The Cavalier (58 page)

Jonas smiled and released the arrow, and a heartbeat later he followed it up with a second. The arrows whistled through the air with incredible speed, a trail of blue tracing their path.

The first arrow took the astonished cleric between the eye slits on his black helm. The tremendous force of the blow shot him out of the saddle and he landed dead on his back.

The second arrow took the other cleric in the shoulder, the force spinning his body sideways. But he was skilled and experienced and he was able to hold onto the reins of his warhorse.

Jonas quickly nocked another arrow and pulled back on the string as the black cleric neared him, his sword held low in his undamaged arm. Before the cleric was close enough to attack him, Jonas’s third arrow slammed into the man’s chest, burying itself deep, the power of the bow launching the man through the air to land heavily on his back. He struggled momentarily, the glowing blue arrow quivering slightly in his chest, and then he went still, death overtaking him.

Taleen was fighting with all her skill and power, but her sword arm began to tire as she furiously fought back the horde of orcs and tribesman who swarmed around her, trying to extinguish her light and yank her from the saddle.

She desperately asked Bandris for the strength to keep fighting, and she felt his answer as new power began to surge through her body. She grinned, yelling Bandris’s name as she renewed her attack, slicing her sword down, left and right, killing the enemies surrounding her. Kormac, her tireless steed, used his massive body to throw enemies off balance, giving Taleen the upper hand as she expertly carved her way through them.

She didn’t escape unscathed, however. One of the orc’s blades managed to slice across her calf. She grimaced in pain and kicked that same foot out, connecting solidly with the beast’s nose, crushing it and sending blood into the air. Taleen then quickly brought her sword down on the dazed orc’s head, splitting its skull all the way to its broken nose. The Orc fell away and disappeared into the crowd of enemies.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Prince Baylin used the end of his battle axe like a spear and rammed the spiked end into a rushing orc’s face. He quickly yanked the point out of the dead orc and spun to his left, swinging his mighty axe in a wide arc, taking a tribesman on the shoulder. The prince roared as fury and adrenaline rushed through his body. The tribesman fell to the ground as other enemies swarmed around the fighting prince. But he continued to fight like a demon possessed, roaring in defiance, his eyes lit with fire as he attacked the enemy before him.

Suddenly the prince felt a sharp pain in his back. He screamed and spun around, yanking a sword from a tribesman’s hand. As he spun he sent his axe flying through the air into the neck of the surprised warrior. The man’s body slumped to the ground as his head flew through the air to land among the fighting warriors.

Then he felt another pain on the back of his leg, causing him to fall to his knees. Holding his axe with one hand, he swung the mighty weapon blindly as he tried to spin his body around. The blade hit an orc’s knee, shattering it and causing the howling monster to fall to the ground.

Baylin dug deep for the strength to fend off the foes moving in from all directions. He again yelled, “Finarth!” and jumped to his feet, swinging his battle axe and cutting into the orcs and tribesmen that surrounded him. He saw no Finarthian warriors nearby.

He was alone for this fight.

Taleen had finally broken through the rear of the enemy ranks. Her legs and her horse had sustained some minor cuts but nothing that needed healing immediately. She saw Jonas, his light marking him like a beacon, near the top of the hill, a lone rider there to meet him. She urged Kormac forward and he followed her demands instantly, launching them up the grass covered hill.

As Jonas moved closer to the horsed man he could better make out his features. He wore a black cape that was lined in red cloth and it had a sinister look to it as it billowed in the breeze behind him. His horse was as dark as night and its coat glistened like black blood. The man’s long dark hair fluttered in the breeze, and his piercing green eyes shone with confidence. He carried no weapon other than a long staff made from some dark wood, with a carving of Gould’s eye at the end. The center of the eye was white, in stark contrast to the black wood.

Jonas drew another arrow from the quiver at his side and nocked it to string. The man did not move even as Jonas drew the powerful bow back. As Tulari closed the distance between them, Jonas saw the man smile just as he released the shaft.

His arrow shot toward the wizard with great speed, but just as the arrow was going to take the man in the chest, it stopped, and flew back at him with the same tremendous velocity.

It all happened in the blink of an eye and Jonas could do nothing as his own arrow took him in the chest. The pain was intense and the force of the arrow knocked him from Tulari’s back. He landed hard, the shock of the attack causing his light to disappear.

Jonas gasped in pain as he struggled to get up, his own arrow shaft buried deep just below his right shoulder. His lung had been punctured and he was struggling for air as blood filled his chest. He got to his knees as he coughed up blood onto his hands. He heard, rather than saw the horse gallop up to him.

“A repel spell, one of my favorites,” the evil wizard said calmly.

Jonas glanced up, slowly regaining his footing, sharp pain shooting through his right arm and chest. His right arm hung useless. Despite the intense pain, he calmed his mind and drew one of his blades with his left hand.

The man laughed as Jonas struggled to steady himself. “Go ahead, young cavalier, attack me. Even your mighty weapon will not save you now.”

Jonas felt his strength slowly dissipate as his lung continued to fill with blood. Healing himself would be impossible while the arrow was still embedded deep in his flesh, and he did not have the strength to pull it free. He was running out of time, and he knew it.

He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the man’s face. He was middle aged, his hair was peppered with gray and his tan skin wrinkled like tough leather. A dark moustache folded into a long trimmed beard decorated his chin. His green, deep set eyes were pools of malice.

Jonas was desperate, but as he focused on the wizard’s eyes, he had an idea. He continued to focus on the man’s eyes, wrapping his energy around his brain. He had never used his cognivant powers in this way before, but he could think of no other option. He entered the state of Ty’erm to conquer his pain and center his focus. Then he entered the man’s mind, wrapping it with tendrils of energy, constricting the tendrils with the power of his own mind. It all happened in a few heartbeats. The wizard didn’t know what hit him.

How does that feel?
Jonas asked within the man’s mind.

The wizard grimaced with pain as he brought his hands to his head. His horse pranced underneath him as he struggled to stay in the saddle. Moaning with pain he dropped his staff.

Jonas’s vision blurred briefly as the pain in his own head intensified from the use of his powers. The wizard was powerful, and it was taking everything Jonas had to continue the attack. But he forced himself to use any power he had remaining to concentrate on the task. He stumbled to his knees but kept his head up, focusing on the man before him, trying at all cost to crush the wizard’s mind.

Suddenly two arrows slammed into the wizard’s chest, one after the other. The impact forced the man to fall backwards from his saddle and land hard on his side. As the wizard fell the mental link between the two was broken.

Jonas was on all fours trying to stay conscious as the pain from his effort exploded in his head. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he desperately needed to rest.

He looked up at the man sprawled out on the ground before him. He could clearly see the blue feathered arrows embedded in the man’s chest, and that quick vision forced a brief smile through the pain. The wizard’s repel spell must have dispersed when he attacked the man’s mind.

“Are you okay, Jonas?”

Jonas recognized Taleen’s worried voice behind him. He looked up just as she rode next to him. He forced a painful smile to reassure her.

“I’m injured badly. I need healing…quickly.” He coughed up more blood as he fell to his back, his own feathered arrow protruding from his chest“In Bandris’s name, what happened?” Taleen cried as she quickly dismounted and rushed to Jonas’s side.

“Remove the arrow and heal me and I’ll be happy to tell you,” Jonas gasped.

Back among the hordes, Prince Baylin swung his axe in frantic strokes, hoping to keep the enemy away from him long enough to give someone time to come to his aid. His arm was tiring and he stopped momentarily as he noticed the orcs were no longer advancing.

Just then a huge orc pushed through the ring of enemies to stand before the tired prince. The enemy warriors, including the tribesmen, looked to the colossal monster for their orders. The orc wore thick plate mail that covered his muscled body. He was abnormally wide, which gave him the look of a walking boulder. In his right hand he carried a thick wood handle capped with a long chain. At the end of the chain was a heavy spiked ball of steel. The weapon, called a morning star, was large and cumbersome, but the massive orc carried it with ease. The beast’s yellow eyes narrowed with malice as it stepped closer to the exhausted prince. “You are Prince Baylin,” the orc growled. “I am Ongessett, war leader of the orcs.”

Prince Baylin was bleeding from several wounds and his arms felt like they were weighted down by rocks. He took a deep breath and stood up tall, holding his magnificent axe before him. “I do not banter with orc scum,” he growled back, launching his body forward, the sharp point of his axe leading the way.

Ongessett lifted his morning star, one hand grasping the handle while the other grasped the chain near the ball, using the thick chain like a staff to block Prince Baylin’s weapon. The orc chief moved quickly for someone so large. He stepped back as he deflected the prince’s axe with the thick chain of his awesome weapon. The orc continued the momentum of his parry, attempting to bring the heavy spiked head of the weapon down on top of the prince.

Prince Baylin continued forward, the heavy spiked ball slamming into the ground near him leaving behind a deep divot. He shifted his grip on the handle of his axe and rammed the razor sharp blade into the orc’s chest. But he could not find a seam in the beast’s armor and his blade slid across the armor harmlessly. The orcs armor was clearly enchanted as it so easily turned aside the prince’s powerful axe.

The orc growled, bringing its left mailed fist down on top of Prince Baylin’s head. He tried to dodge the powerful blow but his tired body wasn’t reacting. But the orc’s fist missed Baylin’s head and crashed instead into his shoulder. The power of the blow popped his shoulder from its socket. He screamed in pain and stumbled to the ground. Frantically he glanced up, struggling to get away, but all he saw was a large steel toed boot crash into his face. Teeth and blood erupted from his shattered jaw as he flew backwards to land heavily on the trampled ground. His vision blurred and darkness enveloped him as he heard the Orc chief’s words.

“Do not kill him.”

Then all went black.

The fighting throughout the battlefield was intense. Dagrinal used all of his skill to stay alive. He had no idea how long he was fighting when suddenly an orc before him shuddered in death and was launched to the side like a rag doll. Standing in the beast's place was Graggis, his bloody axe held before him. He was covered in dirt and blood but he did not seem hurt. Within moments they had killed any enemy nearby.
 

“Where is the prince?” stormed Dagrinal over the cacophony of the battle.

“I know not! I lost him when we hit the giants!” roared Graggis in reply. “We must find him!”

Suddenly a horn sounded above the din of battle.

“That was not ours!” yelled Dagrinal.

As they spoke they noticed the decimated enemy troops start to pull away, leaving an exhausted Finarthian force standing amongst the dead. Dagrinal and Graggis pushed their way through the tired soldiers.

“The prince, where is the prince!” yelled Dagrinal. The exhausted soldiers could barely stand up, but they immediately began searching for their prince. The men parted as Dagrinal and Graggis quickly moved through the ranks, looking for some sign of Prince Baylin amongst the living, or the dead.

Graggis found the body of the boy that had saved him. His face and upper body were crushed and his neck was unnaturally twisted. Graggis knelt by the boy and gently closed his eyes. “You’re a brave boy, and I count myself lucky to have fought next to you. I look forward to buying you a drink in Ulren’s great hall.” Graggis shook his head sadly before he stood up and looked up the hill towards the retreating enemy forces.

“It looks like they are retreating for the day,” Graggis said.

“I think I know why,” replied Dagrinal softly. He held up a weapon for Graggis to see. In his hands was Prince Baylin’s axe. “I found it over there,” Dagrinal continued, indicating to his right, “but there was no sign of his body.”

“You think he was captured?”

“That would be my guess. The absence of a body means that he is not dead on the field. And if they captured him then they must want him alive, at least for now,” added Dagrinal as he grabbed a nearby soldier. The warrior was tired and covered in blood, but other than that he was not injured. “What is your name?” asked Dagrinal.