Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor (11 page)

For the rest of the day, the four valor knights lost themselves in the duties of giving aid. They transported the wounded to homes in the city and stayed until there was little more they could do. At one point,
Quinlan found himself tending a severely wounded young knight in the haven leader’s home.

“I saw you fight that warrior,” the young man said. “I hope I can be as brave as you one day.”

Quinlan clenched his teeth. The boy’s comments stung like salt in a fresh wound. “There is only One whose actions you should aspire to duplicate,” he said quietly.

The young man smiled. “The Prince!” Then he closed his eyes to rest.

Quinlan exited the house and started down the street, but he stopped when he heard voices around the corner. Drake, Purcell, and Kessler were discussing their options.

“So you want to just give up and ride away?” That was Kessler. “The Swords of Valor are to be no more?”

“Taras only spoke to the commander,” Purcell’s voice replied. “We are part of this unit because Baylor recruited us. How are we supposed to continue without him?”

Silence.

“Well?”

“I’m afraid he’s right,” Drake finally said.

“What of Quinlan?” Kessler asked.

“What of him?” Purcell’s voice was bitter. “I knew that bringing him into the unit was a mistake. Now Baylor has paid for it with his life!”

Purcell’s words hit Quinlan square in the chest, and he could take it no more. The muscles convulsed on his burning face as he quietly moved away from the corner, found Kobalt, and silently disappeared into the night.

PATHYON

“Baylor is dead, my lord, and the Swords of Valor have disbanded.” The bald Shadow Warrior bowed low before the dark throne of Lucius as he gave his report. “My paythas are quickly reproducing and making imbeciles out of the Knights of the Prince.”

A wicked smile crossed the Dark Lord’s face, and he turned to the massive figure beside him. “See, Luskan. Pathyon is exactly who we needed for Burkfield.” His smiled turned to a scowl. “Don’t ever hesitate on my orders again!”

“Yes, my lord.” The massive Shadow Warrior said. “But may I remind your lordship that it was my Assassin Warriors that executed Baylor, not Pathyon and his furry—”

“Quit sniveling, Luskan,” Lucius growled. “Your drugged warrior squad may have killed Baylor for us, but I need warriors whose minds aren’t turned to mush when you’re through with them.”

Luskan shot Pathyon a vengeful glare, but Pathyon ignored it.

“With the Swords of Valor disbanded and my paythas controlling the haven knights, destroying Burkfield will be rather simple. Shall I proceed?” Pathyon’s dark eyes gleamed in anticipation of the carnage.

“Not yet. We shall fatten the calf before we kill it and feast.” Lucius brought his hands together and crossed his fingers. “Let the city continue to prosper and the haven slowly die. Then I will make an example
of that city for all of the kingdom to see. Its destruction will help initiate my final plan.”

“As you wish, my lord.” Pathyon bowed low once more and smiled as he exited the dark throne room. Luskan scowled at him as he exited. In an empire built on deception and treachery, there are no friends.

TWITCH ONCE MORE

Quinlan spurred Kobalt hard, trying to put distance between them and what happened at Garriston, but there was no escaping. With every mile he felt the reality of it closing in, draining him of hope.

A storm threatened on the Plains of Zoat, but Quinlan barely noticed. Lightning arced from cloud to cloud in a constant strobe of brilliant flashes, but he rode on. When the dark clouds overhead roared and poured rain down on him, it felt only right.

Quinlan had been riding for hours when he finally stopped Kobalt and slid to the ground. He stumbled away from the steed and on through torrential downpour, conscious of nothing but his agonizing thoughts.

He had been insignificant his whole life. And now his feeble effort to follow the Prince under Sir Baylor’s tutelage felt like a mockery. Baylor was dead. The Swords of Valor blamed Quinlan, and justifiably so. He had dared to care and now desperately wished he hadn’t, for the pain was unbearable.

He fell to his knees in the mud and buried his face in his hands. His tears disappeared into the streams of rainwater that flowed down his face. Quinlan was certain that no one in all the land would care or notice if he simply vanished. If only he could do just that.

“What a fool I was even to try,” he said aloud, but the thunder
robbed him of even this small moment of mourning. He ached to the very depth of his soul and could not imagine the pain ever stopping.

I’m sorry, my Prince. Who am I to think that I could serve You? I am … nothing
.

Long after the rain had stopped, Quinlan still crouched in the mud, unable to move. Kobalt came over and nudged him, then nudged again. After three attempts, the horse managed to stir his master. Quinlan grabbed onto his steed’s harness and lifted himself up. With monumental effort, he managed to mount. Then, with hardly a thought, he set his course toward Burkfield.

On the long journey home, Quinlan avoided all human contact, for the only comfort he found in his grief was his isolation. His travel was extremely slow, and he had to subsist on nuts and berries, but he didn’t care. He didn’t even really care if he made it home—in fact, he dreaded it. He only traveled that direction because it
was
a direction.

After two weeks of travel, an emaciated Quinlan finally arrived in Burkfield.

“Twitch!” Tav shouted when he opened the door and Quinlan nearly fell through it. “What in the kingdom happened to you?”

Tav grabbed his friend and helped him to a chair. He brought him a flask of water, some bread, and some fruit and waited patiently while Quinlan slowly ate and drank.

“Thank you,” Quinlan said softly.

By now, Tav’s father and mother had joined them. All were relieved to see Quinlan but obviously concerned for him. Tav’s father crossed his arms across his chest. “Is Baylor nearby?”

Quinlan shook his head. He didn’t yet have the courage to tell them what had happened. “I’m very tired,” he murmured.

“Of course,” Tav’s mother said. “Your room is just as it was.”

Quinlan gave her a thankful nod and stumbled down the hallway. Maybe this time sleep would bring him relief.

After a few days of recovery, Quinlan was finally able to share the tragic news of Sir Baylor’s death with Tav and his parents. They took it better
than Quinlan had expected. He wondered if perhaps they tempered their response for his sake, for he could hardly speak the words of that dreadful story. They also seemed hesitant to believe him, for that would mean believing that Baylor was more than a fanatic.

For Quinlan, the memory of that tragic day in Garriston was a wound that wouldn’t heal, for he kept reliving every detail in his mind. The pain of the memory seemed an appropriate penance for his gross error, a small price to pay for the life of one as great as Sir Baylor and the damage to the work of the Prince in Arrethtrae. He tortured himself with wondering how many Knights of the Prince were attempting missions unprotected by the Swords of Valor. That thought also caused him to wonder why he had never seen attacks made on the haven or city of Burkfield.

As the weeks and months passed, Quinlan’s questions gradually faded into the background and he began to live days that were not completely filled with regret. He eased back into his old life at Burkfield and became Twitch once more.

Even as the pain of his error slowly faded, however, he found himself unable to find peace in his old life. He had seen the other side of the kingdom, both the dark and the glorious, and no matter how comfortable he was in Burkfield, he couldn’t forget that ancient hidden war. Caught between two worlds, he was more miserable than he had ever been in his life.

Tav wasn’t much help. He and Quinlan tried to pick up their friendship where they had left off, but both had changed. Disty, now the size of a raccoon and an ever-present companion to Tav, was a constant irritant to Quinlan. Since his commissioning, Tav had also begun spending more time with Mirya and less time at the haven.

For different reasons, Quinlan was reticent in regard to his involvement with the Burkfield haven, and Sir Edmund did not press the issue. He assigned Quinlan to maintenance and other menial tasks required at the haven, a job that suited his carpentry skills quite well. On the surface, it seemed a natural fit for Twitch. Inwardly, Quinlan was slowly dying.