Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (15 page)

“Rowan speaks nothing but great admiration for you, good sir,” Mariah replied. “I am pleased to meet you.”

Aldwyn invited them into the training cabin and offered them food and drink. Rowan looked in wonder at the collection of arms stacked neatly in the corners of the cabin.

“What’s happening here, Aldwyn?” Rowan asked once they were settled around a table. “Are things truly so bad in Laos that this is necessary?”

“Lord Gavaah rules Cameria,” Aldwyn said soberly. “And each day his grip becomes tighter and tighter. He has commandeered the people’s homes and land, banned all orders of knights except those that accept his new statutes, and imprisoned anyone opposing his authority. Those who remain and abide under his rule have been lulled into believing that his control is for their own good, but those who love freedom and recognize what he is doing are willing to fight against him.”

“You’ve seen this coming for a long time, haven’t you?” Rowan asked.

The older man nodded. “I tried to tell you, but you were … preoccupied.”

Rowan dropped his eyes, embarrassed again by who he had been.

Aldwyn laid a hand on his shoulder. “I had no idea, however, that Gavaah was behind the changes … or that his influence would expand so quickly.” He took a sip of his warm drink. “But what is happening in Laos is just one of many, Rowan.”

Aldwyn paused to look at Mariah and Julian. Julian was nodding. “This is really all about Chessington. Gavaah is just a pawn of Lord Malizimar, and Malizimar of Lucius himself. We’ve heard disturbing news of another tyrant rising to power within Chessington—a man by the name of Alexander Histen.”

Aldwyn paused to see if the name meant anything to Rowan. When Rowan looked at him blankly, he went on. “We know almost nothing about Histen, but from the reports we are getting, he is a charismatic leader who is more dangerous than ten Lord Gavaahs. His influence in the kingdom is spreading quickly. And with Gavaah ruling Cameria, Chessington is getting almost no support, so its citizens’ ability to fight back against Histen has nearly been eliminated.”

Rowan and Mariah looked at each other with grave concern showing on their faces.

“We’ve come to join you and your cause.” Rowan reached across the table to hold Mariah’s hand. “We will fight for Cameria and its freedom.”

“We are grateful to have you,” Aldwyn said sincerely. “Now your sword will fly for something of true value.”

“What plans are being made?” Mariah asked.

“I’m not at liberty to say just yet,” Aldwyn said. “Come to the council meeting tomorrow. Sir Whitley will be announcing our plan, or at least a portion of it.”

Rowan’s reunion with Sir Aldwyn was both sweet and foreboding, for the news of conditions in his home region was extremely disturbing. Only now did Rowan fully appreciate the freedoms he had once enjoyed and had now lost.

By late afternoon, news that the former Laos tournament champion had joined the Resolutes spread quickly throughout the encampment and bolstered the morale of the people there. Though it had now been nearly two years since his tournament days, Rowan’s fame had evidently not diminished, nor had his favor with the people. He was actually quite embarrassed by all the attention he received, since the tournaments seemed like frivolous entertainment compared to the significant actions the people were taking here. He considered them the true heroes now, and he said so. But after his first few fumbled attempts to express his humility, Mariah helped him turn the praise they gave him to the Prince, and he was grateful to her for the help.

That evening, after Julian had arranged a place for Rowan and Mariah to stay, Mariah’s father returned from his mission. Sir Fairchild was a tall man with hair as dark as Mariah’s, though his was in the process of turning white at the temples. He was a distinguished-looking knight, but his dignity softened into delight when he caught sight of his daughter. After a tearful reunion, Sir Fairchild welcomed Rowan into the family as a son.

The next day, Rowan and Mariah followed Julian and Fairchild up the valley to the point on the mountain where the caves began.

“Where are we going, Father?” Mariah asked.

“I want to show you something quite remarkable,” he said with a smile.

They entered a part of the encampment that was significantly different from where they had been. Two buildings and seven large tents buzzed with frenetic activity. A variety of tall structures had been constructed from wood, steel, and rope for a purpose Rowan couldn’t possibly imagine.

He and his comrades ducked through one tent to see dozens of men and women working fervently on a strange-looking apparatus. The four visitors walked toward a large table where three men were bent over, examining sheets of vellum full of sketches and notes.

“Sir Scott,” Fairchild called.

The men he addressed seemed lost in thought and conversation, oblivious to Fairchild’s call or the group’s approach. One of the men finally jabbed and pointed, and a spry young man looked up, running his hand through wavy reddish hair.

“Sir Fairchild,” he said with a broad grin. “I didn’t see you come in.”

“You never do,” Fairchild said with a wink toward Rowan and Mariah that Sir Scott totally missed because he had turned away to make a mark on the vellum with a quill.

“What can I do for you?” Sir Scott asked when he turned back around.

“I’d like you to meet my daughter, Mariah, and her husband, Sir Rowan,” Fairchild said.

Sir Scott came toward them and extended a hand. “I’m pleased to meet—”

“
The
Sir Rowan?” one of the other men exclaimed, interrupting Sir Scott. The man came straight for Rowan with eyes wide, holding out his hand.

“I’m not sure what you mean by that, sir,” Rowan asked, wishing the man didn’t mean what he knew he did.

“Sir Rowan, tournament champion of Laos? The one presumed dead?” This fellow was taller than Scott and a bit huskier, with a fringe of dark brown hair. He shook Rowan’s hand with enthusiasm.

Rowan hung his head sheepishly. “I did fight in the tournaments—”

“He’s the one.” Mariah stuck out her hand while casting a sly grin back at her husband.

Sir Fairchild looked at Rowan with a new measure of respect, then back to Sir Scott’s colleague. “I didn’t know you followed the games so closely, Sir John.”

“I thought everyone did,” John replied incredulously. “Everyone knew of the great Sir Rowan.”

Rowan shook his head. “That’s not what I—”

“Jeffrey,” John reached back and nudged the third man, who was still hunched over the vellums. “Get your head out of that drawing and come meet Sir Rowan … and his wife. Our younger brother lives in a different world sometimes,” John said with a smirk.

Rowan nearly laughed but caught himself. From his perspective, all three of them seemed to live in a different world.

The third fellow, a very young man with a slender build and a mop of white blond hair, stood straight and came to greet them. He was quiet, hardly uttering a word, and he didn’t seem to care much about Rowan’s fame—which annoyed Sir John and comforted Rowan. He shook Rowan’s hand, his eyes narrowing as he scrutinized him up and down.

“We’ll have to increase the span and thicken the spars for this one,” he said.

Sir Scott nodded. “Yes … could be a bit of a challenge. More tests will have to be run.”

Rowan looked at Mariah, and she shared his perplexed look.

An amused smile played on Fairchild’s face. “Sir Scott, would you mind explaining your work to Rowan and Mariah?”

Sir John grabbed Rowan’s shoulder. “We’ll do better than that. We’ll
show
them. We’re just about ready to make our maiden voyage … with a real rider!”

Now Rowan was really confused, but intrigued. He and Mariah followed John, Scott, and Jeffrey through the tent and into a small field where the valley dropped quickly away before flattening out again far below them. A large wooden platform had been built at the edge of the drop-off, and sitting on the platform was the strangest object Rowan had seen in his entire life. Two men and a young woman were making adjustments to an unwieldy-looking triangular structure made of wood and some kind of thin sheeting. It rested atop three supports. Below it hung a wooden bar and a leather harness. On the ground near the base of the wooden platform, a team of people fussed over an individual wearing leather armor and a tight-fitting helmet, who seemed quite annoyed at all the attention. As they approached, Rowan noted the excitement in the people’s voices.

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” a young woman as tall as Mariah asked the suited individual. “It’s not too late to back out, Annie.”

“Of course I’m up for it,” a determined female voice replied from beneath the helmet. “Let’s get on with it.”

“How are we doing, Dyanne?” Sir Scott asked the tall woman. At the sound of his voice, she turned to greet them.

“All is set,” she said with a sly grin, “including the rider.”

“Sir Rowan … Lady Mariah, please meet our sisters. Lady Dyanne,” he motioned toward the tall woman. “Lady Elizabeth,” Scott motioned up toward the platform, where a thin, dark-haired woman waved down toward them and then turned back to check the sheeting on the wing one more time. “And Lady Anne”—he nodded toward the suited woman—“the only one light enough … and gutsy enough … to ride our first wing.”

With hands on her leather-clad hips, Lady Anne nodded and shot them a quick smile.

“What is this?” Rowan finally asked, gesturing to the big triangle.

“This, Sir Rowan, is a glider,” Scott said with pride. “Jeffrey?” Scott turned to his younger brother, who held up a smaller model of the wing structure on the platform. It was about as long as his forearm.

“Watch,” he said, and he walked to the edge of the drop-off, where he gave the glider model a gentle push. It swooped downward at first, then glided in a beautifully smooth trajectory toward the valley.

Rowan’s eyes widened as he began to understand what was happening here. He looked back up at the wing and then down at the rider.

“You are going to—” He couldn’t finish the sentence because it seemed so absurd.

“Exactly!” Sir John said with a grin. “We tested it with weights similar to a person, but this is our first time with a rider.”

Rowan couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing. This was the stuff of fairy tales. He caught Mariah’s eye, and she seemed equally stunned by the idea.

Lady Anne reached for the steps to climb the platform. “The wind will be up soon,” she said, “so let’s get on with it.”

By the time Lady Anne was strapped in the harness, many others from the encampment had lined up along the edge of the drop-off to watch the amazing event. Two men held the wing steady for her as she prepared herself. Lady Elizabeth made a few more tweaks on the harness, then put her hand on her sister’s shoulder.

“The Prince is with you,” she said soberly.

Lady Anne nodded. She walked to the edge of the platform and hesitated. The ground below fell away fast—too fast for her to survive if the wing didn’t work. Rowan felt his heart racing as he considered what this brave young girl was offering to do. He felt Mariah’s hand grip his and knew she felt it too.

The moment lingered, and Rowan wondered if perhaps Lady Anne had changed her mind. But suddenly she launched herself into the silent air below. The crowd gasped as the wing plummeted down toward the rocks and dirt. Rowan wanted to turn away as Lady Anne’s feet skimmed the hillside. Then she slowly lifted away, gliding like an eagle up from its dive into a valley.

Cheers from a thousand spectators rose as the wing floated effortlessly down the valley off to the northern side of the encampment. They watched with great anticipation as Lady Anne neared the valley floor, wondering if she could stop the glider without disaster. At the last moment it looked as if she shifted her weight. The wing lifted slightly, then gently fell to the ground. The maiden flight of the Eagle Glider, as dubbed by Sir Scott and his brothers and sisters, was a success.

Rowan turned to Sir Fairchild. “Amazing. But why build such a thing?”

Fairchild smiled. “Why indeed?”

HIGHER CALLING