The Cavalier (5 page)

Lorna got up, hiding the coin in their secret spot under a floor board. “Yes, the High One is called many names throughout Kraawn. But you should not use any of them lightly,” she said as she sat back down at the table. “I only know several of his names; we call him Ulren, but I know that in the West he is called Toolm. It is believed that our goddess, Shyann, has a palace in his realm.”

“So Ulren is the most powerful of the good gods?”

“Yes. It is believed that the lesser gods all have a place at his great hearth,” Lorna said as she ate.

“Is our goddess, Shyann, a lesser god?”

“Shyann is a saint. That means that many, many years ago she was just a normal person like you and me, but she performed a great feat of selflessness and bravery, catching the High One’s attention. Ulren rewarded her by granting her sainthood, power, and a place at his hearth.”

“What did she do that made her a saint?” Jonas asked before he took a long drink of water.

“I don’t know exactly. The tales say she took a small village, like our own, and fought back against an army of boargs, orcs, and other monsters.”

“What do boargs look like?”

Lorna smiled, Jonas loved hearing about boargs. “Boargs are strong, fast beasts that inhabit the high Tundren Mountains. It is thought by some that they are related to the big mountain boars that live there. Some think they are the result of a wizard’s magic, but no one knows for sure. They have pig like faces with tusks like a boar, sharp teeth, and two great horns that protrude from their bony heads. They are taller than a big man, but they look shorter because they are bent over and their long arms usually rest on the ground. Short, rough hair, covers their muscular bodies, and they are said to be stronger than several men. And I’ve heard they run on all fours and are swifter than deer. They are ferocious animals that will eat anything they can get their claws on.”

“When was a boarg last seen around here?” Jonas asked, never short of questions.

“The last one I can remember was when you were just a baby. Jornath Longhorn went hunting and he never came back. His brothers went out into the Tundrens to investigate and found his ripped and torn body. As they wept over his body, a boarg who was coming back to finish its meal attacked them. Braal, the bigger of the two eventually killed the boarg, but not before he was seriously wounded and his other brother was killed. Braal still has the boarg’s skull mounted in his home.”

“I hope a boarg never shows up at our cabin. Keep going, Mother, tell me about Shyann,” Jonas said excitedly.

Lorna, smiling at her son, drank some more water. “She was just a normal girl that went off to become a soldier, which was rare for a female in these parts. She fought many battles and finally came home to serve her family on their little farm in the Tundrens, not far from here I’ve heard. I guess they raised cattle and hunted and grew food that they sold in the local markets. There came a year when her village and the other villages nearby were raided by boargs crossing the mountain ranges towards Finarth. This was one of the great wars that you’ve heard about.”

“Yes, I remember. Go on, Mother, what happened?”

“I don’t know the details, but the story goes that she trained and united the many mountain towns all across the Tundrens and fought back this horde. Evil men who were trying to unite with the forces of Malbeck led the boarg army and she crushed them, marching her ill-equipped group of hunters, farmers, and herders, to help Finarth combat this evil. I have no idea how she did it, but the stories and songs say that she could inspire anyone. She was good with a sword but her real skill was convincing ordinary men and women that they had something to offer, that their blood was just as strong as another’s.” Lorna took another spoonful of soup and smiled at her son who had stopped eating altogether, entranced by her story. “I’ve told you this story before, Sprout,” Lorna said as she swallowed her stew.

“I know, Mother. I just really like it. Keep going, please”.

“Well, all I really know is that after the forces of Malbeck were destroyed, the king of Finarth knighted her. Then one day, when she was traveling back home to her village, tragedy happened. Her small army was camping deep in the Tundrens and boargs ambushed them in the middle of the night. Shyann’s forces defeated them but the cost was great. In the battle, Shyann was mortally wounded. She lay in her tent dying, her men trying everything they could to save her.
 
The next morning when the surgeon came in to check on her, her body was missing. There was nothing in her bed, no body, no clothes, just her sword, bow, and her shield. But the strangest thing about the legend was that in the middle of the tent, a stout oak tree, no more than five feet tall, appeared, and as they cleared the camp and set for home, the men noticed the tree had grown. It grew to the height of ten men with great limbs reaching out towards the sun’s rays.”

“Is that why one of her symbols is the great oak?”

“Yes, it is,” Lorna said as she added more water to their cups from the clay pitcher on the table.

“Where is the tree now?” asked Jonas

“No one knows, but some people think that her tree is somewhere in the Tundrens and her tomb is located there, or maybe it is just a story and it doesn’t exist at all. Now finish eating and get some sleep. We have to head into town tomorrow early.”

“Okay, Mother,” Jonas said, stuffing his mouth with more stew, thinking about the next month without the usual trepidation. The gold would buy meat and other things that would make the last winter months bearable.

***

The morning came quickly. It seemed to Jonas that he had just put his head down to sleep when his mother woke him gently. The aroma of her herbal tea was a sweet comfort that greeted him every morning. She swore that her recipe kept them from getting sick during the winter months. Jonas loved her tea. It warmed and invigorated him after drinking it. Jonas was excited as he drank the tea, knowing that he would need the energy for the walk into town that his mother and he had planned last night over dinner.

The morning was cold, and the harsh mountain air poked and prodded their skin through the gaps in their clothing. The night’s new snows made it harder than expected for Jonas to make the mile long walk into town. The heavy, wet snow, grabbed at his feet and crutch, making the walk more difficult.

Finally, after an hour and a half of walking, they entered through the town’s main gate. The town was surrounded by a sturdy wall of tall thick logs lashed together and stuck four feet into the ground. The stout gate was built of oak and bound together with bands of black iron. It was open during the day but at night it was shut to keep out the wild animals, and any roaming monsters or boargs. It was rare, but on occasion a hunter would return with stories of mountain ogres, hill giants, and other wild creatures.

Normally, at this time in the morning, the town would just be awakening, but today, the town was already a bustle of activity. The rich smells of Gorum’s fresh baked bread and freshly lit hearths wafted down the street as Jonas and Lorna made their way across town. Lorna reached over and held Jonas close to her as the townspeople hurried towards the grange, where they often had town meetings. Several children that Jonas recognized stood by the butcher’s shop staring wide eyed at the people moving toward the grange. The feeling in the air was tense; something was wrong.

The butcher’s son, Wil, stood against the wall with his two friends, Fil, and Fil’s younger brother, Colsen. Jonas stood behind his mother, not wanting the boys to see him and pepper him with their endless barrage of insults.

“What is happening, Wil?” asked his mother.

Wil looked at her with malice. “My father said not to speak with you…that it would bring us bad luck”.
 

“Your father is ignorant and a drunk, now tell me what is happening,” Lorna demanded.

Wil was just about to retort when Fil interrupted him. “A cavalier came into town last night and he has called a meeting this morning. He said it was urgent…that the town is in danger,” Fil said, barely able to hide his excitement, and fear.

Jonas had always liked Fil more than the rest, and after the previous day’s occurrence his respect for him grew. When the kids would yell at him he always noticed that Fil didn’t participate, that he just stared at Jonas with pity, the same look that Fil gave Jonas the day before as they left Jonas sprawled out on the frozen ground.

Jonas leaned out from behind his mother.
 
“Was he tall, with long black hair and did he go by the name of Airos?” Jonas asked.

“He did. How did you know that, Jonas?” Fil asked.

Jonas smiled. “I met him yesterday. He gave me a gold coin.”

His mother squeezed his arm gently. “That’s enough Jonas. Let’s see what this cavalier has to say.”

His mother gently helped Jonas walk down the street toward the grange. The grange was a great vaulted structure built with strong trees each as big around as a man’s waist. It was a large, simple building, big enough to sit at least a hundred people. There was a wooden stage facing rows of benches flanked by two great stone fireplaces with chimneys that rose to the ceiling twenty paces from the floor. Lorna and Jonas entered through the large double doors. The fires were blazing, casting an orange glow flickering across the room.

Airos stood on the stage addressing the confused and frightened townspeople. He was splendid in his shining armor and he had replaced his wool traveling cloak with a long green flowing cape. The cape was made from a light material that seemed to flutter around him as he moved.

Jonas wondered again how he kept so clean, but his thought was cut short as a rough hand reached out and grabbed Lorna by the arm. It was the butcher, Marsk.

“You are not wanted here. Get out and take your cripple with you,” the heavy set butcher whispered.

There were a few other people near them that joined in, whispering in fear for them to leave, and glancing at them with frowns.

Lorna held her ground, looking directly into the fat man’s eyes. “I have as much right to be here as you do. I am a member of this town whether…..”

Lorna was cut off as Marsk grabbed her arm tightly pulling her roughly towards him. “You have no right to be here, now get out,” he said, pushing her and causing her to stumble backwards.

Jonas tried to move out of his mother’s way but his body refused to react quickly enough. Lorna crashed into him and they tumbled to the floor. Several other townspeople began to taunt them, whispering curses and shooting them shunning stares as Jonas fumbled for his crutch.

Suddenly the entire room lit up with a bright light, and their voices hushed instantly. The light was pure white, and as it washed over everyone the feeling of tension subsided. Though the light was almost blinding, it caused them no harm. Quite the opposite; Jonas felt invigorated and happy as he slowly stood up, the insults becoming an increasingly distant memory. Everyone looked up; the light slowly dissipating from Airos’s outstretched hands. To Jonas’s eyes it looked like the light just drained into his body.

Airos looked directly at Jonas and his mother as they slowly stood. Jonas saw a hint of a smile before he turned his gaze on Marsk and several others. The change in his expression was so severe that Jonas thought he would draw his sword and strike Marsk down where he stood. Airos’s hawk-like eyes pierced Marsk’s tough façade, forcing him to look away.

“What is the meaning of this? Is not a woman and her boy welcome in the town’s hall?” Airos asked; his voice strong and demanding. Something in the powerful voice stirred Jonas to his core. He felt like he would follow this man to his grave and back. The white light was definitely magic and Jonas thought that maybe Airos was using magic in his voice as well. Having never experienced magic before, he just stared at Airos with awe, his every word reverberating through the hall like a god’s voice. Maybe it was a god’s voice thought Jonas.
 

The others felt it too. His voice was magical and commanding and everyone looked directly at him as if in a trance. Airos looked around the room slowly. “What kind of village is this that turns its back on its own townspeople? This boy is a cripple. The gods willed it so, for reasons we know not. Who are any of you to question their will?”

No one said a word as Airos scanned the crowd before finally directing his gaze to Marsk, the butcher. “The poor and the weak should be protected, or we become nothing more than the evil that threatens this town. Am I understood, butcher?”

Marsk, his eyes showing his nervousness, scanned the room. He turned back to Airos trying to match his stare, but to no avail. Marsk, lowering his eyes said, “Yes sir. You are quite right.”

“It is not I who am right, but the High One. I am his voice and that is why I am here. Men and women of Manson, listen closely to what I have to say for I am a cavalier of Ulren, the High One. I am his warrior and I fight to protect the righteous and the good of the lands. Airos drew forth his sword with one smooth motion and held it high in the air, the silver blade glowing green and humming as if alive. The crowd was deathly silent as they listened. “I fight the vile darkness spreading through the lands like a plague. I fight this evil on Ulren’s demands. He has directed me here, to your hardy mountain town.” Airos stopped and sheathed his sword.

Jonas grabbed his mother’s hand tightly as Airos’s gaze moved over him like a searchlight.