioned last spring and went on mission, but that pesky sister of his is worse than he is.” Brynn smirked. “I’m surprised Sir Dornan even puts up with her.”

  Dalton looked ahead into the trees as he remembered Carliss’s quiet intensity.

  “She actually seems like a nice girl—perhaps too zealous for most people, but still…”

  Brynn looked at Dalton as though he’d lost his mind.

  “Nice? Are you kidding?” she
said. “That girl had the audacity to confront Sir Dornan in front of the other trainees yesterday.”

  “Really? On what?” Dalton asked.

  “Sir Dornan was explaining how he had seen such great chaos in the kingdom that it was logical to conclude that the King had removed his influence from the land and was really not involved in the affairs of the people anymore.” Brynn hesitated. “It makes sense to me. After all, Sir Dornan has traveled to many regions and seen much more than we have.”

  Dalton had often wondered the same thing himself, and it did seem quite reasonable to think that way. “What did Carliss say?” he asked.

  Brynn laughed. “She interrupted him and said that what he was teaching was not true. She got that strange, fierce look on her face, and she said the story of the Prince is evidence of the King’s concern and compassion for the people. Or something like that.”

  Brynn grinned. “You should have seen Sir Dornan dismantle her argument. He’s far too intelligent to be rattled by the ranting of a girl like Carliss.” Brynn slowly shook her head. “You would think that brat would finally learn to be quiet.”

  “What exactly did he say?” Dalton asked.

  “Well, he first asked her how many of the regions of the kingdom she had been to and then asked her to disprove him. Then he said that if the King did indeed establish Arrethtrae, it was more likely a result of discovery rather than establishment, and that the kingdom has been allowed to follow its own path of development for a long time. The King’s hands-off approach allows the people freedom to explore life in many unique ways. He said that the Prince would agree. In fact, that’s why he rebelled against the Noble Knights and their narrow-minded view of the kingdom.”

  They walked in silence for a moment as Dalton thought about Sir Dornan’s words. Something disquieted his spirit after hearing Brynn speak of Sir Dornan, and yet how could one prove anything different?

  They took a detour off the main road to the haven, one which they had traveled together a hundred times. The walk reminded Dalton of their earlier carefree days together, and he felt his uneasiness draining away. The arching tree branches billowed in the gentle breeze above them and soothed his mind with the rustling of leaves. How could he feel bad while walking with such a lovely companion?