“And that has happened. Like I said, there are many worlds and there have been many ancient people with their own gods that are no longer, gone from the fabric of the world as beliefs have changed with time,” Shyann said.
“So gods can die,” Manlin muttered to himself.
“Yes, that is true. But that also means that…”
“…the Forsworn can die,” Jonas interjected.
Shyann smiled. “Yes, that is correct. But we can speak of this no longer. I’m afraid that the more I try to answer your questions, the more questions you will have. But do not worry, I am not going anywhere soon.” Shyann smiled again and gently touched his hand. “It is time for you to leave. You have both made me proud.” Shyann reached out with her other hand and touched Manlin’s arm as well.
Light flashed and faded to complete white. Neither could see anything for a few moments until the normal shade of darkness converged on their vision. Manlin realized that his eyes were closed and so he opened them. He was sitting next to Jonas, with his hand resting on Jonas’s arm while his other was grasping his silver symbol. Jonas was looking at him with a big smile on his face. It was contagious, and Manlin returned his smile. Within moments they were laughing giddily.
“Jonas, I cannot believe that just happened. Please tell me it was real,” Manlin said excitedly.
“Well if it wasn’t, I have no idea how that got there,” Jonas said, pointing to the middle of the room. Manlin turned around and his eyes grew wide. On a table in the center of the room were an assortment of clothes, weapons, and armor. At first glance Jonas could tell they were nothing like anything he had ever seen.
“She did say you would have new weapons befitting a shadow knight,” Manlin said as he stood beside Jonas.
Jonas moved to the table to inspect his new gear. His eyes first caught two familiar looking blades. Their pommels were somewhat like his old blades, but quite different as well. The shape and length was identical to his old deer bone handles, but they were gray and non-descript, lacking the flair of his old swords. He grasped one of the handles and felt the familiar warmth as the magic within it hummed to his touch. He slowly slid the blade from the black scabbard and his eyes grew wide at the stark difference. The blade was completely black, except for the razor sharp edge, which was a dull gray, the same color as the handles. He held the blade out in front of him to test the weight, and they felt exactly the same. He wondered why they lacked the luster of his previous weapons, and just as that thought came to him, the edge of the blade lit up with a glowing blue light that exploded with such brightness that Jonas almost dropped it. He also noticed, engraved on the blade in the same blue light, some writing that appeared to be elvish. Jonas had to take a moment to decipher it.
“Retribution,” Manlin said over his shoulder. Instantly the light disappeared, retreating into the black blade. “A fitting blade for a warrior who is supposed to blend into the shadows.”
Jonas silently agreed as he looked at the rest of the treasures. There was a long charcoal gray hooded cloak stacked neatly next to black leather boots and gray breeches. None of the clothing had any symbols, markings, or anything that would make them stand out. They simply looked plain, for a lack of a better word.
“Those are not normal clothes, Jonas,” Manlin said as he noticed Jonas’s look. “They are made to look that way, but I can detect magic flowing from them like a vast river.”
“I had a feeling that would be the case,” Jonas said as he went to examine some armor and more weapons. There was a breast plate of a design that he had never seen before. He picked it up and examined it more closely. Suddenly the armor flared like the swords had, but this time it didn’t last as long. The light came from the center plate, which was made of hardened black leather and reinforced gray steel. Shyann’s oak tree symbol flared for a few moments, then it quickly disappeared again, giving it the appearance of just another piece of armor. Jonas smiled; Shyann was full of surprises. The armor was very unique. Though it was made of hardened leather and reinforced metal, there were seams all over it that were clearly chainmail. The armor moved and buckled in his hands and then he understood the design. It would move freely with his body and hamper his movement much less than traditional plate armor. The hardened leather with reinforced steel protected the chest and other vital areas while the chainmail connected everything together, allowing for more movement as the entire cuirass was not one solid piece. He marveled at its construction and noticed that the chainmail sections were also black, like the metal in his sword. The shoulder guards were a dark gray metal, nondescript, just like the metal chest plate that protected his heart and lungs. There were leather wrist guards lined with black steel and black leather gloves that had small plates of the same metal protecting the hand and fingers. Jonas noticed a long hunting knife with a slightly curved blade, and a bandolier that contained four throwing knives with handles wrapped in black leather. A gray leather belt with an iron clasp held two short knives strapped horizontally to the front and back. The one on the front could be drawn with his right hand and the one on the back with his left. The handles were wrapped in black leather and the razor sharp blades were also black. Leaning against the table was an unstrung bow. It was shorter than his previous bow, but the recurve on in made it look just as powerful. A leather quiver of black feathered arrows lay on the table next to the bow. Jonas smiled as he thought about Shyann’s words. These were the tools that he would need to fight a new battle, a battle that would take place in the backwoods of rural towns, in the dark streets of cities, and in the shadows of places where a cavalier could not go unnoticed.
Jonas drew the other blade from its scabbard and willed it to light. Instantly blue light flared along the edge and more elven writing materialized along the blade. It read ‘redemption’, and Jonas smiled as his new purpose became clearer.
* * *
Tuvallis and Seli were found at midday, two days after her rescue. Traveling had been difficult, as Seli’s wounds were deep and any movement caused her pain. And since most of her clothes had been destroyed the night the orcs had captured her, the cold winter air was not making her movement any easier. But she gritted away the discomfort and moved doggedly on toward the Gildren Garrison that guarded the Gildren River Bridge. They had no idea if they would find her patrol before they arrived at the garrison, but they really had no other options. Luckily for them, Captain Hadrick of the Cuthainian Free Legion had been sending out scouts to the front and to the rear of their column. He was worried about more orc patrols, and he was also hoping to find some clues as to Seli’s whereabouts. A lone scout had found them and brought them back to the main group.
They had set up camp early that day so that Seli’s wounds could be seen to. Most of the refugees were still with them. Only a handful, maybe twenty, had left on their own when Captain Hadrick offered them the opportunity to go to Finarth. Most had chosen the relative comfort and safety of traveling with the soldiers over the uncertainty of venturing into the wilds on their own, with no means of protection. They were not soldiers. They were mostly just farmers, tradesmen, and herders.
Tuvallis was given food and a warm spicy drink as he rested by a blazing fire with Captain Hadrick. He was hungry and the hot concoction did wonders to warm his insides.
“What is dis?” Tuvallis asked.
“We call it Tissani. It’s a tea made from the Tissani root and combined with other spices. It’s a little bitter, but brings back some life to a tired body,” Captain Hadrick replied.
Tuvallis agreed. He could feel a subtle, but definitely rejuvenating energy begin to spread through his body. “So Cuthaine is no more?” Tuvallis asked bluntly.
Hadrick looked up from his Tissani. “It is gone.” He paused a few moments before speaking again. “Tuvallis, thank you for rescuing Seli. She is a good soldier.”
Tuvallis grunted acknowledgement as he sipped his tea.
“She said you killed all the orcs single handedly, and that you w
ere once a soldier. What you did was impressive for anyone, even the most skilled and highly trained soldier.”
“I be better den most,” Tuvallis said unabashedly.
“You don’t look like a soldier,” Hadrick said as his eyes swept over Tuvallis’s tattered dirty clothing and his unkempt grimy hair.
“I’m a soldier no longer,” Tuvallis said with a tone that told Hadrick not to push the subject.
“Fair enough. What is your plan now?”
“I be goin’ to Finarth.”
“We too. We would be honored to have you travel with us if you wish it.”
Tuvallis drank the last of his Tissani. “Aye, I would.”
Hadrick smiled as he caught Tuvallis’s eyes dart quickly to the tent where Seli was sleeping. “If you’re interested, there is a small creek just north of camp. It’s freezing, but refreshing. You can borrow my razor and soap,” Hadrick said as he stood and walked towards his tent.
Tuvallis reached up, stroking his long beard. Perhaps it was time to get clean he thought…in more ways than one.
Five
Doppelganger
The war leaders met almost nightly, but this was only the second time when a group this distinguished was present. King Baylin’s council table was as full as it had ever been. There was much to discuss, and many people who wanted to be, and should be, involved in the discussions. Every party who would be involved in Finarth’s defense was represented at the table. King Olegaurd had arrived with his army from Annure along with his brother, Lord Dynure, the prince of Ta-Ron, vassal city to Annure. The army from Ta-Ron was small in comparison to the Annurian army, but the three thousand warriors were fully equipped and well trained, and they would be a valuable asset.
The three Ekahals sat together, representing the elves from Mel’un-Riam, and the dwarves from Dwarf Mount were represented by Durgen, Ballick, and the two Dakeen warriors. Allindrian sat next to the Ekahals since she was a ranger from their kingdom. All of the demi-humans sat silently, waiting for the meeting to begin.
King Kromm was present along with his son, Prince Riker and his court wizard, Addalis. Sitting next to them were Jonas, Fil, Kiln, King Baylin, and Alerion, his court wizard, along with General Gandarin, Kuarin, and Ruthalis.
“Thank you all for being here,” King Baylin Gavinsteal began. “Many of you have traveled long distances, facing many perils to do so. And you will surely face many more in the months to come. Finarth recognizes your sacrifices and we thank you for your swords. Now, let us discuss what we know and what we will be facing. Kiln, if you will.” Baylin turned to his commander.
“Our scouts have finally been able to bring some information back to us,” Kiln began. “Cuthaine was sacked a week ago and the entire Free Legion was wiped out.”
“Any survivors?” Jonas asked.
“We do not know yet,” Kiln replied. “But we know that Malbeck’s army has not yet left Cuthaine.”
Jonas of course already knew this as Shyann had told him as much. But there was no reason for him to speak of his recent dream, at least not yet. Nor was he wearing any of the armor or clothing given to him by Shyann.
“Do we have any idea of their numbers?” King Kromm asked.
“We cannot get exact reports but my scouts think their army is near sixty thousand strong, and that is a conservative estimate,” Kiln replied.
Everyone shifted uncomfortably at the weight of Kiln’s words.
“And our numbers?” Durgen asked.
“The Finarthian forces have been depleted to twelve thousand. We went from twenty akrons down to twelve. Lord Moredin’s attack last year had a devastating impact on our numbers,” Kiln said.
“The Dark One’s intent I reckon,” Ballick said.
“King Olegaurd, how many men did you bring?” Allindrian asked.
“My lady, we too lost men at the Battle of the Lindsor Bridge. My brother has three thousand and I have brought eight thousand. Of those numbers we have three thousand cavalry and five hundred of them are Annurien Knights.”
“And we have just over a thousand Finarthian Knights left as well,” King Baylin interjected.
“That gives us twenty four thousand trained warriors. How many refugees can fight?” Kromm asked.
“We have been training them as they come, but progress has been slow. We can put another four thousand in the field now, and maybe a thousand more by next month,” Kiln replied.
“What are their capabilities?” Kromm asked.
“They will recognize signals. They can march, barely, and they know the basics of formation fighting,” Kiln replied.
Everyone was silent as they pictured the refugee fighters facing off against an army of orcs, goblins, and who knew what else. It was not a pleasant thought. Most of the men were too young or too old, and they had very little, if any, military experience.
“Added to those numbers are the thousand fighters from Dwarf Mount. At our very best we can put thirty thousand on the field,” King Baylin said.
“What of the female refugees?” Allindrian asked.
Baylin looked at Kiln who shrugged. They barely had the time and resources to train the men, let alone the women. “Blade Singer, we do not have the time to train the women, our resources are too limited.”
“How many archers do you have?” Allindrian asked.
“Maybe two thousand,” Kiln said.
“Women bleed just as men,” Allindrian chastised. “I imagine you have several thousand women who could train to use a bow within three weeks. Give me a hundred female volunteers and I will train them in two weeks. Each one will then train another hundred, and so on. We do not need them to be skilled. With sixty thousand coming at our gates, we just need them to be able to pull the bow back, respond to orders, and aim in the right direction.”
“Most will not be able to pull back a longbow, and we do not have the time to help them build up their strength. I suggest we put our energy elsewhere,” Kiln countered.
“What about training bows?” Allindrian asked. Typically, young men first learned to use a bow by training with a smaller version of the longbow, one with an easier draw.
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Kiln admitted.
“How many do we have?” asked King Baylin.
“Several thousand I should think. I will get someone on it right away.” She was right of course. When Malbeck’s army arrived, the vermin would kill everyone indiscriminately. They had just as much right to fight and defend their homes and families. “It will be done,” Kiln added.
“Let us discuss our defenses. When Malbeck leaves Cuthaine we have around three weeks before he arrives here. We can assume that he would head for the Gildren Garrison and try to cross the river there,” Kiln said.
“How many men do ye have at de Garrison?” Durgen asked.
“Around two hundred,” Kiln replied.
“Not enough to hold it for long. I hope you plan on bringing the bridge down,” King Olegaurd said.
“We do. I’ve already sent engineers,” Kiln said.
“If the bridge is so important then don’t you think Malbeck will have planned for that?” Fil said, speaking up for the first time. “I mean he must know that the only way to get an army into Finarth is to cross the Gildren River, or pass through the Tuvell Garrison and cross the Lindsor Bridge on the Sithgarin River. He must have a plan to take one or the other bridge.”
“Taking out both bridges traps us as well. Trade will come to a standstill,” King Baylin said, “preventing us from obtaining needed supplies.”
“It has already, my King,” General Ruthalis said.
Everyone thought about the dilemma. Destroying the two bridges would stop Malbeck from getting to Finarth, at least for a while, but it would also trap his armies within the Finarthian lands. And not only would trade halt, but it would also cut off any possible retreat if the tide of battle turned against Finarth. The only other option would be Gandar Pass to the west. But it wouldn’t be passable for
another month or so. And even then, the refugees would be hard pressed to make that difficult journey through the Tundren Mountains.
“Keep in mind,” Allindrian said. “The western passes will be open in less than a month. We can retreat in that direction if we have to.”
“That is true. It would be a difficult journey, but it is a viable option if Malbeck forces us to make that call,” Kiln said.
“We will not leave Finarth to the Dark One,” King Baylin announced, his voice firm with iron resolve.
Kiln nodded his head in acquiescence. “Of course not, Sire.”
“How long does it take to march from the Gildren Garrison to the Tuvell Garrison?” Lord Dynure asked.
“It would take about a week and a half for an army of Malbeck’s size to reach the southeast garrison,” King Baylin said.
“May I offer a suggestion,” Lor-telliam interjected.
“Of course,” King Baylin responded.
“We are outnumbered by more than two to one. It is a rare tactical advantage to know exactly where an enemy army will be. We know with pretty good certainty that the Dark One will march his army towards the Gildren Garrison. Or he may send an early scouting party to try and take the bridge. Either way, we know where he will be. I suggest we take a few thousand men and march double time to the garrison,” Lor-telliam said.
“For what purpose?” Prince Riker asked.
“Toforial lathraine duwana,” Lor-telliam said in elven.
“Hide, attack, divert,” Allindrian translated.
“I suggest that we do our best to reduce their numbers before they come to these gates. Let us take the attack to them, where we can control the ground and the tactics,” Lor-telliam said.
Everyone was silent for a few moments as they digested the Ekahal’s words.
“Your reasoning is sound, Lor-telliam,” Kiln said. “The garrison is easily defensible and we can still destroy the bridge when we retreat. What do you think, my King?”
“I agree,” King Baylin said.
The Cavalier Trilogy: Book 03 - Glimmer in the Shadow Page 13
