“You are right, Captain, but it will give them confidence, something they desperately need at the moment.”
“It will be done!” the captain replied, seeing the logic in his words.
“Good work, Captain. I will leave you to your task.” Kiln turned his horse around and galloped toward the castle. There was still more work to be done, there always was.
***
Alerion stood before the great mirror preparing for the spell. The mirror was a magnificent artifact, one given to him by Durthilliam, a council member at Shyval. Every great court wizard had a similar mirror, magically enabling the wizards to travel to Shyval, which was over a month away, in just a few moments. Alerion did not have the power to teleport such great distances, but he could enact the magic in the mirror to create a very powerful teleportation spell, creating a link to a replica of the mirror in Shyval. Despite the great distance to Shyval, he could arrive within moments using the mirror. Once there he could travel to Mynos by boat in a day. He had to hope that somewhere in the records at Mynos there would be a clue to help unravel the riddle.
He spoke the words of the spell slowly and accurately as he looked into the mirror. He saw himself in the mirror until he finished the last word of the spell. Suddenly his image rippled as if the surface of the mirror was water, then it quickly faded to black. He was in complete darkness, but his eyes were still open.
Then, in just a few blinks, light came flaring back at him and he found himself looking into the mirror again, but it wasn’t his mirror, but another just like it. And he was no longer standing in his room, but in a much larger room with high ceilings and smooth ivory colored walls draped with great tapestries. The room itself was rounded, with no sharp points or angles anywhere to be seen.
Alerion had been in this room before. The wizards at Shyval called it the Room of Arrival, for it was where the court wizards would arrive when using the mirrors. It was the highest point on the giant tower and there were four round openings leading outside to look out over the battlements and the water that surrounded the tower. To the west was the Sardast Straits, to the north the city of Tiarg, and the east and south faced Milnos Bay and the lands of Mynos.
“Welcome, Alerion, it has been a long time,” came a voice from behind him. Alerion recognized the voice, turning to face the wizard with a warm smile.
“Tuathone, it is good to see you as well. You have aged little since I saw you last.”
Tuathone was one of the leaders of the council and she had been at Shyval for a long time, over two hundred years. She was a powerful wizard whose magic had kept her alive beyond the life span of a normal human.
But she did, indeed, look ancient, and she took Alerion’s comment for what it was, a jest towards the obvious. They had joked about her age many times and she knew there was no malice in his words. Her long gray hair was pulled back and tied with a silk ribbon into a bundle. Her robes were stark white, contrasting sharply with the sky blue strip of cloth that draped her neck and hung down to her waist. It was a mark of her high rank at Shyval.
Shyval has no allegiance to any kingdom in the lands, but it did have its own order. The council’s job was to rule the tower and control the vast amounts of power that the wizards controlled there. Wizards came to Shyval at young ages to learn the ways of magic. They signed a pact in doing so, that they would live at Shyval and never use what they learned for personal gain or power. Many agreed to this contract, for the knowledge and power they had access to here was beyond what most wizards could access and maintain on their own. It became their base for learning the laws of magic. But many rulers of Kraawn often jockeyed for access to this power, and the ruling council was needed to make the decisions necessary to maintain their neutrality.
“What brings you here, Alerion, you have the look of urgency about you,” asked Tuathone, dismissing Alerion’s previous comment with a smile and wave of her hand.
“You are very perceptive, counselor. I wish to speak with the council and then travel to Mynos immediately.”
“Sounds important, my friend, but I cannot gather the council on such short notice. Councilman MyGathin is away and he will not return until tomorrow. May I suggest that you go to Mynos first and I will assemble the council for when you return?”
“That will do,” replied Alerion.
“Come,” motioned Tuathone, “Let us eat a warm meal while I send a messenger to Mynos to inform them of your arrival. I will have a boat prepared for you immediately.” The wizard turned and ambled toward a set of stairs.
“Your generosity is appreciated,” replied Alerion, as he followed her down the stairs.
***
Three large fires burned brightly in the mountain clearing. King Kromm, still unconscious, was surrounded by his men who were eating their food and seeing to their wounded. The Blade Singer was warming her hands by one of the other fires as Durgen the dwarf and Dandronis were discussing the day’s events next to her. The third fire was occupied by Myrell who was nursing Fil’s and Kilius’s wounds. Jonas was lying next to them, sleeping soundly within the warmth of several wool blankets.
Myrell had insisted that they build the fire by Hagar’s body. The ogrillian was alive, but barely. His heart beat slowly and faintly, but he had not recovered consciousness. They had very little material available to bind his wounds, nor were any of the men courageous enough to get anywhere near the beast regardless of his apparent vulnerability. Myrell had taken on the task herself as Fil and Kilius were still too tired to help.
It had taken her several hours and their own wool cloaks, but she had managed to stop most of the bleeding. The wounds were severe; the ogrillian’s flesh was ripped and torn, exposing bone in many places. She did not know if the beast would survive, but she owed him much. He had saved their lives.
“Blade Singer, tell me ‘bout de Hallows,” requested Durgen. Allindrian turned to face the two men who were now sipping soup made with salted beef, potatoes, and onions, almost the last of their supplies.
“The Hallows is a place of darkness, Master Trader. Everything there thrives on death and nothing of light lives there,” she replied, taking a bowl of soup from a Tarsinian warrior.
“Then why do we go there, Blade Singer? What is the advantage?” asked Dandronis.
“It is only great need that drives the undertaking. The queen and prince must be reached quickly. We believe them to be in Cuthaine,” she replied.
“But what good will come from it if we die in the Hallows? Death sounds imminent in that horrible place,” Dandronis countered.
“It will be dangerous, but I know the dangers of the Hallows and the path we seek. We can make it through alive. And if Jonas travels with us then we will have a greater chance.”
Dandronis looked over at the other fire to the still form of the cavalier before looking back at Allindrian.
“What do you know of him? He seems so young to be a cavalier.”
“He is young, Dandronis. His village was destroyed by boargs led by a Banthra. They were after him, but they failed to kill him. Airos, the cavalier, was sent there to protect him. He died, but he killed the Banthra in the process and Jonas survived. Jonas was only fifteen at the time and he escaped with his friend, Fil, the other young man at the fire with the girl,” she replied, glancing toward them. Dandronis and the dwarf both followed her gaze.
“I knew of Airos. He was a great warrior and friend to the dwarves,” Durgen interjected.
“Yes he was, Master Trader. I was traveling with a Tarsinian caravan at the time and we met Jonas and Fil on the road to Finarth. I do not feel at liberty to tell you his entire story, nor do I even know it all, but I knew even then he was on his way to becoming the first chosen cavalier when I met him, and it would appear, by the looks of it, that he has succeeded,” she replied.
“Chosen?” asked Dandronis.
“Yes, men and women who become cavaliers usually try to attain the honor through the process of testing and training that ca
n only be found at a kulam, but Jonas did neither. He was…chosen…by Shyann herself to become her warrior. At least that is what I am assuming. I have not been able to speak with him since he started his training as a Tarsinian knight almost four years ago, training that obviously was interrupted by some outside force for he does not wear the armor of a knight, but instead dons the metal of a cavalier. I can only assume that Shyann has had her hand in the boy’s growth, and that connection has also attracted her enemies for the Forsworn have surely been hunting the boy.”
“I see,” responded Dandronis thoughtfully.
“Will the cavalier be travelin’ wit us to de Hallows?” the dwarf asked bluntly.
“I do not know, Master Trader. His road is Shyann’s road, and I do not know the path she has set for him. We will find out after he has rested.”
***
Jonas awoke early the next morning. His head still ached and his body and soul felt drained. The only reason he slept at all was because he was so physically exhausted from the use of magic and his cognivant abilities. But the real drain came from the oppressive feeling resulting from Taleen’s death. He looked at his hands as he sat up from his blankets, and noticed that her blood was still caked under his fingernails. He couldn’t believe that she was gone. He was angry at himself, and at Shyann. Why couldn’t she give him the power to save her? Why did he live while Taleen died? It wasn’t fair that everyone he loved seemed to die around him.
Loved…he had never openly admitted it to himself, but he had loved her, or at least loved what he thought they could have had. She was an incredible woman who had devoted her life to helping people and battling those who wished to do harm. And now she was dead.
Jonas rubbed his tired eyes and glanced over to the nearby rock face. Her body was wrapped in several blankets. He didn’t want to have to see her again, but he had a duty to perform. She needed to be buried, and he would perform that task today.
Jonas stood up next to the dying fire. The sun was just beginning to rise over the mountain peaks and its light was slowly creeping into the clearing. Many of the men were still sleeping in the dawn light but Jonas could see a few starting their morning tasks.
Myrell was asleep next to her brother. Kilius looked better. His cheeks were showing a more rosy hue, in contrast to the pallor of sickness. Jonas would need to take another look at him now that he was rested. Fil was just to their left, sleeping soundly.
But first he needed some food. When they had left their horses they had taken small packs with them, each filled with essential rations, wool sleeping blankets, tinder boxes, and a few other supplies. Jonas found his pack and quickly consumed some salted ham and a big chunk of cheese, washing it down with cold mountain water. He was still exhausted, but the food revived him somewhat.
Jonas stretched his back and buckled on his sword belt. Then he turned and walked the fifteen paces to Taleen’s body. He looked down at her inert form and images of her began to dance through his head. He saw her when they had first met, fighting the Greever, and when they traveled to Annure. He could picture her face when Tulari, his steed, had arrived just outside of Finarth. Images of her fighting at the Lindsor Bridge dominated his visions. They didn’t know each other for long, but they had formed a bond of friendship forged through combat and a common purpose. She had helped him understand what it meant to be a cavalier.
He could not stop the tears that began to cascade down his face. As he slowly wiped them away he decided he would bury her here, in the clearing. It was a beautiful place and a fitting spot for someone as magnificent as she.
“Can I help carry her?” a voice whispered behind him.
Jonas, turning around, saw a tall warrior with a shaved head.
“My name is Dandronis, of the king’s men. I am sorry for your loss, Cavalier,” he said sincerely.
“Yes,” Jonas replied, wiping away the tears from his red eyes, “I could use your help in moving her body. I’d like to bury her over there, next to the rock face,” Jonas replied, indicating the spot he had chosen.
Dandronis nodded his head in agreement. “It is a fitting spot for a cavalier.”
Jonas dug a shallow grave and covered her body with the many rocks that littered the area. He took her sword and rammed it into the ground at the base of her cairn. Then he draped her holy symbol, a silver chain with a pendant embossed with Bandris’s mark, over the crosspiece of the blade.
“May Bandris guide you,” was all he could say. He had already said his goodbye to her during the many hours it had taken him to construct the grave. All of the men looked upon the scene with sorrow. They wanted to help but they knew that Jonas needed to prepare her resting place on his own. For some reason, Jonas didn’t mind that Dandronis gathered rocks for him, laying them nearby so he could arrange them as he wished. The man seemed solemn himself, like he could empathize with Jonas’s pain, and the simple task of gathering the stones seemed therapeutic for the tough warrior.
When Jonas was done he closed his eyes, praying to Shyann, asking her to protect her and telling her what a magnificent person she was. His eyes were closed but he still saw something flash, and felt a vibration in the ground around him.
“Ummm…Cavalier,” he heard Dandronis say in amazement.
Opening his eyes he saw that her cairn had melted into a stone sarcophagus. It looked like a roughly hewn stone coffin submerged into the ground, looking like it had been there for hundreds, if not thousands, of years. Her sword and religious symbol had turned to stone, as well, and was embedded into the stone sarcophagus, the top of which was engraved with the mark of Bandris, the double bladed battle axe. Jonas was speechless.
“What happened?” he stammered to Dandronis.
“While you were praying there was a single bright flash. It was strange because there was no noise. After the light subsided the cairn looked as you see it. She has been honored it would seem,” Dandronis finished, his voice clearly impressed. “I wish I could have met her.”
The men standing nearby, seeing the bright flash of light, came over and surrounded them, staring in awe at Taleen’s cairn. No one spoke. They looked upon the beautiful sarcophagus in amazement. It looked so out of place in the mountain setting, and yet at the same time it seemed as if it had been there for a very long time, as if it were part of the surrounding rock structures.
The men said a few prayers for Taleen, and then departed to bury the rest of the dead, leaving Jonas to his thoughts.
Myrell stood near Hagar’s body, anxiously watching his shallow breathing. He had still not awakened, and his heartbeat had become fainter, a slow rhythm she could barely feel when she laid her hand on his blood splattered chest. The dark wool cloth that was wrapped around his terrible wounds glistened with the wetness of his blood.
“How is he?”
Myrell turned to see Jonas approach. His red eyes were rimmed with dark circles. Myrell knew he was exhausted. The fight had obviously drained him mentally and physically.
“He lives. Jonas, did you see what he did?”
“Part of it.”
“He saved us. He killed that beast. Is there something you can do?” she asked pleadingly.
“I will try, Myrell. He deserves that, but he is so big and I am still so tired. I cannot risk losing consciousness again as we must leave this place soon.”
“I understand.”
Jonas moved next to Hagar. His body was so large that he could easily place his hands on the beast’s shoulders without bending over. Jonas took a deep breath and began to pray to Shyann. Her warm energy flooded his body and Jonas pushed it into Hagar. It was like a slow moving river, and Jonas directed the flow into the ogrillion, moving the healing magic to the most serious wounds.
In his weakened state Jonas could not sustain the healing for long. He quickly found the sources of bleeding and healed those first. Hagar’s body was so massive that that task alone strained him to the edge of his current abilities. Quickly he shut off the flow, releasing
his hands from Hagar’s still form.
Jonas sighed heavily, taking a deep breath of cold mountain air before opening his eyes. He was dizzy and very tired, but he felt good about helping the beast, even if it was a minimal attempt.
“Will he be okay?” Myrell asked.
“I do not know, Myrell. I could only stop the bleeding. If he is strong enough, he may survive. It is all I can do,” Jonas said sadly, his eyes wandering over to Taleen’s cairn. He turned and walked away without another word.
The day was spent hunting and gathering food as they waited for King Kromm to awake. After some warm food, Jonas had completed the healing of Fil and Kilius. They were now up and about with only a bit of soreness and scarring left behind. He had also taken a look at Allindrian, healing her beyond what her own meager healing magic could do, fixing her shoulder completely, which was the most serious of her injuries.
Jonas then laid his hands on the king to look for any further injuries or signs of early infections. He sent Shyann’s power into him a second time, scouring his body, concentrating on finding the injuries he may have missed the first time.
Kromm’s heart was beating strong and there was no evident infection. Jonas sent more energy into the king’s wounds, finishing the job that he did not have the energy to do the previous night. After a few moments he lifted his hands, opening his eyes to many eager faces.
All the warriors were standing around him, including the Blade Singer. They were all looking at him with apparent concern.
“He will be fine,” Jonas said as he stood up. “He should awaken shortly.”
“Thank you, Cavalier,” Dandronis said, relief evident in his voice.
Jonas nodded, and walked away, deep in his own thoughts. He had better be worth it, Jonas thought, the anger at losing Taleen on this mission overwhelming his thoughts. Fil, who had been there watching, turned and followed Jonas as the rest of the men and women watched them leave.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck Page 17
