The Cavalier (67 page)

Jonas had immediately followed Kiln to the bed and knelt next to the unconscious prince. “In Shyann’s name,” he whispered as he surveyed the wounds. There were several long pink scars on his abdomen and more than a handful of open and bleeding lacerations on his arms and legs. His face was bloody and bruised and his lips were torn and bleeding in several spots. He had obviously been repeatedly and severely beaten. Also, burned in the middle of his forehead was Dykreel’s brand, a circle of spiked wire. But the worst of the damage was to his groin. They had cut off his manhood leaving nothing more than a bloody stump of flesh. Jonas had never seen anything so horrible.

“Is the prince alive?” asked Alerion as he quickly moved next to the bed.

“Yes, he is breathing. But he has been tortured and severely wounded. By the looks of it they completely slit open his abdomen and then healed the wound with magic, just enough to stop the bleeding. Kiln, what are we to do? Those evil vermin have taken his…”

“Heal him, Jonas,” Kiln interrupted. “Bring him back from the darkness. But cover his body first.” Kiln’s voice was low and dripping with anger at the vile deed that had been done to such a good man.

Jonas was shaking with anger as well. How could someone do this to another human being? It was incomprehensible to him, and the dark deed just added fuel to the fire that was burning deep in Jonas’s soul. Dykreel, dark god of torture and pain, the third ranking Forsworn had marked this man, and that act alone was a violation of all that is good. Nothing would dampen the flames of vengeance. And Jonas knew that Kiln felt the same way. He could see it in the hard set of his face and in his ice cold eyes. As Jonas looked at him, an understanding was shared between them. Nothing would stop either one of them from stamping out the evil that was responsible for this act.

“Heal him, Jonas,” Kiln repeated.

Alerion draped the prince’s body with a light red blanket as Jonas laid both his hands on the mortally wounded prince. Jonas closed his eyes and prayed to Shyann, asking for her power to heal this man who embodied all the qualities of goodness.

He felt her power rise deep from within him and he channeled it into his hands. Instantly they glowed blue and he released the healing magic into the prince’s ravaged body. Tendrils of magic surged into the prince, searching out all that was corrupted. Shyann’s magic first sought out the prince’s forehead, drawn to the evil mark that was burned there. The magic healing tendrils were like hunting dogs sniffing out their prey. The magic grabbed hold of the mark and wrestled with the dark magic there in.

Kiln and Alerion saw smoke rise from the scar as it glowed brightly. But Jonas’s eyes were closed and he didn’t see the reaction. He felt it. Dykreel’s darkness tried to hold on but Jonas gritted his teeth and sent a strong burst of light into the mark, chasing the shadow of darkness from Prince Baylin’s body.

Then Jonas found the other wounds, and there were many. The cleric of Dykreel had slit open the prince’s abdomen and pulled sections of his intestines out while he was still alive. Then the torturer replaced them and healed the wound, just enough to keep him from bleeding to death. This had been done several times and Jonas cringed thinking about the pain that Prince Baylin had gone through. Jonas could see the damaged and bruised sections deep in his abdomen. He worked quickly to heal the area and sealed all the lacerations on his body, after first pushing out the salt that had been poured on the wounds to maximize his suffering.

Lastly he went to work on the Prince’s groin. There was nothing he could do for the missing flesh so he simply did his best to heal the wound with the least amount of scarring. Jonas knew that an opening would be needed for the prince to relieve himself of his fluids, so he found that spot and sealed the flesh around it. Finally Jonas opened his eyes, took a deep breath to steady his body before standing up from the prince’s inert form.
 

Prince Baylin’s chest was rising in slow deep breaths and his flesh was no longer pasty white. The scar on his forehead was gone and it looked as if he had never been burned.
 

“He will be okay, but I think he will need to rest for a while,” Jonas said softly.

“The damage that the prince sustained was not just physical. The mental trauma alone will likely keep him unconscious, at least for a while,” Kiln said, looking at Alerion and Jonas both. “We will speak to no one of this, do you both understand? No one must know of his injuries.”

“I understand,” replied Alerion gravely.

“I will tell no one,” added Jonas. Kiln nodded his head as if to seal the oath they both took.

“You both have exerted a lot of energy, now go get some sleep, I will stay with the prince,” Kiln said as he sat on the edge of the bed and pulled the blanket all the way over his prone body.

“Very well, Kiln.” Jonas was indeed tired. He had been fighting constantly for two full days and it was time to get some rest. “Please inform me if you need anything,” he said as he turned to leave.

“And me as well, Commander,” added Alerion as he left the room on Jonas’s heels, leaving Kiln and the prince alone in the dimly lit tent.

Kiln looked down at the unconscious prince. “I’m sorry, young king. But don’t worry, you will get your justice, and I will be standing right beside you.”

The morning came quick. They had a new task before them, one filled with uncertainties and danger, but also hope. Their task was to find the warrior king, Kromm, who was fleeing for his life in the mountains around Tarsis with what was left of his followers.

Tarsis had been destroyed by Malbeck the Dark One, and his forces were now moving on Finarth. Jonas knew that something was hunting King Kromm with the sole purpose of destroying him, and this something was probably of another world, something that only a cavalier could face. They had to find the king and bring him back; it was necessary for the survival of the land, although Jonas had not yet been told why.

King Baylin Gavinsteal and Kiln would be preparing the defenses for Finarth while Jonas, Taleen, and Fil went on this mission. They could wait no longer, it was time to leave.

Their nighttime mission had been successful. Lord Moredin was dead and they had rescued the prince. Hopefully the retreat would now go unhindered since Lord Moredin and the other enemy commanders were now dead. It would take Malbeck many months to reach Finarth and the winter season would slow them as well, giving Finarth the time needed to prepare for a long drawn out siege. Also, no one knew if Malbeck would stop along the way to plunder other cities like Cuthaine, a free city just outside of Finarth’s borders and in Malbeck’s path. Either way, the people of Finarth had a lot of work to do, as did Jonas. He had to find the King of Tarsis and bring him back.
 

All three of the warriors were saddled and ready to ride. Kiln had given them all provisions and the necessary supplies for the long journey.

Fil had a hard time masking his excitement. He sat proud and tall on a sturdy warhorse that Kiln had given him. He was wearing his chain mail shirt draped with a charcoal gray tunic and black breeches and he carried his traditional footman’s short sword and dagger, as well as a stout long spear. He was ready for this mission.

Jonas and Taleen sat on their cavalier mounts. Everything sparkled in the morning sun as their huge warhorses pranced about, eager for their mission. Tulari would be leading them, and he shook his head back and forth in anticipatory eagerness for the adventure.

Jonas was wearing his polished helm, the deer antlers jutting from both sides like a noble stag. Endowed with magic, the magnificent piece was almost weightless. Jonas sometimes forgot he was wearing it. It felt a little different now that he had no hair, but that would grow back, creating a softer bed for the helmet.

The edges of the God Mark that had been burned into his forehead could be seen under his helmet. The blue symbol was slightly raised, like a scar, its lines smooth and its edges straight. Jonas often brought his hand up to touch it, marveling at the feel of the gift that Shyann had given him for his service. He did not need a religious symbol on a chain around his neck; his symbol was embedded in his flesh, where it would never go away.
 

A small crowd of men were out to watch the departing trio. It was an hour before dawn but word had spread throughout camp and many of the men had come to wish them well.

Kiln was there, along with Alerion and several knights with whom Jonas had traveled. Graggis stood like a block of stone holding his huge battle axe. He nodded his head to them as they made eye contact.

Dagrinal was standing next to him in full battle armor, casually resting his hand on his long sword. Jonas smiled and Dagrinal smiled back, nodding his head in farewell.

Suddenly the men around them parted and began to cheer, “Finarth! Finarth!” as an armored man moved through them with purpose. It was the prince, now the King of Finarth, and he approached the trio dressed in full battle armor.

The men were yelling and cheering for their king. Rumors had spread quickly of his rescue but no one had yet seen him. He looked tired but he had healed fully and he moved with determination. He moved close to Jonas and looked up at him. They shared something briefly, a knowing, and a silent thank you. Words about what happened did not need to be spoken. It was understood and it did not need to be discussed.

“Thank you, Jonas, and good luck. May Bandris guard you and bring you back safely with the help you seek.”

Jonas leaned down and gripped the young king’s hand. “Just hold out long enough to give me time to get back,” he said with a wry smile.

“It will be done,” replied the king, his soft voice emanating power.

Something had changed within the man; Jonas could see it, could feel it. His face was hard and cold, and he looked like a volcano ready to erupt. Something had died within him and something else was born, and growing.

Jonas turned his gaze to Kiln who stood next to the king. He reached down from Tulari’s back and gripped his hand firmly.

“Be careful, Jonas. I still need a training partner and no one is good enough with a blade. Bring yourself back,” he said seriously.

“I will,” he answered back as Tulari took the lead and moved forward in anticipation.

Taleen’s and Fil’s horses followed and they moved off through the meadow. Jonas looked back at the group, who were silently watching them depart, and yelled. “May Shyann be with you!”

Epilogue

Allindrian angled her hand out slightly and flicked her wrist, the subtle move slicing open the orc’s throat just after she had skewered the monster to the left of its windpipe, right through the artery that snaked up its neck like a thick ropey vine.

The orc fell back into the throng of enemies without a sound.

Allindrian whipped her head around to survey the situation. She had only a few moments before more orcs were upon her, but it was enough.

Their retreat from Tarsis was turning into a rout. Chaos surrounded them as King Kromm and maybe a hundred knights battled for their lives.

They had barely made it out of the city alive and when they emerged from the king’s secret tunnel several hundred paces from the city’s western wall, they were set upon immediately by the enemy.

They had been fighting for their lives ever since.

Eight hours ago, in the dead of the night, Allindrian had heard something, her elven hearing more acute than that of the humans around her. Her private room was near the king’s chambers, and she knew that something was amiss, as the sound was out of place.

The walls of Tarsis had been breached, impossible, but nonetheless true. Malbeck’s army had descended upon the city like the plague, slaughtering all of those who were caught unaware, and eventually even those who had had the time to rise from their warm beds and arm themselves. There were just too many of them and the Tarsinian Knights had been caught completely by surprise. They’d had no time to prepare a proper defense. It was a blood bath.

Allindrian was able to rouse King Kromm and his family and escape through the secret tunnel with a small group of castle guards.

Allindrian dodged another strike from an orc’s axe and shuffled backwards, cutting the beasts arm off at the elbow. They had to move; if they stayed there fighting, eventually they would be overrun by sheer numbers.

Several knights fought next to her with shield and sword. She jumped back and the trained knights closed the gap, offering her the reprieve she needed to race up the slight hill on which they were fighting.

The terrain consisted of rolling hills covered with huge old timber, interspersed with low growing shrubs and a mixture of mosses and grass. Winter was approaching and the typically dense forest was opening up, its greenery tucking away from the quickly dropping temperature. Soon the mountains would be covered with snow.

There were pockets of fighting all around her and it only took her a few moments to find King Kromm. The giant monarch stood near a stand of trees swinging his mighty sword in great arcs of steely death. He was flanked by a hundred of the elite knights and Allindrian knew that behind them would be his family, and probably Addalis, his court wizard.

When they had emerged from the escape tunnel they had found pockets of resistance all throughout the forest. Some of the Tarsinian soldiers had escaped and the king had wasted no time in uniting the forces and establishing a quick defense.