by Robert Ryan
Savanest staggered, but stayed upright. Then he spoke, channeling his power now into his words.
“I summon thee, Lindercroft. Heed my call.”
The waters of the lake roiled.
“I summon thee, Kingshield Knight that was. Hear my beckoning.”
The clouds above rolled and shredded.
“I summon thee, Morleth Knight that forever will be! Answer me, Lindercroft. Come!”
And the spirit of the dead knight came. In his armor he rose from the bubbling waters. The wails of the dead in the void rising with him. Water gleamed on his helm. His sword was in his hand, naked steel glimmering with an unearthly light. Blood frothed at his mouth, and gore spilled from a rent in his armor.
Savanest, unwilling, took a step back. A premonition of fear touched him. He had loosed powers upon the world that he did not understand.
The voice of Lindercroft boomed, and it was as loud as the thunder had been.
“Why have you summoned me?”
Savanest felt panic, but he stilled it. “I do what I must. And I have questions that only you can answer.”
“I no longer serve, Savanest.” The voice of the spirit was quieter now, but there was anger in it.
“You will serve in death as you served in life. The Rite of Summoning ensures it.”
The dead man laughed, and it was a bitter sound. “You know nothing, little man. You deem yourself my better, but you will come to heel in the end. But speak. Ask your questions, and I will answer.”
Savanest did not like that. Bitter as the dead man was, there seemed still some amusement in his voice. It was said that the dead spoke in riddles, and whatever answers were given must be sifted carefully for truth. But it was also said there was wisdom in them, if interpreted correctly.
“Where did you find the enemy?”
Lindercroft leaned on his sword, and it seemed that the water beneath him grew hard as though it actually supported weight and responded to the will of the once-knight.
“I found them on the crest of a mountain, riding the waves of battles long forgotten.”
That answer, at least, was plain enough. Savanest had heard of the mountain close to the elven forest. There, many battles had been fought.
“Where are they now?”
Water spat from the lake, sizzling on the wet bank.
“Where the wind blows and the dead rest unquietly.”
Savanest was not sure what that meant. He would think over the words later.
“How did they escape you?”
“They are greater than they seem, and truly among them the seventh knight walks. She is greater than she seems.”
Lindercroft said those words with malice in his voice. There was no riddle there, but the surprise shocked Savanest to his core.
“The girl called Ferla is the seventh knight?”
Lindercroft nodded gravely, and the moans of other dead spirits rose from the depths of the lake.
“She it was who slew me, and she is sworn to kill you all. And to bring the king to ruin after.”
Savanest could not credit this. She was a girl, and nothing more. Yet the wound in Lindercroft pumped blood, and the waters around him were turning red. Someone had bested him in combat, and while the dead often spoke in riddles they never lied.
“How can I beat them?”
Lindercroft sheathed his sword. There was something of finality in his gesture, and the water beneath him hissed and roiled.
“You may not be able to. She is more skilled than you, and with her are those who are great. But do you wish to defeat her?”
Savanest did not understand. Of course he wished to defeat her, but perhaps directly by sword or magic was not the way. He would consider that further.
He made to speak again, but Lindercroft raised his arms and lighting twisted from the sky and blasted him. All about him the water swirled, faster and faster, and a vortex formed. Into this, Lindercroft began to descend and Savanest knew the summoning was over.
He felt weak, and staggering back a blast of cold air tore at him. Cold as the void it was, but Lindercroft’s eyes burned with wrath.
“You have answers enough, if you are man enough,” the spirit intoned. “But remember the were-stone you possess. It will change your life. It is the means of your success, but a weakness also.”
The dark form of the once-knight sank swiftly down into the roiling waters, and the screams of the dead ceased. But a roar replaced it.
A mighty wave formed, rolling across the lake. Weeds and mud crested it, and it seemed to Savanest that a ravening beast, part man and part animal rode its summit.
Savanest fled. He was so cold that his legs barely seemed to move, and fear clutched his throat, but even as the water crashed around him, he came to higher ground and turned to watch it recede reluctantly back into the lake.
A long while he stood there, thinking. The night passed, and the clouds thinned until a faint light showed in the east. His fear soon lessened. He had taken a great risk, but it had been worth it. He knew exactly where the enemy had been, which gave him a starting point even if they would have since fled that place. He had learned more, though.
The girl was the seventh knight. It was a surprise, but even more surprising was that the way to beat her was not to kill her. If not, what was he to do? That was something to ponder, but it could wait. Finding her was the first step, and what would come after could be decided later.
The fear had passed, but he still felt a sense of unease. Lindercroft had warned him. Those words at the end could mean nothing less. Yet there was a promise in them also. At least, if he was interpreting them well. He would change. What could that mean? Dare he hope it signified that in completing this quest and removing the threat against the king and Morleth Stone that he would be exalted above his brother knights? That would be a significant change, and it was one he intended to work toward.
As dawn inched over the land, he turned and walked back to the camp. He realized that he should have asked about Faran. What role in all this would he now play? He was not the seventh knight, but surely he was too deeply involved in the prophecy now to be nothing more than Ferla’s companion. There was something else going on there, but what it was only time would reveal.
He reached the camp, and straightaway he sensed the men were uneasy. What they had seen and heard, he was not sure. Something, no doubt. The magics unleashed had been colossal.
At least he knew where to go now, and they would decamp this morning and hasten on their way. Their days of ease and luxury were over. Not that they would complain. He owned them in ways that they did not know.
The master were-stone that he wore, and the companion pieces around their necks, like collars, ensured it was so. Already they would do anything he asked. They thought of him as king, and worshipped him. They would die for him, all fifty of them without question.
He touched his own were-stone, and sent tendrils of magic into it, unlocking its secret powers. From there, he felt it spread to the other stones. He gave the men a sense of ease and trust. All was well. All would continue to be well. There was nothing to fear.
They did not need to know that the magic would alter them. The more he used it, the less human they would become. In the end, they would be mere beasts, dogs that would come to his call. That was the nature of the magic. It was the price of their obedience.
And it occurred to him then that he had a way to track his enemies once he picked up their trail on the mountain.
6. Farewell
The travelers spent the day hidden, as best as the battle plains would allow, and they rested in subdued silence. But they kept a constant watch.
Faran had that responsibility now, on the last shift before they would break camp. Not that he had really rested earlier. He was too upset, and his mind kept racing.
It tore at him that he would be separated from Ferla. From now on, their danger only increased rather than diminished, and though he knew how smart she was, a
nd skilled with a blade and magic, how could he not worry about her?
Yet at the same time, he owed nearly everything to Aranloth. He could not, and would not abandon him. So it was that he spent the day in turmoil, and try as he might he could not find peace within himself. But he knew he must. He was in an impossible situation, and the only way through that was to acknowledge the truth of it and accept the decision circumstances had forced on him.
The afternoon faded toward evening, and the others woke and ate another cold meal.
Ferla approached him, and spoke to him away from the others.
“Why so sad, Faran? We both know you’re doing the right thing.”
They sat down, looking out at the shadowless plain as the sky dimmed and darkness began to fall.
“I want to be there to help you, but I can’t be in two places at once. I’m sorry.”
She laughed at him then. “Oh, Faran, I understand that. I want to go with you and help you too. But it just cannot be.”
He had not considered that before. But he knew the truth of her words. She feared for his safety as much as he feared for hers. However much he wanted to help her, she wanted to help him.
“It seems,” he answered her, “that fate wants us to go our separate ways. But we will meet up again. And I’ll bring Aranloth with me. All will be well, in the end.”
She did not answer that. She knew as well as he did that he could not guarantee it. The opposite was likely true, but she leaned against him as she often did, and they watched the last rays of the sun flicker over the grass, turning it gray and then fading away to night.
They walked back to the center of the camp where the others were ready to go.
“Faran and I know we have to separate,” Ferla said to Kareste, “but it need not be for a while yet, I think.”
Kareste hesitated, but her head lowered slightly as if in sadness.
“It’s best we do so straightaway,” the lòhren said softly.
Faran was surprised. “Why?”
“Because we will be followed. The enemy know where we were, so they will seek us there and then try to track us.”
“We can throw them off the trail,” Ferla answered.
“But it will be easier to do so, will it not, if we go our separate ways and force them to take the time to discover that, wonder what to do about it, and then finally split their resources.”
Neither Faran nor Ferla had an answer to that. It was true that it would confuse the enemy and gain more time. And even if they didn’t split their resources, it would mean that one group was not pursued. That might be Ferla.
“We can’t be sure that they’ll ever even find our trail,” Ferla said. There was little conviction in her voice though.
Kareste leaned on her staff. “Do you want to take that chance?”
Asana and Kubodin said nothing during this. Whatever view they held, they kept to themselves. Probably, they agreed with Kareste. But they had no wish to cause anyone to be more upset than they were, which was what would happen if the party split now.
But for his part, though Faran did not like it, he agreed with what the lòhren said. But she had more to add.
“There’s this to consider as well.” Kareste’s sharp gaze seemed to take them all in. “The seventh knight must reach Faladir. But where Faran and I have to go, to the tombs, will be through the heart of the territory that the enemy will be searching. We will be, at first, at greater risk. There’s no need to expose Ferla to this. She can go wider than us, keeping farther away, and swing in around from the west, finally coming into Faladir from the north, a direction that will likely be less guarded by the enemy.”
That made up Faran’s mind, if it had not already been decided.
“Kareste is right. I don’t want to, but it’s better to split up now. We’ll go direct to the tombs, but you can take the safer route around. You cannot beat the enemy out here. You have to be in Faladir, but first, you must reach the city. No victory is possible without that.”
Ferla had reached a decision as well. She liked it no better than he did.
“You’re right.” She gave a little nod of her head to Kareste as well. “I know you’re right, it’s just not easy to do.”
Kareste seemed to relax. “I know it’s not easy. But it is for the best, and keep this in mind, as well. Just because we have to part ways now, it doesn’t mean we won’t join up again later. You know both me and Faran, and Aranloth if he’s able, will be with you before the end in Faladir.”
“I know, but how will we find each other again?”
Kareste smiled at that. “You are the seventh knight, and I’m a lòhren. Trust me, I’ll find you.”
Asana spoke for the first time. “I don’t doubt you’ll find us, but perhaps a meeting place would speed things up?”
Kareste thought a moment about that. “Very well. There is one place I know that will be friendly to you, and they’ll help as best they can. Find the Bouncing Stone Inn, near the Tower of the Stone itself. The proprietor is friendly to Aranloth, and perhaps even guesses who he is, although he knows him by the name of Nuatha.”
“What’s the innkeeper’s name?”
“He’s called Menendil, and he’s a man of judgment and ability. His family have long been associated with lòhrens.”
The night darkened about them, and they said their final farewells, hoping it would not be the last. Faran hugged Ferla long and fiercely, then he spoke to Asana and Kubodin, thanking them for their friendship and for their teachings.
“It’s a pleasure to teach those who are willing to learn,” Asana replied.
Kubodin, surprisingly, put an arm around his shoulder and spoke softly.
“We all go into danger, but we’ll help Ferla as best we can. In your place, we’ll do all that you would have done. Set your mind at rest.”
It was a long speech for Kubodin, and Faran appreciated it. The promises of people were like dust on the wind, but the promises of someone like Kubodin was as iron.
They parted then, and Faran turned as they did so and wished the others good luck. He wished he could have said more.
Ahead of him, Kareste walked into the darkness, and he followed.
7. Who are You?
Ferla felt as though she had lost a part of herself, but she was not going to show it.
Instead, she moved ahead into the night, head high, back straight and stride confident. Even though her heart was breaking.
She loved Faran. She had been in love with him back in Dromdruin Village. Even as she strode ahead, she also walked through the memories of her life, and she found him always there. Everything that had happened recently had only served to strengthen her feelings.
But he did not know that. He did not need to know that. It was true enough that he knew her feelings were strong for him, but he thought she looked at him as a brother.
That was not the situation at all, but it was for the best that he thought so, at least for the moment. Their lives were entwined, but both were fraught with danger. It was no time to be sidetracked by feelings and thoughts and secret looks that could distract them from what mattered most just now. And that was staying alive.
For a moment, she allowed herself to think of what their lives would have been like had they remained simple hunters. She would have told him how she felt by now, or rather, she would have allowed him to discover it over time, leading him to it slowly. Perhaps they would already be married, having sworn their marriage oath together under the shade of the big oak tree the villagers used for the purpose in high summer. Perhaps.
But that life was dead.
Now, she had to draw her attention to the task of staying alive. At least, for as long as possible. That may not be long. Certainly, every step toward Faladir was a step toward death. But she had sworn another oath, and if not a marriage pledge, it was just as strong. Faladir needed her, or at least the hope she represented. If, by some strange chance, both she and Faran still lived after their quests, the
n maybe it would be time to tell him then how she felt.
She was the least suited to her current task, but Asana and Kubodin let her lead. Or maybe they really did defer to her because she was charged by fate to fulfil the task they now set out to achieve.
It occurred to her that it was a test, though. She had been trained, mostly by Asana but also by Kubodin. By coming with her, they were putting their lives in jeopardy. That being the case, they were entitled to put her under pressure. They were entitled to see how she dealt with it and how she led them. If she was not up to that, it was better they found out now rather than later when it was too late for them to leave her.
That was an uncharitable view of things, and they had seen how she performed under pressure when fighting Lindercroft. But still, she would not blame them if it were some kind of test.
It also occurred to her though that it was just a continuation of her training. Fighting a knight was one thing, dangerous as it was, but leadership was something else. All the training in the world could not give experience here. That had to be earned, and it could only be earned by doing.
If she survived, she would reach Faladir. There she must somehow rally the forces of opposition to the king to her banner. That would require not just luck, nor mere destiny, but actual skill. Best that she start that now, even if it was with just two men, and the leadership little more than picking a path ahead through the dark.
They moved across the battle plains. Somewhere only a little way to the east of her, Faran would be looking up at the sky, checking for signs of elù-draks just as she was. But each day they traveled the farther away their paths would diverge.
She saw nothing in the sky to alarm her. Nor did she sense anything ahead. But the greatest danger lay behind them, if their trail had been found. So she paused from time to time and watched what she could of their backtrail.
