Sir Rowan and the Camerian Conquest (5 page)

THE GRAND TROPHY QUEST

Rowan continued to win tournament after tournament. Not only did he become one of the most decorated knights in Cameria, but he also won unprecedented favor with the crowds, for his charisma, handsome looks, and humble beginning were the stuff of legends. From Elttaes to Kroywen to Berwick, Rowan won the hearts of the people everywhere.

On the eve of his journey to Kroywen to participate in the annual Camerian Games, Rowan received a visitor at his manor, Eastgate.

“You’ve lost your way, Rowan.”

Sir Aldwyn stood on the terrace of Rowan’s beautiful estate looking at the majestic Boundary Mountains. After a moment of silence, he turned to face the man he’d trained from childhood.

“How can you say such a thing, Sir Aldwyn?” Rowan stood with arms crossed, trying to hide his frustration at hearing such a remark. His massive arms bulged with muscle as he motioned around his beautiful home and pointed toward his display of medals and awards. “Look at what I have achieved!” he said. “I’m champion of Laos, and after the tournament I may be champion of Cameria. I should think you would be happy for me. After all, it was your training that got me here.”

Aldwyn slowly walked to stand before Rowan.

“This is not where my training was intended to take you, Rowan. What of the Prince? Do you still serve Him?”

“Of course I do,” Rowan rebutted.

“Really?” Aldwyn gazed deeply into Rowan’s eyes. “When is the last time you told someone about Him?”

Rowan turned away from Aldwyn’s hard stare.

“When is the last time you thought about the Code and desired to live by it?” Aldwyn asked as Rowan walked away in silence. “Cameria is changing, and there are troubling times ahead. Now is the time to live with purpose!”

Rowan stood still with his back to Aldwyn.

“You have won money and fame,” Aldwyn said quietly, “yet all this is vanity.”

Rowan snapped about, his mended victory cloak swirling around him.

“I have a good chance of becoming the champion of Cameria and winning the grand trophy at the Camerian Games in Kroywen. I was born to fight, Aldwyn. You of all people should know that.”

“Then fight for something of worth,” Aldwyn shot back, “not the superficial applause of bread seekers and pretty maidens.”

“They don’t come just for the bread anymore.” Rowan grinned. “They come to see
me
. I am loved not just in Laos but across all of Cameria.”

“They don’t love you!” Aldwyn scoffed. “They love the entertainment you bring them. Lose a couple of fights, and you’ll see just what they really think of you.”

Rowan felt his cheeks begin to burn, and he clenched his fists to control his anger. “I will not be humiliated by you in my own manor. This conversation is over. Good day, Sir Aldwyn.” Rowan whisked his cloak between them as he turned and walked to the banister of the terrace.

After a moment of silence, Rowan heard Aldwyn walk to the doorway, then stop.

“When I began to train you, I knew you were destined to do something great. This is not it!”

Aldwyn’s footsteps echoed down the hallway that led to the front
parlor. When Rowan heard the servant open and close the door behind Aldwyn, he turned back to the terrace view.

Rowan stared into the evening sky until the dark blue turned black. The sting of Aldwyn’s words lingered, and he found it difficult to dismiss them. Not until he began to focus on the upcoming Camerian Games at Kroywen did he begin to feel better.

The next morning, Rowan, Balenteen, Hatfield, three supporting squires, and four guards left Laos before the first golden rays of sun peeked over the eastern edge of the Boundary Mountains. The morning mist rose from the standing waters in the nearby forest like curtains of the day opening for the world to see. As they passed through a low-lying area, the wake of their steeds caused the mist to swirl about them.

It was the mist that kept them from seeing the man at first.

As they approached the arched stone bridge that spanned the river, however, they began to make out a lone figure standing in the middle of it. There was nothing majestic or ominous about the man, but Rowan shuddered anyway. The ten men slowed, not because they could not pass on either side, but because it was obvious the man was challenging their passage. Besides this, their horses seemed to find it impossible to press on. Something about the man frightened them.

The man was fully armored, with his visor down. His hands rested on the hilt of his sword, its tip on the ground before him. Rowan’s horse danced in agitation, matching Rowan’s uneasiness. He knew what this meant.

“Move aside or be run over,” the captain of the guards commanded.

“Captain,” Rowan said without taking his eyes from the figure on the bridge, “I’ll handle this.” He dismounted.

“Don’t be a fool,” Balenteen said. “We don’t have time to squander on some petty squire hoping for a shot at you.”

“For once, I agree with Balenteen, Rowan,” Hatfield said.

Rowan handed the reins of his steed to Hatfield. He hesitated as he looked up at his trainer.

“Is there a knight better than I with the sword?” he asked.

Hatfield looked perplexed but didn’t hesitate. “You are the best I’ve ever seen.”

Rowan took a deep breath. “Then this is something I must do.”

He walked toward the lone figure on the bridge as the other nine men held back, spectators in a strange arena.

His boots clicked on the stones as he traversed the bridge and approached the stranger. The man didn’t really look threatening, and Rowan wondered if this was indeed the one who had bested him at training months before … and cost him so many hours of sleep since then. With each step he took, anger grew within him. His victory cloak swirled with the receding mist, the corners snapping with each punctuated step.

When he was within three paces, he stopped. The challenging knight didn’t move, and Rowan just stared at him for a long while.

“Are you here to stop me?” Rowan finally asked.

The knight slowly nodded.

“Why?” Rowan asked. “Who sent you?”

“Turn back,” the mysterious knight said calmly, “or you will be destroyed.”

Rowan nearly laughed.
Destroyed?
he thought. “Tell whoever sent you that I
will
compete in the games and I
will
be the champion of Cameria.” With that, Rowan drew his sword. “And I
will
be rid of you!”

Rowan followed his last words with a powerful slice that the man seemed late in responding to. Halfway through the slice, he had not even moved from his standing guard position. At the last moment, however, the man snapped his sword from rest to a defensive position, and Rowan’s blade struck immovable steel.

In that instant, all of Rowan’s confidence fled from him. Something in him recognized that he was facing the ultimate warrior—impenetrable defense, frightening offense, unmovable and superior purpose.

He fought against the truth of his realization just the same and began a series of cuts and slices, holding absolutely nothing back. Every blow and cut was met perfectly. Rowan exhausted himself in an unending successions of cuts, slices, and thrusts, refusing to accept the fact that he could not best his silent opponent.

Finally, in desperation, he threw a descending diagonal cut, followed by a horizontal slice and a thrust to the man’s chest. The knight deflected each one, then put a bind on Rowan’s sword that locked their blades together. Rowan looked at the swords and realized that, with one quick move, the knight could leave the bind and plunge his sword into Rowan’s unprotected abdomen. Hoping to equalize the threat, Rowan drew his long knife. But the knight grabbed Rowan’s wrist and twisted his hand in such a way that Rowan’s forearm and hand exploded in pain.

The knight forced the knife’s blade down and close to Rowan’s chin until he could feel the cold steel against his own neck. The harder he pushed back, the sharper the pain that shot down his wrist and arm.
How can this man control me so?
he wondered.

Just when Rowan thought his life was over, he felt the tie around his neck slice in two and his victory cloak fall away from his shoulders. At the same time, he heard horses galloping toward him and knew that Hatfield and the guards were coming.

Once again Rowan found himself face to helmet with this mysterious knight, his victory cloak at his feet. Perplexed and beaten, he didn’t know whether to be angry, humbled, or fearful.

“You have lost your way.” The knight spoke calmly, with no sign of effort. “Turn back.”

The knight released his bind and his painful hold on Rowan’s wrist. He stepped back, sheathed his sword, and turned to walk away. Just a few paces behind them, Rowan heard Hatfield and the guards draw their swords and dismount. He held up a hand to stop them.

“Who are you?” Rowan yelled. The knight walked away in silence until he was clear of the bridge, then turned toward the woods.

“Who are you?” Rowan yelled louder, but the man just disappeared into the mist of the forest.

ONE HUNDRED TO ONE

The fight with the mystery knight left Rowan rattled, even more so than before. Was this a tactic by one of the champion knights he would face at the tournaments? If any of them were this good, he didn’t have a chance. Yet something told him the mysterious knight was not a tournament contender.