The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 02 - The Rise of Malbeck

by Jason McWhirter

  “How do we save him? How do we get it out of Jonas?” Fil asked, his eyes pleading

  “I know not, young warrior,” Falstis replied sadly.

  Everyone was silent, taking in the priest’s words. Fil looked around desperately, hoping someone else would have an answer.

  Finally Falstis spoke up. “You need to get him to a kulam. The priests there might know what to do and they may have the combined power to counter whatever evil magic has befallen the young cavalier.”

  “Then that is what we will do,” Kromm said with determination. “This young man saved my life, and my family’s, and I will not abandon him. Besides, his mission was to get me to Finarth. We will go there directly and then send a convoy with Jonas to Annure.”

  “I will be a part of that convoy,” Fil said.

  “And I,” Allindrian added.

  “The dwarfs of Dwarf Mount will also be represented,” Durgen stated firmly.

  ***

  Jonas had not stopped fighting. He did not know where he got the strength, but somehow he kept his body moving. Demons perished all around him as his swords spun, cutting one foul beast after another. He had no concept of time. He could have been fighting for hours, or weeks, it was impossible to tell in this strange and surreal void.

  Then again, it was not his physical body fighting, but his mind. His muscles would have given out long ago, but here, inside his self, at least that is how he thought of it, he was fighting with pure mental strength, fueled solely by his unquenchable emotions. Overwhelming anger, extreme frustration, and cold determination were his weapons, and they were proving to be lethal to the unfortunate demons that encountered him.

  And as quickly as they had appeared, they suddenly disappeared, melting away into the void, leaving Jonas alone in the silence as he floated lightly above his glowing sphere of protection. Holding both blades at his side, his fiery eyes searched for more demons to kill. But none came.

  He waited for what seemed like an eternity, and still no demons reached out for him from the darkness. Slowly Jonas dropped to his knees, sitting cross legged above the glowing sphere. He then laid both blades across his lap and took a deep astral breath.

  “I will wait here,” he said calmly, holding true to his word. He would not enter the sphere again. He would wait, fight, or die, whichever came first.

  ***

  Everyone spent that day and night getting cleaned up, eating, and finally getting a good night’s rest. Scouts had brought word the following night that a huge army, one led by the Dark One himself, was marching in their direction. This force would arrive at Cuthaine’s gates in less than a month.

  Kromm tried to urge the council to flee the city with the Free Legion and take as many refugees as they could to Finarth. The Free Legion army of eight thousand would be no match for the massive horde that Malbeck would bring to their gates. But they refused to shirk their duty to protect the city. They would not abandon the very people they swore to protect, leaving them to the ravages of Malbeck’s minions.

  No amount of persuasion could change their minds, and the group left the following morning with heavy hearts. The high council gave them food and horses for the trip, but they could not offer an escort. Nor did Kromm request one, as he knew that they would need all the men they could muster if they were to fight Malbeck.

  Falstis gave them the shroud of Ulren and it seemed to keep Jonas suspended in a state of deep sleep. He did not move or open his eyes. He could not eat or drink. And though his friends were terribly worried about him, his breathing was regular and he looked no worse for the wear.

  ***

  One week into the trip to Finarth, Fil was sitting up late into the night holding onto Jonas’s hand. He looked down at his friend’s inert form, taking some comfort in his slow and shallow breathing. The moon was bright and the air brisk, but the cold could not distract Fil from his worries. He looked up, scanning the tall snow covered peaks of the Tundrens and thought back to the momentous and tumultuous experiences he had shared with Jonas. Fil missed his village and his family. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would have been like to have grown into a man in Manson, his village that had been destroyed four years ago. It all seemed so long ago.

  Fil sighed, looking back down at Jonas. “Don’t worry, my friend, I will not leave you. I will not abandon you.” He gripped Jonas’s hand tighter, lifting his sad eyes back to the towering mountain range. The desolate peaks were painted with the moon’s blue glow, but the beauty did little to lift the sorrow from Fil’s heart.

  Epilogue

  Tuvallis lurched up from his fur blankets, sweat dripping from his forehead in warm rivulets, disappearing in the deep confines of his heavy mustache and beard. He had been dreaming, a nightmare really, a city burned in the shadows of a cloud covered moon, while monsters howled, attacking defenseless women and children in the streets.

  But something else had awoken him, tearing him from his disturbing dreams. He was lying in his bear fur blankets, sheltered by a thick timbered lean-to covered with dried brush to keep out the snow and cold. Tuvallis was a hunter and trapper, living off the meat and skins of the many animals that called the northern Tundrens their home. He had a more permanent cabin several days hike from the town of Manson, but he had constructed a number of temporary shelters throughout the mountains that he used during his long hunting trips. It was in one of these shelters that he now slept.

  It had been over four years since the town of Manson had been destroyed, forcing Tuvallis to leave his cabin and venture further from the town, closer to other mountain villages where he could trade his furs and meats. He never stayed in one place long enough to take the time to build another cabin. He missed his old home. It was the only place that he had called home over the last fifteen years. Something evil had destroyed the village of Manson, murdering all its inhabitants to the last man, all killed except for two young boys, who, for all Tuvallis knew, were likely dead by now. He had moved further down the mountain, staying several months at a time in makeshift camps, trading his furs and meats with the various villages scattered amongst the Tundrens.

  But something evil was definitely stirring. Monsters and other strange creatures were coming out of hiding, crawling from under their rocks and migrating east, down the mountain passes, as if drawn by some powerful dark force. Tuvallis had seen more orcs, ogres, and boargs over the last few years than he had seen the first fifteen years he had spent in the mountains.

  He was a light sleeper, always tuned to any unusual noise that might signal danger, and he had heard something, sounds that had jerked him from his nightmare. That was another strange occurrence…he was having more frequent and vivid nightmares, so real they were like waking dreams. He could not put his finger on it, but something strange seemed to be happening to him. But he didn’t have time to process the meaning of the dream as he was again alerted by the sounds of something large moving outside his shelter. He had built a basic lean-to up against a rock face. That way he was protected on one side by the high cliff, forcing any attacks to come at him from one side only. A heavy elk skin hung from the opening to keep out the night chill and hold his body heat inside the small sleeping chamber. There was only one way in, but that meant there was also only one way out.

  Tuvallis ripped off his sleeping fur and gripped the handle of the long sword that was lying next to him. His bow was nearby as well, as it always was, but it would be useless in the tight confines of his shelter. For that matter, so would his sword. So he drew the long hunting knife that he carried on his hip and listened intently for any more sounds. It could be anything…a deer, raccoon, or elk, but it could also be an orc scouting party or a pack of boargs, the latter worrying him more as they were excellent night hunters.

  Without warning something jumped onto the shelter above and behind him. He spun around and rammed his long sword straight up through the timber and brush covered roof, hoping his sword would find a gap through the thick logs. But luck was not with
him and he felt his sword thud into a log. Whatever was on the roof was large and heavy as the logs began to bend and crack under its weight. Tuvallis backed up closer to the entrance as he withdrew his sword, readying it for another strike. Then he felt an iron grip on his ankles, and before he could even think of reacting, something yanked him through the opening and out into the darkness faster than he thought possible. Whatever it was, it must be incredibly strong, as Tuvallis was a head taller than most men and weighed nearly as much as an orc. Though wide in the shoulders and barrel chested, the years of hiking and hunting the Tundrens had kept his muscles toned and strong. He was a fast, powerful, yet silent hunter for one so large. Tuvallis could be a deadly adversary.

  As he was pulled through the opening, he turned his torso and rolled onto his back, his sword arm swinging out in a deadly arc. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the night, the faint glow of the moon penetrated the tree tops above him, revealing his attacker. It was a boarg.

  Boargs were deadly animals that inhabited the high peaks of the Tundren Mountains. They resembled the form of a man, but their arms were longer than their legs, enabling them to run on all fours at great speeds. Their gray fur was short and thick and their large bony heads resembled that of a boar, hence the name. They were equipped with an array of deadly weapons…long razor sharp claws, teeth and jaws that could crush a man’s skull, boar-like tusks, and heavy curved horns. They were twice as strong as a man and capable of breaking bones with little effort.

  Tuvallis watched his sword close the distance, but then he felt a powerful jerk on his leg as the beast tossed him to the side, yanking the tip of his sword away from its neck. Luckily though, his blade connected elsewhere, cutting a shallow gash across the beast’s chest as Tuvallis tumbled down a slight hill and crashed into a tree trunk.

  He quickly regained his footing, his sword and dagger held protectively before him. The darkness made it difficult for him to see, but he silently thanked Bandris, the god of warriors, that the moon was out and the sky was devoid of the heavy clouds that often covered the Tundren peaks. He could not see well, but he could make out the two bulky figures that were now flanking him. Quickly scanning the area he could see no other attackers. It must be a scouting party, Tuvallis thought, and not the entire pack. Again he thanked Bandris. With two boargs, he had a chance, but with an entire pack, it would have been useless.

  Both boargs rushed him, their growls echoing off the high rock wall. Tuvallis threw his knife overhand into the boarg on his left while leaping toward the other boarg, his body pivoting to the side, and his sword slashing out toward the powerful beast. He heard a grunt from the boarg to his left but had no time to survey the damage caused by his dagger. His long sword cut the other boarg across the forearm as the angry beast swung its powerful arm towards him. The boarg howled and withdrew its arm from the stinging bite of the blade, giving Tuvallus a quick moment to reverse the direction of his blade and cut the boarg a second time across its shoulder.

  Tuvallis, with the wounded beast on his heels, ran up the hill with two great strides, reaching higher ground, while, out of the corner of his eye, he saw the second boarg ascend the slope just to his left. Instinctively, Tuvallis reversed direction, leaping off the high point of the hill, soaring toward the boarg to his left with this sword pointing down for the kill.

  The boarg, with Tuvallis’s knife embedded in its belly, and totally caught off guard, merely stared at the descending blade until it was too late. Tuvallis, landing on top of the astonished beast, rammed his sword through its chest, all the way to the hilt. They both tumbled to the ground and Tuvallis, releasing his grip on his sword, rolled out from under the dead beast.

  A growl alerted Tuvallis that the last boarg had followed his lead and jumped off the rocky high ground toward him. He was still on his back and he looked up just in time to see the massive shadow of the beast fall towards him. Quickly, he rolled out of the way, his hand reaching toward his ankle where he kept his last knife.

  The boarg landed where he had been, but, as quickly as a hunting cat, jumped again at Tuvallis who was now just to its left. Tuvallis kicked up violently with his right leg and connected solidly with the boarg’s knee, knocking its leg out from under him. Catching itself with its long arm, the boarg roared in anger, its leg injured but still holding its weight.

  Tuvallis was now up and holding his knife before him, a rather pitiful looking weapon to use against such a formidable beast. But in the hands of Tuvallis it could be lethal. The boarg roared again and reached out with its long arm, hoping to grab Tuvallis and yank him towards its deadly tusks. Instead of leaning away from the attack, Tuvallis moved forward, veering at the last minute, narrowly avoiding the attacking arm. He was now right beside the surprised creature. In a flash he thrust his knife out and low, slicing the back of the boarg’s injured knee, severing tendons as it cut deeply into its flesh. The boarg howled again, this time in pain, and crumbled to the ground on its back. Before the creature could even think of defending itself, Tuvallis had fallen upon it, his knife flashing a second time, this time slashing across its exposed neck.

  The boarg jerked violently, knocking Tuvallis to the side, but the beast was in its death spasms as it instinctively reached up to its neck in a vain attempt to staunch the flow of blood. Within moments, as the blood pooled around the gagging beast, its thrashing had stopped, and the stillness of the night quickly returned, as if the violence had never happened.

  Tuvallis, panting with exertion, his body still shaking with the adrenaline of battle, stood up and scanned the darkness for more attackers. None came. Quietly, he collected his weapons and gear. If this was a scouting party, more boargs were sure to arrive. When they came, he would be gone. Tuvallis looked down the gentle slope. Something inside him urged him down the mountain, a trek he had not made in a long time.

  With a final look at the dead beasts, he hoisted his pack, and began his long journey out of the mountains

  The End of Book Two

  Book Three,

  GLIMMER IN THE SHADOW

  Coming Soon!

  About the author

  Jason McWhirter has been a history teacher for eighteen years. He lives in Washington with his wife, Jodi, and dogs, Meadow and Macallan. And yes, their new puppy was named after one of his favorite scotches. He is a certifiable fantasy freak who, when he wasn’t wrestling or playing soccer, spent his childhood days immersed in books and games of fantasy. He’d tumble into bed at night with visions of heroes, dragons, and creatures of other worlds, fueling his imagination and spurring his desire to create fantasies of his own. When he isn’t fly fishing the lakes and streams of the Northwest, or wine tasting and entertaining with his wife and friends, he spends his spare time sitting in front of the computer writing his next novel or screenplay.

  Glossary

  Ru’Ach: An elven word used to describe the source of all life…thought of as a river of energy that created all things.

  Kulam: Training facility for cavaliers.

  Ekahal: An elvish wizard

  IshMian: Elven name for a cognivant, a person gifted with mental powers. Little is known of this power but the gifts range from telekinesis, ESP, to mind control.

  Ty’erm: Sharneen term used to describe a meditative state.

  Akron: Military term that means a thousand men.

  Modrig: Military term that means five hundred men.

  Ludus: Military term that means two hundred and fifty men.

  Pandar: Military term that means fifty men.

  Nock, or Nocking: The nock is the end of the arrow that has a crevice for the string. To nock an arrow is to put an arrow to string.

  Telsirium: A form of magic use where the wizard can use the energy of the things surrounding him/her. The energy can be accessed quickly but only in small amounts, contrary to accessing the Ru’Ach directly, which gives the wizard as much power as he or she can control.

  Kufura: Training facility for Blade Singers locate
d deep in the Aur’urien Forest.

  The Silvarious: Elite group of elven rangers whose job is to patrol and protect the borders of the Aur’urien forest.

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  The Rise of Maldeck

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Epilogue

  The End of Book Two

  About the author

  Glossary

  Table of Contents

  Dedication

  Acknowledgements

  The Rise of Maldeck

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Epilogue

  The End of Book Two

  About the author

  Glossary