Spirit of Empire 4: Sky Knights (2 page)

When Galborae awoke, his first thoughts were those of his last: the feeling of dying. He sat up and looked around at a familiar setting, the clearing in the forest where he had died. The campfire still burned. He looked for his men, but they were not here. He felt alone, and he felt a certain unreality: there were no sounds or smells, and the air had a chill to it. He felt confused, but that seemed reasonable after dying.

His eyes suddenly fell on those of a stranger, a very large, dark-skinned man with eyes so bright they looked like white beacons in the darkness. He could have sworn the man had not been there a moment ago.

He instantly went into a crouch as his eyes swept the clearing for any other threats, then returned to the man. He was on his feet in the blink of an eye, his sword hissing from its scabbard. The man, certainly a demon since Galborae had crossed into the place that came after death, rose with him, his own sword clearing its scabbard right behind Galborae’s.

Galborae shuffled around the fire with his sword held ready, trying to sort through confused senses. His eyes clearly beheld an adversary, but in his mind he sensed that the man was not an adversary. When the man raised his sword to the ready, signifying intent, Galborae ignored what his mind was telling him and picked his move.

He leaped directly across the fire. Sword met sword, the clash of sound jarringly out of place in the stillness. To his surprise, the dark man’s strength was greater than his own, something he rarely encountered. He knew it the moment the swords met and he adjusted his plan, accepting the fact that brute strength would not win this death match. He swept his foot to drop the man, but the man twisted to the side, sliding his sword up the blade of Galborae’s sword and disengaging. Galborae stepped back, but the man followed, close enough to strike. Galborae capitalized on the mistake and swung his sword with both hands, but the man was as quick as he was strong. Swords clashed again, then Galborae twisted and struck again with a killing thrust. The man dodged just in time and parried with a slash that Galborae was ready for. He parried easily.

The dark man spoke. “Well met.”

Galborae did not hesitate. Only novices took the time to speak. With a hard grin, he raised his sword in both hands and slashed down toward the man’s neck.

The man stepped aside and Galborae’s sword struck nothing but air, but now Galborae was slightly off balance. The man knew and moved in with his sword down, holding the tip of Galborae’s sword to the ground. He lashed out with a heavy foot, but Galborae twisted to take the brunt of the kick on his thigh and pulled his sword free. He swung up and around, then down at the man’s neck again.

The man stepped inside his swing and struck Galborae on the head with the butt of his sword. Galborae’s eyes vibrated, but he shook it off, knowing he was in a fight for his life. Both swords met again as the man kept moving, then he stepped right up to Galborae and gave him a hard push. Galborae was forced to step back to keep his balance.

A true swordsman would have stepped into the void, but to Galborae’s amazement, the man backed away and placed the tip of his sword on the ground. When he leaned on his sword and drove the tip into the ground, Galborae interpreted the odd move as a sign of quarter.

“Enough?” the dark man asked, those stark, white eyes staring at him from across the fire.

Galborae shook his head in confusion. “Who are you?” he demanded.

“The man who killed the beast that killed your men.”

“You kill demons?” he asked, his confusion deepening.

“It was not a demon, just a beast,” the dark man replied.

“You were there?” Galborae asked in disbelief.

“I was.”

Though confused, Galborae had his priorities. “My men?” he asked.

“All dead. I’m sorry. I was not in time.”

“I was sure I’d killed the demon.”

The man cocked his head to the side in thought. “Hmm. I did not see your fight. There might have been a second beast.”

Galborae stared at the man, but his thoughts turned to his friends. After a time he shook his head and lowered the tip of his own sword. “I’m dead, too,” he said sadly.

“You’re not dead, but you nearly were. Look at your armor.”

Galborae looked down, then took hold of the shredded chain mail and moved it aside to feel his wounds. It should have hurt, hurt horribly, but he felt no pain, and his wounds appeared to be well along in the healing process.

“How is this possible?” he asked. Then he answered his own question with a shrug. “I suppose anything is possible in the place that comes after death. I don’t know you,” he said to the man.

“Nor I you, but together we fought the beasts and won.”

“So you say. I don’t call it a win when everyone’s dead. Are there more beasts?”

“Many more.”

“Who are you?”

“An outsider who has come to help. Will you sit and talk with me?”

“Why? We’re dead.”

“Neither of us is dead. I’m a warrior just like you. Join me and I will help your people fight the beasts.”

“My people? Not your people?”

The man looked away for a moment, then back to Galborae. “I’m an outsider. Work with me and I’ll show you they are just beasts you can kill.”

“How? I never even saw what I was fighting.”

“Do you believe in dreams?”

The change of subject surprised Galborae. After just a little thought, he knew the truth. “This is a dream?”

“In a way. Consider your armor. Your wounds were fatal, yet you live and your wounds are healing.”

Galborae’s hand went unconsciously to his mid-section again. “Only in the dream.”

“When we leave this place, a place we call the net, the dream will end and you will still have your wounds, but I have bound them up and saved you.”

“Why?”

“Because I need a partner if I am to continue fighting the beasts.”

“You are but one man.”

“I am many men. Listen to me and I’ll explain, but first we have to put down our swords. I ask you to do this in the name of your people. They need you to hear what I have to say.”

Galborae stared at the man while he considered. He did not doubt for a moment that the man was a warrior, possibly even a great warrior, but could he fight creatures he could not see? It made no sense. On the other hand, neither did the dream. Since he was dead, he had no more lives to give and nothing more to lose. He lowered the tip of his sword to the ground, but he was not willing to set it down.

He sensed that the man understood. The man’s sword dropped to the ground as an act of good faith, though how Galborae knew that, he could not say. Understanding just seemed to come.

The man stepped away from his sword and up to Galborae. “I’m a friend. I speak for others when I say we will not leave you to the demons on your own. I have many friends, and if you and I can come to an accord, they will help you.”

“You can fight them?” He thought about what he had just said and added, “You can find them?”

“I do. I can. Sit with me and let me explain.” The dark man stepped to the fire and sat down. Galborae, still uneasy, sat across from him with his sword within easy reach.

“What is your name?” the dark man asked.

“I am Sir Galborae.”

“I am Terry Washburn.”

“We have not met. You’re a stranger here.”

“I am, and that’s part of my story.” Washburn looked up to the stars and asked, “What do you see there?”

Galborae looked up, but he saw nothing unusual. “Just the night sky.”

“And the tiny lights?”

“Just tiny lights.”

“This is where it gets hard,” Washburn said. “Each of those tiny lights is a place far, far away where people live.”

Galborae rolled his eyes. “You make no sense, but this is, after all, just a dream.”

“I’m from there,” the man said, pointing to the night sky. Galborae frowned, then the man added, “So, too, are the beasts.”

Galborae nodded, not because he understood but because something finally made sense. “The beasts appeared suddenly. I cannot say from where they come, but they are not from here. The gods must have sent them.”

“What, you’re so terrible that you must suffer for your sins?”

Galborae decided that the man finally understood. “Just so,” he said, nodding his head.

“No, it is not so. They are beasts, and they have come from another place. My enemies brought them here.”

Galborae reached a hand up to rub his eyes, then he lowered the hand to his mid-section and remembered he had died and they were in a dream. Did any of this matter?

“Why would they do that?” he asked the strange man.

“I don’t know. It doesn’t matter. I wage battles on many fronts. This is just one of them. My battles do not concern you, but the beasts do. I am prepared to give you the tools to defeat them, but you will be sorely pressed. Will you open your mind to new ideas?”

“I serve my King. If defeating the beasts requires new ideas, I will learn new ideas, but I can’t fight them from a dream.”

“The dream will end. When it does, I will teach you how to fight them. My presence here is a terrible danger to your world. My very existence will threaten your most fundamental beliefs, but I cannot defeat the beasts without your help. I’m talking about the survival of your people. Does anything else matter?”

“You speak of armies. You must be a great warrior to command so many.”

The man called Washburn shook his head. “I’m just a scout. In time you might command such armies in the name of your people.”

None of this made sense to Galborae, but as he looked down at his sword, he suddenly realized swords would not be enough against these nightmare creatures, these demons who he could not even see. He had no idea what would work, he just knew the sword would not.

“You’re telling me my sword is a relic. I agree.”

“I would not call it a relic. Keep it and wear it proudly, but I will give you different weapons to fight the beasts. In return, you will guide my people as they fight beside your own. Everything I have spoken of is for the sake of your people and your king. My reason for meeting you here in the dream was only to open your mind. If I have, it’s time to end the dream.”

“If ending the dream helps to save my people from these demons, then end the dream. If you can.”

“When you wake up, you will know the dream has ended. Your wounds will hurt and you will be in a strange place. Outside the dream I cannot speak your language, but I will stay by your side and guide you through the strangeness. Just give me a chance, and in a short time you will have a fuller understanding.”

They stood, and Galborae placed his sword back in its scabbard. While he did so, Terry Washburn dissolved before his very eyes.

* * * * *

When Galborae awoke, his body left no doubt in his mind that the dream had ended. He let his mind feel the wounds, feel the harsh pain emanating from them, then he brought a hand to his midsection and felt. His chain mail was missing, probably removed. He felt a thin fabric covering himself, but he felt no poultices beneath that fabric.

He opened his eyes to a whiteness that made him wonder if he was in a new dream, but his wounds assured him he was awake. He focused his eyes, first on the white ceiling, then the walls. He moved his head to his right, where the wall was very close. He turned toward his feet and found them covered by a thin blanket. When he turned to his left, his eyes met those of the stranger from his dream.

They stared at each other, then the dark man stood and held out Galborae’s sword which was still encased in its scabbard. Galborae understood the offer and struggled to a sitting position. The pain was severe, but he pushed it aside. He reached out for the sword and took it, then looked around the strange white room again. His gaze returned to Washburn and he nodded, then placed the sword beside himself on the bed.

“The dream has ended,” he said.

Washburn held out his hands in the age old gesture of helplessness, a move that made no sense to Galborae. His lips thinned, then he said, “You heard me. Have you changed your mind?”

Washburn shook his head, then pointed to himself, saying, “Terry Washburn.” He pointed to Galborae and said, “Sir Galborae.” He motioned for Galborae to get up, then he stepped closer and offered his hand.

Galborae declined the offered hand. He brought his legs to the floor and stood, then wished he had not. He nearly fainted. Washburn steadied him, then put an arm around his waist and led him from the room. Galborae found himself in a corridor, again all-white. Did these people have no color in their lives, he wondered? The walls were not made of stone or wood but something else, and he reached out to touch one. It felt almost like skin, perfectly smooth. Washburn led him down the corridor step by step until reaching the next room. Galborae looked into the room, again all-white, and noticed several plates and bowls holding food set out on a white table. When Washburn nodded, he shuffled into the room and sat gingerly.