Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (25 page)

Each evening, Rowan and Lijah returned to the tree in the central square, keeping watch through the night and sleeping in shifts. The citizens of Chessington brought them food and water, even though city officials forbade it. Every day their needs were provided for. Occasionally they journeyed out into the surrounding region and proclaimed the Prince to others, but they always returned to Chessington. They had no home, no bed, and no table to eat upon.

One morning, three weeks after their mission in Chessington began, a prominent-looking Vincero appeared with six guards in tow. Chin in the air, he announced, “Governor Supreme Alexander Histen desires an audience with you.”

Lijah gazed at him and said nothing. The silence slowly crumbled the Vincero’s arrogance until he began to look nervously about.

“We do not recognize Histen’s authority,” Rowan finally said.

“Nevertheless,” the knight insisted, “his governorship would like to speak with you.”

“We are here and will be here today, tomorrow, and each day after that,” Rowan said. “We speak our words openly for all to hear.”

The Vincero stared at them for a long moment, then huffed and turned away.

“When will our mission end, Lijah?” Rowan asked as the Vincero and his men departed. He was not weary—in fact, quite the opposite was true—but the kingdom seemed to be tearing itself apart, and he was curious about the days to come.

Lijah put a hand on Rowan’s shoulder and offered him a gentle smile. “I don’t know, my brother. Darker days are coming—that’s for certain. The people of Chessington need the hope of the Prince to guide them through those days.”

Rowan nodded, still wondering.

Then, that very afternoon, Alexander Histen himself came to them.

Rowan had never seen the man before, and he could not deny that
Histen was much more than he had envisioned him to be. His muscular black steed snorted as he approached, shaking its harness as if it wanted to trample the brothers underfoot. Histen’s regal-looking armor was elaborately trimmed in gold and silver, and a purple velvet cape fell from his shoulders to drape over the horse’s massive hindquarters.

Clearly, this man was more than a crafty politician who had maneuvered himself into a position of power. He was also a man of means and seasoned in the art of war. For the first time since their mission began, Rowan had to steel his nerves against potential fear.

Histen gazed emotionlessly down at them for a moment, then slowly dismounted. Two of his warriors did the same. Histen’s boots rang on the cobblestones as he walked slowly toward the brothers, and Rowan’s heart felt darkness flow in and around him as the man approached. He stopped in front of Rowan and stared into his eyes.

The man was slightly taller than Rowan and just as muscled. His face was long and chiseled, with a narrow blade of a nose and an angled jaw. A prominent brow shaded black eyes that seemed to peer into the soul. Rowan shuddered, caught off guard by the probing evil in the man’s stare.

Histen then turned toward Lijah. As they faced off, Rowan’s thoughts turned to the day the Prince had encountered the Dark Knight when he first came to the kingdom so many years before. Had there been a face-off like this before that battle?

Slowly Histen turned his back on both of them and looked out at the crowd that had gathered. As he did so, the people turned away, shrinking back from his gaze.

Histen didn’t even bother to turn his head as he spoke to Rowan and Lijah. “You two have caused quite a stir in my city … in my kingdom.”

“This will never be your kingdom,” Rowan said.

Histen froze, then spun about and lunged toward Rowan, stopping just inches from his face.

“I already own it, foolish knight.” Histen’s voice was low and menacing. “From Nyland to Cameria, from the Wasteland to Chessington—every castle, every lord, every city, town, and village—it is all mine!”

Lijah stepped toward Histen with his hand on his sword. Histen’s two warriors advanced with their hands grasping the hilts of their swords. Muscles tightened, with another ferocious fight just one draw away.

Lijah scowled. “You will never own that which is the most precious to have.”

“What is that?” Histen asked.

“The hearts of good people,” Lijah said. “They will always belong to the Prince!”

Histen hesitated, then relaxed and backed away. His warriors took their cue and did the same.

“I don’t need their hearts.” Histen smiled coldly. “I’ll just crush them one by one until none remain.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “We could banter back and forth all day, I suppose, but what would it gain any of us?”

He raised a long finger to point at the brothers. “Do you really think I couldn’t annihilate the two of you in an instant?” he chided. “I have—how shall I put it?—resources at my disposal that you can’t even imagine. You are alive simply because I have not killed you yet.”

Histen flashed a quick smile like the glint off a dagger. “You may have a thousand who support you, but I have hundreds of thousands who support me and hate you. Can’t you feel it?” Histen turned about as if he were feeling rain falling into his open hands. “It’s everywhere, and you can’t stop it. But the truth is, I am weary of your tiresome rhetoric in my city and wish to be rid of you without causing such a dramatic stir among the people. So I have a proposal. I will give you two days to leave the city of Chessington, and I promise not to hinder your departure.”

Histen crossed his arms, waiting for Rowan and Lijah to reply.

“We will not stop proclaiming the Prince in Chessington,” Rowan said evenly. “And neither you nor your men nor even our deaths will stop the truth of the Prince!”

Histen scowled at Rowan and drew close to him once again. “You really don’t know me or what I am capable of.” His eyes narrowed briefly, and then he turned away. He walked to his horse and swung into the saddle, his velvet cloak swinging behind him.

“You’ve been warned.” He wheeled the horse around. “Leave—or die!” With a clatter of ironclad hoofs on cobblestones, he left the square, his entourage following close behind.

Rowan stared after Histen. “Is he who I think he is?”

“Perhaps,” Lijah replied.

Two days later, at nightfall, Rowan and Lijah heard the clash of swords in the distance.

“They are fighting for us.” Lijah looked in the direction of the fight.

“Who, brother?” Rowan asked.

Lijah hesitated. “The King’s Silent Warriors.”

“How do you know?” Rowan asked.

“Because Histen has sworn to destroy us, yet we are still here.”

Rowan swallowed hard as he imagined what they would face if the Silent Warriors failed to stave off Lucius’s Shadow Warriors. These dark warriors were obviously the “resources” Alexander Histen had spoken of.

As the days wore on, Rowan and Lijah continued faithfully, and often they heard the sounds of an ancient battle nearby. For three-and-a-half months they proclaimed, defended, and gave honor to the Prince.

Finally, one cold winter morning, Rowan and Lijah woke to a day heavy with oppression. The clouds hung low in the sky as they walked the streets, ready to speak to any who would listen. But the attention of Chessington, along with the rest of the kingdom, had been captured by Histen this day. People were gathered on every street corner reading a proclamation that Histen’s men had posted.

Rowan and Lijah joined a knot of citizens around a lamppost to read the new edict that was pinned there.

“It
is
him,” Lijah said.

“Histen is the Dark Knight,” Rowan nearly whispered. “Lucius himself.”

Rowan felt his bosom burn with fury, and he reached up to rip the proclamation from the post.

“People of Chessington!” he shouted. “Do not bow your knee to Histen, for he is a false king who has profaned the true King of Arrethtrae. The Prince is coming to rule the land, and Alexander Histen will be judged!”

The group around him seemed to dissolve as fearful people disappeared down the street.

“Come, let’s return to the square,” Lijah said. “Many will want to hear us this day.”

The crowd had already gathered when they arrived back at the square—thousands of people waiting to hear the response of Sir Rowan and Sir Lijah to the new proclamation. But before they could begin, the thunderous clatter of many hoofs on cobblestones surrounded them. There was no warning except the drawing of hundreds of swords.

Rowan realized the hulking figures before them were not the guards they had faced so many times before. These were Lucius’s Shadow Warriors, fighting now in the open with no regard for secrecy or discretion.

Rowan could see Lucius behind them, his countenance glowing with evil anticipation. The warrior force waded into the crowd, striking anyone who was in their way. People fled every which way, trying desperately to avoid the warriors’ slashing blades.

Rowan and Lijah drew their swords as twenty massive Shadow Warriors surged toward them, with more behind. The Shadow Warriors seemed ruthless and fearless compared to their previous foes, but the two Knights of the Prince held strong, once again fighting back to back.

Rowan’s mind flashed back to the marble plate that hung in the chamber at Nedehaven. The prophetic truth of that scene unfolded before him now.

They fought what seemed like an endless sea of monstrous warriors. Three warriors fell, then four, then five. Rowan drew his short sword to aid his efforts, and Lijah fought with two swords as well. The power of the King’s steel vanquished foe after foe.

Through it all, Lucius watched smugly from atop his steed. By now the crowd had dispersed, and all the citizens were hiding.

Before the hour was half spent, more than eighty Shadow Warriors lay dead at the brothers’ feet, but more were coming, and Rowan was tiring. Would this battle ever end? he wondered. Just when the fighting seemed to slow, Lucius raised his arm, and fifty more warriors appeared from behind him, running like hounds to a feast. Rowan’s blade pounded like thunder from a storm, and Lijah fought with indomitable courage, but they slowly began to falter.

One blade crashed down on Rowan’s shoulder so hard that he stumbled to his knee just as another cut pounded into his right side. He
glanced quickly toward Lijah to see if there was any hope of help from him, but at that moment a sword blasted into Lijah’s helmet and sent him to the ground. Rowan went to cover for Lijah while he tried to regain his feet, but the Shadow Warriors would not allow it. They brought an endless concussion of blows to the brothers’ heads and chests until both men were pinned beneath an avalanche of dark grisly blades.

“Lijah!” Rowan screamed as one large Shadow Warrior plunged a spear with all his might down toward Lijah’s chest. The spear broke in two as it collided with the King’s armor, but not before its tip penetrated deep into Lijah’s chest. Rowan tried to crawl toward his brother, but the boots of four men beat him back to the ground.

“Lijah!” Rowan screamed again.

“Brother,” Lijah managed to call back, but his eyes began to darken.

“Fools!” Lucius approached them unhurriedly, drawing a sword whose flashing blade was engraved with the image of a dragon. “I am the ruler here, and there is no one to stop me—not even the messengers of the King!”

Rowan lifted himself up onto his elbow in an effort of defiance, but Lucius raised his wicked sword high in the air and plunged it downward with all his might. The dragon-decked blade pierced through Rowan’s armor and plunged deep into his side. Pain seared through his body and mind, and he screamed against it. The Dark Knight’s sadistic laugh added to the horror of the moment.

Lucius put his foot on Rowan’s chest and yanked the sword from his body. Rowan crumpled to the ground, fighting for breath through collapsing lungs.

“I have defeated the King’s messengers!” Lucius yelled. “I will rule both kingdoms, for I am greater than both the King and His Son!”

A cheer rose up from the darkened voices of a hundred Shadow Warriors. It seemed to echo to all four corners of Arrethtrae.

“Rowan,” Lijah rasped.

Rowan was still an arm’s length away. His arms and legs were heavy and growing cold, but he made a monumental effort to crawl to his brother. He reached out his hand and grasped Lijah’s.

“The King reigns…,” Lijah began, but then closed his eyes in death.

“My Prince … why have You forsaken us?” Rowan whispered. The light of the day began to fade. His eyes closed as a still, small voice whispered in his heart, “I am here.”