by Tod Langley
Chapter 19
Separate Paths
“Well, Cairn, you’ve proven to be a valuable friend,” Mikhal said, impressed by their new companion’s skills. “I don’t know what your plans are, but I think I should at least inform you of the situation to the north.” Cairn only shrugged nonchalantly.
Looking hesitantly around, Mikhal leaned closer to emphasize his concern. “Belarn is under the control of an evil sorcerer. A battle was recently fought seeking to bring the mad king down, but the armies opposing him were destroyed. He brought the dead back to life to fight us.” None of the news seemed to affect Cairn at all.
“I’ve heard many stories. Wars come and go. So long as you don’t get involved, the forces are usually too worried about each other to harass someone like me.”
Cairn’s casual attitude annoyed Mikhal.
“It must be hard to remain so stolid … holding back your emotions so you don’t act against the atrocities that you see.” Cairn tilted his head slightly toward Mikhal while he stirred his soup. “It must be hard to pass by murderers and do nothing about it.” Kristian and Garin both put their bowls down, alarmed that Mikhal might provoke the one person helping them.
Cairn smiled knowingly, showing no sign of being offended. “Angering me will reveal nothing, lieutenant. Over the years, I’ve learned to keep my feelings in check … it helps me stay alive.” The three looked at each other in alarm. How did Cairn figure out who Mikhal was?
“I’m sorry, but I’m not an officer. I’m not even in an army. We’re simple merchants that were ambushed by the men you just helped us kill.”
“We just told you that,” Garin blurted out. Mikhal tried to lend as much credibility to their story as he could muster, but it was obvious that Cairn already knew more about them then he had let on.
Cairn shrugged indifferently placing his empty bowl down by the fire. “You can pretend to be whoever you want, but you can’t hide your accent, manners, or training.” Mikhal kept a steady face as Cairn talked, but Kristian and Garin could only hang their heads low, submitting to the truth.
“Besides, the patrol had already been through this area looking for you. They said the three they were looking for were Duellrian, but it’s obvious you’re Erandian.”
“And you are a Belarnian, from the sound of your voice,” Mikhal shot back. He was determined to push Cairn and find out just what his intentions were. Mikhal had lost too many friends; he had a hard time trusting anyone now. “If you knew we were Erandians, why did you help us against your own countrymen? Now, you’re in the exact situation you seemed to want to avoid.”
Cairn took a long time before answering. He looked around at the bodies of those they had just killed as if judging his own character. Finally, all he could do was give an already all too familiar shrug. “I wanted to share my fire and food in exchange for news of what has happened. Therefore, you were my guests and my responsibility to protect. I could have let them kill you and probably would have had you not stumbled into my camp, but I made a decision to help you, knowing that you were being pursued. I see little difference in what would have happened to me if they had known I helped shelter you or helped you by killing their men. Either way, they will be after me if we don’t part ways soon.” He stood, reaching for his bowl. Cairn cleaned the bowl with a cloth before he put it back into his pack.
“Just the same,” Mikhal offered, “you could have saved yourself a lot of trouble if you had not helped us. Whatever your reasons were, thank you.”
Cairn seemed agitated by the gratitude Mikhal showed him. He could only think of someone he had been unable to help a very long time ago. He silently pulled his hood back over his head and walked away from the fire.
Kristian tried to remind Mikhal of their current troubles. “But what do we do? We should keep moving if we want to out run the patrols. And if we ever hope to get back …,” Kristian said as he looked at Cairn suspiciously, “to our country, we need to stay as far ahead of our pursuers as possible.” Garin nodded in agreement, but Mikhal only glared at him.
“Why would you want to go back to Erand?” Cairn asked casually as he packed his gear. “I can’t imagine why anyone would want to go back … after what happened.” The three immediately stood, fear and concern etched in their faces. They stood rigid as they waited for Cairn to give them more information. Seeing them standing there expectantly, he realized they had not heard.
“After what? What has happened in Erand?” Kristian demanded to know. His voice wavered; he felt a chill in his body that made his heart pound. Blood rushed through the veins in his head, and everything sounded muffled. He waited for Cairn to say more, afraid of what he was about to hear.
“The Erandian capital was destroyed over a week ago. I don’t know the whole story, but from what others have told me, a massive fire left the city in total ruin. A wall of flame swept through the streets, destroying the army barracks, homes, and even the palace. Thousands were trapped inside the city walls. Most of the army was destroyed … even the king was killed.”
“Liar!” Kristian shouted as he leaped over the campfire, lunging for Cairn. “You’re lying. It isn’t possible. These things can’t be true.” Mikhal and Garin came rushing to his side, holding him back. All three looked horrified and waited expectantly for Cairn to continue.
Cairn was confused by the young man’s reactions. “Steady friend, I meant no harm. I’m only relaying the news every merchant and traveler in southern Belarn is talking about.”
Cautiously, Cairn told them everything he knew. “They say a terrible wind carried the flames from one side of the city to the other in less than an hour. Few had warning before they were trapped. The army was decimated. The king, your king I guess, was trapped in the palace. It collapsed, killing him and the many people trying to save him. Thousands more died that night in the terrible cold. With little shelter to protect them from the storm, they froze to death. I suppose the Belarnian army will move south now to block the border roads. You won’t get far if you’re trying to get back to Erand.” Cairn looked ashamed and tried to turn away from them, “I’m sorry that I had to be the one to tell you.”
Kristian fell to his knees, crying. Cairn felt a knot in his stomach, a feeling of pity that he rarely felt. “Perhaps, it isn’t true. News often gets distorted when it’s passed over such great distances.”
“No, it’s true.” Kristian said through clenched teeth. “God! I feel the truth of it in my soul. That madman told me himself, but I refused to believe him. What else can you do to us?” he shouted into the night.
“Father, I’m sorry!” He cried between gasps for air. “It’s my fault. I failed you. I failed everyone. I’m sorry!” Kristian fell on his stomach, burying his head in his arms, trying to hide from the world. He wanted to forget all the horrible mistakes he had ever made.
Kristian despaired, “How do you make sure someone knows you truly love them despite the way you treated them … after they’re gone?” His voice was barely a whisper.
He felt as if God, his mother, and now his father and people were looking down on him from above, judging him for his actions. He was not sure what they would do to him if they were given the chance, but he wished he was with them instead of being left alive to face the cold, bleak world Ferral had created.
Cairn hesitated but knew he could not hold the rest of the news back from them. There was much more they needed to know. “I’m sorry, but I must warn you of something else. I overheard the scouts talking earlier when they were searching for you. The Belarnian army plans to control all movement heading east. They’re going to hunt down people in Erand like wild dogs, chasing them into the hills to the north and east. If you try to go back, you’ll be captured. It won’t be long before all of Erand is under their control. Duellr will be next, I suppose. Or perhaps the Holtsmen to the west.”
Kristian buried his head even deeper into his arms.
Mikhal watched as Garin also sank to the ground. His knees had given out as h
e too realized that many of those he loved were probably dead. Mikhal remembered Garin had a beautiful, young wife whom he had just married prior to setting out for Duellr. She had been taken in by one of the soldier’s wives while he was away. If what Cairn said was true, there was little chance she survived.
There was little chance the remainder of the cavaliers were alive either. Their quarters were in the center of the military district where Cairn said the fire started. Mikhal walked off into the woods, unable to comprehend how so much destruction could be brought down on them so quickly. He stopped a short distance from the firelight, leaning against an old tree.
What about my parents? Have they survived the destruction Ferral unleashed upon our people? He could not help but think that somehow they were all right. They lived a half-day’s ride from the capital and would have been in little danger from the inferno.
The cold would have been enough to kill them, he worried momentarily. Still, Mikhal had a strong, confident feeling they were alive and doing their best to survive.
His thoughts turned instead to how the fire could have started. Was Cairn right? Had Ferral somehow been able to destroy their entire kingdom while he was fighting a battle at the very gates of his own fortress? A powerful image of the beautiful woman in the red cloak entered his thoughts. Her long blonde hair floated in the night wind, her cloak flapping behind her. She stood on a snow-covered hill overlooking a massive city engulfed in flames. The city was their capital, Brekia.
He watched as the demon stood there motionless, listening to the sounds of devastation carried up the hill by the wind. Screams of pain and horror and shouted orders filled his mind … the demon’s mind. The vision continued as he watched thousands of Erandians break through the closed gates and escape into the night.
He mentally turned his thoughts back to the woman on the hill. It was the demon-woman that had killed Allisia’s father. She seemed to sense his presence and turned toward him in his mind. Her face was solemn and somehow familiar. A tear streaked down her face, ruining her beautiful complexion as she reached out for him. There was a longing, a need, coming from her that Mikhal could sense. It was so powerful that his entire body tingled with excitement. She continued to reach out, arms open wide for an embrace that he could not give her. Then she was gone.
The young cavalier stood within the trees a moment longer, tears running silently down his face. He wondered how many more innocent people would die before their nightmare was finally over. He did not know the answer but made a commitment right then, among the snow-covered trees, to find help. He would find others willing to fight Ferral for the death and destruction the madman had brought down upon all of them. He would find a way to kill the demon.
Kristian sat on a log staring blankly into the brightest part of the fire. Thoughts of his parents constantly flowed in and out of his mind. He remembered the time his mother held him close after he fell from his horse. She had comforted him like any loving parent, soothing his fears and brushing the dirt from his clothes. He remembered vowing to his father that he would someday be a cavalier, defending the kingdom from those that meant to harm their people. His father had nodded, gleaming with pride for a son that tried so hard to honor his parents. They had shown him love and support, but then things had changed. He had changed. He could barely remember those cherished memories … mostly he remembered his failures, his spiteful actions toward those around him.
Kristian remembered the times he was forced to study, separated from other children. He was told that he was being prepared for the difficulties of ruling, but he did not care. His mother had recently died, and his father neglected him as he spent more and more time with his council. Kristian had no one to talk to and lashed out against all forms of authority. His tutors soon came to despise him.
He even pushed his father away. At the time, Kristian had believed his father was insensitive to the needs of his only child. The king refused to let him do anything that would bring him into contact with others his own age. Perhaps, Kristian thought, it was to protect him. He had never stopped to think how the death of his mother had affected his father. Kristian had not been able to see beyond his own selfish demands.
Kristian rebelled and grew more independent, abandoning his dream of becoming a cavalier. He became a loner that no one could reach. His father may have realized he was partly to blame, but by the time he tried to make amends, it was too late; there was a rift between them. Kristian moped through his adolescence, creating a barrier between himself and everyone else. To forget his troubles, he pushed himself hard. He swore that no one would be better than himself in anything. From riding and fencing to manipulating the fools in his father’s court, Kristian wanted no man to be better than him. But he had truly not even known what it meant to be a man. In his attempts to reach perfection, he isolated himself even more. No one liked the egotistical, self-serving boy that Kristian had become.
Soon, there were no teachers dedicated enough to stay and help; his only form of learning was through reading old texts, and it seemed those accounts were often flawed. He was always impatient, unable to control his temper when people did not immediately get him what he wanted. His anger continued to flare as he approached manhood. Kristian’s father tried to calm him, but nothing seemed to reach the boy who had spent his time ruining friendships rather than making them.
Tears fell freely down Kristian’s face as he remembered every person he had wronged. All the servants in the palace, most of the guards assigned to duty near the king, and especially his father. He remembered the terrible mistakes he made in leading Captain Hienren and his men on their doomed quest. He acknowledged the fact that they were all dead because of him, and he would never be able to change that.
His sorrow deepened with the realization that he was alone. Mikhal hated him and Garin did whatever the young cavalry officer wanted. Ever since their confrontation yesterday, Mikhal had made it perfectly clear how he felt about Kristian.
“Your opinion doesn’t matter, and your wishes will be considered last in all things,” Mikhal told him when they were alone.
How was Kristian supposed to go on, knowing the cavalier would be constantly watching his back, that no one trusted him? How was he to survive his entire life with no kingdom or home? He laughed at himself. How was he supposed to go on living with the knowledge that his failures had caused so many deaths?
“Maybe it would be better to end my life now and hope God forgives me and takes pity on me,” Kristian said looking up toward heaven.
Even in his deep depression, Kristian knew he could not do that. He knew what must be done.
“I can’t abandon Allisia,” he swore. She was his only hope for personal salvation; she was probably the only person still alive that might give him a second chance. The only way to regain any part of the honor he thought he once had was to fight back against Ferral, as difficult as it was going to be. Surviving the cold winter and Ferral’s monsters would not be enough. To become a man in control of his own life, he would have to dedicate himself to earning the trust and respect of those around him, especially Mikhal Jurander’s trust. He would take on any burden to save Allisia and his people from Ferral.
Mikhal represented all the things Kristian had aspired to be, but failed to achieve. The prince realized that where he was unable to take the advice of others, Mikhal was able to listen. Where Kristian shouted out orders and expected immediate results, Mikhal issued plans based on the advice of both his superiors and subordinates. He was patient, knowledgeable, and showed genuine concern for others.
Allisia was the only person stubborn enough to give him a second chance. Kristian knew she did not love him, but he could not let her remain trapped and tormented by Ferral. His concern for her was genuine, and he knew some of his recent demands were motivated by his feelings for her. Kristian knew that was something Mikhal would never accept no matter how many times he might say it.
What if Mikhal was right? What if everything I hav
e done was simply for some stupid notion of glory, for a quest that was never my right to undertake? he asked himself.
Have I really done any good at all? Is Allisia better off now then before we started all of this? Kristian began to get sick. Do I truly care for her, I mean, how much time did we actually spend together? Not much time at all, he realized.
But the more Kristian contemplated his feelings for her, the more he was certain he knew the answer. Kristian did care for Allisia. She had given him a second chance at friendship, and that was something no one else had ever done for him. For that reason alone he had to help her. He put Mikhal out of his mind, his personal struggle with the cavalier was nothing compared to what he would have to do to bring Ferral down and find Allisia.
An hour later, the four of them were ready to part ways. The Erandian survivors were still weak and cold, but now each of them was focused and determined to do what they had promised. They knew there was little chance of getting through the Belarnian lines back to Erand. Even if the three did succeed in getting safely home, they knew there would be few people able to help them rebuild and fight back against their oppressors.
Kristian was faced with two important challenges. His people needed him. They were likely scattered and confused. Kristian was no longer a prince but a king responsible for the welfare of his people … if they would ever accept him.
But Allisia needed him, too. He knew the Duellrians would never confront Ferral again. If Kristian did not figure out a way to fight back against the sorcerer and save her, no one else would.
The Erandians needed hope, though. They needed to know that Kristian was not abandoning them. They needed to know that he was doing the only thing that he thought he could to help them. Mikhal, surprisingly, agreed. The two of them wanted to get word to their people so that they would not lose hope, but felt their chances of defeating Ferral would be better if they went west or south. Mikhal brought Kristian and Garin close to him. Reaching into his coat, he pulled out a torn piece of black cloth.
He said, “One of my men, Davil, was brave enough to take a banner like this from the Belarnians. Wounded and weak, he was ordered back to the supply train where he could rest. He was later killed, and the prize he fought so hard for could not be recovered.” He paused to hand the cloth to Garin who examined it closely.
“On the hill, I thought we were going to die. I thought we were all going to die, but as I watched the dead move closer to our lines, Turan Langwood gave me this. I had always thought his story about capturing a war banner and saving the day was just something to amuse the younger cavaliers, a story to make soldiers laugh.” Mikhal smiled as he remembered the dozen times or more he had heard the old soldier retell his story.
“I guess, in part, he did try to make us laugh, but underlying the humor was a feeling that all cavaliers share. We want to be the best. We want to serve our country no matter the sacrifice.” Garin nodded in solemn agreement.
Mikhal paused, trying to hold back the anguish. Finally, he continued, “Take this back to Erand and show it to everyone you encounter. Tell them of all the heroic deeds you witnessed. Don’t forget a single one of our comrades that died to ensure that their prince … I mean king, survived.” Kristian bowed his head in silence, wishing those sacrifices had never been made.
Mikhal concluded his speech by saying, “Try to get back home. Let them know their king is calling on all people throughout Erinia to oppose this evil. Bring our people together and give them comfort. And lastly, raise an army of our own countrymen. Prepare them for our return.”
Garin looked at the banner in his hands and stammered, “It was easier to fight the dead then to do what you are asking of me now. I don’t know if I can do it. I’m too young.”
Kristian stepped forward, resting a hand on Garin’s shoulder. “I think you can. You have to try, please. I have only known you a short time, Garin, but your dedication and endurance are as strong as any cavalier I’ve ever met. I need your help.” The young soldier stood a little straighter. “Get back home as quickly as possible. We’ll send word when we can.” Garin nodded and shook hands with Mikhal, and then he bowed deeply to his new king.
“I will not fail you, My King.” Before Kristian could say a word of thanks Garin trotted out of the clearing. At the very edge of the trees, standing on a small rise, he pulled another banner out of his coat. He held a blue and gray flag high in the air. It was the cavalier’s banner that Garin had carried throughout the battle against the Belarnians. He held it high in the early dawn for just a moment and then turned away in a hurry. Kristian watched him until he was completely out of sight.
“I just hope I don’t fail you,” the new king of Erand said to himself. He joined Mikhal by the embers of the fire, helping him pack the last of their provisions.
Cairn approached them just before they were ready to leave; he had already finished packing his gear. “If you’re serious about taking on Ferral again, travel south for a day, perhaps two, and you’ll reach a road. Take the road west toward the mountains until you come to a river that flows toward the south. Follow that river.” The swordsman shifted uneasily, perhaps unsure of whether he should be telling them this.
He continued, “Keep close to the river and head south toward a great forest. There are people living within the woods that might help you.”
“The spirit folk!” Kristian exclaimed. “They’re just a myth.”
“They’re no myth. I’ve seen them,” Cairn responded.
“You’ve seen them? I’ve heard they are fairies or elves with powerful magic,” Mikhal commented.
“They’re not elves or spirits. … they’re just men and women like the rest of us. Their heritage is older than any kingdom in Erinia. They are masters of the sword and bow,” Cairn answered.
“Why would they help us? I’m not sure we’re going to find anyone to help us,” Kristian added.
Cairn shrugged, “I’m not sure you will either, but I know they are real, and it’s the best place I can think of for you to start.”
Kristian stuck out his hand, offering Cairn his thanks, afraid to ask the swordsman what was really on his mind. Mikhal was not as shy, “Will you come with us? We could really use someone like you.”
Cairn looked uneasy. It was as if he was listening to someone else speaking, someone only he could hear.
“You’ve been a great help,” Mikhal added.
His words did not help ease Cairn’s conscious. He knew they would ask this of him, but he had already made up his mind. It was made up six years ago, he could not afford friends. Cairn finally said, “I can’t join you.” Then he turned back to his horse, climbed up, and surveyed the woods. He gave them a final, silent good-bye and then left.
