Authors: David
17878265 (53 page)
Loric sloshed through the shallows, lowering his guard in his urgency. Ungertakkus let its tongue snap out toward him in one lightning-quick motion. Loric’s reflexes were scarcely up to the challenge. He instinctively raised his sword to parry the incoming tongue, hoping to slash into that powerful, slavering muscle, but it wrapped around his blade like a heavy whip and jerked it from his grasp.
In spite of his predicament, Loric could not help but smile, as the creature was compelled to release his weapon for the gouging its tongue received. His jubilation changed to alarm when the enraged beast flipped the sword back of its wide, flat head, and it clattered to a halt near its right-front leg. Loric gulped down an anxious breath and eyed the pale, shimmering steel that had become his sole hope of victory against Ungertakkus. With a powerful burst, Loric started into a crouching run behind his shield. He maintained that quickened pace until he was close to the creature’s ugly head.... and then he reached for his sword. As he moved, he felt the thudding jolt of venom against the protective metal disc of his forebears. Twice he broke his run to leap over the lash and backlash of Ungertakkus’ powerful tail. Despite the anxiety those attacks caused him, Loric’s mouth curled in satisfaction. His fingers slipped into a comfortable position about the Sword of Logant and he was assured that he had won the fight.
In anticipation of attack from the snapping tongue of Ungertakkus, Loric started into a forward roll that ended with a sword swing intended for his foe’s stubby foreleg. The knight miscalculated the risk of tumbling over bones, which he learned painfully upon feeling a particularly sharp and stout one--most likely a hip--bite him between his ribs as he came back to his feet. The sudden pain of that misguided tumble interfered with his stroke, so that it missed its intended crippling placement and instead marked Ungertakkus’ side blood red.
Before Loric could follow up, an enormous shrieking head slammed into his shield,
knocking him sideways to the ground. The knight watched in horror as Ungertakkus made for the cavern wall once more. Loric had to end this fight while his worthy foe was within his reach.
The beast scampered up the glistening cave wall, with Loric giving chase. The tail shot up to hook a jutting stone and Ungertakkus made an angular ascent with skittering feet. This was Loric’s last chance to bring the creature down before it achieved the advantage of an overhead position. He targeted the tail and right-rear leg and drew back for a three-quarters delivery of deadly steel.
The fine edge of his blade met little resistance as it started into fleshy tail. Tissues yielded before the destructive cut, opening the path to the leg below. Muscle and bone readily gave way to the Sword of Logant, until the limb dangled from Ungertakkus’ bulk by a narrow strip of flesh and skin. The tail clung to the wall, but without it, the beast could not continue to do so. Loric followed his cut away to the side, as Mighty Ungertakkus shrieked a terrible shriek that carried onward and upward into Dimwood Forest. Then she came free from glistening limestone to crash onto a family of stalagmites that rammed her through from back-to-belly. Afterward she made a weak, gasping wheeze, ere she twitched in nervous death throes. Loric mercifully ended her by the perfect forge work of Valdigar Steelbender, as he thrust the Sword of Logant into her exposed breast.
“You gave me worthy challenge, Ungertakkus,” Loric murmured to the still form beside
him, “but this day belongs to the Blood of Logant.”
Loric looked around the dark chamber. “Where did you put the stone, father? I could spend years searching this foul lair. Where is the stalagmite pedestal?”
“Loric?” a familiar voice called.
“Warnyck?” questioned Loric. “Have I been gone long?”
“Yes and no,” were the scout’s conflicting replies. As Warnyck approached, he went on to explain, “Marblin snores horribly. There is no way for a man to sleep when he sleeps.”
“That is true,” Loric agreed with a chuckle. The young knight wiped his blade clean.
Warnyck crinkled his nose at Loric’s sword work and said, “There is an awful stench about this place and this rotting carcass is only going to make it worse as time goes on-”
“So we should retrieve the Dragon’s Eye and be gone,” Loric finished with him. “Therein lay the problem, friend scout. I know my father hid the stone in this lair. I saw him place it on a stalagmite, but I have yet to find it.”
“Hmm,”
Warnyck responded, twisting his lips in thoughts he kept to himself. The scout reached to his cloak and warned, “Shield your eyes.” Loric barely had time to look away before there was a hissing sound and orange sparks flared from an eight-inch rod in Warnyck’s fist. To Loric’s slackened jaw, his friend explained, “Raiders’ fire. It is something I picked up from lads that ride the Sorling Sea. It’s called a
range wand
in the far strange country where they acquired it, but they being raiders, prefer to call it raiders’ fire.”
“By all means, let us use this
raiders’ fire
, this
range wand
, this blessed light, that you might help me locate the Dragon’s Eye,” Loric said, clapping a palm to his friend’s back and laughing.
“There it is,” Warnyck shared, pointing the way.
The red glint was unmistakable. The stalagmite pedestal was on a shelf of rock, directly in front of them, but ten feet up. Loric and Warnyck hastened to make the climb and collect the gem.
“You found it,” Warnyck congratulated him. “I knew you could do it. That is why I made sure to leave your surcoat and shield for you, before the battle of Darbin’s Field. I believed you were your father’s son. That is also why I started rumors to make you the Ghost of Palendar.”
“You
left the surcoat and shield for me?” Loric questioned, disbelieving of what he was hearing. “You started those rumors of my father’s ghost?”
“Men needed to see the Guardian Knight,” Warnyck explained. “They needed to speak and hear spoken the name of Palendar once more. More importantly, they needed to associate that name with you, without you openly declaring your lineage or laying claim to your birthright. I only needed you to live up to your name, to do something bold and make yourself a hero, so the lords who chased your father into exile could not openly oppose you. Thankfully, my gamble paid off. Once you recover the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, Beledon will be ready for you.”
Loric listened to his friend, as if hearing the words of a complete stranger. “I don’t understand. Why did you do that?”
“I did it because Beledon needs a worthy king, Loric,” came Warnyck’s firm response. “You have discounted every known lord in Beledon for the throne, but in your humility, you forgot yourself.”
“No,” Loric denied him. “This quest is not for me. It is for Beledon.”
Warnyck said, “Then you must do what is right for Beledon, Loric. Consider what I have said. Give it time to sink in. Then you will see the sense in what I have shared with you. It is up to you to decide.”
Loric eyed the Dragon’s Eye dubiously, as if he was contemplating handling a poisonous serpent. He decided to take the red gemstone from its pedestal and cup it between his hands, murmuring, “We have found the stone, as we set out to do, but what comes next? What are we to do with it?”
Warnyck thought about it, but he could only shrug helplessly. “For my part, I know what
you
should do with it, but if you would not be king, maybe we should take it to Lord Aldric.
Perhaps he will know what to do with it....”
Loric knew that Warnyck was trying to drive him to accept kingship that was not his by rights, so he refused to listen to his friend. Warnyck continued on, but he was no longer hearing him. As quickly as he had spoken his question, his answer had come to him.
Loric slumped to his knees with the Dragon’s Eye cradled in his hands. He heaved a breath.
Then he studied the gem long and hard. Nothing happened.
“What are you doing?” Warnyck asked.
Loric refused the question with a wag of his head. His excitement was distraction enough to ruin his focus. The nature of the gem and its history as part of the sword that was named for it tempted Loric to stray fantasies about kingship. In those foolish dreams, he took to wife Avalana, the Princess of Regalsturn, to be his queen.
Shame to my name!
Loric scolded himself.
I have no right to kingship!
he thought fiercely.
I
have sworn to serve others! So, I must serve or surrender my honor, if any yet remains to me.
Loric contemplated giving up his attempt at using the stone, having thus decided his
unworthiness, but a deep, thoughtful voice echoed within his head, saying,
Let me judge your
worth.
There was a pause, during which Loric thought he had imagined the voice.
You are the
Blood of Logant,
the speaker determined.
A good line. An honorable line.
Another silence came and went, before the voice added,
Not the son who found my eye lost, but perhaps a son of that
son. Your heart aches for its people and its land. This is admirable in a man of high birth, as is
your humility. I deem you most worthy to make use of my vision. Use it in what way you must to
bring your people together under one banner, for I trust you to do right by me. If you would
claim kingship, rejoin my eye to its sword. I will not oppose your right to do so. Likewise, if you
elect to raise another to the throne, I will support your decision and make that man king. Only be
sure to choose a man of high honor and deep integrity.
Before Loric could reply to the strange voice, the crimson veil dropped from within the shimmering facets of the Dragon’s Eye. It turned black within.... and Loric realized he was seeing the dark of night.
****
Aldric said.
“How so?” Garrick asked, with his voice sounding unusually abrasive. “Our armies were soundly beaten again. Now we slink deeper into these hills to hide, because even were Great Donigan himself to come down from His constellation in the heavens to lead us, we could not win our way to your castle in the Emerald Mountains.”
Aldric’s countenance was serious and tense. Moreover, it was thoughtful as he spoke his views. “It is true that Emerald Spires seems dreadfully far away in this difficult time,” he conceded, his great longing for home evident in his quavering voice. “I would grant you that, but there is still hope that King Avalar of Regalsturn could come to our aid, my lord. After all, fair Avalana’s tender head still balances precariously upon the sense of honor and justice to which Hadregeon and the barbarian Turtioc hold. Curse them both for their treachery! Surely we can count Avalar our most valuable ally now.”
“Perhaps,” Garrick replied, unconvinced. “But tell me: what happens if the traitors use their hostage to keep King Avalar from joining the fight? What then, Aldric?”
“That is why we must plan carefully and execute to perfection every strategy we make,”
Aldric responded. “Otherwise, we will be beaten and you will be right about the hopelessness of our cause. Nevertheless, until that day comes, we must fight! If we only fight to recover Lady Elena and the princess or to reap vengeance for the fall of Prince Garrett, we must fight!”
Garrick nodded. His brows worked into a contemplative knit as he sighed and yielded,
“Maybe you are right. Assemble the men. We will move out of these heights ere morning comes.
With any luck,” he said with a wan smile, “we will indeed win our way to your beloved Emerald Mountains, where the King of Regalsturn will reinforce us.”
“Yes, my lord,” Aldric responded, showing a hopeful expression for the first time.
Before the Lord of Egolstadt could excuse himself to see to his overlord’s request, Garrick slyly commented, “It is a sad thing that we lost our young Knight of Shimmermir and Taeglin along the Enchanted River. I fear my grief is to blame, and so it is doubled.” For effect he added,
“I have not seen anyone that fearless since the fall of Sir Palendar.”
Aldric’s face came into view. A shadow like that of a hanged man darkened his visage, as he nodded in agreement. “I feel the same way you do, lord,” he shared. He swallowed something hard and dry, but invisible all the same.
“You know,” Garrick suggested, “I find it difficult to believe that one man could look so like another without them being closely related.”
Red-faced, Aldric curtly responded, “I had not thought our likenesses so similar, my lord.”
“I spoke of another lord!” snapped Garrick.
Aldric laughed nervously, saying, “You baffle me with riddles-”
“Loric looked uncommonly akin to Sir Palendar!” Garrick growled angrily. “Do not take me for a half-wit, Aldric. I guess at your game, although it has clearly played out against you now.”
Aldric wore a pained expression as he answered, “You hurt me, Garrick, my lord. The
resemblance is more common than you might think,” he added defensively. “We lords are all kin to varying degrees. Mayhap he bore some Logantian traits from a union some generations ago.”
“Mayhap,” Garrick agreed with a sour twist to his mouth. “We shall see when we reach
Egolstadt. I should very much like to meet young Loric’s lord father and lady mother--to tell them of the tragedy that has befallen them, of course.”
“Of course, yes,” Aldric repeated, as from faraway.
Garrick remarked, “I am curious to learn how this family of small account acquired the items of House Logant. That too seems a great coincidence. Perhaps you have more to share with me concerning your fallen knight and his lineage. It would be better for you to be forthright with me, my friend.”
Aldric was pale and drawn. Moreover, he appeared little interested in sharing all that he knew or his motives for withholding those things from Garrick. He had clearly planned to use Loric to some advantage within the kingdom. A glimpse into the Dragon’s Eye had erased any further doubts Loric held about that fact, but the son of Palendar was still uncertain what Aldric’s motive might have been. Had he intended to seize the throne or was he simply out to free Egolstadt from Durbansdanian Rule? Loric wondered. Now more than ever, he longed to know Aldric’s plan in its entirety, but the vision faded before he could learn it and another scene came into view.
