Pure of Heart (the New Age Saga Book 2)

by Timothy A. Ray

  “I’m not your lad, I am your King,” he told the general, and the others in the room nervously shifted, but stayed quiet.

  “Aye, ye ur,” Bendor gruffly admitted. “An' a new a body at 'at. Ye hae th' leest amoont ay military experience ay aw ay us haur. Most ay us waur bleedin' frae battle woonds lang afair ye waur a glint in yer pappy’s yak. Wa nae lit those 'at hae survived those distant wars an' ken whit we’re daein' dae th' strategizin' an' be canty enaw tae be included in th' conversation?”

  Never before had the dwarven general spoken to him with such disrespect. What had he done to earn it? What had put the stout man in such a foul mood? Well, cranky or not, he could not abide it any further.

  “General Bendor Firefist, I am your sovereign. You were asked to maintain your post after my father’s death in deference to your station and experience, but that does not give you the right to speak to me that way,” he spoke, pushing back his shoulders and formally addressing his general.

  “Son,” Bordin began, stepping forward, but stopped when John turned and glared at him. The elder elf remained where he was, eyes flickering between them.

  This was embarrassing, being questioned by the dwarf in front of these others, and the old general had to know that. He felt the anger rise and he barely held it in check.

  Bendor rose to his feet, eyes leveled as he balanced on his bench. “Ah ken huir uv a weel 'at ye ur mah kin', an' if yah wish tae dismiss me, 'en dae it. But Ah won’t lit yer yoothful inexperience leid tae th' needless destruction ay uir men. Walls ur built fur a reason, tae protect us frae them. 'At is th' point ay a castle, tae withstain, tae hauld. It takes patience. Yer eager min' seeks tae end thes quickly, yit mine tells me tae bide, tae bide th' coorse an' see thes ben. Thaur can be nae easy victory, nae rush tae th' finish. Th' entire kingdom depends oan us an' aw it takes is a body a bampot act tae destroy us aw.”

  “Those invaders do not fight for glory. They do not fight with honor. They are driven here with whips upon their backs and that makes them less dangerous than a young boy with a wooden stick. They rely on their numbers to overwhelm, but in single combat, they could be bested by a commoner with a pitchfork,” he stormed back, hands clenching. “We have eleven thousand soldiers now, yet we beat them off with five. I do not think riding out there and taking the fight to them is as hopeless as you make it out to be. Hit them hard, scatter their forces, and once they start running, no whips will be able to make them stop!”

  Bendor was shaking his head. “An’ if we fail?”

  The others were looking to him now, eyes searching his reaction to determine for themselves if this was the right course of action. He met them unflinching, showing his resolve.

  He calmed down and looked at Bendor once more. “I know that you think I’m young and inexperienced, but what I know I’ve learned from the best military minds my father could bring me. You, Roland, Mark, Brigette,” he said, nodding to each in turn, “and what I’ve gained from each of you is a fire that burns brightly within my heart. That tells me that we can win, against all odds. I do not fear failure, for how can we lose when I have such strong courageous people by my side?”

  “Our supplies are limited and now we have even more mouths to feed. Even with the extra supplies Bordin brought with him and rationing, we can’t sustain them all for very long. We have forced the enemy to pull back, to forage for food and rebuild their siege engines. We must hit them while they’re unsteady, while they’re not expecting it. If we wait for them to collect themselves, then we’ll never have this chance again.”

  “I say assemble every man we have and hit them hard, hit them now,” his voice rose, hand pounding the table. He was no longer talking to the dwarf, but the others in the room as well. “Will you ride with me?”

  II

  They stared at the ruins of Alamar in the distance and the slight bit of hope she’d been holding onto sizzled from existence. They had not been fast enough. The enemy held the wall and fortress beyond, and the tracks that they’d been following lead right through their lines. She had twenty knights with her, there was no way they’d be able to pursue her daughter’s kidnappers any longer.

  “My Queen, we must not tarry, enemy scouts can be upon us at any time,” Pendoran said from her side and the grief within her heart renewed.

  She’d lost her daughter.

  They had passed several burnt villages on the way and their supplies were running thin. As she took a small drink from her canteen, she wearily acknowledged that she’d heard the knight, yet her heart yearned for her to keep going. To find a way.

  Yet even if she had the might of the entire Elven Nation behind her, they would not be able to storm the Deadlands after her. There were just too many of those vile creatures for the elves to take on alone. A tear came to her eye. She was forced to pull on her horse’s reins and admit defeat.

  “Whatever they have planned, it wasn’t to kill her, or they would have done so already,” Pendoran tried to comfort her, but it fell on deaf ears.

  After all, there were worse things than death.

  The commander ordered their retreat and the other knights gravely nodded their heads. They were just as concerned with getting her daughter back as she was, and this had dealt a mighty blow to their hearts.

  “I’ve lost her,” she whispered softly and felt the certainty lock in place.

  “Let’s get home and inform the King. He will rouse the nation and call upon the other races to join us, then we will return and nothing will keep us from taking her back,” Pendoran told her, sounding as if he actually believed it.

  She nodded, but couldn’t help but despair. The races were too divided, to spread out across the lands. They’d each worry about their own borders and not the life of her little girl. There was very little that Erik would be able to do.

  They had ridden through the night, knowing that the Deadlands were drawing close and their time short, but it made no difference. The only result was now their horses were past exhaustion and they would have to find a place to rest them while still avoiding enemy patrols.

  She twisted in her saddle and looked once more upon the distant wall.

  “I’m sorry.”

  III

  Tristan awoke in a cell, the uncomfortable bed causing his body to ache as he sat up. Where the hell were they? A moan from the other side of the small enclosure drew his attention and he saw Token laying spread-eagled on a straining bedframe.

  He took in his surroundings as he worked to remember all that had befallen to bring him there. They were in a dungeon, only he didn’t know where, only that it wasn’t back in Lancaster. Across the hallway was another set of cells and he could see Kylee and Willow lying in one, Melissa in another. Getting to his feet, he rushed to the iron bars and tried to make sure they were okay.

  The women had been bound and gagged, their feet and hands tied, a piece of cloth placed tightly over their mouths. Willow looked at him with wide eyes, the fear apparent in her face. “Are you okay?”

  She’s fine, came the soft weakened voice of their brown-haired magician. He looked to Melissa and saw her sitting up in bed now, her hands behind her back, a large welt on her forehead.

  As if to confirm what the witch had said, Willow nodded her head weakly and Kylee was struggling to get upright. He could see the anger and grief in the ranger’s face, and it pained his heart to see the yellow bruises on their faces and arms. All armor had been stripped away and the women wore brown soiled rags that barely hid their naked bodies.

  He banged his fist on the bars, ignoring the pain it caused.

  “That’s nae helpin’ mah headache,” Token groaned from his bed. “Ay, whaur ur we? Ah ken Ah bevvy a lot, but I’ve ne'er bin throon in a blooter'd tenk afair.”

  “This is not a drunk tank and I don’t know where we are,” he whispered to the dwarf harshly. “You’re a dwarf, find us a way out of here.”

  “There is no way out Dark Prince,” a voice said to his left and an older ma
n stepped into view. He wore a golden crown upon his head and long brown regal robes. His face was wrinkled and he had a long brown beard, but it was the man’s eyes that caught his attention. They looked hauntingly familiar.

  Two guards flanked the man and their hands were on their weapons, as if expecting an attack. He backed away from the bars, making it so if they wanted him, they’d have to come in to get him. “Who are you?”

  “Do you really not know? Can you not hear it upon the air while I speak to you, Dark Prince of Lancaster?” the man asked as he continued forward to stand before his cell.

  Something about the man’s eyes and voice did hint at some hidden recollection, but what was it? “Why do you call me a Dark Prince? I don’t deserve such a title.”

  “Do you not, pretender to the throne?” the old man chuckled. “I can see that you still haven’t figured it out, just to show that the apple has fallen very far from the family tree. Ah, but where are my manners. Welcome to Kershaw, Dark Prince.”

  Oh shit.

  “Why did your forces attack us? We pose no threat to Kershaw. Enemy hordes have come from the north and are even now attacking my home. Is it not better to join together and drive them off rather than perish alone? They will come here right after they finish with us,” he told the King, pleading for him to see reason.

  The older man chuckled again, putting a hand out and receiving a jug of wine. After a long sip, he grinned at him through the bars. “Oh, I think not. You see, the Queen and I have an understanding, her hordes will never threaten our lands.”

  “The Queen?” he asked, confused.

  “The Phoenix, boy,” the man cackled, and he felt a nasty chill run up his spine. It was worse than he had feared.

  “She suffers no one to share power with her, deal or not, when she’s done enslaving the other races, she will come back to finish you off. Are you so naïve?” he asked, the fear leaking into his voice.

  An old gnarly hand gripped the bar and the old man’s face came closer. “I’ve given her my only son to serve and he will ensure our survival.”

  “Your son?” he pursued, feeling the dread increasing.

  “Clint,” the old man grinned through his blackened teeth. The King turned and spat some nasty brown substance onto the ground and smiled even wider. “I’m sure the two of you have met; he’s the one that told me where to find you.”

  Kylee’s eyes were fuming from the bed behind the King and he knew that if her knife had been in hand, it’d be in the old man’s back. She’d heard everything, and like him, the anger was rising with full force.

  “Clint killed my parents,” he growled, stepping forward.

  The King chuckled some more. “Of course he did, that was what he was sent there to do. Took his time doing it though. Heh, what can I say, maybe sentiment held back his blade. Still, the deed is done and now he can move onto bigger and better things.”

  “What sentiment? That cold cowardly bastard never cared for anyone or anything,” he snapped.

  “Oh my boy, you are so ignorant. Still, I can see the family resemblance even now, and I must admit I understand my son’s reservations. Yet, my nephew, be assured that our shared blood bond will not deter the executions from going forward on schedule,” the King told him.

  What the hell was going on? He looked deeper into the mad-King’s eyes and realized where he’d seen them before, and the words that had just been uttered made everything become clear. “Uncle Richard.”

  The old man cackled with delight.

  Any chance that he’d had to argue or plead was gone. He knew from the insane look in the other’s eyes that their doom had been sealed. “If its revenge you want, I’m here, let the others go. They have nothing to do with any of this.” Dark Prince, pretender to the throne, the man clearly sought to revenge himself for the injustices done to him in the past. Yet, he was an agent of evil, working alongside the Phoenix, what doom had Lancaster been saved from by exiling this mad-man?

  And Clint was his cousin; his blood.

  Richard shook his head, never losing the smirk on his face. “Elves are abominations and cannot be tolerated to exist. They both will hang. As to the witch, well, the Phoenix has ordered her put to the torch for her interference in her affairs. The dwarf, I’ll hang just to see what the short man looks like dangling from a rope.”

  “Leibz maamr as bi an ha'ak!” Token cursed at the elder man.

  The King laughed. “That may be, after all, that whore gave birth to an ungrateful bastard of a son that took what’s rightfully mine and bred his own weak whelps to keep it. Still, she was my mother, and if you utter one more word, I’ll order your tongue ripped from your mouth and stapled to your chest you filthy half-breed midget!”

  Token got to his feet, hands clenching, and Tristan was forced to stand between them to break the King’s attention on his short companion. “Please, Uncle, you don’t have to do this. It’s not too late to side with us, to do what’s right.”

  “Since when do Constantine’s whelps do what’s right? No, I’m afraid it’s much too late for that. The gallows are being erected and before nightfall I will make you watch as all four of your companions are executed before your eyes before personally removing your head and mounting it on my wall,” Richard sneered at him, eyes dancing with glee. “Though, I’m not a true heartless bastard, no sense letting these women go to hell without proper bedding first.”

  The old man nodded to the guards and they began moving to the cells across the way. With a wide smile, the King’s mouth hung open as he spoke, “think I’ll personally find out what your girlfriend tastes like.”

  Tristan, close your eyes, a voice pleaded with him, as the two men entered the cell and began restraining Willow’s arms. Her eyes found his and his heart tore to pieces. Defeated, he fell to his knees before the cackling King, powerless as the man turned his back and entered the cell across from him. Even muffled, he could hear the screams and he began to cry.

  “My Lord!” came a booming voice from down the hall.

  The mad-King had his pants around his legs and lay against his struggling victim. “Go away!” the old man grunted.

  He couldn’t look, his vision had blurred, his mind fogged.

  “I’m sorry, my Lord, Serena says you’ve been summoned to attend your Queen and must come immediately,” the guard relayed, yet Tristan barely heard it as his heart thrummed in his ears. He couldn’t protect her.

  He was useless.

  The old man grunted. “Can’t it wait a few more moments?”

  “No, my Lord, she says you must come right away,” the man continued, unmoved by the King’s defiance.

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” the old man mumbled, yet he had gotten back up and began putting his pants back on. “This had better be important,” he grumbled as he walked from the cell. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be back,” Richard mocked, before following the guard down the hall.

  The other two men had locked the cell and followed after, leaving them alone for the moment.

  He drove himself to his feet. “Willow? Please tell me you’re okay?”

  His fiancé’s head was turned away and he could hear her muffled sobs as she lay there with her bottom half exposed. Her arms were tied behind her back and she couldn’t cover herself back up. Angrily, he beat his fist against the bars, unable to control the hurt and rage in his heart.

  He didn’t do anything, he couldn’t. For all his talk, he was just a limp noodle, Melissa softly whispered to him.

  That didn’t make him feel any better. The thought of that man even—

  As long as I’m gagged, I cannot use my magic, but that doesn’t mean my mind is bound as well. It’s not that hard to enter a man’s mind and turn his urges against him. It’s the opposite of what I did to you when we first met. Trust me, none of them will be allowed to violate us in that way, I promise you, Melissa’s voice informed him.

  With tears in his eyes, he continued to struggle against the bars.
“Willow, I’m sorry. I love you, I’m sorry.”

  Still, she would not even look at him.

  Kylee had taken her arms and forced them below her rear, bringing them before her once more. Though she tried, her fingers could not budge the knots that were binding her feet, and she forced herself up and inched towards Willow’s bed. He watched with mixed sorrow and relief when Kylee finally reached her sister and adjusted her rags, covering her exposed flesh, then crawled in bed next to her. He could see the shaking shoulders of his lover and his soul cried from not being able to reach her.

  With a scream of rage, he struggled against the bars, crying out his need for vengeance.

  IV

  A short time later the door opened again and he looked up from his crouched position on the floor, fearing that the older King had returned to finish the job. His eyes were puffy, swollen from the tears he’d been crying. Token sat across from him and looked towards the sound of approaching footsteps, the saddened dwarf sympathizing with his pain.

  “Hello,” a soft female voice whispered through the bars and he forced his gaze up.

  A woman in black robes stood on the other side of the cell, her smooth slender face pale behind a pair of startling amber eyes. Evil radiated off her being and he felt jolted under her stare. Silent, he didn’t acknowledge her, unable to even talk as his throat had closed up.

  “Don’t worry, your Uncle won’t be returning. He’s in trouble at the moment and is a bit, tied up trying to make it right,” she purred softly.

  Tristan, this is a very powerful witch, be careful, Melissa cautioned needlessly. He could feel the danger he was in; that they were all in.

  The woman hissed and glanced in Melissa’s direction; the smooth features gone in an almost snake-like manner. “Shut your trap witch or I’ll have a guard shut it for you. Now, where were we?’ the witch asked, calm once more as she knelt before him and smiled. “My Queen has told me that you possessed some—items that belong to her, she would like them back. Where are they?”