The Cavalier

by Jason McWhirter

  Suddenly the prince felt a sharp pain in his back. He screamed and spun around, yanking a sword from a tribesman’s hand. As he spun he sent his axe flying through the air into the neck of the surprised warrior. The man’s body slumped to the ground as his head flew through the air to land among the fighting warriors.

  Then he felt another pain on the back of his leg, causing him to fall to his knees. Holding his axe with one hand, he swung the mighty weapon blindly as he tried to spin his body around. The blade hit an orc’s knee, shattering it and causing the howling monster to fall to the ground.

  Baylin dug deep for the strength to fend off the foes moving in from all directions. He again yelled, “Finarth!” and jumped to his feet, swinging his battle axe and cutting into the orcs and tribesmen that surrounded him. He saw no Finarthian warriors nearby.

  He was alone for this fight.

  Taleen had finally broken through the rear of the enemy ranks. Her legs and her horse had sustained some minor cuts but nothing that needed healing immediately. She saw Jonas, his light marking him like a beacon, near the top of the hill, a lone rider there to meet him. She urged Kormac forward and he followed her demands instantly, launching them up the grass covered hill.

  As Jonas moved closer to the horsed man he could better make out his features. He wore a black cape that was lined in red cloth and it had a sinister look to it as it billowed in the breeze behind him. His horse was as dark as night and its coat glistened like black blood. The man’s long dark hair fluttered in the breeze, and his piercing green eyes shone with confidence. He carried no weapon other than a long staff made from some dark wood, with a carving of Gould’s eye at the end. The center of the eye was white, in stark contrast to the black wood.

  Jonas drew another arrow from the quiver at his side and nocked it to string. The man did not move even as Jonas drew the powerful bow back. As Tulari closed the distance between them, Jonas saw the man smile just as he released the shaft.

  His arrow shot toward the wizard with great speed, but just as the arrow was going to take the man in the chest, it stopped, and flew back at him with the same tremendous velocity.

  It all happened in the blink of an eye and Jonas could do nothing as his own arrow took him in the chest. The pain was intense and the force of the arrow knocked him from Tulari’s back. He landed hard, the shock of the attack causing his light to disappear.

  Jonas gasped in pain as he struggled to get up, his own arrow shaft buried deep just below his right shoulder. His lung had been punctured and he was struggling for air as blood filled his chest. He got to his knees as he coughed up blood onto his hands. He heard, rather than saw the horse gallop up to him.

  “A repel spell, one of my favorites,” the evil wizard said calmly.

  Jonas glanced up, slowly regaining his footing, sharp pain shooting through his right arm and chest. His right arm hung useless. Despite the intense pain, he calmed his mind and drew one of his blades with his left hand.

  The man laughed as Jonas struggled to steady himself. “Go ahead, young cavalier, attack me. Even your mighty weapon will not save you now.”

  Jonas felt his strength slowly dissipate as his lung continued to fill with blood. Healing himself would be impossible while the arrow was still embedded deep in his flesh, and he did not have the strength to pull it free. He was running out of time, and he knew it.

  He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the man’s face. He was middle aged, his hair was peppered with gray and his tan skin wrinkled like tough leather. A dark moustache folded into a long trimmed beard decorated his chin. His green, deep set eyes were pools of malice.

  Jonas was desperate, but as he focused on the wizard’s eyes, he had an idea. He continued to focus on the man’s eyes, wrapping his energy around his brain. He had never used his cognivant powers in this way before, but he could think of no other option. He entered the state of Ty’erm to conquer his pain and center his focus. Then he entered the man’s mind, wrapping it with tendrils of energy, constricting the tendrils with the power of his own mind. It all happened in a few heartbeats. The wizard didn’t know what hit him.

  How does that feel? Jonas asked within the man’s mind.

  The wizard grimaced with pain as he brought his hands to his head. His horse pranced underneath him as he struggled to stay in the saddle. Moaning with pain he dropped his staff.

  Jonas’s vision blurred briefly as the pain in his own head intensified from the use of his powers. The wizard was powerful, and it was taking everything Jonas had to continue the attack. But he forced himself to use any power he had remaining to concentrate on the task. He stumbled to his knees but kept his head up, focusing on the man before him, trying at all cost to crush the wizard’s mind.

  Suddenly two arrows slammed into the wizard’s chest, one after the other. The impact forced the man to fall backwards from his saddle and land hard on his side. As the wizard fell the mental link between the two was broken.

  Jonas was on all fours trying to stay conscious as the pain from his effort exploded in his head. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he desperately needed to rest.

  He looked up at the man sprawled out on the ground before him. He could clearly see the blue feathered arrows embedded in the man’s chest, and that quick vision forced a brief smile through the pain. The wizard’s repel spell must have dispersed when he attacked the man’s mind.

  “Are you okay, Jonas?”

  Jonas recognized Taleen’s worried voice behind him. He looked up just as she rode next to him. He forced a painful smile to reassure her.

  “I’m injured badly. I need healing…quickly.” He coughed up more blood as he fell to his back, his own feathered arrow protruding from his chest“In Bandris’s name, what happened?” Taleen cried as she quickly dismounted and rushed to Jonas’s side.

  “Remove the arrow and heal me and I’ll be happy to tell you,” Jonas gasped.

  Back among the hordes, Prince Baylin swung his axe in frantic strokes, hoping to keep the enemy away from him long enough to give someone time to come to his aid. His arm was tiring and he stopped momentarily as he noticed the orcs were no longer advancing.

  Just then a huge orc pushed through the ring of enemies to stand before the tired prince. The enemy warriors, including the tribesmen, looked to the colossal monster for their orders. The orc wore thick plate mail that covered his muscled body. He was abnormally wide, which gave him the look of a walking boulder. In his right hand he carried a thick wood handle capped with a long chain. At the end of the chain was a heavy spiked ball of steel. The weapon, called a morning star, was large and cumbersome, but the massive orc carried it with ease. The beast’s yellow eyes narrowed with malice as it stepped closer to the exhausted prince. “You are Prince Baylin,” the orc growled. “I am Ongessett, war leader of the orcs.”

  Prince Baylin was bleeding from several wounds and his arms felt like they were weighted down by rocks. He took a deep breath and stood up tall, holding his magnificent axe before him. “I do not banter with orc scum,” he growled back, launching his body forward, the sharp point of his axe leading the way.

  Ongessett lifted his morning star, one hand grasping the handle while the other grasped the chain near the ball, using the thick chain like a staff to block Prince Baylin’s weapon. The orc chief moved quickly for someone so large. He stepped back as he deflected the prince’s axe with the thick chain of his awesome weapon. The orc continued the momentum of his parry, attempting to bring the heavy spiked head of the weapon down on top of the prince.

  Prince Baylin continued forward, the heavy spiked ball slamming into the ground near him leaving behind a deep divot. He shifted his grip on the handle of his axe and rammed the razor sharp blade into the orc’s chest. But he could not find a seam in the beast’s armor and his blade slid across the armor harmlessly. The orcs armor was clearly enchanted as it so easily turned aside the prince’s powerful axe.

  The orc growled, bringing its le
ft mailed fist down on top of Prince Baylin’s head. He tried to dodge the powerful blow but his tired body wasn’t reacting. But the orc’s fist missed Baylin’s head and crashed instead into his shoulder. The power of the blow popped his shoulder from its socket. He screamed in pain and stumbled to the ground. Frantically he glanced up, struggling to get away, but all he saw was a large steel toed boot crash into his face. Teeth and blood erupted from his shattered jaw as he flew backwards to land heavily on the trampled ground. His vision blurred and darkness enveloped him as he heard the Orc chief’s words.

  “Do not kill him.”

  Then all went black.

  The fighting throughout the battlefield was intense. Dagrinal used all of his skill to stay alive. He had no idea how long he was fighting when suddenly an orc before him shuddered in death and was launched to the side like a rag doll. Standing in the beast's place was Graggis, his bloody axe held before him. He was covered in dirt and blood but he did not seem hurt. Within moments they had killed any enemy nearby.

  “Where is the prince?” stormed Dagrinal over the cacophony of the battle.

  “I know not! I lost him when we hit the giants!” roared Graggis in reply. “We must find him!”

  Suddenly a horn sounded above the din of battle.

  “That was not ours!” yelled Dagrinal.

  As they spoke they noticed the decimated enemy troops start to pull away, leaving an exhausted Finarthian force standing amongst the dead. Dagrinal and Graggis pushed their way through the tired soldiers.

  “The prince, where is the prince!” yelled Dagrinal. The exhausted soldiers could barely stand up, but they immediately began searching for their prince. The men parted as Dagrinal and Graggis quickly moved through the ranks, looking for some sign of Prince Baylin amongst the living, or the dead.

  Graggis found the body of the boy that had saved him. His face and upper body were crushed and his neck was unnaturally twisted. Graggis knelt by the boy and gently closed his eyes. “You’re a brave boy, and I count myself lucky to have fought next to you. I look forward to buying you a drink in Ulren’s great hall.” Graggis shook his head sadly before he stood up and looked up the hill towards the retreating enemy forces.

  “It looks like they are retreating for the day,” Graggis said.

  “I think I know why,” replied Dagrinal softly. He held up a weapon for Graggis to see. In his hands was Prince Baylin’s axe. “I found it over there,” Dagrinal continued, indicating to his right, “but there was no sign of his body.”

  “You think he was captured?”

  “That would be my guess. The absence of a body means that he is not dead on the field. And if they captured him then they must want him alive, at least for now,” added Dagrinal as he grabbed a nearby soldier. The warrior was tired and covered in blood, but other than that he was not injured. “What is your name?” asked Dagrinal.

  “Fulren, sir.”

  “Fulren, find third lance Lathrin and inform him that Prince Baylin is missing. Have him search the nearby area.”

  The man’s face reflected his shock at the grim news, but his posture straightened as the importance of the mission infused him with new energy.

  “Yes, sir! Right away!” The warrior sprinted away, searching the ranks for Lathrin.

  Graggis grabbed Dagrinal hard on the arm. “Dagrinal, if he is captured…” Graggis did not finish the statement. “We must get him back. There is no telling what they will do to him.”

  “I know, my friend, I know.”

  Just then two horses galloped toward them. It was Jonas and Taleen. Jonas was tired but Taleen had healed him completely. Even the hole in his armor was gone. They were both covered in blood, luckily only a small amount of it was their own.

  “Why are they retreating?” asked Jonas.

  Both men gazed at the horse with open admiration.

  “I don’t know, but I’m glad to see it happening,” Graggis replied. “Well met, Jonas. It is good to see you so well.”

  “And you, Graggis. This is Taleen, cavalier to Bandris.” Taleen nodded her head in greeting.

  “Taleen, I shall thank Bandris for your sword,” Dagrinal said smoothly, quickly redirecting his gaze to Jonas. “Jonas, the prince has not been found, and his weapon was lying among the dead.”

  Jonas sat back in his saddle at the distressing news. Prince Baylin had done a lot for him and he respected the man immensely. The news made him sick, the thought of what the enemy might do to him if he were captured caused his stomach to churn with anxiety. He clenched his teeth in anger.

  “Then let us withhold the pleasantries and find him.”

  The large tent of the king had been set up in a lightly forested glen far enough from the battlefield to be secure, but close enough that the progress of the battle could be relayed quickly to the king and other commanders whose job was more logistical than physical. The king’s tent was made up of heavy red cloth held up by long straight pine trees. It stood out from the rest of the encampment and it was surrounded by the king’s personal guard. Four burly soldiers holding halberds stood before the entrance. They moved aside quickly as they saw Dagrinal, Graggis, and the two cavaliers move briskly toward them.

  The spacious tent was empty except for a huge table in the middle surrounded by ten heavy wood chairs, and the king’s sleeping furs that were stacked up in the corner on a large mattress of goose feathers. King Gavinsteal sat on the edge of his bed while a priest of Ulren removed the bandage on his head. The king’s wound had disappeared, the priest obviously having done his job. The king looked up as they approached.

  “My King, how are you feeling?” asked Dagrinal with concern.

  “I am fine, just a nasty gash and a bad headache, nothing serious,” the king said as his gaze moved to Taleen and Jonas. He smiled broadly. “Jonas, it is you. My men told me that two cavaliers had arrived killing the Banthra and the Naz-reen priests. That is good news! I am very glad to see you.”

  “Likewise, King Gavinsteal, I’m glad you are well. Are you in need of any healing?”

  The king glanced at the old priest by his side. “No, Hondris here has taken care of me. The gash is no longer and my head is now beginning to clear, but I thank you nonetheless. Hondris, this is Jonas, and by the looks of it he is a cavalier to Shyann.” The king’s last words were stated as a question.

  “I am, my Lord, sanctioned by Annure and Shyann herself. It is a pleasure to meet you, Hondris, priest of Ulren.”

  “The pleasure is mine, young cavalier,” replied the old man as he turned to face Jonas.

  “When we have more time I would like to hear what has happened with you. But right now we have a war to win,” the king said as he stood up from his bed.

  “Very good, sir. Lord, this is Taleen, cavalier to Helikon. She has come to help where she may.”

  The king slowly approached Taleen and extended his hand. “Thank you, Taleen. Helikon? Are you from the west, beyond the Tundrens?” the king asked, shaking her hand warmly.

  “I am, King Gavinsteel. I am from Osrigard. Helikon sent me here to help Jonas.”

  “Very good, your presence gives me hope. Thank you for being here,” he said sincerely.

  “Thank Helikon,” replied Taleen, releasing the king’s grip.

  King Gavinsteel smiled broadly at the beautiful warrior. “I will do that,” he said, sitting down in a large wood chair and looking around for his son. “Where is Baylin, where is my son?”

  Dagrinal looked down at the ground momentarily before returning his gaze to his king. He felt to blame for not staying closer to the prince during the battle and he had a hard time looking his king in the eye. The king spent his life reading men, and he could see the pain and sorrow in Dagrinal’s eyes before he even said anything.

  “My Lord, we found Prince Baylin’s axe among the dead,” Dagrinal said, reaching behind him as Graggis handed him the prince’s axe. Dagrinal held the axe before him as the king stood up slowly, his eyes wide with shock.<
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  “Did you find his body?” asked the king, his voice shaking slightly.

  “We did not, my Lord. He may have been captured,” answered Dagrinal.

  The king stood up straighter at the news that is son might be alive. He walked briskly forward and took his son’s axe from Dagrinal’s grasp. “Then he must be alive. We must find him! Send out a messenger now, I will pay whatever price they demand.”

  “Very well, my Lord,” replied Dagrinal as he glanced at Graggis. Graggis nodded his head and walked from the room to find a messenger.

  The king sat back down and tried to push the grave news away and focus on the task at hand. He laid his son’s axe on the table and looked at it momentarily before he spoke. “How did we fare, Dagrinal?”

  “We did well, my King, considering. Jonas killed the Banthra which helped us greatly. It is even possible that the army will not continue to fight without the Banthra and the Naz-reen priests.”

  “And if they do? How many men have we lost?”

  “The numbers are still coming in, but I believe we’ve lost more than a third of our infantry and at least an equal amount of our cavalry.”

  The king shook his head sadly and sighed deeply, the pain of those losses sitting heavy on the tired monarch. “What of the enemy?”

  “I do not know. Most of our scouts have not returned. The ones that did reported that a large army still rests beyond the hills past the Lindsor Bridge. I would imagine that most of the orcs and ogres that are still alive will not fight without the Banthra there to force them. There are still a few hill giants, but who knows who controls them. We cannot be sure of anything at this point.”

  “Sir, if I may interrupt?” asked Jonas.

  The tired king looked at Jonas. “Go ahead, Jonas. You’ve earned the right to be rid of formality in my tent. What is it?”

  “Sir, we have brought someone with us who may be able to help.”