“No!” Jonas growled and dug deep for more cognitive energy, all the while firing his bow faster than even he thought possible. He was not going to leave Tulari to die in this place. Taking the swirling particles around him, he wrapped them around Tulari’s body, his bow twanging rapidly at the same time. The mental concentration required to perform both tasks was immense, and Jonas felt the pain of a debilitating headache rush to the surface. More demons fell, and with one great heave of strength and power, he pulled Tulari towards him, the force of the pull knocking her heavy body into him, and together they tumbled through the portal just as the blue energy dissipated.
The portal flashed, and then it was gone.
Epilogue
The dining hall was clamorous, laughter and music pervading the large room. Servants bustled about, carrying trays laden with succulent fruits, cooked vegetables, roasted meats, and pitchers of ale and wine, the best that Lanard could provide. Large opulently set wood tables flanked the room, a long aisle covered in thick carpet woven in gold and red cloth running down the center. The aisle ran to the base of a set of stairs that rose to another platform, occupied by two beautifully built tables on either side. Here sat select nobles and officers. The stairs continued to rise another five paces to the top level, the center of which was occupied by the king’s table. The exquisite table was accentuated by legs carved into the paws of a dragon, and the palatial setting was dominated by flowers and silver dinnerware. More vibrant flowers of red and white grew from huge stone planters placed all around the upper platform and the king’s table.
Huge beams, each one honed from massive trees, lined the hall, intricate carvings snaking up their entire length to disappear in the shadows of the high ceiling. Several more, these two even larger, were on either side of the head table. Braziers were positioned before the beams, their heat warming the fifty or so occupants as they talked excitedly amongst each other, the topic of their conversation, as well as the direction of their many unveiled glances, clearly the king’s table. Huge iron chandeliers hung above the tables, many lit lanterns hanging from each casting a warm glow throughout the room.
It had been a week since the battle at the bridge and Maltheil’s defeat. When the group had entered the gate, Maltheil’s servants had attacked the defenders of the bridge. Luckily for the Red Guard cavalry, the fight against Maltheil was not prolonged, and as soon as the demon was slain by Peron all of the beast’s servants collapsed dead. The fight had been brutal however. They had lost nearly five hundred warriors on the bridge as many of the demon-spawn had scurried along its underside to attack from the flanks as well as the men beyond. Atticus’s body had been moved off the bridge away from the fighting to be healed. Soon thereafter, a gate had opened next to the druid as the blue energy from the shattered stone sought his mate. Then Peron and the others followed. Most were badly injured; beaten, bruised, burned, tired, and bleeding. The healers, once done with Atticus, turned their attention to the others.
A guard stepped from the shadows behind the king’s table, which was unoccupied, and raised a horn to his lips. He blew it, one long note, followed by two short, and ending with another slightly longer than the first. Instantly the crowd of dignitaries and nobles quieted as the guard stepped away. The floor was raised in such a way that no one below could view the area beyond the king’s table, so all they could see was Peron walk from the shadows to stand before the table, six Red Guard soldiers silently moving to the sides to flank him. He was wearing his battle armor, recently cleaned and polished. The armor was silver, lined with gold filigree that expertly adorned every edge. A splendid red cape lined in white fur hung from his shoulder. He wore no sword; his own had been left in the head of the demon. The crown of Lanard kings rested on his head and as Peron stepped before his people he smiled warmly.
“Demon Slayer!” someone yelled in the crowd and the silence was instantly filled with the roar of applause and whistles. Peron shook his head and smiled, raising his hand to silence the boisterous crowd. He was not comfortable before them, not at all. Nor was he comfortable with his new title, Demon Slayer, which seemed to find his ear wherever he went since the defeat of Maltheil. Peron didn’t think of himself as the hero. It was the brave men that followed the beast into the fiery pits that should be honored with that title, not him. Not to mention the soldiers that fought on the bridge that had no idea what was going to happen, fighting for their lives and hoping that Maltheil would be killed, ending the power of demon-spawn army in the process. It may have been his sword that had finally killed the demon, but it was not he that faced the creature alone in the dark, injuring it until it was weak and feeble. He had snuck up behind the injured beast and rammed his blade into the demon’s head while the others had fought it face to face. Stop it, Peron admonished himself. Stop second guessing yourself. You are king now, act like it, think like it. True, you did not fight the beast one on one, but you did jump through the gate, and you did act when it was required of you. Give yourself some credit. One thing Peron learned over the last month was that he needed to fight off his insecurities if he was going to rule. His people needed him, and they needed a confident king. He was definitely going to take Lord Anteel’s council and not let on when he had no idea what he was doing.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Lords and Ladies, welcome,” Peron said, his voice loud and clear despite the nervousness racing through him. “We are here tonight to celebrate our victory.” There was an immediate outcry of applause as the richly dressed dignitaries clapped and banged their fists on the wood tables. Peron raised his hand again and everyone went silent. “Maltheil is dead, no longer a threat to us, and the Tur’el army is scattered and defeated, our vindication of their treachery!” Again there was huge applause.
Thinking of Kylin, he glanced down at the table to his right. There sat the lords that made up the council, and their wives, as well as General Sig Moore. Next to him was Kylin, dressed in a luxurious white gown, the milky white skin of her neck adorned with sparkling diamonds on a silver chain. Her hair was pulled back and held in place with silver clips decorated with vibrant diamonds. She smiled at him. He did know not what was going to happen to her, and he felt for her, as she was now a guest in an enemy kingdom. Few knew who she really was, and they had all decided to keep it that way. Her plans were unknown to him, but for now she had agreed to stay, at least for the event.
“Maltheil caused great pain to many, and the suffering endured by that beast will not be forgotten. As we celebrate, bodies are buried, men and women who were killed by the demon and its servants. Tonight, we eat and drink to them!” This time the applause was deafening, the hoots and hollers, clapping and cheering, a cacophonous roar of excitement. Peron let it go on for a bit before raising both hands. “Let us give thanks to those who followed the beast into the fiery pits of hell,” Peron continued.
“Demon Slayer!” Again the title was yelled from the crowd. Peron smiled again and lifted his hand to silence them once again. “Not me, my friends. Maltheil’s death was caused by a culmination of the actions of five men, who if not for them, we would have seen our homes burned, the land turned black under Maltheil’s army. Tonight we honor them. First, I would like to honor Korrin Torgard, Captain of the Red Guard, slain in combat facing Maltheil the demon.”
A young man wearing the armor of a Lanard soldier stepped through the massive set of double doors at the far end of the hall. He was young, maybe twenty winters, with dark hair cut short above his ears. His face was set as he moved briskly across the hall, following the red carpet to the base of the stairs.
“To accept the kingdom’s honor in his stead is Tybol Torgard, son of Korrin, member of the Lanard infantry!” The hall exploded in applause as the young warrior walked the steps, stopping on the last rise before the top, just below Peron. A Red Guard soldier stepped from the shadows and held a red stained wood box before the king, opening the lid. Peron removed a necklace, a gold medallion hanging from the end. “For your father’s
act of bravery, and his dedication to Lanard, I give you the King’s Seal, the highest medal of honor awarded in our lands. Keep it with pride.” Peron draped it around the young man’s neck and handed him the beautiful wood box.
Tybol held the medal in his shaking hands. Then he looked up at Peron. He was nervous, and his expression showed it. “Thank you, my King,” he said softly.
Peron winked at him. “Don’t worry, I’m nervous as well,” he whispered back. The young man smiled. “Now, take your seat of honor.” Tybol walked around and sat on the edge of the king’s table.
“Next is Bearit Foehym, one of our very own, a logger from Lanard, and now a slayer of demons and a Red Guard recruit!” The crowd roared again, the fact that Bearit was from Lanard somehow adding to the already deafening applause.
Bearit walked through the doors, following Tybol’s path. He was wearing his armor, his big silver battle axe strapped to his broad back. He wore immaculate but simple clothes, a soft spun black cotton jerkin and matching leggings, contrasting nicely with two red sashes wrapped around his wrists marking him as a Red Guard recruit. Bearit walked proudly before Peron, stopping two steps from the top, his huge frame nearly blocking Peron’s like an eclipsing moon.
“Bearit of Lanard!” Peron began as the guard brought another box to him. “I give you the King’s Seal. Keep it with pride, and remember, we are forever in your debt!” He removed the medal and draped it over Bearit’s thick neck.
Bearit smiled. “Thank you, my King.” Peron nodded and motioned for him to take his seat behind him. Bearit walked to the other side, sitting on the opposite end of the table.
“Now!” Peron continued. “I want to introduce to you all my friend, son of Baylock Reen, demon slayer, and now Captain of the Red Guard, Tyril Reen!”
The crowd went crazy, the vociferous applause even louder than before.
Tyril, his armor buffed and polished, walked confidently down the long aisle. The Red Guard sash was tied at his waist and a plush red cape fluttered behind him.
“Never before has there been one so young to be Captain!” Peron yelled. The crowd continued to cheer as Tyril made his way to stand before Peron. He looked up and smiled.
“Having fun?” he whispered.
“No,” Peron shot back, his voice just a murmur.
“You’re doing great.”
Peron sighed, giving Tyril a waning smile. Then he looked up, his demeanor kingly once again. “Tyril Reen, I give you the King’s Seal! Wear it with pride for your actions, and your father’s, who died defending his country against overwhelming odds!” Another box was given to Peron and he hung the award around Tyril’s neck as the crowd continued the rambunctious applause. Then he placed his hand on Tyril’s shoulder, leaning in closely. “Thank you, my friend.”
Tyril nodded, “I’m lucky to be your friend, but more importantly, I’m proud you are my king. And I owe you my thanks. I would not be standing here now if you had not found the courage to follow us into that dark place. You killed Maltheil. Never again doubt your abilities.”
Peron smiled thankfully as Tyril walked away, making his way to sit beside Bearit, one seat closer to Peron’s, whose large wood chair sat in the middle. “Ladies and gentleman!” Peron continued. “We have two more awards to give, and to two humble warriors who would have left without your knowledge of their deeds! I could not allow that, and they, after much kingly groveling, decided to stay for the event!” Many of the guests laughed and the energy was palpable, the story of Atticus and Jonas already told from soldiers to men and women throughout Lanard. Everyone was eager to see the two warriors. “Without their help, I’m afraid the outcome would have been dire indeed!” Peron paused as the room grew silent. “We owe them everything,” Peron continued, his voice lowering as the silent anticipation built. “With the help from the men behind me, they fought and killed Maltheil. They protected our land, and the kingdoms beyond. I present to you, Atticus Belthar, Druid, Protector of the Lasur’een Forest, Demon Slayer, Champion of the Sanga’s Light. And,” Peron added quickly, holding up his hand for continued silence. “Jonas Kanrene, Shadow Knight to Shyann, Defender of the Righteous, Giant Killer, Destroyer of Demons, Dragon Slayer, Hero of Malbeck’s Wars, and Harbinger of the Light!”
The doors swung open again and Jonas and Atticus entered, followed by an explosion of applause that set the chandeliers to shaking. Everyone stood and clapped, yelling their applause, together the noise was thunderous. There was no lessening of the praise until they ascended the steps to stand just below Peron.
Tulari walked next to Jonas and sat by his leg, looking up at Peron. People had heard rumors of Jonas’s battle wolf, but now, when they looked upon her, she looked nothing like the stories had portrayed her. Her gray and white fur was clean and her dog-like size not threatening in the least bit. Jonas wore his typical black clothing and armor, all now clean of dirt, grime and blood. His clothing, all enchanted by Shyann, never looked worn out or damaged. It always looked the same, innocuous in appearance in every way. He wore his swords but kept his bow in his room, figuring it would not be needed for dinner.
Atticus wore a clean forest green jerkin lined in gold over his silver chainmail. His leggings and boots were plain and simple, the clothes of a ranger. His sword and hunting knife hung at his hip and his long wavy dirty blonde hair bounced with every step. His smile was infectious and more than one noble lady returned it with her own, blushed cheeks and giggles following.
Several soldiers came forward with two boxes, their lids open. Peron raised his hands and finally the crowd quieted. “Jonas Kanrene, Atticus Belthar, we grant you the King’s Seal!” he said as he removed the medal one at a time and placed it around their necks. “Please keep it in remembrance of all that you have done! Every time you look at it, remember, there is a kingdom grateful for your actions!” The crowd roared again, the sound just as ear-splitting as before. Peron raised his hands again and reluctantly the noise dropped to a tolerable buzz. “There is one more gift I would like to honor you with!” Peron reached into pouch at his side and withdrew two rings. “I bestow upon you the king’s signet ring, with all the power accompanying its seal!” And yet again, the crowd responded, cheering and clapping as Peron handed them each the ring.
Atticus smiled and winked at Peron. “Well done, my boy,” he said over the noisy accolade. “Oh, and just for future reference, I’ve killed a dragon as well.” His roguish smiled returned as he moved to the table to sit next to Korrin’s son.
Jonas’s smile was more subdued, but equally warm. “You will make a fine king,” he said, leaning closer. “Harbinger of Light?” he added, his eyebrows raised with a playful smile.
Peron shrugged. “I thought it fitting,” he replied, smiling back.
Jonas walked around Peron, with Tulari at his side. Perhaps you are right, Jonas thought, as he sat next to Bearit, smiling at the young man as Peron stood before his cheering and adoring crowd.
***
Jonas was up the next morning, the sun barely noticeable as the darkness of night still dominated the countryside. He had said his goodbyes the night before and wanted to be on the road when the sun rose. He was a loner now, his life poignantly marked with sojourn after sojourn. The crowds, the praise and conversation the night before, all feeling like a rock in his boot. He had a hard time enjoying it. He wasn’t sure why. Perhaps he knew it was temporary for him, short lived, a preclude to more violence and death. Or maybe it was because he knew as he sat and ate food fit for a king that somewhere out there, was somebody who required his help…a young boy or girl that needed saving, or a man or women that needed to be prodded in the right direction or they would become the very thing he fought against. There was too much to do, too many people to help.
“I knew you would be leaving early.”
Jonas turned from the main gate, the entrance just opened by the guards once they saw who he was. Bearit stood in the shadows, stepping towards him. “You been there long?” Jonas as
ked.
Bearit shrugged. “Like I said, I knew you would be leaving.”
“It’s time.”
Bearit glanced at Tulari. “You have a calling?”
Tulari growled in response, coming up to lick Bearit’s hand. Jonas smiled. “Yes. I will always have a calling.” He sounded more melancholy than he meant to.
“I wanted to say goodbye,” Bearit said, stepping closer with a raised hand. “To thank you once again for all you have done for me.”
Jonas shook it in the warrior’s grip, marveling again at the logger’s powerful forearms. “As I said before, you are welcome. Be strong, my friend. We need those, like you, strong in mind and body, who are willing to stand up to the darkness.”
“You have my word, Jonas,” Bearit said. “I will become that man.”
Jonas smiled and turned away from him, striding towards the gloomy dawning light beyond the gate. He stopped and looked back, his face serious. “You already are.” Then he walked into the darkness, Tulari’s white fur turning to gray, their forms receding into the waning shadows.
THE END
About the Author
Jason McWhirter has been a history teacher for twenty one years. He lives in Washington with his wife, Jodi, and their dog, Meadow. He is a certifiable fantasy freak who, when he wasn’t playing sports, spent his childhood days immersed in books and games of fantasy. He’d tumble into bed at night with visions of heroes, dragons, and creatures of other worlds, fueling his imagination and spurring his desire to create fantasies of his own. When he isn’t fly fishing the lakes and streams of the Northwest, or wine tasting and entertaining with his wife and friends, he spends his spare time sitting in front of the computer writing his next novel or screenplay.
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