“Uriens, take control of the legion and march south to Lancaster by the fastest route available. Meet up with Tar Reiz and tell him that his knights are to follow your orders. Give him this for confirmation,” Pendoran stated, handing over a scroll for the younger elf to take. “Take the druids with you. They are better off with you, as they are not used to riding hard, and we can’t wait for them.”
Uriens was splendid in his armor, his face resolute; despite the verbal bashing he’d taken. He reached out, accepted the offered scroll, and after quick nod her way moved off to begin giving orders to move south. She watched him go, sorry that she had snapped; he’d only been trying to look out for her welfare. Well, it was too late to take it back and she would have to mend that fence if they ever met again.
The Knights of the Realm rode next to the column of soldiers, their armor shining brightly in the morning sun. Pendoran glanced at her once more, then donned his helm and went to gather his men.
She fingered the saddle, lost in thought, sweat beginning to drip as the temperature increased. She wore golden armor, light but still confining and hot to the touch. The crown upon her head slipped a bit and the heated metal slightly burned her forehead. She reached up and pushed it back into place. Twisting the reins around her wrist, she turned to watch the knights come to a halt. From a distance, she listened to their commander address his men.
“Fellow knights, a gigantic host has besieged Lancaster and it falls on us to think not of one life, but the loss of many that may result from our inaction. This is what we were created for and we are honor bound to protect innocents regardless of the cost,” Pendoran hollered at them, and the men roared in agreement. “Before you march to glory, I need nineteen volunteers to ride west and run down the vermin that kidnapped our princess!”
Despite the speech about rushing to Lancaster’s aid, she was surprised to see two hundred hands raise in the air. It warmed her heart and almost made a tear form on the corner of her eye. Pendoran smiled at his comrades and selected the men he needed; seemingly at random. The rest he placed under Uriens command and turned his horse to come by her side once more. Nineteen knights gave their comrades their farewells, then broke from the larger host and formed up behind their commander’s stead.
“Ready to depart, my Queen?” Pendoran asked, eyes turned west. She spurred her horse around and followed his gaze. There was a thin line of smoke in the distance and her heart quickened; were her daughter’s kidnappers finally within their sights? “The enemy is on the horizon! Let’s run them down!” Pendoran yelled to his comrades and kicked his horse’s flanks.
She had quickly followed suit, her own reflexes only seconds behind Pendoran’s. She was not focusing on rallying the men; hope had begun to flower in her heart that she might actually see her daughter again and she had no time for words of encouragement or long-winded speeches. Bella was right there! Nothing mattered more than getting to her quickly and holding her once more. Her horse launched across the grasslands as they raced to catch their target; praying they’d get to her in time.
III
Revan sat by his king’s side, thinking of the last time they had talked to one another. He felt guilty for his friend’s state, for despite what the king believed, he truly considered the man a friend; one of the few he had. Yet, he had been harsh in his comments relating to his friend’s daughter, their princess, despite the emotional response it might invoke. It had been cold and though true, the wrong thing to say to a grieving father.
Then there had been his pushing of meeting with Lancaster’s messenger, his vehemence in defending a fellow magic user, and the ignorance of the king’s condition as he pushed to make his point. He could see the reaction the man was having and had kept going anyway. When Erik fell to his knees screaming he had been caught off-guard, not knowing what was happening or how to help his fallen monarch.
Then Amysta had been there, bashing him with insults and questions, her husband in her arms. He had stepped back in confusion and looked around, aware that the king’s scream had drawn onlookers. Acting quickly, he had ordered the human envoy to give him a hand and together they carried the king back to his chambers. Amysta had been by his side, watching them wearily, heavily concerned with the fate of her husband.
Once they had removed his armor and placed him in his bed, Revan had called upon his powers and probed the fallen monarch. He appeared to be in a coma. Vivid dreams and memories raged through his mind; some familiar, others alien. There was no sign that Erik would wake any time soon and he was forced to make a hard decision regarding the king’s welfare.
“My Queen. I know that you blame me for this, but on my soul, I have no idea what just happened. I will do what I can to help him, but you cannot stay; you need to go,” he told the grieving wife.
Amysta had been too stunned to move, eyes cautiously boring into him. “What are you talking about? I’m not going to just leave him like this!”
Jared interrupted them by barging into the room; eager to check on the welfare of his sovereign. Revan had ordered the aide to guard the door and make sure no one else entered or knew what was happening within. Seeing that his King was resting and in no immediate danger, the elf had reluctantly stepped out and left the four of them alone. The messenger was sent back to his room with a strict warning not to speak a word of what had transpired. The man had been quick to depart, leaving the magister to deal with the fuming queen alone.
“Are you going to cast some spell to make me forget what’s happening? To force me to leave?” Amysta asked, stepping forward until her face was within inches of his; her breath controlled and hot upon his chin.
“No, I’m simply going to tell you how it is, and you can decide. Erik was able to persuade the council members to go to war this morning on his will alone, but he made a couple of enemies in the process. If Haymdal were to learn what has happened, he will see it as an opportunity to move against him; we can’t afford that. The army must march immediately or not at all. Nothing has changed. Your daughter’s kidnappers are out there, and someone must chase them down,” he had explained, trying to make the queen see reason.
“So, you’re just going to hide him in the dark and hope that no one notices he didn’t ride out with the others?” she asked with disbelief.
He nodded. “If the knights march now, then no one will know that the king isn’t with them. Jared and I alone will take care of him, to keep the circle small and closed. Jared will not open his mouth, he’s loyal to Erik and knows the stakes.”
“I can’t leave him,” she moaned, but he knew that she was slowly coming around to his line of thinking; only resisting by reflex.
“The longer we debate, the further your daughter gets. Do you trust anyone but yourself to find her and see her home?” he pushed and knew that he had won by the resignation on the woman’s face.
After a few stern instructions concerning the welfare of her husband, she had relented and gone to change into her armor. She had to move quickly if she were to stay ahead of the rumor mill and get the army out of the castle before the delay was noticed.
Now he was sitting next to his King alone, the occasional meal snuck into the room by the king’s aide. Jared confirmed that everyone believed Erik had ridden with his knights and was currently heading towards the kingdom’s western borders. Those that had heard the king’s bellow had nothing to follow up on, and though there was some gossip concerning what happened, they assumed that their Lord had pushed on and had gone seeking his daughter. As long as no one ventured into the king’s chambers, their secret could be preserved.
He reached out and touched his friend’s temple, allowing his mind to drift along with the monarch’s thoughts. It was excessively jumbled, chaotic, and frantic; he couldn’t understand any of it. It was as if two minds were occupying the same space, battling for control. He had no clue how to fix it and couldn’t call one of the clerics for assistance; lest their secret be revealed.
He was going to have
to wait it out and see if it resolved on its own. If it worsened, he would summon a cleric and pray for the man’s silence, but otherwise he would have to continue his silent vigil.
Briefly, he’d considered if this was an illness brought on by poison or a spell, but he could sense neither and was adept enough to know he was right. No, this was an internal struggle of the mind, not the physical. Whatever was going on, it would fall on Erik to see his way through it alone.
Laying his head back, he shifted and tried to get comfortable. He had an uneasy feeling that he was going to be there for a while.
Chapter 18
The Horseman
I
“Rí ruirech, we hae wuid frae Kamdeac,” the dwarven aide announced.
The dwarven King was attempting to finish his meal; the stag was overly raw, and the Grog was stale. He was going to have to talk with the cook; this would not stand. He liked his meat well cooked and hated seeing the blood squishing under his knife. He downed the flat Grog and motioned for his steward to refill his chalice. “Open a different barrel, thes Grog taste loch Grobi!”
“Rí ruirech—,” his aide insisted, but he raised his hand to cut him off.
“Ah heard ye th’ first time, ye ur interruptin’ mah tatties an’ neebs, sae it’d better be important!” Waldemar growled at the man. His aide was hopping from one foot to another, very unlike the usually stoic man that served him. He laid down his fork and gave the dwarf his full attention. “Weel, whit is it? Yoo’re actin’ loch yoo’re bladder is foo, ye dornt need permission tae gang use a chamberpot.”
Lennart bowed and quickly began talking. “My Rik, a messenger arrived frae Branham. Rí benn Keegan hud scoots sent north tae Kamdeac when wuid spreid ay goblin hordes roamin’ th’ plains unchecked. Nane ay them returned. He sent twintie kazhunki tae investigate, tois came back riddled wi’ plague. They waur quarantined, an’ affair they descended intae madness, they tauld Keegan ‘at Kamdeac was naethin’ but a fortress ay th’ deid.”
“Makk aln ha’ak!” the King swore, suddenly feeling his food even less desirable. It was a good thing dwarves had healthy appetites. He cut another piece and purposely took another bite. It was important for a ruler to not show weakness of any kind; to do so would invite an attack. “Is Keegan sure?”
“He’s afraid tae send anyain else tae check. Th’ cleric tendin’ th’ tois kazhunki got th’ plague an aw,” Lennart told him grimly.
Despite the grim news, he almost felt like laughing. Keegan was a nervous paranoid dwarf, always jumping at shadows. If there was any chance of him catching whatever this plague was, he’d run in the opposite direction, his retainers rushing to try and catch him. “Is ‘at aw?” he pushed, the aide was still hopping around.
“Nae, mah Rik,” the dwarf muttered. “An envoy frae Lancaster—.”
“Anither a body? They still holdin’ ontae ‘at madman?” he cut in.
Lennart shook his head. “An enemy horde has besieged th’ castle an’ they request aid, mah Rik.”
He gave the aide a look of disbelief. The Phoenix’s lackeys hadn’t been seen south of the Deadlands in decades; the reports couldn’t be accurate. “Did Bendor send it ur did a body ay Constantine’s advisors?”
The dwarven aide’s head bowed. “Constantine is deid; murrdad by a mage named Merlin wi’ th’ help ay his son; mah Rik.”
“Goblinshit!” he swore, slamming his hand on the table. His Grog sloshed out of his chalice and splashed upon his food. Well—maybe it’d improve the taste. “Hae they caught th’ dobber?”
“Nae, mah Rik. They ask ‘at if we fin’ them, we hauld them until they can be escorted tae Lancaster tae be hanged,” Lennart bowed his head to his king.
“Ha! I’ll sae them th’ time an’ dae it myself. Constantine main be a human, but he was a guid kin’ an’ mah friend. May Goibniu reciefe heem weel,” he toasted, raising his chalice then taking a deep gulp of his Grog. It was fresh and tasted better than that swill he had been given before. It splashed on his long red beard and he used the sleeve of his maroon robe to wipe it off.
Lennart was still waiting, and he realized that the aide was expecting new orders. “Send th’ messenger back tae Branham. Inf’rm Keegan he’s tae verify th’ state ay Kamdeac, if ‘at means he takes his fat crease north an’ sees it fur himself,” Waldemar told his aide firmly. “As tae Lancaster, teel Noelani tae muster a company an’ march them eest. Ah doubt huir uv a much ‘at th’ vermin hae come knockin’, but in th’ memory ay Constantine, we cannae jist ignair their requests. Teel th’ general tae keep an yak it fur thes mage an’ ‘at dam’ son, tae execute them if he finds them.”
Waldemar was in the middle of taking another gulp of Grog when he noticed that Lennart still hanging around. “If ye dinnae lit me finish mah pure techt, I’ll hae ye march wi’ them. Looks loch yoo’re foo ay pep, we’ll donner it ay ye!” he cursed at the dwarf. “Frae th’ state ay yer stomach, it micht dae ye some guid!” The king broke into laughter and ended up spilling more of his Grog on his food. That actually turned out to be a good thing; the meat did indeed taste better. The red was washed away with the Dwarven ale soaking into it. He’d have to remember to mention it to the cook, maybe do it on purpose. Less drinking then and more eating!
“Sorry, mah Rik, jist wanted tae make sure ‘at was—,” Lennart began, but the glare he got in return silenced him. Taking his cue, he whirled about and fled from the dining room like his ass had caught fire.
Waldemar chuckled again, then thought of the fallen king. Such a shame. A brave and courageous human in his day; he should have a sonnet created in his memory. Plagues, hordes, assassinations, maybe there was something sinister about. Yet, his mind was being filled with drink; it was still early, and he had a lot more to get down before nightfall. His wife Fumnaya had been knaggy lately; the more Grog he drank, the quicker he would fall asleep.
“Tae Fumnaya!” he toasted and downed his Grog, calling for more.
II
“John, that runner has been trying to get your attention,” Roland informed his King.
They were standing at the base of the tower, the last of the orders given, and their two-stage attack about to commence. He didn’t have time for anything else! He needed to stay focused and make sure that this went off without a hitch. He wanted to be out there riding with the cavalry, just in case he spotted his former aide hiding at the rear of the enemy army.
He couldn’t conceive of letting that bastard roam free.
“Whit is it?” Bendor asked the runner, stepping from the tower and coming to John’s side.
“Sir! A small group riding under a white flag has approached the southern gate and asks to offer terms,” the man told them, bowing his head out of respect.
He turned to Roland, his heart thundering in his chest; fury unchecked. “Give the order, send them now. I’ll humor them as long as I can; distract them while you start your attack.”
“Sire, yoo’re gonnae lat at while their commander approaches under a flag—?” Bendor questioned.
He turned to face the dwarven commander. “They tried to sack the city last night; invading our keep and attacking our castle walls! They don’t get to retract that act or offer us terms. For those can only be of our surrender, slaughter, and enslavement,” he told Bendor, who nodded grimly in understanding. He turned back to Roland. “You’ve got your orders, good luck and Godspeed.”
His cavalry commander bowed his head with a snap and climbed upon his horse. Though not taking part in the assaults himself, it was important for the men to see him mounted while commanding them from afar; it helped to boost their morale.
He watched Roland ride north, then turned and gripped Bendor’s shoulder. “Let’s go see what these bastards want.”
There was no way he’d lower the drawbridge and meet these creatures personally, so he exited the inner gates and began the climb the battlements overlooking the grasslands beyond. Soldiers saluted as he passed, but he saw the uneasiness behi
nd their actions, and wondered how shaken they’d become over the enemy envoy’s presence.
As he reached the top of the stairs, his dwarven comrade right on his heels, he walked towards the edge and looked over. Understanding flooded him and he realized why his soldiers were nervous.
An aide had followed after with a small bench, and they placed it against the outer wall so Bendor could look between the merlons and see what was transpiring below. His quick intake of breath told him that Bendor agreed with his own mixed feelings of horror and awe. He was glad to not be alone as he tried to control the firing nerves within.
The largest orc he had ever seen was sitting astride a red armored black stallion. The orc had matching armor, the horned platemail covering the entire body with the exception of a two-horned helm; which was cradled in the orc’s right arm. Two thick shafts, probably belonging to battleaxes, rose in a v-pattern behind the creature’s back. Long tusks protruded from the orc’s mouth and his pure black hair hung loose upon his shoulders. Flames flowed from the orc’s eyes as they glared up at him from below.
He briefly wondered what pit of hell the creature had crawled out of.
The orc was flanked by two gargoyles, gray wings folded in, talons clenching with anticipation. They were unarmored, but their hides looked tougher than anything he had ever seen before, and he doubted a sword would easily penetrate their hides. Mouths of teeth sneered up at them and he couldn’t help but notice goosebumps had risen on his arms.
To the rear of the trio was a lone goblin, holding a white flag stained with blood. The black armored creature was eager for a fight, his eyes straying across the battlements as if imagining their slaughter. The goblin’s horse was jittery in the presence of the others and looked as nervous as he felt.
“You asked to speak to me, here I am!” he hollered down at them, trying to keep the nerves from making his voice tremble.
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