by Chuck Black
Dalton looked at Carliss and nodded toward her bow. “How good are you with that?”
Carliss just stared at him.
“She can shoot the eyes out of a mole at fifty paces,” Koen replied for her. “While it’s moving,” he added.
“Good,” Dalton said. “Watch the cave and watch those birds.”
He checked his sword, turned his back to the canyon, and started his descent into the terrifying abode of the evil Lord Drox.
Dalton made it to the ledge where the rope was caught. He gathered the remaining rope with one hand and threw it out and over the ledge, then took a moment to look up at Koen and Carliss. Koen was pointing to the man on the floor, and Carliss was reaching for an arrow.
Dalton felt his heart pound, knowing he was exposed to the whole canyon here, and he wondered if someone was coming. He knew he would have to hurry.
Just then he heard the man below him yell. Dalton looked over the edge of his perch and realized that it was not someone, but something that had concerned Koen and Carliss. The death ravens were now only a few feet above the man, spiraling down on their final descent.
Whoosh! Carliss’s arrow flew straight toward the staked man, and Dalton wondered if the poor soul would die by her arrow rather than by the death ravens. The man screamed as the first three birds landed right beside him.
Thud! The arrow landed just on the far side of the man, right next to one of the ravens. The half-dozen ravens bolted into the air in a frenzy.
Dalton decided to quicken his descent, for he knew that Carliss would not be able to hold off the ravens for long. He had positioned himself and made a step downward when he heard a slight whistle from above.
He looked up to see Koen’s eyes wide in angst. He pointed, and Dalton followed the line until his eyes came to rest on the death ravens. They were no longer circling above the staked knight but flying straight for Dalton.
It took him a moment to comprehend what was happening. Could these ravens be that aggressive? he wondered. It was almost as if they were guardians of the canyon, like bees guarding a beehive.
Dalton shook himself from the sight of two-dozen death ravens getting closer to him by the moment. He gripped the rope and continued his descent as quickly as possible, but he had made it only a few feet before the first raven swooped in on him.
Caw! The bird screeched while it dove straight for Dalton’s head. He pulled in tight to the canyon wall and just missed being pecked by the enormous black beak. The double wings of the bird gave it incredible maneuverability, and it turned in an instant for another attack. This time it came closer and sank its beak into Dalton’s back. The pain nearly caused him to lose his grip.
The bird dropped down and back to gain speed and make way for the next attacker. Dalton took the momentary break to take two more steps down, then prepared for the next bird as it closed in. Just as it began its dive, Dalton heard the swoosh of another arrow.
Caw-aw! The bird screeched as Carliss’s arrow pierced its right double wing. It fluttered end over end downward, ending up impaled against the rocky landing below. Dalton breathed a sigh of relief and quickly descended four more lengths. Another arrow whooshed, and another raven fell lifelessly to the ground.
The other ravens seemed to hesitate, and Dalton made the most of the pause in their attack. He looked up and realized that with a few more feet of descent, the ledge would put him out of sight of Koen and Carliss and therefore out of their protection from the death ravens. He looked down—nearly thirty feet to go.
The ravens seemed to rally, and two of them dove once more on Dalton. Several more ravens flew toward Koen and Carliss, while three others landed on the ledge that the rope was drawn tight against—a divergent attack that left Dalton amazed. How intelligent were these birds? Koen and Carliss were now occupied with their own protection, and the three ravens on the ledge set immediately to pecking at the rope.
Dalton tried to descend farther, but one raven tore a piece of skin off the back of his leg, where no chain mail protected him. Another was coming in on his back again. At the last moment, he pushed away from the cliff edge and loosened his grip on the rope, hoping that he could control his descent. The rope screamed through his leather gauntlets, and he squeezed to slow himself
The death ravens swooped again but missed. Dalton’s speed increased beyond what he could control, and he wondered if he would survive the fall.
Just before impact, he gripped the rope with all his might, and it slammed him against the side of the canyon wall. He felt the rope sever above him, and he fell backward the last few feet, crashing onto the jagged rocks below. Half of the rope tumbled down on top of him from the ledge up above.
He rolled out into the open, in view of Koen and Carliss once again, and the ravens swooped down on him. Carliss found a split second to aim and launch another arrow toward the nearest bird. Pierced through one of its wings, it fell to the ground near Dalton, flapping its other three wings wildly in protest.
Dalton was on his back, trying to recover, and the wounded bird came at his face. Dalton held out his hand to protect himself and the bird latched on to it with a viselike beak. Dalton grabbed its neck with his free hand and wrenched it away, hurling it onto a rock beside him. He jumped to his feet, drew his sword, and dived under the nearest tree.
Those blasted ravens. Now how will I get out of here? he wondered.
After a moment of fruitless pursuit, Dalton’s remaining ravens left him and joined in the attack on Koen and Carliss. He watched his comrades retreat out of sight into the trees behind them, and he paused a second to plot his course. Then he ran and knelt beside the man who was a fellow knight.
“Who are you?” the man asked with wide eyes full of fear.
Dalton didn’t answer. Instead, he sheathed his sword and set to lifting the U-shaped stakes from off the man’s wrists. They were set deep into the ground, and he struggled to lift them even a little.
“I am Sir Dalton,” he said as he strained. “I was once a prisoner here. We haven’t much time.” He finally managed to lift the wrist stakes enough for the man to free his hands, but the stakes at his feet seemed nearly immovable. The man tried to help, but with his legs pinned down, there was little he could do. Being so exposed unnerved Dalton, and with every second he imagined a blade piercing him through from behind. He pulled up with all his might and was able to free one foot.
“Hurry!” the man said in near panic just as Dalton lifted the last stake from his foot…but it was too late.
THE SWORD AND ITS KNIGHT
“Once a prisoner, always a prisoner!” A deep, dark voice echoed off the canyon walls and filled Dalton’s heart with dread.
Dalton turned on his knee to see Drox coming toward them. The knight next to Dalton cowered like a beaten puppy. “No…no…no,” he moaned.
Dalton fought the urge to join in his abhorrent fear as the ominous form of Drox loomed larger with each step.
“I must say that you have surprised me, knave,” Drox taunted as he drew his grisly weapon. “I have never had an escaped prisoner of mine actually come back to my stronghold on his own. You must be a fool of fools,” he bellowed in laughter.
Dalton’s mind flashed to his previous encounters with Drox, and he remembered the absolute power of his sword. This felt the same. Rattled by a powerful sense of déjà vu, he cowered for an instant…until he remembered his time on the mountain and his calling as a Knight of the Prince.
He had been with Master Sejus.
This was not the same.
He felt a surge of strength well up inside him as never before. He rose to his feet and stood tall, his muscles quivering in anticipation of the fight to come. No longer did he doubt his purpose. No longer did he doubt the King—or the Prince! And in that knowledge of truth, he found great authority and power.
He turned and looked at the knight cowering on the ground, mesmerized by the form of Drox.
“Go tell Si Kon I’m coming,” he said qu
ietly but firmly.
The man looked at Dalton, bewildered.
“Go!” Dalton yelled.
“Yes, go knave. I will kill you later!” Drox screamed at the man as he retreated toward the prison-cave.
Dalton turned and glared at Drox. The evil lord was now within striking distance, and Dalton had yet to draw his sword.
Drox locked eyes with him, and Dalton felt the monster tremble.
“I thought I had killed you,” Drox said.
“You thought wrong,” Dalton answered.
Dalton slowly drew his sword, the sword he had polished with Master Sejus, and its blade gleamed brilliantly in the brightness of the sun. The reflection landed on Drox’s face, and he momentarily turned away.
“I have been with the Prince,” said Dalton, “and I’ve come to destroy you, Drox!”
“Never!” Drox screamed, and unleashed a volley of cuts and slices at Dalton.
Dalton focused on the lessons of Master Sejus and found his power in the techniques he had been taught. His sword held firm, and he felt for the subtle faults in Drox’s attack. He did not retreat from the evil lord, but instead brought a steady advance against him. The crash of the swords echoed off the canyon walls in a continuous melodic rhythm of clashing steel.
At one point Drox paused and looked stunned. His eyes opened wide as Dalton assumed one of the stances that Master Sejus had taught him. It was the look of recognition—and the look of fear.
Drox raised one hand high in the air and motioned. Dalton caught movement out of the corner of his eye but dared not take his gaze from Drox.
“I don’t care what you think you’ve learned, knave. I will kill you and feed your measly flesh to my ravens!” Somehow now the words sounded hollow, as if Drox himself only half believed them.
Drox attacked again, just as a death raven swooped from Dalton’s right side. Dalton ducked from the raven and momentarily lost his concentration on Drox. This felt too familiar—and deadly. He recovered just in time to see another two-handed cut flying toward his left arm. Taking the brunt of Drox’s blade would shatter his arm again, and Dalton despaired. He had fallen for the same trick, and this time there would be nothing to keep him from dying at the hands of this bloodthirsty warrior.
In the split second that remained, Dalton was tempted to jump back, hoping by some miracle to avoid the bone-crushing blow of Drox’s blade. Instead, he thrust himself forward, directly into Drox’s body. Drox’s blade still struck Dalton, but near the hilt of his sword, with only a fraction of the original force. They both tumbled to the ground in a fray of armor and swords. The ravens fluttered wildly above them, not knowing what to strike at.
Dalton finally was able to set his foot against Drox’s chest and push away. He rolled backward and onto his feet just as he saw a raven dive toward his head.
See small and aim small; then you will hit the stick. The words of Master Sejus flashed across his mind as Dalton picked one feather on the forward set of wings, just behind the head of the raven. He swung his sword in a blaze of speed and sliced the raven in two.
By now Drox was on his feet, and he stared at Dalton in shock. Drox motioned again with his hand, but this time Dalton heightened his focus on the divergent attack and did not duck.
Drox brought a diagonal cut from the right just as a raven swooped in. Dalton met Drox’s cut while simultaneously sighting a feather on the raven’s underbelly. He quickly slid his blade from Drox’s and swung it in a downward, then upward arc that sliced the bird from neck to tail. It hit the ground with a thud. Drox hesitated, giving Dalton a chance to cut the left wings off of the next attacking bird.
Drox and Dalton locked eyes again, but the moment was interrupted by the neigh of a horse from above. Both Drox and Dalton looked up at the canyon ridge to see a contingent of mounted knights. A glimpse of their banner brought renewed courage to Dalton. Sir Orland had arrived.
Drox stepped back, shaking his head. Another raven attacked Dalton, but he was ready. Its headless body flew into Drox’s chest and splattered him with blood. Dalton felt the power of the Prince in each slice of his magnificent sword and wished for every dreadful raven in the canyon to come to him.
Drox and Dalton both stood motionless for a second. Then Drox gestured for his ravens to continue as he turned and ran headlong toward his prison.
Dalton sliced through four more death ravens until the last few disappeared over the rim of the canyon. He looked toward the retreating Shadow Warrior and found himself in a quandary. What should he do next?
He imagined Drox and his henchmen in the prison conducting countless hasty executions and realized there was no turning back now. He was too far away to give any instructions to Sir Orland, and he wouldn’t know what to tell him anyway. So he pointed in the direction of the cave and ran after Drox, hoping Sir Orland would meet up with Koen and Carliss to form a plan before everyone, including himself, was dead.
He neared the cave entrance just as his enemy was about to duck out of sight.
“Drox!” he yelled, hoping to keep him out in the open, away from his reinforcements.
Drox stopped and turned.
“Is this what you truly are—a coward?”
Drox hesitated as Dalton closed the distance between them.
“You are no warrior,” Dalton taunted. “You are a parasite feeding on the fears of others. You have no real power over any of the knights you hold!”
Drox could take the insults no more. He lifted his sword and took a step toward Dalton—but stopped when the sounds of fighting drifted from the tunnel behind him. He turned and ducked into the cave. Dalton reached the tunnel mouth a few steps behind him and followed him through the twisting passageway.
The sound of clashing swords grew louder as Dalton pressed onward through the corridor, his eyes gradually adjusting to the dim light. Which prisoner has dared to draw a sword against the Vinceros? he wondered. He could imagine only his friend Si Kon having the courage to do so, but Si Kon would not last long by himself, and neither would Dalton. Even with the strength of the Prince in him, Dalton knew that alone he was no match for Drox’s force. He couldn’t wait for reinforcements, though. If he delayed his aid to the imprisoned knights, they all might die. He had to reach them, to persuade them somehow to take up arms against Drox.
He had just reached a bend in the tunnel when he heard the dark voice of Drox echo through the tunnel, and the words pierced him like a dagger.
“Kill them all!”
A WARRIOR’S BLADE
“Drox!” Dalton shouted as he rounded the bend and ran onward.
In the dim torchlight of the tunnel he saw the Shadow Warrior’s large form pass by four figures locked in deadly sword fights at the junction of two tunnels. Dalton remembered passing the darkened tunnel branch when he exited the cave months earlier. But who—?
His eyes adjusted, and he saw the swish of long hair from one of the defenders of the darkened tunnel. Carliss! She and Koen were in the fight of their lives against two Vincero Knights.
Dalton attacked from the blind side of Carliss’s opponent, and he fell to the tunnel floor instantly. Carliss took the opportunity to bring her sword against Koen’s opponent. His yell for help was cut short by her blade.
“Koen! Carliss! Praise the King you are here!”
“We searched for another way in,” Koen said.
“I’m afraid this is going to be…” Dalton paused.
“Let’s go,” Koen and Carliss said in unison, and the three knights ran into the darkness as soldiers of light.
“I saw Sir Orland and his men on the canyon ridge,” Dalton said as they ran.
“They should see our horses near the back tunnel entrance,” Koen replied. “They’re in plain view.”
“We can only hope,” Dalton said. “Carliss, when we enter the prison area, be ready with your bow.”
“I only have two arrows left,” she replied.
“It will have to do,” Dalton looked over at
her as they passed by a torch on the wall. He was momentarily dazed by this spunky girl of yesteryear who had become a courageous woman of strength. What others had found so annoying years earlier at the haven, he now found captivating…her serious resolve to serve the Prince.
If only Lady Brynn…, he found himself thinking.
The light ahead outlined the huge figure of Drox standing near the entrance of the underground prison area.
“I said to kill them all,” Drox was shouting. “Do it now!”
Dalton, Koen, and Carliss entered into the chaos of a bloodbath in the making. Shouts and exclamations filled the prison as a dozen guards and Vincero Knights entered the chamber. Drox’s hounds of despair added their unearthly howling and vicious snarls.
Then, seconds later, the screams began.
Dalton swallowed hard, then added his voice to the commotion: “Rise up, Knights of the Prince, and fight!” He and his friends were immediately engaged by four Vincero Knights, and they maneuvered to cover each other’s backs.
Dalton parried a thrust from one of his opponents and countered with a crosscut that found its mark. He saw Koen’s opponent fall, and he disengaged to leave them at even odds.
“Drox!” Dalton shouted at the top of his lungs.
The mayhem subsided, and there was a peculiar pause in the havoc, broken only by the moans and cries of the wounded.
Drox turned, and Dalton hurtled toward him. “I come for you!” he shouted.
Even the Vincero Knights seemed stunned at that. No one had ever challenged the mighty Lord Drox.
Drox glared at Dalton, then glanced quickly at the odd array of spectators. He whistled and pointed to Dalton. The four hounds of despair bolted toward Dalton from various places in the chamber. Dalton stopped his advance, for it was impossible to survive the attack by four snarling dogs. Two of the hairless hounds flew past Drox and on toward Dalton, baring their fangs in anticipation of the carnage.