Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (22 page)

The Prince allowed Rowan a moment to recover, then gripped his hand with His own and pulled him up. He then turned to Lijah.

“Lijah, I have watched you from when you were just a lad. You have been steadfast, faithful, and true, and you did not rest until you found your brother.” The Prince put a hand to Lijah’s chest. “In here beats a heart after the King’s own.”

Lijah bowed his head, clearly moved by the Prince’s affirming words, and Rowan felt a twinge of shame for having doubted that this loyal and courageous knight was his brother. In that moment, he felt the true bond of brotherhood solidify, and it strengthened his heart.

“Come, My friends,” the Prince said. “Walk with Me, for we have much to talk about.”

Rowan and Lijah followed the Prince out of the small grove of trees and up a grassy knoll that looked out across the vast expanse of the Altica Valley. The sun was sinking far to the west, painting the sky in vibrant hues of blue, orange, and red. The Prince looked southwest, and Rowan knew He was thinking of Chessington.

“My words are for you and you alone. Speak them to no one.” The Prince turned to face them. “I have given many brave men and women missions of great importance … and great danger. But what I am asking of you transcends anything I have asked of any of them. You two were born into the lineage of the King and have been equipped to do what no other could do.”

Rowan looked over to Lijah, who caught his eye and nodded as the Prince continued. “The King’s people in Chessington have rejected Me. Because of this, My Father has chastened them over the years, and they have endured great hardships. Meanwhile, Outdwellers throughout the kingdom have heard and believed in Me. The Knights of the Prince who are left in Chessington are being persecuted and imprisoned, but their swords still fly against evil and their testimony is reaching many—but they cannot do what I am sending you to do.”

The Prince paused.

“The time has come to return the promise of the King to My people … and you shall be My voice. Before the end of days, because of your testimony, many will come to believe in Me as the Son of the King, and thousands will be spared a great reckoning.”

“My Lord,” Rowan asked, “how can this be such a great danger … or more of a mission of importance than You have asked of any other?”

The Prince hesitated. “Because many will believe you, but many will also despise you, and you will be in the vortex of a great evil. The Rising of Lucius has come, and the time of judgment is near. The people will be given one last chance to decide who has their allegiance.”

The Prince looked out across the great valley once again. “Arrethtrae, and Chessington in particular, is on the precipice of great evil and
great judgment, and you will be in the center of it all. Many will try to kill you for speaking the truth about Me. Alexander Histen’s power is great in the land and will be greater, but I send you to be a stumbling block for him.”

The Prince looked back and set His gaze upon the two brothers. “Rowan … Lijah … you are mighty men prepared for this day. Will you be My voice in Chessington, bringing many to the King through My name?”

Rowan and Lijah simultaneously knelt again before the great Prince. “We will, my Lord,” they replied in unison.

“Then rise and drink from My flask of the bitter wine. The Life Spice within will give you strength to stand in the days to come.”

Rowan and Lijah stood as the Prince lifted a leather strap from around His neck. On the strap hung a smooth leather flask, which He handed to Rowan. Rowan lifted the flask to his lips and drank. The wine tasted sweet in his mouth, but when he swallowed, it became bitter in his stomach, and he winced. He handed the flask to his brother, and Lijah did the same.

The Prince took back the flask and tucked it away in His tunic. “Now take that which you were given as infants, and journey due west across the valley to the foothills of the Northern Mountains. Follow the rivers north until you come to the place of beginnings. There you will clad yourselves in the armor of the King—in defense against the swords and arrows of Lucius. For a time, none shall overcome you while you proclaim Me to the people of Chessington!”

Rowan heard the pounding of many hoofs behind them. The mounted warriors of the Prince thundered up the knoll, bringing the Prince’s white stallion with them.

The Prince put His hands on their shoulders. “Do not be afraid, for I will be with you to the end.”

The Prince took the reins of His horse from the nearest warrior and quickly mounted. He raised His hand over the brothers, then turned and led the contingent of Silent Warriors west into the Altica Valley. Rowan and Lijah stared after them for a long while, until their hoofbeats faded into the shadows of the closing day. When they returned to their
camp, fresh venison hung from a tree limb, and a basket of vegetables was waiting near the fire. They feasted and replenished themselves with the food of the Prince.

Afterward Rowan looked across the fire at his brother. “Lijah, I owe you an apology and a great debt of gratitude. Forgive me for not believing you.”

Lijah nodded.

“And I want to thank you for risking your life to save mine … even when I didn’t believe you. I hope that I can someday be as noble a brother to you as you have already been to me.”

Lijah pushed to his feet, and Rowan did the same. Rowan offered his arm, and Lijah took it. It was the beginning of a bond that a legion of Shadow Warriors could not break—two mighty brothers fully committed to the Prince.

When they prepared their bedrolls that night, they were satisfied, anticipating the journey ahead. But sleep was a long time coming for Rowan.

“What is the place of beginnings, brother?” Rowan asked as he lay beside Lijah in the darkness.

“It is that place where Sir Peyton and Lady Dinan long ago ruled the kingdom,” Lijah answered sleepily. “Nedehaven.”

“Nedehaven,” Rowan mouthed the word to himself, remembering the story Sir Aldwyn had told him early in his training. The fall of Nedehaven is what had eventually brought the Prince to Arrethtrae.

Rowan stared up at the stars for a long time that night, contemplating many things. When he thought of Mariah, the ache in his bosom threatened to overwhelm him. Had he failed her, failed them both? What if this new mission met the same fate as the last one? How could he and Lijah possibly prevail against the evil they were facing?

Then he seemed to hear the voice of the Prince once more, whispering in his ear, “You must do it in My strength, not your own … Trust Me.”

And Rowan whispered once more as sleep finally came to him, “Yes, my Prince. No matter what happens … I will trust You.”

THE ARMOR OF THE KING

It took Rowan and Lijah two long days to cross the vast Altica Valley and make their way into the foothills of the Northern Mountains. On the evening of the second day, they reached a wide river that Lijah called the Frates and made camp beside it. The next morning they found a place to ford the river and traveled north along its banks toward the confluence of the Frates and Tisgri rivers. Lijah seemed to know the way, and Rowan found himself content with following.

By early afternoon, they came to an area that seemed forgotten by time itself. It was a scene of ancient beauty. The Tisgri flowed nearby, tumbling gently over shallow waterfalls. The trees seemed larger than usual and widely spaced, and the ground between them was padded with thick grass and soft mats of forest moss. Green vines and brightly colored flowers provided a garden atmosphere, and a canopy of leaves and pine branches filtered the sunlight into golden spires.

They walked quietly through the trees until they came to the ruins of a forgotten estate. The outer walls had crumbled, and the rusted iron gates had fallen from their hinges. Rowan and Lijah walked through the gate and stood in the outer court of what once must have been a majestic palace. The trees and vines had nearly swallowed the blackened structure,
and it looked as though it were trying to return to nature, but its residual magnificence was unmistakable.

“Nedehaven,” Lijah breathed. “It must be.”

“But how could there be anything of worth for us here?” Rowan asked.

Lijah shrugged. “It seems unlikely, but let us look just the same.”

They combed the ruins for several hours and found nothing. Finally, Lijah sat down on a fallen stone slab that sank deep into the soft ground, as if the vines and moss were gradually pulling it under.

“Can you imagine the splendor of such a place before Lucius came to destroy it?” Lijah asked, sweeping his gaze across the ruins.

Rowan came to sit beside him, but with his last step his foot sank deeper into the moss than before. He pushed harder with his foot and realized the moss had overgrown a void at the base of the stone Lijah was sitting on.

“What is it?” Lijah asked.

“I’m not sure.” Rowan knelt down to the impression in the moss. He dug in with his hand and began peeling back the thick layer of moss.

“Look, Lijah.” Rowan peered down through the small hole he’d dug. “I think this stone you’re sitting on is covering a stairwell.”

Lijah knelt to look and help pull back the moss. They were able to uncover a portion of the first step to what looked like a circular stone staircase.

“It makes sense,” Lijah said. “This would more than likely be the location of the great hall. We’ll need to move this slab.”

The stone was too heavy for even these two powerful men, but they were able to leverage a timber into the hole and slide the stone far enough off the steps to allow them to crawl through the opening. The light from the opening wasn’t enough for them to see beyond a few steps, so they fashioned a couple of torches from a portion of a horse blanket and sticks. Setting them aflame, they started down the staircase.

At the base of the stairs, they found themselves in a hallway that led to numerous chambers. All of them looked strangely untouched by the tragedy that had happened above so long ago, but there was nothing of
significance for Rowan and Lijah. At the end of the hall, they came to another staircase that led deeper into the ground. Rowan was a little unnerved as he looked down the steps that seemed to be swallowed up by the blackness. Lijah didn’t hesitate, however, and Rowan followed him down.

At the bottom of this staircase was a single door. It took both of them to force the door open, for it was heavy, and the rusty hinges creaked in defiance of the movement. They entered the chamber and immediately knew there was something special about it. The chamber was empty except for a monolithic square column in the center. Embedded in the column was a metal plate with a small opening that looked like a keyhole.

The flames of their torches flickered off the walls of the chamber, and Rowan’s threatened to die out soon. He looked at the dancing shadows that fell across Lijah’s face.

“One marked child with a key,” Rowan said, reciting the words from Lijah’s scroll that Mariah had read.

Lijah took a deep breath. He lifted the key from around his neck and looked back at Rowan. It appeared to be a perfect fit.

Lijah put the key in the lock and turned it. The click of the lock echoed in the room, but that was all … at least at first. A few seconds later, something rumbled beneath their feet, and then Rowan heard the sound of large iron rods sliding across granite. Escaping air filled the room, and puffs of ancient dust shot from the corners of the far wall. Rowan heard something akin to a gate winch rumbling; then slowly the far wall began to sink into the floor.