The Trinity of Heroes (I Will Protect You Book 1) (17 page)

Lawrence looked confused for a moment, his right eyebrow furrowing. “I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

Silence lingered between the two for a moment, the new lovers unsure of their next step. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but a silence they both relished since they were relieved that the other had similar feelings. “Tomorrow night, then,” Elsie proclaimed suddenly. She stood up and extended a hand to Lawrence who took it and pulled himself up.

“Whoa, let’s not rush things!” He winked at her playfully.

Elsie pulled Lawrence in for one last kiss. The two walked out from under the bridge together and headed back to Haile.

The walk was longer than Lawrence remembered, and all the while Elsie had a firm grip on his hand. He could feel her hands sweating slightly, almost as though she were nervous that someone might see them. They were walking down the middle of the streets of Alacrecia, after all. As they walked, one thing still lingered in the back of Lawrence’s mind; did he really have the right to call Elsie “his girl?” He stopped walking momentarily and Elsie turned to look at him.

“Elsie, what will everyone think about this?” He was worried that she would try to cover it up, or play it off as just a one-night thing.

“I will tell them that we are seeing each other. What else would I say?”

Seeing each other?!

Her response startled him. The words reverberated in Lawrence’s mind as he felt a warming sensation throughout his body. It felt good; the aphrodisiac effects of their earlier kissing still embraced his entire body. Lawrence had only barely realized it, but he had a girlfriend, and it was the mayor’s daughter on top of that. Lawrence had never even been close to a girl before, yet alone been able to say he was seeing one.
What kind of responsibilities will this bring?
Will I be able to keep her happy? Will I need to buy her expensive gifts? What if I’m not good enough for her family?
These and many more questions whirled through his mind as he stood there, still in shock at her statement.

“Seeing each other?” Lawrence asked, a bit confused at the connotations.

Whilst lost in his worries Elsie’s voice broke him of his personal quandary. “Yes, ‘seeing each other,’ Lawrence. You know, I like you, you like me, that sort of thing. Instead of being told of the next suitor, I will simply say I am taken. I’m really happy, Lawrence; I’ve dreamt of this ever since I first saw you. I watched you enlist in the Knight Guard from the balcony that day before we ever met, and I kind of hoped we would run into each other. When I asked you for a tour of the barracks, it wasn’t because I had never been there, but simply my way to try to spend more time with you and get to know you better. That night at the Silver Shield for Benni’s birthday was the first time in a long time that I really can say I had fun. It’s all because of you, Lawrence, that my life has been changed forever…for the better.” She leaned in and kissed him softly, in the middle of the road, not caring if anyone was watching.

Their only audience was a large, red-eared owl in a nearby tree.
“Whoo whoo!”
the noisy creature called out. Its eyes were locked on the two of them, watching over them, approving of their decision to join hands as they continued to walk through Alacrecia.

The moon was high in the sky, and they could see a mother raccoon with a litter of young as they walked along the creek behind the houses. They were guided by the beautiful illumination of the pale moonlight. Large moths and other nighttime insects fluttered about. Bats darted through the sky and feasted on some of the smaller insects. They continued their slow stroll back to the city of Haile; it was a walk that Lawrence wished would never end. Elsie had similar feelings; her previously clammy hands were now dry with the comfort of knowing they were together. In her mind, all was right with the world.

As they approached a breaking off point, near the city market, Elsie stopped. “Lawrence, I know you will be training hard until the Knight ceremony, just don’t forget about me. Every few days let’s try to see each other, alright?”

Lawrence smiled softly, his hands applying a light pressure to hers so as to reassure her of his intentions. “I could never forget about you, Elsie.”

Elsie pulled him close, passionately kissing him again. Her tongue found its way into his mouth, and this time she let the kiss linger a little bit, making Lawrence crave her more. As he pulled her in for another, Elsie teased, “No more right now, how else can I make you come back to see me?” She headed back to the castle, happy, satisfied, and content.

Lawrence stood there in place for a few minutes, never moving, not even shuffling his feet. So much had happened this night, and Lawrence wondered what would happen now. He finally started to shuffle his way back to his refuge at the Wakewood house. It must have been sometime past the earliest hours of the morning, and Lawrence knew tomorrow morning would be difficult. But Lawrence felt that he could take on any challenge and come out on top because he now knew that Elsie shared the same feelings he did.

Over the next several months, Lawrence and Elsie would see each other every chance they had, and their relationship continued to blossom. It went from budding dandelion to blossoming rose as their feelings grew stronger and stronger, and they both yearned for that next meeting, that next chance to say,
I love you
. Elsie wondered how much longer she could hold herself back, knowing that the next step would be to take their relationship even further. She didn’t fear the notion, nor did it repulse her, she just wasn’t sure of when the right moment was. Months passed, and eventually their time together saw the approach of the Advent of Knighthood ceremony, where Lawrence would hopefully be christened a Knight of Haile.

They set out on a dreary day,

“We’ll cross those peaks,” they did say.

Ne’er made it to the fabled top,

Souls stuck where their bodies dropped.

- Hailian explorer’s rhyme

The freezing cold of the Frozen Mountains did not deter Arcel Galexia from attempting to regain his fame. The wind howled down the mountains, swirling a blizzard into the faces of the expedition team. Arcel Galexia had taken this excursion as a last ditch effort to restore his fortune and his name. If he could become the first man to cross these frigid mountains and discover the lands beyond, his place would forever be secured in the annals of history. Plus, Mayor Flint had promised him very handsome rewards. In a cruel twist of fate, the man Arcel had subsidized years ago was now funding his expedition. With Arcel’s financial support the Knight Guard prospered, and became widely regarded as one of the best forces in all of Veronicia. The Guard had procured ample cryn for the city of Haile from the treasures they found, the bandit money they recovered, and the general payments for their protection services from other cities that they received. Flint wanted to explore the uncharted territory over the Frozen Mountains, and he had promised a hefty sum to Arcel Galexia, the one and only man who he could find that seemed eager, and willing, to undertake the journey.

The weather conditions had gone from bad to worse, and the men in Arcel’s expedition had reached the limits of their endurance. Arcel and his expedition team huddled around a small campfire that produced barely enough heat for one man, let alone ten more. Arcel fidgeted nervously as he sat at the center of the group, his short black hair riddled with flakes of snow and pine boughs. He turned his brown eyes to the dark skies over the mountains and shouted, “We must continue on, men. Don’t let a little wind and snow scare you!”

He looked around at each of the burly, middle-aged men that accompanied him. A rugged looking, stout man spoke up from the crowd in a booming voice, “This is a suicide mission!”

“I agree!” another echoed.

“Let’s turn back before it’s too late!” a third man decreed.

“No men, think of the glory, the fortune. We will go down in history!” Arcel responded, trying to convince the men that the journey would be worth the gamble.

The men grumbled about, unsure if Arcel was thinking clearly. “I suppose you are right,” an old, bearded man came to Arcel’s defense. “We’ve already come this far. It’s only a few more days. Just think of what we could buy with fifty thousand cryn.”

The clear reminder of the lofty reward quickly changed the opinions of the others on the excursion. The rest of the group slowly followed the man’s lead, and finally they all raised their cold, nearly frostbitten hands in camaraderie and shouted in unison, “Huzzah!”

Arcel gave an emotional look to his companions. With a powerful, booming voice that echoed throughout the mountaintops he said, “Thank you, men. Now, let us do what no man has ever done. Let us cross these mountains and reach the unknown treasures on the other side!”

Throughout the history of these lands, it was always man’s greed that got him into trouble. Arcel took a moment to reflect on his recent decision to ignore fair warning from other explorers and travel to these accursed mountaintops. He was attempting to bring fame and fortune back to the family name that he had bastardized with gambling and debauchery by being the first person to ever traverse the Frozen Mountains. But he now sat freezing amongst a group of men no wiser than he about what horrors lie ahead. He knew that sitting for long would cause even greater discomfort and unrest amongst his men. The winds raged, howling through the crevices and singing to the clouds above. The layers of clothing and animal skins the men wore could not protect them. The cold was unforgiving; it infiltrated their hunting vests, enveloped their shoulders and ensnared them in its icy grip.

The energy they expended shivering made their movements even more sluggish. They continued on at a turtle’s pace, every treacherous yard an accomplishment in its own right. Icicles formed on their beards and eyelashes. There was no respite. When the wind took a moment to regain its ferocity, the snow provided an even more sinister barrier. Their boots snapped through the hard top layer of snow, every crunching step pulling them down ten or twelve inches deep into the white fluff. The icy quicksand slowed their movements even more, forcing them to waste their strength with every stomp. The air itself voided the area as the men circled the mountains. It was a chore to breathe. The men coughed, wheezed, and sputtered spasmodically. It should have been enough to turn back any rational being, but they pressed on, their minds unable to process their desires to survive. They ascended higher into the sky, cresting into the ominous clouds.

Darkness crept in, a third cunning enemy to the group’s progress. Still they trudged on. Lanterns casted the grim shadows of hollow souls onto the icy walls, acting like a canvas to the procession of the walking dead. Arcel dropped to one knee, begging for his lungs to stop their betrayal. He gasped repeatedly, his throat and lips raw from the crisp winds. He staggered back to his feet, turned to his crew and proclaimed in a raspy voice, “Men, it is only a few paces further, once we crest this summit, we will camp for the night, and descend onto fame and greatness at the first sunlight.”

The men did not have the resolve left to confirm his directions audibly, but their bodies obliged, following the dream of their leader to a level area at the mountain’s precipice. An overhang of rock provided the group their only shelter, and the men hustled toward their resting area with a renewed vigor. They made a fire, ate some food, and drank. Their spirits returned momentarily. Laughter and song echoed off of the mountaintops, an unknown, self-made requiem to their lofty goals. The night would not be so kind, however. Sleep and death overcame the group, one as a precursor to the other.

Only Arcel and two others returned to the world of the living the next morning. Arcel awoke first, taking a minute to fully realize that he was still alive. He knew it because of the wind. That unholy howl would not have been allowed in the heavens, or in hell. No one else moved. He heard no other sounds to confirm that he had company. This was a land deserted by life, void of sustenance. Finally, a grunt from one of his awaking comrades broke the desolate silence. The two men helped one another to their feet, brushing snow off each others’ furs. They tried waking the other men, only succeeding one time. The others had been granted an early reprieve from their own misery. The two men said a prayer for their fallen allies, while Arcel glanced impatiently toward the sky. He really didn’t care that most of his men had perished in his quest for greatness.

Arcel irritably pulled his two remaining crewmen from their dirges, and they began the treacherous descent down the other side of the mountain. They attempted to glimpse their treasure, the sight of the new lands that awaited them at the bottom of the mountain, but could not see through the haze of clouds and the constant, whipping snowfall. Yet their imaginations led them to the utopia that awaited them at the end of their grueling journey. Onward, downward they marched, gravity doubling as both friend and foe as a slippery rock could lead them to an icy end.

Arcel continued his way down the side of the mountains. As his companions followed, one of them missed their step. His voice howled in unison with the snowstorm as he slid past Arcel’s outstretched hand. Their hands met for a moment, clutching each other in a last grasp for survival. The man’s eyes pleaded against the cruel storm, begging for Arcel to muster his empty strength. Hopelessness overtook his pupils as his mind understood what he did not want to admit. Arcel wouldn’t risk his own position, balanced on an outcropping, to save him. As Arcel struggled half-heartedly to pull the man back up, his own frostbitten fingers gave out like the rotting boards of an ancient bridge. The man disappeared down the mountain, deep into the swirling tempest.

Two souls now remained against the frozen legion. They continued to battle their way through the battalions of sleet and snow. Beads of ice tore at Arcel’s face as he looked toward the sky one last time. The elements would not defeat him. He turned to his last remaining companion and proclaimed, “Come on friend, it’s only a little farther!”

The man gave no response; he simply continued to slog along with Arcel for what felt like an eternity. They kept their heads down and muddled through as they finally reached the foothills. They had finished their descent; they were off the mountains.

Arcel’s voice roared through the still-raging blizzard, “It’s just ahead; we just need to get through the remainder of this storm!”

He began to run across the flat ground which had less snow packed on it to slow his pace. As he continued onward, he could sense a feeling of accomplishment swell throughout his entire being. The snowstorm’s intensity eased as he moved farther away from the mountains’ base. Even if his journey stopped here, he was the first person to ever cross these miserable peaks. He had done it. His pace slowed as he looked back and saw only a thick wall of white. His companion had been swallowed by the maw of the mighty storm. Arcel did not care. There was simply too much to see and discover for him to waste his time searching for dispensable human life. Arcel continued onward, a newfound purpose in every step he took.

After a while, he came to an area where the snow was gone, and now he stood on grass and dirt for the first time in days. As though he were a Knight dropping to his knees to take a vow, Arcel kissed the dirt at his feet. He could feel granules of sand and hard earth caress his lips; the cold ground had never felt so good. Blades of brown grass danced about his cheeks as he took a moment to smell his imminent victory.

Arcel looked up and realized that the ground seemed to crest about one hundred meters ahead of him. He wondered to himself what treasures the horizon could hold. His body knew what needed to be done, involuntarily moving and pulling him closer to the edge of the land ahead of him. He knew he had to be remembered for something, and with his reputation at stake, Arcel would not compromise the magnitude of his historic achievement. Crossing the Frozen Mountains was a verifiable accomplishment by itself, but Arcel wanted more, needed more. He was too close, survived too much, to turn back now. He must know what lie ahead. He marched on, his pace quickening. Finally, he reached the edge of the ground that overlooked his destination.

He sat perched atop a short cliff that overlooked the lands down below. As his eyes gazed over the expansive landscape, an inescapable feeling of dread and disappointment swelled in his gut. Below him stretched a black marsh that drowned the land as far as the eye could see. He stared at the newly discovered landmark for a long while, hypnotized by the swamp’s stranglehold over his motivation to continue. The trees that littered the Black Swamp had no leaves, but were not dead. Black dreads of seaweed wept from their branches. Red carpets of blood-moss covered large expanses of the swamp, and lured birds and animals to its poisonous flowers and treacherous footings. Bubbles of muck formed, expanded, and exploded over and over all throughout the mammoth bog; the signature
snap
echoing throughout the area. An intense smell singed Arcel’s nostrils, warning him that the liquid below wasn’t water.

Arcel needed to get closer.

He slowly inched his way over the crest to the treacherous shores below. He gradually slid down the muddy wall, grabbing for dead plants and clumps of grass to slow his decent. He came upon a small dirt patch before approaching the opaque ocean that lay before him. He could see mounds of dirt and grass scattered around the swamp, the only possible places for sound footing. In his mind he knew that in order to cross this swamp, it would take more than the tools he possessed.

But he had to explore more. He was warm now, the rush of the unknown overtaking the cold he had felt earlier. He removed his coat of furs and knelt down, keenly observing the swamp. It rolled, it bubbled, it was a life form unique as any he had ever seen. He swore it was alive. He noticed the swamp turn over again, this time leaving a twisted, hand-shaped formation protruding from its unholy depths. Arcel stared in fixated amazement at this black, gnarled symbol. Could this be a creature, a new species to discover, or simply a tree branch covered in muck, playing with his own excitement? Arcel’s heart pounded intensely. He timidly reached toward it, careful to avoid losing his balance.

The trap worked.

The warped shape moved, lurching toward Arcel’s outstretched arm, ensnaring his elbow with its unrelenting grip. A ghastly figure arose from the swamp’s deepest recesses, wailing ferociously as it emerged. It towered over Arcel’s prone body, dripping the muck from the marsh off of its transparent form. Its veins coursed with the black liquid of the swamp, flowing like tributaries feeding into its heart of darkness. It’s red, ember-like eyes burned against the hollow backdrop of its bald skull. Human in form but demonic in strength, the beast pulled Arcel off of the ledge out over the expanse of black muck. Arcel was frozen, this time not from the elements, but from gripping, heart-stopping fear. The beast pulled Arcel gradually into the swamp, growling as it toyed with its prey. The wretched creature enjoyed prolonging its victims’ deaths, dragging out their demise until they accepted their own end.

But Arcel’s own will to survive kicked in. He kicked, punched, and tore at the grisly form. But he could not free himself from its inexorable grip. He gasped for the sweet succulent taste of air, but the beast yanked him down further. The black liquid covered his shoulders, then his neck. Still he sank further down, the beast slowly dragging his soul to a black hell. He sucked one last, deep breath, knowing it would be his last chance. He kicked harder against the muck; he wriggled and squirmed like a fish on a hook. Yet he could not break free. Down he sank. The straws of sunlight that penetrated the black veil faded over his head. He closed his eyes to prevent the liquid from stinging them. His lungs begged for air, but Arcel could not oblige. His chest heaved, his own body forcing its will against its master’s wishes. His mouth opened and in rushed the black fluid, filling his body with the putrid taste of demise. Arcel drowned quickly, effortlessly, succumbing to the painless release death had finally granted him.