Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (21 page)

“Is this what you want?” he shouted to them all. He lifted her higher. “Is this what you came here to see? The execution of my wife? The murder of an innocent woman?”

Rowan turned around full circle for all to see the culmination of their lust for the games. “Is this truly what Gavaah has turned you into?” he cried out.

Then Rowan turned to look at Gavaah. He knew what he must do, and there wasn’t a warrior in the kingdom who would stop him. He
gently laid Mariah on the cart, then turned to face the evil lord. Fear filled Gavaah’s eyes, and he began giving orders to his warriors as Rowan knelt down to recover his sword.

“What are you doing, Mosiah?” Lijah asked.

“My duty,” Rowan replied.

“You will die,” Lijah said.

Rowan looked at Lijah, bitter tears fueling the fire of revenge. “I am already dead!”

Lijah grabbed Rowan’s arm, but before either of them could speak again, the crowd began to shout. Hundreds began to point at Gavaah and scream at him. The anger of the crowd flowed around the stands like a violent windstorm, and in moments the stadium had become a seething bed of uncontrollable rage. People began to pour out of the stands into the arena and run toward the grandstand.

Gavaah shouted for his warriors and sentinels to gain control, but they found themselves at the mercy of the angry mob. Pandemonium filled the arena, a chaos an army would be challenged to control.

Rowan and Lijah watched in shock as the events unfolded. Then Lijah leaned close to Rowan. “This is our only chance. If you want Mariah’s death to count for something more noble than a failed attempt at revenge, then come with me, my brother.”

Rowan looked down at the pale face of his love and knew that Lijah was right. Mariah would want so much more for him than Gavaah’s death. She always had been the noble one. He leaned down and kissed her once more. Lijah pulled at him, and Rowan found it nearly impossible to leave her.

“Now, Rowan!” Lijah screamed above the shouts of thousands. Rowan slowly straightened, then disappeared with Lijah into the mass of people—people stirred to rage by the injustice of a tyrant.

They were almost to an open gate when Rowan stopped. He turned to see the body of his love once more, but thousands of angry men storming the grandstand impeded his sight. All he saw was the cart being jostled and moved as the storm passed by.

Rowan turned to follow Lijah out of the stadium and came face to
face with two large warriors. Certain these were two of Gavaah’s henchmen, Rowan hefted his sword, ready for a fight. But the warriors looked beyond Rowan and Lijah and stepped aside to let them pass.

“Quickly!” one of them said.

Rowan raised an eyebrow at Lijah; then the two men passed the warriors by, glancing behind as they went. Rowan saw one of Gavaah’s warriors working his way through the crowd and coming toward them. The Silent Warriors ducked into the mass of bodies and disappeared. Rowan and Lijah wasted no time in continuing their exit.

Outside the stadium, the pandemonium had spilled out into the streets. Angry and panic-stricken people were running everywhere while sentinels descended on the stadium from every direction. It was as if the entire city had erupted out of control.

Rowan and Lijah found two horses running loose, reins trailing, evidently from sentinels the mob had unseated. The brothers mounted and raced south through the streets of Kroywen. With Gavaah’s sentinels focused on the chaos of the stadium, Rowan and Lijah were able to make the city limits with just two minor encounters.

That day marked the end of tournaments in Cameria and the beginning of total oppression of the people. Gavaah survived the day and began to rule with an iron fist, choking the remaining spirit out of the good people of Cameria. The age of darkness was upon the kingdom, and many longed for the days of old—days when the Code and the Prince ruled the hearts of people and not the fear and oppression of an evil tyrant. For the Knights of the Prince, however, one hope and promise remained.

For many years ago, when the Prince came to Arrethtrae, He told His knights there would be a time of great trouble.

“And when it comes,” He said, “do not be afraid. For in the midst of this great trouble, I will come for you.”

CALL OF THE PRINCE

Rowan and Lijah rode until Kroywen was far behind them. Rowan aimlessly followed Lijah, not caring where they went. His mind was forever filled with the anguish of Mariah’s last few moments of life. He constantly fought the urge to return to her, even though he knew she was gone.

Lijah made no attempt to console Rowan. There is a pain so great that silent companionship is the only appropriate response, and that is what Lijah offered him.

They rode until it was too dark to continue. Lijah led them into the shadow of a small grove of trees, and they dismounted. They did not eat, but simply lay down on the thick grass and allowed the blackness of night to swallow them.

Rowan found sleep elusive. Tears for his beloved Mariah fell from the corners of his eyes long into the night as he wondered why his life seemed to be filled with such great contradictions of joy and pain. Eventually his body could endure the exhaustion of the day no more, and the elixir of sleep gave him a short reprieve from the anguish of his now-empty life.

In the morning, Rowan awoke to the smell of wild game being roasted on a small fire. Lijah sat across the fire, staring at him. His face
was grim, and Rowan saw the pain in his eyes. Rowan sat up and blinked the sleep from his own.

“I am sorry, Mosiah,” Lijah said. “I truly am sorry.”

Rowan gazed into the fire for a long while. “Where do we go now?” he finally asked, trying to keep horror at bay.

“When you are ready, there is only one place for us: Chessington.”

Rowan didn’t need to hear Lijah speak it. Somehow he knew what needed to happen. It seemed he had known it for years. He felt like a droplet of water that had fallen on a mountain. No matter which way it turned or how long it took, the droplet would eventually fall into the Great Sea. Just as, inescapably, he and Lijah would end up in Chessington.

After eating, they mounted up and rode southwest toward the Altica Valley. Once again, they spent the day in silent travel. Rowan replayed the events of the previous day a thousand times, not because he desired to but simply because his mind could not keep from returning to Mariah. Questions about purpose, duty, and truth began to fill his mind.

After hours of travel, Rowan found himself frustrated, angry, and bitter once again. He even began to have doubts about the Prince Himself. Did He even care that so many had died or were held captive … seemingly for nothing?

By early evening, Rowan and Lijah had passed beyond the borders of Cameria. They camped along a river on the eastern edge of the great valley. Lijah was successful at spearing one small fish from the river, which made for a meager one-course meal.

They didn’t hear the horses until it was much too late to hide. Rowan and Lijah jumped to their feet and drew their swords. The setting sun made it difficult to see, but Rowan could make out eight mounted men coming directly toward them from the west. He conjectured that this was a search party looking for the two traitorous men who had disrupted a city and brought chaos to Lord Gavaah’s stadium.

Within just a few moments, Rowan and Lijah stood facing a towering wall of warriors and steeds. These did not look like Gavaah’s sentinels or ordinary knights. They were too massive, too powerful.

The lead warrior scrutinized Rowan and Lijah, then pointed to the far side of their camp. Two warriors broke off to the left, and two broke
off to the right, circling around behind them. Rowan and Lijah instinctively positioned themselves to cover each other’s backs.

“Do not be alarmed,” the leader said in a deep, commanding voice. “We are not here to fight you.” He made a sweeping motion with his hand, and the circle of eight warriors spread outward from the camp and assumed a guardian’s stance.

Lijah relaxed and lowered his sword. “I am Sir Lijah of Chessington,” he said to the leader. “This is my brother, Sir Mosiah of Laos.”

The leader’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded once, then joined his brethren. Rowan gazed uneasily around the perimeter of their camp, where he could just barely see the huge warriors standing guard.

“What’s happening, Lijah?” Rowan whispered.

“They are Silent Warriors, messengers of the King.” Lijah was also watching carefully. “And I don’t know what’s happening.”

From the same direction the warriors had come, Rowan heard the hoofbeats of a galloping horse. Chills went up and down his spine as a man on a brilliant white steed rode into the camp. He reined in the powerful animal and looked down on Lijah and Rowan. Rowan gazed up at the man and became lost in the glow of his nobility.

For a moment, the pain of yesterday faded away as he wondered at the man. Something told him he commanded more than these eight powerful warriors—he was a commander of legions. And yet there was something more than simply the air of command about him. Rowan had never seen him before … or had he?

Out of the corner of his eye, Rowan saw Lijah fall to his knees. Only then did he finally realize what was happening. Here before them, on the fringe of the Altica Valley, was the Son of the King … the Prince. This was no dream, but a shining reality.

Rowan felt strength leave his legs, and confusion swept over him. He knelt and bowed his head in submission to the One who had come to defeat the very enemy that had taken his love.

Rowan heard the Prince dismount and walk toward them. Seconds later, he felt a strong but gentle hand on his shoulder. “Rise up, My faithful knights.” The voice was deep and warm.

Lijah stood up, but Rowan could not. His heart was broken and his
vision obscured. The Prince knelt down close to him, placing both hands on his shoulders. Rowan lifted his head, and tears spilled from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, my Lord,” Rowan’s voice quivered. “The ache in my heart is too strong for me to be what You want me to be.”

The Prince gazed into his eyes with such deep compassion that Rowan did not want to turn away.

“Your grief is great, as is Mine for you,” the warm voice said. “The evil of Lucius has robbed the kingdom of so many noble men and women. I need you to help Me stop him. The memory of Mariah cries out for justice, as does the memory of all those who sacrificed in Cameria, and the day is near when I will return with My army to give them that justice. Until then you must stand strong. But you must do it in My strength, not your own.”

Rowan needed the comfort of a father, someone to lean on and trust that all would eventually be all right. Somehow the Prince was this and more for him. How could this be?

Rowan lowered his head and leaned into the Prince. His forehead pressed against the chest of the Prince, and he felt the Prince’s arm about his shoulder.

“Will you trust Me, Rowan?” The question was simple. Rowan realized that no matter the circumstances of his life, his belief in the Prince was the only treasure Lucius could never steal from him.

“Yes,” he whispered, “I will trust You, my Prince.”