The Cavalier (6 page)

“A small army of boargs approaches your town even as we speak,” Airos said bluntly.

The townspeople erupted with frightened responses to this grave news. Jonas felt his mother squeeze his hand tightly as she pulled him closer.
Boargs
, thought Jonas,
what would happen to the town? What would happen to those like him and his mother who couldn’t run or fight?
The questions rolled around in his mind.

Airos’s powerful voice rang through the hall again, quieting the townspeople. “That is not all. This force is led by a Banthra.”

The shock of this news hit the townspeople like a hammer. They all stood speechless, wondering if they heard Airos correctly.

Marsk reacted first.

“Sir…a Banthra?” he asked. “I have only heard of the legends. I thought the Banthras disappeared with Malbeck during the last Great War.”

“So we all thought. It seems that the Banthras are back, but we are not sure why. Over the last five years there have been signs of a blackness rising up again throughout Kraawn. There have been mysterious disappearances, animals migrating and leaving the forests, vile monsters crawling from their caves and killing ruthlessly.
 
I have felt it, and even fought it in some cases. The land is being poisoned again by this vileness. This Banthra is yet another sign that evil is stirring again”.

Gorum the baker stood up from his bench to address Airos. “Sir, my name is Gorum. Why would a Banthra and an army of boargs be heading to our small town? It makes no sense.”

Airos looked at the baker for a few seconds before answering.
 
Gorum looked around, uncertain of the cavalier’s stare. Finally Airos smiled and responded. “Ah, good baker, that is a fine question and one for which I have no answer, for I know not why this force threatens your town.” Airos paused and looked at the nervous gathering before him. “My guess is that the Banthra is amassing a small army of boargs and that they are moving through the mountain passes to get to the east.”

Braal, the only man in Manson who had fought a boarg, stood up. He was thick and powerfully built, his tan face reflecting many years of trapping the harsh lands that surrounded their small town. “Sir, the mountain passes are miles from here. They could just move through them unnoticed. Why go out of their way to come to our town?” Braal asked.

Airos looked at Braal with his intense blue eyes. “You are Braal,” Airos said knowingly.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“You of all people can answer that question. That day, many years ago, when you found the body of your brother? Why did the boarg attack you and your brother when you arrived at the corpse?”

“How do you know about that day?” Braal asked uneasily.

“I know about many things. Tell me.”

Braal looked at his fellow townspeople. “The boarg was protecting its kill. It was feeding,” he said softly, not wanting to bring up the painful memory of that horrible day many years ago.

“That is correct. I believe the Banthra is moving his force to this town so he can feed his army before moving east. You are faced with a dire threat, good people. Your options are few and only the strongest of you can make it through the mountain passes. That means you cannot run.”

Jonas’s mother spoke up for the first time.

“What are we to do, sir?” Lorna asked with concern, her hand gripping Jonas’s in fear.

Airos looked at her, his eyes ablaze with fire, and said two frightening words. “We fight!”

Two 
Manson Fights

The town bustled with activity; men strengthened the walls, women and children gathered food stores. Kiltharin, the blacksmith, sharpened axes, swords, scythes and any other tools that could be used as a weapon. Families living on the outskirts of town moved loved ones into the interior. Some built makeshift sleeping barracks in the town’s grange, while still others stayed with friends in their cramped little homes.

Gorum offered his small home to Jonas and his mother. Jonas noticed a few stares as they slowly carried their meager belongings into Gorum’s home, but not like before. It seemed to Jonas that Airos’s words had affected the townspeople’s feelings toward him and his mother. Everyone was too scared and busy to worry about a cripple and his mother anyway. They just wanted to survive.

The little home was cozy, clean, and smelled of baked bread. Gorum’s bakery was connected to the house through a door in the back. His massive clay and stone oven, built by his father who passed all his skills to Gorum many years ago, took up most of the work shop. The little house had one room with a connected bedroom. Gorum graciously offered them the bedroom which they accepted gratefully.

Jonas stood in the main room looking up at a large old sword hanging above the hearth. The blade was pitted and marked from many battles, and the leather handle was worn and frayed.

“It’s seen better days, that’s for sure.”

Jonas turned toward the voice of Gorum as the baker approached him. Gorum was a big man, round in the face and belly, but strong too, like a sturdy oak.

“That was my father’s sword,” Gorum continued. “I’ve never really used it myself, although my father taught me how.”

“It looks very old. Is it still sharp?” Jonas asked.

“It soon will be.” The dancing flames casted an orange glow throughout the room as Gorum took down the heavy sword. “I guess I need to get this cleaned up,” he said as he moved toward the table.

“Are you afraid?” Jonas asked seriously.

Gorum sat down on one of his wooden chairs, the sword resting on his legs. “I am, Jonas,” he said. “I am a baker, not a fighter. I would be frightened to fight a man, but the idea of facing a boarg terrifies me.” Gorum took up a stone; dipping it in water he began to wipe the stone across the edge of the blade with one long smooth motion. The grating sound of the stone on steel seemed to hypnotize Jonas for a moment. “But we do not have a choice, Jonas. We cannot run. We cannot hide. There is nothing for us to do but fight and hope that the gods will protect us.”

“Why would the gods allow the boargs to attack us in the first place? We have done nothing wrong,” Jonas asked.

“A good question,” Gorum laughed lightly, “but I have never understood the ways of the gods, so it may be hard for me to answer. But I will say this. There is always a balance in the world, Jonas. There is good and there is evil. They both weigh the scale up and down from time to time, but in the end there must be a balance. One without the other would cancel their own existence.”

“So you’re saying that for good to exist, there must also be evil?”

“I do not pretend to know. But I think it would be hard to define goodness if there were no evil to compare it to,” Gorum remarked as he continued to hone the edge of his old sword.

Jonas contemplated the baker’s words for a moment before he spoke. “I wish I could fight. I’d stand my ground right next to you, and I would weigh the scale in the right direction.”

Gorum looked up at him, smiling, “I believe you would, Jonas. Have you ever heard how Malbeck the Dark One was destroyed?”

“No sir. I do not know much about the Dark One. Can you tell me?” Jonas asked with nervous excitement.

“I only know a little of the tale. The ancient king of Finarth, King Ullis Gavinsteal, defeated him in battle. It is told by traveling bards that the king’s armor and sword were enchanted for the very purpose of slaying the Dark One. I’ve heard several different tales, one of which told that those weapons may have been created by the most powerful elven ekahals for that purpose.”

“What is an ekahal?”

“Ekahals are elvish wizards. They are very powerful. When King Ullis killed the Dark One, there was nothing left except a burnt and decimated battle field, no king, armor, sword…nothing.”

“What happened to the king and his armor?” asked Jonas leaning forward eagerly.

“No one knows. It is a mystery. Some say that the elves hid the armor and sword, but no one knows for sure.” Gorum read Jonas’s eager expression and changed his tone. “Remember, son, when the fighting starts I want you to hide. If we are defeated, they will not stay long. They will kill, feed, and then be on their way. There is a good chance that you will survive if you stay hidden. Do you understand?”

“Yes sir. But I still wish I could fight with the rest of you.”

“There will be no fighting for you young man,” Lorna said, entering the room from the bedroom. The tension of their situation was evident on her face. Her eyes were swollen from crying and she was visibly distraught.
 
Lorna squatted on her knees in front of Jonas and held him at arm’s length. “Now listen, son. I want you to do exactly what Gorum has said. You must hide and stay hidden. Do not make a noise until the fighting is over.”

“But…”

“You will obey me,” she said, ending the conversation. “Gorum, do you have a suitable hiding spot for my son?”

“Don’t you want to put him with the rest of the children and elders in the grange?” Gorum asked.

“No, I want him near me and I do not trust how they would treat him.”

Gorum nodded knowingly. “I have a place.” Gorum stopped sharpening the old blade, setting the sword on the heavy oak table next to him. “But it will be dark and dirty,” Gorum replied as he stood. “When the fire is not lit in my clay oven, there is a spot inside where a child could hide safely. It will be full of soot, but that may actually help conceal him and disguise his smell.”
 

They all walked through the back door and into his bakery. The large oven was just to their right, the heat from the clay warming them as they neared it. Gorum opened the iron door and dampened the fire.

“I’ll put the fire out now so it has time to cool down. When the fighting starts, that’s where we’ll put him.”

“What about you, Mother? Where will you be?” asked Jonas. The thought of hiding in that dark and dirty hole terrified him. But the thought of being separated from his mother was even worse.

“I will be here, helping where I may. Don’t worry son, I will be right here with you the whole time. I would never leave you,” Lorna said, another tear dripping slowly down her cheek.

***

Airos checked the gate one more time, making sure the solid oak bar was firmly in place. Satisfied, he moved along the northern wall, reassuring the men as he went. He was wearing his shiny silver breastplate with the High One’s symbol embossed on the chest. He wore matching greaves and forearm guards, both covered with intricate runes and symbols. His armor was polished so brightly, that, like a mirror, it reflected everything that was near. A beautifully crafted long bow was strapped to his back and his sword swung gently at his side. All the men looked at him in awe as he passed them, reassuring them with a pat on the back, a smile, and his very presence. He seemed to suck the tension out of the very air and replace it with calm determination.

Airos knew the attack would come tonight; he could feel it. That was one of his many abilities, being able to detect evil, to feel it as it drifted through the air like a poisonous mist. Airos was not afraid, for death had no hold on him. He had given up his own personal desires many years ago to serve a greater good, to serve the High One who had picked him as one of His warriors. And he had served Him well.
 
He would live or die in His service, holding no regrets. He could wield magic and heal the wounded and sick. He could bring forth God Fire at will, an ability reserved to first rank cavaliers, the highest ranking among them. Airos was an expert swordsman and archer; in fact he had never met his equal with a blade.

No, he was not afraid. But he felt a bit of unease, like he was missing something. The question that Braal had asked in the grange hounded him. Why would they attack this town? Was it really to feed? Or was there another purpose?

He continued to ponder his discomfort, checking the southern wall of the town. All able-bodied men, women, and even children, were preparing themselves for the attack. He could see in their eyes that they were frightened, but he could do nothing but give them hope by his presence.

Why would a Banthra be leading the boargs? It makes no sense, he thought. As far as he knew there were only a handful of Banthras that ever walked the lands of Kraawn. Why would they be back? Why would a Banthra be in the mountains to gather a small army of boargs? Surely a lesser minion could handle that job.

One of the few things that gave Airos pause was a Banthra. Banthras were fallen cavaliers, cavaliers who were captured by Malbeck and twisted into his servants many years ago. It was thought that they had all disappeared when Malbeck was defeated, but they had reappeared with dire consequences for Kraawn. Reports of orcs, goblins, trolls, and other monsters, moving from the Black Lands and the Mazgar Forest, have been whispered from city to city all the way to Annure. Evil was definitely growing in the northeast near Banrith, Malbeck’s old stronghold.

Traveling bards tell stories of the great wars, over a thousand years ago, when Malbeck had captured six cavaliers. He tortured their minds and bodies until there was nothing of the original warriors left. Airos hoped that the High One had protected their souls; he had to believe that He did, for he had faith in Ulren. Nonetheless Malbeck used magic to twist their minds and bodies into demon-spawn. After many years of this torture the six cavaliers became the black knights of Malbeck. They had the power of a cavalier, but their magic came from the black gods that constantly try to possess the hearts of men. It was not an easy task to create these powerful warriors, but Malbeck was a follower of the Forsworn, the three evil gods of Kraawn, and they had given him great power so that he might rule Kraawn in their name.