Four days passed since the decision to send aid to Lord Cyprius. Sir Rothbur, Sir Brian, and Sir Amis would be halfway to Rohalot by now. The rested and energetic Siadhal arranged most of the preparations in their brief time. Officially deciding to send aid only the previous day, they completed much in the final hours of the day while many others worked through the night gathering food, finding blankets, and amassing arms to see the company off in good order.
Lord Marillac rode down the winding escarpment with Anthanasius. He was grave, but not overly so. He turned to his companion and spoke, “I want you to keep me informed of developments and your need for men; we are making a bold move and I do not desire to see the kingdom divided further.”
“I will, sir. And thank you for trusting me with a mission so important,” he replied and then continued, “You’ll think this poor timing, perhaps, but I wasn’t sure I would ever say it. You remember when I brought my wounded company to your gates recently?”
Lord Marillac simply nodded.
“I’ve not spoken to the others about it, but several times on Shalmen armor I noticed a design. It is simple enough; just a vertical diamond ringed with a circle. I thought nothing of it until two days ago when I noticed a similar design in the infirmary while visiting my wounded.”
Lord Marillac’s brows drew together greatly. “Indeed,” he mumbled.
The two continued on for another minute with Lord Marillac deep in thought. Anthanasius realized the knowledge might unduly trouble his friend and gave more information. “The sign in Echo Slope appears very old, but still…”
Lord Marillac’s countenance lightened somewhat. “That is good news… or… at least it appears to be...” he said.
“I just wanted to tell you in case something happens,” Anthanasius said, relieved of lightening his burden, hopefully reducing the anxiety he would bring into the stressful times ahead.
Nearing the bottom, Luke and Siadhal rode up to the two and saluted. The company waited for the leaders to bid farewell to Lord Marillac.
He understood his role and spoke first. “I thank you all heartily, and wish you a safe return.”
Anthanasius said, “Do not take any unnecessary chances.”
Luke and Siadhal bowed in agreement, not yet knowing the additional significance from what passed between the other two.
As all turned to go, Lord Marillac said, “May the gods guide your steps.”
He in his turn swung his horse around and ponderously rode back up the winding pathway. Before entering through the gates he stopped and looked out over the plain. The crisp air stirred through his hair and lashed it against his face, but he stood defiant, staring ahead. Even his horse seemed to wait unbending for the interval.
He could still make out the three leaders riding together at the front. He bit his bottom lip slightly and wondered. Perhaps Anthanasius now told the other two about the diamond mark? Maybe they remembered the same thing from their own time in the forest two weeks ago? Now they walked toward it again, and not a complaint slipped past their lips. His friends… gone.
He blinked hard after a particularly raw breeze and noticed how long the seeming instant lasted. The sky appeared a bleak blue-white of oncoming winter and an unwonted chill passed through him. The last of the company disappeared into the forest—a full half mile farther than he expected.
Rousing himself with a shake of his head, he pulled on his horse’s bridle and gave it a gentle kick to continue into the castle. Inside, many walked about in lighthearted merriment without heeding the weather. ‘Perhaps it was in my head,’ thought Lord Marillac as he dismounted and tried again to shake the uneasy feeling that clung about him. Anyway, he couldn’t bother with feelings; he needed to investigate.
*****
Anthanasius, Luke and Siadhal led their company into Rowaton Forest. Many times they came into clearings; some larger than others. The day passed quickly, and the night without event.
In the meantime Anthanasius asked the two riding near him, Luke and Siadhal, about their impression of the Shalmen soldiers, not yet mentioning the parallels between their decoration and the one in Echo Slope’s infirmary.
“Stout fellows to be sure,” Siadhal said immediately, “There is much honor to be gained from overthrowing them.”
Luke breathed in and waited a while before talking. Finally he said, “They are mysterious. And I don’t know why I say that.”
He fell quiet and considered, but Siadhal interrupted him with a guffaw. “Don’t read too much into it, Luke. They’re marauding invaders that need to be driven out or slain; and I wouldn’t mind the latter.”
Anthanasius steered the conversation in a more productive direction. “Did you notice their ensign?”
“Hmm. I’m not sure I heeded one,” Siadhal said, and then promptly followed up with an explanation. “I tried not to get too close to them; seeing them from a distance is enough to recognize they aren’t one of us and I only care if my arrows hit. An enemy is an enemy notwithstanding the armor.”
Meaning this as decisive, but wondering nonetheless, he asked Anthanasius. “Did they have one?”
He shifted in his saddle and answered. “It was my fault for not looking and I only noticed by accident; it didn’t occur to me that the decoration pounded into his armor might be their insignia.”
“Whose armor?” Luke queried.
“One of my pursuers in the forest from which Siadhal rescued me,” he replied.
Siadhal chuckled and said with a smile, “That wasn’t me but I thank you anyway for your gratitude.”
Anthanasius smiled a mischevious smile to Luke and flamboyantly said, “It was on the breastplate of a soldier someone other than Siadhal saved me from.”
They all laughed at this, but Siadhal the loudest. He laughed with a delightful jollity similar to Lord Marillac. The mirth ceased but lingered and they all felt better for it.
Anthanasius again caught the escaping conversation and pulled it back. “Did you notice an ensign, Luke?”
Luke had not and he said as much. Anthanasius proceeded to tell them what he said to Lord Marillac about the mysterious connection. All wondered about the possible link, but, as they could find nothing more out, they eventually moved on to a different topic of conversation.
On the fourth afternoon, they noticed a chill slowly manifesting itself in the northwestern breeze. They wrapped cloaks more tightly about them and that evening hung closer to the fires.
The next day the morning broke clear and bright on the already bustling camp preparing to continue its march. As the sun swung higher each hour they eagerly looked forward to its radiating warmth touching them through clearings in the fluttering canopy.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
As the number of clearings lessened, so did the density of the trees. Even along a common road they grew at one point oppressively thick. Now, though, they passed out and continued in haste knowing they neared the end.
They encountered no enemies and the country people heading south on the road reported squabbles around Bronlum region but no activity for a dozen miles ahead at least. Accordingly, they took no extraordinary precautions when setting up camp that night. They cooked a meal a little early that night as the initial cold made it a trying day. Shortly after eating, Luke decided to go for a walk in the surrounding forest; he wanted to think over what Anthanasius said earlier and clear his head to unwind and in preparation for a possible battle.
He wandered among the thickly tangled trees, weaving a path in and out of the huge boughs, but heading more or less in a constant direction. As the sun already set, he just decided to turn back when he saw a large stag silently move from behind a bush. Its antlers spread broad and thick while the lean flanks moved in a gentle, powerful rhythm.
It spied Luke and stared back for a few seconds before continuing on its way. It turned its head forward and walked along, perpendicular to Luke’s desired path. Suddenly, though, the deer’s narrow front feet sunk deep into the ground. It snorted and kicked wildly with its back legs, pulling out its front feet with pressure from its stomach, but then the whole ground below it gave way. The deer fell, but its horns briefly arrested the descent. It hung from its horns until one side snapped, enabling it to fall with a thud amidst the rustling of the collapsing sod.
Luke’s jaw dropped and he stood staring speechless. Edging closer to the hole, he speculated it could have been a forgotten well blown over with a superficial layer of silt, but coming closer, he saw no stone-lined rim.
From out of the earth, he imagined he heard voices and saw a flicker of light. The deer still thrashed about with vigor, but it echoed much more than a well would have done. He leaned closer, not daring to stand too near the opening, and heard, “Accursed deer; kill it!”
He longed to stay and listen to this inexplicable development, but at such an inopportune time, the distant clash of steel and neighing of horses took hold of his focus and dragged it back to his friends. He turned to go but felt the grass beneath him shift. He dove forward in a panic, but his feet flailed helplessly in the air, only pressing against falling sod. His vision turned to a blur as he fell and he crashed onto a solid floor, miraculously landing on his feet, but instantly collapsing and getting half-buried with dust and dirt.
He dimly heard a frantic scratching from behind him, but it quickly moved to the left. He brushed and blinked the dirt from his eyes so he could look toward the noise. He hadn’t time to clear his vision before the noise passed over him and continued on his right side. He finally saw the deer skittering uneasily on a rough stone floor.
“What now!” a voice resounding in an open space said, freezing Luke’s blood.
He looked up towards the voice and froze. He knew the man who said it; a man with cold eyes, one with an ugly bruise, a crooked nose, and a sneering face, though bewilderment overtook it briefly. It was Semias Norworth.
Luke jumped from the pile where he lay, collapsing once, aware for the first time of a sharp pain in his ankle. He tried to stand on it again and grimaced silently; it could bear no weight.
He took in the whole room in front of him at a glance; rough furnishings lined the crumbling brick walls and an uneven floor sloped slightly towards Semias. Stone flags coated a channel in the middle of the floor where a trickle of water drained deeper down a tunnel devoid of the light the few torches in the larger room diffused with fitful resistance.
Standing uneasily in the desultory glow, Luke felt an urge to explain the mistake; that he was innocent of spying; that he only fell through the ceiling by an incredible stroke of chance; and that his company waited near.
He might as well not have felt this way, though, as Semias’ wicked voice filled the room. “Leave the deer; kill him instead.” He twisted his face into a cruel smile, and the echoey space gave worse chill to the words. To the command.
Luke stood confused by this, not realizing why Semias spoke that way. A metallic sound behind him suspended his next heartbeat. He shuffled around to look behind him and, too experienced a soldier even for his age, felt surprise rather than additional fear.
A giant of a man stood perhaps ten paces from him. One open eyelid showed a hideous dark cavern, but his present eye stared fixedly at Luke in an ungodly malevolence. In his hand he supported an enormous ax, and Luke’s mind replayed Semias’ cruel command, ‘kill him instead’.
The man hefted his ax into both hands with a grunt and began to slowly circle Luke. Luke unsheathed his sword and hopped on his good leg to keep the foe in front of him. Semias taunted, “You’re too late and too helpless to save the king.”
Unable to stifle his curiosity, Luke asked, “You coward, what do you mean to do with him?” The man still circled and Luke kept spinning. He now stood with his back to Semias, who replied, “O, I won’t kill him… yet. He’s simply too useful, you understand, but once I’m done with him…” He trailed off into a low chuckle.
“You just want more power—a kingdom of your own—is that it?” Luke demanded.
“How little you know,” Semias replied, moving closer to where he stood. “How little you know about me. I was in line to be king. It is I who should rule.”
Luke didn’t know if Semias told the truth so he waited in silence while the man recited:
“Since years will pass,
Men doth forget,
That blood was shent,
Sensian the bold,
Nobly controlled,
Opened the way,
For the Right to rule,
Lacking not courage,
His Right Lineage,
Needed room,
So began the doom,
Our banner dread,
Signaled bloodshed,
False king indeed,
Traitorously freed,
His rabble serf,
One more than all.
The ancient keep,
Holds tunnels deep,
Our downfall once,
Their downfall then,
Decades hence,
We’ll recommence,
Our land to free,
The earth to Right,
Our work complete,
Our land restored,
We live in peace,
We chafe no more,
A hard-bought peace,
Won by the Right,
Paid by their lives,
Those dreaming eyes.
“You may not have heard that before,” Semias continued after his recital, his voice now harboring more anger than scorn, “but you must know about the war of our forefathers!” he yelled. “Luthar Sensian held sway over all the land, but that backstabber Claude usurped him and banished him to Myst’s Rim. His heirs—”
“King Claude didn’t defeat him. He brought about his own ruin,” Luke interrupted, his voice rising. “Sensian’s moniker was—still is—people’s scourge.’”
“I don’t care about the people!” Semias interjected. “Kill him now, Helkin!”
The man lunged at Luke while swinging his ax. Luke moved to duck but collapsed out of the way. He sprang back to his foot and turned to face Helkin who already swung his ax. Luke ducked his head out of the ax’s path and kept his feet this time. He swung his blade quickly at Helkin’s back, but his enemy blocked the cut with the handle of his ax.
Trying a new tactic this time, Helkin roared and lunged straight at Luke, holding his ax out in front of him as a shield. He hit Luke who couldn’t move out of the way straight on and bowled him over, sending him flying backward several yards from the huge impact. Luke made a fine cut in Helkin’s arm on his way down, but the force of the landing knocked his sword from his hand.
Helkin stooped and picked it up. He hardly looked at it, paying as little heed to it as he did the wound on his arm, but threw it twirling at the stone wall, where it snapped in two. Luke knew his time to be short and commended his spirit to Eshua, signing himself. He heard Helkin’s heavy steps approaching and lay on the ground where he fell and waited for the stroke.
He forced his eyes up from the ground and thought he could dimly see Helkin’s ax resting against the wall, but Helkin walking toward him. Raising his aching head with extreme effort, he saw that Helkin definitely stood above him.
He choked mid-breath from a tremendous shock that sent him rolling. Helkin stepped rapidly forward again and violently kicked, sending Luke writhing back involuntarily. Again and again he kicked; each one should have been Luke’s death as he took the brunt of Helkin’s rage. The rapid explosions of pain grew constant until all impacts melded together. Each convulsive jolt seemed lighter until his body stopped moving.
“Alright, let’s go,” Semias said when Helkin ceased his merciless persecution. They each grabbed a few items, extinguished the torches, and left up the passageway, leaving Luke’s body laying in a crumpled heap on the floor, his blood oozing to the ground.