Forever Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 3) (36 page)

It took a few minutes for the front of the battle to fully disengage, but it was clear that the battle had ended.  The knights continued moving back without the Tarans pressing forward.

But Conner and his companion had not disengaged.  They pushed forward into the retreating ranks of centurion soldiers, killing anyone that they came across.  But it was worse than just a simple killing.  It was a slaughter.  No single centurion could stand up to either one.  Not even two together could stand against either one.  It seemed as if they were bound and determined to march through the army, killing each Taran one by one.

She found herself horrified and fully and emotionally confused.  The man that she loved, had always loved, and would always love had come back from the dead.  She had barely a moment to process his death, or even accept it.  And then, out of the blue, there he was.  But as she watched him cut his way through the retreating army, mercilessly killing anything in his way, she wondered who it was that had returned.  As the blood continued to flow from his hand, Queen Elissa could handle it no more and finally turned away.  With a grim face of his own, Toknon led her down from the top of the wall.

***

Farrus held tightly onto the length of rope that bound Hargon’s hands in front of him.  When he had fallen too far behind, Farrus gave the rope a yank, pulling the former emperor forward causing him to stumble and fall to the ground.  Hargon stayed on the ground, breathing heavily.

“Get up!” Farrus demanded, giving the rope a hefty yank.

But Hargon did not move.

Farrus drew is sword.  “I give you the chance to live, but my patience grows thin.  Either get up, or I kill you where you lay.  No one will care.  Everyone already thinks you are dead.”

“Fine,” Hargon said.  “Kill me.  I am already dead.”

Farrus realized that Hargon was right.  He had no motivation to move.  His brother would likely kill him anyway.  But in order for him to get whatever reward the emperor would give him, he would have to get Hargon there alive.  He walked back to the former emperor and straddled his back.  Grabbing the back of Hargon’s tunic, he pulled him up.  Although Hargon was thin and light, he did not give any help, so it took all of Farrus’ strength to get him to his feet.

Once on his feet, Farrus leaned forward and said in Hargon’s ear, “You have body parts that you do not need.  Your tongue, perhaps?  I could do without having to listen to you.  And your fingers?  I can keep your hands bound without fingers.  Or maybe I just chop off your arms and tie the rope around your waist.  You will do as I say and I will end your life quickly when the time comes.  If you do not, I will make every moment of the rest of your life miserable.”

He gave Hargon a two-handed shove in the back, sending Hargon face-first back onto the ground.

Farrus started to step forward, but noticed something on the ground.  Right where Hargon and first fallen, there was a small box.  Without thinking, he quickly bent over and picked it up.  It was not dirty or wet, in fact it felt a bit warm.  Hargon was slowly crawling into a kneeling position.  His face had struck the ground first, leaving a smudge of dirt and snow.  Farrus pulled him back up to his feet.

“Now, are you ready to see your brother?”

Hargon turned and spat in Farrus’ face.  Farrus let out a loud laugh.  “I take that as a no.  It does not matter, for he will surely want to see you.”

With a tug of the rope, Farrus continued towards the army encampment.  He did not want to be confused with being a part of the fighting, so he skirted the battlefield far to the east along the tree line of the forest.  If he had been able to walk straight from the river directly to the Taran army camp, he would have made it in no time at all.  But the longer route was the safer route.

The battle was fully engaged by the time he reached the tree line.  As he turned north to head towards his army, he could watch the fighting unfold from a perfect vantage point.  As a veteran combat soldier, he was impressed at the skill and courage of the Karmon Knights.  Their ability on the field of battle had reached mythical proportions and what he saw did nothing to change that legend.  Heavily outnumbered, they attacked with vigor and a tenacity that the centurions could not match.  In a pitched offensive, the Tarans would have prevailed due to sheer numbers, but the losses would have been devastating.  But their goal was obviously not victory, but the destruction of the three catapults that were chipping away at the wall.

He was pleased to see the army commander respond with a classic flanking move.  It was what he would have done, and any junior level commander would have done as well.  He was a bit surprised that the Karmons had not kept a reserve force in place to counter such a move.  It likely meant that their reserve forces were limited, or even non-existent.  Or maybe the Karmons felt overconfident with their ability to perform a quick strike on the catapults and they could retreat once their goal was met.  Regardless, he looked forward to the demise of the Karmon forces.  It would only be minutes until the flanking move would be complete and the knights would be surrounded.

The rear of the knight formation responded, but it would clearly not be fast enough.  That was when he saw the two men running to cover the flanking move.  He knew it would be futile for them as two men would never be able to stop so many centurions.  Then he smiled as he recognized them as Hargon’s companions.  Even from this distance, they matched the description that he had been given.

But then they drew their weapons.

He had never seen combat like that.  They moved so fast, with such precision, that just the two of them were able to bring the flanking move to a halt long enough for enough knights to come and fully stop it.  His hope for justice of his seventeen men went away and his anger grew. 

He did not wait to see the final outcome of the battle as they had reached the perimeter of the camp.  He gave the rope another tug and walked faster, pulling Hargon along with him.

***

Marik took a moment to reflect on the fact that he was still alive.  All the training that he had ever gone through, even the short battle against Thell had really not prepared him for the ferocity of this fight.  Taran centurions were not only good, they were professional.  They did not turn and run when faced with death.  They pushed forward, just like a Karmon Knight.  He was hurt from a handful of cuts and slices.  Nothing deep or worrisome, just painfully annoying.

He struggled with the strength to put his sword back into his sheath.  He was much more exhausted than he expected, which is something he had always been told, but did not quite understand.  He had training regimens that were truly as hard as the past hour of combat, but they had not left him this completely exhausted.  He was glad it was over, as he was not sure how many more times he could have swung his sword.

The knights had fully disengaged and were now safely turning away and heading towards the city.  The centurions had backed off as well, heeding the call of their commanders to retreat.  The battle over the catapults had been won by the knights.  The walls would stay intact for the time being.  Without the ability to completely conquer the knights, the centurions wisely called a retreat.  They would regroup and regather their strength.  They had no reason to press the fight as they had time on their side.  Marik wished that he had a force of knights in reserve that he could use to press their attack, but they were spent.  Even the greatest warriors on the planet needed time to rest and recover from their wounds.  They could not afford to wait too long, though.  They needed to be willing to stay on the offensive and possibly break the will of the Tarans.

Shouting to his right caused him to twist his body and look in that direction.  He grunted from a wound to his side.  At first, all he could see were centurions running away, and then he saw why.  Two men were cutting through the retreating soldiers, killing anything in their wake.  It took only an instant for him to recognize one of them.  He had seen that fighting style in action too recently, but it could not be Conner.  He had seen him cut down from a dozen crossbow bolts.  Even if he had somehow survived that, it would be months before he would be in any condition to lift a sword, much less dance with one.

He hesitated only a moment while he watched Conner and his companion slice through the helpless centurions.  He felt no guilt for their deaths, but honor in battle was still important.  Both sides were retreating and it was time for them as well.

He took a horse from an uninjured knight, climbed on top, and spurred it towards Conner.  Clearly Conner was in some sort of frenzied state, as he did not hear his name being called even from behind him.  But Marik did not want to startle either him or his companion for fear of being attacked without being recognized.  Immediately after they dispatched one brave centurion, Marik put his horse directly in their line of site, but just out of reach of their weapons.

Conner flinched, but when he realized who it was, he lowered his sword and smiled.  “Marik!” he called out.

“Conner,” Marik said.  He had so many other questions, but they would have to wait.  “The battle is over.  It is time to return to the city.”

Conner looked around, slightly confused, as he realized that both sides were retreating from the battlefield.  “They are still a threat.”

Glaerion glared at Marik, still holding his weapon up.  “They must all die,” he growled.

“Who are you?” Marik asked, unfazed at the anger that came from the elf.

“He is Glaerion, a friend.”

“I am no friend,” the elf said.  “We just happen to be on the same road.”

“Put up your swords, Conner.  Come back to the city. The queen will be mighty pleased to see you.”

Conner stepped over the last man he brought down and wiped blood and gore across the man’s cloak before sheathing his weapons.  “We are done, then?”

“The battle is over.  This victory is ours, but more will come tomorrow.  We must rest and recoup our strength.”

Conner, suddenly feeling the strength seep from his muscles, nodded his head.  The bloodlust that drove him was gone.

Marik dismounted and started to lead them back towards the city.  But the moment he looked upon South Karmon, he stopped.

“What is it?” Conner asked.

“It seems that the battle is not yet over.”

The city gates were open and a stream of armed men were pouring out.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Tarcious could barely contain his rage.  The assault on his catapults had been a minor setback.  It would take him only two more days before five more would be ready to be pulled out onto the battlefield.  He was sure that three would have taken down the wall in no time, but the Karmons had built themselves a fortification to be proud of.  So as soon as he had witnessed how little effect they had on the walls, he immediately ordered five more to be constructed.  And in the end, he would have easily traded those three catapults for the decimation of the mounted force that attacked his army.  It had been a perfect plan and it had almost succeeded.  It would have taken only a few more minutes for the knights to have been surrounded and then cut them down.

But then a pair of men came running into the battle from the river.  He had initially watched in amusement, but then his demeanor quickly soured.  Not only because of the death and destruction that they were causing, but because of the way it happened.  He had seen it before upon the floor of his arena.  And he quickly solved that problem with some well-placed crossbow bolts.  The Karmon named Conner had fallen dead.  He had seen the body, touched it, and even had given it a swift kick before it was dumped out back behind the arena.  There was no way that he could have survived.

It was then that a worse thought crept though his mind.  Memories of his brother bringing small animals back to life came back to him.  He had almost forgotten about those days as young boys.  He had enjoyed killing them as much as his brother had enjoyed bringing them back to life.  It was the only thing that made sense.  It had to have been his brother that brought the boy back to life.

He stepped forward through the trees, the tips of his fingers tingling in anticipation.  His body knew what it should be doing, bringing forth the power of the web of magic to turn the tide of the battle.  He could walk down there and start casting his fireballs upon the helpless knights.  There would be nothing better than watching them writhe and burn underneath their armor.

The anger that burned inside of him almost controlled him.  Almost.  It reminded him how far he had come since the first time he had dipped into the web of magic and tasted the power that waited for him.  Too many times he had let his emotions get the better of him, but this time, they didn’t.  Clearly he was on his way to supreme control of his power.

He had been prepared for this moment for some time, and it showed the power of his master that he had the foresight to see what he needed.  Between himself and his destination was but a simple stone structure.  What better way to bring down it down than with a being that could build it up?  He did not know why he didn’t think of it the moment he laid eyes upon the high wall that surrounded South Karmon.  Maybe it would have saved the death of some of his soldiers.  But then again, that was one resource that he had plenty of.

He strode over to General Mace, who was clearly distraught at the results of the battle.  His face was white with fear, and his hands shook.  Clearly he did not think he would survive the conversation.

“In a moment, I will be invoking some help.  It will take every ounce of my energy to do this, so you will likely see me fall to the ground upon its completion.  I would expect that I am cared for in this condition.  When I awaken, the tide of the battle will have turned in our favor.”

“Of course, Your Imperial Majesty,” the general said, his voice cracking.  “What else can I do?”

“When a hole opens up in the wall, you will send every soldier you have through it.  No mercy.  Anyone who opposes our march to the castle is fair game.  Armed or unarmed.  Understood?”

“Of course.  When will this happen?”

“Just be prepared,” Tarcious snapped back.  He turned and walked into the forest where a small clearing had been setup for him.  The handful of guards nearby snapped to attention as he walked into his tent.

He sat upon a thick carpet that had been set upon the ground.  Snow had been cleared from the ground, but it was still a cold place to sit.  He touched the book that was hidden in a deep pocket of his innermost robes, giving him the confidence that he needed to complete the spell.  It was not like the easy fireballs and other spells that he used on a regular basis.  He barely needed to think about those anymore since they were so engrained into his mind.  He closed his eyes, visualizing the page of burned-in letters and symbols.  They formed words that he did not understand, but he had trained himself to speak.  Someday he would have to learn what they meant.  Maybe once he had the Ark in hand, he would have that knowledge.

With one last deep breath and long exhale, his lips started speaking the words of a language long lost.  He did not need to speak quickly, only surely.  He needed to enunciate and pronounce each word and phrase properly.  He had done it many times in his head, correcting himself hundreds of times until he had it right.  As the words came out, the power of the web of magic was opened up to him, and he knew he was doing it right.  With each passing moment, he became more and more confident with his words, so that by the time the last word was spoken, he was shouting.  And then the full force of the web rushed through him.  He knew what to expect because he had felt the power so many times, but he did not expect the power that came through him.  Suddenly, he could no longer breathe, his chest constricted by that power.  He gagged and gasped for air that would not come into his lungs.  He stood, panicked at the thought of being overwhelmed by the spell.  Within moments, his vision blurred as he continued to struggle to take in a breath, and then as blackness swarmed over him, his knees lost their strength and he crumpled to the ground.

***

The commanders leading the Karmon army out to meet the Tarans brought their forces to a stop.  They had clear witness to the events that transpired, and now with the centurions in retreat, the battlefield was being emptied.  The commanders weren’t too anxious to continue forward as the Taran crossbowmen had moved into position to cover the retreat of the main force of centurions.  The front ranks had shields, but most of the army would be exposed to crossbow fire.  If they continued forward without covering fire from their own bowmen, they would be slaughtered.

Trumpets blared and the bowmen who had been marching at the back of the formation started to run forward.  The opening volleys of the next battle would be between longbows and crossbows

Thunder erupted from the north.  Both armies stopped and looked to the mountains that were but a shadow on the northern horizon.  For a moment, they forgot that it was the middle of winter and such storms were stills months away.  But rather than seeing the dark clouds of an impending storm, they only saw a bright blue sky with a few scattered puffy clouds.

Conner herd the thunder, but it didn’t really register with him.  He was looking around, realizing just how far away from the city his final assault had taken him.  There was a trail of bodies that ran back along his path.  Most of them were missing one or more limbs.  He knew what he had done.  He just didn’t remember doing it.  He also knew that he should be feeling some guilt, but he didn’t.  This was war, and in war there were only winners.  Losers were the ones who lay headless upon the battlefield.  He glanced over at the elf who covered his mouth the back of his hand as he yawned.  Glaerion clearly wasn’t feeling any sort of guilt.

Marik had a stern look on his face, but it was impossible to tell what he was thinking.  His eyes were focused ahead upon the city, which was still a good half mile away. 

When the thunder rumbled again from behind them, Conner stopped and turned to look towards the White Mountains.

“Thunder?” Marik asked.

Conner shook his head.  “Not in the winter.  Never.”

“I have seen strange things in the past days,” Marik said.  “Thunder in the middle of winter is the least of them.”

“There is more afoot than bad weather,” Glaerion interjected.

“What does that mean?”

Glaerion glared at the bloody Karmon Knight and replied, “You wouldn’t understand.”

Marik’s nerves were on their last edge and he grabbed the elf by the arm.  Glaerion spun out of the grasp and went to reach for his dagger, but Conner was just as quick and gave the elf a two-handed shove.  Glaerion was caught off balance and flew across the ground.  He tucked his head to his chest and rolled onto his feet, crouched low.

Conner stepped right towards Glaerion and said, “What is your problem?  One minute you are fighting beside them, and then next minute you are fighting with them.”

“The human touched me,” Glaerion growled.

“The what?” Marik replied.  “Human?  What?”

“He is an elf,” Conner said.

“Elven,” Glaerion corrected, still with an angry tone.

“What are you talking about?” Marik asked.

Conner let out a long sigh.  “It is a long story.  Glaerion here, is from a race of beings called elves.  They are not just stories told to kids.  They are a real people that live in a land far away.  The ears?  Did you not notice?”

“Yeah,” Marik said. “I did.  I just thought they were war wounds.”  He looked at Conner for a moment, forgetting that he was in the middle of a battlefield with dead bodies all around him.  “What are you doing alive?  I saw you die.”

It took Conner a second to process the statement.  “You saw me die?  In the arena?”

“Yeah, I was there.  I came looking for you and I found you.  But only to see you die.”

“It is a long story.  But I am alive, now.”

“I can see that.  But what was that back there?  You were out of control.”

“They needed to die,” Glaerion cut in sharply.

Conner shook his head. “I am not sure what it was.  A rage just filled me that I couldn’t stop.  I needed to keep going, to kill as many of them as I could.”

“It is the one aspect of training for knighthood that you never had.  For all your skill and ability, you don’t have control.  Being a knight isn’t about the ability to kill.  It’s about the honor of protecting your kingdom and the respect that you have for both yourself and your opponent.  Slaughtering soldiers in the back while they are running away is not what knighthood is about.”

“You are one of these knights?” Glaerion asked Conner.

“No,” Conner replied.  “I am not of noble blood.  I could never be a knight.”

Glaerion laughed.  “You Men are so stupid.  You refuse a great warrior from your ranks solely because of who your mother and father are?  It’s a wonder you have survived these thousands of years.”

“It’s more than that,” Marik replied.  “Not just anyone can survive the rigors of training or have the temperament to be knight.  It takes a certain type of person, one who is strong of mind and body and has the breeding stock to survive not only training, but in the throng of battle.”

“It seems your boy here, who says he has no noble blood, survived just fine.”

Marik looked at Conner and said, “Yes, he did survive just fine.  But a knight would not have gone off by himself chasing down the retreating enemy.”

“He was not alone,” Glaerion said with enthusiasm.  “I was with him.  Enjoying every minute of it, I must say.”

“Well, the battle is over, now,” Marik said.  “It is time to return to the city.”

Glaerion looked at the mass of soldiers that was marching out from the city.  “It appears there is more fighting to be had.”  He turned to look at Conner.  “I wish we could stay, but we have business elsewhere.”

Conner caught the look and said.  “Right.  We must go.”

Marik wasn’t quite sure how to respond.  He looked first from Conner and then to Glaerion.  “What could be more important than defending your homeland?”

“It’s a long story,” Conner replied.

“Then tell it!” Marik snapped back, anger clearly in his voice.  “I saw you die.  Crossbow bolts killed you.  And now you are alive, right in front of me, able to help defend against the Tarans.  And you won’t help?”

“Not now,” Conner said.  He was unsure how much he should share with Marik.  Part of him wanted to tell him everything, but most of it was so fantastic even he didn’t quite believe it.

Marik grabbed Conner by the arm.  Glaerion flinched, but Conner did not.  “I am tired and I am sore.  I have cuts that need to be tended to.  We can walk back to the city and you can tell me everything.”

Conner shook his head and he pulled his away from Marik’s grasp.  “I cannot go with you.  Glaerion and I are on a quest to hide an artifact called the Ark of Life.  The Taran army that is attacking?  It is attacking the city because Emperor Tarcious believes that the Ark is in the city.  He is going to invade the city to try and find it.  We have it and that is why we must take it away from here.”

Marik gave Conner a blank look, trying to comprehend what he was just told.

“He cannot find it,” Conner continued.  “If he does, then he will gain so much power that he will be able to take over the world.”

“That’s an incredible story,” Marik said.  “If you take the Ark away, then he will stop attacking?”

Conner looked at Glaerion.

The elf shrugged his shoulders.  “I cannot know if this man can sense the Ark.  If he can, then he will follow us.  If he cannot, then he will continue into the city and tear it apart until he finally realizes that it is not here.”