by Jason Jones
“Four days or more, but they stood against the Prince of Armondeen, and they seek a righteous dream. They follow five brave souls here, one of which is the supposed heir to Kakisteele.” Aariss bowed to his cousin again, knowing that he was held by his vows to forbid anyone not of Siril from entering.
“Uhhh..ain’t no supposin’ bout’ it then, Azenairk Thalanaxe is the rightful king o’ that city and this kingdom.” Tannek commented, as politely as he could.
Arylius sighed, looked to his brethren, then nodded. “Very well, but be silent. Things are changing here. We are in prayer and meditation most of the day. You can show them the peaks, but under our direction and escort.”
“You are most gracious, cousin.” Aariss bowed and made the sign of elven peace and love, his heart, to his lips, then to his eyes with his hands folded over each other. At the end, his hands opened to release his gratitude to the sky and stars. Arylius and his fifty priests returned the gesture, then the one hundred fifty archers slung their bows and did the same, all in silence.
“Arylius, bein’ a fellow believer in many odd things, hence me bein’ exiled here, I have to ask ye’ somethin’.” Tannek smiled.
“Yes Marshall Anduvann? You wish to see the sacred blade?”
“Aye, for certain, but, ye’ ever brought women here, I mean, ever?”
“No, our priests here spend a decade in protection and prayer over Loestiri and the shrine it was placed in. We are all trained in the deadly arts of the blade, all men as we cannot be distracted by beauty or emotion, and we are deeply devoted by those secret vows. Why?” Arylius walked with his cousin and his friends to Tintasarn.
“Just curious, tis’ all, thank ye’ much.” Tannek rolled his eyes, wondering why elves, for all their senses, had not the common one.
“My gratitude for allowing us in your realm, Arylius Diravas.” Lord Cristoff shook his hand, forearm to forearm, and saluted his chest in Harlian fashion.
Arylius smiled, as their hands touched, he felt it. His devotion and training in elven meditation was far advanced. After four hundred years, he could tell things with simple contact from most living things. His eyes closed, then opened slowly.
“Lord, says my cousin and your former title, far behind to the east. Friend and brave warrior whispers the sky, as to who you are. Yet, father, protector, and king, say the stars upon our meeting, Cristoff Bradswellen the Third. Blessings of Siril upon you.”
Cristoff just stared, then nodded, he did not know what to say. He tried to make the gesture he saw the elves doing, with the folded hands and opening them to the sky. Instead, after feeling slightly embarrassed for his hesitation, he made the symbol of the feathered cross upon his chest, and circled it.
“May Alden shine his light from heaven, upon us both, my elven friend.”
“Come, brave Harlian and mighty dwarf, let me show you the sword Loestiri and hallowed Tintasarn. Then we shall inspect your Kaki Mountains and see if there is a way through to your friends.” Arylius, high priest of Siril, led the first strangers in over two thousand years, into the lost elven city.
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His eyes remained fixated, unblinking, with one knee upon the golden carpet that led from the grand double doors all the way to the thrones. The one on the left had never been filled, as low king Symond had never married. Jardayne tried not to shift his weight too much, yet after the hard ride from Freemoore to Evermont, his body ached for rest. His fast ride had not been in time, for word spreads faster than hooves in the realm of politics.
The only saving grace he had was that Lassado of Eisel Inne was here. Otherwise, he may have been imprisoned and stripped of title already. The men and knights, even the city and her people, they all had heard that Armondeen and Evermont, Rohne and Jardayne, had had bitter words. Rumors of war, threats of attack, and movements of forces could be heard whispering on every street corner.
“Five days, Knight General Jardayne of Highmont, five days!” Symond let his small circlet of crown fall off the back of his bald head and slide behind his back onto the seat of the throne. He cared not.
“I have been here, with but three knights, to organize all that the High King of Shanador has ordered from each of us! And you ordered Sir Codaius to the west? Your disloyalty is appalling!”
“Please forgive me sire, I thought to meet you on your usual route, near Freemoore, and escort---“
“Lies! You took those fugitives, the ones causing all the commotion on the continent, and sought their glory rather than that of your sworn low king!” Symond stood and pointed his finger at his highest officer.
“No, it was not that way, sire. I do not lie, I swear it was----“
“They receive the royal treatment of my castles, the escort of my bravest men, and you leave our city with just Anders, Valonne, and Naghen to protect it?! Fool of a knight, and poor leadership indeed have you shown me here.” The hand of the old man to his right, gently resting upon his shoulder, helped him set back down in his throne.
“Sire, my king, please forgive me. I thought it in Shanador’s best interest to see these heroes to Freemoore, then, things changed.” Jardayne had not looked up once since it began.
“Ah, things have changed. The heroes you thought best to honor and protect, have left to their western treasure hunt. They are trespassing upon Armondi soil, and everyone is aware of it, Jardayne.” Symond rubbed his head and tight gray beard, then reached for his goblet of wine and drank.
“And Armondeen is aware of the support Evermont has shown. Imagine when I must explain this to the High King.”
“My liege, those lands are far more than a piece of Armondi territory.” Lassado, old and frazzled of hair and beard, waved his hands when he spoke. His purple tattered robes had designs of script that glowed and flashed for no apparent reason, and his pale blue eyes had an awkward constant glare, as if he did not ever blink.
“Are they now?” Symond retorted with sarcasm, waving his hand at the smoke escaping the long fat-bottom pipe of Lassado.
“You know the history there. Altestan, when Armondeen broke from Shanador, gave those lands to them to hold cursed. Should we honor the orders of Altestan twelve centuries gone, horrors from two thousand years past, and be wary of Armondeen? Our cousin nation? I think not.”
“Powerful as you may be in the arcane realm, Lassado, those decisions and opinions are not yours to take part in. The High King, the council of low kings and knights are---“ Symond was cut off.
“Horse shit, sire. Fresh, steaming, Shanadorian, horse shit. Smell it? I do.” Lassado tapped his staff and flies buzzed out from it, as did a strange odor.
“Mind your words, wizard. Master of Eisel Inne or not, I am the low king of Evermont.”
“Elected, like all the others. Elected to serve the ideals and honor of your people. And I am here as your counsel. Though you did not request it, I am here nonetheless. Those lost kingdoms to the west, three cities and more, mythical places, they are not belonging to Armondeen except by parchment written by long dead enemies. If someone wants them free, I say more power to them.” Lassado grinned to Jardayne, seeing that he was raising his head up slightly to view the conversation he was hearing.
“And to what end, old sorceror? War with Armondeen, perhaps Altestan? Those five are now spoken of in every kingdom. Seekers of Mooncrest I heard, slayers of Altestani warships they say, destined to whatever and where. From Chazzrynn to Kivanis, Caberra to Shanador, even Harlaheim and Willborne speak of them or want them dead. I have not the power to start a war, with anyone. I speak not for all of Shanador, damn it!” Symond pounded his fist on the throne.
“Who says you need that power? To do what is right, to help others, to assist unseen? Armondeen has an army, your scouts said they saw it, heading there now. Four legions or more, and what can Evermont do?” Lassado tapped his staff again, this time a rainbow sparkled into the air ever so faintly.
Jardayne had never heard anyone speak to
the low king, any king, in the way he was hearing right now. He thought it best to remain silent, respectful, and keep his head down.
“Nothing. I had to send three legions of cavalry to the capital, to Acelinne. They retained five of my knights as well. The council is sending a force to Kivanis, to the capital city of Rugeness and the northern cities specifically, as they think Altestan will make a landing there. The Shields of Shanador and thirty thousand soldiers will occupy their ports, and watch the Soltaic Ocean for years to come. Evermont can do nothing, we can spare not a man. They are talking already of war, and not a war of our generations. A war like those in the history books, a war with Altestan, and we can have no distractions.” Symond drank more wine, fought his dwindling anger, and rested back in his throne.
“Please sire, I beg of you. Strip me of title if you must, but I gave my word, I swore on the Shield of Shanador, that I would return. Alone, if no forces could be offered.” Knight General Jardayne stood, without permission, and made the sign of the feathered cross across his chest.
“You have met these travelers, both the five companions and the exiled refugees from Harlaheim, yes?” Lassado smiled.
“Yes, master Lassado, I have.”
“They inspired to you greater honor? Or is it the thrill of adventure, the boredom of your position, and something different that excites you, Jardayne?”
“Sire, I felt it when they arrived, I saw it in the Misathi Mountains. There was a feeling when they were here, and a terrible one when they left to turn west. I cannot say what it is. But, when I met Lord Cristoff Bradswellen, and he stood with me, for me in fact, against Prince Rohne and his forces in Freemoore, it was there again. I have to go my king, I know it in my heart. Please forgive me.”
Jardayne took his sash of the Shanadorian stallion, with the Evermont five stars sewn into it, and let the golden green cloth of honor and title fall to the floor.
“I cannot let those people, those brave souls, face the legions of Armondeen alone, not when I can be of service. They have perhaps less than a legion of true soldiers, against at least four we have confirmed that head for the ruins from Vin Armon. Harrons’ past betrayals aside, you know he does not ride with such a force unless he plans to kill. I resign my title and position as Knight General of Evermont, as I must leave you, and help them.”
“You would not dare.” Symond was shocked. “You swore your loyalty to me, to Evermont! And to Shanador! You do not know what is there, likely nothing Jardayne, you ride for nothing! In thousands of years that place has merely drawn people in, and never returned one to the world. This is folly!”
“I know Harron Vir Magaste, I know his knights, and I know Armondeen. And I know what they will do, should they find those five that seek a forgotten glory. Title or not, your blessing or no, I must go my king. I will never forgive myself if I do not.” Jardayne knelt once more.
“Then you go alone, stripped of title, never to return to---“
“Hold your wine bucket shut, Symond. Jardayne here may have arrived before you, if my memory serves correct.” Lassado waved his hand and twinkling lights danced in the air.
“No, he did not, he arrived after.” Symond corrected.
“Be that as it may, it is possible that he left with soldiers before you came, on what he thought was courageous, an act of valor and honor, yes?”
“I am not following. You are mad indeed, Lassado.” Symond glared up to the old man.
“So he came and took what he thought he needed, a small force, and left before he knew of your orders from High King Borgaine. True?” Lassado waved his hand again, more sparkles.
“No, are you speaking fiction or fact? And why the sparkles?”
“Damn spell never works. How have you survived as a low king for this long with your head so thick of useless rock?”
“I beg your pardon? This coming from a man who forgot his last name?”
“That was low, even for you. Anyway, how many men am I worth, five hundred?” The old mage shook his head, staring at his fingers as if they were behaving poorly.
“At least, why?” Low king Symond furrowed his brow.
“Do you honor this man, your knight general here, enough to allow him to follow his passion and word for a time?” Lassado stared as his fingernails sparkled, he tried to shake it off, it would not fade.
“Yes, positions and titles aside, I would do all I could for Sir Jardayne. That is not the point, Lassado.”
“It is the point, Symond. I believe he left with as many cavalry as were here, carrying no banners of Evermont nor Shanador, to assist as he thought best against the tyranny of Armondi threats. In his absence, believing you would return with many forces and the city left well protected, I will stay and guard your city with a watchful arcane eye, personally.” Lassado smiled wide, his eyes beaming with something mystical, much like his fingertips.
“And when word reaches the High King and the council in Acelinne? When war blooms with Armondeen, who we suspect of having Altestani ties, and men must fight and die, what then?” Symond looked to the crazed master of magic.
“I will handle that, myself.”
Symond sighed deep, then stood. He watched Jardayne raise his head and stand with him. The low king walked forward, bent down and picked up the knight general’s sash. He turned his back and walked to his throne, setting the sash upon it, gently.
“Sir Jardayne of Highmont, you are placed on temporary leave from your title and duties. If memory serves me, you left on your honor, with our remaining five hundred cavalry. You went northwest, to retrieve Sir Codaius of Norninne, who was escorting and assisting a foreign noble, on a noble cause. You left, to see him safely returned with our men, nothing more.”
Symond kept his back turned to his bravest knight. “This meeting, this conversation, never took place. Before I turn around and sit on my throne, you had better make it so. Alden watch over you.”
“Well spoken, sire. I could not have said it better.” Lassado grinned and winked at Symond, then reached down and handed him his crown.
“Thank you, your majesty.” Jardayne did not bow nor kneel to the backs of Lassado of Eisel Inne nor his low king of Evermont. He turned to march out of the castle, in disbelief that he was not in prison.
“Jardayne!” Low King Symond bellowed as he placed his crown atop his brow. He lifted his greatsword, from the side of the throne, a magnificent blade of ages old steel. He had barely used it in decades, and it was heavy for him in his older years.
“Sire!” He stopped, turned, and looked to the outstretched hand of Symond. He saw the sword, their backs still to him, and he ran fast to take it.
“Fight with honor, knight of Evermont, give Harron and Rohne my warm regards.” Symond whispered, and let him take the blade.
“He will receive your steel, sire.”
Jardayne ran, tired and aching with fatigue, as fast as he could down the steps of his glorious city. Many men, including the three knights he had left in charge, were waiting ouside the doors to Evermont Castle. They fell in behind him, wanting to ask where his sash was, what had been said, and where he was going.
No one spoke, just followed the fast march of Sir Jardayne. He made the six floors of long steps with but four deep breaths, fighting his exhaustion. He passed the gates to the upper keeps, kept his descending rush of stairs, and turned left toward the stables once he reached low ground. More men fell in, hundreds now in tow. They muttered, as rumor had spread of what had transpired in Freemoore, of the possibility that Evermont would stand against Armondeen.
“Cavalry, Sir Anders, get me all our cavalry. Now.” Jardayne opened the stables.
“And strip off any symbols of our kingdom and city. No banners, just the men, the horses, and their swords. I need it done an hour ago.”
“As you wish, Knight General. To where do you ride with such a force?” Sir Anders of Carrelyn spoke as he pointed to dozens of men to be sent to the barracks, the armory, and the supply houses.
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br /> “Northwest.”
“Armondi territory?”
“Yes.”
“Is that where Sir Codaius is?”
“It is. And I must make great haste.”
“With the king’s knowledge, his sovereign orders, and blessings of Evermont?” Anders cast a questioning look to his superior.
Jardayne sighed, mounted his steed, and nodded to the yes, then looked to the greatsword of the low king, and back up to Sir Anders.
“No, I do this alone. Will you stop me, Sir Anders of Carrelyn?”
He was confused for a moment, then he smiled at the blade, he knew whose it was. He tore the stallion emblems from Jardaynes horse, and placed them on the railing. He heard the men coming, the clanking of armor already half on echoed into the stone stables.
“How many men do you need, Sir?” Anders looked up to Jardayne.
“All five hundred we have, only cavalry, for there is no time.”
“Tis’ true then, Harron leads the army, does he not?” Anders wished he could go, but he knew this was secret, and only three knights remained to guard Evermont, three out of ten.
“I am not sure, but they left Vin Armon days ago, surely you have heard.”
“I heard word of four legions heading toward old ruins, a training detail and tour of the border. It is for them, for the five?”
“I believe so.” Jardayne nodded.
“Men! You ride with this man here, you ride hard with no colors nor banner, and you ride those Armondi bastards into the ground!” Anders yelled it over the raucous.
“Hail, hail, hail!” they roared back.
“I will bring you Harron’s head, Sir Anders.” Jardayne grabbed his reins. “If he is there.”
“Just make sure he does not get them, our five friends, promise me that.”
“On the Shield of Shanador and my honor, by Alden he will not.”
Jardayne nodded, looked back once, then spurred his mighty stallion out of Evermont, five hundred men trailing out behind him. The sun glared down, the cavalry charged at a fast pace, and the half legion of Shanadorians headed northwest toward the ruined curselands.
