The Cavalier (18 page)

A darkness began to overwhelm Jonas again as he searched the battle scene, looking for a target. Some vile magic was assaulting them a second time. He felt like he wanted to run, his heart began to beat quickly, and the bow began to shake in his hands. The men felt it as well and many began to back up, frightened looks painted across their faces.

Then from the darkness at the edge of the lit clearing, a black horse rode forward carrying a dark rider. The warrior, clad in dark armor, carried a short black spear made of grey metal and his red cape billowed in the air as he galloped into the clearing, scattering boargs and warriors alike. He emanated fear and evil, permeating the men with despair wherever he rode.

The dark knight pointed his spear at a soldier near him and uttered “Atta-Guthor!” The spear head crackled with energy sending a bolt of lightning into the man, launching him into the air and burning a hole right through his chest.

Jonas shook his head, trying to clear it, so he could focus on the evil warrior. He nocked an arrow, lifting his bow, his arms shaking badly. “Give me strength, Shyann,” Jonas whispered to himself, trying to aim the shaking bow.
 
In moments his arms steadied and his mind began to clear. He saw the warrior clearly now as he ripped the magical spear from the chest of another mercenary. Jonas fired his arrow and saw the shaft strike the warrior in the shoulder. The arrow deflected off his black armor.

The evil warrior turned towards Jonas, laughing wickedly. He lifted his vile weapon and uttered the same words, “Atta-Guthor!” The bolt of lightning flashed through the air and struck Jonas in the chest, sending him flying backwards to land heavily on his back at the base of the wagon.
 

Allindrian, who had just withdrawn her sword from the chest of a dead boarg, saw the bolt hit Jonas. “No!” she screamed. She flashed her blade across the throat of the last boarg that was between her and the evil warrior. Blood erupted from the severed throat, and Allindrian, spinning by the dead beast, moved in quickly towards the warrior with the spear. Simultaneously she drew her long hunting knife throwing it side armed at the horsed warrior. The magical elven blade struck the warrior in the leg, sending sparks flying as it penetrated the enchanted armor. The man screamed and angled his weapon at Allindrian.

Jonas slowly got up, astonished that he was still alive. He looked down with wide eyes at his chest and saw that his tunic was scorched and burned, exposing his God Mark, which was glowing with magic. The last remnants of magical energy wavered briefly across his chest before dissipating completely. Somehow Shyann’s magic had saved him. Not wasting any time wondering about his luck, he grabbed Airos’s dagger that had fallen by the wagon, quickly leaped up and ran to join his comrades. Coming around the wagon he saw Allindrian bear down on the horsed rider, his spear pointing right at her. Jonas was twenty paces away and he didn’t know if he could get there in time, but he had to try. He ran towards the horsed rider as fast as he could. Everything seemed to slow down as his mind took in everything around him. He saw Fil out of the corner of his eye throw a spear at the rider just as Allindrian closed the gap between them. The spear struck the rider in the back, but it could not penetrate his magical armor. The impact caused him to jerk forward in his saddle, diverting his spear point away from Allindrian.

Jonas, arriving just in time, jumped into the air, Airos’s knife held high, and slammed the blade into the lower back of the warrior. The knife bit in deep, the magical blade slicing through the armor like it was butter.

The warrior screamed, arching his back and dropping his spear to the ground. Jonas was flung backwards as the warrior’s horse pivoted.

Simultaneously, Allindrian leaped impossibly high into the air, her elven agility bringing her level with the horsed warrior. Her silver blade arced through the night, slicing across the man’s neck and sending his head flying into the darkness. The half-elf ranger landed lightly on the ground as his head made a sickening thump on the grass five paces away.

Jonas got up from the ground quickly, taking in the scene. The mercenaries had regrouped and they were finishing off the last of the boargs.

Allindrian approached Jonas, her sword held low, fire still burning in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked in disbelief.

“I think so,” Jonas responded, the rush of battle adrenaline leaving his body shaking. He held up his hands which continued to twitch nervously.

“It will pass. It is common after a fight,” Allindrian reassured him.

Fil moved up to them both, his short sword in hand. His face, though haggard from fear and exertion, bore a determined look. Jonas was thankful to see his friend was not hurt. “What happened, Allindrian? Were we spelled?” Fil asked.

“We were. That one there,” pointing her sword at the dead warrior on ground, “was a cleric of darkness. If it were not for Jonas we would all be dead. He warned me of the attack just in time.” Fil looked at Jonas knowingly. Allindrian continued, “I think, young Jonas, that you have some explaining to do. That mark on your chest is a God Mark.” Jonas looked down and for the first time remembered that his tunic had been burnt off. “You should be dead,” Allindrian stated bluntly.

Cyn had gathered his men and approached the group. He was splattered in blood and had a nasty cut just underneath his eye. It was obvious that he had overheard Allindrian and addressed her comment. “Let’s postpone this discussion until we have seen to the dead and wounded. Let’s remove this filth from our site immediately,” Cyn commanded, approaching the dead warrior.

“No, don’t touch him,” Allindrian ordered, stepping in front of him. “His armor and weapons are cursed.” She used the tip of her sword to move aside the red cape around his neck, exposing the bloody stump and a chain with a pendant. She lifted the blood stained necklace with the tip of her sword. It hissed and smoked as she brought it clear. On a pendant at the end of the chain was a symbol of a spider. Her sword glowed white and the necklace began to glow as well. “Just as I thought. This one was a follower of Naz-reen. Look here at her symbol.” Cyn made the four pointed mark on his chest at the mention of the dark goddess’s name. She tossed the smoking necklace aside and it burst into flames, melting into an unrecognizable piece of black metal. “The armor and weapons are dangerous as well, only a powerful priest or cavalier can dispel the curse.”

“You mentioned her before. Who is this Naz-reen?” asked Jonas.

“Naz-reen is an embodiment of darkness, killing, and strife. You humans think of her as a god, we elves think of her, as well as all of the Foresworn, as a sinister being of great power. She is also known as Bor-zan. She loves intrigue and to slowly build her webs of deceit, hence her spider symbol,” replied Allindrian.

“We should not be speaking of her,” Cyn said, worrying as he looked out into the night.
 

Two mercenaries appeared out of the darkness supporting Landon, who was limping badly on one leg. His face was haggard and pale but he smiled with relief as he saw them all. “Thank the gods you all made it. What happened?” he asked.

Allindrian went to Landon to look at his wound. “Is your injury serious,” she asked. She looked with concern at the deep laceration on his right leg.

“I’m fine. Just a nasty cut from one of those dreadful creatures. What in Ulren’s name were those beasts?”

“Boargs,” Fil and Jonas said simultaneously.

Landon nodded his head in affirmation. “That’s what I thought. I’ve heard descriptions of them, but I have never seen one. Thanks to Romul here I might have the opportunity to see another, Ulren hoping I don’t. He speared the beast through the chest as he was about to finish me.”

“Well done, Romul,” praised Cyn. “Take him to Lornan. He needs stitches before he loses more blood.”

“Would you like me to see to your wound?” Allindrian asked.

“No, there are men who need it more than I. Use your magic on them if you please,” Landon said.

 
“Very well, Cyn, my magical light will go out in a few moments. We need to get the fires blazing so we can see and take care of our dead,” stated Allindrian, wiping her blade clean and sheathing it in one smooth motion. “We don’t have time to bury the boargs but we need to bury this evilness. We don’t want some unsuspecting traveler to come across this cursed armor.”

“Very well, let’s get to work and then we can try to sort all this out,” Cyn replied, looking at Jonas with uncertainty. Jonas couldn’t help but notice his eyes wander to his chest, which he had already covered with a cloak that he found on the ground.

Eight of the twenty mercenaries had been killed, including Rath, one of Landon’s personal assistants. The remaining twelve men joined Cyn, along with Landon, Allindrian, Jonas, and Fil around the large fire to discuss the nights attack. Jonas looked at the remaining men. He felt a deep sense of loss thinking of those who were no longer with them, men he had come to know and respect. Several of the warriors, including Landon, had wounds wrapped in clean cotton cloth, their blood soaking through, staining the cloth crimson.

“It makes no sense,” said Cyn. “Boargs rarely come down from the Tundrens and I have never heard of an attack so close to Finarth. And why would a follower of the spider queen be leading them, and why would they be attacking
us
?” asked Cyn impatiently. “Are the Forsworn stealing from trade caravan’s now?”

Allindrian replied, “I don’t know. I agree; it doesn’t make much sense. What could they be after? But I do know one thing; if it weren’t for Jonas then we would all be dead.” Allindrian looked at Jonas. “Now, I think it’s time you told us the truth.”

Jonas looked around at all the faces staring at him; some of them seemed unsure, and some a bit frightened. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just didn’t know what to say or how to explain it. I don’t understand everything myself.” He looked down at the ground, unsure where to start.

“Start from the beginning, Jonas,” Landon said. “How did you get that mark on your chest and how did you not succumb to the dark magic like the rest of us, including Allindrian?” Landon smiled at Jonas reassuringly, urging him to proceed.

Jonas looked up at Landon and saw no hint of animosity. He knew these people deserved the truth. He took a deep breath and began his tale. “I was born a cripple. I couldn’t move my legs and arms very well, even smiling or talking was sometimes difficult.” Jonas went on as the fire burned down, telling his new friends about his life, his mother, and his tough existence at Manson. He told them about the ridicule that was heaped upon him for years and the scorn that the townspeople had held for him and his mother. He told them everything, how he hid in the oven when the boargs attacked, how he and Fil began their journey to Finarth, and finally he told them about his mysterious dream in the cave.

Fil sat next to him, poking a stick into the fire, deep in thought as he listened to Jonas’s words and relived the story in his mind.

“And we had nowhere else to go,” Jonas continued.
 
“So we waited for the snows to subside before we started our long trek to Finarth. We traveled for several weeks before we got to the crossroads, and met your caravan.” Jonas looked up at the men who were now staring at him, enthralled by his story. “And that is when we met you,” Jonas finished, not sure of what else to say.

Many moments went by as everyone took in Jonas’s story. It was not long, but it seemed like forever for Jonas, waiting for some sort of response, but finally Landon spoke. “Let me see that mark again.”

Jonas hesitated briefly before removing his tunic. The blue and silver mark covered his stomach and chest, the silver edges flickering in the firelight and the intricate work was startling. Fil’s eyes grew wide, moving closer to Jonas.

“What is it, Fil?” asked Jonas, somewhat taken back by Fil’s expression.

Fil looked closely at the mark as Jonas looked at him with trepidation. “The mark has grown, Jonas. It is bigger now. The branches are expanding towards your arms and the trunk of the tree is moving down your stomach,” he said with wide astonished eyes.

“What!” exclaimed Jonas, looking down at his chest. Sure enough, Fil was right; it had grown larger. Allindrian moved in close as well, to examine the mark more clearly. She took her hand and gently touched his bare chest, slowly running her long delicate fingers over the edges of the God Mark. Jonas’s spine tingled as her delicate fingers traced the edges of the mark.

“That is definitely a God Mark. They are very rare, usually only a cavalier bears the mark of a god, and that is after they have passed the tests, tests that can only be defeated by men of extreme bravery, mental and physical strength, and unmatched martial excellence. I have never known a mere boy, untrained, to have the mark,” she said, scrutinizing Jonas’s chest further.

“And yet he does,” stated Mestus, a tall thin warrior from Tarsis. “Who are we to question the gods?”

“And that is most certainly Shyann’s mark. I have seen it many times traveling through the Tundrens where she is worshipped the most,” added Cyn confidently.

“What should I do? I need help. I don’t know what to do,” pleaded Jonas. “I can’t express how happy I am that I’ve been cured, and I thank Shyann for her blessing, but what does it mean? Why did she pick me? What does she want me to do?

“There are many things in life that we have no control over, Jonas,” Landon replied. “We live, we try to survive and make a decent life for ourselves, family, and friends, and then we die. Few things are secure or certain. We do not know why Shyann picked you, but I am sure that she has her reasons and that you will know them when the time is right. My recommendation to you is to go to the temple in Finarth with your story and ask for some guidance. You have to be eighteen to start the school for cavaliers, but my guess is that is where you are heading.” Landon grimaced as he adjusted the bandage on his thigh.