The Cavalier

Four

New Friends



Jonas awoke to a gentle nudge on his shoulder. Fil was kneeling next to him, his finger to his mouth warning Jonas to be silent. Jonas’s sleepiness vanished quickly as he saw Fil’s worried expression.

“What is it?” whispered Jonas, quietly sitting up.

“A caravan just came up to the crossroads and set up camp,” whispered Fil.

“A caravan? How long have I been asleep?” Jonas asked.

“Not long,” replied Fil. “What do you want to do?”

Jonas got up and buckled on his belt and hunting knife. “Let’s go take a look, see if they appear friendly. Did you get a good look at them?” he asked as he grabbed his bow.

“No, but it looks like a merchant caravan,” responded Fil who also buckled on his sword belt and retrieved his bow.

They crept silently through the woods until they neared the crossroads. It was dark, but the clear sky and the bright stars lit the road well. They hid in the trees, blanketed by the shadows of the night, trying to get a good look at the newcomers.

The caravan consisted of twenty wagons pulled by oxen. In the center of the crossroads was a huge fire surrounded by at least a dozen men. Their caravan was large and the only open space available was the road itself, besides, these roads were seldom traveled this time of the year so it was unlikely that they would come across any other travelers that night.

Fil and Jonas moved a little closer to get a better look. One large fire burned in the middle and they saw several smaller fires that were spread out on the road. There were about fifteen men at arms, wearing armor and swords, and equally that number of horses tied to the wagons. Spying on the group they saw a handful of men who wore traveling clothes of high quality and carried no weapons. They did indeed look like traders.

“You’re right, looks like a merchant caravan,” Jonas whispered in Fil’s ear.

“I agree. What do you want to do? Should we ask them if we can join their fire?” asked Fil.

“Let’s get a little closer to one of the smaller fires,” suggested Jonas.

Fil nodded his head in acknowledgement and they crept silently around the big fire to one of the smaller fires that was separated from the rest of the men. Nearing the glowing blaze they noticed that there was only one figure there, huddling close to the fire, sharpening a thin hunting knife. His face was hooded and they couldn’t make out the features underneath. It was dark, but they could see that he had a small, thin frame, and he wore a green traveling cloak, light green tunic, and huntsman boots laced up to the knee.

Suddenly the figure stopped sharpening the blade and lifted his head as if he heard something. Fil and Jonas stopped moving and looked on with interest. The pause was brief, and he started sharpening the blade again. They got to the edge of the wood line, about fifteen paces away, and studied the lone figure some more. He kept sharpening his thin curved blade, but after a few moments, without lifting his head, he spoke.

“Are you going to hide in the woods and stare at me or join me at my fire?” the stranger said in a soft melodic voice, finally lifting his head and turning towards Jonas and Fil. “Have no fear, I will not harm you.”

Jonas noticed that he was not a he after all, but a woman, with a soft and comforting voice. Jonas and Fil looked at each other uncertainly. They really had no choice now, she knew they were there. Jonas wasn’t sure how she could have known; they had been very quiet and were both decent at the art of woodcraft. Fil had developed his skill during the many years of hunting with his father, and Jonas had learned that he was a natural. Hunting and moving silently in the forest required great concentration and focus, and Jonas had learned over the last few months that he had both traits in great quantities.

Stepping from the darkness, Jonas and Fil slowly approached her. They walked into the light shed by the fire. The lady pulled off her hood so they could see her better. She still held her hunting knife at her side, unthreatening.

Jonas and Fil gasped inwardly, their breath catching in their throats. She was beautiful, with long blond hair cascading past her shoulders, a soft but angular face with a petite nose. Her lips were thin, but inviting, with just a touch of pink that contrasted beautifully with her smooth fair skin. But it was her eyes that really held them spellbound. They were larger than normal, oval in shape and sparkling with intelligence and fire.

Suddenly some of the men around the large fire noticed the newcomers. They quickly unsheathed their swords as they approached the lady’s fire. The men were led by a large bearded warrior with dark, deep set eyes.

“Who are you? What is your business here?” the warrior asked brusquely advancing on the boys.

“It’s okay, Cyn, they are harmless,” stated the blond woman. When she turned her head to speak to the warrior, Jonas noticed that her ears were pointed and protruding noticeably from her hair.

“You’re an elf?” he asked dumbstruck.

The lady looked back at him smiling. “I’m a half-elf. Now, please state your names and your reason for sneaking around our campfires so the good captain here will put away his sword,” she said with a hint of humor.

“I’m sorry lady, but we meant no offense. I am Jonas Kanrene and this is my friend, Fil Tanrey. We are from the mountain town of Manson.”

“I am no highborn lady, Jonas. You may call me Allindrian. Cyn, will you please put away your blade.”

Cyn looked at her and back at Jonas. “I know this town. Good stout people. How is Braal, the huntsman?” he asked, sheathing his sword.

“Dead,” Fil stated bluntly. “Our entire town is gone, destroyed by boargs.”

Everyone stared at Fil with surprised expressions, unsure if they heard him correctly.

“That is what brings us here, Allindrian, we have nothing left. We are trying to get to Finarth to join the king’s army,” Jonas added.

More men moved around the half-elf’s fire. A heavy set man wearing a dark traveling cloak stepped forward. His face was slightly round and his head was covered with short curly brown hair streaked with gray. The man smiled warmly at the two boys, holding out his hand in greeting.

“My name is Landon Bylock. I am a merchant and trader from Tarsis and this is my caravan.” He shook each of their hands. “It sounds like you boys have been through a lot. Why don’t you join us at the fire, take some food, and tell us this tale. How does that sound?” Landon’s genuine smile was comforting and Jonas couldn’t help but like him.

“We would like that, sir. Thank you for your generosity. It has been a while since we’ve had a good warm meal,” Jonas said.

Jonas and Fil sat around the large fire, eating a hot bowl of flavorful meaty stew, and drinking cold mountain water. Jonas felt awkward being the center of attention, but he was grateful for the food and the warm fire, and he felt at ease with these men. Tough warriors surrounded him, and for the first time in a long while he felt safe.

Jonas began the story. When he got to the part when Airos, the cavalier, appeared, Landon interrupted him.

“I have met Airos once before in Tarsis. He is a first rank cavalier, an amazing man, and almost as skilled as Allindrian with a sword. Where is he now?” asked Landon.

“He is dead, killed by a Banthra,” Jonas replied sadly. Landon was taken aback. Even Allindrian looked up with shock.

“What!” Landon asked. “That cannot be, he was unbeatable, and a Banthra you say? I cannot believe it!” Landon exclaimed in disbelief.

“Landon, let him finish the story,” interjected Allindrian. “Then we will try and make some sense out of this troubling news.”

“Yes, you’re quite right, Allindrian. It is just such a shock. Go ahead young man, finish your tale.”

Jonas looked at Fil who nodded his head for Jonas to continue. It took Jonas about twenty minutes to tell the tale. Fil interrupted often to fill in the gaps and finally he got to the part where the ogre had attacked their cave hideout. Fil looked at him uncertainly as he skipped over the part about the symbol on his chest, the warning he was given, and the healing that he received. In fact Jonas never mentioned that he was once a cripple. He didn’t know how they would react to him being God Marked, and quite frankly, he really didn’t know how to explain it. He thought it best to keep that hidden for now until he knew more about it himself.

“So, young Jonas, you dropped an ogre with your bow?” Cyn asked with a hint of disbelief.

“He did. He shot the ogre twice at sixty paces. One arrow hit the thing in the hip and the other in the back. Then he hit the beast a third time in the neck. That is when the ogre charged him and I came out of the cave. I didn’t know what to do so I ran at the beast with my spear as the creature charged Jonas like an angry bull. It was incredible. Jonas stopped, nocked another arrow, and dropped to his knee while the ogre charged. When the roaring beast got within ten paces, Jonas loosed the shaft which hit the beast in its open mouth. The ogre’s head snapped back and the thing stumbled around. That is when I came up behind it and stabbed it with my spear. The ogre was already dying though. He just stumbled around and then fell face first into the snow. It was amazing. He saved my life,” Fil stated proudly.

The warriors around the campfire looked at each other, their expressions revealing a newfound respect for the young boys.

“That is quite a feat, young man; to face a charging ogre with a bow. You have steady nerves. You should be proud; both of you should be,” Cyn spoke, his shadowed eyes looking at them with respect.

Landon then spoke up. “You boys have told an amazing story and my heart is heavy for your loss. This is news that must be brought to King Gavinsteal of Finarth. Airos’s death is a huge loss to us all…and a Banthra attacking your town, it makes no sense. I guess the rumors are true then,” he said sadly.

“What rumors, sir?” asked Jonas.

“The rumors that Malbeck the Dark One is back and that a new evil is spreading south from the Black Lands and Banrith Castle. If your story is true, and a Banthra attacked your town, whatever the reason was, the Dark One must be back. Tarsis borders the Black Lands and Banrith. The fortress of Malbeck has been trouble for the royal family of Tarsis for thousands of years.” Landon noticed the boys’ confused look. “Do you not know the story of Malbeck the Dark One?” he asked, seeing the boy’s bewildered expressions.

“We know very little. We are from a small mountain town, sir. We all struggled to survive every day and had little time for stories of the past. I know of the Dark One, but not anything of detail,” stated Fil.

“I see, well, I will have to remedy that. A thousand years ago, the ruler of Banrith Castle was Malbeck Dysander who was a ruthless king. He taxed his people heavily, ruling with an iron fist. Slavery, rape, and murder were commonplace in his kingdom. He became a follower of Gould, as the dark god’s creed resembled his own. Besides, he hunted for power, and Gould could provide what he wanted,” Landon continued as more than one man around the campfire made the sign of the High One on his chest at the mention of Gould, the tormentor. “Gould gave him power but molded him into his servant. Many years came and went and Malbeck grew in power. He was not recognizable any more. Gould’s magic had twisted his mind and body into something else, something dark, a demon capable of wielding god magic.”

“What is the difference in god magic and mage magic?” asked Jonas.

“I’ll speak to that, good merchant,” interjected Allindrian. “God magic is magic freely given from a god or saint. The magic is given to a devout follower to further the cause of the god that grants the power. The elves call the energy of all things the Ru’Ach and we believe that everything you see is made from this energy. Human belief is different and I will not get into that now, but, in the case of Malbeck, he was fed magic from the most powerful of the Forsworn, which is Gould.” Again the men all made the warding mark of the High One. Allindrian noticed Jonas and Fil staring at the men when they made the four pointed mark on their chest. “It is believed by some that just mentioning Gould’s name, or Naz-reen, goddess of the dark and killing, or Dykreel, god of torture and pain, that you open your heart and soul to their powers. The three together are called the Forsworn.”

“Is that true? The opening your heart part?” asked Fil.

“It can be. You see, Fil, there are men of pure heart and soul that cannot be corrupted by the mere mentioning of a name, but these men are few. Airos was one, incorruptible by evil, but almost all men have a speck of darkness in them, a part of them that, under the right circumstances, can let in that evil…anger, jealousy, envy, greed; emotions that can slowly let in the vile filth until the dark poison has completely taken over. Everyone has to be on constant guard for this poison. Naz-reen is the best at this. She uses intrigue and plot over many years to slowly turn the hearts of men black, so they may come to serve her.”

“Airos told me that my soul was pure,” Jonas said softly as he remembered the conversation he had had with Airos.

Allindrian looked at him with wonder. She stared deeply into his eyes for a few moments as if she were searching for something. Jonas looked away; he could not stare at her without blushing. “That is indeed something, Jonas,” Allindrian finally said. “Airos would not be able to lie, and he did have the power to look into the hearts of men. You are indeed a special young man, for having a pure soul is rare, very rare indeed.”

There was a long pause before Fil interrupted the silence. “What is regular magic then, Allindrian?” he asked.

Allindrian broke her gaze from Jonas and looked at Fil before answering. “Mage magic comes from nature, from the Ru’Ach, which is everything around us. Everything you see has energy, the trees, grass, rocks, stars…..everything.” Allindrian held out her hand and murmured a few quick words. Blue fire leaped from her hand, flickering a foot in the air. Fil and Jonas jumped back in surprise. “This is mage magic.”

“You are a sorceress?” asked Jonas in awe. He had never before seen magic.

“Yes, I have some magical power, but not much. I have spent my life studying combat, and if you want to become powerful in magic you must devote your life to the study. Most cannot do it and that is why wizards are very rare. Kings may have court wizards but a powerful mage is rare indeed. My elven blood has made it easier to learn magic, for elves are more connected to nature than are humans. There are words of power that give magic users access to the energy of the Ru’Ach.” She closed her hand and the leaping blue flame disappeared. “Since elves are the oldest of the races, we have a stronger link to the Ru’Ach. Our ancient language gives us access to the river of power. Elven wizards, or ekahals, get their power from the Ru’Ach. The ancient elves created magic from the Ru’Ach and all forms of magic use come from the skills that they developed thousands of lifetimes ago. It is not the power that is good or evil, but the person that directs the magic. Certain words and careful study give magic users access to the source of power, which is the Ru’Ach. Elves use the true source, the ancient elven language that is heavily guarded and not taught to outsiders. The common elven tongue is a dialect that we use in daily life. Humans and demi-humans that wield magic use different varieties of this technique by twisting different dialects of the elven language with the common languages. Powerful wizards have studied these languages for years and have unlocked the power of the Ru’Ach. Wizards are always trying to steal words of power from the elven ekahals, who are the most powerful wizards in Kraawn. The term to describe this theft is called Nis’Tai, which means ‘dishonorable’.”

“So Malbeck used god magic to try and conquer the lands of Kraawn many years ago?” asked Fil.

“Yes,” replied Landon. “He also used god magic to create the six Banthras and other lesser minions. He trapped a group of cavaliers who had attempted to enter Banrith and destroy him. The legend goes that he spent years corrupting and twisting their bodies into his most powerful warriors.”

“How could one man trap six powerful cavaliers?” Fil asked.

“I do not know exactly,” answered Landon. “I have heard that when they entered his lair, where Gould’s power was the strongest, that they were somehow shielded from their own god’s power. But I don’t know if anyone knows the truth of it.”

“But if their hearts were pure, how did he corrupt them?” asked Jonas.

“That is a good question,” replied Allindrian. “Unfortunately we do not really know how he did it. As I said before, almost all men have a speck of darkness in them. Maybe their hearts were not totally pure. Maybe their energy left their bodies and left a corruptible shell behind. We do not know. All we know is that a Banthra is almost undefeatable, only a powerful cavalier would have a chance at killing one.”

“Airos killed one,” stated Fil.

“Airos was a first rank cavalier. He was the best. There are only a few first rank cavaliers left now that he is dead. As I said, his death is a huge loss to all that is good,” Landon added solemnly.

“So, what are the rumors of Malbeck’s return? How was he defeated and how could he be back now after so many years?” Jonas asked.

Landon let out a deep breath and smiled at the inquisitive boy. “That is a long story, young man, a story for another day. Besides, I do not know all the answers to your questions. My caravan is going to Finarth. We are two weeks out and it would be my pleasure to have you both as my guests. Would you like to travel with us?” the heavyset merchant asked, smiling warmly. Jonas and Fil looked at each other, eagerly nodding in agreement.

“We thank you, sir, for your generosity, and would very much like to be your guests,” Jonas responded with a smile.

“That is good news,” replied Landon standing up from the fire. “Now, let’s get some sleep and save some of our stories for the trip to Finarth.”

Everyone stood and went about getting ready to lie down for the night.

Allindrian smiled at the boys; her perfect white teeth sparkling in the moonlight. “Come with me, ogre slayers, you may sleep at my fire,” the half-elf said with a grin, moving back to her fire away from the others. They followed her and laid down their bedrolls by the flickering flames, basking in the warmth of the little blaze. As Jonas wrapped himself in his wool blanket he looked up at Allindrian who went back to sharpening her knife.

“Landon said that Airos was almost as good as you with a blade. That must mean that you are a very skilled warrior,” stated Jonas.

Allindrian smiled at him and her eyes sparkled with something that Jonas recognized as pure confidence in her abilities.

“Will you teach us?” asked Jonas.

“We shall talk in the morning, young Jonas. Now get some sleep. You have had a long day.”

Jonas smiled at the lovely warrior and stretched out on his back. He looked up at the sparkling stars, sighed, and closed his eyes. For once things seemed to be going their way. They were with a group of armed men who were willing to take them to Finarth and he was sleeping next to a beautiful half-elf warrior who might teach him how to use a sword. It could be worse he thought, as fatigue overcame him and he fell asleep.

***

The first week with the caravan went by quickly, and Jonas and Fil soon fell right in step with the hardy travelers. Landon was a gracious host, allowing the boys to eat with him at night and sharing with them tasty exotic foods, spices, and drink they had never sampled before. One was a thick dark drink that was sweet and bitter at the same time. Landon had said that it was made from sugar, water, and a mixture that was a combination of spices and a ground substance that he called cacao, which came from a bean-like seed in a far off land. They spoke often with the warriors who warmed up to the boys quickly. The men at arms asked them many questions about their recent ordeal and the violence they had faced seemed to help them form a bond with the tough men.

Jonas and Fil wanted to do their part to help with the work on the caravan, for they were taught never to accept charity when they had two good hands and legs. Jonas took that lesson very seriously since it was not long ago that he didn’t have two good hands and legs. They helped with the oxen and horses, cleaning and brushing them, and feeding and watering them at night. During the day they would bring food and water to the mercenaries who Landon paid to guard his caravan. They enjoyed and took pride in their work as they slowly meandered out of the Tundrens and into the Finarthian hills.

Allindrian mostly kept to herself, tracking up ahead for hours at a time and suddenly appearing out of nowhere to give reports. The boys learned that she was a ranger, trained by the elves in Mel’un-riam, the elven kingdom located far to the west, and north of the Gadrian Mountains.

Allindrian did agree to show them some basic sword fighting skills, just enough to get them started on their own so they wouldn’t be massacred if they needed to fight. It was exhausting work, but they were both excited and thrilled and took to the challenge with teeth-gritting resolve. Allindrian was a stern instructor who started their training late in the evening after they had eaten and didn’t stop until the sun’s rays dipped behind the tall mountain peaks. They used stout sticks, about as long as a long sword, to spar with.

Four days into their march to Finarth, Fil, Jonas, and Allindrian were sparring in a clearing by their camp. “You must get your arms stronger, Fil,” Allindrian admonished calmly as she sidestepped his clumsy stroke, smacking him on his left shoulder. Fil stumbled to the ground exhausted, but slowly got back up to his feet, panting heavily. “Swordsmen must first master their strength, not their blade. A strong back, stomach, and arms will allow faster and more powerful strokes, and those muscles are also needed to maintain balance. Your lungs must be strong in order to fight long drawn out battles. And we must not neglect the mind; it is the strongest muscle of all. A confident warrior, who thinks not of defeat, but of victory, is a warrior to reckon with. But you should start with strengthening your body first, and your mind will follow. It is like a home built of wood. The outside may look beautiful, but if the foundation and frame are not strong then it will weather poorly and fall down in a heavy storm.”

“Our bodies are the foundation?” asked Fil, readying his stick again, assuming the start position that she had taught him.

“Precisely. It matters not how many fancy moves you have. If you are not strong and fast with powerful lungs, then you will be killed in battle if you face opponents that have mastered their mind and body,” Allindrian added as they began to slowly circle each other, their sticks held before them.

Fil was tired and sweating heavily, but Allindrian was calm, seemingly unaffected by the constant dueling. She struck out quickly and Fil parried the stroke, trying the parry she had taught him. Again he was not quick enough and her stick was a blur, deflecting the defensive move and smacking him heavily on his wrist. With a grunt he dropped the stick.

Jonas, who had been watching the session, grimaced as her stick made a solid thud as it struck Fil’s wrist. Fil bit back the pain, grabbing the stick from the ground.

“That is enough for now, Fil. Well done. Now, Jonas, it is your turn,” Allindrian smiled as she faced him. Jonas stepped into the circle and held up his stick.

In just four days of training, Fil and Jonas had made good progress. They mastered a few training positions, parries, and offensive moves. Their arms were not yet accustomed to the movements that they were learning and they often went to bed at night with sore muscles and bruises from Allindrian’s stick. They would hear the warriors laugh every time Allindrian smacked them hard on the body, but, even after a few days, it became apparent that Jonas was much better than Fil with a sword, even if it was just a stick. He was quick and agile, and he did not tire as fast as Fil. The constant running, walking, and climbing he had been doing for the last two months had made Jonas’s muscles strong and fast.

Jonas thrived on the physical exertion, often staying up late into the night quietly going through the forms she had taught him. He began to do various exercises to strengthen his arms, stomach, and legs. Allindrian taught him certain movements that he could do alone to build muscle. A tree limb could be employed to pull his body up until his chin was level with the branch or he would lie on his back, lifting his legs off the ground and holding them steady until his stomach burned from the exertion.

This time Jonas hoped to score a touch on Allindrian. He knew that she wasn’t really trying, and he wanted to capitalize on that and surprise her with a quick touch. Jonas decided to launch an offensive attack first, before he was too tired and covered with bruises. He moved in quickly with the point of his stick, hoping to bait her to block the false attack. Allindrian swung her stick down to do just that, but Jonas rolled his stick under the parry, trying to smack Allindrian’s exposed right thigh.

He thought he had her but she suddenly wasn’t even there. She had flipped her stick from her right to her left hand and, effortlessly stepping her leg back from his attack, she swung down, smacking him hard on the right thigh, harder than normal thought Jonas. He jumped back ignoring the instinct to rub his stinging leg.

“Good idea, Jonas. That was a well-executed roll,” Allindrian praised him with a slight smile.

The three practiced hard for a while, Allindrian teaching them various moves and forms until the sun dipped its head behind the snow covered peaks forcing them to stop.

“Good work. You are both doing well. I am impressed with your dedication. Keep working on the forms and your strength and you’ll become swordsmen yet.” Allindrian had barely broken a sweat. She grinned at the two young men, who smiled broadly at her praise.

Allindrian tossed her stick to Jonas who grabbed it out of the air. The ranger smiled warmly at them both and then leaped into the darkness, melting into the forest as if she was never there.

Fil and Jonas blinked, thinking that it was the flickering firelight that was playing tricks with their eyes.

“I hate it when she does that,” remarked Fil with wonder.

“Someday, I want to be that fast,” responded Jonas.

***

The morning dawned with the promise of a beautiful spring day. The chilling mountain air was slowly being beaten down by the warm spring breeze flowing across the Finarthian hills. The rolling hills were astonishing. They were blanketed with pockets of budding oak trees and elms and the green meadows were specked with blooming mountain flowers. White spring beauties and indigo bluebells were spattered like paint on a green canvas.

Jonas rode ahead of the column on one of Landon’s horses. The burly captain, Cyn, rode next to him on his huge warhorse. They were both scouting ahead and Jonas was hoping to spot a nice buck so he could bring some venison to the table.

He still felt uncomfortable on a horse, never having had the opportunity to ride one, and Jonas was constantly shifting in the saddle as he tried to move with the horse’s gait. Cyn looked over at him; his sharp eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You haven’t ridden much, eh?” he stated bluntly.

Jonas sat uncomfortably with his bow resting across his lap. “No, I never have. My family was poor and we had no horses. Does it show that much?”

Cyn smiled at Jonas. “Make sure you don’t ride too long or by morning your legs and backside will be so sore you won’t be able to walk. You have to slowly get your body used to the movement. Be firm with the animal; make sure he knows who’s in control.” Cyn’s eyes scanned the forest and grasslands around them.

“What are you worried about?” asked Jonas, noticing Cyn’s constant vigilance.

“Nothing in particular, but it is my job to worry. Master Landon pays me well to make sure his caravan makes it to market. There are always brigands and bandits roaming the countryside for easy prey.”

“How long have you worked for Landon?” Jonas asked.

“About five years now. I was a soldier in the Annurien army before I was discharged for hitting a superior officer. I went looking for work and roamed the lands for three years before I found myself in Tarsis, where I met Landon.”

“Why did you hit your officer?” asked Jonas, curiosity getting the best of his manners.

“I was the captain of a unit that was fighting in a skirmish against the Oshanti tribe, near the edge of the Sithgarin Desert. We were outnumbered two to one and being flanked on both sides. I ordered my men to retreat but my commanding officer, a first rank captain, ordered us to stay while he retreated with a second force. My men and I held the Oshanti back while my commanding officer retreated to safety. Finally, knowing that if we continued fighting we would all be killed, I ordered a full out retreat. I led a hundred men into battle and only fifteen came out of that disaster alive. If we had been allowed to retreat earlier, I would have saved more than half my men. My anger turned to rage as I led my wounded and exhausted men back to camp. I walked into the captain’s tent. ‘You should have told me you’d planned a suicide mission for my troops,’ I said, and then I struck him in the face as hard as I could. I broke his jaw and knocked out some of his teeth. Nothing has felt so good in all my life,” Cyn smiled, lighting up his normally stern and battle scarred face.

“They kicked you out for that? Sounds like he had it coming,” Jonas said.

“Assaulting a higher ranking officer is punishable by death. There must be strict discipline in an army if you want the soldiers to follow orders. I was saved from execution because this dung-eating aristocrat had made similar mistakes before. The king, King Olegaurd, pardoned me, but I was discharged from the army.”

“Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Not much in life is fair, young huntsman, but I believe you are learning that the hard way.”

Jonas and Cyn rode for a while in silence, scanning the countryside for brigands and deer. Hopefully, thought Jonas, they would only find the latter.

“So how good is Allindrian, really? I mean in comparison to other master swordsmen?” asked Jonas.

Cyn smiled broadly at Jonas, exposing his chipped front teeth. “I have never seen her equal. Elves are notoriously great swordsmen, but I believe that Allindrian may even be better than most full-blooded elves, although I have met few elves in my life so I may be wrong. She is a Blade Singer, Jonas. Do you know what that is?”

“No, what is it?”

“A Blade Singer is an elf who has practiced the craft of sword fighting beyond what humans can comprehend. Very few are given the honor of going through the training, although I have no idea what that entails as it is kept a secret. They are given the name because when they fight it is like a dance, and their sword makes a singing noise as it spins through the air. They are trained in their craft for hundreds of years. When they have completed the training, they are given the rank of Blade Singer. It is a great honor, and their skills are never taught to an outsider. The sword she carries is evidence of her rank, for only a Blade Singer carries that particular sword. Some fight with two, but I have only heard tales and have never seen it with my own eyes. The weapons are crafted specifically for each warrior when they graduate through the training.”

“Hundreds of years? How is that?” asked Jonas.

“Elves live very long lives. I am not sure why though. I believe that a full blooded elf can live several thousand years,” responded Cyn. “Allindrian is half-elf and I’ve heard they don’t live as long, maybe several hundred years, but I’m not really sure.”

“But she is teaching us to fight, isn’t that against the rules?”

“No,” laughed Cyn. “She is not teaching you elven secrets but merely stances and moves that are taught to all beginning swordsmen.”

“If they guard those secrets carefully, then why did they teach them to a half-elf? Wouldn’t they be reserved for a full blooded elf?” asked Jonas.

“No, elves do not hold disdain for mixed bloods. It is not welcomed or sought after, but if it happens, the elven community fully accepts the half-breed, bringing them into their society. But they are not allowed to marry a pure blood or bear children, so that the elven blood will not be diluted further. If they choose to marry an outsider, then they would be banned forever from the elven lands. I do not know anything about Allindrian’s family. She keeps to herself most of the time.”

“So why is she here, with the caravan?”

“You like to ask questions, don’t you, boy?” Cyn commented amiably.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jonas grinned sheepishly, “but I’ve lived in a desolate mountain cabin my whole life and this is all so fascinating. I want to learn about the lands and our history, to learn to fight and protect.” Jonas wanted to tell the warrior his whole story but decided that now was not the time. He would keep his secret hidden a little longer anyway.

“Worry not, son. I understand. I was not being critical. The elves of Mel’un-riam send Blade Singers out from the forests of Aur-urien to gather information on the happenings of the lands around them, and to combat threats to its people. Their goal is to help maintain balance. They also act as ambassadors for the elven kingdom. They are similar to cavaliers in a sense. Cavaliers are sent by their gods to areas that need their help. Blade Singers randomly roam the lands looking for areas of intrigue, strife, or political unrest. They represent their elven queen throughout the surrounding lands. There are very few Blade Singers, as it is extremely difficult to pass the tests and the training. You should feel lucky to have met Allindrian. She befriended Landon several years ago and has been traveling with us ever since. The lands are alive with unrest now with the rumors of Malbeck’s return. There are stories of orcs and goblins amassing in the Black Lands and the Mazgar Forest. Maybe she feels she can learn a lot with us since we travel the many roads of Kraawn so frequently. I am happy her sword is with us. We are much safer because of it.”

“You mentioned the elven queen. Do they not have a king?” asked Jonas.

“Yes, they do. His name is Skywise Ell-Runore, protector of the Aur-urien Forest. But my understanding is that all female elves have an affinity with their queen and that she alone directs and controls the Blade Singers. I do not know any details of elven politics. They keep to themselves mostly and I’ve only met a few in my life, and what I’m telling you is more or less conjecture that I’ve heard from others.” Cyn looked down noticing the pommel of Jonas’s hunting knife protruding from his tunic at his side. “That is quite a hunting knife for a young huntsman who lived a secluded life,” he stated bluntly.

Jonas felt a little uncomfortable, knowing how his story might sound, but he figured the truth was always the best answer. “It’s not mine, or it wasn’t mine anyway.”

“I gathered that. I noticed that knife earlier. I can’t see the blade but the pommel is no ordinary pommel and it is not the knife of a mere hunter. Any soldier can see that.” The sound of their horse’s hooves on the merchant road filled the pause in the conversation as Jonas chose his words.

“It belonged to the cavalier, Airos. I found it on the battlefield by his body. It was too beautiful to leave in the snow and blood, amongst the dead.” Jonas looked up at Cyn. “Should I not have taken it? Should I give it to Landon, or Allindrian, or you? What should I do with it?” asked Jonas.

Cyn smiled, chuckling to himself. “It’s okay, son. You did nothing wrong. It would have been a waste to leave that weapon there. Keep it, or maybe return it to the High One’s temple in Finarth, it’s up to you. I hold no misgivings if you want to keep it. Do you mind if I see it?”

“Not at all,” replied Jonas, sliding the blade from the leather sheath and handing it to Cyn. The silver blade shone brightly in the midday sun as Cyn inspected it.

“Amazing weapon. It looks elvish. It must be worth a dragon’s horde. I would not readily display it when we enter the city,” Cyn advised as he handed the blade back to Jonas.

“When I met Airos, he had the High One’s mark on both his hands. My mother said it means that he was a master swordsman. Is that true?”

“It is. I had heard of Airos before, but I never met him in my travels. He was a first rank cavalier, the highest rank in their order. I believe there are only a few first rank cavaliers in the lands of Kraawn. His death is a huge loss and it must be reported to the King in Finarth immediately. If he had a mark on both his hands that meant that he was a master swordsman with both hands, ambidextrous, very rare. He was the best, maybe even a match for a Blade Singer, as you heard Landon say.”

“Do you have to be a cavalier to get marked as a master swordsman?” asked Jonas.

“No, not necessarily, it depends on the mark. Some armies offer master rank marks that represent their imperial standards. They are all wizard marks, which makes them very expensive. Some kings give them out to soldiers that pass the master swordsman tests. It is very rare though; to pass the test is difficult and few have the tenacity to train as hard and long as it takes to get that mark. If a cavalier gains the mark then they are God Marked by their god’s symbol. I have only met four people with the master swordsman marks. One man is a general in the Annurien army, one was a Halyean cavalier out of Onith, in the west, and another is the master at arms in Finarth, along with Prince Nelstrom.”

“Onith? Halyean? I have never heard of them.”

“Onith is the capital of King Olek Landibar’s lands, far to the west, over the Tundren Mountains. Halyean is the god of sea, the main deity worshiped in the port cities that riddle the Algard coast. It is believed that Halyean is Ulren’s brother, but do not take my word for it, the gods are not my strong point.”

“What are the tests?” asked Jonas.

“Why?” Cyn laughed. “Do you want to become a master swordsman?”

Jonas paused. “Yes, I do,” he said firmly.

Cyn looked at him, shaking his head with a smile. “I see you are determined. It is a fine goal, but a very lofty one. Make sure you are prepared for failure as well as success,” he replied.

“What do you mean?” asked Jonas.

“They do not give the mark out freely. You must pledge your allegiance to a kingdom to get the training, or join the school for cavaliers, which is no easy task. Most young men who want to become a cavalier never even make it past the initiation phase, for there are tests of heart and courage that most men cannot pass.”

“If that is my destiny I will pass them,” Jonas said, his tone firm and confident.

Cyn glanced at Jonas, nodding his head in understanding. “You know young huntsman, part of me thinks that you might,” he said smiling. “Now enough talk. I feel like I’m traveling with a woman.”

Jonas laughed. They rode on in silence, taking in the beauty of the countryside, each immersed in their own thoughts.

***

On the ninth day they set up camp next to a little stream that flowed under the bridged road to meander through a flowering meadow. A large stand of trees flanked them on the left and the grassy meadow made for a soft welcoming campsite. Landon stepped down from his wagon looking for Allindrian. One of the mercenary guards saw him and rode up to him on his horse.

“You were looking for Allindrian, sir?” asked the blond haired warrior.

“Yes, Janson, have you seen her?”

“She has been scouting for several hours now. She should be back soon.”

“Very well, we’ll set up camp here.”

“Very good, sir,” the warrior responded with a nod and rode off to help facilitate the camp’s set up. The wagons, all twenty of them, were set up in a semi-circle with the mercenaries forming the other half of the circle. Inside the perimeter were Landon and the other workers and merchants. Fil and Jonas slept in the middle with Landon.

Fil strode up to Jonas as he was adding wood to a fire. “Hey, Jonas,” he said, casually sitting down to warm his hands by the flames.

“Aye,” replied Jonas.

They sat together quietly for a while, enjoying the warmth of the fire as the rest of the men finished erecting the tents and getting the cooking pots going.

“You still plan on joining the Finarthian army?” asked Jonas, breaking the silence.

“I do,” Fil replied looking up at Jonas. “I have nothing left anyway. My choices are limited. I talked with Landon about it and he said that King Gavinsteal is a good king and that he would be a good ruler to fight for. He also said that King Kromm from Tarsis is a ruler worthy of my vows and that he is a mighty warrior king who is unbeatable in battle. But we are heading to Finarth now, so I think I will give King Gavinsteal my allegiance.” Fil tossed a stick into the fire and looked at Jonas, who was obviously in thought. “What’s on your mind, Jonas? Are you changing your mind about joining with me?”

Jonas looked up at the question. “No…I don’t know. I was thinking,” he hesitated, “about maybe going to Annure and trying to be a cavalier.”

Fil leaned back, startled by the response. “A cavalier? Do you know how hard it is to become a cavalier? Few are accepted and even fewer make it through the training.”

“I know. I talked to Cyn about it. You could come with me. We could try together. I know we could do it, Fil,” Jonas said, trying to convince himself as much as Fil.

“No, not me, I’ve never had much faith in the gods, Jonas, and I certainly have less now, considering what has happened to us.”

“You blame the gods for what happened to us?”

“Yes I blame them. Our entire town was massacred, Jonas, and for what?” Fil said angrily. “We did nothing to deserve this and the gods did nothing to stop it. I will not put my faith in gods who do not earn it.”

“The gods sent Airos to help us, and he died trying to save us. He was a first rank cavalier, Fil. The gods use cavaliers like Airos for their most important missions. They tried to help us. Our town was destroyed and our families killed, but don’t forget that Airos killed a Banthra, no small feat in itself and definitely a blow to the evil that is threatening our lands. You can’t blame the gods for actions of evil men and beasts,” Jonas said with conviction.

“That may be, but I just don’t have the faith. I’m sorry. And faith is definitely something you need to be a cavalier. If you want to attempt to become one, then you’ll have to do it on your own.”

They sat in silence for a few moments and then Fil stood up from the fire. “Let’s get some food”.

***

That night Jonas’s sleep was plagued by nightmares, boargs were again attacking their town, men and women were being torn to pieces. He could hear the horrifying screams of his friends and family which seemed to go on endlessly. In his restless sleep he twitched and kicked next to the smoldering fire.

Suddenly he felt a searing pain in his chest. It felt like hundreds of tiny needles stabbing his skin. He bolted upright, his left hand absently rubbing his stinging chest as he tried to calm himself down, his heavy breathing resonating in the deathly silent night.

He glanced quickly around the camp to see if anyone had noticed him. Why was his chest stinging again? Was it another warning? He looked around trying to shake off the fogginess of sleep that wouldn’t disappear.

Something seemed amiss. The air was heavy, almost suffocating. Everyone was sleeping soundlessly and a thick fog was slowly drifting around the camp. It was too still. The usual night sounds were absent. Animals, birds, insects; all were silent.

He got up slowly, grabbing his hunting knife. It was dark, and clouds had moved in to cover the bright moon and stars. He could barely see anything, but the burning embers of the fires reflected a reddish glow on the immediate surroundings. Something was wrong, he could feel it. He felt sluggish and frightened; the fog was floating around them like a wraith as he moved from fire to fire noticing that everyone was sleeping, including the guards who were supposed to keep watch.

The darkness seemed to get heavier and his body felt slow and lethargic. He felt disorientated and his mind whirled with dizziness. Then his chest burst with pain again, a stinging pain that hammered the dizziness away and he began to think clearly.

Something was out there, in the darkness, and it was not good. He had been warned again, like the day with the ogre. Silently he ran to Allindrian’s campfire and found her sleeping soundly as well, her silver sword lying across her body. Kneeling down he quietly shook her, but she wouldn’t wake up. He shook her again and finally her eyes slowly opened.

“Allindrian, something is happening. Wake up,” Jonas whispered, shaking her harder. Her eyes were drifting around until finally they focused on Jonas and she leaped clumsily to her feet, wobbling slightly as if she were drugged. She shook her head to try and clear her mind, then finally she looked back at Jonas and he could tell that she was fully awake, her eyes were alert and they focused with intensity as she realized what was happening.

“Ul anthar Luminos!” Allindrian shouted, holding her hand in the air. From her fist flared a brilliant light that illuminated the entire camp and the meadow beyond. Jonas looked out into the darkness and his breath caught in his throat.

The scene he saw sent a chill down is spine. In the darkness around the camp a group of hulking boargs slowly crept towards them. They had been using the cover of darkness and fog to slowly creep through the meadow and slay them in their sleep.

Allindrian flung the bright globe into the air where it stayed suspended ten paces above the camp. She drew her silver sword, its innate elven magic glowing brightly in the dark night. “Men, awake and fight! We are under attack!” Allindrian yelled, leaping toward the boargs fearlessly.

The camp quickly awakened, the battle hardened mercenaries shaking off the grogginess and rising to the occasion. The boargs attacked quickly and with ferocious abandon. The four warriors who were keeping watch on the perimeter were torn apart like rag dolls. They died horrible deaths as they slowly awoke from whatever dark magic made them fall asleep.

The screams of the dying men were enough to wake all the men, and soon everyone was fighting for their lives. The attack fell upon them so quickly that there was no time for organization or discipline. Lacking a proper formation, they just had time to grab their weapons and stand up before the ruthless boargs were upon them.

The screams of the fighting urged Jonas on, freeing him from the initial fear. With great speed he vaulted onto the seat of Landon’s wagon where he kept his bow. Standing up high on the wagon seat, he nocked an arrow, searching for a target. He saw Allindrian leap from boarg to boarg, her silver blade spinning, leaving a glowing blur in its path as it carved into the monsters. He heard the blade whistle and sing as Allindrian cut a path of death through a group of boargs. The song of her blade brought courage to his heart and his shaking arm stilled as he sought an enemy.

The ferocious animals sought her tiny form with their deadly claws and teeth, but she maneuvered through them easily, avoiding their attacks and delivering elven steel with practiced precision. Jonas was almost mesmerized by her dance. He had never seen anything like it. She moved like a dancer, her blade singing through the air with impossible speed. The screams of the dying tore his gaze away from her as he quickly resumed his search for a target.

He saw Cyn swinging his huge broad sword back and forth, trying to hold two boargs at bay as his men moved in to help. Jonas sighted in the boarg to Cyn’s right and let the shaft fly, quickly nocking another arrow. The shaft hit the boarg in the chest, wounding it enough to give Cyn a quick reprieve, which he used to his advantage.

The boarg stumbled back as a second arrow slammed into its chest. Cyn then focused on the other boarg, swinging his mighty sword down on top of its shoulder just as it was about to leap upon him. His blade sunk in deep, cleaving through heart and lungs.

The second boarg, badly injured by Jonas’s arrows, clumsily swung its massive arm at Cyn. It was a killing blow, but Cyn, sensing it coming, ducked beneath it. He lunged forward and lanced the boarg through the abdomen, jerking the blade hard to his right, opening up the beast’s belly. The animal howled horribly, leaping back, clutching its gruesome wound, trying to keep its entrails from falling out onto the grass at its feet.

A darkness began to overwhelm Jonas again as he searched the battle scene, looking for a target. Some vile magic was assaulting them a second time. He felt like he wanted to run, his heart began to beat quickly, and the bow began to shake in his hands. The men felt it as well and many began to back up, frightened looks painted across their faces.

Then from the darkness at the edge of the lit clearing, a black horse rode forward carrying a dark rider. The warrior, clad in dark armor, carried a short black spear made of grey metal and his red cape billowed in the air as he galloped into the clearing, scattering boargs and warriors alike. He emanated fear and evil, permeating the men with despair wherever he rode.

The dark knight pointed his spear at a soldier near him and uttered “Atta-Guthor!” The spear head crackled with energy sending a bolt of lightning into the man, launching him into the air and burning a hole right through his chest.

Jonas shook his head, trying to clear it, so he could focus on the evil warrior. He nocked an arrow, lifting his bow, his arms shaking badly. “Give me strength, Shyann,” Jonas whispered to himself, trying to aim the shaking bow. In moments his arms steadied and his mind began to clear. He saw the warrior clearly now as he ripped the magical spear from the chest of another mercenary. Jonas fired his arrow and saw the shaft strike the warrior in the shoulder. The arrow deflected off his black armor.

The evil warrior turned towards Jonas, laughing wickedly. He lifted his vile weapon and uttered the same words, “Atta-Guthor!” The bolt of lightning flashed through the air and struck Jonas in the chest, sending him flying backwards to land heavily on his back at the base of the wagon.

Allindrian, who had just withdrawn her sword from the chest of a dead boarg, saw the bolt hit Jonas. “No!” she screamed. She flashed her blade across the throat of the last boarg that was between her and the evil warrior. Blood erupted from the severed throat, and Allindrian, spinning by the dead beast, moved in quickly towards the warrior with the spear. Simultaneously she drew her long hunting knife throwing it side armed at the horsed warrior. The magical elven blade struck the warrior in the leg, sending sparks flying as it penetrated the enchanted armor. The man screamed and angled his weapon at Allindrian.

Jonas slowly got up, astonished that he was still alive. He looked down with wide eyes at his chest and saw that his tunic was scorched and burned, exposing his God Mark, which was glowing with magic. The last remnants of magical energy wavered briefly across his chest before dissipating completely. Somehow Shyann’s magic had saved him. Not wasting any time wondering about his luck, he grabbed Airos’s dagger that had fallen by the wagon, quickly leaped up and ran to join his comrades. Coming around the wagon he saw Allindrian bear down on the horsed rider, his spear pointing right at her. Jonas was twenty paces away and he didn’t know if he could get there in time, but he had to try. He ran towards the horsed rider as fast as he could. Everything seemed to slow down as his mind took in everything around him. He saw Fil out of the corner of his eye throw a spear at the rider just as Allindrian closed the gap between them. The spear struck the rider in the back, but it could not penetrate his magical armor. The impact caused him to jerk forward in his saddle, diverting his spear point away from Allindrian.

Jonas, arriving just in time, jumped into the air, Airos’s knife held high, and slammed the blade into the lower back of the warrior. The knife bit in deep, the magical blade slicing through the armor like it was butter.

The warrior screamed, arching his back and dropping his spear to the ground. Jonas was flung backwards as the warrior’s horse pivoted.

Simultaneously, Allindrian leaped impossibly high into the air, her elven agility bringing her level with the horsed warrior. Her silver blade arced through the night, slicing across the man’s neck and sending his head flying into the darkness. The half-elf ranger landed lightly on the ground as his head made a sickening thump on the grass five paces away.

Jonas got up from the ground quickly, taking in the scene. The mercenaries had regrouped and they were finishing off the last of the boargs.

Allindrian approached Jonas, her sword held low, fire still burning in her eyes. “Are you okay?” she asked in disbelief.

“I think so,” Jonas responded, the rush of battle adrenaline leaving his body shaking. He held up his hands which continued to twitch nervously.

“It will pass. It is common after a fight,” Allindrian reassured him.

Fil moved up to them both, his short sword in hand. His face, though haggard from fear and exertion, bore a determined look. Jonas was thankful to see his friend was not hurt. “What happened, Allindrian? Were we spelled?” Fil asked.

“We were. That one there,” pointing her sword at the dead warrior on ground, “was a cleric of darkness. If it were not for Jonas we would all be dead. He warned me of the attack just in time.” Fil looked at Jonas knowingly. Allindrian continued, “I think, young Jonas, that you have some explaining to do. That mark on your chest is a God Mark.” Jonas looked down and for the first time remembered that his tunic had been burnt off. “You should be dead,” Allindrian stated bluntly.

Cyn had gathered his men and approached the group. He was splattered in blood and had a nasty cut just underneath his eye. It was obvious that he had overheard Allindrian and addressed her comment. “Let’s postpone this discussion until we have seen to the dead and wounded. Let’s remove this filth from our site immediately,” Cyn commanded, approaching the dead warrior.

“No, don’t touch him,” Allindrian ordered, stepping in front of him. “His armor and weapons are cursed.” She used the tip of her sword to move aside the red cape around his neck, exposing the bloody stump and a chain with a pendant. She lifted the blood stained necklace with the tip of her sword. It hissed and smoked as she brought it clear. On a pendant at the end of the chain was a symbol of a spider. Her sword glowed white and the necklace began to glow as well. “Just as I thought. This one was a follower of Naz-reen. Look here at her symbol.” Cyn made the four pointed mark on his chest at the mention of the dark goddess’s name. She tossed the smoking necklace aside and it burst into flames, melting into an unrecognizable piece of black metal. “The armor and weapons are dangerous as well, only a powerful priest or cavalier can dispel the curse.”

“You mentioned her before. Who is this Naz-reen?” asked Jonas.

“Naz-reen is an embodiment of darkness, killing, and strife. You humans think of her as a god, we elves think of her, as well as all of the Foresworn, as a sinister being of great power. She is also known as Bor-zan. She loves intrigue and to slowly build her webs of deceit, hence her spider symbol,” replied Allindrian.

“We should not be speaking of her,” Cyn said, worrying as he looked out into the night.

Two mercenaries appeared out of the darkness supporting Landon, who was limping badly on one leg. His face was haggard and pale but he smiled with relief as he saw them all. “Thank the gods you all made it. What happened?” he asked.

Allindrian went to Landon to look at his wound. “Is your injury serious,” she asked. She looked with concern at the deep laceration on his right leg.

“I’m fine. Just a nasty cut from one of those dreadful creatures. What in Ulren’s name were those beasts?”

“Boargs,” Fil and Jonas said simultaneously.

Landon nodded his head in affirmation. “That’s what I thought. I’ve heard descriptions of them, but I have never seen one. Thanks to Romul here I might have the opportunity to see another, Ulren hoping I don’t. He speared the beast through the chest as he was about to finish me.”

“Well done, Romul,” praised Cyn. “Take him to Lornan. He needs stitches before he loses more blood.”

“Would you like me to see to your wound?” Allindrian asked.

“No, there are men who need it more than I. Use your magic on them if you please,” Landon said.

“Very well, Cyn, my magical light will go out in a few moments. We need to get the fires blazing so we can see and take care of our dead,” stated Allindrian, wiping her blade clean and sheathing it in one smooth motion. “We don’t have time to bury the boargs but we need to bury this evilness. We don’t want some unsuspecting traveler to come across this cursed armor.”

“Very well, let’s get to work and then we can try to sort all this out,” Cyn replied, looking at Jonas with uncertainty. Jonas couldn’t help but notice his eyes wander to his chest, which he had already covered with a cloak that he found on the ground.



Eight of the twenty mercenaries had been killed, including Rath, one of Landon’s personal assistants. The remaining twelve men joined Cyn, along with Landon, Allindrian, Jonas, and Fil around the large fire to discuss the nights attack. Jonas looked at the remaining men. He felt a deep sense of loss thinking of those who were no longer with them, men he had come to know and respect. Several of the warriors, including Landon, had wounds wrapped in clean cotton cloth, their blood soaking through, staining the cloth crimson.

“It makes no sense,” said Cyn. “Boargs rarely come down from the Tundrens and I have never heard of an attack so close to Finarth. And why would a follower of the spider queen be leading them, and why would they be attacking us?” asked Cyn impatiently. “Are the Forsworn stealing from trade caravan’s now?”

Allindrian replied, “I don’t know. I agree; it doesn’t make much sense. What could they be after? But I do know one thing; if it weren’t for Jonas then we would all be dead.” Allindrian looked at Jonas. “Now, I think it’s time you told us the truth.”

Jonas looked around at all the faces staring at him; some of them seemed unsure, and some a bit frightened. “I didn’t mean to deceive you. I just didn’t know what to say or how to explain it. I don’t understand everything myself.” He looked down at the ground, unsure where to start.

“Start from the beginning, Jonas,” Landon said. “How did you get that mark on your chest and how did you not succumb to the dark magic like the rest of us, including Allindrian?” Landon smiled at Jonas reassuringly, urging him to proceed.

Jonas looked up at Landon and saw no hint of animosity. He knew these people deserved the truth. He took a deep breath and began his tale. “I was born a cripple. I couldn’t move my legs and arms very well, even smiling or talking was sometimes difficult.” Jonas went on as the fire burned down, telling his new friends about his life, his mother, and his tough existence at Manson. He told them about the ridicule that was heaped upon him for years and the scorn that the townspeople had held for him and his mother. He told them everything, how he hid in the oven when the boargs attacked, how he and Fil began their journey to Finarth, and finally he told them about his mysterious dream in the cave.

Fil sat next to him, poking a stick into the fire, deep in thought as he listened to Jonas’s words and relived the story in his mind.

“And we had nowhere else to go,” Jonas continued. “So we waited for the snows to subside before we started our long trek to Finarth. We traveled for several weeks before we got to the crossroads, and met your caravan.” Jonas looked up at the men who were now staring at him, enthralled by his story. “And that is when we met you,” Jonas finished, not sure of what else to say.

Many moments went by as everyone took in Jonas’s story. It was not long, but it seemed like forever for Jonas, waiting for some sort of response, but finally Landon spoke. “Let me see that mark again.”

Jonas hesitated briefly before removing his tunic. The blue and silver mark covered his stomach and chest, the silver edges flickering in the firelight and the intricate work was startling. Fil’s eyes grew wide, moving closer to Jonas.

“What is it, Fil?” asked Jonas, somewhat taken back by Fil’s expression.

Fil looked closely at the mark as Jonas looked at him with trepidation. “The mark has grown, Jonas. It is bigger now. The branches are expanding towards your arms and the trunk of the tree is moving down your stomach,” he said with wide astonished eyes.

“What!” exclaimed Jonas, looking down at his chest. Sure enough, Fil was right; it had grown larger. Allindrian moved in close as well, to examine the mark more clearly. She took her hand and gently touched his bare chest, slowly running her long delicate fingers over the edges of the God Mark. Jonas’s spine tingled as her delicate fingers traced the edges of the mark.

“That is definitely a God Mark. They are very rare, usually only a cavalier bears the mark of a god, and that is after they have passed the tests, tests that can only be defeated by men of extreme bravery, mental and physical strength, and unmatched martial excellence. I have never known a mere boy, untrained, to have the mark,” she said, scrutinizing Jonas’s chest further.

“And yet he does,” stated Mestus, a tall thin warrior from Tarsis. “Who are we to question the gods?”

“And that is most certainly Shyann’s mark. I have seen it many times traveling through the Tundrens where she is worshipped the most,” added Cyn confidently.

“What should I do? I need help. I don’t know what to do,” pleaded Jonas. “I can’t express how happy I am that I’ve been cured, and I thank Shyann for her blessing, but what does it mean? Why did she pick me? What does she want me to do?

“There are many things in life that we have no control over, Jonas,” Landon replied. “We live, we try to survive and make a decent life for ourselves, family, and friends, and then we die. Few things are secure or certain. We do not know why Shyann picked you, but I am sure that she has her reasons and that you will know them when the time is right. My recommendation to you is to go to the temple in Finarth with your story and ask for some guidance. You have to be eighteen to start the school for cavaliers, but my guess is that is where you are heading.” Landon grimaced as he adjusted the bandage on his thigh.

“Do you really think so? The idea is intriguing but I feel as if it is just a dream, something that I want to reach for but cannot grasp. I do not know if I could do it.” There was a part of him that believed the goal was not outside the realm of possibility. He had discussed that very idea with Fil, but hearing the words mentioned by another made it sound impossible and far out of reach for a young boy who was raised in the mountains.

“You do not do yourself justice, Jonas,” Cyn responded. “I have known fighting men my whole life. You have a strong heart and you are very brave for your years and lack of experience. You and Fil have both shown your courage and bravery. I have seen grown men, tried warriors, run from less than what we faced tonight. You saved me today with your bow and you both took part in helping Allindrian kill that abomination. I think you have the makings to be a great warrior, maybe even a cavalier,” Cyn concluded, looking Jonas in the eyes.

Jonas, not used to compliments, looked away. “I thank you for your confidence, Cyn. It just seems so far-fetched. I can’t imagine myself as a cavalier.”

“I’m sure Airos felt that way when he was a boy as well,” Allindrian said with a reassuring smile.

“They are right, Jonas. I will go with you to the temple and we will see what they say. Then I will join the Finarthian army, hopefully with you by my side,” Fil added.

Jonas smiled at Fil, grateful for his support.

“I think we need some rest now. Thank you, young man, for telling us your story. And please know that we hold no misgiving for your concealment of the truth. Under the circumstances, it was probably the right thing to do. Let’s get some rest so we can travel with all speed for Finarth in the morning,” Landon said as he slowly rose, aided by two of his men. “Cyn, please take care of the watch and make sure that no one is on duty alone tonight. I doubt we can expect another attack but let’s be ready for it nonetheless.”

“Yes, sir,” Cyn replied, and began to give the orders. Everyone settled down for the night, except the guards who constantly scanned the darkness, holding their spear shafts a little more tightly.