Prince Kristian's Honor

by Tod Langley

Chapter 16

  The Frozen Landscape

  An hour later, Mikhal, Kristian, and the last remaining cavalier, Garin, were leagues from the battlefield. They limped and staggered along the snow-covered road, their torn and wet clothing little comfort against the cold. Their bodies were battered and bruised from hours of fighting and running, and each of them secretly wished the others would suggest a break. They knew that stopping, however, could mean losing any lead they had over possible pursuers.

  Actually, none of them knew whether they were being followed at all. The three sprinted from the hill toward the wagons once it seemed that no one else was going to attack them. They dodged the bodies that covered the ground until they reached a supply wagon and then quickly moved to the back side, trying to hide as best they could. Mikhal and Garin climbed in, looking for additional cloaks and food. The three made packs out of blankets to hold the little food and gear they had found that was not destroyed during the battle. The three had waited a long time after the sun had risen and the dead had fallen before deciding to join King Justan and the rest of the Duellrians. Mikhal had wanted to wait, hoping they might find other survivors … but there were none.

  It seemed to Kristian they ran for hours before the pace finally slowed, but even then the three survivors did not rest. They continued marching east at a hard pace, hoping to reach Justan before noon. But when noon passed and the day continued on toward dusk, the three began to worry.

  “Maybe the storm slowed them down,” Garin suggested.

  “That’s probably what happened. No one could have moved far in that blinding snow,” Mikhal admitted.

  But Kristian felt something was terribly wrong. Nothing had gone right since he had left Erand. They were harassed by peasant villagers, his future father was savagely murdered, his betrothed was kidnapped by a demon, and his entire campaign to defeat Ferral and rescue Allisia was crushed in one evening.

  Kristian felt shame and self-loathing. His decisions cost thousands of men their lives; worse his taunts and challenges probably caused Ferral to unleash his magic upon them all. The single worst part of the night was that he had survived.

  “I should have died on the hill. I should have died several times last night, but they wouldn’t let me.” His self-pity turned to anger, and he focused it on the one officer left that was responsible for keeping him alive. Mikhal Jurander.

  Of all the cavaliers, Kristian knew, Mikhal would like nothing more than to see him dead, but he followed his orders and protected him. Mikhal had protected him from the Belarnians, the demon, the dead, and from himself. I would have died like everyone else had it not been for him.

  Kristian stared accusingly at Mikhal’s back.

  The three continued in silence, resting little as they searched for signs of the Duellrian army. An hour before dusk, they found the remainder of Justan’s forces. Kristian stood at the top of a small rise less than a league away from a column of horses, men, and wagons. Their movement was slow enough that Kristian had a hard time discerning if they were moving at all. The sound of a banner flapped in the wind, and something was definitely wrong.

  Thousands of Duellrians lay frozen in the snow. There were groups of men everywhere, sitting motionless, huddled together as if they tried to keep warm during the blizzard. Kristian saw others still sitting atop fallen horses holding on to lances and reins as though the freezing death came so quickly that none had time to react. Their faces were shiny, almost blue, their eyes and mouths slightly open, hinting at the extreme pain they felt before they died.

  “More of Ferral’s work,” Mikhal said as he picked his way through the frozen column. Kristian simply shrugged in defeat. He was not surprised by what he saw. After all, he was the one that forced Ferral’s hand and unleashed the power within the sorcerer. Kristian knew now that they were all meant to die. What he was seeing before him was only the beginning of worse atrocities to come. It was not even surprising to see Justan standing frozen among a circle of stiff defenders. Their drawn weapons stood out from their blue hands as though they meant to ward off an enemy that was no longer there.

  Kristian walked up to the young king who had seen nothing but misery since Kristian and his cavalry escort arrived at the Duellrian court. The man, no older than Kristian, had seen his own father’s head ripped from his body and his sister kidnapped by a demon. His face had the same expression of fear on it as when Justan had first seen Ferral’s hideous monster.

  “There’s no sign of fighting,” Garin exclaimed, examining the ground. “There aren’t any footprints or anything.”

  Mikhal agreed. “There aren’t even any battle wounds on the dead.” The cavalier frowned, knowing what had most likely happened. “It was the demon.”

  The three looked closer at Justan, and they were puzzled. His arms had been ripped off of his body after he had been frozen. Both arms lay on the ground, one pointing toward Belarn and the other arm back toward the port of Singhal.

  Kristian threw his hands up in defeat. “It would have been better to die and have my shame die with me than to survive and see everything else destroyed.” He did not see Mikhal come slowly up behind him.

  “Garin,” Mikhal said, “don’t go far, but see if there is anything we can use from their supply wagons. We’ll end up just as frozen as these men if we don’t get warm soon.” The younger soldier nodded gloomily. Mikhal understood how the young soldier must be starting to feel. How could he keep the soldier’s spirits high enough to make him want to live if the prince kept speaking of the death they all thought about?

  Mikhal viciously turned on Kristian once Garin was out of sight. “I’m not going to keep secret the fact that I hate you. I hold you responsible for all of their deaths. I would like nothing more than to see you dead, but it’s more important that we get back to Erand as quickly as possible and warn your father of Belarn’s treachery.”

  “Get back? To my … father?” Kristian asked in credulity. “My father is dead. And just how the hell are we supposed to get back to Erand, anyway? We have no food, no water, no warm clothes, and we’re in the middle of Ferral’s country in the worst snowstorm I’ve ever seen.” Kristian shook his head in defiance. “I’d rather die than make it back to Erand where everyone will see how I have disgraced them.”

  Mikhal lost control of his emotions and grabbed Kristian. Shaking him, Mikhal threatened, “You will make it back, and you will face your shame. My friends deserve that and much more. More than you can ever repay, you pitiful excuse for a man.”

  Mikhal took in a deep breath of air to calm himself, but it did not help. “They fell at the rising of the sun. Did you see it, Your Highness? The sun rose, and the dead fell.”

  Kristian stared at Mikhal, his own anger beginning to rise. Mikhal continued, “Only fifteen minutes after they destroyed the last of my friends. Fifteen minutes more is all that we had to hold on to survive. If I hadn’t been ordered to protect you, I might have been able to help them hold off the monsters for that short amount of time.”

  Kristian snorted. “It wouldn’t have taken them five more minutes to finish us regardless of what you did. You would have made no difference. Besides, I didn’t ask you to protect me.”

  “Those were my orders, and unlike you, I know when to shut my mouth and do what is needed. Now, you are going back to Erand.”

  Kristian refused the demand. He shoved the young officer away from him, pulling his sword out of his belt. Mikhal saw the look in Kristian’s eyes and carefully backed away. Maybe it would be better to kill him now, he thought.

  He had little time to think on it before Kristian lunged at him. The thrust was half-hearted and meant to scare Mikhal more than hurt him.

  “If you think I am going to Erand with you after everything that has happened … then I’ll just leave on my own,” Kristian declared.

  Mikhal pulled his own sword out and looked at the thousands of frozen bodies around him. More brave men dead because of my prince, he thought.

&
nbsp; “If you think that your royal blood is going to save you from getting the lesson you deserve … then you’re gravely mistaken. When you pull out a sword and threaten someone, you’d better be prepared to use it.”

  He caught Kristian by surprise, swinging his blade around fiercely, knocking the other’s sword away. Kristian was spun around by the force of the blow but quickly recovered. The hatred in both men exploded as they faced each other; neither wanted to face the grim reality that was forced upon them. Each blamed the other for their personal losses.

  Mikhal hated Kristian because his selfish decisions had killed all of his friends. Kristian hated the young cavalier because he represented everything he had wanted to be but was never allowed. Kristian had always wanted to be like Mikhal. He wanted to be a great leader, strong, and mentally tough. More than anything, Kristian wanted to be respected by his men. Kristian’s jealousy and self-pity turned to rage.

  Kristian’s unrecognizable shout of anger echoed off the frozen wagons and dead that surrounded them. He rushed in, forcing Mikhal back. Mikhal stumbled on the form of a Duellrian curled up in the snow. He fell onto the body, feeling the chill of the frost on the soldier’s skin. He looked up in time to see that Kristian was not hesitating. The prince swung his sword downward, aiming for Mikhal’s head, but the cavalier rolled away untouched.

  Kristian tried to keep Mikhal away through the shear force of his anger, but Mikhal moved in past his sword, pushing the prince back to the center of Justan’s ring of protectors. They closed once briefly. Their blades caught in each other’s cross guards, and they exchanged blows with their fists as they tried to free their swords. Kristian tried to take back the offensive, but he was not as skilled or experienced as Mikhal and was eventually forced to the ground. The fallen prince looked for his sword, but it was out of reach.

  Mikhal exerted enough pressure to draw blood as he pushed the sword point into Kristian’s neck. Kristian did not move or show any sign of fear as Mikhal stood over him, ready to finish him off. “Thousands have died because of you! Thousands,” Mikhal shouted in fury.

  The cavalier could no longer keep his sorrow in. His grip on the broadsword loosened as he began to sob. The tragic knowledge that he had lost all of his friends in just one night forced him to his knees. He silently asked God for help, raising his hands up pleadingly toward heaven. He knelt beside Kristian a long time, wondering what to do. Finally, Mikhal stood up and looked at Kristian in disgust.

  “I’m not going kill you, Your Highness. That would make it too easy on you.” Mikhal wiped away the tears on his cheek and then put away his sword.

  “The whole world will know that I was the one to unleash Ferral’s madness. You’re right … it’s all my fault. Thousands have died because of me, and I will never be able to forgive myself. How am I ever going to face our people and tell them what I did?” Kristian asked, panting for breath.

  Mikhal’s anger would not subside. “I don’t know or care. You have a lot to answer for.”

  Kristian paused and then slowly nodded in agreement. “I deserve it. I deserve to die more than anyone else.”

  Then Mikhal looked back toward Ferral’s city and sighed, “It’s not all your fault. We all pledged to help the Duellrians rescue Allisia. We were all fools to think we could just show up and demand her back. Not even you could have seen what Ferral was capable of. The sorcerer has even more to answer for than you.”

  “But I knew he controlled a demon,” Kristian said as he stood up. “For a man to be able to control that much evil … I should have foreseen what would happen.”

  Mikhal shook his head, confused. He had lost control of his emotions and was not sure who was to blame for what any more. “It was a risk we all took in coming to Belarn. They have always worshipped the devil. I’m as much a fool as you are … more the fool because ...” Mikhal was going to continue but thought it better to stop.

  Kristian finished the cavalier’s thought. “Because you think you’re better than me. Because you have always been watching and judging me, and you knew that I would fail.”

  Mikhal looked away from his prince, focusing instead on Justan’s frozen form. The kneeling blue corpse shouted silently at them.

  “When you decided to attack without word from your father and without waiting on Duellrian reinforcements, you overstepped your authority as a leader. When you say ‘charge,’ men follow those orders trusting in your better judgment as their superior. Hundreds of good men died because you refused to leave the bridge when we should have regrouped with Aphilan’s men. And when you recklessly left your position to get into the fight, I saw several follow you, leaving their position to protect you. How many died to ensure your survival? When you volunteer your men for something, it has always been for the wrong reasons. It should never be for the sake of honor or fame. Only after considering the lives that you are responsible for and the outcome of your decisions should you make such a decision.”

  He reached down and grabbed the prince’s sword. “You already know that your position grants you great authority, but you’ve never understood that with that authority comes great responsibility.” He handed the sword back to Kristian and then walked away.

  Kristian responded quickly. “No, you’re wrong about one thing.” Mikhal turned, looking at him doubtfully. “I may have dreamed of honor or becoming a great hero, but when we attacked, the only thing I could think of was Allisia.” Mikhal did not answer.

  “What am I supposed to do with this?” Kristian raised the Belarnian broadsword Mikhal had returned to him.

  “There are only three of us, and we’ll need even your sword if we want to survive.” Mikhal looked directly at Kristian. “I trust there will be no more outbursts? Remember, there are still many more lives at stake.” He added, “And I don’t want you to say anything negative in front of Garin. He’s young and looks up to you.”

  Mikhal snickered and then continued, “He’s probably the one loyal follower you’ve got left.”

  Garin suddenly reappeared from behind one of the abandoned wagons, holding a few supplies. “This is all I could find. A water cask. It’s completely frozen, but still fresh. I found a heavier sword to replace this broken staff. And here are some better coats to replace our wet ones.” Garin looked questioningly at the other two seeing for the first time the uneasiness between them. He could see the bruises that were already appearing on their faces from the struggle. His puzzled look went unanswered.

  Mikhal took two of the long coats and handed one to Kristian. Silently, they put the new clothes on over the top of their wet ones. They were glad for the extra warmth even though the tight fit forced their cold, wet clothes against their bodies. Kristian started to shake violently and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up as the temperature around them suddenly dropped.

  He looked around in the gloom of dusk for signs of danger but could see none. The prince turned to Mikhal, seeing that he was also feeling the eerie chill. Mikhal quickly finished harnessing his sword over his new coat and walked back toward the ring of dead defenders. Garin followed uncertain of what to expect.

  Just as the two approached the center, Justan’s head began to move. The dead king’s skin cracked and muscles stretched and snapped as he forced his head to turn toward the living men. His blue eyes were glazed over by a film of ice, but somehow he was able to tell that the living were near. Mikhal and Garin stopped abruptly in their tracks, watching in horror as their one-time comrade struggled to reach them.

  “Watch out!” Garin shouted to Kristian. The prince backed away slowly from the image of horror in front of him, pulling his broadsword free.

  Kristian felt a searing cold flash up his leg and looked down to see the grinning face of another dead soldier pulling on him. He quickly kicked his leg free and ran to his companions. “We have to get out of here now before they all wake up.”

  There was no arguing that, Mikhal thought. The three Erandians quickly began maneuvering their way through
the rising forms of the frozen men. Mikhal turned back once after they cleared the milling mass. He thought he heard the scream of a horse or the shout of a man as they ran from the awakening army. What he saw only made him panic more.

  Mikhal saw the Belarnian cavalry fighting with the frozen dead not far from where they were. “The Belarnians have caught us.” He turned back to Kristian and Garin, urging them to move. “Run. Maybe, if we’re lucky, they will be slowed down by the dead.” The other two did not bother to look back, already hearing the growing sounds of battle behind them.