by Chuck Black
His friendship with Koen strengthened, however. Their months together afforded time to forge a powerful bond of brotherhood between them. Dalton found strength in Koen’s truly noble character and his steadfast commitment to the Prince. When the training at Brimwick Downs was complete, Dalton and Koen traveled back toward Salisburg together.
They arrived at Koen’s farm east of Salisburg just before dusk, and Dalton took a few moments to greet Koen’s family. He was pleased to see Carliss there and delighted to renew his acquaintance with little Lacy and the rest of Koen’s siblings. But he lingered a bit too long. By the time he resumed his journey home, the receding daylight was obscured by dark, ominous thunderclouds. The wind howled through the trees, and Dalton quickened his pace to make it home before the rain came.
He took the shorter route through the woods south of Kaar Lake. Chaser, normally a steady animal, seemed unusually skittish. He spooked and turned about at the roar of thunder not far away.
“Easy, boy.” Dalton patted the steed’s neck. “Let’s just get home before the real storm hits.”
Dalton turned Chaser south again on the path through the woods but found it difficult to get the animal to move.
“Come on, Chaser. Let’s go,” he said firmly.
Caw! A black mass swooped down at Chaser’s head, and the horse reared up in fear, throwing Dalton from the saddle. He hit the ground with a thud that seemed to jar his spine up into his skull. Chaser bolted back up the trail from which they had come, away from the approaching storm.
Dalton would have been angry, but something deep in his soul evoked a different emotion. He stood and looked down the road at the fleeing animal.
“Chaser!” he yelled, but the howling wind stifled his voice, and the horse disappeared into the blackness of the forest trees. Thunder cracked through the sky, and intense lightning illuminated the forest walls in brilliant, brief flashes.
Dalton’s anxiety intensified as he remembered the black raven that had spooked his horse. Chills crawled up and down his spine as he sensed an ominous presence behind him. Was it just his imagination? He slowly turned about, half expecting to see some nightmarish figure, then breathed a sigh of relief when the road before him was empty.
Crack! Thunder exploded simultaneously with a lightning strike just a short distance to his left, and the forest flashed with a burst of bright white light. Dalton froze in fear, for in that instant his eyes beheld the image of his nightmares. Though the appearance was brief, it was engraved in his mind forever. A towering, dark armored warrior stood just two paces away with a wicked sword drawn, ready to cut Dalton in two.
Dalton drew his sword in an instant and executed a powerful slice toward the position where he had seen the warrior. His sword flew through the air in a full circle, severing only the wind that howled there. Dalton’s fear gripped him and swallowed him whole, for this beastly warrior was someone from his past, he instinctively knew. He moved from his position and tried to listen for his enemy, but it was useless.
Another bolt of lightning flashed, and this time Dalton’s eyes widened in horror as he caught a glimpse of the massive warrior finishing a two-handed slice aimed for his left shoulder. The impact was unavoidable, and there was nothing he could do but gasp.
The blade slammed into his upper arm with the force of a battle-ax. Though his chain mail buffered his skin from the sharp edge of the blade, he felt his bone crack beneath the impact. The force of the blow carried onward and slammed Dalton into a tree, his head careening into the trunk with a thud.
Dalton collapsed to the forest floor like a rag doll, nauseated from the pain in his arm and head. He curled up and tried to cradle his left arm, but a massive hand encircled his throat and dragged him a few feet farther into the trees. When he attempted to roll away and make a run for it, a massive boot crushed him to the ground.
Deep, guttural laughter overpowered the sound of the wind, and the lightning flashed once again. Dalton caught another glimpse of his beastly adversary, his boot pressing against Dalton’s chest like a massive boulder and his dark sword pointing at Dalton’s throat. Black stringy hair swished about the warrior’s shoulders in the wind. Dalton gaped, for this warrior looked much like the one who had nearly killed him months earlier, only much larger now. The scar on his neck was too much to be coincidence, and Dalton trembled in fear. Surely he was facing none other than one of Lucius’s powerful Shadow Warriors.
How is this possible?
“I told you I would come back for you, knave.” The warrior sheathed his sword, drew his knife, and knelt down close to Dalton. “I always come back!”
Dalton cowered in the face of the warrior’s overpowering strength and knew his death was imminent. Lightning now illuminated the forest in bright flashes every few seconds, giving Dalton frequent images of his impending demise. The first drops of rain hit his face and mixed with the blood that oozed from his forehead. His arm lay limply at his side.
“Who are you?” Dalton said weakly.
Lightning flashed, and the warrior was now only inches from Dalton’s face. His knife momentarily gleamed near Dalton’s right eye. The warrior’s eyes were deep and black. He was so massive that Dalton felt like a child in his hands.
“I am Skia Ek Distazo, but you will call me Lord Drox. I have been with you from the very beginning, my ignorant young fool.”
“Dalton!” a faint voice called through the wind, rain, and trees.
“Koe—” Dalton tried to call back, but Drox’s massive hand pressed hard against his mouth and cut his plea short.
The warrior dragged Dalton farther into the woods and behind a large tree, where they could just see the road a few paces away. He tightened his suffocating grip on Dalton’s face and pressed the knife against his throat.
“Cry out, and it will be your last!” the evil voice whispered in his ear.
“Dalton!” Koen’s voice was unmistakable now. He passed by them on the road, leading Chaser behind him.
Dalton dared not move, but he was amazed that this warrior was hiding from Koen at all. Drox was so huge and so powerful that surely he could kill Koen with as much ease as he had defeated Dalton. And yet Dalton sensed apprehension in Drox’s grip.
“Dalton!” Koen’s voice was nearly imperceptible now.
The rain became heavy sheets of water that drenched Dalton and added to his misery, for only a miniscule amount of air was passing between Drox’s fingers and into Dalton’s nostrils. He struggled for each breath, and the water nearly closed off his precious air.
Just when he thought he would pass out, Drox dropped his hand from Dalton’s mouth and lifted him to his feet. Still a prisoner of the powerful grip, Dalton was dragged to Drox’s horse. His hands and feet were bound, his broken arm screaming in protest. A dirty rag served as a gag, and a hood was placed over his head. Then he was thrown facedown behind the horse’s saddle.
Drox mounted and steered his horse deeper into the forest, away from the road. With every strike of the horse’s hooves, pain exploded through Dalton’s body, and he screamed into his gag. Finally he could take it no more. Dalton sagged into unconsciousness on his journey of woe.
THE PRISON OF DISTAZO
Dalton faded in and out of consciousness as the Shadow Warrior took him deeper into the forest. To Dalton, it seemed they had traveled for an eternity At one point he heard other dark voices and roused to a sketchy consciousness. Drox dismounted, and no matter their destination, Dalton hoped that this was the end of their travels.
Dalton heard the snorting and pawing of many horses nearby.
“Rise up, Distazo,” he heard the voice of another powerful warrior say. “What manner of prisoner have you captured for me this time?”
“He is another young fool from the city of Salisburg, my lord. I’ve been working on him and many others for years.”
“Ah, I am pleased with your work. Which of my deceptions worked best with him?”
“He believed a little of all of the
m, my lord. Just enough to make him weak and vulnerable.”
“Good…good. That is always the most effective. And are you training more Vincero Knights?” the dark lord asked. The mere sound of his voice made Dalton shudder. If Drox was this dark lord’s servant, Dalton was glad he could not see an even darker face of evil.
“Continually, my lord. Before long, the havens won’t even recognize them.”
The dark lord laughed loudly, and other grim chortles joined him.
“Carry on, Distazo. One day I will come and visit your prison myself.”
“I would be honored, my lord,” Drox said. Minutes later he mounted up once again.
Dalton heard the sound of many horses galloping away. Then Drox moved onward, and Dalton once more fell into the blackness of his mind.
Dalton opened his eyes to a place of utter despair. He was lying in a heap on the floor of a dank, filthy prison cell. He moved to sit up and then screamed in agony against the pain that exploded from his left arm. He waited for the intensity of the pain to subside before trying to move again. This time he carefully cradled his arm with his right hand and then moved to sit up. Even then, the pain was nearly unbearable.
He took a deep breath and rested against the stone wall at the back of the cell. The throbbing in his head added to his misery. He took another breath and looked around. Only now did he realize that there was no door to his prison cell. At the front of the cell there were bars, but the door had been removed. The way stood open.
A prison cell with no door? How strange!
“Where am I?” he gasped into the blackness.
“You are in Drox’s prison,” a voice answered gently.
Startled, Dalton looked to his right to see a man a few years older than himself. Dressed in the garb of a knight, he sat on his haunches, staring at him through the iron bars from the adjacent cell. His tunic was dirty and worn, his chain mail rusty. From the man’s accent, Dalton guessed he was from the far northern region of the kingdom.
“Who are—”
“Shh!” The man held his finger to his lips and pointed toward the front of the prison cells.
Dalton made a monumental effort to scoot a few feet to the man and leaned against the bars next to him.
“Who are you?” he whispered.
“I am Si Kon. But my name is of no significance here. I am…was… just like you. A Knight of—”
The man stopped short and looked at Dalton with fear in his eyes.
“You mean a Knight of the—?” Before Dalton could finish, the man reached through the iron bars and slapped his hand over Dalton’s mouth. He held it there tightly as he slowly shook his head, his eyes wide.
“Do not speak that name here,” he whispered, then slowly removed his hand.
Dalton looked left and right and could see many cells each way. As near as he could tell, all were occupied.
“Why don’t the cells have doors on them?” he asked softly. “Is there an outer chamber that is locked?”
“No,” the knight replied. “There is no outer chamber, and the passageway out of the prison is not guarded.”
Dalton was confused. “Then why don’t you and everyone else here leave?”
“Because I”—Drox’s dark voice echoed through the prison cells—“will stalk you, hunt you, and utterly destroy you!” The warrior stooped to enter Dalton’s cell. Si Kon scuttled away to the far corner of his own cell and watched in horror. Fear swept over Dalton again as this beast of a warrior strode over to him.
“You begged for mercy once before, and now I offer it.” Drox’s smile managed to be both terrifying and enticing. “Renounce your foolish beliefs, and you are free to go. Many have done so, and it is a simple thing, especially since you don’t really believe all that nonsense about the Prince anyway…yes?”
Dalton’s mind raced through the possible outcomes of Drox’s apparent trickery. Could it be that simple? Is this all the massive warrior truly desired, for Dalton to renounce the Prince? Dalton considered it carefully, but deep in the center of his heart, something would not let his lips form those words. Every fiber of his body ached to be free, no matter the cost, and the pain in his arm and head screamed against his defiance, but still Dalton resisted.
“No,” he said quietly.
Si Kon looked away as the wrath of Drox erupted in a vile string of curses. He reached down and grabbed Dalton’s upper arms with his huge hands. Dalton screamed as new agony shot through his broken left arm.
Drox lifted him into the air and shook him. “You will, fool. One day you will—and I will revel in that day!”
Drox threw Dalton into the corner of his cell and left. Dalton’s mind wallowed on the fringe of consciousness, for the pain took his breath away. A few moments later, Si Kon entered Dalton’s cell with some cloth and two flat pieces of wood.
“You are brave,” he said as he gently helped Dalton sit up again. “Perhaps foolish like the rest of us, but brave nevertheless.”
Si Kon set to splinting Dalton’s arm with the wood and the cloth. The process was incredibly difficult to bear, but once it was complete, Dalton felt mildly better. They fashioned a sling from Dalton’s belt, which helped immensely.
“Thank you,” Dalton said.
Si Kon nodded.
“How long have you been here?”
“Many, many months,” Si Kon said sadly. “I miss my wife and two daughters.”
“Have you ever considered escape?” Dalton asked.
“At first, every day. But now…” His voice trailed off. “Some have tried, and they were killed. It is our fear of Drox that imprisons us, not the iron bars.”
With Si Kon’s help, Dalton stood and walked to the front of his cell. The prison was inside a massive underground cavern. An open area in the center was surrounded by hundreds of cells just like Dalton’s. Some had iron bars, but some were just alcoves in the granite walls. The walls and ceiling were grungy and black. The ceiling rose in a jagged arc from the cells to a height of thirty to forty feet. At the top, Dalton saw birds flying in and out of a ragged opening that must have led to the outside world. A steady stream of water dripped from the entrance and fell to a mucky pool below. Torches set in sconces along the walls illumined this morbid prison.
To his left, Dalton could see the main entrance of the cave—a dark tunnel. On the far right, four lean and vicious canines were devouring the carrion of some creature. Their hairless hides were covered with large blotches, and the largest was the size of a small bear.
Not far from the hounds was a large, jumbled stash of swords. Dalton looked at Si Kon and then motioned toward the weapons.
“Drox calls them his hounds of despair,” Si Kon said with a smirk.
“Not the dogs,” Dalton said. “The swords.”
They are ours.
“But they are practically unguarded,” Dalton said with surprise. “There are many knights here, and only one Drox.”
“Drox is as powerful as a hundred knights,” Si Kon said. “We would be fools to try…dead fools.”
Dalton was stunned by his response and marveled at the apparent power Drox possessed over the minds of their fellow knights. Then he realized that he too was Drox’s prisoner and dared not condemn his brothers and sisters just yet.
“Besides,” Si Kon continued, “there are the hounds, the death ravens, the guards, and Drox’s Vincero Knights. They will do little to stop you from leaving, but once outside you will be hunted again. Hunted by them like sport. And if they don’t get you, Drox will. Then when he finds you…” Si Kon’s gaze dropped to the floor. “It is hopeless to try.”
“This shouldn’t be,” Dalton said in exasperation. “We are Knights of the Prince!”
“No!” Si Kon said. “I told you. You cannot speak that name here!” He slowly backed away from the cell opening as a sinister growl sounded.
The hounds had all stopped their feast. They looked Dalton’s direction and lurched to their feet. The largest ran toward his cel
l, and the other three followed close behind. Now Dalton wished his cell had a door, for there was nothing to stop them. He backed away as the hounds approached the cell opening. All four snarled viciously, revealing yellow, bloodstained fangs.
“If they attack, give them your good arm,” Si Kon said in a hushed tone. “The chain mail will help.”
The pack leader lunged for Dalton’s neck, and he raised his right arm just in time for the hound to clamp its jaws down on his chain mail. It held, but the force of the hound’s bite was powerful. Another hound attacked, and Si Kon intercepted it with his own arm. The other two hounds guarded the cell opening as if to keep their prey from escaping.
Dalton felt the teeth of the hound pierce his flesh, though not deeply. The animal growled and yanked backward, opening the wounds further. Dalton knew his arm would be a mangled mass of torn flesh were it not for his chain mail.
The hound released its grip and poised for another attack. Dalton heard Si Kon fighting with the second hound.
“Release!” a voice commanded from just outside the cell.
The four hounds ended their attack and slunk away from the cell. A knight in black armor stood at the cell opening. He crossed his arms and glared at Dalton.
“Si Kon, you should know better than to join yourself to fresh meat.”
Si Kon scowled at the knight as he cradled his arm.
“Back to your own cell,” the knight commanded.
Si Kon went to the opening of his own cell, and the knight shoved him from behind. “Keep quiet!” Then he moved away.
Si Kon went to the iron bars between their cells and sat down. Dalton leaned against the bars close to him.
“I’m sorry,” Dalton whispered as he took a deep breath. “I didn’t know.”
“I will die before I become one of them,” Si Kon murmured.
“What do you mean?” Dalton massaged his arm with his left hand, thankful the attack of the hound had left only minor cuts.
Si Kon turned and looked at Dalton with narrow eyes. His straight black hair had grown so long that it nearly covered his eyes.