Eternal Knight

by Matt Heppe

  “They’re creatures of the Orb. They cannot harm its wielder no matter how weak he may be,” Astor said.

  “But how do you know it isn’t a trap?”

  “You would have to meet one of these Messengers to understand,” Astor said. “I’m certain he told the truth. In fact, the Messengers want Morin to have the Orb. They want a leader they can believe in. A rightful king. A true descendant of Handrin the Great.”

  Hadde stood and crossed her arms. Frowning, she said, “Maybe they’re just good liars.”

  Morin laughed. “Hadde, you don't know Astor as I do. There is no one I trust more.” He clapped his friend on the shoulder. And then, more serious, he said, “We have to try. There’s too much at stake not to.”

  ***

  For five days they rode northeast, the first two cutting across hill country, the following three on the Ost-Oras highway. They passed many manors, some occupied, some abandoned. At none did Morin reveal his true identity. Both he and Astor had removed the Black Company badges from their cloaks. Only their fine swords hinted at their status.

  Late on the fifth day they arrived at the walled town of Egoras. Hadde and Astor followed Morin as he led them to a small inn. The few people on the streets eyed the strangers warily.

  “This place has seen better days,” Astor said, looking at the stone building in front of them.

  Hadde followed his gaze. On one corner, a web of cracks stretched ominously upward from the foundation. The entire section appeared ready to fall. Ancient paint peeled from the closed shutters and the roof thatch was long overdue for replacement.

  Bright light streamed from behind the shutters, and the smell of cooking food made Hadde’s stomach rumble. “I’ll risk it for a night of comfort,” she said. Morin laughed. “Me too. And no one will know me here.”

  As they rode up to the front door, a young man and a boy ran out to see to their horses. Astor tossed each a copper. An elderly woman approached as they entered the inn’s main room. She glanced at the men’s swords and fine cloaks. A hint of surprise crossed her face as she took Hadde in.

  “Would your lordships require chambers?” the woman asked as she wiped her dirty hands on a dirtier apron.

  “Three. Your best,” Astor said.

  “We’ve only two. Many has come in from the country due to the varcolac.”

  “You've had trouble with them?” Morin asked.

  “Worse and worse each day it seems.”

  “Two rooms, then,” Astor said. “And hot water for washing up.”

  “Freg, set fires for our guests,” she said to a serving woman.

  Hadde surveyed the room as Astor paid. Two long tables rested before a roaring fire. Eight men sat in two groups, food and flagons before them. The patrons stared at the three travelers, all conversation having ended upon their entrance. None of their expressions were welcoming.

  Each of the men wore a white armband, Hadde noticed. Returnists. All of them.

  “We’ll take our meals upstairs,” Morin said.

  “You wouldn’t rather eat here?” Their host waved expansively toward the fire. “It’s not often that we receive visitors. We’d love to hear news of goings-on.”

  “Upstairs.”

  “As you wish.” She led them up a creaking staircase and down a hall. Two rooms, one much larger than the other, were opened to them. The thin Freg, the hem of her oft-mended dress reduced to a tatter, lit the fire and scurried from the room.

  The three travelers were soon settled in front of a roaring fire, eating a meal of thin stew and coarse bread. “Nothing like poor food, poor wine, and poor accommodations,” Morin said, toasting them with his cup. “Only the best for my companions.”

  “At least we're not at the corner about to collapse,” Astor said. “Maybe our side will still be standing in the morning.”

  “It isn’t so bad,” Hadde said.

  Morin snorted. “I suppose. Compared to sleeping under a bush. What do you say, Astor?”

  “Oh, much better,” he replied. He suddenly stood and strode to the window and stared out. Hadde wondered what he was possibly looking at, the panes were so dirty as to be impossible to see through. “We're close,” he almost whispered the words.

  Hadde glanced at Morin and then at Astor. “You are certain of this, Astor? You really believe Morin will take the Orb?"

  He turned from the window, beaming. “I know it!” He returned to the table, snatched up his wine, and downed it in a gulp. “Let's start early tomorrow. We are only a day—maybe two from our goal.” Taking his cloak, he headed for the door. “I'll wake you in the morning.”

  “Good night,” Morin said as Astor departed.

  Hadde glanced from the door to Morin, who was intently pouring more wine. Nobody had spoken of sleeping arrangements, and now she found herself alone with Morin in the larger of the two rooms. It was their first time alone outside the confines of the Great Keep. The first time without the threat of prying Saladoran eyes and wagging Saladoran tongues.

  Morin took a long pull of wine. “This is really awful stuff.”

  Hadde drank from her own cup. “Then why are you drinking so much?”

  “Because I’m happy.”

  “You do look happy.” She got up and stepped in front of the fire. The heat washed against her, driving off the memory of their cold journey.

  “It is close, Hadde. I feel it.”

  “The Orb? How do you know? Magic?”

  He stared into his cup. “No, not like that. I’m just certain of it. And when I get it, everything will change. The Wasting will end and all will be made whole again.”

  Hadde turned from the fire and smiled at him.

  He grinned in return. “You don’t believe me.”

  “Oh, I believe you. I believe you would accomplish anything you set your mind to.” She paused a moment and her smile faded. “What of Maret? Will you heal her? I wish I could have seen her before we left.”

  “The Orb of Creation can heal all harm, or so say the Ancient Texts. But no matter the cost, I’ll heal what Waltas did to her.”

  “Good. I care for her very much. Even if she can be a silly girl.” She turned back to the fire and pulled off her heavy overtunic. Extending her palms toward the fire, she said, “Sometimes I think I’ve made the wrong choice. Maybe I never should have come on this journey. But now... maybe something truly great is going to happen.”

  “You never should have come on this journey to Ost-Oras? To win the Orb? Or you never should have departed Landomere at all?”

  “I never should have left home. I abandoned my family and lost Belor. And look what has come of Maret.” She touched the token at her neck. “I should have sold it and returned home.”

  “You should have no regrets. We do the best we can with what we have. You had to save your people. You had to do something more than sit and let the Wasting take you. You and I, Hadde, are much alike. We’re people of action.”

  She turned and let the heat warm her back. Morin sat leaning against the table, staring at her. His face rested against his right hand. He smiled. “Tell me the rest of the story.”

  “Which story?”

  “The one you almost told me in the gymnasium. The one that has to do with fighting naked.”

  She brushed a lock of hair from her face. “You would like that?”

  He nodded.

  Hadde paused and then said, “One day, years ago, I was swimming with my friend in a stream near our village when the Kiremi attacked. Well, there was no time to dress, and I ran back to my house naked. With no safe place to go, I took my bow and climbed onto the roof.

  “I stood there, naked, loosing arrow after arrow at the raiders. I can’t imagine I was much to look at, just a skinny girl, but it seemed to work. Only a single arrow grazed my ribs.” She touched the place where the scar rested. “They called me Hadde the Naked after that. My father always teases me.”

  “Clothed in armor of your natural beauty, you’re nearly in
vulnerable.” Morin dramatically spoke the words as he gestured with his cup. “Your radiance would have blinded me to such a degree that my arrows couldn’t have come close to touching your flawless body.”

  Hadde laughed. “You’ve a honey tongue.” She turned toward him, and he met her gaze. Wood crackled in the fire behind her.

  “I seem to remember,” he said, “that same day. We had just finished training with swords. You took off your tunic and sweat had turned your linen chemise transparent. There I was, staring at your breasts—”

  “And you red-faced with embarrassment.”

  “I didn’t know you so well then. And that isn’t the point I’m trying to make. Do you remember what you told me then? You told me if you ever went into battle with Saladorans you would go naked because it would be such a distraction. I remember thinking you were incredibly bold, very unusual, and very beautiful.”

  “And what made you think of that right now?”

  “Because I see you standing there, and all I can think is that I wish your tunic were transparent.”

  Hadde laughed, and then slowly undid the laces at her tunic’s neck. Morin’s eyes widened.

  “And would it work?” she asked. “How distracted would you be?”

  He swallowed. “Very.”

  Turning from him, she drew her tunic over her head and dropped it on the hearth. Keeping her arms across her chest, she turned slightly and smiled. “You know,” she said, “I wonder what would have happened if the guard hadn’t come along that day.”

  “I’ll show you,” he said as his chair clattered to the floor.

  Chapter Twenty

  The following morning Hadde and Morin made their way downstairs to the inn’s great room. Astor waited for them at a table set with bowls of stew and bread. Hadde ignored the hint of a grin she thought she saw on his face. Let him smirk all he wants, she thought. He had slept alone last night.

  There were no other guests. The innkeeper hustled from the kitchen to the hearth, preparing for the day. She gave Hadde and Morin an off-hand wave as she went about her tasks.

  “A fog rolled in last night. Thick as soup,” Astor said as they approached the table.

  “It’s bad?” Morin asked. “I’m not in much mood to wait for it to burn off.”

  “No, we shouldn't wait,” Astor replied. “We need to move on.”

  Hadde glanced at the table. “You’ve eaten, Astor?”

  “And saddled the horses. I guess I wasn’t as tired as the two of you this morning.”

  “But you wish you were,” Morin said as he sat down.

  Astor laughed and cuffed Morin on the shoulder. “I’ll go and see to the last of our gear, so there’s no delay.”

  “We'll be with you soon,” Morin said. He smiled at Hadde as he sat. “This will be a great day.”

  “Your good mood continues,” she replied. His smile was infectious.

  “How couldn't it, after last night.” He reached across the table and squeezed her hand.

  “I think I prefer staying at this inn with you to the comforts of Sal-Oras,” Hadde said.

  “Once I take the Orb we can have both. Now, let's eat and be on our way.”

  Hadde took a bite of the stew. She hardly tasted it as she pondered Morin's response. He wanted her to stay with him in Sal-Oras? She had never thought that far into the future. She was a Landomeri huntress, and no matter how comfortable the Great Keep might be, she couldn't imagine living her life there.

  “Things will be different soon,” Morin continued. “Imagine a world without the Wasting. Imagine Salador under a real ruler. My brother has been such a failure. But that will all end soon.”

  “What will happen to your brother? And his son?”

  “They will be princes of Salador. My brother is no fool. He will realize who the true king of Salador is when he sees me with the Orb.”

  They quickly finished the meal and hurried for the door. “Don’t go out in that mess, your lordship,” the innkeeper said. “You won’t see the varcolac until they’re right on you.”

  “Thank you for your warning—and for your hospitality, but we must be off.”

  Outside, a young stablehand stood beside Astor, watching over their horses. Astor tossed him a coin as they mounted. Hadde patted Windwalker’s neck and mounted Lightfoot. In a few moments they reached the town gate and the highway.

  Astor hadn’t lied about the fog. Hadde doubted she could see more than thirty strides ahead of her. But Morin seemed utterly unconcerned with the poor visibility. He led them off at a rapid pace.

  After a hundred strides Astor muttered, “I can't see my damned hand.”

  “Morin, can you magic off this fog?” Hadde asked. “You're an elementar.”

  “No, we'll have to ride through it.” His head swiveled from side to side, alert for danger, but his pace did not diminish.

  “Just blow it away.” She waved her hand as if wielding the wind.

  He chuckled. “Call in a foggy wind to blow off the fog? Or burn it off with fire? The effort would exhaust me within two hundred strides. No, sometimes it’s best not to fight nature.” They rode on, the fog swallowing both voices and hoof beats.

  Hadde regarded the two men. Morin seemed unperturbed by the fog while Astor would give a sudden start as a tree or boulder appeared out of the mist. With each passing arrow flight, Astor grew more nervous. Hadde glanced at the sky. A milky sun stood well over the horizon. The fog wouldn’t last.

  Astor half-drew his sword at the sight of a bush emerging from the mist.

  “What’s wrong, Astor?” she asked.

  “What? Nervous of varcolac, I suppose,” he replied, his voice too loud. “They could be lurking anywhere.”

  “Morin doesn’t seem worried.”

  “Well, he’s an elementar.” He forced a laugh. “He’ll just fly away if things get too hot.”

  “If only it were that easy,” Morin replied. “If only.”

  They rode on. The sun burned away at the fog. Wooded slopes rose to either side of them. It was a good sign, Hadde thought. Morin had told her that Ost-Oras was built on a low mountain range.

  A birdcall trilled. Hadde knew immediately no bird had made that sound. She drew her bow from its case and nocked an arrow. Only five arrows, why had she listened to Astor? She glanced toward the sound and saw ghostly forms flitting through the woods. “Morin! There are men to our left—in the woods,” Hadde said.

  His sword sang from its sheath. “Ride!” He spurred his stallion forward. Hadde leaned low and put her heels to Lightfoot. Windwalker galloped obediently behind. Someone shouted in front of her. Men scattered as Morin and Astor plowed into them.

  Morin’s sword flashed and a man fell. His horse reared up, hooves lashing out to strike another. Astor cut down a third. “They’re fleeing,” she called out. A dozen men leaped through the trees as they ran. She relaxed the tension in her bow.

  Several bodies lay in the road, all clad in rough fur clothing and wearing their hair in dozens of long braids. “Tyskmen,” Morin said. “They shouldn’t be here. No Tyskman has ever come this far south.”

  “Bandits?” Astor asked. “Look! Here is what they were after.”

  Another body rested on the road just ahead, a Saladoran. His horse lay nearby.

  Morin dismounted and knelt by the body, and then peered down the road. “A herald. He was riding for Sal-Oras. I wonder what news he carried.”

  “Morin, they’re coming back,” Hadde said. Dozens of forms slipped through the woods in their direction. Two appeared much larger than the others. Impossibly large. She dismissed it as some trick of the light. “More than before.”

  “We’ll ride for it,” Morin said, remounting.

  “Which way?” Hadde glanced back in the direction of Egoras and safety.

  “Onward,” Astor said. “The Messenger awaits us.”

  Morin nodded his agreement. “Let's go.”

  The three riders set off with the howling Tyskmen running
in pursuit. Dozens of warriors emerged from the woods. At the back of the pack lumbered the two huge figures. It hadn’t been the light, Hadde thought.

  The warriors quickly fell behind, only to be enshrouded in the remaining mist. Hadde took a deep breath. At least they weren’t varcolac. She remembered their chasing down Nidon and his companions when she had first arrived in Salador.

  Once well clear Morin slowed the pace. “That was no group of bandits. It was a warband,” he said.

  “I don’t understand it,” Astor said. He still held his bloody sword in his hand. Hadde thought his face looked pained, or maybe fearful. But he hadn’t shown any fear during the fight. He had cut down one Tyskmen and chased others from the road.

  “Duke Avran will have to raise a force to clear the highway.” Morin said. “I can’t believe my brother has let Salador fall into such a sorry state. Astor, your Messenger friend is close? Could the Tyskmen have found him?"

  Astor just stared into the distance.

  “Astor!” Morin snapped. “Where is the Messenger?”

  “Ahead... today... we will meet him today.”

  “And he's safe from these Tysk raiders?”

  “Yes, he's safe. They won't harm him.” Astor didn't look at Morin as he spoke, but stared down the road behind them.

  “How do you know?” Hadde asked.

  “He's too powerful. The Tysk cannot harm him.”

  “Then how did you capture him?”

  “I surprised him!” Astor shouted, his face red with anger. “And I'm no Tyskman—I'm a knight of Salador. Now let’s go!” He rode off without waiting for them.

  “What's wrong with him?” Hadde asked Morin as Astor rode clear.

  “The Wasting has taken everything from him—his family and his manor. All he has left is his empty title. He thinks himself a failure. Finding the Orb and restoring it to me will be a great accomplishment. He will have done something greater than any other knight of Salador. No one will be able to look down on him again.”

  ***

  Several hundred arrowflights later, the fog had burned off and the sun shone brightly. “We’ve left them well behind,” Astor said. “Without horses there is little chance they’ll try to follow.”