The Tomb of the Dark Paladin (17 page)

Captain Harn Amos, former officer of the Royal Guard, strode into the alley wearing black clothes and armed to the teeth with blades. A shuffling figure ambled along behind Amos but Cannath focused only on his trusted captain.

"Amos?" he asked, disbelieving. He lowered his sword and walked forward to meet his old guard captain. "Is that truly you?" Cannath could not believe the tumultuous feelings twisting his insides. Glory and shame each fought the other valiantly for Cannath's victory over Gavinos, each for very different reasons. He tried to force the conflicting emotions down deep and away, and was overpowered by another emotion. Guilt. Guilt for what he had done to his once beloved country, his people and his friends.

As Amos neared him, the thayne saw that the man had endured much suffering in the last months. His face was worn and haggard with tired eyes. He stood tall before the king, neither bowing nor saluting the man he once served.

"What has happened to you, old friend?" asked Cannath, feeling his grief and guilt more strongly. How desperately he wanted to repay Umber!

Amos stood quietly for a moment, then slammed a gloved fist into the thayne 's face. Cannath never saw it coming and found himself lying in a heap on the ground. When he opened his eyes, it felt like he had somehow just fallen asleep. But the pain in his face told him the truth of the matter. He stood angrily, dizzily, and fumbled for his sword. A strong hand grasped the material of his coat and slammed him into the wall.

"What happened to me? You did!" Amos shouted. "You and your vile, filthy, evil friends! Thanks to you, I am a slave! Our country is gone!"

"Amos," Cannath began, pushing his old friend away. He was bigger and stronger than Amos, and could easily kill him in a fight. Yet, that was not what the thayne wanted to do. There was a time when Cannath would have flogged a man for much smaller displays of insolence than this. But the weight of the responsibility of his actions again stayed his hand. "You are..."

"What?" he demanded. "What could you possibly say?"

"Well," said the thayne with a sigh. "There is little to say. I failed, miserably. I am not fit for the kingship, nor is anyone with whom I am related."

"So you are just going to leave?" he demanded. "You're going to give up? The shopkeeper told me you were leaving, but I couldn't believe it."

"It is true," he responded gravely. "I am leaving and I will not return. There is nothing that I can do here. Of those few of our countrymen that remain, none would ever dare trust me again. Rightly so. No apology I could make would ever be enough.

"I am leaving because I have learned what sinister plans the Dark Lord has in store for the world as we know it. If Hybrand is but a small example of what's to come, then I must do what I can to stop it. I hope--no, I pray, that Hybrand will rise from the ashes and never invest their hopes in a single man again."

Amos stared at his former liege, a deep scowl on his face. Finally, his face relaxed and he lowered his hand from his sword hilt. 

"I thank you for intervening, Captain. But now I must find a way north."

"Where?"

"Across the great bay, toward Caelambra I suppose."

"You don't stand a chance of getting through this mob of hurkin," said Amos, his voice controlled. "In fact, if it weren't for some of my friends, you and that elf would have brought the entire Hurkin Horde down on your head."

Cannath had indeed wondered why scores of hurkin soldiers had not piled into the alley and killed him long ago. A noisy working party of human slaves was stacking boxes at the entrance to the alleyway. "I owe you my thanks, for what little it is worth."

"Precious little indeed. Come with me," mumbled Amos as he turned around. "By the way, Cannath. Meet Hugh, your best friend."

It was only then that Cannath truly noticed the hunched figure in the alley with them. And it was, in fact, Hugh Renaul.

He was speechless. He stared numbly at the vacant, dead eyes of his oldest and truest friend. For a scant moment he thought there was a flicker of recognition in those eyes, but it passed too quickly. Grief threatened to overwhelm him again, he knew deep down that he had likely sent his best friend to his death. And here he stood. A mockery of his former self. A rotting and stinking facsimile of a man who had been by his side since childhood. The shock of the sight stunned the thayne, and he stopped short. Only the devilish power of Coronus could do something this terrible. The stench of death wafted into his nostrils and turned his stomach. The indignity of it all was so offensive that part of him felt like he had to strike the abomination down. Could he do it? Could he strike down his best friend? 

Amos turned and faced him. "Well, Cannath? What will you do?" Amos stared hard at his former liege, his hands absently touching the heavy iron bracers that marked him as a slave to the Horde. With a snarl, Amos turned and walked out of the alley. Hugh remained, his eyes no longer vacant but questioning. 

The last Thayne of Hybrand knew what he must do. 

He had no choice. It was his own fault that Hugh was a death slave, tormented to existence between life and death; it was his responsibility to end his friend's torment. 

"I'm sorry, old friend," he said, holding his sword before him in both hands. Hugh's decaying face seemed to change ever so slightly. Was it relief? Was it fear? He did not know. His heart broke over what he must now do. He raised his sword high above his head as Hugh stood, his gaze once again indifferent. Cannath held his sword poised above his head, aware that Amos was watching from the end of the alley. Cannath knew that he had brought this evil upon his land, upon his friend, and he must be the one to break it. 

The last Thayne of Hybrand swung his ancient blade and struck Hugh Renaul. A brilliant flash of light blinded him for a moment. An audible gasp escaped the lips of the seemingly mindless death slave as he dropped to his knees. Cannath stepped back and watched as Hugh fell to the ground in a crumpled heap. Anger seethed within him as his mind desperately raced to find someone to blame, but he knew the blame was his own. 

Cannath stepped toward the heap that was once his old friend. He was thrown across the alley by an explosion. He landed heavily striking his head hard on the wall of the alley. Amos rushed in and dragged Cannath to his feet. 

"Get up!" he hissed. "We have to go!"

Cannath rubbed his head and looked for Hugh's body. All that remained was a black stain on the stone ground. Amos grabbed him by the arm and dragged him away. 

"I don't know how you did it, Cannath, but you just destroyed a death slave."

Cannath straightened his coat and ensured that his sword was hidden beneath its folds once more. With his hood low over his face, he followed Amos and a number of other slaves along the pier. He tried to look at Amos' accomplices but is head hurt so badly he couldn't turn it from side to side. 

"Where are we going?" he asked, groggily. 

"We are leaving Hybrand. Death slaves have a way of silently reporting back to Commander Coronus, or one of his minions, when we humans dare to resist the hurkin overlordship.   I don't know why, but the death slave that was once Hugh Renaul never seemed to report us. It's why we kept him around. Now you've gone and killed him."

"He exploded!" Cannath gasped, the pain of speaking was terrible. 

"I saw," Amos replied grimly. "We've never been able to kill one, let alone blow one up. That information will be useful in the future."

Cannath stopped, prepared to defend his action, but Amos just shoved him along. "Forget it, Cannath; you probably did him a favor." Cannath nodded his agreement, and immediately regretted it as a sharp pain stabbed through his skull. He felt, rather than saw, that a light snow was falling. He remembered how Ognadrog, and countless other hurkin, whined about the colder climate of Hybrand. Hurkromin was miserably hot and the hurkin were having trouble acclimating. 

As if reading Cannath's thoughts, Amos said, "This turn of the weather will push many hurkin patrols indoors. They have no fear of us and they've grown complacent; it is a good omen."

C H A P T E R

S E V E N

~

The portal closed behind Bart and he was suddenly in a whirlwind, buffeted by powerful gales with nothing beneath his feet. His face was struck by blasts of air that alternated from hot to cold to hot again. He was forced to squint his eyes so tightly that he could barely see, the Realm of Storms was a very stormy and hostile place indeed. 

Suddenly it got very dark and peels of thunder accompanied flashes of lightning and a torrent of rain. Bart held tightly onto Ederick's coat as the two were thrown about in the powerful winds. The force of the air against his face was incredible, making it difficult to breathe. The bard's grasp on the Tides was weakening and he was in danger of losing what little control he did have. He had no idea how long they were there, tossed about like leaves in a tornado, but he knew he had to get out before something terrible happened to them. He forced the power of the Sigils to open another portal between worlds, and they fell through. They were still falling when they emerged from a portal that delivered them back to earth--ten feet in the air. Their fall was broken, somewhat, by a stand of fir trees but hitting the ground still hurt. Bart rolled onto his knees and struggled to his feet, his side in terrible pain from the fall. He wasn't sure where they were and he wanted to be ready to fight in case they were back in the Tower of the Hand.

He stood for a moment, breathing hard and fighting back the pain. Ederick was unconscious; either from the fall or from his ordeal in the Tower--Bart didn't know which. Nothing else seemed amiss. He truly had no idea where on Llars they were because he had opened the portal in haste, the urgency hampered his skill. They were on the slope of a hill in the midst of a forest of mixed evergreens and hardwoods and there was thin layer of snow on the ground.

Seeing no threats, he looked about for anything that might provide them with shelter for the night. The air was very cold and he fought hard against the fatigue that always came after an intense use of the Tides. Farther up the slope of the hill he spied a cave and went to go and check it out, hoping that the knight might awaken by that time. The climb was arduous and Bart desperately wanted to lie down. The cave opening was small, and it was hard to see in the darkness of the forest. He went deeper into the cave and found that it narrowed somewhat but it went deep into the hillside. He was hopeful that the deeper the cave went into the mountain, the more stable the temperature would be. He didn't want to leave Ederick alone for too long in such a strange place so he didn't follow the cave back as far as he would have liked.