The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck

by Jason McWhirter

  Fil looked at the bodies staked to the ground and thought that Myrell could be right. He flexed his fists instinctively thinking about the pain these people suffered.

  “Look, there are four dead orcs,” Jonas said using his sword to point out four large bodies littering the ground behind the man. Jonas moved Tulari closer to get a better look. The orcs were heavily armored but they were obviously killed by a blade.

  “This man was a warrior, and a good one judging by the dead orcs behind him. He may have been the village leader,” Jonas said as he continued to survey the scene.

  “They made an example out of him. They made him watch the torture of his family and left him to die,” Fil added in disgust.

  “Fil, cut him down,” ordered Jonas, “he deserves a decent burial.”

  “What about the rest of the villagers?” asked Myrell as Fil dismounted, moving towards the tortured man.

  “Regrettably there is no time. We must move on and find camp elsewhere before the sun’s light is no more. I will burn the flag while you two bury this man.” Jonas dismounted and strode over to the evil talisman as it tauntingly flapped in the breeze.

  Fil drew his short sword, slicing through the two ropes holding the man’s arms. As the tension was released the man fell heavily to the ground. Fil stood, dumbstruck, as he heard the man grunt when his face struck the muddy ground.

  “He is alive! Jonas, the man still lives!” Fil shouted, quickly kneeling by the man and rolling him gently over onto his back. Fil quickly cut the ropes holding his legs. Jonas and Myrell rushed over and kneeled by the man. Fil stepped back to give Jonas a better look.

  Jonas put both his hands on the man as his eyes fluttered open. Instantly he sent Shyann’s power into the warrior, searching for his injuries. What he found set him back on his heels. He had been beaten so badly with a blunt object that most of his ribs had been broken, and his internal organs had been ruptured or damaged beyond repair. His insides were filled with blood and Jonas could feel the faint beginnings of infection. It would take him too much time to heal the amount of wounds this man sustained, and by that time, he would be dead. This man should not be alive. Jonas knew that he could do nothing. He was too far gone.

  “Orcs…Forsworn warlocks…killed everyone,” the man sputtered softly. He was so weak that they could barely hear his voice. “My family…,” He was interrupted by a spasm as he coughed up dark blood.

  “I know. I am sorry,” Jonas said. It sounded so inadequate, but Jonas did not know what else to say to the dying man. “Do you know why they came here?” he asked.

  “To…kill,” whispered the man. Jonas could feel the last of the man’s strength leave him, his eyes focusing on something else while his body went limp. Jonas stood up with determination.

  “Bury him and let’s depart quickly. This place is making me sick,” he said as he marched over to Gould’s flag, intent on burning it, destroying it with fire, the same weapon that had destroyed the village, and its inhabitants. If only the destruction of this vile symbol of Gould could somehow compensate for the great loss that had befallen this poor village.

  Taleen, Kilius, and Jangar guided their horses through the destruction, stunned to silence by the devastation that surrounded them. Taleen’s anger rose steadily as she observed the men, women, and children that had been cut down and murdered. The trio was filled with revulsion by the sight of so much carnage. The villagers’ murdered in their homes was bad enough, but many had also been tortured or eaten beyond recognition. As they rode slowly through the devastated town, they saw remnants of a cooking fire with a half-eaten corpse spitted across the black embers. The blackened corpse, missing much of its flesh, looked more like a skeleton with bits of skin hanging from its frame. Kilius had to look away, bile rising in his mouth.

  By the time they made their way to the north section of town Taleen was visibly shaking. She took a deep breath, calming her beating heart. She held her sword to the side, looking down at the bright silver blade. Her shaking sword arm slowly calmed and she held her blade steady, taking a few more deep breaths.

  “My lady, I have never seen such horrible deaths. Why would they do this?” asked Jangar.

  “Jangar, I am no lady. I was a soldier before I came to be a cavalier. Please, call me Taleen.” They had played this game several times already but it was proving difficult for Jangar to refer to her by her name. He had never seen a cavalier before and he was totally in awe of her.

  “Yes, Taleen, I’m sorry, it just rises to my tongue so quickly.”

  “As for why, I do not know. They may have been looking for something. Or they simply were looking to kill and destroy. Followers of the Forsworn need little reason to murder and torture. They thrive on chaos.”

  “Do you think they are still close?” asked Kilius, nervously looking around the darkening clearing.

  “I do not detect any evil near us. By the looks of the destruction they were here maybe a day or two ago. I think we are safe for the moment,” Taleen replied with a reassuring, but grim, smile.

  They decided to set up camp in a clearing an hour’s ride from the destroyed village. It was getting cold, as winter was beginning to set in, and a fire became necessary to keep them warm at night. They worried about being spotted so they kept the fire small with a few hot coals rather than large bright flames.

  They ate a meal of hot oats, dried venison, and chunks of a strong tasting Finarthian cheese they had taken from the slavers. Taleen cooked up some potent aromatic tea and they sat around the fire discussing what they had seen earlier.

  “We must be getting close to Tarsis if minions of the Forsworn are patrolling the area,” Taleen said thoughtfully as she sipped her tea.

  “I’m not sure, but you may be right. Kilius, do you know how far Tarsis is from here?” Jonas asked the young villager.

  “Not exactly, sir. I have never been to Tarsis.”

  “My best guess is that we are a week’s ride from Tarsis,” added Jangar. “It is possible that the Blackhearts are crawling out of their holes now that Tarsis is destroyed.”

  “Blackhearts? What do you mean?” asked Fil.

  “Followers of the Forsworn, that is what we call them,” said Jangar.

  “Are there many Blackhearts in the area?” asked Taleen.

  “I don’t know. But we were always told stories of witches and warlocks who lived in the mountains. My father told me that Blackhearts were everywhere, hidden amongst the populace, doing their evil whenever possible,” Jangar said as he sipped his warm tea.

  “And now that Tarsis is no more, and the cavaliers are gone, they are becoming bold and more aggressive. Is that what you mean?” asked Fil.

  “I do. It makes sense to me, but what do you mean that the cavaliers are all gone?” asked Jangar. “We are presently graced with two sitting before us.”

  “He means that we are the only two left, that Malbeck has spent the last two years hunting and killing cavaliers,” Jonas stated.

  “Ulren’s star, that cannot be,” muttered Myrell.

  “I’m afraid it is,” added Taleen.

  “How will we defeat them? Without the cavaliers we are lost. What can mere men do against such odds?” asked Kilius, shocked by the news.

  “I don’t know, but the good people of Kraawn will find a way. We have to,” added Jonas weakly.

  They were all silent for a moment, their minds wandering, bringing up images of what they saw at the village and what they might soon be facing.

  Finally, Taleen spoke up. “Jonas, if we are a week’s ride from Tarsis we may find the king sooner rather than later.”

  “If he still lives,” Fil said somberly.

  “He lives.” Jonas said. “Tulari can sense him and I can feel the connection through him. Shyann has linked Tulari to the king, how, I do not know, but he is alive. I agree with you Taleen. I would think that he would be moving south quickly, directly towards us, cutting our travel time in half.”

  “But we
cannot be sure of that,” Taleen replied.

  “No, we can’t, but with Tarsis gone, he has but few options. South is the direction I would go. We must stay vigilant. The closer we get to the king means the closer we get to our enemies. They are hunting him just as we are.”

  “Let’s just hope we get to the king before they do,” said Kilius.

  ***

  Jonas held himself perfectly still, his knees balancing steadily on his elbows and his mind drifting within himself. His torso was bare, but the cold breeze could not penetrate his mental state.

  He had awoken early, the sun not yet climbing out of its nightly hiding place, and had decided to practice Ty’erm in the cool morning air. The scene at the village had shaken his nerves and he needed to meditate, to calm his inner being and refocus his energy.

  He had been resting in the position of power for forty five minutes and yet it seemed like only a few moments. Finally, his mind gradually returned to the present and he slowly lifted his legs straight in the air. He stood on his hands perfectly still, his fine-tuned muscles keeping his body straight and rigid. Finally he pushed up with his hands, bringing his feet under him in one smooth motion.

  He walked over to his twin sabers that were leaning against an old rotten log and unsheathed them smoothly. It was still dark, but the rising sun was painting a streak of pinkish light over the craggy peaks of the Tundrens, just enough light to see his surroundings. He raised both blades straight up above his head, taking a deep breath. Then he brought them down quickly, moving from one sword form to another. He started off slowly, focusing on every move. Then he began to pick up his speed, moving from one sword position to another with lightning quick, precise, movements. His body was glistening with sweat despite the cool air that surrounded him. Leaping and spinning, his swords wove an intricate pattern of death around the clearing.

  He kept up his pace for half an hour until finally he stopped his movement just as quickly as he had begun it, both swords aimed at the sky and his body fully erect. He breathed deeply, as sweat dripped from his forehead. He slowed his breathing and relaxed his body just as he heard a quiet clapping behind him, followed by a melodic voice.

  “Very impressive.”

  Jonas turned to see Myrell sitting on a log intently watching him. She was beautiful despite her dirty and disheveled appearance. Her clothes were too big and her leather armor was mismatched, making her look every bit the mercenary, but her face was clean and her tanned skin as smooth as an infant’s. Her green eyes sparkled with energy and her wavy brown hair was pulled back, tightly wrapped with a strip of leather.

  “I have never seen anything like that,” she continued. “Where did you learn to do that?”

  “From a friend, a great swordsman,” he replied, moving towards the log she sat on to retrieve his shirt.

  “He must be.”

  There was a moment of silence as Jonas pulled his shirt over his head and sheathed his blades.

  “Why did you agree to take us with you?” Myrell asked bluntly.

  Jonas sat down on the log next to her, wiping the sweat from his face with the edge of his shirt.

  “I’ve asked myself that same question several times,” he replied.

  “And?”

  “I could relate to your desires, to your predicament. I understood your reasoning…and your pain,” he added, looking into her beautiful eyes.

  “And what are my desires?” she asked softly. Jonas looked away from her for a moment before returning to her questioning gaze.

  “Revenge, I should think. You want to avenge your family and your town. To stand up to those who do evil.”

  “And?” she urged.

  “To feel useful in the struggle. To do something, anything, to help balance the fight.”

  “You see a lot, Jonas.”

  “It is not so hard to see, to empathize. My family and my village were also destroyed, killed by boargs over three years ago.”

  “I’m sorry. I did not mean to bring up painful thoughts,” she said, gently touching his arm.

  “Do not concern yourself. It is good for me to think about my mother. I don’t want to forget her.”

  Myrell smiled at him warmly, both becoming silent for a moment, thinking about their parents. After a few minutes Myrell looked back at Jonas.

  “Can you teach me to use a sword? My father taught me a little, but most of his time was spent with Kilius and I’m afraid I am not very good.”

  Jonas grinned at Myrell.

  “What’s so funny? Do you doubt my ability to learn?” she said with mock anger.

  “No, I was just thinking back to a time when I asked the same question to someone else.”

  “Who was he? A cavalier?”

  “She; she was a Blade Singer.”

  “A Blade Singer? You were trained by a Blade Singer?”

  “Not really trained. When I was fifteen my village was destroyed. Fil and I were traveling to Finarth to join the king’s army. We met a caravan on the way and there was a Blade Singer traveling with them. She taught Fil and me a few positions, that is all.”

  “You are full of surprises, Jonas.”

  “More than you know,” Jonas laughed, standing up from the log. “And yes, I will give you some training, but let us pick up camp and be moving. Time is pressing and we must find the king.”

  ***

  Tandris moved quietly through the brush, his sharp eyes scanning the forest around him as he moved slowly south. Four other Tarsinian scouts were near, bringing up the rear of King Kromm’s small force. He was a knight, a position achieved through years of hard work, not by possessing royal blood. But he had learned to hunt and track as a young boy, taught by his father, a well-known hunter who had provided meat for the royal family, at least until he had died over ten years ago. It was this connection to the royal family that had enabled him to get sponsored when he was fifteen. His tenacity and skills allowed him to achieve knighthood by the time he had reached his twenty fourth winter.

  The king had set scouting lines behind him as he moved his small force south. Tandris led one group, while two other groups were flanking him east and west. Their goal was to watch for pursuit and warn the king if need be. They were several hours behind the main group. Tandris and the rest of the scouts wore only leather armor, allowing them to move faster and be more invisible in the forest undergrowth. They all carried short swords and long bows, and each man had also been handpicked for their skills as woodsmen. Though Tandris felt somewhat vulnerable without his gleaming plate armor, he did like how light he felt. He was so accustomed to wearing the heavy armor that when he didn’t have it on he felt like he could fly, like he was lighter than the air around him.

  A sudden noise jolted Tandris to attention. Coming from his left, it sounded like something running through the undergrowth. He halted in mid-stride, his senses alert, listening intently. Sure enough, he heard it again, and he began racing silently through the forest, leaping over logs and brush, stopping every few moments to listen, as he picked up the sound again. The noise continued to his left. Tandris knew that Pyell’s group was in that direction, but there was no way of knowing who, or what, was making the noise. Tandris continued to leap and dodge from tree to tree until finally he saw a form flying through the brush with no attempt at stealth. Tandris recognized the man’s gait, and ran after the fleeing form.

  The man was fast, but not as fast as Tandris. He had not won the foot race four years in a row at the king’s games for nothing. He was the swiftest man in Tarsis and it wasn’t long before Tandris was close enough to see that the racing form was indeed Pyell, tall and lanky with long straight hair, black as oil. Tandris raced to intercept him. Pyell was running so frantically that he didn’t notice Tandris until he was nearly on top of him.

  “Pyell!” yelled Tandris, “What is it?”

  Pyell, leaping away from Tandris, frantically drew his long sword, an expression of terror on his sweat covered face. That’s when Tandris n
oticed the blood on his shoulder and the crude black shaft protruding from it.

  “Tandris! Orcs, they are near! Morg and Dillion are dead! We must warn the king!”

  At that moment the underbrush suddenly parted and three more scouts emerged from the woods. It was Ballin, Finn, and Chondis, each gripping their longbows, sweat dripping from their brows.

  “We heard the commotion. What is it?” asked Chondis, a big blonde haired archer who could move with surprising stealth for one his size.

  “Orcs are upon us! Pyell is wounded, and Morg and Dillion are both dead. How far back are they, Pyell?” asked Tandris, trying to calm the agitated Pyrell by using a more reassuring tone.

  “Not far, and they are moving fast. These orcs are larger and quicker than any I have ever seen,” Pyell gasped, trying to catch his breath.

  As if on cue, an ominous rumbling reverberated through the ground at their feet. They looked back as the sound got louder.

  “Pyell, how many orcs?” asked Finn, nocking an arrow.

  “I’m not exactly sure. I think it was a scouting party, maybe ten.”

  “Tandris, you have to get to the king,” Pyell continued weakly, sagging slightly from loss of blood. Tandris reached out, catching him before he fell.

  “I will not leave you.”

  “You must. I cannot run much further, and you are the fastest of us all. You know it to be true. It is an order.”

  Tandris looked to his comrades, not wanting to leave them, but Pyell was right, and he did out rank him.

  “Tandris, you must leave. We will hold them back as long as we can,” added Finn, his face stern and determined. Chondris nodded his head in agreement and Ballin confirmed the order with a friendly pat on Tandris’s shoulder.

  “Run for us all, my friend,” Ballin replied, jumping up on a fallen log to get a better view of their surroundings. “We will keep them at bay for as long as we can.”

  As the sounds became louder, it became clear that something quite large was crashing through the forest with no attempt at stealth. Ballin looked back, smiled reassuringly, before turning back to the threat. “Here they come,” he said, as he quickly drew his bow back, took aim, and fired.