Sir Dalton and the Shadow Heart

by Chuck Black

  “Brynn,” Dalton looked at her. “I’ll be on mission for another year or so, but I was wondering…”

  Brynn looked at Dalton and smiled in a way that caused Dalton to want to reach out and take her hand.

  “Yes?” she said.

  “Well I was hoping that… You see, we’ve spent a lot of time together, and your father seems to be warming to me a bit.”

  “Yes?” Brynn’s eyes seemed to drink in the beauty of nature and spill its splendor out every pore of her body.

  “Would you—”

  “Sir Dalton!” a cry came from the roadway ahead. The rider was at full gallop.

  Dalton and Brynn broke from their enchanting walk to watch the rider approach. As he neared, Dalton recognized Sir Rolf, a knight he had trained with in Salisburg.

  “Sir Dalton!” Sir Rolf called again.

  Dalton lifted his hand into the air.

  Sir Rolf reeled in his horse a few feet from them, and the animal seemed to protest the restraint.

  “Yes, Sir Rolf,” Dalton said. “What is it?”

  “All of the commissioned knights are being called to the haven. We’ve just learned of a marauder attack on a small village not far from here. Where is your horse?”

  “Just up the road at Lady Brynn’s manor.”

  “Come, we must hurry,” Sir Rolf offered a hand for Dalton to climb onto his own horse.

  Dalton turned to Lady Brynn. “Will you be all right?”

  Brynn looked sorely disappointed, but nodded. Dalton reached down, grabbed her hand, and kissed it. “I’ll return quickly.”

  “Be careful, Dalton!” Brynn looked longingly at Dalton as he pulled himself up on the horse behind Sir Rolf.

  Dalton had just enough time to wave, and then they bolted down the road. They quickly recovered Dalton’s horse, Chaser, and soon were riding at full gallop to join with the other knights.

  Dalton and Rolf joined the other commissioned knights at the haven and then rode for the village. It was not far, but by the time the contingent of thirty-two knights arrived, they were too late. Sir Treffen led the knights into the village, a village laden with sorrow and pain. The bodies of men and women lay in contorted positions on the ground. One woman was weeping over her dead husband. Sir Treffen dismounted and ran to her.

  “Who did this, ma’am?”

  “They took my children,” she moaned as tears streaked down her cheeks.

  “Where? Which way did they go?” Sir Treffen asked.

  The woman pointed east toward the village of Felbridge.

  “We will find them,” Treffen said and mounted up.

  As they neared the next village, Dalton began to hear cries of terror, and his heart raced. He had never truly faced an enemy before. Thus far, his entire life as a knight could be summarized mostly by the training camps he had attended and the havens he’d helped establish.

  Sir Treffen drew his sword, and the other knights followed suit, filling the air with the sound of impending battle. Their horses thundered onward, and Dalton’s stomach rose up to his throat. They broke through the tree line and charged into a village in the throes of a savage attack. At once the marauders turned on the knights, and dozens of fights broke out in the village and the surrounding woods.

  It took Dalton a moment to recover from his angst about the battle, but when he saw a vicious marauder strike a running woman from behind, his anger at injustice fueled his courage. He rode toward the marauder and soon found himself in a battle for his life. Dalton felt awkward fighting on horseback, and his adversary was much more adept than he. Dalton defended as best he could, but his enemy was able to land two hard blows that pounded into his chest and helmet. Dalton lunged at the man, and they tumbled off their horses.

  Dalton fell on top of the marauder, cushioning his own fall and stunning the other man. He jumped to his feet and drew back his sword to cut through the dazed man on the ground.

  Dalton hesitated as he contemplated the reality of his next action. He was about to take the life of another. His sword seemed frozen in place. The sounds of battle filled the trees around him, but he did not hear them, and he could not seem to move through this moment and into the next. He could just watch with fearful eyes as his enemy rose to his feet, a darkened smile crossing his face as he drew back his sword… and then stopped.?

  THE ATTACK

  “This one’s mine.” A fierce warrior had stepped in front of the marauder.

  “Yes, my lord.” The man stepped back and away, toward the rest of the fray.

  This new enemy seemed strangely familiar. Dull black hair hung to his shoulders, and there was a small scar on his neck. He leered with thin lips, revealing yellow teeth.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” he said.

  The warrior’s raspy voice rattled Dalton further. Fear mounted within him—fear that was also familiar, but much stronger this time. He stepped back and tried to recover himself, but he fumbled with his sword. He gripped it tighter and prepared for the fight, but felt awkward, as if he had never held a sword before.

  “I am a Knight of the Prince,” Dalton said to steady himself. “He is my strength.”

  “We shall see about that,” the warrior said with another condescending leer. Then he attacked with a vengeance.

  Dalton found himself in a terrifying fight for his life. The warrior was quick, powerful, and devious. Dalton had never faced such a foe, and his training seemed wholly inadequate for the task. His sword flew to meet a wide slice from the left, and he countered with a slice of his own. It was easily thwarted, and the warrior made a quick vertical counter that sliced through Dalton’s tunic. The tip of the sword grazed his shoulder, but that was all.

  Dalton recovered and tried to quicken the movement of his sword, but the warrior matched his speed, and Dalton knew his own skills were inferior. He heard the clash of the battle to his left and wondered if he could survive long enough for someone to come to his aid.

  Movement caught Dalton’s eye, and he chanced a quick glance to see two large ravens swooping toward him from the trees. He instinctively ducked just as the warrior executed a wide slice, and the diversion hindered his efforts to meet the slice. He managed to halt the enemy’s blade, but its tip was now aimed at his heart.

  The ruthless warrior thrust against Dalton’s sword. Dalton pushed back against the blade of his adversary and moved it slightly, but the icy steel penetrated deep into his right shoulder. Dalton screamed and withdrew, but the warrior slammed another crosscut against Dalton’s sword and it flew from his weakened hand. Gasping with pain, Dalton grasped his shoulder with his left hand.

  The warrior held his blade at Dalton’s chest, his face full of scorn.

  “Where is the strength of your Prince now, knave?” the warrior chided. “There is only true strength in the steel of a blade, not in a foolish fairy tale.”

  Dalton looked up at the warrior and knew there was nothing he could do to stop the deathblow that was sure to follow. He knelt to the ground, weak and afraid.

  “Have mercy,” he pleaded.

  The warrior began to laugh hideously. “Mercy? There is no place for mercy here, imbecile.” He lifted his sword to cut Dalton through.

  Thump! Dalton blinked as something flashed across his shoulder. The warrior screamed in fury and reached for the handle of a knife blade that was embedded in his right arm.

  “Move, Dalton!” A voice came from behind him as the warrior tried to execute the interrupted cut.

  Dalton fell to the ground and rolled away as the blade of the warrior passed just above him. That gave enough time for his ally to jump over him and bring his sword to the fight. The air was filled once again with the clash of swords as a fellow Knight of the Prince boldly stood between Dalton and his adversary warrior. Dalton could not see the knight’s face, but he was intensely grateful for his presence.

  He recovered himself enough to find his sword. He held it with both hands and stood to help his fellow knight, but there w
as no need. The warrior was in full retreat against the knight’s mighty sword. A moment later the warrior fled the fight altogether.

  “I’ll be back for you, knave!” he called out in the distance.

  Dalton shuddered.

  “Thank you for saving my life, sir,” Dalton said.

  The knight turned around, and Dalton’s jaw dropped.

  “It is the Code, Dalton,” the knight said. “To live for any other reason is vanity.”

  “Koen!” Dalton exclaimed.

  Koen sheathed his sword to help Dalton, for his cut shoulder was bleeding badly.

  “I didn’t know you were here,” Dalton said. He hadn’t seen Koen for nearly two years, and something was different. Although Koen’s facial features had lost the subtle remnants of boyhood and been replaced by the firmer lines of manhood, this was not the change Dalton saw. Koen seemed more mature and seasoned as a knight—far beyond Dalton.

  “Sit here.” Koen motioned for him to lean against a tree, and he set to bandaging Dalton’s shoulder. “Our unit was called to the battle too,” Koen replied. “I happened upon your fight by pure circumstance.”

  “You fought that warrior well,” Dalton said.

  Koen paused in his labor and looked at Dalton with a countenance of discernment.

  “Thank you,” he said with a quick nod.

  Then Dalton realized that it was not only Koen who had changed, but he himself Koen’s serious resolve to serve the Prince had been ever present. But only now, after having experienced the reality of the kingdom battle, did Dalton see this resolve as a mark of true nobility and character rather than an awkward and foolish intensity.

  Dalton was ashamed. Years earlier at the haven, Dalton had been the young man everyone looked up to. But here on the battlefield of life, Dalton was the one who looked up to Koen.

  Koen finished the bandage and grasped Dalton’s left hand, lifting him to his feet. Dalton held on to Koen’s hand a moment longer.

  “I owe you an apology, Koen.”

  Koen hesitated with his response again, unsure of what was coming.

  “For what?”

  “For not befriending and defending you at Salisburg.” Dalton dropped his gaze briefly and then looked straight at Koen. “I was wrong, and I’m sorry.”

  Koen’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. “I forgive you…friend.”

  Dalton grimaced, then smiled. “Friend.”

  Dalton helped Koen and the other knights tend to the wounded, but his strength quickly waned. When they prepared to leave, Dalton found it difficult even to mount his steed. Koen stayed close by him.

  “Our farm is not far from here. I think you should rest there until you are stronger.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not much farther to Salisburg,” Dalton said. “I’ll be all right.”

  After a few miles, however, Dalton was struggling to stay coherent, and he continued to weaken. He didn’t resist Koen when they broke from the other knights and his friend brought him to his family farm.

  Koen’s mother removed Dalton’s bandage and cleaned the wound. She tightly bound it up again with a fresh bandage. He fell onto a soft bed they had prepared for him and slept the rest of the day and on through the night.

  Dalton awoke to the giggling sounds of a little girl with cheerful eyes and reddish blond hair.

  “You sound funny,” she said.

  Dalton guessed he must have been snoring. It took him a moment to remember where he was and why a child might be standing next to him.

  “Hi there—”

  “Lacy!” a hushed but urgent voice called out.

  “Uh-oh!” the little girl said. Her smiled vanished.

  “Quick, hide on the other side of the bed,” Dalton said with a wink.

  The little girl grinned, eyes twinkling, and ran around the bed, kneeling down as the door opened. Carliss peeked into the room and realized that Dalton was awake.

  “Oh…I’m sorry… I thought you were still… Lacy!” Carliss said, unsure whether to enter the room or go back outside and knock.

  “Come in. I haven’t seen any Lacy around here,” Dalton said with a look of surprise.

  A slight giggle escaped from the far side of the bed. Carliss opened the door wider and seemed at a loss.

  “She wasn’t supposed to disturb you,” Carliss said. “Lacy! Out of the room.”

  A small head slowly rose up from behind the bed like a sunrise in the morning. The girl looked sheepishly at Carliss.

  “Out,” Carliss commanded.

  The little girl’s lower lip stuck out as she slowly made her way around the bed and toward the door.

  “Goodbye, Lacy,” Dalton called.

  She turned to look at him, and Dalton winked. A smile creased her impish face, and she vanished behind the slender form of Carliss.

  Dalton looked up at Carliss and was quite stunned by how much she had changed. Two years of maturity suited her well, something he hadn’t expected. She was no longer a girl, but a striking young woman.

  “Hi, Carliss.” Dalton tried to sit up and winced at the pain that hit him with the movement.

  “Are you all right?” Carliss hurried toward the bed. “Mother has gone to the neighbors and asked me to check on you.”

  The sheet fell from his shoulder to reveal his blood-soaked bandage.

  “I’ve been better,” he said, and grimaced a smile. He fell back to the bed.

  Carliss inspected his shoulder more closely. “That bandage needs to be changed. I’ll be right back.”

  Carliss returned a few moments later with water and a clean dressing and began to work on his wound. While she focused intently on her work, Dalton’s gaze settled on her face. The process of cleaning was painful, and watching her brown eyes seemed to ease the pain. She glanced at him from time to time to gauge the level of discomfort her work was causing. When she was finished, she inspected her work and let a quick and subtle smile cross her lips.

  “You ought to do that more often,” Dalton said.

  Carliss looked at him and furrowed her eyebrows. “Dress wounds?”

  Dalton laughed. “No…smile.”

  Carliss blushed and busied herself cleaning up the mess of dirty bandages.

  “Thanks, Carliss. You and your family have been so kind to me—something I don’t deserve.”

  Carliss stopped and looked at him. “You’re welcome. Are you hungry?”

  “Starved!”

  “I’ll fetch some food and water for you.”

  “I’d be most grateful.” Dalton watched her leave the room. She doesn’t seem like much of a brat to me, he thought as he remembered Brynn’s last comment about her. She was quiet and serious, but certainly not a brat. In fact, other than her zealous heart for the Prince, Dalton could think of nothing else about her that would cause the other trainees to ostracize her so.

  It was a revelation that both disturbed him and encouraged him, and he wasn’t sure why. He just knew that he liked being around this family.?

  THE CAPTURE

  Dalton stayed with Koen’s family for three days, until he was well enough to travel home to Salisburg. Koen rode with him to the haven but left within a week to rejoin his unit. Dalton stayed six weeks at the haven to allow his arm to fully heal. He enjoyed the reprieve from his travels, for it allowed him to spend time with Brynn. Her father was warming to him with each visit, and this pleased both Dalton and Brynn. She was commissioned during that time but had chosen to stay in Salisburg, so they were able to labor together when the subcouncil of knights at the haven needed them.

  After his respite in Salisburg, Dalton was dispatched to Brimwick Downs on the edge of Altica Valley, where he was to enter an advanced training program. He was excited about this after having experienced his near-fatal defeat at the hands of a vicious warlord. That incident had etched the reality of the battle for the kingdom in his mind and fueled his resolve to become a true expert with the sword.

  He said his farewells to Lady Brynn and her
family and traveled northeast for two days, arriving in Brimwick Downs on a brisk fall morning. Much to his surprise, Koen was enrolled in the same advanced training class.

  “Koen!” Dalton shouted as they arrived at their first session. “It’s good to see you!”

  Koen smiled broadly. “And you!” he replied.

  “How have you been?”

  “I’ve been well. How’s that shoulder?” Koen nodded toward it.

  Dalton grabbed the shoulder with his left hand and massaged it a bit. “Good as new, thanks to your mother and Carliss. Say, how is Carliss? I was at the haven three weeks ago when she was commissioned, but I haven’t heard from her since.”

  “Carliss is well. She’s now training under Sir Orland.”

  “Really?” Dalton asked. “Why Sir Orland? I didn’t know the haven—”

  “The haven doesn’t,” Koen interrupted. “My father arranged it just as he did for me.” Koen hesitated. “He doesn’t feel that the training at the haven is up to par, and Sir Orland is an incredible instructor. He’s seen a lot of action.”

  Dalton thought about their training at Salisburg and agreed that he hadn’t felt adequately prepared to face the warrior who had wounded him—at least not as prepared as Koen was.

  “I’m looking forward to this,” Dalton said as the trainer came to greet them.

  “As am I,” Koen replied.

  Dalton thoroughly enjoyed his time in Brimwick Downs. The training was difficult compared to the training at Salisburg, and he came to enjoy the challenge of it. In the corner of his mind, however, something disquieted him. He marveled at Koen’s commitment to the Prince, and the more he immersed himself in the training, the more elusive his own commitment became.

  Somehow he felt there was a connection between his feelings and the incident with the warrior that nearly cost him his life. The next time he faced such a warrior, he would be ready…he told himself. And yet, as the weeks passed by, Dalton’s concern about the incident with the warrior nearly disappeared from his mind.