The Cavalier (38 page)

The Greever loved the night. It was his favorite time to hunt and the darkness did nothing to hurt his vision. He could see just as well in the pitch black of a moonless night, as he could in the day, and the dark trees below him

glowed with a shimmering green. The demon saw things in auras of color, greens, reds, blues, and oranges, depending on the heat signature they put out. But everything had energy, this, the demon knew, so everything had a color.

His master had been pleased with his work lately, and the Greever loved these recent hunts more than any other. The feeling of ripping the flesh from a cavalier made the demon shudder in ecstasy. But these warriors were not easy prey, they caused him great pain over the years, wounds that stung and magic that hurt its flesh. The Greever had felt similar pain before, not too long ago, when the big human cleaved its chest open with that silver axe. The demon wouldn’t forget that warrior, his stench, and it would hunt him down for the pain that he caused.

But this was the hunt that the Greever had been waiting for, the one that started it all. He still remembered the smell of the young man that he had almost killed over two years ago. The smell of his pure heart coated the demon’s nostrils. The pulsing goodness within the boy was a bright light to the Greever, and the beast wanted nothing more than to extinguish it.
 

The Greever beat its long leathery wings and its nostrils pulsed with life, hunting the air for the stink of the man. The hunter knew its prey would be close; its master told it where to go. The Greever would not fail this time, nor would it stop until it found this human and ripped the life from him and ate his bloody heart. The beast’s jaws opened instinctively, its tongue darting out beyond its razor sharp fangs, hunting for the metallic taste of blood. It wouldn’t be long now, thought the demon, flanking to the right toward the dark peaks of the Tundrens.

***

“Fil, have you heard?” asked Calden excitedly as he ran through the barracks toward Fil who lay on the upper bunk.

“Heard what?”

“We are mobilizing, we’re being invaded. Scouts came in today and said that an army approaches us as we speak.”

“What!” exclaimed Fil, jumping down from the bunk. Fil had worked hard over the last few years. He was powerfully built, short and solid, with legs and arms thick with muscle.

When the knight apprentices turned eighteen they all moved to the soldiers barracks beyond the inner wall. It was there that they had to serve two years before they would become full-fledged Finarthian Knights. The king believed that before apprentices could become knights, they had to learn how the common soldier lived.
 
King Gavinsteal believed that you learned valuable lessons in the regular army and that you couldn’t really learn how to lead men unless you knew how the common man lives, fights, and thinks. That wasn’t a problem for Fil, Calden, or a few others, but most of the knights were highborn, and they really had no idea how most people in Finarth lived. Fil believed it was a good lesson for them, although most of the knights resented it. “What army?” asked Fil.

“Lord Moradin from Stonestep, along with several tribes from

the Sithgarin.”

“You’re kidding,” Fil’s eyes widened in surprise. “Why would they be marching on Finarth?”

“I don’t know,” replied Calden. “Lord Moradin has never openly attacked us. He always hid behind politics and banter while bandits and tribes staged attacks on us from his own city.”

“Why would he risk an open attack?” asked the bewildered Fil.

“I don’t know, but we are to mobilize with our modrig immediately,” Calden replied, excitement evident in his voice. “Hopefully we’ll get some answers there.”

Fil was scared, nervous, and excited all at the same time, and he could tell that Calden felt similar emotions. They had both trained for nearly three years and now the time had come to test their skills.

“You ready for this, Fil?” Calden asked.

“I am,” responded Fil confidently.

***

Jonas and Kiln traveled hard for several days, and it wasn’t long before they entered into the thick forests that covered the base of the Tundren Mountains. Kiln had told Jonas that once they came down from the mountains it would be five days to Ta’ron and then a full week to Annure.

The weather was good, which allowed them to push hard through the forest. The warm fall sun was shielded partly by the canopy of green trees that rose above them. The game trails were numerous, allowing them to push through the dense forest and onto the rolling plains without mishap.

Jonas stood high on a hill looking down across the rolling grasslands.

Kiln joined him. “Ta’ron is southeast of here. It shouldn’t take us long if we run,” he said, smiling.

“Run? But you’ve lived over fifty winters, surely you couldn’t keep up,” replied Jonas, who enjoyed their good natured banter.

“Only one way to find out,” Kiln said as he jumped off the small ledge and sprinted down the grass covered hill.

“Go ahead!” yelled Jonas. “You’ll need a head start anyway!” he laughed as he jumped off the ledge and ran after the sprinting warrior.

They ran the rest of that day, slowing their pace down to a jog and resting only for water and food. Their packs and armor slowed them down a little, but they were both in such great shape that their strong lungs could carry them all day. Jonas’s magical armor hindered him little, and even his new metal chest plate didn’t seem to weigh much more than hardened leather.
 

The sun started to set and Kiln slowed down to a walk. “We should camp here. I don’t like being in the open like this, but there are no trees for as far as I can see,” Kiln said, scanning the vast plains of grass.

Jonas looked ahead of them and couldn’t make out anything except more gently rolling grasslands. “I guess we don’t have a choice,” replied Jonas, taking off his pack and laying it down on the grass.

They scrounged up some dry sticks and twigs from nearby shrubs to build a fire; the warm food would do them good after the long run.

They both settled down by the flames as the sun set, giving way to a clear moonlit night. Kiln had prepared some warm oats with salt and they cleaned their plates with milt, a hard corn bread used by the soldiers in Finarth. The hearty warm food in their bellies, combined with the crackling fire and the chirping of the crickets, had a relaxing effect on the tired warriors.

Jonas looked up from the fire, gazing at the sparkling stars above them. It was a beautiful night, the air was warm and still and the bright moon and stars gave the countryside a bluish glow.

“It’s so calm out here,” Jonas said softly. “It’s like time is standing still and all your worries no longer exist.”

Kiln looked at Jonas and then followed his gaze to the sparkling dots of light. “I spent many evenings doing just this, looking at the stars above the craggy peaks of the Tundrens. Wondering what I was doing with my life, wondering how Cassandra was, how my king and my men were faring. A warm fire and a calm summer night have a way of making you look within yourself.”

Jonas looked at his friend and mentor. “What are you going to do, Kiln?”

Kiln looked at the glowing red embers as he thought about the question. “I’m not sure, but I think you came to me for a reason, Jonas. You’ve brought me out of the trance that I’ve been living in for twenty years. I think my lands are in danger and that the people of Finarth need a general again.”

“Do you think Malbeck, the Dark One, has returned to Kraawn?”

“I’m not sure, but some evil is back; you, of all people, know that. Banthras were created by Malbeck so it makes sense that he might be back. Someone or something of great power may have brought them back, I know not. But your village was attacked by a Banthra and I don’t think it was by chance”

“What do you mean?”

“Jonas, your village was attacked by a Banthra, you were attacked by boargs, twice, and a powerful agent of Naz-reen. And then you were attacked by a demon. I agree with the king in saying that you are the target. The evil that stirs is afraid of you, and they want you dead,” Kiln finished with emphasis.

Jonas looked away from the warrior, got up, and stirred the red-hot coals with a stick. Being a target of such enemies was not an easy thing to grasp, but Jonas had thought about it much and he could not argue with the logic. Shyann had obviously picked Jonas as her champion, and in doing so had made him an enemy of her enemies.

“But what can one person do, what can I do?” asked Jonas, confused.

“The power of one, Jonas, think on it. Malbeck was one person, and what did he do a thousand years ago? The king’s great ancestor, King Ullis Gavinsteal, slew Malbeck in battle, and he was only one person. I have used my skills in war to turn the tide of a battle and bring us victory where we should have suffered defeat. I have seen a farmer with a sword stand his ground in war and instill courage in others who would have run, which in turn affected the outcome of the battle. He was just one person whose own actions greatly affected the world around him. The list goes on. Jonas, never underestimate the power of one person.”

Jonas nodded his head and stirred the coals some more, thinking about what Kiln had said. “I won’t,” he said after a few moments.

“I hope not, because I am a good judge of character. You are the type of man that shoulders that power and responsibility; you will change Kraawn, Jonas. I can feel it.”

Jonas felt the weight of Kiln’s words on his back. If it were his destiny, then he would carry that weight, with both swords in his hands.

Jonas looked up again and saw that dark clouds had begun to drift across the sky, eclipsing the moonlight and bathing the area in darkness.

Kiln looked up as well, noticing the change in light. “Strange those clouds would move in so quickly,” he said. Jonas frowned, looking around; something didn’t seem right. Kiln noticed his expression and spoke with concern. “What is it? Do you hear something?”

“No, that is the problem. There are no more crickets,” Jonas said as he stood up. Then he felt it, the familiar tingle on his chest. It was Shyann’s warning. Jonas instinctively brought one hand to his chest, a move not missed by Kiln.

Kiln quickly slid his blade from its scabbard, the ringing of steel echoing in the still night. “What is it?”

“I’m not sure, but something evil is near, that much I know,” Jonas replied, his voice tense, as he quickly donned his helm and reached down to grab his new bow. He gripped the bone handle tightly and planted six arrows in the ground next to him. “Put out the fire,” whispered Jonas as he moved toward the flames.

“No! Whatever is out there can see in the dark, but we can’t. Leave the flames; the light might hinder its vision,” Kiln said as his eyes sought the threat.
 
Jonas and Kiln stood alert, looking for the danger that was surely near. “I don’t like this, Jonas. I can’t hear or see anything.”

“I know. It is near, I can feel it,” Jonas whispered as he hunted for any signs of an attacker. Suddenly his chest flamed again and some intuition within Jonas told him to look up.

A shadow flew at them from the darkness, completely silent, its long leathery wings making no noise as the deathly form came at them like a falling stone. Jonas quickly grabbed an arrow and had it flying at the beast just as he dove to the side, out of the way of the attacking demon. The arrow struck the beast as it landed in the flames, sending sparks and a shower of burning embers into the air.

Kiln had seen Jonas’s move and flung himself blindly away from the fire. Both warriors rolled backwards, leaping to their feet, their silver swords glistening with magical energy.

Kiln’s long sword was also a magical blade, a priceless weapon that he took from the hands of a dead Sharneen chief. Kiln told the story one night to Jonas as they sat by his warm hearth. Long ago he had been challenged by a Sharneen chief, a chief of a tribe that was feuding with the tribe he was living with. The Sharneen rules are simple, accept the challenge and fight to live, or decline the challenge and be stoned to death as a coward. Kiln accepted the challenge and defeated the warrior, raising his status within the tribe and giving him weapon rights to the slain warrior. Kiln explained to Jonas that there was nothing more valuable to a Sharneen than the weapons that they collected in combat, and that one’s wealth, position, and power as a warrior was measured by the amount and quality of weapons that he possessed.

Kiln held the weapon in front of him, the blade glowing green in the pitch black. The blade was unique as the shape was not common. The base of the blade was narrow and its length curved slightly like a scimitar as it came to the tip. It was thin and as long as a long sword but the Sharneen weapon was as strong as any infantry cutting blade. The Sharneen blade smiths were some of the best, and that, in combination with the magic of the blade, made the sword nearly indestructible.

The demon sat on top the burning coals. The flames were now extinguished and the red hot coals did nothing to the creature as it leered at them with its red glowing eyes. Jonas had landed to the demon’s left and had come up gripping both his swords before him, their twin curved blades glowing bluish in the dark night. Jonas had dropped his bow in the grass and his arrows were scattered on the ground in front of him. The demon swung its bulky head back and forth before stopping and locking gazes with the young warrior. The beast’s long dark wings were held wide, the sharp bony points hovering menacingly before them.