by David
Yet, if it came down to the matter, he wondered if he would be able to choose between hurting the black-haired maiden to get at her trick-some uncle and the seeming cowardice of walking away? While Loric truly loved Avalana, he could not make himself dislike Hadelia.
Nevertheless, he intended to keep his distance from her to avoid dealing a fatal blow to his shaky relationship with the Princess of Regalsturn. Still, he could never intentionally harm her. Even by extension, could I do this? he wondered. Could I strike down Hadregeon for my kingdom without hurting Hadelia? She would never allow that to happen, even if that meant taking up arms like shield maidens of old. I do not think I could follow through with my attack, if Hadelia stood between her uncle and me, no matter his treachery.
We must march soon. Idle time has muddled my wits.
Loric rushed back to the great hall. Warnyck intercepted him a hundred yards from the audience to say, “Aldric sends me to scout, but I need to speak with you before I go.”
There was urgency in Warnyck’s words, a hasty, to the point and about business manner of speaking. “Go on,” Loric encouraged him.
The scout extended a small black book with a worn cover and said quietly, “You must be careful where you leave this. In the wrong hands, it could pose more risk of harm upon you than the surcoat you wear.”
Loric could not believe what he was seeing. He extended a trembling hand to receive the book and asked, “Where did you get this?”
“I found it where you left it,” Warnyck assured him. “It is a great read. You know how to read, don’t you?”
“You followed me?” Loric questioned. “And you read this?”
“I had orders,” Warnyck explained. His voice became guttural as he went on, “I found the book, because you threw it away, remember!”
Loric understood orders. In fact, he had cast his father’s knightly log away in anger. “That did not give you permission to read this personal account of my father’s previous life!” he snapped.
“Oh?” Warnyck begged. “Are you sure of your statement?”
With his frustration rising by the moment, Loric needed to be angry with someone. “Aldric had you follow me?”
Warnyck shoved Loric up against the wall with his nose barely an inch from his eyeball.
From that close proximity, where the young knight was choking on field breath, the scout quietly and succinctly informed him, “Of course he did! He did it because of who you are and what that means. What else was he supposed to do, Loric?” Warnyck heaved a few angry breaths while his words sunk in. “I am in haste, as are you,” he said in parting. “Read the book. Stay alive.”
Warnyck released Loric and hastened away.
Loric pocketed the knightly log. Then he walked at a thoughtful pace, as he returned to the Hall of Heroes with its moon dais and statues of Garrick’s fathers. As important eyes fell upon him, he became anxious for having been gone overlong. Aldric in particular watched him without shifting his eyes to other speakers, which caused Loric to tighten his features and make as if all was as it should be, when in truth, everything was skewed.
King Avalar had arrived in Loric’s absence. He paused and smiled, mid-sentence, upon
seeing him. “Welcome, Sir Loric,” he said. Then he went about his speech, as if his greeting had never happened, saying, “Once I make my appeal to my people, they will hurry onto ships in the name of their princess and her beleaguered nation. I will return with so many ships that Landolstadt will be helpless against us. That should bring the pretender king Hadregeon to his knees quickly enough to suit you. How dare he make show of arms against Allies of
Regalsturn?”
“With all due respect, Your Grace,” Aldric offered, “I believe the arrival of your fleet would come too late to aid us. Perhaps it would be wiser for them to harbor at Softwater Bay in Egolstadt. There they will be strategically positioned for the time when we should make our move against Seafarin.”
“Lord Aldric, you have a sharp military mind,” Avalar commended him. “I will trust your judgment in this, for it seems right to me.”
Aldric nodded appreciatively.
Avalar sighed. “I had only hoped to have some involvement in this affair,” the old king shared. “Alas, I will miss this engagement,” he remarked wistfully, “but no matter. Perhaps I will get my share of blood against Seafarin. The ships of Goldwater Bay are as pustules of plague on trade. They bear only cutthroats and their plunder. I would be delighted to assist you in bringing about their fall. Curse the lot of them!”
“All is decided then,” Garrick announced. “Garrett shall lead the better half of our force westward in pursuit of Hadregeon’s southern army, which is reported to be the more numerous, but lesser skilled enemy body.” He looked to Garrett, “Be careful, son. Do not walk into an ambush. Hadregeon’s army may be broken and fleeing, but he is a crafty warlord, and ever capable of hurting us.”
“Conscripts and convicts, father,” Garrett flippantly answered. “I am sure I can handle any numbers of such likes. Believe me: Hadregeon will be the one caught in a deadly trap when this hunt is over.”
Garrick seemed to ignore his son’s arrogant boast as he continued, “Aldric and I will lead the remainder of our strength northwestward in an effort to keep those armies from rejoining. We will cut off and destroy the northern host far from that in the south.” Garrick panned his gaze about the room. “Any questions?” he asked. When he saw that everyone understood the plan, he clapped his hands together and said, “Very well. Let the chase begin. There is not a moment to lose.”
****
The Lord of Egolstadt and his Knight of Shimmermir rode together at the front of their columns. They spoke often along the way, as it helped them pass time. During one of their many quiet exchanges, Aldric shared with his knight, “My lady wife, Ibania, is a distant cousin to Hadregeon.”
“But.... that means.... I mean.... does she approve of you warring with King Hadregeon, then?” Loric asked.
“Oh, it is not a problem between us, Loric.”
“Truly?”
Aldric chuckled. “Loric, you must learn that politics are complicated, especially within a lord’s household. However, marital vows come before kinship, and honor supersedes all else.
My wife and I share many common beliefs, and I know these to be among them. If you are lucky, you will marry one who shares your views, even given limitations of alliance and policy at court.”
Aldric had three children with Ibania, of whom the father spoke proudly. They were all boys, whom Aldric swore talked of little else besides becoming the greatest knight in the king’s service. The eldest son, Haldric, was only eight, and his younger boys, Mandar and Baldrig, were six and five respectively.
“Perhaps one day,” Aldric mused, “my little knights will make me as proud as you have.”
“How have I achieved this high favor in your sight, my lord?” Loric asked, genuinely caught off his guard by Aldric’s candid remark.
“Do you not know?” Aldric returned. He studied Loric’s face. Then he answered his own question, saying, “I see that you do not. Perhaps one day you will see it for yourself.”
“Tell me, my lord, I pray,” Loric pressed. His uncertainty came through as he explained, “I feel as though I do three foolish things for every one that I do right. If I have indeed served you well, do tell me how. Else, how am I to know what makes you regard me as praiseworthy, for only then can I repeat my actions?”
“In answer to that,” Aldric began, “I give you this: you have tremendous instincts on the battlefield; yet you still bear the humility of a common man. I think the latter of those two qualities is more likely the reason my men are willing to throw themselves onto lances for you.”
Loric fell silent. He was happy to know the men were loyal to him. However, it saddened him to know that they followed him so blindly, when his inexperience--one errant command--
might get them all killed.
“I say,�
� Aldric remarked. “It seems you have lost the power of speech, Loric.”
“I was contemplating the words you have spoken. I had not considered the possibility that men would do that for me, although in truth, many of them already have. I had chosen to believe that they follow me due to their admiration and respect for you.”
It was Aldric’s turn to fall silent. They rode on for a thousand clops of their horses’ hooves.
Then the lord and his knight looked at one another and snickered, neither reveling in deaths of subordinates, but both accepting shared responsibilities as leaders.
Warnyck finally returned to the host when the western sun was hovering just above the horizon. The fiery goddess of daylight laid down to rest, even as the scout came hurrying across the plain astride his charcoal gray mare, and he was reduced to little more than a shadowy form in the night.
Warnyck reined in next to Aldric and Loric. He let a gleeful smile spread across his face and reported. “All goes better than we hoped, milord,” he gasped in his excitement. “We gain on our enemies so rapidly that we should overtake them ere noontime tomorrow.” Warnyck paused to catch his breath. “I am not the only one aware of our rapid gains. Our enemies cast away burdens as they flee.” Warnyck proudly held up a baggage pack. Leather only sagged near the top of the bag, which was nearly full. “There are many more of these to be found this day. It would seem that even provisions have no meaning to Landolstadters now. Only speed matters to those who are hunted.”
Aldric grinned. “Bear your tidings to Lord Garrick. I am sure they will be to his liking.”
“Yes, milord,” Warnyck replied. Then he dashed away.
Garrick ordered a brief rest as reward to his army for its rapid gains. All reports indicated that Hadregeon was bearing due north, up the Old King’s Way, showing that he feared to take to the unfamiliar countryside of Northern Durbansdan. Garrick’s plan was to cut off the
Landolstadters before they turned west and followed the Enchanted River to their home country.
Any boats Garrick’s enemies may have used to travel down those swift currents would not avail them retreating into the west, where the Enchanted River was all impossible currents. The water surged eastward between the Lost Hills, until it reached Dimwood Forest. From there, it flowed through the Dragon Forest and into the Wayward Sea.
The three-hour break afforded tired soldiers overdue naps. Loric chose to find the moon and an entry in The Knightly Log of Sir Palendar. A bold hand had pressed neat, angular writing onto its pages, but some of its words were water-smudged and worn. The smeared script was difficult to make out in poor light, but Loric was able to read the following:
D. A. 587, Abrilon 14
I set off on the greatest quest that any knight could undertake for his liege on the morrow.
My anxiousness robs me of sleep, so I have set aside a moment to drop a few lines about the day’s events. Lord Falric had the court priest pray blessings over me, to guide me, keep me safe and speed me along my way. I shall need all of those blessings on my errand, but a small part of me wishes that he had prayed blessings on this night instead, to speed it along its way.
It is my earnest goal to recover the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye, which is now commonly known as the Sword of Kings, and deliver it unto His Lordship, Falric of Durbansdan. Then Beledon shall crown a new king, Skytower Castle shall be rebuilt and the madness of this chaotic war shall end. Oh, how my soul cries for peasant lads ripped away from their families and their fields to die in places that are foreign to them. Great Donigan, let this senseless fighting stop soon, I pray. Help me to help us, Great King.
My father’s quest was to recover the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye. Loric’s mind reeled from the shock of what he had read. He looked the page over repeatedly, but its words did not change.
Sir Palendar sought the blade of King Donigan. Why would he not tell me? Why keep this secret from me?
Loric decided to skip ahead to find his answers.
D. A. 587, Abrilon 24
Long have been the days since I started my quest. I am now in a place known as Shepherd’s Vale, although there are not many men hardy enough to coexist with those dragons that infest the Wyrm Mountains, just north of here. There are few in the Vale learned of the legendary duel between Great Donigan and Andokandazur. Most of them do not know it with any accuracy and fewer still wish to help me. It is my suspicion that most shepherd folk simply wish to let sleeping dragons lie, so they conspire to keep me ignorant of lore....
Loric skipped over several more entries, his interest piqued, but his lids weighing heavy.
D. A. 587, Mayinor 5
I am near to completing the first difficult leg of my journey. A shepherd named Keldirias has guided me to the Blackened Crag, where Andokandazur’s flaming belly scraped against the cliff face. Many months of tedious searching, both on and below this mountain, may be the sum of my existence.
Further along Loric read:
D. A. 587, Octibir 25
Thank the Great King! Bless his memory! My diligence has been rewarded this day. To my shame, I almost turned homeward last week, but when I stumbled upon this obscure fissure, I knew I had to venture down into it. Behold! What should be looking back at me from its depths, but the Dragon’s Eye? It is a marvelous gem. It has no equal. Now I must seek and find the Sword of Kings, that I might reassemble the mightiest blade in all the land, to make Lord Falric King of Beledon.
“Amazing,” Loric hissed aloud. Inwardly he thought, My father, Sir Palendar, actually recovered one of the Dragon’s Eye Stones, which were thought forever lost. He stifled his yawn and murmured, “I must read on if I am to learn what has become of this stone and why my father abandoned his quest and his people when he was so close to restoring glory to the kingdom.”
D. A. 587, Novimbir 10
Following the advice of Keldirias, I am heading southeast toward an ancient dragon temple.
Perhaps there I shall unlock some long-lost map to help me find Mount Sorrow, which no cartographer was willing to mark on a map after the tragedy that happened there. Only then will I have a chance to recover the Sword of the Dragon’s Eye. I have taken leave of my humble shepherd guide, who has been a truer friend to me during my quest than any other mortal man has ever been to a Knight of the Kingdom.
D. A. 587, Novimbir 14
My brother has wronged me today! To Great Donigan I look for justice! How dare any knight ask me to abandon this worthy cause, which Lord Falric himself has ordained? Worse yet was his forceful effort to remove the Dragon’s Eye from my person. For his mistake, I repaid him with my sword hilt to his temple and went along my way. I fear that he pursues me even now, with other Knights of Beledon in tow. I must move quickly and disguise my passing as much as time allows.
One thing now made sense to Loric. Knights of Falric had driven his father from Belgandost for his refusal to quit his quest. That seemed to fit his sire. Even a stubborn stump would quit before Palen did. However, this reading had raised more questions than it had answered. Why would anyone want Sir Palendar to quit a quest of such significance to Beledon? Loric whispered the question he desired to have answered above all others, asking, “Did Sir Palendar achieve his aim?” There were so many questions in Loric’s head. If so, where is the sword now?
At the least, my father knows what has become of the Dragon’s Eye he found. What did he do with it? How did he escape Falric’s Knights?
That final query drove Loric back to his reading to discover what had happened. The next page was missing. Loric could see the ragged line of its remains, but someone had removed key entries from the journal. The entry following the missing page read:
D. A. 587, Novimbir 28
This is to be the final entry in my knightly log, for I am no longer a knight. The name Sir Palendar belongs to my enemies, to do with as they like. All that matters to me is that I have eluded pursuit without breaking my vows, so no curse shall fall upon my son, whom I have brought sa
fely out of my old stronghold. That curse now lay upon Falric’s Knights of Beledon, for slaying my brothers and casting down the Logantian Order, but most especially for wrongs done my lady wife, who is no longer with us. I cannot write of it; it pains me so. Of all the stings that I have known since my quest began, this one is the hardest to bear. My son needs me, so my quest must wait. It was a cursed failure! In place of a whole kingdom for my people, I have harvested only blight upon my name, the destruction of my order and the end of my life, as I have known it. Once my boy is grown, perhaps I will resume the folly I once held so dear to my heart.
I do not know if I shall. Should I forget: the Father of the Forest holds a keeper, and his keeper keeps a secret.
Loric snapped the book shut in frustration with all that he still wished to know dancing through his mind to taunt him. Why? he thought. That word of query married a multitude of questions with only scant vagaries for answers.
The missing page taunted Loric. Did Warnyck remove the page? The action fit the scout well enough, but then why would he give the knightly log to Loric. No. The scout had nothing to do with these missing entries. Palendar’s final line of his last entry echoed in his head, The Father of the Forest holds a keeper, and the keeper keeps a secret. Loric reread the line multiple times, but it still had no meaning to him. “It is a riddle of some sort,” he whispered to himself,
“but my I cannot sort it out.” His mind was dull from fatigue. He was too tired to acknowledge his frustration. Instead, he rasped, “I will sleep and hope to dream my answers into being.”
