Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2) (28 page)

He landed awkwardly because his jump was not as far as he wanted it to be.  He let out a low grunt of annoyance that his old age was continuing to fail his old body.  He walked straight to the center of the wall and pushed his hand through the stone.  Then he stepped through.

The tingling of magic caused all the hairs of his skin to stand up and it sent a cold chill up his spin.  He shivered, but the feeling quickly left.  He glanced back through the tunnel that he stepped through and fingered the ring on his finger that had allowed him to walk through the wall.

He knew that he really hadn’t walked through a stone wall, but had stepped through a magical wall that only his ring would allow him to pass through.  Once he had tested it by taking off the ring when he was on the outside and sure enough, he could not pass through.  One day soon he would have to pass the ring on to someone else, someone who would be worthy of the responsibility that he held.  He had a few ideas on who that person might be, but it wasn’t time just yet.

The torch lit the tunnel, which was constructed just like the chamber.  Its walls, ceiling, and floor were smooth.  He did know who had originally constructed the chamber and the tunnels, but it had been with a skill that was far beyond anything that any current stone mason could construct.  Even the castle walls that protected the queen were not as finely constructed as this chamber’s walls.  He did not know for sure, but he assumed that the chamber and this tunnel had been built long before the castle was erected.

The tunnel ended abruptly about fifty feet from the entrance.  The end wall was perfectly square with the tunnel.  Chest high, a small alcove had been cut into the stone.  It was about a foot tall, about a foot wide, and about foot deep.  Directly in the center of the alcove was a small wooden box.

Arpwin carefully pulled the box out and set it on the ground.  He treated it delicately out of reverence not because he thought he might break the box, but because of what the box contained.  He pulled back the hinged lid and looked down upon the deeply black stone.  It was oval in shape, with over a hundred smooth facets that did not reflect any light.  He picked it up, fingering the smooth sides and sharp facet edges.  Kneeling on the ground, he could feel not only the power of the stone, but the power of all life.  He held it to remind himself of all of the sacrifices that he had made, all of the dreams that were unfulfilled, and all of the loves that he had lost.

As the power flowed through him, his mind became clear.  It had been worth it.  In the end, everything he had let go was but dust in the wind.  It had not mattered.  The strength of the force that came from the stone strengthened him, refreshing his mind and his will.

He spoke words of prayer to the One God who had carved it from the fabric of the universe, thanking him for the opportunity to serve.  With the words of his prayer hanging in the cool air of the tunnel, he set the stone back in the box.

Arpwin gave it one last look, thinking that the name that it had been given was a bit odd.  When he thought of an ark, he only envisioned a box or a small chest, not a jet black stone.  But like a box or a chest, this stone held what it was intended for.  He didn’t understand how, or even why.  But that wasn’t why he had been charged as its caretaker.  He knew how to care for it, and even how to use its power.  But the hows and whys of existence were far beyond his understanding.  Maybe when he passed on from this life into the next one, and he came face to face with the One God, he would know the answer.

He set the small box that held the Ark of Life back in its alcove.  It had been quite some time, maybe three years, since he had last been down here.  But it had been refreshing to see it, especially after his conversation with Elissa.  Their talk had reminded him of all the sacrifices that he had done in order to be the ark’s protector.  But after seeing it once again, feeling the power of it, and knowing how that power could be used for evil, the sacrifices no longer felt like sacrifices.

He backed out of the tunnel feeling years younger.  The pain that had stiffened his joints was gone and the overall aching of his body had left.  He easily bounded over the river that cut through the chamber and easily climbed the steps back up to the castle.

There was no doubt what the Ark did to him.  He had been told about it so many years ago when he had first been told about the chamber.  But he also had been warned that its use was not to be for him, but for his service.  It would help heal him and protect him when necessary, but to overuse it would cause him harm and even death.

The warning had been so strong and powerful that he had no choice but to listen to it and obey.  It had come from an apparition that appeared to him in the middle of the day while he was tediously working in the castle’s kitchens.  If it had come at night, he would have thought it was just a dream.  But because it had been the middle of the day, there was no doubt it was real.

He still did not know why he had been chosen as protector of the Ark of Life.  He had felt unworthy then, and still felt unworthy now.  It was an honor that he thought should be given to the most noble of nobles, not the bastard son of a cook.  But he had accepted the job not because he thought he could do it, but because he knew he couldn’t refuse.  The apparition had instructed him well, and he had listened carefully.  Promises had been made about his life, and each one of those had come true.  He had been promised that he would rise above being a lowly servant to serve the powerful.  It had taken a long time, much longer than the normal lifespan of a man, but it was as he had been promised.  He would serve as protector as long as he was asked, whether it be one lifetime or two.

His one regret about living so long was seeing so much death.  He had seen too many good friends die, and it saddened him to see them grow old and fail, when he did not.  When he saw good men die, like King Thorndale, he wondered why it was he who was allowed to live, when others did not.  He knew that it was not about him, it was about his duty and service to the One God.

At the top of the stairs, he felt a twinge of pain in his knee.  Old age was catching up with him, even with the healing powers of the Ark.  It would not be long before another would take his place, which meant his time on earth was about done.  He was okay with that, for he had lived a full life serving his true lord and master as best he could.

With his mind and body refreshed, he returned to his chambers where he would begin to plan Queen Elissa’s trip up north.  He still did not like the idea, but his life was to serve, not to lead.

Chapter Twenty One

Conner awoke to near complete darkness.  The lamps that provided light to the main chamber had not yet been lit.  Each row of cells that branched off from the chamber had a single lamp above the central point.  It provided just enough light for those that needed to move around in the darkness to do so without much trouble.  Conner’s cell was far from the light, so all he saw were shadows in his cell.  He bolted up in panic.

              “Calm down!  It’s okay!”  The voice came from one of them, but Conner could not see who spoke nor did he recognize the name.  “Come with us.”

              With much hesitation, he did.  His first thought was that they were here to kill him for some reason, but they could have easily done that in his sleep.  None of the cell doors were even closed at night, so anyone could have access to his cell.  They did not act threateningly.  As he stood up, they seemed to back away.  They led him back to the main chamber and then down another cell-lined tunnel.  They stopped at a cell that was directly across from a burning oil lamp so that he could see those around him.

              He recognized the faces, but there were no names to go with them.  Other than Garonk and someone in the food line, he had not talked to anyone else.  He really hadn’t had any desire to, and no one had come up to him and introduced themselves.  In fact, there really had been very little talking at all among the gladiators.  Mostly they trained against one another and when they weren’t training, they pretty much stayed to themselves.

              “You are Sir Conner?”  The man who spoke was very large and muscular.  He had a torn and dirty grey tunic that had likely started as some other color.  His thick arms stuck out like tree trunks from the sleeves of this shirt.  As he spoke, the tendons in his neck bulged and moved with each word.  “You are truly a Knight of Karmon?”

              “Who are you?” Conner asked.  “And why do you want to know?”

              “I am David.  This is Jorr.  Morris.  Kar.”  He went through each of the ten men that were there, but Conner stopped paying attention after the first couple.  He would never remember any of the names, except maybe David’s.  And he certainly wouldn’t be able to really place faces with names in such a dark place.  “We are all prisoners here, just like you.  And like you, we want out.”

              “How do you know I want out?” Conner asked suspiciously.

              “I’ve been watching you closely since you came in,” David said.  “I watched you study the layout of the cells and how you watched the centurions closely as they took you away.  Trust me, we’ve all done it.  At least those of us here.  Others, they just sit in their cells and sleep all day, resigned to their fate.  And I saw how you handled the blade.  As well as any I have seen.  Truly, you are a Knight of Karmon, are you not?”

              Conner looked around, all of them older than him with battle-worn scars and marks across their faces and bodies.  Physically, they were all pretty much larger than him.  He might have been taller than most of them, but he didn’t have the muscle or girth like the others.  He should have been intimidated by them, but they seemed to be intimidated by him.  Because they thought he was a knight.

              “What if I am?” Conner asked.

              “We are thieves and murderers.  Some of us soldiers, former centurions.  I deserted from the barbarian wars in the north because I got tired of killing.  And now, I am here and the only way I can live is to kill.”

              “We are tired of it,” another said.  “We are looking to revolt.”

              David nodded his head.  “We need a leader, a man who can help us escape this dungeon.”

              “They will kill you all,” Conner said.

              “Not if we all revolt at once.  Some of us might die, but most of us will escape.  But we all need to do it together and that means we need a leader.  Like I said, we are thieves and murderers and deserters.  None of us are leaders.”

              “Why me?  You don’t know me.”

              “You are a Karmon Knight.  What else is there to know?  You have been trained since birth to be a great warrior.  Your exploits are legendary.  You are of noble blood, just like the lords and even the kings.  That means you can lead us.”

              Conner was speechless.  He knew he was not a knight, but they had believed him just because he had said it.  He knew he didn’t look anything like a knight should.  He was tall and skinny.  All the men around him looked more like a knight than he did.  He wanted to tell them that he wasn’t a knight, that he was indeed just some peasant boy who had happened to be at the right place at the right time, but the words wouldn’t come out.  He knew deep down that he should keep perpetuating the lie, but maybe this was the one chance that he had to get out of the dungeon.  The biggest problem was that he was not a leader.  He had no idea how to lead.  He had spent his entire life on his own without having to rely on anyone else for anything.  And no one had to rely on him for anything either.  In his time in the castle, he had seen true knights lead.  King Thorndale had been a great leader.  Sir Brace Hawkden, despite his flaws, had been a great leader. Even Queen Elissa was a leader.  He had seen her in action and he knew that she was born to lead.

              But he wasn’t.  He was born to be on his own.

              “I am not the man you think I am,” Conner said softly.

              An audible hush fell across the men.  A few glanced at another.  Others looked down at their feet.

              “I can see you are barely a man.  The hair on your face is growing patchy and thin.  But you defeated Korkus, one of the best swordsman around.  Only a trained soldier, or a trained knight, could take him down.”  David stepped closer and lowered his voice.  “We all have a story.  It does not matter what it is.  I don’t care, they don’t care.  But the time is now for this.  Soon it will be winter and the cold will creep down here and half of us will die.  They’ll light fires and try and keep us warm, but sometimes it gets really, really cold.  But the colder it gets, the less the centurions care about guarding us.  Which means that they aren’t watching us hardly at all.  We could try something now, but they watch us.  They watch for us getting together like this because they fear a revolt.  If all of us were in on it, we could escape.  And being winter, with everyone hunkered down in the warmth of their own homes, we just might make it.”

              Conner was still silent, unsure what he should do or say.  He was not a knight and he knew that he should stop acting like one.

              “You will die down here, like we all will.  But maybe we have a chance.  We just need your help to lead us.”

              With regret, Conner nodded his head.  He knew he would fail.  He was a peasant boy pretending to be a knight, but he also knew he didn’t want to die down here.  If these men gave him the opportunity to try and get out of here, he had to take it.

              “What do you need from me?” Conner asked.

              David smiled.  “We need to find a way out.  There has to be a weakness that you can figure out, something we haven’t figured out on our own.”

              “There is a ramp that leads up to the arena.  The dungeon tunnel leads right to it, but then it keeps on going.  What is past that?”

              “Centurion barracks,” David said.

              “And then?”

              “If we get past the centurion barracks, then we are in the city,” one of the other prisoners said.  “But if we escape that way, and we get past the centurions, they will hunt us down through the city.  And there is not a Taran alive that would help hide us.  We would be on our own.”

              “But we would have a chance,” David replied.  “Down here we have no chance.”  He turned back to Conner and asked, “Can we do it?”

              “The next time any of us goes out to the arena, we need to watch the centurions who are guarding us very carefully.  We will need to figure out a way to get past them and get the two main gates open.”

              “We can do that,” David said.  All the others voiced their agreement and excitement at the possibility of freedom.

              “There is one more thing,” Conner said.  “All the swords that we use are garbage.  Can we get anything better?  Or get a blacksmith to forge a good one?”

              Their exciting chattered turned into a hearty laughter at Conner’s request.

              “The swords may be rusty and dull,” David said.  “But they are still sharp enough to kill.”

              “If this is going to work, I am going to need different swords.”

              “You seem pretty good with that longsword that you used against Korkus.  I’m sure he thinks so, too!”

              “I’m better with my own swords,” Conner replied.  He spent several minutes describing a Sak’turana.

              David shook his head.  “We have many types of swords, but none like that.”

              “What about getting two of them made?”

              “The centurions have a smithy, but it is not for us.  It is for them and their own swords.  You will have to make do with what we have.  And one more thing.  You cannot tell Garonk about any of this.  He calls himself the jailor, but he is a prisoner just like all of us are.  But he longs to serve the empire.  He would turn on us in a heartbeat, especially if he knew it could help him get out of here.”

              “He seems okay,” Conner said.  “I like him.”

              “He is harmless enough, but you cannot trust him.  If he gets wind of anything that we are planning, he will tell the centurions, and then we will all be dead.  But you can’t act like anything is different, or he might get suspicious.”

              “What am I supposed to do, then?”

              “You said you like him, so continue to do so.  Just make sure that you don’t tell him anything.  We will talk again, in a few days.  Hopefully by then we will have some better ideas.”

              The group quickly dispersed back to their own cells.

              Conner found his way back to his own cell and fell onto his bunk and pulled the wool blanket over himself.  Unlike the first time he tried to fall asleep, this time his mind was not spinning with fear, but was filled with hope.  He knew that it would only be a matter of time before he escaped this prison.  And then he would find a horse and ride as fast as he could back to Karmon. 

              He missed Elissa.  Not just because of his love for her, but because he missed having a good friend that he could talk to.  He had liked Steven and Laurin, but that friendship had lasted hardly more than the blink of an eye.  And then as he thought about them and how they were slain, he became angry all over again.  So instead of falling into a comfortable sleep thinking about good things, he lay awake, fuming over the murderous bandits.  At least he had gotten his vengeance.

              Eventually he did fall asleep, but it seemed that was just a moment before a loud horn blew through dungeons, echoing loudly off every wall.

***

Conner rolled off his bunk, groggy from being awakened abruptly.  He took two wobbly steps before he caught himself on the iron bars of the open door to his cell.  The horn blew again, but most of the prisoners had already started coming out of their cells.

              As one passed by, Conner asked, “What is going on?”

              “They are calling us.”  The reply was short and sharp.  Conner tried to ask another question, but the man kept walking. 

              Conner followed the parade of prisoners to the main chamber, where the sleepy prisoners were starting to waken.  No one was happy about being woken so quickly and they made sure their voices were heard.  A company of ten centurions stood at the far end of the chamber.  Their swords were sheathed at their sides, but they all held cocked and ready crossbows.  There was no fear in any of the soldier’s eyes.  They looked at the prisoners with distant disdain.  The trumpeter, who stood behind the line of centurions, blew his trumpet one last time before he tucked the instrument under his arm and marched away and out of sight.

              With the last trumpet blast, the room started to settle down.  There were still pockets of chatter, but those quickly dissipated when an elderly man in a clean, white robe stepped forward.  Conner recognized him as the same man who was announcing from the platform in the stands of the arena.  He began speaking in Taran, using his hands to further express his words.  Conner did not understand anything that he was saying, but he had a feeling that much of what he was saying was either directed towards him, or about him.  Occasionally some of the other prisoners would glance in his direction, but when Conner caught their eyes looking at him, they would quickly look away.

              Garonk had made his way next to Conner.

              “What is he saying?” Conner asked in a whisper.  “Why is he speaking in Taran?”

              “Those of the nobility like their language better and it makes them feel superior to speak it, especially when there are
Arata
around.”