Sir Kendrick and the Castle of Bel Lione (20 page)

Kendrick looked deep into Landor’s eyes and could see the desire but not the evidence. Landor put his hand on Kendrick’s.

“You have shown me many wonderful things that would testify to the existence of this man you call the Prince, but the greatest of them all is your heart.”

Kendrick nodded and accepted the honor of his words. They prepared to leave, but Landor looked once again at Kendrick.

“I must admit that your Prince is no longer a fairy tale to me.”

Kendrick responded with a smile. “It’s a start.”

Later Kendrick took Ancel back to Lady Odette and shared the events of the evening with her. Ancel was quiet as Kendrick described the plan for entering the castle. He didn’t implore her to agree, for his own heart could hardly justify the danger the boy would be in.

“Once the battle begins,” she asked, her brow furrowed, “how can I be sure of his safety?”

Kendrick considered carefully before answering. “My lady, I can assure you of nothing. But I can promise that I will do my utmost to protect him once we are inside the castle.”

They both looked toward Ancel, and he tried to appear older and stronger than he was. “I can do it, Mother … I know I can.”

Kendrick said nothing more, but left Lady Odette to assimilate the information and weigh the cost. He didn’t have to explain the significance of Ancel’s role to their success. She understood at once, though her efficient mind and call to duty were clearly at odds with her heart as a mother.

They retired for the evening, and by morning Lady Odette had made her decision.

Kendrick then rode back to his men and began to prepare them for battle … a battle that would shake the very heart of the kingdom.

By late the next afternoon, all of the battle preparations were complete. Landor, Duncan, and two other young knights had departed hours earlier to circle the castle and enter the secret passageway. Orders had been given, and various groups had taken their positions. Kendrick had assigned Sir Winston to be his vice commander, for the man had already won the respect of those prepared to fight.

Now all that was left was the waiting. Kendrick walked among the brave souls who had come to join him in battle against this evil foe. He talked with them and wanted to remember each face and voice. They were all mighty in his eyes, for they came to sacrifice without compensation. But was he a worthy man to lead them?

“Sir Winston,” he said, “see to the needs of the knights, will you? I need some time.”

“Yes sir,” Winston replied.

Kendrick mounted Pilgrim and rode deeper into the woods until he could no longer hear the sounds of the encampment. In the perfect stillness of the forest, Kendrick momentarily allowed himself the emotions that his men did not want to see.

He dismounted and walked a short distance, allowing his steed to follow on a loose rein. For the first time in many months, he felt weary. His armor felt heavy, and he labored to take each step. He stopped and began to wonder if his passion had brought him to a place he shouldn’t be. He drew his sword, set its tip into the ground, and knelt before it. His eyes drank in the streams of winter sunlight gliding in between the bare tree limbs.

Kendrick lowered his eyes and fought the feelings of fear, doubt, and apprehension. In his silent contemplation, Kendrick searched for the foundation upon which his life had been renewed … no, reborn.

“My Prince, who am I that You should incline Your ears to my words or lift Your hand to my aid? I am not worthy to serve, and yet You chose me for this day. Help us defeat this great enemy of Yours that men might be free to believe in You.”

“Sir Kendrick.” The sound of a soft, deep voice landed upon his ears, and he was startled. He looked up to see a massive warrior standing a few paces before him in full battle regalia. The bright and polished sword at his side nearly glowed, and his countenance was even fiercer than before.

Kendrick stood and faced Bronwyn.

“The Prince has been with you from the beginning,” the Silent Warrior told him. “As I and my brethren will be with you now.”

Kendrick instantly felt his strength return, and his heart was warmed by the fire of the Prince. “How many of you will there be?”

“Enough.” Bronwyn stepped forward until he was an arm’s length away from Kendrick. “You must secure the castle gate, and then we will come.” He looked deep into Kendrick’s eyes. “I’ve waited many years, Kendrick. Go now in courage and know that the King reigns.”

“And His Son!” Kendrick returned.

The two men exchanged a look of bonded unity that only those entering battle side by side could feel. Then they parted.

Kendrick returned to the encampment and gathered the knights into one place. He stood on raised ground so he could see all of them.

“Fellow Knights of the Prince, we do not face only Arrethtraen men of flesh and blood. We have come to battle against powers and rulers of darkness in high places. Lord Ra of Bel Lione is an evil and wicked Shadow Warrior, and today we stand against him! Though we carry the hope of the Prince to the people of Arrethtrae, we also bring to bear all the power of the King and His Son against Lucius and his evil Shadow Warriors, so that our fellow countrymen might be free from this bondage. Today, comrades, we will destroy this stronghold, for greater is the Prince within our hearts than all the forces of darkness against which we fight!”

Kendrick felt the passion of the Prince within his being as he drew his sword and held it high above him. “Put on your full armor and rise up with me to battle, for the King reigns!”

“And His Son!” shouted the other five hundred knights in unison, and they lifted their swords with one accord to affirm their resolution.

They rode toward the castle in silence and arrived as the weekly fete began. At the edge of the forest they waited—waited for the success of a boy and a former Vincero Knight.

INTO THE CASTLE

Duncan, Landor, and their two comrades reached the secret passageway with time to spare. They entered its dark and murky walls without encountering blood wolves or Shadow Warriors. The ease of their progress made Landor nervous, but they still continued through the tunnel, holding their torches before them.

As they neared the entrance into the dungeon, Duncan found it difficult to quell the fear and anxiety rising within him. Just weeks before, he had been a victim of the torture chambers beyond the stone doorway. Even now, the pain of those days had not completely left him. But something about him had changed. He made a deliberate decision to embrace the pain, to let it make him stronger as he focused on the countless men and women who were still in the dungeons and would die there if he faltered.

“Give me your swords, and I will carry them at my back in my belt,” Landor whispered when they came to the stone door at the end of the tunnel. “My cloak should amply cover them while we are in the dungeon, for there is very little light.”

The dancing light of their torches randomly illuminated various features of Landor’s face as he spoke. His white beard was gone, and he looked ten years younger than before. Having donned the cloak and
colors of the Vincero Knights, he presented a convincing facade, so much so that Duncan had to resist the urge to deny him his sword.

“Once inside,” he added, “you must walk in single file before me. Duncan, you lead. Then Gregory, and then Kinley.”

Duncan’s fellow knights gathered closer to listen to his orders. Gregory was a little shorter than Duncan but with a similar build. His hair was brown and wavy. He was actually Duncan’s age but looked younger. Kinley was a plain young woman, but her eyes were not; beneath her straight black bangs, they flashed with a knight’s courage and passion. Duncan greatly admired her courage in volunteering for such a dangerous mission. She swiped a portion of her bangs that hung across her eyes and tucked it behind her ear as Landor spoke.

“What you are about to see will appall you,” Landor told them soberly. “Don’t be concerned about hiding your shock, for it will only make you all the more believable. You just—”

Duncan held up both hands to silence his comrades.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered, peering back up the tunnel through which they had come, his muscles suddenly rigid with fear. The others listened intently, barely breathing. Seconds passed. Finally they heard a deep moan, but its source was on the opposite side of the stone door and not from the tunnel behind them.

“We have no choice,” Landor said. “We must go now.”

Duncan steeled himself, and he saw each of his companions do the same. Landor took a deep breath as he turned to enter Bel Lione’s dungeon of despair once more. They forced the stone door open, extinguished their torches, and entered the dungeon.

The putrid smell of death filled Duncan’s nostrils, and he could not repress the flood of nightmarish memories that surfaced in response. He felt naked without his sword, and he wondered if the other two felt the same. Landor drew his sword, and Duncan led the other two “prisoners” down the first corridor, passing cell after cell of imprisoned souls.
Landor commanded turn after turn and finally brought them to the stairwell leading up to the first level.

Here Duncan became uneasy. He was sure Landor felt the same way. Prisoners were always taken
down
the three levels of the dungeon, never
up
, so if they met a guard at this point, all might be revealed.

Duncan took two steps up. “Down from the stairs, knave!” he heard Landor shout.

Duncan turned just as Landor shoved the other two against the stone wall and lunged toward him. He grabbed Duncan’s shirt and yanked him backward so that he stumbled and fell to the floor with a thud.

Anger battled with terror and confusion as Duncan scrambled to his knees. Was Landor playing the double ruse and manifesting his true self as a Vincero Knight once more? Duncan tried to stand, but Landor struck him across the head with the pommel of his sword.

“Fool!” he shouted. “You chose to trust me, and now you will spend the rest of your pitiful life in these cells.” He said the words with such loathing that Duncan was convinced they had been betrayed. He put his hand to his head, expecting to feel the warm trickle of his blood between his fingers, but there was none.

“Bring him to the chambers when you are done with him,” Duncan heard a raspy voice say. “I’ll give him torment he’ll never forget!”

Duncan turned and saw a huge Shadow Warrior walking past them. The warrior’s guttural laughter reverberated off the walls, and Duncan realized what was happening.

“I don’t belong here,” he pleaded, following Landor’s lead. “Please let me go home!”

“Quiet!” Landor lifted the sword to strike him again. Now Duncan noticed that Landor’s hand covered the pommel of his sword. This explained the lack of blood and the absence of any real pain.

Once the Shadow Warrior turned from the corridor, Landor reached for Duncan’s hand and lifted him up.

“That was too close,” he said. “Quickly!”

He motioned toward the stairwell, and they ascended to the first level of the dungeon. They passed two more guards, but without incident or suspicion, then climbed another set of stairs to the warrior guardhouse, which was attached to the great hall of the castle. Two Shadow Warriors were inside. Their mouths dropped when three prisoners and a Vincero Knight emerged from the dungeon stairwell. One had his sword halfway from its scabbard before he saw Landor.