The Cavalier

by Jason McWhirter

  Kiln moved next to him. “Did you feel that, Jonas?” he asked.

  “I did. I think it was some magical barrier that we crossed.” Jonas stepped around to the backside of the tree where the deer had disappeared. He slowly ran his hand over the bark of the tree. Jonas felt the magic within the tree hum and pulse with life. It was an incredible feeling and his body felt alive. A sense of calm surrounded him and a flood of warmth surged through his fingers and into his body. He tingled everywhere and he had an overwhelming feeling to laugh, which he did. The scent of lavender filled the clearing and the gentle chirping of small forest birds created a peaceful symphony of sound.

  As he neared the back of the tree he noticed a large opening at the base of the trunk. It was shaped like an inverted V and at the bottom of the opening was a set of stone steps that went down, underneath the oak’s root structure. The deer was nowhere to be seen.

  Kiln approached him. “Do we go down?” he asked.

  “Yes,” replied Jonas, mesmerized by the magic of the place.

  Jonas led Kiln down the dusty stone steps. Vines and roots draped the walls as they went deeper into the ground. The air smelt of wet moss after a morning rain. The passage was dark, but as they stepped from the last step onto a stone floor, the room instantly lit up as torches ensconced on the walls flared brightly.

  Kiln looked at Jonas in surprise.

  “It’s okay. We are supposed to be here. No harm will befall us in this place. Don’t you feel it?” Jonas asked, his eyes scanning the room.

  “I do. I just wanted to make sure that you felt it too,” answered Kiln with a smile. There were six torches lighting a round room about twenty paces in diameter. The floor was covered with thick dust and completely empty except for a massive stone sarcophagus resting in the middle.

  “Is that what I think it is?” asked Kiln.

  “I think so,” replied Jonas in complete awe. He slowly stepped toward the stone coffin. The entire structure was carved with intricate designs. On the lid was etched a beautiful oak tree that looked similar to the mark on Jonas’s chest. The sides of the stone coffin were covered with carvings of Ulren’s four-pointed star. The work was intricate and the lines graceful and smooth, obviously the work of a master craftsman.

  Jonas put both his hands on the coffin closing his eyes in prayer. He recognized the gift that they were given in being allowed to see this place and he wanted to thank Shyann for the honor she had given them.

  “Jonas, look,” Kiln said with wonder.

  Jonas opened his eyes to see a shining silver set of chain mail lying on top of the coffin. The metal shirt sparkled in the torchlight like diamonds. Resting on top of the chain mail was a metal breastplate that was covered with Shyann’s silver and blue oak tree. The symbol was perfect, the lines clean and fluid. The blue and silver sparkled in the light, causing the cuirass to glow as if it were alive. There were metal greaves, faulds to cover the hips, wrist guards, thigh guards, and shoulder plates. Each piece of the armor had a mirror like finish and was covered with intricate etchings of Shyann and the High One.

  There was also a leather belt that carried two magnificent swords. The handle of each blade was carved from the horn of a deer and capped with shiny steel. The scabbard was hardened black leather enforced with polished steel and covered with intricate carvings and runes. The belt buckle was shaped in the image of the silver and blue oak tree of Shyann. The polished metal sparkled with beauty.

  Next to the chain mail shirt was a long black bow and a quiver of matching arrows with silver and blue feathers. The leather quiver was lined with silver and stamped with more symbols, some of which Jonas recognized as Ulren’s and Shyann’s symbols, as well as others that didn’t look familiar. The tips of the bow were capped with carved white deer horn and the handle was also deer horn wrapped in black leather.

  The item that really caught his eye was the silver helm resting at the head of the coffin. There were two deer horns jutting from the shiny steel. The entire helm gleamed and every inch of it reflected the god-like presence that Jonas felt when he gazed upon it. Jonas just gazed in awe at the treasures, his mouth agape.

  “Where did all this come from?” Jonas asked.

  “When you touched the coffin, they just appeared,” answered Kiln, moving a bit closer. “Is this really Shyann’s grave?”

  “Yes, it is. I can feel it. I can sense her all around us.” Jonas reached out and grabbed the handle of one of the blades. It felt warm to his touch and the handle felt like it was made to fit his hand. He slid the blade out with one smooth motion. The metal rang and hummed as he held the sword up in the torchlight. The blade was polished silver and curved slightly at the end. Both sides were razor sharp and there was writing etched in the middle of the blade.

  Jonas brought the blade closer to his face so he could get a better look. He felt the power pulse within the sword and the energy vibrated in his head. The sword was extremely light and perfectly balanced. Jonas looked at the script carved into the blade. He recognized it as elven and he tried to pronounce it.

  “Tanaii…”

  “Tanai’ Kay Des-tai,” interjected Kiln as he stepped closer to analyze the blade.

  “What does it mean?” Jonas asked.

  “It is elven. It means the path of righteousness, a fitting saying for a blade. I think your goddess has given you some powerful weapons, Jonas.”

  “Should I take them?” Jonas asked, unsure.

  “Yes. All cavaliers are given weapons by their god when they pass the tests at Annure.”

  “But I have passed no tests,” Jonas said skeptically.

  “It seems that Shyann does not care. Take the gifts, Jonas,” Kiln said.

  Jonas looked at Kiln who was nodding his head in affirmation. “Go ahead.”

  Jonas slid the blade back into the scabbard and laid down the sword belt. He lifted off his traveling cloak, tunic, and old mail shirt and dropped them to the floor. He then noticed that in a neat pile near the armor were new breeches made of dark fine leather, along with a blue tunic made of the same soft material. There was also a long shirt made of thick soft cotton, and black leather boots that laced up to the knees. They were magnificent, fit for royalty, and Jonas quickly discarded his old clothes for the new. The leather and soft cloth felt warm and comfortable as they caressed his skin. He reached out and lifted up the shiny chain mail shirt. It was light and warm to the touch as well.

  “It is so light,” Jonas said in wonder.

  “It is magic. You will barely be able to feel that shirt and yet it will stop a spear thrown by a giant. A magnificent gift,” Kiln said.

  Jonas dropped the sparkling shirt over his head and it seemed to shrink to his form, looking like a normal shirt of metal. It was so light that Jonas could barely feel it. Next he put the breastplate over his head and buckled it at the sides. It, too, fit perfectly, as if it were made for him. He buckled on his shoulder guards, greaves, and wrist guards. He put his new tunic in his backpack and lifted his green traveling cloak from the floor and put it back over his head. He then unbuckled his old sword and buckled on his new ones. The twin blades hung lightly at his side and the belt fit him perfectly.

  Lastly, he reached out and grabbed his new bow and quiver. He buckled the quiver to the side of his pack and held the long black bow firmly in his hand. He felt magic within the bow as well, and the grip fit his hand perfectly. There was no doubt in Jonas’s mind that these were indeed gifts from Shyann.

  “You are looking more and more like a cavalier every day. Now all you need is your steed,” Kiln said with a smile.

  Jonas looked down at his breastplate, his swords, and his bow and grinned from ear to ear. “This all feels so right, like they were made for me.”

  “I think they were, my friend.”

  Eight

  Startling Events

  Lathrin, third lance of the Finarthian Knights, led fifty of his knights off the main road towards the farm. A report had come in seve
ral days ago that there was a massacre at one of the farm settlements near the outer limits of the king’s land. Lathrin and his men were sent out immediately by the king to investigate the attack.

  Lathrin led the column of knights toward a lone farmhouse, their sparkling lance tips flashing as the setting sun shone against the jostling weapons.

  A middle aged farmer wearing old worn out clothing approached them as they neared his home.

  “Good day, sir, I am Lathrin, third lance of the Finarthian Knights. We have come to investigate the massacre,” he said as he stopped his warhorse next to the man.

  The man eyed the soldiers uneasily before replying. “Two days ago in the middle of the night my family and I heard horrible sounds, like a battle of some sort. There was screaming and horrible screeches, sort of like a wild animal. But it didn’t sound like any animal I had ever heard. We saw a very bright light shine in the field but it didn’t last long. We didn’t know what it was. But in the morning I took my sons out into the field to investigate and saw the killings.”

  “How many dead?” asked Lathrin.

  “Four,” the farmer replied.

  “Where did this happen?”

  The man turned, pointing into a field beyond his house. “It’s a short walk away, just follow the fence line and you will see it. I don’t know what will be left now with the scavengers and all. Sir, it looked like one of the men killed was a priest or maybe a cavalier. I have never seen one myself but he carried Ulren’s symbol. I didn’t touch anything; it had the feel of evil.”

  “I see,” Lathrin replied. “Thank you. We will go have a look.” The farmer nodded and watched the horses thunder into the field.

  It didn’t take them long to find the carnage. Lathrin could see the four forms ripped and torn to pieces even at a distance. Their dark blood had soaked into the ground, staining the otherwise beautiful grassland.

  Lathrin dismounted and told the others to do the same. “Don’t touch anything,” he ordered his men. “Just look for any clues as to what may have caused this.”

  Lathrin walked to one of the corpses on the ground. A large buzzard flapped its wings angrily as he approached before it was forced to fly away. The body’s chest was ripped open and it was missing an arm. The man’s face had been torn off as well. Lathrin covered his nose from the stench as he knelt by the corpse. The dead man was a warrior, that much was obvious. His metal chest plate had been ripped off and thrown to the side and his sword was lying about ten paces away. Lathrin could see four deep cuts, like claw marks, covering his right thigh. It was obvious that claws and teeth of some sort ripped open the man’s chest.

  “What did this sir?” asked Pelimus, a veteran knight of twenty years.

  “A beast of some kind. Something big and powerful. What of the other bodies?”

  “Looks the same, sir. They were killed with tooth and claw. There are no other bodies about so whatever attacked them left no trace,” he said as he averted his eyes from the gruesome scene.

  “Sir!” yelled one of his soldiers.

  Lathrin stood up looking over his shoulder. About forty paces away one of his men was motioning for him. Lathrin and Pelimus jogged over to see what he was so excited about. “What is it, Caros?” asked Lathrin as he neared the warrior.

  “Sir, I think you should look at this,” Caros said as he stepped aside to reveal another corpse. Lathrin looked down at the body and saw another mutilated corpse, this body worse than the others. His entire chest cavity had been ripped open and his entrails spread over the grass. The body was clawed repeatedly until most of the warrior’s arms and legs had been ripped of skin and flesh, exposing white bone underneath. The only thing left untouched was the man’s face, and Lathrin knew that face.

  “I can’t believe it, that’s Hilius, cavalier to Bandris.”

  “I thought so,” replied Caros. “I found this lying nearby.” Caros held up a silver necklace carrying a pendant marked with Bandris’s double bladed battle-axe. It was the cavalier’s religious symbol. “What could do this to a cavalier, sir?” asked the uneasy warrior.

  “I don’t know, Caros,” Lathrin said kneeling next to the mutilated body and shaking his head sadly. They have been getting reports from scouts and travelers that cavaliers from Annure, Tarsis, and all the eastern lands of Kraawn, have been attacked and killed over the last year. The king had ordered his officers to keep the reports secret, but eventually word had spread through the troops and to the people of Finarth. It wasn’t long before it became common knowledge that something was hunting and killing cavaliers.

  The people were becoming frightened and restless and the king had no answers for them. The only thing they did know was that an evil was awakening; there was no doubt of that. The knights of Finarth had been constantly roaming the lands trying to find the killer, or killers, but to no avail. Whatever was killing the cavaliers was eluding them.

  “Bury these men,” ordered Lathrin. “Then we head back to Finarth. The king must be given word that another cavalier has been killed.”

  ***

  “How can this be!” bellowed the king, standing up angrily from the table. In audience was Lathrin, Prince Baylin, Manlin, high priest to Shyann, and Alerion, the king’s wizard.

  “I don’t know, my Lord, but I am not mistaken. I have met Hilius on several occasions. It was he, and he carried Bandris’s symbol,” replied Lathrin.

  King Gavinsteal turned around and looked up toward the back wall at the huge painting depicting the Dark One being defeated by his ancestor, King Ullis Gavinsteal. He gripped his sword handle tightly as he looked at the black figure of Malbeck. Is it possible that Malbeck is back?

  “Sir, if I may speak?” asked the aging wizard. Alerion’s head was bald and his chin was speckled with gray and black hair that was trimmed to a sharp point. The wizard wore an ordinary blue tunic and gray breeches, and at his shoulders hung a heavy blue cloak lined with expensive silk.

  “Of course, Alerion. What have you found out?” asked the king, turning back around to address the men.

  “My Lord, I have been exhausting all my power to try and gain information as you requested. I have magically contacted the court wizards at Annure, Ta-ron, and Tarsis. So far, there have been six cavaliers killed.”

  “How is this possible?” whispered Manlin. “Are you sure, Alerion?”

  “Yes, unfortunately I am. Lapeen, Tary’an, Osandris, Rian, Katliss, and now Hilius,” added the wizard.

  The king sat down heavily in his chair. “Katliss was slain? But he was the last first rank cavalier,” moaned the bewildered king.

  “I do not believe it. What could do this?” muttered the shocked priest.

  “It could only be a demon or beast of great power,” answered the wizard. “It could be the same one that attacked Jonas and the knight apprentices. All six of the cavaliers were killed in different locations, but in the same way. Also, I have received an urgent message from King Kromm.”

  “What is it?” asked the king.

  “It is reported that a large army is forming at Banrith castle,” Alerion continued. “Tarsinian scouts have reported that orcs, goblins, boargs, and other monsters have been pouring from the Blacklands and the Mazgar Forest by the thousands.” Everyone sat in silence taking in the wizard’s words.

  “Father, there can be no doubt now,” interjected Baylin. “Over three years ago a Banthra attacked a small village that happened to be the home of a small boy. Soon after that same boy was attacked on the road by a priest of Naz-reen and then attacked by a demon in our very castle. Now six cavaliers have been killed by a demon and a monstrous army is building in Banrith, the stronghold that used to be the home of Malbeck himself before he was killed a thousand years ago. Father, it is happening again. The evil in the lands is growing in power and preparing the road for invasion. What better way to do that than to take out the ultimate threat to them, the cavaliers who protect our lands from this evil.”

  The king sat silently fo
r a moment, contemplating everyone’s words. “Have we heard anything from Jonas or Kiln?” asked the king, looking up at Alerion.

  “No sir. No word.”

  Suddenly the chamber’s double doors burst open. Everyone looked down the hall to see a young soldier running toward them. He was dirty and sweaty and flanked by the door guards who let him in.

  The king got up immediately, moving toward the stumbling scout. “What is it, Tuarg?”

  “Sir, I’m sorry to barge in on you, but I have urgent news,” sputtered the man through panting breaths.

  “Go ahead, what is it?”

  “Sir, I was scouting deep in the flatlands along the Tuvell River when I saw an approaching army.”

  “What!” stormed the king in disbelief. “Who was it?”

  “Sir, they bore the colors of Lord Moradin, but there were Sithgarin tribes with him as well.”

  “How many?”

  “I’m not sure. We were spotted by boargs and Keltick was killed. I barely got away, but I think there must have been thirty thousand or so. My Lord, the Tuvell Garrison was destroyed to the man.”

  The perimeter of the king’s land was marked by several garrisons. These garrisons served two purposes, one, to protect the local people that lived in the king’s lands and paid taxes but were far away from Finarth, and two, to act as a warning bell to any approaching threat. These garrisons were located by the only bridges big enough to move an army over the expansive Sithgarin River

  “Bandris’s axe! We had five hundred men at that garrison!” the king roared. He moved back up the stairs to his throne and sat down heavily in thought. “Lathrin, call a war council. We meet in one hour.”

  “Yes, my Lord,” replied Lathrin as he got up from the table and strode down the long hallway and out the double doors.

  “Good work, Tuarg. Rest now and be ready to scout again tomorrow,” ordered the king.