Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor (2 page)

What is this hope they bring? To tell it requires another story, much of it chronicled upon previous parchments, yet worthy of much retelling.

Listen then, to the tale of a great King who ruled the Kingdom Across the Sea, along with His Son and their gallant and mighty force of
Silent Warriors. A ruler of great power, justice, and mercy, this King sought to establish His rule in the land of Arrethtrae. To this end He chose a pure young man named Peyton and his wife, Dinan, to govern the land.

All was well in Arrethtrae until the rebellion … for there came a time when the King’s first and most powerful Silent Warrior, Lucius by name, drew a third of the warriors with him in an attempt to overthrow the Kingdom Across the Sea. A great battle raged until finally the King’s forces prevailed. Cast out of the kingdom—and consumed with hatred and revenge—Lucius now brought his rebellion to the land of Arrethtrae, overthrowing Peyton and Dinan and bringing great turmoil to the land.

But the King did not forget His people in Arrethtrae. He established the order of the Noble Knights to protect them until the day they would be delivered from the clutches of the Dark Knight. The great city of Chessington served as a tower of promise and hope in the darkened lands of Arrethtrae.

For many years and through great adversity, the Noble Knights persevered, waiting for the King’s promised Deliverer.

Even the noblest of hearts can be corrupted, however, and long waiting can dim the brightest hope. Thus, through the years, the Noble Knights grew selfish and greedy. Worse, they forgot the very nature of their charge. For when the King sent His only Son, the Prince, to prepare His people for battle against Lucius, the Noble Knights knew Him not, nor did they heed His call to arms.

When He rebuked them for their selfish ways, they mocked and disregarded Him. When He began to train a force of commoners—for He was a true master of the sword—they plotted against Him. Then the Noble Knights, claiming to act in the great King’s name, captured and killed His very own Son.

What a dark day that was! Lucius and his evil minions—the Shadow Warriors—reveled in this apparent victory. But all was not lost. For when the hope of the kingdom seemed to vanish and the hearts of the humble despaired, the King used the power of the Life Spice to raise His Son from the dead.

This is a mysterious tale indeed, but a true one. For the Prince was seen by many before He returned to His Father across the Great Sea. And to those who loved and followed Him—myself among them—He left a promise and a charge.

Here then is the promise: that the Prince will come again to take all who believe in Him home to the Kingdom Across the Sea.

And this is the charge: that those who love Him must travel to the far reaches of the kingdom of Arrethtrae, tell all people of Him and His imminent return, and wage war against Lucius and his Shadow Warriors.

Thus we wait in expectation. And while we wait, we fight against evil and battle to save the souls of many from darkness.

We are the knights who live and die in loyal service to the King and the Prince. Though not perfect in our call to royal duty, we know the power of the Prince resonates in our swords, and the rubble of a thousand strongholds testifies to our strength of hearts and souls.

There are many warriors in this land of Arrethtrae, many knights who serve many masters. But the knights of whom I write are my brothers and sisters, the Knights of the Prince.

They are mighty because they serve a mighty King and His Son.

They are … the Knights of Arrethtrae!

A TALE OF TWO KNIGHTS

There are moments in life that define who a person will be. These moments can be as precious as the gems of Alagra Briar or as dark as the caverns of Sedah, and they are as distinct and unrepeatable as the lives they have the potential to change. Unfortunately, most people fail to recognize them among the millions of other moments that make up their lives.

The moments that inspire one to greatness are authored by the King Himself. The moments that inspire one to evil are authored by the Dark Knight, Lucius. Moments of grand design are no respecter of persons, for the King has an un-Arrethtraen insistence on calling the meek and lowly to greatness as often as the noble and wealthy … and perhaps even more often.

I know this to be true, for I, Cedric of Chessington, lived through one of those moments. I received the fortuitous opportunity to choose the Prince—and define my life it did! This is not my story, however, but Sir Quinlan’s story—the story of a moment in his life that reverberated across all regions of the kingdom and changed the lives of many. It is also the story of his friend and how the choice of commonality.

Well, perhaps I should just tell the tale. It begins not in the city of Burkfield, where our young Sir Quinlan lives, but in the darkened halls of evil’s lair.

WORDS FROM THE DARK

“My Lord, we nearly lost our stronghold at Moorue,” Luskan reported to the Dark Knight, then turned and glared at Malco. Malco returned the glare with hatred spewing from his eyes.

The Dark Knight’s fierce gaze turned toward the handsome blond Shadow Warrior. He slowly rose from his grisly throne and walked toward Malco, fingering the long dagger at his side. Malco’s countenance of hatred transformed into one of terror as his master slowly circled him, stopping just to Malco’s right side.

“Is this true?” Lucius leaned close to Malco’s ear. “Have you nearly lost my most treasured stronghold?”

Malco swallowed hard. “No, Master Lucius. The Waters of Moorue are in full production, and I am expanding to three other cities as we speak. Lord Luskan has overestimated the importance of the skirmish in the swamp.”

Luskan snorted. “The truth, my lord, is that the Knights of the Prince are purposely taking the battle to our strongholds. Malco escaped the fate of Drox by the hair of a blood wolf.”

Lucius stood straight and walked away, then turned to face Malco with a voice thick with anger. “I have given you more warriors, Vinceros, and resources than any of my other lieutenants.”

Lucius closed the space between them and drew his knife. Malco worked to keep his face stoic, but his eyes betrayed him.

Lucius put his left hand on Malco’s shoulder and gripped it tightly. He raised his dagger, positioned the tip of it beneath Malco’s left eye, and pressed until a bright red trickle spilled down Malco’s cheek. Slowly Lucius drew the blade downward, slicing the fair skin of Malco’s face.

Malco winced but stood still as Lucius spoke in a deep, guttural voice. “Do not fail me, Malco, or this blade will cut more than your pretty face!” He stopped the blade just above Malco’s lip, then withdrew it and turned away.

Malco lifted a hand to cover the bloody gash. “Yes, my lord,” he said in a voice full of fear and loathing. He turned and exited the hall.

Lucius returned to his throne and scowled as he gazed at nothing. Luskan stayed silent, waiting for the brilliant mind of his dark master to formulate a counteroffensive to the attacks of the wretched Knights of the Prince. After a long silence, Lucius spoke.

“The Rising is close. I can feel it!” Lucius clenched a fist. “We need something that will strike at the heart of His knights—something they cannot see nor fight, that will kill them before they know it.” Lucius’s fingers drummed on the arm of his throne as he turned to his vice commander. “Bring Lord Pathyon to me.”

Luskan looked hesitant.

“Bring him now!”