Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (18 page)

Rowan and Mariah walked back from the briefing in the upper cave, discussing what they had heard from the leaders. Rowan sensed the anticipation, the hope, and the anxiety of the Resolutes. Two men had just returned from Thecia with a report that the strongman of Chessington, Alexander Histen, had now gained control over half the kingdom, and it seemed no one could stop him. This was oppressive news for the people of Eagle’s Nest. It meant that even if they were victorious tomorrow, the victory would only be the beginning of a long war to freedom.

Rowan glanced up at the boulder and saw Lijah there, watching as he had been for the last three months. Rowan stopped, and Mariah held tightly to his arm.

“I must talk to him one more time,” Rowan said.

“I know,” Mariah replied. She kissed Rowan and then released him.

Rowan climbed up the boulder and stood face to face with Lijah.

“How can you see what is happening here and just stand by and do nothing?” Rowan asked. “These people need you.”

“The future of these people is not determined by what happens here but by what happens in Chessington.” Lijah crossed his arms. “You are
jeopardizing that future by participating in a battle that is not yours to fight.” Lijah took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils on the exhale. “If you should die tomorrow, our mission for the Prince will never happen, and the Dark Knight will win.”

“You don’t know that, Lijah. That is only what you think will happen. I will not abandon these people and my wife based on some bizarre story you may have dreamed up.” Rowan shook his head. “My mission is here with my Camerian brothers and sisters. I stand and fight with them. For whom do you fight?”

Lijah glared at Rowan. “I fight for the King … and His Son!”

Rowan glared back. “So do I. And when the battle is over—win or lose, live or die—I will know I have upheld the Code and did not abandon a fellow knight in battle or in peril.”

Rowan turned around and left without another word. It was a bitter parting, and Rowan vowed that his parting with Mariah would not be so.

The next morning, more than eleven thousand people began their trek to the western face of the mountain. Nearly eight thousand glider riders made the journey with their crafts, with three thousand supporters to help carry gear and prepare the launches. A surveying team had previously calculated a hundred favorable launch sites for the riders, but even so, launching all eight thousand gliders would require just over two hours.

By sundown, all was ready. The force camped quietly, without fires to give themselves away, trying to sleep but mostly wide-eyed with anticipation.

The first glow of the morning sun initiated Freedom Day, and the gliders began to launch. They had hoped for a still morning, and the winds seemed to comply. The glowing lamps of the city stretched out far before and below them. Soon the sky was filled with thousands of gliders and their riders, skimming trees and mountaintops, on their way to the waking city of Laos. It was an eerie and glorious sight.

Rowan was to lead twenty special riders who would maneuver as
close to the city consulate as possible, overcome the security sentinels, and capture Prefect Corsan, who ruled the city. Rowan and his unit were the best swordsmen of the camp, assigned to the most important mission of the battle. Their launch position was higher, for their flight was the longest. Their launch time was planned for thirty minutes after the initial wave, and the time was now.

Mariah kissed him once more before stepping aside, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “The Prince be with you!”

“And with you, my lovely Mariah.”

“Come back to me, Rowan,” she whispered.

“I will,” he said. Then he set his eyes toward Laos and launched.

The first step took his breath away as the ground dropped out from below him. This was quite different from the training flights. Within just a few moments, he was thousands of feet above the ground, looking down on what looked like the whole kingdom.

The skies filled with more gliders, and Rowan felt the thrill of battle coursing through his veins. The cool morning air whistled past his helmet and chilled his gloved hands.

The scene was silently surreal. This flight would last longer than any of the training flights at Eagle’s Nest—much longer. Though the shadow of the mountains still obscured much of the city, Rowan began to make out Gavaah’s forces in a semicircular formation around the eastern perimeter. Still high in the sky, the force of airborne riders was apparently as yet undetected, for there were no shouts of alarm.

With each moment that passed, hundreds more gliders launched. Rowan looked behind himself and felt chills run up and down his spine as he saw six thousand more gliders soaring like eagles to fall upon their prey. The kingdom of Arrethtrae had never before been witness to such a bold and daring assault against the evil of tyranny.

Rowan looked right and left and began to see the gliders separate into formations based on their assigned targets. His advance team was identified by the painted blue tips of each triangular wing. Rowan counted only eighteen of the assigned twenty soaring around him. It would have to do.

He pinpointed the consulate building and made a slight adjustment in his flight path. The rest of the team aligned themselves in a wedge formation behind and above him.

There was something majestic about the opening scene of this battle. It wasn’t just for Laos they were fighting, or even Cameria. This was a stand against tyranny in every region of the kingdom. What happened this day would resonate and echo through hundreds of castles and cities throughout the land.

Rowan saw the first gliders land below him, followed quickly by shouts of alarm and the clash of swords. The battle was underway. He chanced one last look behind him at the city’s perimeter, where the defensive forces were massed. He saw movement back toward the city as thousands of gliders began to land behind them; then the shouts of ten thousand knights rose up as the ground assault from the foothills began.

Rowan focused back on their target, just moments away. Sir Scott’s calculations had been nearly spot-on. They would land just two buildings shy of the consulate. Those who were awake below them looked up with mouths hanging open as the airborne force of Resolutes descended into the streets. A contingent of ten mounted sentinels began shouting alarms, and soon mounted sentinels were making their way down the street toward them.

Rowan was the first of his unit to land. He drew his dagger and sliced through the harness in an instant, freeing himself from the glider. One sentinel was nearly on him. Rowan drew his sword and sliced through the advancing steed’s chest, toppling both horse and sentinel. One of Rowan’s team, who had just landed, finished the job with a quick thrust, and the rest of the team sprang to action as they landed one by one.

Soon all eighteen of Rowan’s unit were advancing toward the consulate. Resistance was yet minimal; evidently, their surprise had been successful. They approached the steps of the consulate knowing that once they gained entrance, finding Prefect Corsan would be paramount. Five more sentinels rushed upon them from the entrance, but Rowan’s team made quick work of them. Now Rowan could hear the roar of
battle throughout the entire eastern half of Laos. To Rowan it was the sound of freedom.

Rowan led the charge into the consulate, systematically clearing the building of the enemy. Rowan assigned sentries at access points on the first floor, then led the remaining ten knights to the second floor. Six more sentinels went down, and Rowan lost one man in the skirmish. At last they reached the door to the prefect’s chamber. Rowan blasted through it and into Prefect Corsan’s chamber, with three other knights on his heels.

A man stood up from his chair, his face white with fear. Rowan held his sword to the man’s chest.

“You are under arrest for treason against the people of Cameria,” Rowan proclaimed.

“It’s not him.” The knight next to Rowan lowered his sword. “It’s not Corsan.”

Rowan advanced, and the man backed up until he was cowering in the corner.

“Where is Corsan?” Rowan demanded.

The man stammered nothing coherent.

“Where?” Rowan shouted.

“He … he fled the city,” was all the man could say, but it was enough. Rowan’s eyes suddenly grew wide as realization dawned.

“Out!” Rowan yelled. He ran to the door. “Everyone out!” He and his unit retreated down to the main floor and ran into the street to discover a horror waiting for them.

One hundred sentinels immediately surrounded them, swords at ready, while thousands more marched past them from the west toward the battle in the east. Sitting smugly atop a powerful black steed was a man Rowan recognized but who looked nothing like the man he had known. Gone was the fanciful facade of tournament organizer. Lord Gavaah now looked every bit what he was—a powerful Shadow Warrior.

Rowan’s men looked to him for some sign of what to do, but there was no choice. To fight against this force would be suicide.

“Well, well, well.” Gavaah’s distinctive voice carried easily over the
sounds of marching feet. “The long-lost Sir Rowan returns as a rebel.” Gavaah laughed. “Once again you’ve played the part of a fool!”

Rowan’s jaw tightened, and he clenched the hilt of his sword, but he did not move. All around him the sound of clashing swords and the screams of dying men stained the air.

“It’s over, Rowan,” Gavaah exclaimed. “What you hear is the complete and total destruction of the Resolute army. Twenty thousand of my men are descending on the Resolutes as we speak. Die with them if you want. It matters not to me.”

Rowan thought of Mariah and the families of his comrades. He was not afraid to die, and he knew they weren’t either, but it was foolish to die a meaningless death. It took more strength for him to release his grip on his sword than it would have to wield it against these defenders of tyranny, but he did so to save the lives of his unit. There would be another day to fight if he kept their hearts beating.

He dropped his sword, and the other seventeen men did the same. The sentinels fell upon them.

Gavaah urged his horse close to Rowan and looked down on him with utter arrogance.

“How did you know?” Rowan asked as his hands were bound behind him.

Gavaah smiled. “I didn’t. I guessed—although you knaves aren’t so hard to figure out. Kroywen was too obvious. Laos was closest to the mountains and your miserable encampments.” Gavaah looked to the gliders, now broken and strewn about the city street, and sighed deeply. “I suppose some credit must be given for the attack from the air. That was quite remarkable. Pointless, but remarkable …”

Gavaah caught himself and sneered down at Rowan. “Take them to the prisons. If any resist, kill them immediately!”

Rowan wanted to cover his ears to keep from hearing the death cry of freedom in Cameria … and perhaps in Arrethtrae. Was this truly the end of liberty for the people?

How could this be?
he asked.
Through Gavaah, the Dark Knight had conquered Cameria … How could this be?

More important, what would it mean for the entire kingdom?

THE CONQUEST OF CAMERIA

Rowan and a handful of other prisoners who had been identified as leaders of the Resolutes were taken to Kroywen and imprisoned there. He searched for Julian among the prisoners but could not find him. He was grateful that Mariah was safe in the mountains with her father and Sir Aldwyn, but he knew she’d be sick with worry once she’d received news of the Resolutes’ defeat.