Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (8 page)

For nearly a year I have waited for the promise of your ransom, and for all of my trouble with you I have gained nothing!” The bearded man was in a fury. Rowan just lay in a fetal position, hoping the end would be swift.

“Your own people don’t think enough of you to even pay for the food I’ve fed you—you pathetic, worthless Camerian!” The enraged man drew his sword to plunge it into Rowan’s heart. Rowan opened his arms to welcome the blade.

The man hesitated. “Why don’t you cower?”

“Kill me,” Rowan begged with a weak voice.

The man slowly lowered his sword and began to smile. He stepped backward away from Rowan.

“Kill me!” Rowan begged again.

“I am.” The man gave a short laugh, then turned and left, the light of his torch flickering and fading away.

Rowan realized the marauders would never be back. His cruel execution from thirst and starvation would be their last horrific act. In his condition, it would not take long—perhaps a day or two.

As he lay there in the dark, Rowan wondered about the purpose of his life and realized that all his glorious trophies and medals, the applause
of thousands, and the admiration of squires and maidens alike meant nothing to him. Only then did he realize that he truly had taken only one significant action in his life, and that was to become a Follower of the Prince. It was that day that he joined something larger than himself.
Why did it take so long and so much pain for me to finally understand this?
he wondered.

“What a fool I’ve been,” he whispered in the darkness. “Forgive me, my Prince. If I could live another life, I would live it wholly committed to You. Forgive me.”

Rowan wept softly at first and then uncontrollably—dry, tearless sobs that hurt his chest. His wails echoed off the walls of his small chamber and into the cavern beyond. Eventually, his cries softened into sighs of relinquishment. Curling up quietly on the hard dirt floor, Rowan finally released himself to the death that awaited him. His mind wallowed in the fringes between life and death, hallucinating in freedom from the chains and the darkness of the cave that would be his grave.

The cave began to glow, and the rocky walls melted into the fluid movements of silky curtains. He was traveling, for he could feel the bed he was on jostle as he journeyed down a road. The water he tasted was sweet, and he breathed deeply of the fresh spring air. He didn’t want to wake up, but keeping the dream going took too much effort. Soon the images of delight faded once again into the dark walls of his cave.

When he dreamed again, he could feel the rhythmic mass of the sea swaying him on a grand ship. The mist of the open water felt so real on his face. He had never been to sea and wondered if his dream was anything like the real thing. This time the beauty of his dreamscape faded as a dark figure came and stood over him. The face was blurred, but Rowan was certain the bearded marauder had come once more to kill his unransomed captive. This time, however, he heard cries and screams in the distance that shook his soul. He struggled weakly, but powerful arms held him down, and he waited for the knife that would plunge into his heart.

“—near the Isle of Sedah. It is not far—”

The fragment of speech swirled in his mind, and Rowan could
make no sense of it until he remembered something from his training. The Isle of Sedah was the horrific place of captivity to which the Dark Knight, Lucius, had brought many prisoners. Had Rowan somehow been given over to Lucius to be tortured even more? He tried to awake from this nightmare, and finally the images and sounds faded away to blackness.

Now Rowan heard drums pounding in his head, but each beat transformed into sounds that he could understand. Then he realized it was not a drum he was hearing, but the sound of a deep voice speaking over him.

“What are your orders, my Lord?” the voice asked.

“Leave him here with me,” another replied.

Rowan blinked his eyes open, and the sun spilled its glorious light into them. The sunrays warmed his face, and he wondered how long this dream would last. He took a deep breath. It felt so real.

He turned his head and saw the most beautiful sight he had ever seen—a magnificent city on a hill, glimmering in the brilliant sunlight. The wall that surrounded the city stretched left and right forever. Through a massive, shining gate that faced him, he caught glimpses of unimaginable splendor, yet somehow the whole place seemed warm and welcoming, not the least intimidating.

Tears welled up in his eyes, but he didn’t know why—perhaps because he knew this would be his last dream. He was thankful to end his life with this instead of the previous nightmare.

“Hello, Rowan,” a gentle voice spoke.

Rowan turned his head to the other side, away from the city, and saw a man sitting on the green grass beside him. The man’s arm lay across his raised knee, and his face seemed to reflect the sunlight just as the city’s golden gate did.

Rowan didn’t respond. He just marveled at the man, who leaned in closer. “How are you feeling?”

Rowan turned his head in the other direction, fully expecting the city to be gone, but it was still there. He looked back at the man. “Am I dead?” he finally asked.

The man smiled. “Come, sit up … if you are able.”

He reached an arm behind Rowan’s shoulders and slowly lifted him. Rowan’s head swam, and he put out a hand to his head to steady himself. “That’s strange,” he said. “I didn’t think one could pass out in a dream.”

“You’re not dreaming, Rowan,” the man said. “You are at the gates of the King’s city.”

Rowan shook his head, trying to understand what was happening. He looked into the eyes of the man.

“I’ve heard your voice before,” he said warily. “You were the one I fought … in the arena … and on the road!”

“Yes, you had lost your way.” The man’s gentle voice grew stronger as Rowan gathered his strength. “You should have turned back.”

“You were trying to … to help me?”

The man nodded, and his warm eyes seemed to penetrate into the very depths of Rowan’s soul. Rowan tilted his head as it dawned on him who the stranger might be. Even if this were a dream, he could only respond one way. He lowered his head, and tears fell from his face.

“I’m sorry, my Prince. Please forgive me.”

The Prince placed a hand across the back of Rowan’s neck, and He leaned toward him until His forehead touched Rowan’s. “I forgive you,” He whispered.

“I wasted my life on frivolous applause and pieces of metal, and now it is over.” Rowan’s heart ached for the life he hadn’t lived.

The Prince squeezed his neck, then released him. He reached for a water flask and gave it to Rowan.

“Be at peace, Rowan. Drink.”

Rowan placed the flask to his lips and drank deeply of the sweet water. The Prince lowered him back, and Rowan realized he was lying on a cot.

“Your life is not over, for you are a mighty knight of the King. Time is short, and I have a mission that awaits you in Arrethtrae.”

Rowan felt confusion wash over him, and the world melted away once more. His last conscious thought was a sad one: he hated to leave this sweet final dream.

A SONG IN THE DARK

Rowan opened his eyes, but the blackness of the cave suffocated him once more. Something crawled across his face, and he didn’t even swipe it away. The heavy irons still hung on his ankles and wrists.

Death teased him, though in fact he felt more alive now than he had in a long time. Why had he dreamed such a vivid dream about the Prince? His dreamed emotions of regret and renewal seemed quite hollow and meaningless now.

He closed his eyes and waited. How many more days of this torture would he have to endure? He tried to return to the freedom of his dreams, but they eluded him.

He lay in silence for a very long while until he thought perhaps he was hallucinating again. The faint, lilting sounds of an angelic singing voice sifted through the darkness and lit upon his ears. Rowan sat up, and the chains jingled, momentarily blocking out the lovely voice. He listened again, hoping he had not silenced the lilting voice, whether dream or not.

Then he heard it again. Could it be real?

“Help!” he croaked, his voice hoarse with disuse. Was it loud enough to carry out of his cave past the larger cavern and out into the open air?

“Help!” he tried again, trying for more volume.

The singing stopped, so he cried once more, as loudly as he could. “Help!”

“Hello?” a faint but lovely voice beckoned from the darkness. “Is someone there?”

“Yes. Please help me!” Rowan rasped. Hope welled up painfully in his heart. “Please help!”

“Are you trapped?” she called.

“Yes. Please …”

“I’m coming,” she called back.

He had been tricked before by his own hallucinations and wondered if this was another cruel joke of death.

“Keep talking,” the voice called. “Where are you?”

“I’m in a cave at the back of the—stop!” Rowan’s stomach rose up to his throat as he realized the danger. Too late. He heard the woman scream.

“What has happened?” he called out, but he knew the answer. “Get out of the cave while you can still move!”

Over the next few moments, Rowan pulled against his chains in anguish as he tried to interpret the muffled sounds from the outer cavern.

“Leave the cave!” he called back in desperation.

The woman cried out something, but it was unintelligible, and Rowan closed his eyes in despair. He could not bear to think of the horrid death the woman was about to endure.

“My Prince,” he whispered, “where are You?”

Hours passed as he lay there, trying not to think of what was happening in the cavern outside. Then a faint glow of yellow light spilled into his cave. “Are you still there?” the woman’s voice called out.

Rowan couldn’t believe his ears.

“Yes … yes. I’m here. In this cave.”

Rowan’s cave soon filled with light, and he blinked as he set his eyes upon the slender form of a young woman carrying a lantern and a shovel. He struggled to gain his feet but could barely manage to sit up.

“You … you survived!” he said.

“Obviously,” the woman said.