Eternal Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “I'll call a surgeon,” Boradin said. “Hadde will stay with you.”

  Orlos shook his head trough the fit. “No,” he gasped. “Nothing they can do.”

  “You can rest. We'll take you to your chamber.”

  “No. Must talk to Hadde.” Orlos clutched her Token in his withered fist. “I must speak to it,” he said as the coughing subsided. Tears trickled down his cheek. Hadde tentatively reached out and wiped one away with the back of her palm. His skin felt hot to her touch.

  “You're warm,” she said.

  “It's nothing.” He smiled up at her as he cupped her necklace's pendant in his hands. Closing his eyes, he sat in silence for a short time. Hadde stood beside him, her hand still resting on his back. The king retreated to his own chair, but his eyes never left the spiridus.

  “It wants to speak, but its voice is too weak,” Orlos said as he opened his eyes.

  “What does it mean?” asked Hadde. “What should I do?”

  “I cannot say for certain. When the spiridus were slain and Belavil destroyed, Landomere took a mortal wound. But it takes a long time for a forest to die. I don’t even know if the Token was meant for you. It could have rested in that Spiridus Glade since the War for the Orb. It might be you didn’t hear Landomere because the voice is too faint, or because you’ve too little spiridus blood.”

  “This isn’t what I want to hear,” Boradin said. “The Token must be a sign. It must have some meaning.” He stood and paced along the heavily laden shelf behind him. “Orlos came to us when the Orb was lost, and now you arrive, bearing the same Token. Is it a sign that the Orb has returned? If it has, I must find it.”

  “How do you even know it still exists, Your Majesty? The old stories say it was destroyed.”

  “There are many legends about the fate of the Three Gifts.” The king waved his hand at the shelves filling the room, as if the gesture would have some meaning to Hadde. “Not all say that the Orb was destroyed.” He nodded toward Orlos. “We think that the varcolac are proof that it still exists. We think, at some point Akinos, or one of his descendants, must have gained some control over the Orb and used it to create the varcolac.”

  “How could they be created?” Hadde asked. “How could such a creature simply start to exist?”

  “The Forever War ended when Helna the Creator banished herself and her two brothers.” Orlos said. “Her brothers begged her to let them each leave a gift behind to aid their followers. Helna knew her brothers had left weapons of great power, and that her brothers’ followers would continue the war until one side was victorious. Helna left the Orb in the care of the dragon, Agrep, commanding her to give it to the war’s victor.” He stopped and drew a deep breath. Hadde feared another fit.

  “Easy, Friend, I'll tell it,” Boradin said. He turned to Hadde. “Helna imbued the Orb with her own power. The power to create and give life. The Orb was to restore the land from the damage done by the Forever War and the wars that followed the gods’ exile. When the War for the Orb ended, and Forsvar’s followers had won, Agrep brought the Orb as promised. But the moment it was placed in King Handrin’s hand, Akinos struck him down and stole it. Some of the Ancient Texts say it was destroyed.”

  “Sages have argued for five hundred years over that point,” Orlos said as he returned Hadde’s necklace to her. His hands shook as he placed it in her hand. “Most felt that without the Orb the land should have stayed the way it was at the end of the war. The Orb couldn’t make it better, but the lack of the Orb should not have made it worse. That the Wasting exists counters that argument. Someone is denying the world the Orb’s life-giving energies.”

  “Whoever has the Orb is using it,” Boradin said. “They’re creating varcolac and using the power of the Orb to destroy rather than to heal. As long as the Orb is misused, the Wasting will continue.”

  “What can you do, Your Majesty?" Hadde asked. "What can we do?"

  "We can find the Orb."

  "How?"

  "By searching the library for clues."

  “And what of my people?” Hadde asked. “Can you help them against the Wasting?”

  “And what of your people?" Anger entered the king's voice. “Abandon all of my efforts here to help your little village? No, this is where the Wasting will be ended. In this room, in these books.” He motioned to the shelves behind him. “The clues are in the Ancient Texts. In their prophecies. No, Hadde, I cannot help you. But perhaps you can help me.”

  “I don’t know what I can do, Your Majesty. I’m only a huntress.”

  Boradin drummed his fingers on the table. “Can you read and write? Can you search the Ancient Texts?”

  Hadde shook her head.

  “Too much to ask.”

  Orlos’s body jerked as he choked back another coughing fit. Boradin strode to his side. “Enough. Orlos must rest.”

  “No,” Orlos said. “We must continue. We must find the Orb.”

  "Later, Friend. I need your help. We'll continue after you have rested." Boradin looked from Orlos to Hadde. “You’ll stay in Salador while we research the meaning of your Token. If it leads to the Orb of Creation, we shall all be saved and your quest to save your people fulfilled. If it’s unsuccessful, I shall take your Token in exchange for supplies for your village.”

  "I can't stay," Hadde said. "I have to return to Landomere. My people need me."

  "You'll stay."

  “For how long?” Hadde stared defiantly at the king. Nothing about this journey had gone as she had wished.

  “You’ll stay as long as it takes.” He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. “Send the guards in as you leave.”

  “I won’t stay. Long Meadow may not exist next spring. I have to leave now.”

  “Hadde,” Orlos said, his voice weak, “stay with us a short time. Your Token has some meaning. Give us time.”

  “Don’t you understand? My parents are starving. They will die without me. They will die if I don’t bring supplies.” Her voice rose and her face flushed with anger. Just the mention of her parents brought a wave of homesickness over her. She wouldn’t abandon them.

  “Enough!” Boradin shouted. “Return to your chamber…or should I have you locked away? Well? The Maiden Hall or the dungeon…it’s your choice.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Hadde sat in front of the fire and put her face in her hands. She should have gone to Mor-Oras and sold the Token there. Belor wouldn’t have died, and she would be well on her way home with provisions for Long Meadow. She pressed her palms against her eyes to fight off the tears that welled up at the thought of the tall Landomeri.

  How she missed him. She wished he were with her. She missed his humor. She missed his enthusiasm. She missed his warmth. He would have been overjoyed at the success of their mission so far, she was certain. He probably would have imagined them on the verge of discovering the Orb of Creation.

  Instead he was dead and she was alone. And in her eyes nothing had gone right.

  A knock at the door disrupted her thoughts. She rubbed the tears from her eyes. “Hadde, I have good news for you,” Maret announced as she entered. “I’m sorry. Are you not well?”

  “I’m fine,” Hadde lied. “Homesick. Please come in.”

  “The king has granted you an allowance. And he wishes for you to attend the reception of petitioners tomorrow morning. It’s so exciting. You must have made a good impression last night.”

  Hadde shrugged. “If threatening me with the dungeon is a good thing, then yes, it went very well.”

  “What are you talking about? He is giving you a generous allowance. You can leave the Maiden Hall and let out private lodgings. Did you hear me, Hadde?”

  “I heard you. What’s an allowance?”

  Maret sighed. “He’s going to give you money every week. You’ll be very comfortable.”

  “Comfortable—for a prisoner. You said I could get private lodgings with this money? Could I just stay here and save the money?"

 
“Of course, but I don't know why you would want to.”

  “I'll use the money to purchase food and clothing for my people. If the king lets me leave this winter I can still help Long Meadow. They won't survive much longer.”

  “I'm sure every—” A disturbance outside the door interrupted her. Hadde heard laughter and the patter of slippered feet running down the hall. “Ooh, what’s happening?” Maret said. “Let me check.”

  A moment later Hadde heard a squeal from the hall followed by voices in excited conversation. Celena’s voice angrily called out above the others. Maret rushed into the room, slammed the door, and smiling and breathless, leaned against it.

  “What’s happening?” Hadde asked.

  “He’s coming back.” Maret scampered across the room and pulled open a window. A blast of cold air swept through the room. “I can’t wait. I think I’ll die.”

  “Who? Who's coming back?” Hadde joined Maret at the window.

  “The prince.”

  “Isn’t he a young boy? Sir Nidon mentioned Prince Handrin to me.”

  Maret rolled her eyes. “Not Handrin! Prince Morin.”

  “I don’t know of him. Why all the excitement?”

  “Oh, Hadde, you don’t know anything. Prince Morin is the bravest and most handsome man in Salador. In the world. And he’s eligible. I’m going to marry him.” She sighed.

  “You’ve declared your love before your people?”

  “If you’re asking if we’re engaged, we’re not. Yet,” the girl replied, staring out the window. “But I’m certain we will be. There’s someone in my way.” She paused. “I hope Felina d’Arossa dies."

  Hadde looked askance at Maret. The viciousness of the words were not matched by cheery demeanor. “You don't really want her to die... surely?”

  Maret continued staring out the window as she replied, “Well, not really. But she is hideous. It's not fair that her father is an Idorian prince. It would be a political marriage, of course.”

  “Well, of course. We all know that.”

  Maret laughed. “You're making fun of me.”

  “Never.” Hadde couldn't help herself, but laughed along with Maret.

  A trumpet sounded, drawing their attention to the courtyard. “A fanfare,” Maret said. “He’s coming.”

  The Great Keep’s gates opened and a lone rider entered the bailey. Hadde’s stomach roiled at the sight. She drew in her breath as she recognized the rider. “What’s wrong?” Maret asked as Hadde backed away from the window.

  “That man, do you know who he is?”

  Maret shook her head, her face crestfallen. “I’ve never seen him before.” She stared out the window. “He looks a little worse for wear, but he must be important.”

  “Earl Waltas,” Hadde said, making no effort to hide the contempt in her voice.

  Maret shrugged. “My father is an East Teren earl. By his attire this Earl Waltas is South Teren. Do you know him?”

  “I wish I didn’t. I hoped he had returned to the South Teren. Close the window. I don’t want to see him.”

  “Well, I wish it had been Prince Morin riding through the gate. I’ll be very upset if I was misinformed.”

  Hadde returned to her chair. “Waltas,” she muttered, “it only gets worse.” Maret leapt to her feet as another fanfare sounded. “This time it’s him. I know it.” She said as she dashed to the window and yanked it open. “Look—the Black Company.”

  Hadde eased back to the window and watched as the prince’s company thundered into the bailey. In perfect order the sixteen men wheeled into a double line facing the keep. Unlike the uniformed Knights of the House, each man in the Black Company seemed permitted his own colors. The only items they held in common were their black cloaks and the red pennants on their lances.

  An ebony stallion, ridden by a tall, broad-shouldered knight, pranced to the front of the formation. Hadde watched as the black-clad rider expertly guided his horse with the barest touch of the reins.

  “The prince,” Maret whispered.

  “Black Company.” Morin’s voice boomed off the bailey walls. “I give you my congratulations, and my thanks, for another victorious campaign. It has been a hard season, but one worthy of great praise. For those of you not wintering in Sal-Oras, I bid you a fond farewell until we reassemble next spring. The rest of you will have to suffer with seeing me through the dark winter. But do not fear, I'm sure we will liven up the time with the occasional drill.” Several of the men grimaced and gave knowing glances as he spoke the last words.

  “Perhaps one of you would take me in for the winter?” a knight said to a chorus of laughter.

  Morin smiled and raised his hand for quiet. “I am proud to lead you.” He paused. “I will not keep you from your rest and your families. Black Company... dismissed!” The command echoed off the keep's walls.

  In unison the warriors dismounted from their horses. Squires and pages scurried from the keep to assist the knights. Before the young men reached the Black Company, another knight stepped out in front of the troop. It was the same man who had joked about leaving for the winter. He called out, “Three cheers for Captain Morin!”

  “Hurrah!” The sound made the window glass shiver. “Hurrah! Hurrah!”

  Smiling, the prince bowed to his men.

  “You’re right, Maret,” Hadde said. “He’s very handsome. He looks nothing like the king.”

  “They’re only half-brothers.” Maret leaned close to Hadde and whispered, “Prince Morin is actually the older brother. When Boradin showed himself to be the more powerful elementar, their father passed over Morin and declared Boradin his heir. There are some who say Prince Morin should be king.” Maret glanced furtively over her shoulder. “Don’t repeat any of that. It could cause you trouble.”

  Hadde shook her head. “I won’t. It all baffles me, this talk of kings and princes and nobles and ladies. All I know is that my people need aid, and only King Boradin can help them.”

  Maret sniffed. “I don’t know that he is who you should look to. They say the king even forgets to eat. He spends all of his time in his library reading the Ancient Texts—for all the good it does us. The prince—he’s a real hero.”

  “And the other knight, the one who called for the cheer—who is he? He looks more like Prince Morin's brother than the king does.”

  “That's Sir Astor,” Maret replied. “The prince's closest companion. Astor lost his manor to the Wasting. Now all he has to his name are his arms and the prince's friendship.” She gave a little shrug as if there was nothing more to be said of him.

  ***

  Maret arrived in Hadde’s room very early the following morning. “We must prepare you for the reception.”

  “There seems little point,” Hadde said, talking as she munched bread she had toasted over her fire. She couldn't get over how plentiful food was in the Great Keep. “The king has made it clear he is unwilling to help me.”

  “Oh, you have to go. It will be your formal introduction into Saladoran society. It’s very important; all of the most powerful nobles will attend. More than usual because of the Festival of Spring. And, besides, the king requires it. Let me fix your dress.”

  “It's mid-winter. Why do you call it the Festival of Spring?”

  “Ahh, it is the Festival of Spring Coming. It celebrates the spring to be.”

  “And how many people will be there?” Hadde asked as Maret fussed over her.

  “Oh, not many. A few hundred.”

  “Hundreds?” Dread washed over Hadde.

  “Oh, that’s nothing. The hall could fit over a thousand. Now, when you arrive the Steward of the Court will present you to the king. Don’t forget to curtsy.”

  Hadde washed her last bite down with a gulp of tea. “What’s a curtsy?”

  Maret sighed and demonstrated. “It’s the way a lady bows. What do you do in your land?”

  “For a stranger we hold out both palms. With friends and family we clasp hands or embrace.”

&
nbsp; “Don’t do that to the king.” Maret laughed. “The Royal Guard will tackle you before you get close.” She pushed a strand of Hadde’s hair back into place. “I’ve been meaning to ask—what are the marks on your cheeks? The three stars?”

  “Not stars. Rayed Orbs. They’re my family marks. All Landomeri get family marks at their coming of age.”

  “Why?”

  Hadde shrugged. “It’s tradition. And they look pretty. You should see the Kiremi. They mark up their entire faces. It’s hideous.”

  “They’re pretty on you.” Maret said as she brushed Hadde’s hair. “You are very pretty. The men will be taken with your foreign looks.”

  “I... ah,” Hadde stammered. “I…thank you.” And then to change the topic she said, “My mother performed a ritual to Helna as the family marks were applied. She thinks the blessing has protected me.”

  “Oh... has it?”

  “The gods are gone. They can't help us. But it makes my mother feel good.”

  “You—” A knock at the door interrupted them. With a last glance at Hadde, Maret opened it and spoke with someone in the hall. “Your guard has arrived early. It’s time to go.”

  A tremor ran up Hadde’s spine. “My guard? You’re coming as well, aren’t you, Maret?”

  “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t summoned. Maidens rarely serve in the Great Hall.” Maret paused and then put her hand on Hadde’s arm. “Here, I’ll escort you there. They won’t let me in, but I’ll take you to the door.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Don’t worry. The first time I was formally received I was very nervous as well. But there is nothing to fear. Believe me, after a while it becomes fun.” Leaning close she whispered, “Just remember, they go to the privy just like you and me.”

  Hadde laughed as she stood. “Thank you, Maret. I’ll try to remember that.”

  “Wait, you must put on your shoes.” Maret picked up the red slippers.

  “They don’t fit. I’ll wear my moccasins.”

  “You don’t dare do that. It would be a disaster if you were caught wearing them.”