The Cavalier (49 page)

“I’m fine, make sure there are no more assassins,” she ordered.

The bar was now clear of all patrons. Everyone had run outside and away from the danger. Jonas moved toward Kiln who was wiping the blood from his blade on the cloak of one of the assassins.

“What do you make of them?” Jonas asked.

“Assassins it would seem,” Kiln replied nonchalantly.
 

Suddenly, armed men, wearing the Annurien colors, rushed into the bar. They wore metal breast plates embossed with the Annurien symbol. The men fanned out, holding their swords in front of them at the ready.

The commander approached Jonas and Kiln hesitantly, his eyes quickly scanning the room and assessing the situation. As he neared them he lowered his sword. He was beyond middle aged, maybe fifty winters, and had a large shaved head. Tall and muscular, he had the look of a veteran warrior.

“I am Dagmar, captain of the night watch. What happened here? ”

“I am Kiln, and this is Jonas, cavalier to Shyann. We were attacked by assassins. Behind me is Taleen, cavalier to Bandris. She is in need of healing,” replied Kiln.

“I will see to her,” Jonas said.

Kiln nodded his head in approval. He knelt down next to one of the bodies to get a better look. The man wore no armor, just a thin black cloak, and his legs and torso were covered with a dark tunic and leggings. His face was young and unremarkable.

“I had heard that cavaliers were in town. It seems that the rumors of attacks are not mere rumors,” added the red haired warrior. Dagmar motioned to his men. “Get the bodies out of here and get this mess cleaned up.”

“Wait,” Taleen said as she approached one of the bodies with Jonas right beside her. She was able to walk, but the pain from the bolt was evident in her strained voice. “Just a second, I want to check something.” Taleen knelt near one of the bodies and removed the hood. She used her left hand to lift the man’s eye lid and turned it inside out. Jonas had moved up next to her to see what she was doing. On the underside of the man’s eye lid was a small tattoo of a spider. “Just as I thought.”

“What is that?” asked Jonas.

Kiln and Dagmar moved closer to her as she stood up.

“That was Bor-Zan’s mark. I believe you call her, Naz-reen. She magically marks her servants on the inside of the eyelid or the lip.” Dagmar made the protective mark across his chest at the mention of the evil goddess’s name.

“Why were we unable to detect them?” asked Jonas.

“We have the power to detect evil, Jonas, but there are many different shades of darkness, as there is of goodness. Is a man who steals bread to feed his family evil?”

“Of course not,” Jonas said.

“But it can be a start. That is how Naz-reen slowly molds her followers. She takes ordinary men, men who might be good but grow up in situations of her making, situations that test their resolve. She slowly shapes them into the criminals and assassins that you see before you. We didn’t detect them because they were not truly evil, at least not yet. There is definitely a gray area when it comes to detecting evil, and these men fell into that area. They wore no symbols, which would have given them away to us. I do not know exactly, Jonas, but I have learned over the years to always be prepared, as we are not invincible to our enemies. We would have detected a true follower of Naz-reen, like the one you fought outside of Finarth, because they would have had all that is good hammered out of them, until all that remained was a black corrupt shell. These men were forced to do her bidding, maybe even blackmailed, but they had not yet been fully corrupted. They were her lackeys. It is quite sad really.”

“They were weak men. I would rather have died than to have succumbed to her powers,” said Kiln.

“Still no gray area? Black and white, eh?”

Kiln caught her tone and looked at her briefly, his face showing no emotion, before returning his gaze to Dagmar. It was a rhetorical question and he didn’t bother answering it.

“Captain, we are leaving the city in the morning. Please station several guards here tonight in case we are attacked again,” Kiln ordered.

The captain did not hesitate. “Yes sir. I will place my six best men here.”

Dagmar turned to issue his orders just as Bomm approached them from the counter. He was carrying an old crossbow in his hand and he looked worried. “Cavaliers, General, I am sorry about this attack. I have never had something like this happen in my establishment.” Bomm set the crossbow on the table.

“It is not your fault, Bomm, we have had the misfortune of being hunted for awhile now, and I believe it will continue. I’m sorry that it happened in your fine inn,” Jonas replied sincerely.

“Thank you, sir. Rest assured that I got one of the assassins as he tried to flee.” Bomm smiled, tapping his crossbow.

“You got the third crossbowman?” asked Jonas.

“I did. He tried to run out the door and I shot him from behind the bar.”

They all looked toward the door and, sure enough, several of the night guards were trying to remove a dark cloaked man with a feathered shaft buried in his back.

“Good work, Bomm,” added Kiln.

Bomm smiled, lifting up his crossbow again. “I fought one term in the Annurien Legion many years ago. I guess I didn’t forget everything that I learned. Don’t worry about a thing. Go to your rooms and get some sleep. I will take care of everything down here. I will make sure that you are awakened before sunrise and that you get a good warm meal in the morning. I will also pack you some food for your journey.”

“That is good of you, Bomm. Your generosity is much appreciated,” Taleen said.

“It is you who are appreciated. We need you now more than anything.” Bomm bowed as if royalty stood before him. “Now, I have much work to do to get this cleaned up, so if you will excuse me.” Bomm turned and immediately began issuing orders to his staff. They were standing around dumfounded looking at the guards, the cavaliers, and corpses that littered the blood splattered floor.

Jonas looked at Taleen with concern. “Time to get that bolt out.”

Taleen grimaced, smiling awkwardly. “I was hoping you would forget.”

“What do I do first?” asked Jonas, knowing that she was joking. Jonas had heard that pulling a bolt or arrow from your flesh was extremely painful, and he did not relish performing the task on Taleen anymore than she did.

Taleen sat down on a chair. “First you pull the shaft out. Then you heal me as you did Kiln. And please do it fast.”

“I will pull the shaft as Jonas heals,” Kiln said, moving towards her. “It will be faster that way.”

“Very well,” replied Taleen. “Let’s get this over with.”

Kiln stood above her while Jonas knelt down and held her hands. Taleen squeezed his hands as Kiln gripped the shaft and put the other hand on her shoulder for leverage. “Ready?” he asked softly.

“Yes,” Taleen replied through gritted teeth.

“I am,” Jonas added. His eyes were already closed. Kiln tightened his grip and jerked the shaft out with one quick pull. The bolt held for a second and Taleen groaned in pain. Then it ripped free from her flesh and crimson blood gushed from the wound. Taleen leaned over in pain as Jonas flooded her with healing magic.

He felt the power push through him as he asked Shyann for her help. Kiln watched as Jonas’s hands glowed a bright blue. The magic entered Taleen as Jonas concentrated on mending her shoulder. There was no damage to the bone so he was able to focus on mending the torn flesh, cartilage, and blood vessels.

Taleen stood up straighter as the wound sealed and the pain began to recede. Finally Jonas’s work was finished and he opened his eyes. Taleen was staring at him with gratitude. “Very good, Jonas, your power is truly amazing. You healed my wound perfectly and you did it so quickly.”

Jonas stood up, happy that he could help her. “I am glad that I could take away your pain.”

Taleen got to her feet, testing her shoulder by spinning her arm. There was no pain, and it moved smoothly. Kiln set the bloody shaft on the table and looked at them both. “Let’s get some sleep. We have a big day ahead of us.”

Ten 
War

Lord Moredin had seen many things in his life but the sight of the Banthra so near him was unnerving. The darkness of the beast lay upon everything and everyone like a dense fog. He felt the evil of the demon permeate his very bones as he glanced over at the Banthra who was standing several paces away in the shadows of his tent.

Several months ago the demon appeared and demanded he give his allegiance to Malbeck, allegiance that he had no choice but to give, for the alternative was death. Laying siege to Finarth was not something that he was looking forward to, but after looking at his new allies, he thought to himself that the venture could turn very profitable. The Banthra had brought in thousands of orcs, goblins, ogres, tribesmen from the flatlands, and even several hundred boargs. Combined with the thousands that he could summon and the thousands that would come from Prince Bomballa, the outlook for this coming war seemed bright indeed. Besides, it was just the prelude to Malbeck’s advancing army, who, when he arrived, would destroy his enemies and reward his allies. At least that is what Moredin hoped. But did he really have a choice? He didn’t think so.
 

The war council was assembled and the large spacious tent was filled with faces he knew, and faces he’d rather never see again. Ongessett, chief of the orcs, stood to his right looking down at the map sprawled out across the table. The orc war chief stood a full head taller than Moredin and his bulky mass looked half as wide as he was tall. He wore heavy plate mail interlinked with black leather. Any gaps in his protection were filled with charcoal gray chain mail. Ongessett’s massive neck supported a misshapen skull with a protruding pig like snout and thick lips that curled up exposing yellow fangs. His dark beady eyes scanned the map and Lord Moredin could see him struggling to process its intricate details. Ongessett was intelligent as far as orcs go, but that certainly did not mean that he could comprehend all that was being discussed. Moredin was not considered a good man, but even he didn’t like his present company.

The Banthra stepped closer to the table and Lord Moredin and the others shifted nervously away from it. The black knight wore dark armor covered with runes written in a language that Lord Moredin did not understand. The Banthra’s helm was made from dark steel, like his armor, and covered with serrated spikes. The most frightening part of the black knight’s visage was its eyes, two red glowing orbs of pure hatred that penetrated the black narrow eye slits. Other than the eye slits, the helm covered its entire face. There was not even an opening for its mouth.

Lord Moredin glanced at the others surrounding the table. The Banthra drifted closer and a blanket of evil draped over them, filling them with despair, fright, anger, and other dark emotions that penetrated their meager shells of humanity. The Banthras presence stained their very souls.

Prince Bomballa, leader of Numenell, held his ground at the table but his eyes betrayed his resolve. Numenell was the gateway city to the Flatlands and it was home to many bandits and raiders that used the city as a staging base for raids into Finarth and the lands of Annure.

His eyes darted nervously. The feeling of despair emanating from the black knight was obviously taking its toll on the prince. The tall black nomad was wearing his traditional flashy clothes, a bright red coat over a silky white low cut shirt. His deep purple pants were made of the same fine silk and the outfit was finished off with knee high boots made from expensive soft leather. He wore a purple hat with a long feather protruding from it. At his side was a jeweled rapier and dagger.

Moredin laughed inwardly at the outfit but he knew that looks could be deceiving. Bomballa was a deadly swordsman and Moredin had seen him slay more than one person who had underestimated him based on his outward appearance.

Also at the table was Arg’on, a gigantic black tribesman from the Sithgarin who was Lord Moredin’s war leader. He was huge and heavily muscled and the only thing he wore was the traditional war skirt that was standard for his tribe. A crisscrossed leather harness held together by a square piece of steel in the center of his chest wrapped his muscular torso. His tribe’s symbol, a desert hunting hawk, was embossed on the small steel plate. A giant heavy broad sword was lashed to his back and his tribal skirt was made from supple leather covered with thin plates of steel. Lord Moredin had never seen such a powerful and fearless looking warrior in all his life and he was glad that Arg’on was on their side.

Lastly there was Chief Grazzit, leader of the goblins. Grazzit was short, about as tall as a child who had seen twelve years, but his long arms gave him a wiry look. His thick skin was gray and patches of dark hair covered his body. The beast’s face was human in appearance but the yellow eyes, narrow fangs, and pointed ears were all too goblin-like. Dark plate mail covered thick wool clothing and at his waist hung a curved short sword.

Lord Moredin had heard that the history of the goblins was somehow linked to that of the elves, that they were fallen elves that had turned evil. He glanced briefly at the goblin and decided that there could be some truth to the legends.

The Banthra stepped to the table and slowly spread his hand over the map. The black spiked gauntlet clicked ominously as he opened his long fingers.