The Misadventures of Ka-Ron the Knight

by Donald Allen Kirch

  "The blazes with all of you!" he screamed.

  Withdrawing his sword, Rakamore decapitated the innocent elf and cut the remainder of his body to pieces. As each elf tried to stop the king, they too had a hand, arm, or leg severed as well. After a while, the crazed ruler was allowed to ensconce himself and his loyal guardsmen upon the landing of the Great Hall's staircase. With each advance of the group, Keeth maneuvered his ship's guns to follow the man.

  There was no escape.

  There was no way out of the toppling of this government.

  But, in the end, who can convince a madman?

  "I loved you!" Rakamore cried, almost pleading to his people. "I took care of you! And, now, you do this to me?"

  The crowd had started to stir.

  Nowhere in known memory had an elf king been treated so. No one, honestly, knew what to do next.

  There was a moment of pause.

  That was all the guardsmen needed.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

  The Imperial Guardsmen of the Royal Court were the best elves of the military. Some had seen more combat than entire nations. Ka-Ron had fought alongside some of these men, and quite tragically, could identify most of them. They were all loyal to the core. They would not surrender.

  "Jatel, prepare your bow!" the woman yelled, quickly picking up hers.

  Ka-Ron saw the advance before anyone had a chance to react. She cursed herself for not having foreseen the tactic.

  She would have done it, if given the chance.

  Several guardsmen reached behind their backs, upon seeing the hesitation in the eyes of their fellow countrymen, and pulled out crossbow-like devices containing rope ladders. Half fired up at the Grand Hall. Half fired upon the Argo. They were planning a simple task of divide and escape.

  "Molly! En-Don!" Ka-Ron yelled. "Get ready for trouble."

  Both were too busy to respond. Molly stood loading up her rock slings. En-Don was seen pulling out his sword. The young man turned the weapon about in the air, warming up his arms for battle.

  The knight let out a worried exhalation.

  This was not going to be a good battle, Ka-Ron calculated, simply by the odds. They were outnumbered by at least fifteen to one.

  "He will do well, Ka-Ron."

  Jatel looked over at his master and flashed her a gentle smile. He was well aware of her worry. He sensed it as well. En-Don was not a tested soldier, as were both of his parents, but, the squire reminded himself of the fact, that, long ago, both he and Ka-Ron were once "new" to the arts of war.

  The knight simply nodded, and aimed her weapon.

  The Imperial Guardsmen did as Ka-Ron had predicted. Over half of them grabbed hold of Rakamore and headed to a more secure footing upon the roof of the Great Hall. The other half focused upon the Argo.

  "Attack the invaders!" one of the Guardsmen yelled. "Save the king!"

  As each Guardsman scaled the side and landed upon the main deck of the ship, he pulled out a sword and baton. It was their desire, while injuring an opponent with their swords, that the elves would finally disable that opponent with the baton. It was a useful and tasteless tactic of assault, time-proven in the arts of elfish war.

  "Oh, shit!" Jatel yelled, spotting an elf popping up in front of him while scaling the side of the ship. Out of arrows, the man turned the butt of his weapon around and smashed the unfortunate elf's nose. The squire was sprayed with bluish blood. "That's one down." he joked.

  Ka-Ron was shooting arrows as fast as she could load them. Although quite skilled with the bow, she preferred the sword. En-Don had taken the burden of the weapon, and she missed it - a lot. Three soldiers fell to their deaths, having realized that invasion of the Argo from Ka-Ron's post would not be an easy task.

  The elf townspeople were just as divided as their armies. Loyal citizens towards the king ran with great panic upon the doors of the Great Hall. Some were even fortunate enough to find safety within the ancient elfin walls. However, most loyal subjects were surprised and horrified to hear Rakamore order the closing of the doors. If siege were to come, the king needed to guarantee the safety of The Council of the Twelve. At least, that would become the "official" story after all this was over.

  The remaining townsfolk joined the forces of Rolmore.

  "Attack the hall!" the elf captain charged.

  A wave of hungry soldiers, with swords extended, gave out a furious yell as they ran up the marble stairs of their capital. Several generals upon fiery horses led those men, hoping to finish successfully. But, the ancient builders' skills were too good.

  The doors held.

  Upon the Great Hall's roof, the Guardsmen poured hot oils and dangerous acids down upon the unsuspecting horde. Screams of agony and curses of death rained upon those who dared to question the viability of the crown. The once beautiful gardens of the Royal Palace were now reduced to the bitter vocation of a graveyard.

  All knew this was not going well.

  "We are losing!" Keeth yelled.

  "Shut up, wizard, and fire the cannons!" Molly shouted, knocking an elf out upon the deck. The redhead had an ugly cut across the bridge of her nose. Although no longer a vampire, she still retained some of her vampiric powers. She still had the strength of ten men, and even she was running out of ways to stop the guardsmen from invading the Argo.

  "Keeth!" Jatel yelled, his voice sounding fearful. "Shoot!"

  The wizard grabbed at his levers.

  The Argo's guns moaned themselves to life.

  The two huge pillars of iron slowly moved, focused, and aimed their destructive power upon the huge copper doors of the Great Hall.

  The Guardsmen saw their chance and took it.

  Three elves, grabbing explosives thrown to them from the soldiers guarding the king, rushed up to the ship's approaching guns. With calm hands, each placed fuses, set timers, and threw their weapons into the mouths of each gun.

  Before Keeth could react, the Argo's bow exploded into a cascade of fire, smoke, and a rain of wooden splinters.

  Ka-Ron and Jatel were knocked from their posts.

  The Argo had lost her teeth.

  ***

  We are winning the day!

  Rakamore watched in horror as the bow of the Argo exploded. The ship herself remained mostly intact. However, if she were to ever threaten anyone ever again, the wizard in charge of her would soon have to replace his guns. The shrapnel from those guns, however, was most destructive.

  Elves littered the grounds.

  "How could I have let such a thing happen?" the king asked himself.

  The Lurker heard the comment, and attacked.

  Rakamore grabbed at his head, screaming. The pain was fantastic, causing the elf to teeter and fall to the floor. Several guardsmen tried to help the ailing king, only to be forced back to their grim duties by his commanding hands.

  You do not comment! You do not think! You just&are.

  The king, who had lost all emotion, rose.

  "Continue with your attack," Rakamore ordered. "Upon completing it, bring me any and all survivors. After today's executions, I'm sure none will ever again question the position of the crown."

  "Sire!" several elves responded. Most flung off the roof and headed straight into battle. A few stayed to protect the king.

  The odds are certainly in our favor. Once this battle is done, we shall send others to awaken more Lurkers. Then, our mission can begin. Finally! A purpose!

  The elfin king's eyes widened with horror and revelation.

  "This is only the beginning," Rakamore whispered.

  The tiny Lurker read the king's mind, and it allowed him "that" thought.

  No one seemed to notice the tears falling upon the king's cheeks.

  ***

  The crew of the Argo had their hands full.

  At least twenty of the Imperial Guard had attacked the members of the tiny ship's crew. Even Keeth was doing his part to help protect the vessel. Ka-Ron and Jatel both were impressed with the old
man's knowledge of hand-to-hand combat. The wizard had personally thrown two elves overboard, once they had invaded his bridge. One unfortunate elf, upon entering the hut covering the wheelhouse, earned the wrath of the wizard and became the victim of a sleep curse. Given enough time, the elf would wake and recover - in twenty seasons.

  "Well done, wizard!" En-Don stated, pulling his sword from his last victim. "Now, let me have at them."

  The young man had been a wonder. His skills had improved vastly since the last time he had been needed to help protect anyone. Both Ka-Ron and Jatel believed that his knowledge was given to him by the same spell which conceived him. So, in a small part, En-Don's fighting skill was due to Kai's evil. Had it been the first time that evil had been used in such a positive way?

  "Sire!" Jatel stated, after punching the teeth out of an elf. "En-Don is shadow swording!"

  Ka-Ron's eyes turn inquisitive. "I have never heard of the term."

  "It is an ancient form of war, taught only to the knights of Illium," Jatel marveled. "He got that from me. He is fighting the way my father's fathers had fought."

  Five elves surrounded En-Don.

  The young man did not seem fazed by his grim surroundings. Instead, he stood in the middle of the circle of enemy combatants and closed his eyes. If he were to succeed, his eyes could no longer serve his purpose. They would betray him. If he continued to gaze upon five men surrounding his body, his brain would ultimately provoke him to lose. How could one outfight five?

  So, En-Don escaped the outside world, surrendering to the mist in his own mind. There all he had to do was face the challenge of one - himself.

  "Molly!" Jatel warned. "Back away."

  Molly, having spotted the situation into which her lover had fallen, broke the necks of the two elves she was holding, and decided to offer her aid. Her face was covered with blood, and one of her eyes had swollen shut, via a nasty cut. She was certain the scar was permanent, and would require a patch, once it healed.

  "He is not aware!" the squire stated.

  Shadow Swording was indeed a lost art. In fact, En-Don didn't even know the name of the tactic. He only knew that he knew it. Listening to his inner voice, it was the only option left open to him, if he were to succeed.

  The elves readied their batons.

  "Hold!" En-Don yelled, his right hand extended in an open-hand gesture.

  The elves paused.

  It was all the opportunity En-Don needed.

  Spinning his sword with his left hand, he constantly kept the weapon in flight. Two of the elves, amazed by his swordsmanship, were caught off guard and did not recover until it was far too late.

  Blood splashed and heads bounced upon the deck.

  En-Don moved a half-circle. His eyes never opened.

  "Molly," Jatel stated, pulling the woman to safety, "he is not himself. He is only attacking what his sword senses, now."

  Molly looked to Ka-Ron for answers.

  "I have no idea," was all the knight could say, looking at both Jatel and her son with a sense of mystery. "It appears, Molly, that there is more to our men than we were first led to believe."

  "Indeed?" Molly's face was all surprise.

  The remaining elves tried their best to fool En-Don's senses by creating false noises and movements. Some did work. And En-Don's sword sliced through more air than it did flesh. But still, the young man continued with his fight.

  Shifting from tactics devised in ancient Illium, En-Don flew straight into the arena of Idoshian glory. Upon opening his eyes, the man switched hands, spinning his sword in a way kindred to that of his mother's.

  One more unfortunate elfish head bounced to the deck.

  "Climb its sides!" a voice had shouted.

  Curious, both Ka-Ron and Jatel inspected the sides of the hull.

  What they saw was their defeat.

  Several squadrons of guardsmen, more than fifty to a side, prepared to overtake the Argo.

  "From the gods, Ka-Ron," said Jatel. "What do we do now?"

  The knight could only shake her head.

  There was nothing they could do.

  "We have lost, I fear," Ka-Ron whispered.

  Both she and Jatel dropped their weapons.

  En-Don continued to fight.

  His obstacles had been reduced to just two. Several of the other guardsmen, impressed by his skill, stood aside, allowing En-Don his victories. It was quite evident to everyone but the young man that his situation could turn brutal at any elf's whim. He was vastly out numbered.

  "En-Don!" Ka-Ron stated her voice shaky. "We are done here."

  "Never, my mother!" he cried. "I will not be the one who introduces your sword to the taste of defeat."

  "Defeat comes at you upon many different levels, my son," the knight stated, her face filled with pride. "This is only one. Stand down."

  En-Don continued.

  His skill was at its peak.

  His eye keen to each and every movement.

  The fifth elf attacked.

  En-Don, with all his skill and luck, had been paying attention to the fourth.

  "En-Don!" Ka-Ron screamed.

  The young man stopped himself in mid-swing and turned his attention to his mother. Ka-Ron was screaming, and his father, Molly, and Keeth were doing all that their combined strengths could accomplish to hold the knight in place. En-Don was so proud that his mother wished to share in his victory. He had convinced himself that he would save the final kill for her.

  He felt the gentlest of pushes upon his back.

  Curiously enough, En-Don lost all strength in his arms.

  "Nooooooooo!" Ka-Ron cried.

  The young man tried to say something, but found he had no voice. It was a curious sensation.

  En-Don's sword dropped to the deck.

  He had been impaled through the chest.

  ***

  The Guardsmen were back in control.

  With the elfin rebels rounded up, and the deserters of their own rank captured and counted, order had once more been restored. But at what a price? Severed arms, legs, heads, and hands littered the earth. Where there had once been tree, rock, water, and mortar, there was now only pain, suffering, and death.

  None of this seemed to detour Rakamore from his insane laughter.

  "So, you all thought to take my crown?" the king mused, still high on top the roof of the Great Hall. His men stood in front of him in the chance that an angry arrow could still fly, hitting its mark. "The only burden you will have is the gravestone atop your heads by end of day."

  Between the isles of silence, the Royal Courtyard echoed with the pitiful cries of Ka-Ron and Molly. Both women were the embodiment of how each and every person felt about the miserable little war that had just been fought and lost. How could one plan so carefully, consider each and every turn, knowing full well the consequences, attack with eyes wide and open, and still lose? Both Rohan and Rolmore were chained, beaten and outcast.

  The guardsmen placed them both with the other traitors on board the Argo.

  "What shall we do with the wizard's ship, sire?" an elf asked.

  "Keep it where it rests," Rakamore stated. "Leave it there as a lesson for all time - a testament to the folly of questioning royalty."

  Bowing, the guardsman accepted the logic of his king.

  Ka-Ron's cries continued.

  Upon seeing her son stabbed through, the knight finally broke free of her bonds, tearing herself away from the safety of her friends. The knight took out a dagger and stabbed the elf who had pierced her son's flesh. It was the greatest feeling in the world for her, to see the utter folly of the elf's attempt to keep his life force going, once she twisted the dagger's blade inside his lower abdominal.

  En-Don had fallen to his knees, spitting out huge amounts of blood.

  "Mother, I&" His eyes rolled white, and he was out.

  Ka-Ron thought that she just witnessed the death of her son. Alas, to the praises of the gods, she was wrong. Her son's soul wa
s too strong to leave so soon.

  Where there is life, there is hope.

  "Someone, please, help my son!" the knight cried.

  A brave elf stepped forward.

  "Do not touch him!" Rakamore ordered.

  Ka-Ron glanced up toward the royal madman.

  "Sire, I beg thee! He is my son."

  Rakamore giggled. "Tell you what," the king said, wiping the sweat from his brow. "When he dies, I will have him stuffed, as he lies, so that I can place his mummified body at the center of my dining hall. There, all my court will know the price of treason."

  A disturbed murmur spread throughout the elfin populace.

  Stop with the grandstanding. We have won. Shut up!

  Rakamore stood silently listening to the pitiful cries of the knight as she wrapped her loose skirts around the face of her dying son.

  ***

  Jatel stood next to his master, feeling as if his guts had been torn out of him with a spoon - and a dull one at that. All his life he had been kin to disaster. He knew how to deal with bad tidings, he knew how to ignore those who looked upon him as being low-bred, but, he could not look upon the ashen eyes of his son and accept the inevitable.

  "Let me pass, my son." Keeth had stated. In his arms, the wizard held a bag filled with charms and potions.

  Ka-Ron's eyes beamed with hope.

  "If anyone can save my son, it is you," the knight exclaimed.

  "I will do all within my power, and then some," the old man promised. He, too, was almost at the point of tears.

  Everyone stood back and watched.

  During all this drama, no one seemed to notice the approaching rain clouds. They were dark, rumbling and totally out of season. In elfin lands it only rained three months of the year - non-stop. This was the dry time.

  The wizard continued with his work.

  Opening his eyes, En-Don noticed the crowd gathering around him. He smiled up at each of them, wondering what the trouble was. Molly joined Ka-Ron by her side, and beamed what happiness she could towards her lover.

  "What is the news, wizard?" the young man asked.

  Keeth forced a kind glance upwards. His hands were too busy to stop.