The Cavalier (66 page)

Kiln fought furiously to keep the razor sharp sword away from his flesh. The man was a master swordsman; there was no doubt. Bomballa had backed Kiln up next to the flames and Kiln grimaced as he felt the heat from the magic fire singe his back.

Alerion had brought forth the fire to keep the guards at bay, but unfortunately it was becoming a problem for Kiln as well. But Kiln concentrated on every move that the man made, trying to find his weakness. When two master swordsmen meet in battle, there are many things that can decide the outcome of the fight. The variables are endless, conditioning, similarity of styles, and ability to control one’s emotion to name just a few.

Kiln was an expert swordsman, but his real skill came in reading his opponent. In the state of Ty’erm, emotion never controlled him. He could focus on every move and every counter. Kiln also knew that no one had better stamina then he. Years of training gave him complete confidence in his abilities to defeat another master swordsman.

After several minutes of trading blow for blow, Kiln began to notice Bomballa’s weakness. He favored his right hand and he signaled a left flank attack by slightly raising his left hand. It was very subtle and most people would never have noticed it.

Kiln smiled inwardly as he waited for the signal and his opening. It wasn’t long before it came. Bomballa’s left arm lifted up slightly and Kiln moved in fast. It was a dangerous maneuver because if he was wrong he would be lining himself up for a forward thrust and the wound would be fatal.

But he wasn’t wrong. Bomballa lifted his left hand and simultaneously swung his blade toward Kiln’s left flank. Kiln read the move ahead of time and stepped aside and toward the surprised warrior, ramming his dagger deep into Bomballa’s unprotected stomach as his thin rapier hung uselessly over Kiln’s right shoulder. Kiln was close to Bomballa’s ear as he twisted his long dagger. Bomballa grunted in pain as his eyes opened wide in shock.

“Sorry to ruin your expensive silk,” Kiln whispered into the dying man’s ear. Kiln pulled his blade from Bomballa’s stomach and he fell to the ground with a thud.

He looked up to see Jonas move toward him, his blades red with blood. They both scanned the room as Alerion quickly ran to them, his long robes billowing at his feet.

“Where is the prince?” yelled Kiln over the sound of the roaring flames that surrounded them.

“There,” answered Alerion as he pointed to a corner of the tent blocked off by a hanging crimson tapestry. “We must hurry; the tent is starting to catch on fire.”

Sure enough the flames creating the magic barrier were starting to spread up the tall sides of the tent. All three ran over to the tapestry and flipped it open. Lying on a wooden table was Prince Baylin, completely naked and tied down with thick leather straps. His eyes were closed and he was not moving. He was covered with cuts, bruises, and blood, but it was not those wounds that caused the men to stop in horror and gaze in mute shock, but the grisly wound at his crotch, or at least where his crotch should have been. His manhood was completely cut off, leaving behind a bloody wound.

“In Ulren’s name, look what they did to him,” muttered Alerion.

“Is he still alive?” asked Jonas in horror.

“I don’t know. But it’s time to go, the fire will consume the tent soon and I don’t want to be here when that happens,” the wizard replied.

Kiln quickly cut the straps holding the prince to the table and lifted him over his shoulder. “Get us out of here wizard,” ordered Kiln.

His words went unheard for Alerion was already beginning his spell. Jonas heard the words clearly but then everything became a blur as his head spun. The world went black and they all disappeared from the tent leaving nothing behind but four dead bodies.

***

Malbeck the Dark One sat casually on the Tarsinian throne. The magnificent chair was made of white stone that looked to be carved from one piece of rock. It was simple, large, and powerful, a fitting chair for the king of Tarsis, a warrior king of tremendous size and strength.

But King Kromm was somewhere in the Tundrens, running for his life, and Malbeck, the destroyer of Tarsis, sat on the white throne; the darkness of his very presence was in stark contrast to the white marble.

Malbeck, too, was a large man, over eight feet tall, but thin and muscular, with short, glossy black hair that draped a hard chiseled face. His eyes were pure white, which made it difficult to gaze at him without looking away. His lips had a bluish tinge to them, like the rest of his body, as if he were perpetually cold, and his teeth came to sharp points. He wore tight black breeches made from the skin of a black dragon. The black thick leather boots he wore were plated with dark steel. His muscled chest and arms were bare and he wore a black cloak that framed his huge shoulders and fanned out to cover most of the throne.

He was a demonoid, part man and part demon, twisted by the magic of the Forsworn. In his right hand he held the Spear of Gould, a powerful weapon given to him by his master, Gould the Tormentor. The shaft was made from light steel, polished black. The tip was a sharp silver point about as long as a man’s forearm. At the base of the spear tip was a round disk the size of a large fist, and engraved in the middle of this disk was the white eye of Gould.

In Malbeck’s left hand he held a small book bound with old worn leather, the Shan Cemar, the ancient elven text that held the secrets for tapping into the energy of the Ru’Ach. Whoever held the book held vast amounts of power, power that Malbeck planned to use as he spread the Forsworn’s darkness across Kraawn.

Leaning against the white throne of Tarsis was Malbeck’s battle-axe. The twin blades each curved to deadly points, and carved into the flat blades were depictions of demons and other denizens of the lower planes. The handle, made from the same light steel, was wrapped with the tough scaled skin of a black dragon.

Malbeck shifted slightly as the large double doors to the throne room opened. Gullanin, Malbeck’s follower and a powerful wizard in his own right, entered the throne room and prostrated himself before his master. The man was old and frail, and he wore a silver skullcap engraved with Gould’s white eye.

Behind him were three high priests to the Forsworn, Janrick, high priest to Gould, Cuthare, high priest to Dykreel, and Kane, high priest to Naz’reen. They, too, bowed before their master.
 

“What is your report?” asked Malbeck, his low voice deep and resonant.

“My Lord, Tarsis is in ruin and the Tarsinian army is destroyed,” replied Gullanin.

“What of Kromm?” interjected Malbeck.

“He escaped with a small group, but we know he is near, he can’t have gotten far,” Gullanin replied quickly.

“We must find him and kill him.” Malbeck turned his milky white eyes toward the high priests. “Are you ready to serve me in this task?”

Janrick stepped forward and bowed his head. “Of course, my Lord, what would you have us do?”

Malbeck smiled wickedly and stood up from the throne. His form was impressive, strong arms, chest, and shoulders, tapered to a thin waist surrounded by rippling muscle. “Hunt him down and rip his heart out.”

Janrick shifted uneasily and looked sideways at Gullanin who stepped back away from him, as if to distance himself from something diseased.

“How would you like us to do this?” Janrick asked.

“With your own teeth and claws of course,” Malbeck replied, taking one big step toward them.

Cuthare and Kane stepped back from their lord, unsure of what was happening, his words making no sense. Janrick held his ground but looked about nervously.

“My Lord, I’m not sure what you mean,” said Janrick.

“You will serve the Forsworn in the ultimate way, by giving up your life to their service.”

Janrick, Cuthare, and Kane started to back away slowly, their eyes going wide with fear and surprise.

“But my Lord, we brought you back, we have served you well…” stammered Kane.

“You did not bring me back, Gullanin did. And yes, you have served me well, which is why I am giving you this reward. You will become the Hounds of Gould, and serve him in this task.” Malbeck approached the trio slowly as he whispered a few words of power. The priests were backing away from Malbeck when they froze in mid-step, unable to move.

“Gullanin, please cut their throats,” whispered Malbeck as he began another spell. His words whispered around the trio as they struggled to free themselves from the powerful spell. Their eyes widened with fright at the Dark One’s words.

Gullanin unsheathed a razor sharp blade and approached Janrick from behind. He did not hesitate as he brought the sharp edge across the immobilized priest’s throat. Janrick’s blood squirted from the deep cut and splattered onto the stone floor. Malbeck’s spell held Janrick’s body upright as his blood continued to pool at his feet. Cuthare and Kane suffered the same fate and then Gullanin stepped back from the dying trio.

Malbeck continued to chant.

The words were not familiar to Gullanin, probably ancient words from the Shan Cemar. He tried to concentrate on the words, tried to remember them, but they seemed to waft around the room and then disappear from his mind.

Malbeck’s staff was glowing brightly as he came to the end of his spell, his voice a crescendo of power. Suddenly the tip of the staff flared brightly and three beams of light shot forth to strike the pools of blood that had formed at the feet of the dying priests. Almost immediatly the light disappeared, leaving behind three pools of blood, sizzling and boiling.

All three of the bodies fell to the floor with a dull thud as the blood began to boil and froth even more. Gullanin stepped back and watched the transformation as the three pools expanded and boiled more violently. As he watched, the boiling blood began to take form, growing from the ground, emerging from the crimson pools. The three forms pulsed with life, growing slowly into a writhing rust colored mass that grew to the size of a small horse. Four clawed legs began to push from the flesh, as a head that resembled a dog strained forward, stretching the translucent skin.

Gullanin retreated farther away as the beasts took on a more defined shape.

“Have no fear, Gullanin. You have served me well and they will not harm you,” Malbeck said as he moved closer to the writhing shapes.

Gullanin stopped and looked at the beasts more closely. Their glistening skin had transformed into a more solidified look, huge and muscular, their skin rough like stone but the color of rusted steel. They were shaped like a large cat crossed with a bull, with strong powerful legs that tapered to padded feet tipped with black claws the size of knives. Their heads were dog-like, but much larger, with thick powerful jaws lined with black teeth. Their red eyes were sunk into a knobby forehead that was covered with a ridge of sharp spikes that went all the way down their spine. The spikes on their heads were as long as a man’s forearm, tapering down in size the farther down the spine they went.

The three beasts stretched and opened their mouths, emitting low, deep growls. They pivoted their red eyes toward Gullanin, causing him to step backwards even more. Malbeck approached them, reaching out with his left hand. One of the beasts moved toward him, its black claws clicking on the hard stone. Its chest puffed out as it growled, sniffing Malbeck’s hand. The beast curled its lips exposing sharp teeth dripping saliva. Malbeck stroked the beast’s head as the other two gathered around him. They sat on their haunches and then began to whine as if they were pets seeking attention from their master.

“The Hounds of Gould, Gullanin. Do you like them?”

“They are magnificent, my Lord,” replied the wizard uneasily.

“Do you have the article that I requested?”

“I do, my Lord.” Gullanin reached into his robe and pulled forth a gold crown glittering with jewels. “The crown of Tarsis.”

“Good. Bring it forth,” ordered Malbeck.

Gullanin approached the Dark One cautiously, the Hounds of Gould eyeing him hungrily. As he walked by them he detected a strange smell, like burnt hair. The beast’s red eyes bored into him. Gullanin shivered slightly as he handed the crown to Malbeck, then shuffled away from the hounds.

“Now, my beasts, smell the crown and get his stench.” Malbeck brought the crown to each beast and held it to their noses. They sniffed the metal and licked it with their rough tongues. “Hunt him down and kill him, and then return to me. Gullanin?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“How many Gould-Irin orcs do you have?”

“One hundred, my Lord.”

“Good. I want you to lead fifty of them into the Tundrens. Use this amulet to follow the Hounds of Gould. Make sure that Kromm and what is left of his followers are slain.” Malbeck handed Gullanin a red stone hanging from a black chain. “The amulet will give you control of the beasts and allow you to track them. Make sure that King Kromm and everyone with him is killed.”

“As you wish, my Lord.”

***

As soon as they had materialized back in the king’s tent, Kiln, with the injured and incapacitated prince on his shoulder, ran to the soft bed in the corner of the room. He gently laid the naked and bloody prince down and looked to Jonas for help.

“Jonas, can you help him?” he asked with concern.