Knight Fall (The Champion Chronicles Book 1) (29 page)

Conner answered by picking up his swords from the ground.

There were only ten of them.  Conner on Lilly and nine knights atop large warhorses itching to get back into the battle.  They smelled blood and it brought them into a wild, snorting frenzy.  Even Lilly was caught up in the berserker rage.  It took all of Conner’s strength to keep her in place.  As soon as they were all mounted, Brace led the charge.  The fighting had split into smaller pockets of skirmishes and the Knight Captain led them towards one such group atop a small hill.

Without speaking, each knight knew what to do.  They had practiced this maneuver countless times, and now it was time to see if they could succeed.  The king and a handful of knights were surrounded by a larger group of Thellians.  As they approached, even Conner could see that it would be only a matter of time before each knight, and then the king, would be killed.  They kicked their horses from a gallop to a sprint just before they crashed into the Thellians.  Brace was the point of their diamond formation and didn’t even bother to swing his sword.  He simply held his horse firmly and guided it as it crashed into Thellians soldiers, crushing them underfoot.  The trailing knights had their swords drawn and swung them at anything that moved.

Once they crashed through the line to the remaining knights, they dismounted and began slaughtering the Thellians.  Conner did not hesitate to join in the fray.  As soon as it was clear enough to get off his horse, he did so with swords in hand.  He swung them fast and furiously, pushing the Thellians back.  Between the initial crush of their charge, and the ten extra swords, they were able to turn the Thellians away.  Once their numbers were cut in half, the Thellians turned and ran.  Most of the remaining knights found their horses and began pursuit.  Conner and Brace turned to the king.  King Thorndale was on the ground, the remnants of an arrow in shoulder.  His hands clutched his side, trying to hold back the blood that was pouring out.

“My king,” Brace said as he fell to the king’s side.

The king gripped Brace’s shoulder, but King Thorndale’s strength was failing fast.  His lips trembled.  “My son,” the king said.

Tears streamed down Brace’s face.  “Do not call me that, my king.  I am not so.  I have failed you.”

“You have failed nothing,” the king said.  “My daughter…”  His eyes drifted off of Brace and landed on Conner.  The king reached his hand out to him.

Conner dropped to his knees and let the king put a hand on his shoulder.  “My daughter.  You are all she has left.  You will no longer be just a champion.  You will be the Queen’s Champion.  You will be the only one that can keep this kingdom together.”

“Sire,” Conner said.  “I…”

The grip became stronger as a surge of strength and energy suddenly flowed through the king.  “Promise me!” the king shouted.  When Conner paused, the king said it again, “Promise me you will be there for Elissa!”

Conner nodded his head.  “Yes.  I promise.”

King Thorndale closed his eyes and took one last breath.

Brace let out a blood curdling cry, throwing his sword as far as he could throw it.  He then pulled off his helm and threw it as far as he could.  He dropped to his knees and buried his face in the bloody, muddy ground, his sobs drowned out by the screams and cries of the dying.

***

The Thellians, having lost the surprise of the ambush, had retreated completely out of the valley.  The knights pursued to ensure that they stayed away, but there were not enough of them and other soldiers to mount an offensive strike.  To make sure the Thellian army didn’t try a second strike, many of the surviving mounted knights pursued them for some miles, catching stragglers and inflicting their vengeance upon them.  But for everyone else, the bloody work of cleaning up the battlefield began in earnest.  Knights and the commoner army worked side-by-side to pile the dead into burning pyres.  Their deaths would be honored at sundown.  The king was ceremoniously wrapped in a thick wool cloak and placed atop one of the few wagons that had survived the assault.  He would make the long trip back to the city to be buried with his ancestors in the caves below the high cliffs of South Karmon.  It would also give the citizens of the city a chance to say goodbye to their king.

Marik walked among the dead, looking for any survivors.  A few were found, but most that were still breathing were put out of their misery.  A quick death was always preferable to a slow one.  As he walked among the fallen, he began to see something odd with the arrows.  Not all of them were the same.  There were many poorly made arrows, as he would expect from the Thellians.  They were not archers.  Soldiers from Thell had bows and used them, but they did not have the skill and knowledge to be experts.

He kneeled down next to a dead peasant, an arrow stuck deep into his chest.  With a sickening slurp, Marik pulled it out and looked at it carefully.  He had never seen an arrow like it before, but he had heard about it.

He jumped up and began running towards where he had left Brace and Conner.

Conner, was in the middle of tossing a dead soldier onto the pile of dead bodies when Marik came running up, out of breath.

“Brace,” he said between gasps.  “Where is Sir Brace?”

Conner pointed to a nearby wagon where the Knight Captain was sitting, his back against one of its wheels.  With Conner in tow, Marik approached his Knight Captain.

“Sir,” Marik said softly.  In his hands he held the arrow that he had pulled out of the dead man and another arrow that he had picked up off the ground.

Brace took a long, deep breath before he looked up.  His eyes were red and lifeless.  “What?” he snapped.

Marik held the arrows out for Brace to inspect.

Brace glanced at them for a moment before looking up.  “Arrows?”

Marik shook his head.  “Look closer.  This arrow,” he held up the arrow he had found on the ground.  “It is long and thin, the fletching is at the end of the arrow.”  Then he held up the arrow that he had pulled out of the dead man.  “This arrow is thicker.  Heavier.  The fletching goes from the end all the way down to the middle of the arrow.  And it is about half the length.”

Brace took the smaller arrow, ignoring the blood on the shaft and tip.  He turned it over, looking at it carefully.  “I have heard of something like this…”

“Crossbows,” Marik said.  “Thellians don’t use crossbows.”

“Centurions,” Brace growled.  He jumped up, throwing the crossbow bolt to the ground.  “Taran is behind this.”

“The Taran Empire?” Conner asked.

“It all makes sense now,” Brace said softly.  “Neffenmark is in league with the empire.  It must be.”

“Lord Neffenmark?” Conner asked.  “What does he have to do with all of this?”

“The princess was only part of the plan,” Brace said.

“Princess?  Princess Elissa?  What plan?” Conner exclaimed, but neither Marik nor Brace were paying attention.

“I should have known that the fool was not the one pulling the strings.”  The Knight Captain turned and punched the side of the wagon.  “I should have known.  What a fool I have been!”

“What is going on?” Conner asked.  He pushed his way in front of Marik.  “Sir Marik?  What is going on?”

Marik looked over at the Knight Captain, who was spitting curses and was clearly not in any mood for explanations.  “Neffenmark was behind the princess’ kidnapping.”

“What!” Conner exclaimed.  “Lord Neffenmark?”

Brace turned and said, “He was not alone.  We worked together.”

“You?” Confusion was causing his head to spin.

“I was a fool," Brace said.  "And I know I can never have the trust of the kingdom again.”

“I don’t understand,” Conner said.

“I didn’t either.  I thought I was helping the kingdom.  But I was misled by Neffenmark.  He convinced me that to start a war with Thell would keep the kingdom pure.  He was afraid that peace between our kingdoms would make us weak.”

“And while he worked your plan, he worked with the empire behind your back?” Conner asked.

Brace nodded his head.  “Yes.  Neffenmark is a traitor, but he is no fool.  The plan was with the empire the whole time.  I was just a puppet.  He fooled me twice.”

“What do we do?” Conner asked.

“You and Marik must get back to South Karmon as fast as you can.  Warn the guard.  They must be ready for anything.  Get as many knights as you can to go with you.  Send a messenger to Tyre to have them march whoever they can to South Karmon.”  Brace picked up his sword and sheathed it.  “And find me a horse.”

“Where are you going?” Marik asked.

“Neffenmark.”

“Alone?  He has mercenaries guarding his castle.  He will kill you.  I will go with you," Marik declared.

Brace shook his head.  “Your duty is to the kingdom.  You must get back to the city and defend it.  This…” He waved his hands around the battlefield.  “Must have been just a diversion.  The real battle will be at South Karmon.”

“Real battle?” Marik asked.  “What are you saying?  The empire is marching upon our city?  That this battle was only to pull us away for our city?”

Brace looked back across the field of battle.  Many of the dead had been piled high, ready for burning.  Many still lay dead.  Or dying.  The screams had stopped, but the cries had not.  “I hope I am wrong,” Brace said.  “For if I am not, and the empire is marching upon our city, then there is little left to stop them.  Now get me a horse.”

“I’ll get it,” Conner said and moved off quickly to find a horse.

With Conner gone, Marik moved closer to the Knight Captain and said, “You don’t have to do this.  We need you.  With the king gone, there will be no one left to lead our army,”

“I have done enough.  I cannot fight on the battlefield with the way my leg is.  I am slow and weak.”

“Neffenmark will have his men ready for you.”

“I have enough left in me to kill him.  That is the difference between them and me.  I do not care if I die.”

“We have already lost the king, we cannot afford to lose you, too.  You hold the knights together!”

“No,” Brace countered.  “You do not need me.  I am a failure to the king and kingdom.  This I must do, and I must do it alone.  I must atone for my treachery.”

Conner returned with not one, but two horses.  “I am coming with.”

Brace took the reins of one of the horses and replied simply, “No.”

“I vowed to protect the princess, and Lord Neffenmark must be stopped.”

“I said no.  This is something that I must do myself.  I will have no more blood on my hands.  The only blood left to spill will be Neffenmark’s and my own.”

“You can barely ride.  Barely fight.  You will be cut down by the first soldier you come across.  I am coming.”

Brace looked deep into Conner’s eyes for a long time and then finally said, “This will be a one way trip.”

“Not for me,” Conner replied.  Then he mounted his horse.  “Let’s ride.”

Chapter Twenty-Three

Goshin walked through the main gate of Tara as the morning sun was marching up the eastern sky.  Looking up at the massive stone columns that lined the cobblestone streets, he had forgotten how much he loved the capital city of the Taran Empire.  It was more than just the culture that permeated through the city and the citizens, it was the history.  The gates, for example, had not been closed in almost a thousand years.  They stood open to let anyone and everyone come and go from the city.  The empire did not fear anyone.  There was no army that was large enough to march upon the gates.  Therefore, there was no reason to close them.

He followed the crowd because he had to.  He could have pushed his way through, but there were so many people coming into the city, he just went with the flow.  He knew where he was going, but he also knew he had plenty of time to get there.  So instead of taking the direct route, he let himself wander through the streets.

Massive structures dotted the city and he made a point of trying to pass by them.  There were many small amphitheaters scattered throughout the city.  Most days they held plays or concerts.  But they were also home to gladiatorial games where soldiers and citizens alike took up sword and shield to see who was the strongest.  As Goshin passed by one such amphitheater, he cringed at the sounds of the crowd raising their voices and shouting at the battle taking place.  He found it both ironic and sad that the most cultural city in the world was also the most barbaric.  Mostly, though, it did not surprise him.  He knew the heart of man, and it was not cultured and refined.  It was barbaric.

The farther away from the business district he walked, the fewer people that he saw.  If it were the middle of the night, he would be wary, maybe even a bit frightened.  It was generally a safe place to live and work, especially if you had the few extra coins to bribe the centurions to watch your back.  There was plenty of crime, like in any large city, but it didn’t define the city.  Centurions patrolled the city streets from the wide tree-lined boulevard that cut down the middle of the city to the darkest of alleys.  But they couldn’t be everywhere all the time.  Goshin wasn’t a fool.  He knew that he was safe walking the streets of the city, but only while the sun was up.  He knew that once the sun fell and the lamps were lit, the denizens of the bad side of the city would awaken.  With an increased pace, he headed for the Great Library.

Goshin stepped tentatively through the wide archway that marked the entrance to the Great Library.  Giant pillars filled the cavernous hall, spaced equally apart, and carved with intricate designs.  Each one was designed from a scene of Taran’s history.  Most involved battles scenes wrapped around the circular columns, but a handful were carved in the shape of a man or a woman, presumably someone important to the history of the empire.  Goshin recognized the one closest to him.  The column was carved in the shape of the upper torso of a man, head bowed, and arms spread wide, the ceiling resting on the man’s shoulder.

He stared at the carving for quite some time.  Others watching him made the mistake that he was studying the incredible detail in the carving.  But Goshin was seeing not the stone, but what the stone represented.  The culture of the empire had long since moved away from believing in the old gods.  No one really believed in Jaka, the god of war, Harra, the god of fertility, Osillia, the god of peace, or any of the hundred other gods that once were a part of their culture.  Although you might hear their names in conversation, no one prayed to them anymore.

The people of Taran followed their emperor, who believed in little but himself and the power of steel.  Temples that had once dominated the city had been torn down and the stone used for building amphitheaters.  It made Goshin sad, as the people of the city had no place for a belief in a divine god.  Their souls were lost and they didn’t know it.  To them, their emperor was as close to a god as they would accept.  They bowed down and worshipped him as if he were something greater than just a man.  But they were thoughts he knew he had to keep to himself.  Others like him had tried to spread the word of the One God, but their words were not received kindly.  Those that gave up quickly moved on to outlying cities.  Those that didn’t ended up with their heads on the end of spikes.  Goshin knew that to die a martyr was not a horrible way to go.  He knew there was an afterlife and it was waiting for him.  But he also knew that he had much to accomplish.  Or at least that’s what he believed.

Finally, he let out a long sigh and started walking through the hall towards the main library chamber.  A short man in a shabby grey tunic was standing in his way.  He was old and wrinkly with a long, curly beard.  His eyes twinkled in the harsh light of the torches hanging from the walls.

“Sire, may I assist you?” the man said pleasantly.

“Yes,” Goshin said carefully, responding to the Taran in his native language.  He could understand the old Taran well enough, but he had a hard time speaking the language.  He held up the scrolls that he had tucked under his arms. “I have studying to do.  I am looking for the room of Urganna.”

“Ugranna?” the man said, surprised.  “We do not get many requests for that period.  There are not many works from that long ago.  Most of the scrolls of that time that survived are here, but many of those are damaged and incomplete.”  He turned to walk away, and when Goshin did not follow, he gave a little wave.  “Come.  Follow.  I will take you there.”

"I am Rardus," the man said as they walked.  "I am a resident scholar here at the library."

"Goshin." 

"Well met, Goshin," Rardus said.

Rardus led him out of the hall and into a dark corridor in the far corner of the library.  This part of the library was so rarely used, the wall torches were not burning.  Rardus took a burning torch with them, lighting the unlit torches as they passed by.  When they reached their destination, the man had to push his way into the room, stirring up inches of dust.

“I am afraid that this room has not seen the light of day in many years.  No one cares about the time before the empire.”

“There is much to learn about our history," Goshin countered as politely as he could.

Rardus gave Goshin a friendly smile.  “Even the days of our uncultured ancestors provide some teaching moments for us.”

Goshin did not like the man.  Like most scholars Goshin had met in his travels, this man was at the same time arrogant and ignorant.  He was very intelligent, which was one reason why he was a scholar and not a soldier.  And with that intelligence came a sense of superiority over everyone else.  He knew things that no one else would ever know.  And from that knowledge would come his haughtiness.  Rather than using his knowledge to better himself and the world around him, he would hoard it and protect it, keeping himself above everyone else.  For the briefest of moments, Goshin considered a retort.  A long time ago, when he was much younger, he would have.  He would have put Rardus in his place and it would have made himself feel better.  But it certainly would have made the scholar angry and he would no longer be of any help.  Goshin still might have need of the scholar’s assistance in finding the documents that he was looking for.  So he kept his mouth shut and simply nodded his head.

“Do you need any assistance?” the Rardus asked.

Goshin did not want the scholar around anymore than necessary, but he would need some help.  He might be arrogant, but he wasn’t a scholar by lacking intelligence.  "Yes," Goshin replied, forcing himself to be polite.  "I could use some help with these scrolls."

Goshin spread one of his scrolls across a table.  Rardus was intrigued and approached to look at it more closely.

“It is J’kartin,” Rardus said emphatically.

“Hurai,” Goshin corrected.

The scholar looked closer and let his hands traverse the fading ink that marked up the scroll.  “The parchment is old.  Crispy old.  The J’kartin were one of the first to write on parchment.  Their histories were recorded with exacting detail.  I do not know much of the language, but I do know some words.  There are others in the library that could verify it.”

“It is Hurai,” Goshin repeated.

The scholar looked closer and the scroll, and then up at Goshin.  It was as if Rardus had seen Goshin for the first time.  Up until this moment, he had seen a lesser man, one whose details were not worthy of his time.  But now, as the scholar opened his eyes, and his mind, he finally saw Goshin for who he was.

“You are from the western provinces.  You are Hurai, are you not?”

A smile crept across Goshin’s face.  Take the arrogance out of the man and he might be tolerable.  “I am.”

“You can read this?” the scholar asked softly, as if his words might hurt the document spread out in front of him.

“Of course," Goshin replied with a nod.

“How old is it?” Rardus asked.

“The scroll itself is about three hundred years old.”

“Oh…” The scholar’s word trailed off into a silent disappointment.

But then Goshin added, “But it is copied from text that is five thousand years old.”

Rardus lightly touched the lettering and asked, “What does it say?”

“It is actually poem.  A beautiful poem in Hurai.  But not in Taran.  Some Hurai words have no meaning in Taran.”  Goshin adjusted the scroll so that he could read it.  “The poem was written by a young king who conquered a civilization called Mizerites.  They are people that no longer exist.  Do not think they have descendants.  The poem says each last Mizerite was killed.  God told them to do this.  The Creator God.  One who gives life.”

“Each culture has their own god or set of gods," the scholar said in an almost practiced way.  "Taran herself has many gods that people pray to.  But I do not believe they exist.  There is no evidence of them.  They do not walk among us.  They do not perform magical miracles.  If there were gods, we would see them.”

“The Hurai have but one god.  The God.  He walked among us thousands of years ago.  He chose us to be his people.”

“And where is he now?" Rardus asked.  "Why would a god abandon his people?”

“He did not abandon us.  We abandoned him.  It is why he left.  But he did not abandon us.  He's still around, for he is Creator.”

Rardus shook his head.  “Well, he chose his people poorly, I am afraid.  The Hurai have no land of their own.  No country.  Their land is now in the western provinces of the empire.  Maybe you should ask him to come back.”

“The Hurai are not a land.  Or an island. We are a people.  We do not need a king or a castle, for we have our God.”  Goshin suddenly realized that his voice had risen to almost a shout.  He quickly lowered his head and continued in a softer voice.  “We have asked for thousands of years for him to come back to us.  Some say he has already answered us and that this poem holds his answer.  It foretells four events.  Three of which have already come to pass.  The fall of the Hurai nation is the first.  Taran invaded our island about two thousand years after the original poem was written.”

Rardus chuckled.  “That could have been coincidence.  Your island might have been small, but its people were a military threat to Taran.  They had to be conquered.  Any reasonable man would have figured that one out.”

“Even so, it was still foretold," Goshin countered.  "The second event was the rise of a man he named Sh’dan.  He was to destroy the earth, unless one worthy man would step forward.”

The mirth that had been showing on Rardus’ face faded.  “Emperor Shardan rose to power fifteen hundred years ago.  He was a barbaric, evil man.  He caused a civil war and nearly broke Taran apart.  Almost half of our people died of a plague that swept through the cities.  Barbarians from the north even marched all the way to the gates of our city.  He refused to close them because he thought our empire was infallible.”

“Yes,” Goshin said.  “I know the story.  Well, I have studied your history carefully.  Emperor Shardan was killed by one of his servants who rallied soldiers to defeat the barbarians.”

“It is a story our children are told," Rardus said proudly.  "It was our greatest moment.  Our empire rose to even greater heights after that.  What is the third event?”

“A star will appear in the heavens and it will light day and night without moving.”

“The star to the north,” Rardus said quickly.

“You have seen it?” Goshin asked.

“Of course.  We have all seen it, though there are many reasonable explanations.”

Goshin lifted an eyebrow. “And those are?”

“It was always there.  We just never saw it before.”  The answer caused a chuckle to escape from Goshin’s lips.  Rardus quickly asked, “What does the scroll say about the star?”

“Only that is precursor to a fourth event.”

“And that is?”

“I do not know, but I have my suspicions," Goshin replied.

“The poem does not say?” Rardus asked.

“No," Goshin replied.  "It does not.  It makes reference to other works.  Scrolls written by other Hurai.  Scrolls long since lost.  But it does not say what the fourth event is, only that there is one and that it comes after the third event.”

“And that is why you are here?" Rardus asked.  "To find those scrolls?”

“Yes,” Goshin said.  “But, but there is more.  The poem not only refers to a fourth event, but also foretells of two paths that the world could follow.  One of darkness and one of light.  I fear we are at crossroads.  We must solve the riddle of the poem to save the world.”