Alastor looks into every set of eyes aimed at him before answering.
“Cain has made a pact with Samael, sacrificing his wife and daughter, and in exchange Samael wrought a suit of unnatural armor.”
The three elders look to one another, understanding Alastor’s words before anyone else.
“God help us... Samael has created his agent,” cries the most senior of the elders. “Alastor, is there anything else you can tell us?”
“Aside from the armor, Cain was... changed.”
“Changed? How so?”
“Inhuman strength, physical abilities, and apparently, near immortality.”
“How do you know that?”
“I fought with him briefly. In terms of strength, we were evenly matched.”
“I do not understand,” says Isolde, confused.
Alastor steps forward and picks up the large wooden table which they all sit at with a single hand. They all gasp, and Alastor sets the table back down.
“Whatever Samael did to Cain, it has had an effect upon myself as well. My horse died before I reached Valachia, and I ran on foot the rest of the way. The gates were barred, and I broke through them. Above all, Cain impaled me, broke open my head and gave me a sword strike that should have cut me in half, yet here I am, quite alive.”
“What does this mean?” Taranis asks the elders.
“Cain’s path of destruction makes sense now,” says the elder closest to him, grasping finally what Alastor was trying to force them to understand. “He has been traveling between those places that swear loyalty to the nameless God.”
“But, there has been heathen kingdoms which were destroyed.”
“Only because they stood in his path, Taranis. Fighting against him because of their hatred of Valachia, which makes them his enemies all the same.”
“I see...”
“What can we do?” Isolde asks the elders.
“Samael’s agent he might be,” Alastor speaks, “Cain is still a man with an overdeveloped sense of vanity. He would not abide any challenge to his strength.”
“What are you proposing, Alastor?”
“I am proposing you send word to your allies that Alastor, son of Cain is alive and well, waiting for his father in Halvard.”
“Is that wise?” Taranis asks. “You just got through telling us he is probably invincible.”
“If he is, then we are all damned regardless.”
The elders, Taranis and Isolde all exchange glances.
“Alastor, can you leave us so that we may discuss this matter?” asks the elders.
“Of course,” Alastor answers with a sarcastic sneer.
Alastor leaves coldly, passing Uri’el without so much as a nod or gesture. Cardea rushing after him.
Alastor leans against the citadel with his arms crossed, staring at the remains of snow on the ground. Cardea slowly walks in front of him.
“It is true then, I suppose?” she asks him.
“What?” he replies without looking up.
“Charlotte and Elizabetha. They are dead?”
“How do you know about them?”
“Charlotte and I were best friends when I was growing up in Valachia.”
“I do not remember seeing you.”
“Why would you? You spent most of your time training or engaged in some other nonsense.”
“That sounds like me,” Alastor says, looking up at Cardea. “If you were Valachian, how did you become Isolde’s maid?”
“My father saw what Cain was coming to, and moved our family to Halvard while he could still do so without arousing suspicions of disloyalty. Charlotte and I would write to each other, but the letters stopped when Taranis cut off trade.”
Tears form in Cardea’s eyes as she thinks about her departed friend. Alastor lowers his head again.
“I would hate to think of what she told you about me,” he thinks aloud.
“She wrote only the best of you, I promise.”
Cardea begins to cry uncontrollably. Alastor pulls her to him, the two embracing in their shared sadness. They stand outside the citadel, unaware and not caring of the goings on of the rest of the city. Alastor holds her tight, even though he is not sure why. He has never had the desire to hold anyone, nor a real reason to. In holding her, something inside changes. Possibly. After a time, Uri’el, Taranis and Isolde exit together. Alastor and Cardea separate.
“What was decided?” Alastor asks.
“We will return to Halvard as soon as you are ready,” Taranis answers.
“We can leave now, then. I have no reason to remain here.”
They waste no time with farewells, retrieving their animals from the stables, buying a new horse for Alastor and setting out for their home. Uri’el flies on ahead to Halvard by order of the King. Alastor does not speak to anyone, but rides next to Cardea. Although he looks at her occasionally, he cannot bring himself to speak with her; every time he tries, his mind fills with images of his mother and sister and, more morbidly, how they may have been killed. Even with these imaginings he feels nothing. He shows no emotion. He cannot. This lack of feeling should frighten him, he thinks, but it does not.
The ride is slow. There is no need for them to hurry at this point in time. When night finally falls, Taranis leads them to a glade not far off the road. With Alastor’s aid they start a nice, large fire. Taranis and Isolde lay near the fire, looking up at the stars. Alastor slinks away, sitting at the foot of a willow, as far away from the light of the fire as possible, leaving Cardea alone. The young woman lays down, eyes fixed on Alastor, watching his motionless form until she falls into slumber.
In the morning, Cardea is the first to wake, or so she thinks. Alastor has not moved at all, still staring into nothingness. She stands, quietly walking to him, kneeling beside him.
“Have you been awake all night?” she asks.
“I could not sleep, even if I wanted to. I have no desire to see the phantoms my mind might create.”
“Really? I sleep so that I can dream.”
“Do you?”
“When I dream, I can see things as they were. Sometimes, I can see what is, and at other times I can see that which gives me great hope.”
“What might that be?”
“I dream about the things which will be.”
“You can see the future?” asks Alastor, curiosity written in bold on his face.
She simply nods, smiling.
“May I ask you a question?” she asks.
“Do I have a choice?”
“Everyone does.”
“Ask your question,” he tells her after a moment’s hesitation.
“How did you receive the name Leon? Charlotte always called you by that name, but never explained its origin.”
Alastor thinks about whether or not he wants to answer, debating with himself.
“When I had reached my eighteenth year, mother commissioned a sword, made by the finest smith in the west. It was not a birthday present, mind you, but a sort of trophy for something I had done. I will not go into what, but my mother thought it was deserving of a gift. My mother, Charlotte and I went in secret to receive it. On the way home, we were attacked by a pack of feral lions. Aside from the fact that they were not native to anywhere in the west, these animals were unnatural, twice the size or more than normal lions and infinitely more savage. With just my newly forged sword, I slew them all. Mother said that I had fought so fiercely that I put the animals to shame, and that I should be the rightful owner of their name. She re-christened me Leon, and Charlotte named my new sword Lionkiller.”
“That explains why Charlotte spoke so highly of you. Tell me, though: why did the sword go into hiding?”
“Cain was none too happy about the three of us leaving Valachia in secret, and even less so when he learned it was for such an extravagant present that, in his eyes, was completely unearned. When he learned that mother had given me a new name on top of it all, he took it as a personal insult. He seized Lion
killer and ordered it to be destroyed.”
“Except Charlotte stole it back and hid it.”
“Yes,” Alastor whispers, haunted. “Yes she did.”
Cardea can see in his blank eyes that he is reliving that day, and then thinking about the fatal day three months previous.
“You should not blame yourself for their deaths.”
“How can I not? If I had the courage to stand against Cain, they would still be here.”
“You cannot change the past, but you can understand it. They died fighting Cain and his evil.”
“How can you know how they died?”
“I told you... I dream. I saw them fight. They held back Cain so that the others could flee and... I saw them die. In my dream, she did not speak, but I could feel that it was Elizabetha’s will, not Cain’s, to have you in Halvard during that terrible moment.”
“Why would she do that?”
“That, I do not know I am afraid.”
Alastor’s eyes lower as he contemplates on this. Cardea takes Alastor’s hands into hers, sitting beside him, resting her head on his shoulder, waiting for her King and Queen to wake.
Alastor does not object to her being so close.
~-~~-~
By the time they have all eaten and made ready to leave, it is nearly afternoon. They ride at a similar pace as previously, and again there is no air of urgency, however unlike the day before, the world is not as dreary. Taranis and Isolde chat merrily in disregard of the reality they live in, recounting their respective childhoods to Alastor and Cardea, culminating in how they met and eventually married against their parents’ wills. Alastor and Cardea both realize in their own time that Taranis and Isolde were awake and listening while they spoke earlier that morning.
With the approaching dusk, Taranis again brings them all to a place to rest, this time by a small brook. Again, Alastor helps to build a fire, but this time staying with the others. The King and Queen continue speaking of their lives together, with Cardea periodically interrupting to ask a question or confirm some hunch. Alastor remains silent, but listens carefully.
Midnight soon comes and none show signs of tiring.
“What is to happen when we arrive back to Halvard?” Alastor suddenly asks. “What had the elders to say about my plan?”
“They agreed with you,” Taranis answers. “When we get home, I am going to send riders out, as will Judeheim. Afterwards, we wait.”
“Good,” Alastor says softly, laying down. “You can continue talking. I need to sleep,” he tells them, and in moments, he does.
~-~~-~
Alastor wakes before dawn, Cardea sleeping beside him. Taranis and Isolde are already awake, preparing the animals for departure.
“Good, you are up,” Taranis says, seeing Alastor.
“Is something wrong?”
“No, no, no... we just need to get going. Halvard is not far off, and the sooner we arrive, the sooner we send out the riders.”
After Alastor has woken Cardea, they are on their way, slow as the days before. Cardea and Isolde ride together, talking in lowered tones occasionally sprinkled with a giggle or two.
“I never gave you my condolences,” Taranis tells Alastor. “I am sorry for what happened. If we had any indication of the sort of heart Cain actually had, we would have acted sooner.”
Alastor looks briefly to Taranis. For whatever reason, he is not as sad as he should be, nor as sad as he would like to be.
“What happened was unavoidable.”
Taranis thinks about this, nodding his head.
“Perhaps. It may take a long while before Cain comes for you.”
“He will come the instant he hears that I am alive still.”
The coldness and matter of fact tone Alastor uses to say this catches Taranis.
“I, even to this day, cannot fathom why a man would chose to become what Cain has become.”
“Power can be quite alluring to a man who spent his life without it.”
“How do you mean? Valachia’s power goes back centuries.”
“You do not know about my father’s childhood?”
“Details of his youth are hard to come by, especially outside of Valachia I would imagine.”
“His family was nomadic, exiles from their natural home. Where their home was, none know, and he never spoke of. Through disease and death, Cain was left alone. He came to Valachia by chance, where he was taken in as a child of the court. His hardships ingrained in him a feeling of being owed reparations by the whole world, so he killed his way through the royal family until he became king himself.”
“How can that be? I have been to Valachia on many occasions, and only saw him as beloved by many of the people.”
“He spread his lies through the affluent members of society, telling of the corruption and other vices that had wormed its way among the royals, not the least of which was that the true king and his family were a clan of blood drinkers.”
“And the people at the time believed this?”
“Cain’s promises of a new age of wealth made it easy for them to swallow his thin explanation for slaughtering the royal family.”
“And no one questioned anything?”
“Remember that religious faith had already decayed amongst the people, and with it common sense. Wealth, leisure, self-gratification... these things were all that mattered to most of the population. However, you know that not everyone believed this, but early on they learned to keep quiet, lest their family suddenly find itself at the bottom of a grave.”
Taranis laughs darkly to himself, the state of Valachian affairs being so strange and disturbing.
“Let us assume we can stop Cain, Alastor; what will you do with Valachia? You would be the king for all intents and purposes, after all.”
“What will I do? Disperse the people and then tear down that damned city into rubble, that is what I will do.”
“You would abandon them?”
“By now, all the good people have fled. Those who remain are as guilty as Cain. What I intend to do is a mercy far above what they deserve.”
“What of your kingship? You would give that up?”
“I have no desire to be a king and even if I did it would not matter. Cain was not a rightful king, nor am I a rightful prince. Valachia will no longer exist, its kings dead, forgotten by history. It is the fate it has earned for its sins.”
Lost in talk, they have finally come to Halvard without noticing. They ride into the city, seeing the races of winged and men working together on construction of the walls and battlements, which with this new influx of aid is now nearly finished. Uri’el waits outside the castle, four swift riders ready to go. Taranis gives them but a gesture and the four horsemen ride out of the city as if they were in a race. Alastor, Taranis, Isolde and Cardea all dismount.
“I was beginning to wonder what was taking you so long,” says Uri’el.
“Alastor needed some time,” Isolde whispers to him as she passes.
As they walk into the castle, Alastor again avoids contact of any kind with Uri’el.
“Is there a room I can have while I am here?” Alastor asks of Taranis and Isolde. “Preferably apart from the rest of your court. I need to be alone.”
“Of course,” Isolde tells him. “Cardea can take you to a proper room.”
Cardea tugs at Alastor’s sleeve, taking him up to the highest floors of the castle.
“Why do you want to be alone?” she asks him as they walk through empty halls.
“I need to think. To prepare.”
She leads Alastor to a corridor at the rear most of the castle, and then finally to what shall be his room while in Halvard. The room is not a simple bedroom, but an entire home within the castle.
“What do you think?”
“Extravagant. Of what use is this part of the castle usually reserved?”
“Royal visitors, for the most part. None of the court are allowed here.”
“Good.”
Alastor walks around, finding a couch set before a window which looks out onto a lake behind the castle, and the mountains beyond. The lake has a hypnotic quality. Alastor sits, staring out.
“Is there anything you need, Alastor? Anything at all?”
“No. My isolation is all I need.”
Cardea suppresses a sob, leaving without making even a murmur, closing the door behind her. Alastor reclines on the couch, the lake outside becoming his reflecting mirror. Soon, he thinks, his father will come, Cain’s only intention being to kill his son, and then anything and anyone which may cross his path. Alastor’s eyes never leave the living portrait of the lake and the mountains, the evergreens and the birds which call them home.
Even with the coming of night, he does not budge.
Cardea checks in on him, but he does not acknowledge, or even become aware of her. She kindly leaves food for him, then leaves.
~-~~-~
This is the manner of things for a week. Alastor, silent and sad. Cardea waiting on him, hoping each time that she enters for him to speak to her, if only a single word. At the end of the week, Cardea enters Alastor’s quarters much earlier than normal.
~-~~-~
“Alastor,” Cardea says barely louder than a mouse, “Taranis needs to see you. I think it is about...”
“Father.”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” he tells her, his voice distant and rough. “Let Taranis know I will be down momentarily, please.”
“I will, Alastor.”
Before leaving, Cardea sets down a new set of clothes, dyed black, along with new boots and gloves. As soon as she leaves, Alastor stands, removes his old garments, washes in a basin from which the water constantly flows, and finally dresses in the new clothes brought to him. A grim smiles crosses his lips as he looks at himself in the mirror.
Heart, body and soul, he thinks, now all matching.
~-~~-~
In Taranis’ throne room, Alastor finds everyone he had expected to see, along with many winged ones, including Shira, no longer with child, standing beside her husband.
“How long until he is here?” Alastor bluntly asks Taranis.
“Three days.”
Alastor laughs obscenely, a sneer on his face.
“Alastor? What is it?” Uri’el asks.
“It must consume him so, to think that I am still alive, and that whatever he had done to him has affected me. Now, he can taste my torment.”
“Alastor,” Taranis speaks, “we need to make a plan.”
“What is there to plan? Either I kill Cain, or Cain kills me. If the latter should happen, then you should pray to your god that you can overwhelm him with sheer numbers.”
The Black Knight Page 42
