by R J Hanson
Rain slashed at him driven by winter’s cold wind and peppered with stinging hail. Thunder rumbled the very ground as the lightning tore through the night sky as if it was doing so out of furious anger.
Finally, he spotted several campfires in the distance. Good, he thought to himself. I have reached them just in time for surely, they set in council even now.
Sanderland reined in his horse as he held up his hand to call a halt to his templars. He dismounted and turned to address his men.
“Clean yourselves up,” Sanderland said. “We are approaching the camp and should be presentable when we arrive.”
The templars, some who held hands to their wounds to slow the bleeding, obeyed. Sanderland took a handful of bandages and wiped the mud from the barding on his mount and used another handful to wipe down his armor, weapons, and shield. He took extra care to clean the symbols of Silvor on his breastplate, shield, and barding. He would still be soaked from the violent rain, but at least he would be clean.
“Hold there,” a sentry called as Sanderland and his men approached.
“I am Sir Sanderland the Strong, Paladin of Silvor!”
“Sorry, Sir,” the sentry, a beleaguered soldier, said. “The wounded are being treated in the tents on the south side of the fires.”
“I am not here to treat your wounded!”
“As you say, Sir,” the soldier said as he stepped to the side.
Sanderland rode on into the camp and was shocked at how many wounded there were. He hadn’t anticipated much resistance until they encountered Daeriv’s troops further north. These fools must have walked into an ambush, he thought.
“Sir Sanderland,” Sir Brutis said from a campfire nearby. “Glad to see you.”
“It would seem that you need my help,” Sanderland replied. “When I heard the news of the prince’s capture in Skult I set out straight away.”
“Your help would be appreciated,” Prince Ralston said from behind Sanderland. He brought two bowls of soup, handed one to Sir Brutis, and then sat down next to him at the fire. “I am recovering well thanks to Lady Angelese, however, those tents are full of wounded. They could certainly benefit from any healing prayers that you could offer.”
Sanderland just sat his horse for several moments attempting to gain a hold on what was taking place around him. He could plainly see that he had missed the rescue of the prince but his mind still had trouble digesting that fact.
“Sir Sanderland,” the Prince said drawing Sanderland’s mind back to the world around him. “The wounded.”
“Yes,” Sanderland finally managed. “Yes, of course, your grace. The Church of Silvor will provide.”
The following morning Sanderland rose and ate a large breakfast. Then he neatly trimmed his beard and cleaned his weapons and armor again. As he stepped out of his tent, he saw Lady Angelese entering the tent of the wounded.
“You two,” Sanderland barked at two of his templars. “See that my things are packed and my horse is fed and groomed. We will be riding out within the hour.”
“Yes, sire,” they responded in unison.
Sanderland walked across to the tent and joined Lady Angelese as she offered prayers for the wounded. Other soldiers, squires, and ferriers were busy with travois to facilitate travel for those that could not walk nor ride.
“Good morning, Lady,” Sir Sanderland said. “It is a pleasant surprise to find you here.”
Several long moments passed while he awaited her response. Finally, she concluded her prayer, stood, and turned to face him.
“Good morning, Sir Sanderland,” Lady Angelese replied. “Will you be riding with us back to Skult?”
“Of course,” Sanderland said. “It would seem that the prince will need a worthy guard to escort him.”
“I believe Sir Brutis and Roland should be well enough this morning to ride with him,” she said evenly, suspecting how much this might anger Sanderland. “In fact, I believe that is the Prince’s request.”
“Roland?”
“Yes,” Lady Angelese said. “The man that found Lord Mandergane’s body and returned the sword and shield. He fought with us yesterday. In fact, he defeated a Shrou Demon in single combat to save the Prince. That is why the Prince wishes him to ride in his guard.”
“I’ve never heard of this ‘Roland,’” Sanderland said.
“I hear that he’s the son of Lord Velryk, recently of Fordir,” Lady Angelese said. “I thought you would be familiar with the name since you were recently in that part of the world.”
“What!?” escaped from Sanderland’s mouth before he could catch it. “Forgive me. It was a long ride to get here. If you’ll excuse me.”
Sanderland marched from the tent to where his horse was picketed. The sight of his mount yet unsaddled enraged him.
“What have you fools been doing?!”
“We’re preparing your gear and mount, sir,” one of the templars replied.
“I see you’re wearing fresh bandages,” Sanderland said in an attempt at a pleasant tone. The templars knew well enough what was under that tone. “I suppose you saw to yourselves first? Perhaps a fine meal of steak and eggs before your duties this morning? Maybe even a flagon of ale or two?”
“No, sire,” the templar replied.
“Saddle the horse immediately!”
“Yes, sire,” the templar said as he hurriedly returned to his work.
Sanderland mounted and gouged his horse with his spurs leaving the camp at a full gallop. The hard run back to Skult was the last run Sanderland’s horse would ever make.
“Good morning to you, Roland,” Prince Ralston said from the saddle of his mount. “I see you are able to sit a horse as well.”
“Just barely, your grace,” Roland said, his right arm still throbbing with pain.
Roland had been summoned to ride with the Prince and Sir Brutis for the return trip to Skult. Eldryn had managed to make his way to Lady Angelese’s vanguard. Eldryn had thought of many witty things to say, however, none of them came to mind as he rode up next to the Paladin of Fate. Tindrakin, safe now but still injured, lay on one of the travois prepared for the wounded.
“You served your Prince in fine fashion yesterday,” Sir Brutis said as he rode up to Roland’s other side. “Facing a Shrou Demon is no mere feat.”
“As I said yesterday, it was mostly luck,” Roland said.
“Oh, you misunderstand me, young man,” Brutis said. “I know defeating the creature was luck. I’m speaking of the courage to face one in the first place.”
“Roland, forgive me, but I have not heard your name before,” Prince Ralston said. “Not before the famous tale of your run, that is.”
“There’s not much to the name, your grace,” Roland said. “I am the son of Velryk, although I have heard others call him Lord Velryk. I’m from Fordir near Gallhallad.”
Sir Brutis’s eyes narrowed, although Roland missed it entirely, as he re-examined this boy.
“I have heard the name Lord Velryk,” Prince Ralston said. “He served my father once, and valiantly. What brings you to Lawrec, so far from Gallhallad?”
“I was told of a need here,” Roland said, not exactly lying but being careful to leave out who told him of the need. “My friend, Eldryn, and I only recently left home to see the world and perhaps discover where we fit in it. I wish I could tell you of more planning involved, but planning isn’t really something I do well.”
Prince Ralston and Sir Brutis both shared a laugh at that. A laugh that Roland didn’t quite expect but one that he understood.
“Your father, Lord Velryk, he favors the paired hand axes?” Sir Brutis asked.
“Yes,” Roland said, a bit surprised. “He’s trained me with them since I could remember. He said they’re always available and…”
“Quite versatile,” Brutis finished for him.
“Well, yes,” Roland said.
“It would seem that your coming to Lawrec has been an unexpected blessing to us,” Prince Ra
lston said.
“That’s very kind of you to say, your grace,” Roland said. “In truth, a good deal of any success we have achieved has been largely due to luck, or Fate.”
“Luck often enough will save a man,” Brutis said. “If his courage holds.”
“That’s a fine weapon and set of armor that you wear,” Prince Ralston said. “Is your father wealthy?”
“Not that I know of, your grace,” Roland said. “I found them in Nolcavanor.”
“The Nolcavanor?” Brutis asked.
“Yes,” Roland said. “My friend Eldryn tells a finer tale than I do. I’m just not gifted in that way. It was an adventure though.”
Roland was just now beginning to realize he may not want to answer too many questions in regard to why he went to Nolcavanor or what happened to the Hourglass and Holy Tome.
“The short version is that I was acting jailor in Fordir when some prisoners escaped,” Roland continued. “Their trail took us to Nolcavanor.”
“I would like to hear more about your travels,” Prince Ralston said. “My whole world has been Lawrec for so long that I fear I’ve forgotten the rest of the world still exists.”
“Certainly, your grace,” Roland said.
Here were those questions he hoped to avoid. He knew that he could not serve the Prince and lie to him at the same time, therefore, Roland decided to tell them the whole story. It may not have been a wise decision, but when had that stopped him before.
“So, the Warlock of the Marshes sent you?” Prince Ralston asked. “It was he that directed you to come to our aid?” Prince Ralston asked.
“Yes.”
“Does he command you?”
“No, your grace,” Roland said.
“What has he asked of you?”
“Nothing, your grace,” Roland said.
“What have you promised him?”
“Nothing, your grace.”
“You understand how we might find this information troubling?” the Prince asked.
“Yes, your grace,” Roland said. “I believe his motives are honorable. I give you my word of honor, my word as a warrior, that I will not act against your interests, your lands, your people, or you, your grace. Nor will I keep anything from you.”
“What value are we to place on your word?” Sir Brutis asked.
“I suppose that’s for you to decide,” Roland said. “I can only hope that my actions speak for me.”
Roland and Eldryn sat in their tent in the yards of Skult within the city walls. It had been two days since their return to Skult. Roland had spent most of the last two days sleeping and eating. His shoulder was still very stiff but it was healing. Kodii had taken the brief reprieve to hunt outside the city for fresh meat. They were looking over the shrou-sheld that Roland had taken from the Shrou Demon’s smoldering remains. Tindrakin came into the tent with a grin that ran from one ear to the next.
“Well,” Tin said.
Roland and Eldryn both looked up from the weapon and smiled.
“The new armor looks good,” Roland said as he admired Tindrakin’s new alloy breastplate and bracers.
“Is it comfortable?” Eldryn asked. “That is one of the most important things is whether or not you can move in it.”
“It is simply fantastic,” Tindrakin said as he gazed down at his purchase. “It is so much lighter and stronger than that iron stuff I used to wear. You must see the new sword I purchased, and the polearm I got. They were expensive but well worth it.”
“Those weapons vendors,” Roland said with his usual note of disdain when discussing the cast. “They rob the fighting men that are defending the town they ply their wares in. A town on the front of battle. They have no honor. You should have taken Marnie with you.”
Roland’s remarks did nothing to dampen Tindrakin’s mood.
“Please step outside,” Tin said. “You must see these new weapons!”
Tin exited the tent and Roland and Eldryn looked at each other and could not hide their smiles.
“I suppose we were no different,” Eldryn said.
“I suppose, and not so long ago.”
Roland and Eldryn walked out of the tent onto the tarp that lay near their fire. Winter still held anger in her skies, but the bite of her wind was not as bad within the walls of the city.
Tindrakin strapped on a new alloy broad sword and hefted a polearm with a mercshyeld tip and axe blade.
“The sword I had to pay for,” Tin said.
Roland and Eldryn could both tell that he had something he was bursting to say.
“Well, let’s have it,” Eldryn said. “How did you get the polearm?”
“It was a gift,” popped out of Tindrakin’s mouth. “The vendor found out that I was traveling with you two. He heard about the Shrou Demon and heard that you retrieved the shrou-sheld from it. He said he would be very interested in the weapon if you would consider selling it.”
The story of Roland slaying the Shrou Demon had spread through the war town like milk spilled from an overturned bucket. It spread on the heels of the already exaggerated stories about the retrieval of Lord Mandergane’s fallen body and mystical weaponry. Roland was gaining fame rapidly.
“Roland?” Came from a gracefully toned voice behind Roland and Eldryn.
“Yes,” Roland said as he turned. He turned to see a young boy, a page most likely.
“I am here to deliver a message to you, Eldryn, Kodii, and Tindrakin. You are all invited to a dinner that Prince Ralston is holding this evening at his Keep. The dinner will be a formal affair and I am to ask if you should require anything for your preparation.”
“I think we have all that we need to dress for a dinner,” Roland said.
“Very well,” the page said. “I may tell the Prince that you accept and plan on arriving an hour before dusk?”
“Yes,” Roland said.
The page bowed deeply and began off through the other tents pitched in the yards.
“A dinner at the Prince’s Keep!” Tindrakin exclaimed. “I never dreamed of such a thing! And he knew my name! My name!”
“Your bravery earned it,” Roland said. “Dinner and then some.”
Tindrakin began polishing his new armor and weapons. Armor and weapons that needed no polishing. Roland and Eldryn had already cleaned and oiled their weapons and armor from the journey. Roland went back into the tent to take another nap. Eldryn walked to the stables. He was only able to keep Lady Angelese from his thoughts when he was horseback. He took out another horse he had purchased and went for a two-hour ride.
Roland awoke to a soft touch on his brow. He opened his eyes to see Clairenese there, sitting over him wearing a heavy cloak and hood. He could also smell a faint and magical odor. Jasmine?
“Is this another dream?” Roland asked.
“The lady seemed to know you,” Tindrakin said from the tent flap. “Will you require anything?”
“How long until the dinner?” Roland asked.
“Two hours,” Tin replied.
“Then I’ll need two hours of privacy,” Roland said smiling at Clairenese.
Tin grinned another one of his trademark ear-to-ear grins and closed the flap.
“Not a dream then?” Roland asked.
“Not a dream,” Clairenese confirmed. “Father gave me permission to come and see you. Although he didn’t like the idea of me coming here, and insisted I take certain precautions. I assured him that I could take care of myself.”
Clairenese gestured toward a thin trail of brown and gray dust that ran around the inside of the tent. Roland didn’t fully understand, but that did not matter to him now. He sat up.
“Why does such a beautiful lady hide herself in such a cloak?”
“There are many here who do not see a beautiful lady when they look on me. They only see the daughter of a despised enemy.”
“Then there are many here that will learn otherwise,” Roland said. “What makes you think you are safe here?”
“Sur
ely the slayer of the Shrou Demon will protect me,” Clairenese said with a smile gracing her full lips.
“Ah, and surely I will, dear lady. But that is not what I meant. Who will protect you from me?”
Roland pulled her to him and pushed her hood back. Her silk black hair fell around them both as Roland kissed her.
An hour and a half later Tin approached the tent.
“Roland, we have only a half hour before the dinner will begin,” Tin said.
Roland held Clairenese close to him. Their skin warmly melted them into one under the heavy bear skin blanket. He never felt so complete as he did right then.
“I suppose we should begin preparing for the dinner,” Roland said.
“You must prepare,” Clairenese said. “I must go.”
“Why?”
“As I said before, there are many that would see me as an enemy.”
“Then we will set them straight on that score this very evening,” Roland said with steel in his voice. “You will tell Tin what you need from the market. There have been many dresses and fineries brought though here. I’m sure that he can locate whatever you might need.”
“Roland I cannot…”
“I will hear no more of it,” Roland said with command in his voice. “You will accompany me. How can I be a warrior in these lands, or anywhere for that matter, and be afraid to be seen in public with my wife.”
“Roland I cannot…”
Then the word that Roland spoke struck her. Tears welled in her eyes and she held him tight, pushing her face into his chest. Wife.
“Oh Roland, could you mean it? We could be wed?”
“I don’t see why not,” Roland said. “I guess I should have put that differently. I presume much I suppose. I should have asked if you would accept my Vow, but I don’t think I could survive your rejection. And some women prefer a good deal more romance than such a…”
“I was so afraid… I thought because of my father… Oh, Roland I am so happy.”
Roland realized he was better off not speaking, a rare moment for him. He held her close to him for several minutes drinking deep of the lush smell of her hair. His thoughts took him beyond the moment and he wondered about their future. He had such hopes, and so many fears.
