Last Knight (The Champion Chronicles Book 2) (17 page)

              “I will be leaving for some time,” Glaerion said.

              “Is that your news?” Hallendrielle asked.

Glaerion had walked over to a large chest that held many of his clothes.  He began hunting through it for warmer clothes.  Their village rarely got cold.  On rare occasions when the days were shortest, there would be cold nights, but the days hardly got cold enough to need a cloak or another layer of clothes.  But high in the mountains, where he liked to hunt, it got cold in the winter.  It was for those hunting expeditions that he needed a cloak.  With the realm of Man being so far north of them, he would have to be prepared for cold weather and maybe even snow.  With a pause of reflection, the thought of snow on the ground made him feel warm inside.  Their homeland become covered in snow during the winter months.  A childhood full of running through deep snow and packing it together to make snow forts came back to him, which made him feel both sorrow and anger.

With his back to his wife, he replied, “Yes.  I will be going north.”

“North?” she asked.  “To the homeland?”

“To the land of Man.”

“The land of Man?” she repeated incredulously.  “Why are you going there?  Is it not dangerous?  Are you going alone?”

“You suddenly care?” Glaerion snapped back.  In his agitated state, he let his emotions seep out into his words.  He instantly regretted them.  Not because he had hurt his wife, but because he had revealed his thoughts to her.

“Of course,” she replied.  “The love that we once had may be lost, but that does not mean I no longer care for you.”

“Love is an emotion for the weak, for creatures like Man.  It is an unnecessary emotion that serves no purpose.”

“Yes, of course.  But it once existed.  Do you not remember?”

He glanced up at his wife, looking at her closely for the first time in a long time.  She was still as beautiful as she had been when they had first met, but it was a beauty that he had gotten used to.  He eyes were large, almost too large for her face.  But that was a common trait of the elven race.  Her nose was thin, hardly more than a bump above her full, ruby tinted lips.  Although her face was smooth and silky, there were lines of age at the corners of her eyes and mouth.  She had aged, but as slowly as them all.  She would still be considered a youthful woman, in the terms of humans, but in terms of elves, she was as old as most.

“Your stare teases me,” she said.  “It was how you once looked at me.”

“You remember that far back?” he asked with a smirk.

She didn’t appreciate his attempt at humor.  “I remember when you used to dance with me.  Or even just hold me.”

“Then you miss our love?” he asked.

“You do not?” she retorted.

“It ran its course.  You know that.  We have gotten too used to one another, too comfortable.  I care for you as much as you care for me, but that is as far as it goes.  I enjoy your company, your presence pleases me.  But that is all.  Love, being an emotion, is unnecessary to our existence.”

“And you do not miss it,” Hallendrielle stated.

“No,” Glaerion replied.  “I do not.  It has run its course.  Our people have evolved beyond love.”

Glaerion walked over to a small dresser and pulled open the top drawer.  He pulled out two long and thin objects wrapped in an oily cloth.

“You are taking your daggers?”

Glaerion gently unwrapped the daggers from their cloth.  They were almost eighteen inches long and sheathed in a plain leather scabbard.  He drew them out, one at a time and inspected their blades.  They were not simply hunting daggers, but the weapon of choice of elves.  They were light and sharp and served as extension of his own arms.  An elf with one dagger was a formidable foe.  An elf with two was almost invincible.

“The land of Man is rife with danger,” he said softly.  He removed his belt and detached the smaller hunting knife he normally kept on his self.  He strapped the two scabbards to his belt and put it back on.

“You are to leave now?”

“The ship is ready for sail.  It is stocked with supplies and provisions.  I only need to bring myself.  Good day, Hallendrielle.  I shall return as soon as the journey is done.”

He turned to leave, but Hallendrielle had quickly crossed the room and touched him on his shoulder.  Glaerion turned to find her face right next to his. She leaned over and gently kissed him on his cheek.

“What was that for?” he asked.

“To remember me,” she said.

Glaerion smiled at her.  “You are my wife, how could I forget you?”

“You have forgotten our love,” she said softly.

He shook his head.  “Not forgotten,” he said. 

Glaerion stepped away and gave her one last look before he walked through the door.  He closed it behind him and stood for a moment.  He touched the cheek where she had kissed him.  He had forgotten how much he truly loved her.

***

It was a several hour walk from the village to the ocean.  He arrived at a small inlet that had a small dock that stuck out into the water about fifty feet.  A reef protected the inlet, which also made the water very shallow.  It was good for swimming, but bad for any type of ship.  A small rowing boat was tied to the dock.  Far out past the reef, the sailing ship that he would take north was anchored.

              It had been some time since he had been on the water, so it took him a while to get used to rowing the boat.  After about twenty strokes of the oars, he got into a groove and cut through the water towards the ship.

              As he approached, he could hear the captain shouting orders to the sailors.  He glanced back to see his elven brothers running across the deck, preparing the ship for departure.  It was a single mast ship with a tall and wide sail.  There was a raised deck both fore and aft.  The captain was on the aft deck, standing next to tiller.  He was shouting and pointing, trying to get his sailors to do their job.

              “Hello!” Glaerion shouted.

              The captain glanced about and then down.  He gave a slight wave and then shouted at another sailor.  One of the sailors dropped a rope ladder down from the deck.  Glaerion knew that he was supposed to guide the boat up next to it and then somehow grab ahold of it and climb.  As he was wondering what was to happen with the rowing boat, the sailor dove headfirst into the water just beyond the rowing boat.  A moment the sailor popped up and climbed into the boat.

              “Yo!” the sailor said.  He took the oars from Glaerion and guided the rowing boat to the rope ladder.  “Climb up!”

              Glaerion carefully stood, trying to balance himself in the shifting water.  He grabbed the rope and started to climb.  The moment he cleared the rowing boat, the sailor took off, heading back for land.

              The captain greeted Glaerion at the top of the ladder and helped him over the railing and onto the deck.

              “Thank you,” Glaerion said.  “I am Glaerion Lereharrishia”

              “I am Captain Janari.  Welcome aboard.  Do you not have any provisions?”

              “Other than food and water, I have all that I need.”

              Janari nodded and stroked his beard.  His facial hair was shaggy, but not very long.  Most elves chose not to grow a beard, as the elven kind tended not to be very hairy, unlike their human cousins.  But Janari and his crew all had let their facial hair go.  “Supplies will be limited, but we will make due.  It is a long trip even for a ship this size.”

              “How long?”

              The coast of Krania is six weeks with a good wind.  Although I’ve heard that it could take ten or twelve if the weather goes bad.”

              “You’ve never gone there?”

              Janari burst out a laugh.  “To the land of Man?  Not on your life. This here’s a fishing vessel.  We’ll stay out for two, maybe three weeks at a time, but we’re always only a few days’ sail from land.”

              “And you know where to go?”

              Janari looked up in the sky, directly to north and pointed to a bright light in the sky that was not the sun.  “I would dare say that we sail towards that.  Now get yourself settled and we’ll raise anchor within the hour.”

Chapter Fourteen

The ride to Tara City was cold and wet.  It rained hard for several days, making every waking moment miserable.  Even nights under the shelter of a tent were miserable.  There was no way to get completely dry as even the air was saturated with moisture.  Conner did not know why they just didn’t find a village to stay at until the rain stopped.  A warm meal and a warm bed sounded heavenly right now.  He didn’t even really care what the food was, as long as it was warm and not the sloppy lukewarm porridge that had been their only food for days.

              The centurion Farrus had kept them to a steady pace, following a well-traveled road that skirted the forests where the bandits roamed freely.  But in this weather, it would have been unlikely for them to have been attacked.  Any bandit with any sense would be holed up next to a warm fire waiting for the skies to clear.  Only the most desperate would be out in this weather.  Even the four centurions that rode with them grumbled at the pace that their leader had set.  Hibold had said nothing the entire ride.  He kept his cloak pulled tight around his body and his hood pulled low over his head.

              When they had started, they followed a trampled path that was more of a grassy lane than road.  The horses then were able to move at a nice, quick pace.  Over the course of their days of travel, the road was wider and more traveled.  It also became a muddy, sloppy mess slowing them down.  Much of their time was spent maneuvering around slow wagons, some of which were stuck deep into the soft mud.

It might have been different with a warm sun beating down on their backs.  But with the cold, dreary rain, the road was a miserable place to be.  Travelers pretty much ignored one another.  Some gave the centurions a nod of respect and moved out of the way, but most simply trudged ahead through cold and wet, head down, eyes focused only on the road ahead.

It was on the tenth day out of Iseron that the rain had finally stopped.  It had been a steady drizzle all night, but the morning brought a break in the clouds.  Through the morning, the clouds attempted to part to let the sun shine through.  The wind had died down and the air had warmed up.  Conner was finally beginning to dry out.

They came around a bend in the road and Conner suddenly stopped his horse.  Hibold, who had been riding directly behind him, stopped his horse next to Conner.  They sat quietly for several minutes taking in the city.

              “It is quite a sight to see,” Hibold said.

              “Amazing,” Conner said.  Tara City was many times larger than South Karmon, stretching from horizon to horizon.  The enormity was overwhelming and he could only sit and stare, trying to take it in all at once.

              “I never get tired of seeing it,” Hibold continued.  “I have traveled the world, and there is no city like it.  A million or more people live in the city or around it.  It has been ages since the city walls could contain all the city.  Now, most of the city has expanded beyond the walls.”

              “And if there is war?  Will those people not be protected?”

              Hibold let out a snort.  “War has not come to Tara City for generations.  There is not a Taran alive who has remembered an army marching on the city.  It will be generations more before another army marches on her.  War, I am sure, is the last thing on their minds.  Taran has built itself and empire that is far and wide.  Too far for an army to traverse.  Any army that would attempt it would be slaughtered before it even reached sight of the city.  Plus, there is no other kingdom or empire that would have the soldiers and weapons to even think about attacking the city.”

              Farrus had noticed that they had stopped, so he turned his horse around and barked at them, “Keep moving!”

              With a grunt of compliance, Hibold kicked his horse back into a walk.  Conner’s horse started forward without direction.

              Despite the bad weather, there was still a steady flow of travelers and merchants streaming in to, and out of, the city’s main gate.  Farrus and his soldiers formed a phalanx in front of Hibold and Conner, pushing their way through the crowds of the city.  Without having to worry about directing his horse, Conner was able to gawk at the sights of the city.  Much of the architecture was stone, unlike South Karmon, which had many buildings made from the forests of Darkenwood.  With stone walls, many buildings went up several stories.  Such tall buildings amazed him.  Until now, the only tall buildings that he had ever seen had been the castle at the center of South Karmon, and the walls that had been built to protect her.  To have so many buildings elegantly carved of stone was unfathomable to him.

              And to his amazement, the farther they went into the city, the larger the buildings.  But it was one building in particular that caused him to stop.  He could only see one side of it, but it appeared that it was built in the shape of a circle.  Its walls went up five stories.  Each story was a row of arches that led into the interior of the building.  The first story had cages built into the outer wall.  As they approached, he could see that the cages held wild animals, some of which he did not recognize.  Most of them looked like cats, but were ten times larger and colored orange with black stripes.

              “What is that?” Conner exclaimed, pointing at the large structure.

              Hibold turned to the arena and smiled.  “That is the Show Arena.”

              “Show arena?  What do they show?”

              “It is where they hold contests of skill.”

              “Contests of skill?  You mean like the tournament grounds outside our castle?”

              Hibold laughed.  “It is something like that.  But the contestants are not soldiers and they do not volunteer.  Prisoners are pitted against one another, fighting to the death.  The victors are given pardons, while the losers are fed to the animals.  You see the cages?  Those hold animals that the prisoners also fight.  They are dangerous animals that have a taste for human flesh.  ”

              Conner shook his head.  “I do not see any honor or glory with prisoners fighting to the death.”

              “It is the way of Taran.  For countless years the Show Arena has been the place where the citizens of the empire can see their centurions in action.”

              “You mean the centurions fight the prisoners?”

              “Sometimes.  I’ve seen them recreate great battles from the past, telling stories from our history through battle.  Most times they battle one another, letting the dredges of society take care of one another.  But the best fighting is when the tigers, the big orange cats, go against the prisoners.  That is the most favored sport of the people.”             

              “Sport?” Conner replied with a grimace.  “I do not see how that is a sport.  Sport would be when the Knights of Karmon show their skills on the tournament field.  To see them joust is an amazing thing.”

              Hibold shrugged his shoulders.  “To your people, maybe.  But to the Tarans, they see sport as a fight to the death.  The more blood the better.”

              Conner shook his head.  “Barbaric.”

              “All men are barbaric.  Tarans are no exception.  But the men that compete in the games are already condemned to die.  This gives them an opportunity to leave this world in an honorable and glorious way.”  He watched Conner shake his head, and then added, “Do not hold our sport against us.  At least until you see it.”

              The Show Arena was past them now, but Conner was still craning his neck to see more of it.  As much as he disliked the thought of prisoners fighting to the death, it intrigued him as well.

              They turned a corner from one wide street to an even wider street.  Their horse’s hooves hit the cobblestones of the new street in a melodious clip-clop.  The road was split in half by a ten foot wide garden planter that stretched for nearly a mile from where they were to the grand palace that sat atop a hill.  Centurions stood guard every fifty feet.  In one hand they held a long spear, topped with a razor-sharp tip.  In the other they held a long body-length shield.  Their heads were covered with a full-face helm that hid their eyes.  Although it wasn’t raining now, he could see that their outer garments were soaked.  It must have been a miserable time standing still at their post through the rain.  But they stood as still as statues, showing their ultimate discipline and military bearing.

              The palace overlooked the entire city from its perch at the top of the hill.  Steep stairs led up to the palace entrance.  As soon as they reached the base of the stairs, attendants ran out from seemingly nowhere to take their horses.  Farrus wouldn’t let the attendants take his horse and took his own horse towards the stables.  His soldiers followed him without a word.  Conner was left alone with Hibold at the base of the stairs.

              Hibold directed Conner to climb the stairs.  “Come,” Hibold said.  “Warm clothes await us.”

              Once at the top of the stairs, a set of double doors opened and an elderly man in a long white robe approached them.  He bowed and said a bunch of words that Conner could not understand.  After a moment, he fell silent and looked at Conner.

              Conner turned to Hibold.

              “This man wishes to dress us in appropriate clothes for our appointment,” Hibold said.  He said some words to the old man, who then scurried off through the double doors.  “Follow him, he will lead us to our rooms.”

              As they started to walk, Hibold said, “You should try and learn some Taran, for I think you may choose to stay here for some time!”

***

Conner looked down at himself.  His wet and muddy clothes had been discarded and he had been given a comfortable white wool robe.  He was also given thick stockings that covered his feet and his legs up past his knee.  It seemed an odd thing to wear with a robe, but with the cold air, it kept his feet warm.  Once he was cleaned, dried, and clothed, he was led from his guest chamber.

The attendant who served him spoke unceasingly in Taran, which Conner could not understand.  The young man did not seem to mind; he just kept chattering on regardless of Conner being unable to understand him.  He eventually resorted to using hand signals to get his point across.  After several hours of being with the attendant, Conner started to think he could understand some basic words.  He would have to talk to Hibold about getting some instruction on how to talk in Taran.  It would indeed help him if he were going to stay in the city for some time.

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The attendant led Conner through the palace, down several wide halls until they reached a circular room.  Two other hallways, just like the one they came from led into the chamber.  A fourth opening was currently closed off by a thick purple curtain lined with gold lace around the edges and down the middle.

Hibold was standing in the center of the room.  His clothes were more elaborate than the simple white robe that was given to Conner.  He wore a silk deep blue tunic with a high neck.  It looked to Conner to be uncomfortable to have clothes constricting the neck, but it did not seem to bother the skinny Taran.  He wore golden colored wool hose and some sort of slippers on his feet.  A thick brown leather belt was tied around his waist, clasped with a large golden buckle.  He turned as Conner approached.

“Very well,” Hibold said with a nod.  He repeated the phrase in Taran for the attendant, who quickly scurried off back down the hall they came from.  “Conner, we are about to meet Prince Tarcious.  He is the emperor’s brother and is currently serving in his place, as Emperor Hargon has fallen ill of late.  Although you may have had some experience with royalty, you have none with Taran royalty.  The kings and queens that you have met to this point in your life are but peasants compared to Prince Tarcious.  He is the ruler of the greatest empire that the world has ever known, and he expects that his subjects, and his guests, treat him as such.  He is to be greeted as His Imperial Highness and nothing else.  To refer to him as any other name is an insult and it will not be tolerated.  Understood?”

Conner nervously nodded.  It had not occurred to him that he was going in front of someone with the stature of the brother of the emperor.  The thought of meeting someone as esteemed as Prince Tarcious made his stomach queasy and his knees weak.  He knew it was silly, as it was really no different than being in the presence of Queen Elissa or even the late King Thorndale.  They were just people, like him.  They bled red blood, just like him.  But they were noble.  Aristocrats.  They were above him in all ways.  At least that was what he had learned since he was a little boy.  He knew differently, but the concept was so engrained in him that he couldn’t get past the idea that he was just a simple commoner and they were better than he was.

Hibold noticed the look on Conner’s face and watched the color drain from his cheeks.  It wasn’t quite what he expected out of someone who had been given the nickname King Slayer.  Trying to calm him down, Hibold said, “Prince Tarcious is a very powerful man.  He is of a class of men that is far above both you and me, but he is still a man.  We must respect him for what he is, and the place in society that he has, but you just need to be yourself.  Speak loudly and clearly and with respect, and all will be well.”