The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck

by Jason McWhirter

  Addalis wore simple gray breeches and a thick, long sleeved tunic cinched tightly with a brown leather belt. To protect him from the mountain air he also wore a long green hooded cloak made of wool. Dangling from his belt were a number of pouches containing spell components and other tools that a wizard might need to cast his spells. Strapped to his right thigh was a baldric of six small, razor sharp throwing knives. Most wizards were not proficient with swords or other weapons because they didn’t have the time to train and still master the magical arts. But Addalis had been trained by his father, who had always stressed the need for a wizard to not rely on his spells alone. He had given Addalis the baldric of knives when he was ten years old, and as an additional gift, he had enchanted the knives himself. He imbued the knives and the baldric with a homing spell, a spell he created that enabled the knives, once thrown, to magically reappear back in their sheaths. Addalis had worked diligently to master these weapons, eventually developing an accuracy that was uncanny.

  The most important possession that Addalis carried was his spell book, a book that had been passed down over many generations and was finally given to him by his father. In the book were all the spells of his ancestors, hundreds of years of history and work, all compiled into one leather bound tome strapped to his back in a thick protective case made of leather and wool. The book was enchanted with its own magical wards to protect it from fire and the elements. Anyone attempting to open it, other than he, would find themselves writhing on the ground in pain from electrical shock. It was his most prized possession, and he protected it with his life.

  “My Lord, what are your orders for the morning?” asked Farwin.

  King Kromm, looking up from the fire, made eye contact with his commander. The king’s eyes reflected his sadness and lacked their usual luster. “We have lost everything, my friend; everything my family has built for countless generations. This is the first time in my life where I can honestly tell you that I know not what actions I should take.”

  Queen Sorana gently touched her husband’s thigh, looking into his sad eyes. She smiled softly as if to say, everything will be okay, but she knew that things would not, and her eyes betrayed this to her husband. He caressed her hand softly, trying his best to smile.

  “We can rebuild, my King. There is nothing we cannot do,” announced Farwin, trying hard to muster the confidence that he did not feel.

  “I thank you for your resilience, Farwin, but we have nothing left to rebuild. Yes, we have the smoking remains of a city that can be rebuilt. But stone walls do not make an empire. People do. They are the blood and strength of Tarsis. My army and my people were destroyed; all that remain sit here as outcasts in their own lands. The people that my army tried to protect are no more, tortured and murdered by Malbeck and the Forsworn. If we were to rebuild the city then I’d be the king of an empty land. What would be the point?”

  “They couldn’t have killed everyone. There must be thousands of refugees that fled the lands who would return if word spread that you were alive,” the queen said softly.

  “King Kromm, may I interject?” asked Allindrian.

  “Of course, Blade Singer. Because of you we are still alive. I welcome your council and I will forever be in your debt.”

  “And I,” added Sorana sincerely.

  “You owe me no debt,” Allindrian replied. “But I have some advice. In time, rebuilding Tarsis may be possible, but that time is not now. I believe that Malbeck will move his forces south, to Finarth. He will take out any cities or towns along the way, including Cuthaine. Once he arrives at Finarth’s gate he will raze that city to the ground, just as he did Tarsis. Malbeck knows that the combined armies of Annure and Finarth will assemble to fight him at Finarth. That city will be the last major stronghold east of the mountains to stand in his way. Once it is destroyed then I believe he will move over the mountain passes into the West. This is just the beginning; he will not stop until all of Kraawn is smothered with the blackness of the Forsworn. As his domination and power increases, he will finally take out the last threat to his power.”

  “The elves and the dwarves in the North,” Kromm concluded.

  “Yes, I believe that to be the truth. We cannot let that happen, and I believe that all of us here can be an integral part of the plan to stop him,” she added.

  As a Blade Singer, Allindrian’s job was to protect her home at all costs. The elven kingdoms to the north generally stayed out of human affairs. But that was the job of a Blade Singer, to interact with the rest of the races, especially the humans, so that the elven rulers could feel the pulse of the rest of the lands around them. Being a reclusive race, it is important that the elven kingdoms know what is happening in the lands around them. Are there any rising threats or political unrest that could threaten their lands? These are questions that can only be answered by the information gained from Blade Singers. Allindrian had been a Blade Singer for over a hundred years, and her training to become one took half of that time. Her mother was a Blade Singer before her, and her father, who was human, died long ago. Her parents met during her mother’s travels, and although their time together was short, by all accounts it was filled with passion and love. Her mother had been killed when Allindrian was just a girl, slain in a far off place. She was told that her mother died while protecting a family from raiding orcs near the Sarhast Mountains, west of the Onith Kingdom. Not many details were known, but Onith troops said that there were nearly fifty dead orcs scattered around her body. They said that her body was pierced four times by arrows before she was cut down. The entire family she fought to protect was massacred and everything was taken, including her mother’s armor and sword. Her lonely death saddened her, but she barely knew her mother as the life of a Blade Singer was not to raise children, but to fight, to learn, and to protect. Allindrian was raised in the Kufaro, the training grounds for elven warriors. From there she worked her way up, spending over fifty years serving in the elven legion, then another hundred years in the Silvarious, an order of elven rangers who guarded the borders of their forests. Then, after excelling in this role, she attempted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. After many years of training, she became a Blade Singer, an elven warrior whose job was to protect their home by leaving it, the highest honor that an elven warrior could achieve. But it was a lonely and arduous path, for a Blade Singer really had no home. You roamed the land gaining information and looking for areas of unrest, learning about the lands and collecting information that her elven rulers would want. Everything she did was in service of her people.

  “What do you have in mind, Blade Singer?” asked Farwin.

  “I think we should travel south, to Finarth and…”

  “You wish us to leave our ancestral home?” Addalis interrupted, a hint of concern in his voice.

  “I do. Right now you must look past the walls of Tarsis and attempt to see all the kingdoms of Kraawn. All of Kraawn is threatened and we must make a stand.”

  “And you think that stand should be made at Finarth?” Addalis asked.

  “I do, Addalis. We must combine our strength to defeat Malbeck.”

  “Will the elves and dwarves join in that fight?” asked Farwin skeptically. Allindrian looked at Farwin and she did not try to mask her worried expression.

  “I do not know, Farwin. As you know, the elves have always stayed hidden in their forests far to the north, away from the intrigue of humans. I cannot speak for my king or queen, but I can only hope that they would see Malbeck as a threat and help where they may. We may have a better chance with the dwarves, considering Tarsis is one of their major trading partners.”

  “That relationship is built primarily on the desire for gold. Convincing them to join the fight may not be that easy,” added the king.

  “It may be if the demand for their metal work disappears,” Addalis replied.

  “Good point, Addalis,” Queen Sorana spoke up. “If Tarsis and Finarth are destroyed, they will have lost their most valuable market fo
r their weapons. Their coffers will dry up and you know how dwarves love their gold.”

  “That argument may work.” The king smiled briefly as he paused to think. “So we travel all the way to Finarth, with the winter season upon us as we are being pursued by Malbeck’s army?” The king looked at each man and woman as he spoke. They looked back at him, their faces set with determination.

  “That is exactly what I propose,” Allindrian replied. “My skills should keep us clear of the orcs and goblins that are sure to be hunting us.”

  Addalis then spoke, “And I have some spells that will also help. I am only sorry that I do not have the power of teleportation, a spell that would serve us well now. I think that under the circumstances we have few options, therefore I support Allindrian’s plan…if that is your wish, my Lord,” he added, bowing his head slightly to his king.

  “I agree, Addalis. We need a plan of action…the men need a purpose. Blade Singer, how do we send out scouts to Dwarf Mount and the elven kingdoms? The mountain passes will be snowed in and not passable. How would you suggest we get word to them?” asked the king.

  “Right now I think we should concentrate on staying alive. When we reach Finarth we can contact them by use of magic. They may know what has happened already. I only hope that there will be enough time for potential allies to come to Finarth’s aid before Malbeck’s forces arrive at the city’s gate,” Allindrian replied somberly.

  “Very well. Farwin, assemble the men, I want to address them personally to explain our plan,” ordered Kromm.

  “Yes, sir,” replied the knight, as he rose and walked toward his men who were huddled around the other fires nearby.

  Queen Sorana leaned in and kissed Kromm gently on the cheek. He looked into his wife’s eyes, gently holding her hand. The king’s massive hand, like a bear’s paw, completely engulfed hers.

  Allindrian, glancing at the pair, was amazed at how such a large man, so fearsome and powerful in battle, could be so gentle. She envied the two; it must be nice to find solace in the comfort of another’s arms, especially in the midst of such loss and destruction. Allindrian shook the thought away, and stood up briskly by the fire, its flames illuminating her silver sword pointed at the ground.

  “I need to scout the forests. Get some sleep. I will be watching the perimeter of our camp.”

  “Thank you, Allindrian, but you don’t…” the king stopped in mid-sentence as Allindrian leaped into the forest, disappearing in the blink of an eye. Addalis shook his head, smiling as the king gazed at the spot where Allindrian had been.

  “She sure is fast,” Addalis chuckled, catching the king’s amazed expression.

  ***

  Durgen Hammerhead led a small group of dwarves up the gentle rise of a well-traveled trade route. The road was dry and the ground was hard and frozen from the frigid night, making it easy for the sturdy dwarves to guide the pack mules and carts. Ten dwarves guided three carts heavily laden with dwarven made armor and weapons. Durgen had traveled this path many times, and looked forward to getting to the peak of the rise so he could gaze down the valley toward Tarsis just as the morning sun was rising above Lyre Lake.

  Durgen was of average size for a dwarf, about as tall as a man’s chest, but much thicker. Dwarves were like walking boulders, sturdy and tough as the stone in which they lived. His large head was covered with wiry blonde curls, and he wore his mustache braided on each side as it descended into his dense beard. He wore beautifully crafted plate mail and dangling from his belt was a heavy dwarven hammer that he had forged himself. The dwarves traveling with him were similarly outfitted, but they also carried short sturdy crossbows to protect the caravan from possible brigands. They rarely encountered outlaws on this road since King Kromm was vigilant in patrolling the trade routes from Dwarf Mount. In fact, Durgen wondered why they had not run into any Tarsinian Knights yet. Usually by this time they would have been greeted by a patrol from Tarsis.

  The answer to Durgen’s question soon became apparent as he crested the gentle hill. Stunned, he stopped, staring down in disbelief at the burning remains of Tarsis. He was still standing there, his mouth agape, as the caravan made its way to his vantage point.

  “Is me eyes playing tricks on me?” Durgen asked as his men moved around him, shocked into silence at the sight before them. Durgen’s son, Olaf, the youngest dwarf in the caravan, stood next to his father. He set the front of his crossbow on the ground, leaning on it with both hands as he gazed ruefully down the valley to the smoldering city.

  “Father, ye seeing the same as us, Tarsis is no more.” Olaf bore a striking resemblance to his father, though his beard was shorter and more blonde. Strapped to his back was a magnificent battle axe that Durgen had crafted for him the day he made Trader rank, a difficult task requiring five years of training. It wasn’t just military training that was required, but knowledge of forging, metals, stones, as well as language skills, business knowledge, and other talents necessary to interact with neighboring kingdoms with which they traded. Olaf was the youngest graduate to pass the tests in quite some time and Durgen was immensely proud of him for that. All caravans were led by a Master Trader and the guards that accompanied them were required to be of Trader rank. These Traders were the best of the dwarven fighters, and Durgen, being the Master Trader, was one of the elite. They trained as a unit of ten, each Trader knowing his place in combat. Olaf had just made Trader rank and this was his first trip with his father.

  Olaf’s axe head was made from Mithril silver and the shaft was adamantiam, a light powerful metal that only the dwarves knew how to smelt. The weapon was blessed and imbued with dwarven magic by the most powerful of their clerics. The handle was wrapped in leather and the razor sharp edge sparkled in the morning sun.

  “Who did this?” muttered a burly red bearded dwarf standing next to Durgen.

  “By me own eyes, I know not, Ballick, but it smells of orc. We best get turned around and back to Dwarf Mount. Our king will want to hear of this.”

  Durgen had just turned to give the order to turn the carts about, when he heard something in the forest to his left. He instinctively reached down to the hammer strapped to his belt as he peered into the thick brush. He caught a glimpse of something sparkle, just as he heard the unmistakable ‘twang’ of a bow string.

  “To arms!” he yelled, un-slinging the shield on his back. He quickly glanced toward his son just as the young warrior was doing the same. And in the space of an instant, he saw the whole world crumble as a black shafted arrow took his son in the throat. Olaf, thrown backward against the cart, locked eyes with his father, staring at him in shock and stunned disbelief. Weakly, he lifted his hands to the feathered shaft buried in his throat. As blood bubbled through his fingers and trickled from his mouth, his wide eyes dimmed and glazed over as he fell to the ground.

  “No!” Durgen screamed. He brought his shield up, frantically looking for an assailant, any outlet for the boiling rage within him. The dwarves, all veterans, moved quickly into formation, five shield bearers in the front, the rest standing behind them with loaded, duel firing crossbows. Their backs were to the carts which offered them some protection from the rear.

  Black arrows peppered them from the forest as a group of orcs ran from the undergrowth, dark swords and spears leading the way. Two more dwarves were hit before they could get their shields up.

  “Stay in formation!” yelled the enraged Durgen. Fifteen orcs, screaming for blood, ran toward the remaining seven dwarves. As the orcs advanced, the dwarves held their position. Then, just when they were about five paces from the locked shields, Durgen yelled, “Now!” The ‘click’ of the dwarven made crossbows could be heard over the screaming orcs, and four thick bolts rocked into them with tremendous power, launching four orcs backwards as if they had been hit by a dragon’s tail. The four dwarves then expertly spun the crossbows so that the bottom bolt was now on top. In half a second they had four more bolts in the air and four more orcs falling to their deaths. The c
rossbowmen then dropped their weapons, un-slinging their shields and close formation weapons, and joined their brethren to continue the fight.

  The shield bearers closed formation again as more orcs came crashing into them. These dwarves were experts at close formation fighting, and the fearsome orcs learned that lesson quickly. The orcs brought their weapons down upon the steel shields with little effect. Blocking the strikes, the dwarves attacked the orcs’ knees and ankles. Their short size enabled them to lift their shields above their heads, protecting them from the orcs’ attacks while allowing them to cut into the orcs’ legs like they were cutting down a field of wheat. The orcs howled in pain as hammer and axe crushed and cut at their legs.

  Durgen roared in fury as he swung the head of his hammer forward into the knee cap of an attacking orc. He heard the knee crack as the beast screamed in agony, crumbling to the ground. He then lunged forward bringing his hammer down hard on the beast’s chest, cracking its sternum and crushing its heart. Another orc attacked him with a long spear, but he blocked the thrust with his shield, and quickly counterattacked by leaping in toward the attacker. The orc, astonished at Durgen’s speed, nonetheless tried to raise its spear so it could bring the jagged point down on the fearsome dwarf. But the orc was too slow, and Durgen, screaming maniacally, smashed the edge of his shield into the orc’s knee. The knee shattered, snapping inward and causing the orc to fall to his good knee. Durgen then quickly cracked his hammer into the side of the orc’s head, crushing it like a watermelon.