Dark Lord of Kismera: Knights of Kismera (2 page)

“LANCE!” DRACE SCREAMED through his helm. The cry seemed lost to Joe over the sound of pounding hooves.

Drace bellowed again, “Joe, drop your lance!”

Joe continued to carry his lance too high and showed no signs of having heard the warning.
Is he trying to take my head off?
Drace wondered. The lance would splinter if it hit breastplate, but it wouldn’t hit his face. At the last possible second Drace knew he was in trouble and involuntary jerked the reins back hard. The sudden pain in Pride’s mouth caused him to check too quickly and he stumbled. At the speed Pride was running, he could not regain his footing and started to fall. Things turned from bad to worse. The fall felt like an eternity and Drace tried to brace for the pain.

Shit, shit, shit!
thought Drace in that split second it took Pride and him to go down. Now he knew he was going to get the lance in the face. He jerked his head to the side, then saw bright lights, and then nothing.

D
race slowly regained consciousness. His head feeling like it had been split open. He opened one eye in a tiny slit and saw nothing. He hesitantly opened his other eye; still nothing.
Damn,
he thought,
I’m dead.
He felt groggy and his heart raced, thumping wildly against his ribs. He shut his eyes again.
Don’t panic,
he thought.
Oh Christ, I think I’m blind!

He tried to take a couple of deep breaths but was unable to draw a deep one. It felt as if something was covering his mouth. Somewhere past where he lay he heard Pride snort fearfully, then a calming voice. The horse quieted.

He tried his eyes again; again nothing. He felt panic start to build as the pain started to radiate from the bridge of his nose. “Ah, shit!” he swore silently.

He tested moving his fingers then his brick-heavy arms. He realized he was still in one piece and raised them to his head. Shakily, he touched his face and found his helm had twisted from the blow of the lance.

“Easy,” a soft voice instructed. “Let me help you.”

The helm shifted slightly and pain shot through his temples and nose and behind his eyes. He gritted his teeth through the pain. One more slight twist and his helmet lifted free. He tried to roll onto his side but his armor made him feel like an upside down turtle.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” he muttered hoarsely to his unknown helper.

Hands grabbed his shoulder and arm and helped him onto his side as he retched.

“Damn,” he coughed. His head felt like someone was hammering against his skull. Spots of light flashed behind his eyelids.

A cool cloth wiped his face. “Lay still now, this will make it better.” Soft, warm hands cupped his face from behind him, thumbs gently pressed against his temples, pushing until he rolled onto his back again. Strange warmth seemed to flow from his temples and spread through his entire body, like entering a warm bath. He felt his muscles relax and the blinding pain in his head lessened to a milder ache.

He braved opening his eyes again…and looked up into violet eyes, “Vashti?”
Oh, thank God,
he thought,
I’m not blind.
He blinked up at Vashti and felt the throbbing of his nose, “I think my nose is broken.”

She smiled sympathetically down at him, “I believe you are right, my Lord. Lay still for a moment. You will be fine. Let me tie Pride and then I will help you up.”

Drace felt disoriented from the fall, “Yeah, ok. I’m just glad I’m not dead.”

He turned his head to follow her with his eyes as she went to Pride and with the reins, tied him to a tree

A tree?
Drace bolted into a sitting position and looked around. His stomach lurched alarmingly at the sudden movement. “Where the hell am I?”

“Be still, my Lord!” Vashti exclaimed, rushing back to him, “You are weak as a kitten right now.”

Drace still sat with legs outstretched, staring at his gloved hands in his lap, surpassing the urge to retch again. He mentally ran the recent events over in his mind, trying to explain how he came to be outside. The nearest memory was of Pride and him mid-fall, squeezing his eyes shut just before the lance’s impact.
Now I’m outside.
He felt a second of panic pull at him, quickly followed by a helpless anger at his lack of knowledge of his whereabouts.

“Get a grip MacKinnon,” he muttered to himself. “Freaking out isn’t going to solve anything.” He took a deep breath to get his temper under control and looked up at Vashti, “What the hell is going on? How did we get out here?”

Vashti knelt down and put a hand on his arm. “Listen to me, my Lord. There are some answers that I cannot give you now, but I will try to explain some of this.” She patted his arm gently and then gave it a little squeeze, “Let me get you some water. I think you could use it.”

Drace nodded mutely thinking he could use something a lot stronger than water.

Vashti rose and hurried to another horse he had not noticed before. A white Arabian-looking gelding stood tied next to Pride, wearing a saddle and saddlebags. A water pouch was tied to the front of her saddle, which Vashti removed and brought back to Drace along with a wooden cup she brought from her saddlebags. She poured as she walked. Drace looked at the bow and quiver strapped to the side of the saddle and then noticed her strange attire. Minutes ago, before all this craziness, she had been wearing the black and crimson outfit of the Black Knight’s squire.

“What the…?” he pondered, feeling that slow burn of anger fade to confusion.

She now wore fitted breeches of soft tanned leather, which appeared butter soft, a white long sleeve blouse, a vest of matching leather, and knee-high brown boots. On the left side of her wide belt was a wicked looking dagger and on the right, a leather pouch. Suddenly an absurd thought popped into his confused mind. “You! You’re Russian!” he blurted. He pointed a shaking finger at her.

Vashti started in surprise, spilling water from the cup, “What?”

“That’s the accent. I’ve figured you out.”

He tried to get his legs under him to stand, but waves of nausea had him tucking his head between upraised knees, a clammy sweat dewing his forehead.

“Well,” she breathed. “This is the time for that explanation, I suppose. No, my Lord, I am not Russian.” She handed him the cup. “Now drink.”

She sighed, and settled herself cross-legged beside him. Drace raised his head to look at her.

With a slight bow of her head in introduction, she informed him, patiently and slowly for she knew he was still groggy. “I am Vashti of Ferndale. I am of the elfish race and I am a sorceress. My master and I have need of your help and we have brought you here. I will let him explain the why.” Vashti saw the beginnings of disbelief on Drace’s expression but she continued. “The fatigue you are feeling is from the crossing over. I am sorry about that, but it is a side effect of that spell. Unfortunately, your nose does appear broken. I was not able to control the whole of your exit.”

Disbelief soon grew to astonishment. Drace opened his mouth open, but words failed him until Vashti grabbed his nose and with a little twist and jerk, set it. That quickly switched his attention; his bellow of pain made both horses pull back on their ties.

He found he had his legs back when he scrambled up and hurried to Pride and spoke soothingly while his brain screamed expletives. “Easy, easy, there’s a good boy. Sorry I scared you.” Pride snorted and placed his muzzle in Drace’s hand to be petted.

Drace bent at the waist once Pride was calm as a wave of dizziness hit him He held a hand out to keep Vashti seated. “I’m fine. I stood up too fast and got a head-rush.”

Once recovered, he straightened then stalked over to her. “Jesus Christ woman!” he swore, gingerly touching his nose. “Are you trying to kill me?” He made a noise of frustration deep in his throat. “Damn it to Hell and back!”

Vashti solemnly shook her head at the display, letting him vent his frustration.

“Okay, okay,” he paced as he gathered his thoughts. “Why the big show? Why have me get clobbered and take that spill? Wait a minute!” He rushed back to Pride and inspected the horse nose to tail. Except for a small scrape on one knee the horse was fine.

“If this horse had gotten hurt…” he couldn’t finish the thought.

“We will be staying here tonight. It is a long ride tomorrow and we both need to rest,” Vashti informed him as she went to him to help remove his armor. Drace flinched when she touched him. His nose still throbbed where she had set it. She made him a bit nervous. He wasn’t sure if she had all her marbles and was thinking he had lost several of his own.
It would probably be best if I humor her until I figure all this out,
he thought.

He noticed for the first time the fatigue on her face and his flash of anger faded. He felt a moment of embarrassment, remembering his tirade from moments ago. Once he was stripped down to his breeches and heavy linen shirt he looked around and quietly said, “What can I do to help?”

“Would you unsaddle the horses, my Lord?” Vashti asked him. Drace nodded at her request. “One more thing, my Lord,” she added. “You should not swear so much. It is rude.” A dull red crept over Drace’s lean cheekbones as he flushed, chagrined at his language in front of a lady.

Drace had already decided he was having a crazy dream brought on by watching a rerun of
The Lord of the Rings
trilogy.
I’ll wake up at any time with Thomas curled up in my lap. Might as well play along and enjoy it.
He made a mocking bow to Vashti, and with a wry grin said, “But of course, my Lady; my pardon.” He did wonder, however,
When is she going to tell me what the hell is going on?

Darkness was approaching quickly, which caused Vashti to rise and head into the brush. Drace took in his surroundings. They were in a small clearing, encircled by thick stands of tall trees. The undergrowth was scattered with young trees, shrubs, and sparse grasses. He thought some of the growth looked familiar, poplar and maples, but some were species he had never seen. Some had large maple-like leaves…only the shapes were more rounded.
At least the fireflies seemed normal,
he thought.

Drace had Vashti’s gelding untacked and was unsaddling Pride when Vashti returned with an armload of wood and set to work making a fire. “You wouldn’t happen to have an extra halter would you?” Drace asked, fingering her horse’s rope halter.

“Of course,” she replied, digging through her saddlebags and handing him a similar rope halter along with a large rag to rub the horses down; then she pulled out four softball size pieces of quartz.

She disappeared back into the woods and Drace could hear the rustling of the underbrush, making a circle around the camp; then she returned—empty-handed. She went over and rummaged in her bags and came up with a wrapped bundle, along with two blankets. She headed to the waiting pile of firewood.

“I am famished, my Lord, and I am sure you are also. Please, come and sit.”

He quickly finished both horses and tied them with enough lead so they could graze. He walked up to Vashti. “What were those crystal things for?” he asked.

“Those are warning crystals. We are well into the Clan lands but they will serve to warn me if danger comes close tonight.”

Drace sniffed in exasperation, which he instantly regretted. He gingerly cupped his nose and fought back tears of pain. “Great! he exclaimed. Now I’ve got to watch out for the Ku Klux Klan and Bambi! It gets better and better. I’ll be glad when I wake up from this crazy dream.”

Vashti gave him a slightly amused look before commenting on his outburst. “I do not know of that clan,” she said, “Clan Lionblade holds these lands. They are fierce protectors, and probably already know we are here.”

Drace felt the night chill through the single layer of his shirt and breeches . “Hey, I hope you have a match in that bag of yours.” He tugged at his black breeches and with a grin said, “No pockets.”

Vashti looked at him for a second, gave him the blankets to hold, and said, “Please step back, my Lord.” She turned her attention to the wood, muttered something unintelligible, and proceeded to scare the hell out of Drace. Blue flame seemed to crawl over the fingertips of her left hand. She gave a flick of her wrist, and flung the flames onto the wood. With a hiss and crackle, the dry wood ignited.