The Cavalier

by Jason McWhirter

  Jonas, splattered with Fil’s blood, screamed for his friend, a furious anger consuming him. He charged the demon, his god light flaring brighter as his anger surged through him. The Greever hissed angrily as the bright light stung its eyes, forcing the demon to retreat back several paces, covering its eyes with the tips of its wings. The Greever could hear the boy with the sword scream and a few seconds later he felt the minor stings of the sword as it cut its flesh several times. The demon swatted Jonas with its arm, its inhuman strength sending the boy flying through the air, smacking hard against the wall.

  “Ulren!!”

  The Greever turned toward the new challenge, a gigantic man wearing only leggings, charging from the door. His heavily muscled arms carried a glittering battle axe over his head as he charged. The Greever used its left wing tip as a spear and shot it toward the warrior’s midsection, hoping to skewer him. Graggis, a trained warrior and the best axe fighter in all of Finarth, used the flat side of the blade, deflecting the blow and coming in low at the demon. His colossal strength enabled him to easily wield the cumbersome weapon. He swung the axe sideways and across the beast’s right thigh.

  The beast howled with pain, stepping back from the magical blade, a deep laceration splattering black blood onto the ground. This weapon was no ordinary blade. The demon felt the dwarven magic sting its flesh and it hissed with anger and pain, sending both clawed hands out simultaneously, tearing long deep cuts across the man’s chest.

  Blood poured from the wounds and Graggis stumbled backwards. More men rushed in through the door with weapons drawn. The Greever sensed that these men were battle hardened warriors, some of whom might possess magically forged weapons as well. The demon looked at Jonas’s body crumpled on the floor and back at the men who were flooding into the dark room.

  Graggis, seeing the demon turn its head toward the boy, lifted his axe over his head and threw it with incredible speed and strength. Somersaulting fifteen paces the axe slammed into the beast’s chest. An eerie howl of pain erupted from the demon as it stumbled backwards. The axe head was buried deep in its chest and the pain was unbearable. With a quick flick of its clawed hand the Greever ripped the weapon from the wound, shuffling backwards away from the knights.

  It would take too long for this wound to heal. Its inert magic would be unable to quickly seal a wound inflicted by a magical weapon. The demon could probably kill the boy and the larger warrior, but it knew not what it faced with the rest of the men. The mission could wait. With an angry howl the demon pivoted, racing down the body strewn barracks and leaped out the back door into the night. The beast used its powerful legs to jump into the air, unfurl its wings, and fly into the protection of the darkness. The Greever howled again in anger. The hunt would have to wait for another day.

  Graggis was kneeling on the bloody floor using his strong thick arms to hold up his weight. His chest was badly torn and blood was pouring steadily from the wounds to pool on the stone floor.

  Lathrin and a handful of knights moved toward him, fanning out into the room, their swords drawn and their faces reflecting disgust and despair as they viewed the carnage clearly for the first time. Most of the knights were wearing leggings and night shirts and not much more as the alarm had awakened them from their slumber. The room was dark again. Jonas’s light had been extinguished when he hit the wall, but several of the knights had brought lanterns and they raised them to get a better look at their surroundings.

  “What in Bandris’s name happened?” asked Lathrin, scanning the terrible scene, his eyes wide with horror. Lathrin and his men were warriors who had fought in many battles, had seen men killed and had experienced the horrors of the battlefield. But this was beyond their imagination. Everywhere, weaponless boys were ripped and thrown around the room like pieces of a rag doll. Body parts and blood were everywhere. Lathrin stumbled forward in shock at the death and destruction around him. “What was that beast?”

  “I don’t know. It looked to be a demon of some kind. The beast was attacking the boy, Jonas, when I arrived,” Graggiss muttered through gritted teeth as he slowly stood, pain lancing through his body. Lathrin dropped his sword reaching out to stabilize Graggis’s massive body.

  “Get a healer in here! Now!” screamed Lathrin. “Dagrinal, report this to the king and warn the castle if they have not already been alerted.”

  “Yes sir!” Dagrinal, wearing only his night tunic and breeches, raced out the door with his long sword in his hand.

  “Sir,” Graggis said.

  “Yes.”

  “The boy, Jonas, he was glowing when I came in. A white light was shining from him, keeping the demon at bay. It was God Light, like that from a cavalier.”

  “What! Are you sure?”

  “I am,” whispered Graggis, stumbling to the ground, his strength finally sapped from loss of blood.

  “Get the healers now! And someone get some priests in here!”

  ***

  Jonas slowly opened his eyelids letting his tired eyes adjust to his surroundings. They focused slowly and he saw that he was lying in a large bed. The room was big and richly decorated. His vision swam and the scene blurred; his head throbbed in pain. Dizziness overwhelmed him and everything went black again.

  “Jonas.” He heard his name whispered as he tried to shed the darkness from his mind.

  “Jonas.” It came again and he slowly opened his eyes to see Manlin, high priest of Shyann, sitting at his bedside. The priest’s face showed concern as he looked down at him.

  “Where am I?” asked the weary boy.

  “You are well. You are in the king’s personal chambers. I am Manlin, do you remember me?”

  “Yes, you are a high priest to Shyann.”

  “I am. Good. Do you remember what happened?” the priest asked.

  “It is all a blur.”

  “It should be. You suffered a massive injury to your head and several broken ribs. Do you recall what happened?” the priest asked again.

  Jonas closed his eyes thinking. His head throbbed painfully as he tried to remember what had happened. Jonas suddenly opened his eyes, the memories rushing back to him, and tried to get up. He was very weak and it was easy for the priest to hold him down. “Fil, where is he? Is he alive?” Jonas asked fearfully.

  “Yes, he is alive. Barely. But he will make it. He is as tough as mountain stone, but he would have died if we hadn’t gotten there to heal him. He was rapidly losing blood from two deep wounds in his shoulders.”

  “I remember now. A demon attacked us. The beast killed many of my friends and speared Fil with two spikes from its wings. Then it was all a blur. I think I was thrown against the wall or something. Why was I not killed?” asked Jonas.

  “Graggis and a handful of knights ran into the room just as the beast flung you against the wall. Graggis fought it and sent it away, but he suffered serious wounds in the fight.” Manlin saw Jonas about to ask about Graggis when he interjected. “Yes, Graggis will be fine. I healed him as well.”

  “That is good. Thank you, sir,” muttered Jonas gratefully.

  “Thank Shyann.”

  “I already have,” whispered the exhausted boy.

  “Can I ask you a question, young man?”

  “Of course, I owe you my life.”

  “You owe me nothing. It was Shyann that saved your life. How did you raise the God Light?”

  “You know?”

  “Yes. Several of the apprentices that survived said they saw it and Graggis confirmed it.”

  Jonas hesitated a moment, thinking about what happened. “I don’t know. The beast was killing my friends and I didn’t know what to do. Then I felt an energy rise up inside me and when I concentrated on it I began to glow. The light penetrated the darkness and it got brighter the angrier I got. That was when the demon charged me.”

  “Did the demon shy away from the light?” asked Manlin.

  “Not at first. After the demon attacked Fil I remember screaming in anger and that’s w
hen the light flared so brightly that the demon backed up, shielding its eyes and hissing as if the light stung it. That was when I attacked it with the sword that I had. The blade did nothing and it simply swatted me aside to hit the wall. That is all I remember.”

  “I see,” Manlin said thoughtfully.

  “Manlin, why did my blade do nothing to the demon? And Fil threw a spear that went all the way through it. The demon just ripped it out and tossed it aside. We could not harm it.”

  “A demon that powerful can only be harmed by magic or magical weapons. That is why your light affected it and Graggis’s battle-axe hurt it. His axe was a gift from the king and it was enchanted by the dwarves who crafted it. A great gift for his courage,” added Manlin.

  “How did I bring forth that light?” asked Jonas.

  “I don’t know, son. The light you called upon was God Light that only a cavalier can bring forth. Even I cannot call it. I have never known Shyann to sponsor a cavalier, nor have I ever heard of someone being able to bring forth the God Light unless they were trained as a cavalier at Annure or another kulam.”

  “What’s a kulam?” Jonas asked.

  “They are training facilities for cavaliers. There is one in Annure and several more west of the mountains.” Manlin paused as he looked at Jonas. “It seems that Shyann has her own plans for you, Jonas. Now get some sleep. We will talk again later.”

  ***

  Jonas awoke several hours later to loud voices outside his door. He sat up in bed just as his door opened. The king quickly walked in followed by Graggis, Prince Baylin, Prince Nelstrom, Lathrin, and Manlin.

  “Ah, Jonas, I’m glad that you are awake,” the king announced as he approached his bed. Jonas tried to get up to pay his respects but the king waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Stay in bed, young man, you have been through a lot.”

  The king was wearing a blue tunic with gray breeches and draping his shoulders was a blue cape lined in silver. His tunic was embroidered with the silver symbol of Finarth. Dangling from his side was his amazing sword, the blade that was created to replicate his ancestor’s ancient weapon, the one that destroyed Malbeck the Dark One.

  Jonas looked at the others as they all looked back at him uncertainly; all except for Prince Nelstrom who averted his eyes. The prince’s eyes were red and swollen, with dark circles under them as if he had not slept. He wore his customary black clothes with silver thread. He did not look well, thought Jonas. Then it struck him; did Torgan, the prince’s son, make it out of the barracks alive?

  “I’m glad that you survived, son, but we need to ask you some questions. Will you please tell us your account of what happened,” asked the king, who, Jonas noticed, also looked bone weary.

  Jonas looked around at the solemn men and took a deep breath as he began his story. It took several moments to relate the events up to the point where he was knocked out.

  “It was your chest that warned you again?” asked the king.

  “Yes.”

  “That is the third time now?” asked Prince Baylin.

  “It is.”

  “It seems that these attacks are not just coincidence. They are obviously directed at you, Jonas. You have made powerful enemies,” continued the prince.

  “What have I done, sir? Why would I have these enemies?”

  “It is not you who have made the enemies, but Shyann the Huntress, and Ulren the High One,” added Manlin. “Shyann has picked you, for whatever reason, to be her warrior, to wield the light of Ulren. When someone is singled out like you, then you will certainly attract Shyann’s enemies. It is possible that all the attacks you have been through have been because they were after you, even the attack on your town. Did you ever wonder why everyone was killed when your town was attacked? If the boargs were just there to feed it seems likely that others would have survived. It also seems likely that maybe Shyann had a hand in shielding you from the boargs. I do not think that a Banthra and hundreds of boargs came to your town to feed. I think they came to kill you, to kill someone who they knew would eventually be a threat to their cause. You are a chosen one; it is obvious to me.”

  “And to you alone, priest! He is a lucky commoner who was healed by Shyann, and that is it!” spat Prince Nelstrom. “He is no chosen warrior! He has not even been trained at Annure.”

  Jonas was so focused on what Manlin said that he ignored Prince Nelstrom’s outburst. The idea that he brought the destruction on his town and Landon’s caravan was too much to bear. His heart ached with guilt and his mind fled from the thought.

  “And yet he can bring forth God Light. Can you explain that, my Prince?” Manlin said sternly.

  Prince Nelstrom drew his sword and in a blur had its razor’s edge resting on the priest’s neck. Manlin’s eyes widened with fright and then refocused with determination.

  “Don’t ever talk to me like that. I am your prince. Do you understand?”

  The king stepped toward his son, sternly looking him in the eye. “Put your sword away, Son. We are all sorry for your loss. Torgan’s death has hurt me too, but it was not the priest’s fault,” the king said.

  “No, it wasn’t. It was his fault,” whispered Prince Nelstrom, glaring at Jonas, his hatred so palpable you could almost feel it.

  “No, it was a demon that killed your son. A demon that was sent by someone, someone that we will find,” the king said forcefully.

  “A demon sent to kill Jonas. If he were not here my son would still be alive,” the angry prince countered.

  Prince Nelstrom and the king locked stares for several seconds. Finally the prince removed his sword from the priest’s neck, sheathing it in one smooth motion. The prince glared at Jonas one more time, and what Jonas saw in those eyes chilled him to his bones. It was a look of despair and death. It was as if he were looking at the very thing that had killed his son. Finally, breaking his gaze, the prince stormed out of the room.

  “How many of my friends died, sir?” asked Jonas quietly.

  “Nineteen boys were killed, including Torgan. It was a grave night and Finarth will suffer for it for many years to come. Most of those boys were the elite of very powerful families, and all were young men, who no doubt would have become an integral part of the strength of Finarth. They all were a great loss,” stated the king solemnly.

  Jonas turned his face away, trying hard to hold back the powerful emotions assaulting him as he thought about the loss of so many of his friends. He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears. Eventually anger and determination pushed aside his despair. After a few moments he opened his eyes, searching out Graggis who was standing in the back.

  “Graggis, sir, thank you for coming to my aid. I would be dead now if you had not,” Jonas said.

  “It is my duty. I am only sorry that I did not get there in time to save more of those boys,” Graggis replied.

  “Sir,” Jonas directed his gaze to Manlin. “Do you really think that the Banthra that attacked my town was after me?”

  “I don’t know, but remember, it is not your fault. We cannot control what evil things happen. We can only do our best to stop them. In fact there is irony in the good deeds done by others. When one does the bidding of righteousness, it attracts the eyes of darkness, which may bring more evil into the light. That, in turn, requires more warriors to fight it. It is a dangerous balance where light and dark are constantly struggling to push the other below the surface. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir,” replied Jonas quietly.

  Prince Baylin moved toward Jonas sitting on the edge of his bed. The prince wore a forest green tunic and black breeches. His muscled arms stretched the seams of his tunic. “Son, there is a problem,” the prince said softly.

  “What is it?” asked Jonas sitting up higher.

  “Although it is not true, many people here, including some of the apprentices and the families of the slain boys, think you are to blame, that you brought this evil upon us,” replied Baylin softly. “Everyone is talking about how
you brought forth the God Light. They don’t understand it, and rightly so. When people don’t understand something, they fear it.”

  “I see. In some ways I guess they are right. If I had not been here the demon wouldn’t have attacked, and all those boys would be alive. I should leave,” Jonas stated bluntly.

  “It is not that simple, but,” he paused looking away briefly, “you can no longer train as a knight apprentice,” the prince said, bringing his eyes back to Jonas.

  “But,” interjected the king, “I have sworn to protect you as my vassal, as you have sworn to protect me, and I do not take those oaths lightly. It is no fault of yours that tragedy has befallen us. In fact it is our fault. Allindrian warned us that this may happen and yet we did not take proper precautions. I am sorry for that. For some reason, someone, or something of great evil wants you dead, and I assume it has something to do with Shyann and her interest in you. I cannot have you stay here, nor can I send you away alone.” The king got up, pacing in thought.

  “What should I do, my King? Tell me and I will do it. Many people have died because of me and I will not let their deaths go unanswered, nor will I be the cause of further unnecessary death. I am determined to fight this darkness, my Lord. Whatever evil fate awaits me, I will face it head on, alone if need be,” Jonas said evenly.

  The king stopped and looked at him. Jonas noticed that he looked even more tired than when he entered the room. His weary eyes were laced with red, surrounded by dark coloring from lack of sleep. But they still held the intensity that Jonas noticed when first they met. “Well said, and spoken with courage, which by all accounts you do not lack. You are now seventeen winters, right, son?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “In one year you will be eligible to apply for training as a cavalier at Annure. That means we need to find a place for you for a year. I will not abandon you. In fact, I am asking a favor from a friend that I have not seen in a long while, someone that can protect you and continue your training,” the king informed him.