Prince Kristian's Honor

Chapter 10

  Quest’s Beginning

  The armada was large. Twenty-five Duellrian corsairs, in close formation, were heading north. They were sleek fighting ships used to patrol the coastal waters in search of pirates. They had twin masts, one slightly taller than the other, and a total of three massive sails that caught the wind and pulled the ships through the water with ease. Three towers broke the silhouette of the hull, at the fore, midship, and aft parts of the ship. Each tower could hold five bowmen or a small catapult. The ships were long and maneuverable and were designed for close quarters combat, but they would work just as well carrying the Duellrian army. More than the navy’s ships were needed, though. The massive army, with its food supplies and war materials, required many more vessels to carry them on their journey. Admiral Clarind had several merchantman ships drafted into service. They had larger holds for the men, horses, and supplies. They could not maneuver in the way the corsairs did, but they did not have to. The navy was out front of the rest of the fleet to protect them from any other surprises Ferral might have.

  The river that was only a short distance north of the Duellrian capital would lead them into the interior of the Erinian continent. The Jennd River was wide and deep, and Admiral Clarind had no reason to believe their journey would be delayed.

  Kristian and his one hundred cavaliers and ten thousand Duellrian soldiers now waited anxiously for the voyage to end and the invasion of Belarn to begin.

  Kristian stood at the bow of the fourth ship in the formation, looking past the gloomy mist and sleet toward land. He strained his eyes to catch glimpses of the mountains that guarded the mouth of the Jennd River, waiting impatiently for the fleet to turn inland. For two days, the combined forces of Erand and Duellr had sailed north along the coastline toward the river. The first day proved to those that doubted the speed of the vessels that they were going twice as fast as the army could have moved on foot. The Duellrian ships with their tall masts and large sails had caught the prevailing winds and cut the waters like finely honed blades. Hopes were high among all the men on Kristian’s ship, and he felt certain they would succeed. He was unsure of himself, but he knew the cavaliers and the Duellrian army would be more than a match for Belarn. His only concern was for Allisia; she had to be safe.

  “Ferral will hang for what he has done,” he promised.

  The second day, however, had shown them just how bad things could get. With the rising of the sun, dark, ominous clouds swiftly moved over the mountains from the west and out onto the ocean like a wall of malice that struck the ships with immense force. The storm was cold and foreboding. Strong winds and hail slammed into the ships without warning, forcing the crews to tighten the sails and double the personnel on deck. The waves became so turbulent that three men were needed to hold the wheel and keep Kristian’s ship on course.

  Unaccustomed to life at sea, Kristian and many of the cavaliers became ill. Retching over the side, Kristian wished Admiral Clarind would bring the ships into shore to wait out the storm, but the old seaman had faced storms like this before, and he was determined to make up for the time they were losing. Clarind’s only concern was that he had never seen cold winds blow directly out of the west before.

  Normally, the winter winds came from the northwest carrying infrequent blizzards down onto Erinia. He feared this storm was the precursor to a harsh winter, and it was still two months before the changing of seasons.

  By nightfall, the storm’s fierceness had not abated. Sleet made the decks slippery, and choppy waters splashed over the railings, soaking Kristian as he tried to make it back to the main cabin from his spot at the bow. More than once he had worried he would be tossed overboard by the wind and water. He had never seen a storm at sea before, and this one was bad enough to make him pray he would never see another. He forced himself down the stairs that lead to compartments below, clinging to the support lines running from the sails to the railings. Finally reaching the large cabin at the stern, he fell into a chair to catch his breath.

  “Your Highness, I know this weather is exhilarating, but I recommend you stay below before you are thrown over the side of the ship,” Alek suggested as he handed Kristian a cup of wine. The cavalry commander had recovered well in the last two days. The rest that had been forced on him by being a passenger below decks had improved his health. He would be fully recovered by the time the cavaliers were needed. The prince smiled as he tried to make light of their situation.

  “Oh, you know how it is. I was trying to order the storm to stop, but it was being as insubordinate as you.” Kristian downed his cup of wine and sighed as he grabbed a blanket to huddle in. His mood grew darker as he looked at the swaying lamps above his head.

  “This storm is never going to end. It’s harassing us, keeping us from reaching Belarn. And at this speed … damn Ferral. This is his work. The man has no concept of honor. When we finally get our hands on him, we’ll teach it to him as he hangs from the walls of his own city.”

  Mikhal was sitting quietly in the back of the room. Who speaks like that anymore? Talking about honor as if it were something real and tangible, Mikhal asked himself. Honor is something you do, not something you talk about. He sneered at the prince’s back, but kept silent.

  Mikhal wondered if anyone really understood honor. Certainly neither the sorcerer they were about to attack or Prince Kristian seemed to understand or care. On the one hand, Ferral might disregard any concept of honor to destroy them all, and Kristian might lead them to certain death in the name of it. Mikhal’s prince had done little but complain since the storm descended upon them, and his foul mood was beginning to infect the rest of the cavaliers. He hoped the storm would subside soon if for no other reason than to shut the prince up.

  Kristian tried to lighten the mood again and get to know the cavaliers better, but he could see the scowl on Mikhal’s face. There was an uneasy silence in the room until Kristian decided to get some sleep.

  The storm finally broke on the third morning of their travel north. The winds calmed and the waters smoothed, allowing the Duellrian ships to once again cut through the waters toward the Jennd River. The cold temperatures did not leave, however, making work above decks unpleasant and fouling everyone’s mood.

  Clarind’s concern over the early winter provided great insight into the origins of the sudden storm. No one knew exactly what Ferral was capable of, but most sailors and cavalrymen were quick to associate their bad luck with the sorcerer.

  Most people throughout Erinia believed ancient Belarn’s religion had nearly caused the world’s destruction. Whether the worshippers knew it or not, they were in control of very little. The Master of Demons was cunning and could easily twist words and their meaning. They turned their backs on God, thinking they could worship false ones and gain power over others. The Evil One promised them many things in return for their loyalty. Once they were under his sway, he subverted their beliefs even more. He called himself Belatarn and demanded sacrifice as a tribute to his authority over the elements. By offering their own people up to this false god, the people of ancient Belarn believed that Belatarn would ensure great harvests, that commerce within the kingdom would bring great profits, and that the enemies of Belarn would be destroyed.

  To justify their acts to the people, the priests did not call them sacrifices. People were executed for minor infractions, things that were easily tolerated in other societies and religions. Not so, with the zealots of Belatarn who twisted every good thing into something wicked. No one was safe from the nightly patrols that broke into people’s homes and stole innocent youths for the sorcerers’ ritual sacrifices. The killing was about power and magic and subjugation. It had little to do with religion.

  In the end, mighty Belarn was reduced to rubble by civil war. Persecution by the priests that ruled the kingdom caused many people to flee the once-proud land. Those that remained were religious fanatics that cruelly subjugated those too weak to resist. Three hundred years later, Belarn was finally begin
ning to show signs of improvement. The kingdom settled most of its border disputes with Erand, and after several battles, their people were content with a newfound peace.

  Unfortunately, there were a few who still believed that Belarn had been a great power in the new world when it had followed the edicts of Belatarn. Ferral had beaten most dissenters into submission quickly after murdering his father. Although the majority of the subjects did not like the resurrection of the long-dead religion, it seemed that Belarn was destined to send Erinia into chaos once again.

  What was worse for those on board was that they remembered the tales from when Belarn dominated most of Erinia. They shared the tales passed down from their ancestors. They heard that some of the priests had controlled the winds much like it seemed Ferral was doing now. The cavaliers were so passionate about their ancient enemy, they seemed to remember battles with Belarn as if they had been there. They remembered how the priests used mists, lightning, hail, and worse to disrupt the plans of the Erandian army. Those abilities had given Belarn the advantage they needed to defeat the armies that opposed them. That was how the Belarnians decimated the Erandian army, and that was why the cavaliers were created. They constantly patrolled the borders, forcing the enemy back, until internal strife within the black citadel made the Belarnians weak. Then the Erandians attacked and overcame the followers of Belatarn.

  None of the cavalrymen remembered hearing anything mentioned about summoning demons from hell, though. Fear soon spread through the ranks of both the Erandians and the Duellrians as they continued on towards the citadel that had spawned the demon that invoked hysteria and fear into every soldier aboard the fleet.

  Sometime before noon, the lead ship arrived at the mouth of the Jennd River. Snow-covered mountains guarded the entrance, the massive ridges rising up into the clouds confusing those that looked at the granite obstacles. The glaring whiteness of the snow and the overcast sky blended so that it was impossible to see where the mountains ended and where the clouds began. A small fishing village lay nestled in a cove close to the river. The huts were also covered with snow, the villagers frantically trying to uncover their boats before it was too late to get on the water and catch anything.

  Kristian watched the villagers from his spot in the forward tower, wondering how easy their lives were compared to his. He was beginning to regret his often-hasty comments to his men. He knew his foul mood was having an impact on everyone around him, but he justified his poor manners by blaming it on the storm. Now that the storm had finally passed, he hoped his anger would subside as well.

  Instead, he grew even more impatient. They were making far better progress by ship than they would have by land through the winter storm, but he felt a growing sense of urgency rising within him. He feared that if they did not reach Ferral soon, they would be too late to stop the madman from harming Allisia.

  How were they to save her anyway? he wondered. What if he threatened to kill her to prevent them from attacking his fortress? What if she were already dead? Kristian had no other choice. He would not sit back and do nothing. She was the closest thing he had to a friend, and she was his fiancée. Kristian looked again at the villagers struggling to free their skiffs from the snow and ice that froze them to the beach and wished he was there shoveling with them rather than wasting away on the ship.

  The next morning, the Duellrian fleet left the eastern mountains behind them as they entered the northern part of Erand. Progress was good despite the occasional blocks of ice that needed to be avoided. As Kristian and the cavalry officers looked out at their homeland from the upper deck, it was easy to see the storm was even worse on the open plains. Normally, during this time of year, farmers would be working hard to bring in the last of their harvests. Not a single field was visible. There was little hope of salvaging the crops, everything was covered in snow. It was even difficult for the Erandians to pick out the homes they knew should be close to the river. The faint trail of smoke drifting up from a large pile of snow suggested entire homes were covered by the blizzard. The cavalrymen were dismayed by the unnatural storm that had apparently blanketed most of Erand. Many worried for their families and friends as they passed desolate plains.

  If Ferral is capable of sending as destructive a storm as this, then what will he have in store for us when we try to tear down his walls? Mikhal thought as he stared in dismay at the area he grew up in.

  Their ship suddenly tilted away from the Erandian countryside as the pilot tried to avoid colliding with a large slab of floating ice. “I’ve never seen ice on the Jennd before,” Hanson commented as he watched the ice barely miss the hull. Romlin looked at him; Hanson’s realization had been the single thought on all of the officers’ minds as they continued to look for signs of life along the river.

  “Aren’t your parents from this part of Erand, Mikhal?” Hanson asked, turning away from the snow-covered land.

  “Yes,” Mikhal replied worriedly. He did not know what else to say. His parents did live near here. He strained his eyes to see his parents’ home but knew it was too far away to see even if the weather was clear. His father, like so many others in this region, would have been frantically working to bring in as much of the harvest as possible before it was destroyed. He also knew that nothing would have kept him from his crops. He only hoped he had saved enough of the wheat to finally give up and seek shelter.

  “I’m sure they’re all right,” Alek offered to his distraught friend. Mikhal nodded as he continued to stare south toward his home.

  That night, Kristian leaned against a railing at the bow of the ship. He looked up at the night sky, hoping to see some stars, but the clouds were so thick that it was too difficult to even see the southern shoreline. They tried to stay as close to the shore as possible in case they came across any Erandians with news. So far they had not seen anyone. The amount of snow that had fallen in just a few days was hard to comprehend, and the cold was a bitter cold. It was the kind of cold that could kill a man if he was not well clothed.

  “I pray you are safe,” Kristian said aloud, wondering what his feelings for Allisia really were. She was a friend, and he desperately clung to the idea that she might be more than that. He needed her.

  Kristian was so lost in his thoughts that he did not hear Alek approach him from the main deck. The captain had regained some of his sense of humor now that he was recovered from his injuries. He came to a stop a short distance from the prince and saluted.

  “My Lord, I have come to report that the cavalrymen are about to revolt.”

  Kristian turned to look into the captain’s eyes. Shocked by the message, he was unsure of what to say. “What? Are you sure? Why? I don’t understand,” Kristian stammered as he moved closer to his captain.

  “Yes, Your Highness, you see the men are accustomed to the magnificent meals prepared by their own cooks out in the open. They want meals that include something other than what has been caught in fishing nets. Now, I know what you are going to say. ‘These men are cavaliers!’” Alek said mockingly in a grand gesture. “I, myself, have attempted to put down this mutiny by crushing those responsible for the outbursts. I have also had my officers set the example for the rest by eating everything prepared for us. I felt this act would be sufficient to quell any uprising, but when Hanson became ill after eating some evil sea creature with more legs than he could count, I began to see that there could be only one solution to the current situation.” The captain took a long breath, signaling he was done with his report.

  Kristian smiled as he finally caught on. He knew the food served on the ship was awful compared to what they were used to eating, but he could not think of anything witty to say.

  “What am I to do?” Kristian asked, playing along.

  “I know of only one way to defeat this rebellion,” Alek said in quick response. “You must come with me and eat the remaining legs on Hanson’s plate, thereby, proving to the men they can survive this ordeal.”

  Alek grabbed Kristian’s arm
and started pulling him toward the galley. Kristian let out a small laugh as he followed the cavalryman below. He tried to put thoughts of Allisia and Ferral aside just for a little while.

  “But I finally got my stomach back. If Hanson failed to eat it, I doubt I’ll even be able to keep it down.”

  “Nonsense, Your Highness. It will be difficult for you, I know, but that is the challenge of leadership. You must bear your responsibility like a true cavalryman.”

  Kristian smiled as they descended the steps leading below the main deck, and he hoped his mood might lighten just for a little while.

  “Just promise me, you will not share our concerns about the food with the admiral. I would hate to be forced overboard in these cold waters.”

  There was a true smile on Kristian’s face. It was something Alek rarely saw. The commander decided he liked seeing it and hoped his prince’s good mood would stay awhile even though he knew it could not. Kristian’s concern for Allisia was easy for Alek to see.

  The following morning was frigid. Admiral Clarind’s lead ship continued to navigate the ice floats that were beginning to jam the river when a spotter shouted that there was a rider approaching from the south. The man was on a stout horse and carried a spear and shield.

  “Hey there! What news from Erand?” a sailor on the bow asked him.

  “I have a message for Prince Kristian from the king,” the man called back.

  Alek heard the man shouting and came closer to the side rail. “What company are you from, soldier?” he challenged.

  “I am from the Drakes, not that it’s any business of yours. Who are you?” the cavalier shot back.

  “I’m Captain Alek Hienren of the Charger Company, and I can’t believe that a Drake, even a messenger for the Drakes, would ride a plow horse like that,” the company commander responded loudly.

  The messenger shrugged. “My horse froze to death last night. If I hadn’t found this fat one, I never would have made it here in time. I need to speak quickly with Prince Kristian. Is he with you?”

  “I’m here,” Kristian called out, climbing up from below decks. “Do you have word from my father?”

  “I do, Your Highness. He says, ‘The Belarnian attack on Duellr is an open act of war against Erand even though the treaty was not sealed.’ He received news of your decision and supports it. He will muster every available unit to move south around the Forsian Sea and meet you at Singhal as quickly as possible,” the messenger reported.

  “Why doesn’t he send the force by boat?” Kristian asked.

  “There are no boats,” the cavalier replied. “They were destroyed in the storm. You have to understand how much damage this storm has caused us. The army does not have enough supplies to sustain a long march. The blizzard hit us a week before most farmers planned to harvest their crops. It looks like only the southern provinces were spared, and it will take time to get things sorted out.”

  “We don’t have time,” Alek shouted back in frustration. “Send out the cavaliers … we’ll need the cavalry support if we’re going to have any chance.” Kristian looked at him thankfully; it was the first time the commander had said anything to support him.

  “I will ride back immediately and give the king your request,” the rider promised.

  “How long do you expect it to take the army to reach Singhal?” Kristian asked.

  “The commanders’ conservative estimate is one month,” he answered.

  “One month!” Kristian shouted in disbelief. “We don’t have a month.”

  “They will push harder than that, Your Highness, but that was the estimate I was told to give you. You will receive regular updates once you reach Singhal.”

  “Is there anything else?” Alek asked as their ship began to edge away from the shoreline.

  “Yes, the king is sorry for your loss. Even though you did not know each other well, he understands that this must be hard for you. He says he misses you and looks forward to seeing you in Singhal. The king will meet you there and together you will bring justice to the Belarnians. Wait for him in Singhal. Do not make a hasty attack. Your father doesn’t know if Allisia is alive, but he is certain that rushing in too quickly would not be wise. He warns you to be wary of Belarnian treachery. They will fight in a way that takes advantage of Ferral’s new powers.”

  Kristian threw up his hands in frustration. “Another lecture,” he grumbled. “I’m not even at home, and he still manages to lecture me.”

  “It’s sound counsel, Your Highness. Please heed your father’s advice,” Alek urged. Kristian sighed and then nodded.

  The prince waved to the rider, “Thank you. Tell my father we will be at Singhal within a week. We will wait, if we can,” Kristian called. “Ride safe.”

  The cavalier held a hand up high and shouted, “Draaaaaaaaaaakes!”

  Alek grinned and nodded in farewell. The cavalier spurred the farm horse on and rode toward the capital.

  Alek turned to Kristian. “Your father is right. We’ll need their support at Singhal in order to face the enemy at Belarna.”

  “But we don’t have that much time,” Kristian insisted. “Allisia doesn’t have that much time.” He stepped away from the rail and began his frantic pacing again. “And did you hear what my father was really saying? He was telling us to go it slow because he thinks Allisia is already dead or beyond hope.”

  “Deal out vengeance together,” Kristian laughed. “I bet he’s thinking more about how we will split up Belarn after the war than what we’ll need to do to save Allisia.”

  Alek approached him, raising his hands to calm his prince. “Please listen to me, Prince Kristian.” Kristian stopped pacing and waited impatiently for the commander to continue.

  “I don’t know how much hope there is for the princess. You saw what the demon could do. It will take a hundred men or more to bring it down. It could have killed her as soon as it flew out the window,” Alek said softly.

  “And we don’t know what Ferral plans to do with her. He could use her as a human shield or kill her while we try to tear down the gates.”

  “This whole endeavor is for her, Captain,” Kristian reminded him. “If we only wanted revenge, we could all take as much time as we wanted and starve them out, but I don’t believe she’s dead. If the demon or Ferral wanted her dead, they could have done that the night of the ceremony. She’s waiting for someone to come. I hope she knows that I would not hesitate to come.” Kristian admitted with a resolve that surprised Alek.

  “I just don’t want you to build up your hopes and then become heartbroken. You will need to be calm and levelheaded if you are going to lead us into battle,” Alek claimed.

  “Lead you,” Kristian repeated, questioningly. “I can’t lead you.”

  “Shouldn’t a prince lead his men into battle?” Alek asked. “The company will protect you. I promise that you are our first priority.”

  “It’s not that. I am not afraid of fighting.” Alek raised an eyebrow but waited for Kristian to continue. “I thought you and your men hated me,” Kristian admitted.

  Alek nodded, thinking carefully about what to say next. “You certainly have your days,” he said smiling. Kristian smiled back in agreement. “But you’re our prince. Even the worst Erandian prince is a thousand times better than a Belarnian one.” Kristian laughed until he began wondering what Alek really meant. Alek got the reaction he hoped for. He excused himself and went below decks to get warm.

  Fifty miles to the south, along the coast of the Forsian Sea, far beyond anything the cavaliers could see, dozens of fires engulfed Brekia, the capital of Erand. People screamed in horror and pain as their city was reduced to charred rubble. Hundreds died in the first few hours of the massive inferno. Those in the army that had not perished in the fires that erupted from several places at once, like a coordinated attack, fought to save their king. Several servants reported seeing a large fireball slam into the side of the tower the king slept in.

  Trapped in his private
chambers by the intense heat of the fire, the only thing King Emerick of Landron could do was open the doors to his balcony. The old king gasped for air and then looked below to his faithful servants who were desperately trying to push past the flames. Emerick considered jumping to escape the heat and smoke like many others had done, but he knew it was a futile attempt. It was just a different way of dying. An explosion deep in the city echoed through the king’s room as he looked over the ruin of his capital. It was the worst devastation any had ever witnessed in modern times.

  Whole sections of the city were on fire. The winter winds whipped the flames into a fury. They towered over the tallest church steeples, twisting and turning like fiery serpents. The heat was so intense that hundreds of people were incinerated a block away from the fire. Many more perished in the collapsing buildings. The injured and dying were trying to get out of the city, but there was no place to run. The frigid temperatures would soon kill many of them.

  Feeling despair wash over him, he walked back into the scorching heat of his chamber and lay down on the bed. He shook his head in grief and wiped tears from his eyes as he thought about all of the accomplishments his countrymen had achieved. Within a few short hours, everything had been destroyed.

  “How could this happen?” he asked God in disbelief. Suddenly thoughts of Kristian flooded his mind. Emerick wondered if his son was alright. Wherever Kristian was, Emerick hoped he was safe. Reflecting on the past and his troubled relationship with his angry son, the king wished he had spent more time with him. Kristian would have to learn on his own now. Most of all, the king wished he had one last chance to tell Kristian that he loved him.

  “Please, Lord, watch over my son. Make him the leader he will need to be to save our people.” King Emerick of Landron closed his eyes to shut out the heat.

  From below the balcony, soldiers and servants tried one last time to rush through the flames to save their beloved king. Several fell crying in pain as their bodies began to burn. Suddenly, a rumbling sound grew from inside the palace. The grand building collapsed, the ground underneath the rescuers trembling. The tower fell in on itself. First the roof and battlements fell. Their massive weight tearing through reinforced floors. As the added weight and momentum continued to fall down, floor upon floor, the outside walls simply sagged in and fell. Hundreds were still trapped inside. There was no chance for them to escape the wreckage. Dozens of rescuers were crushed by the falling rock, smoke, and dust engulfing those that ran screaming from the royal grounds.

  The blaze continued well into the evening, killing thousands of Erandians. By then, those that had survived watched from several miles away along various roads leading away from Brekia. Even from their distant vantage points, the survivors could feel the heat of the inferno. Finally turning their ash-covered faces away from the destruction, the remaining citizens of the greatest capital in Erinia moved on to seek cover before the harsh cold of the night killed them. With no food or water and few possessions, their chances of survival looked very grim.

  Hours later, one person still remained on a hilltop overlooking the skeletal structures of the once great city. Cloaked and hooded by a dark red robe, she was little more than a shadow. She lifted her head to the sky, pulling her hood down to feel the cold wind on her face. The demon let out a sigh of utter sadness as she looked at the stars that could still be seen among the storm clouds. She had endured her punishment for a thousand years. And after all of those years, the demon still wondered what her life must have been like as a mortal.

  She looked up to heaven, her eyes hinting at the forgiveness she desired … but she would not beg for help again. She knew that for the rest of eternity, she would be used by Evil to cause death and destruction. She only wished that this would all be over soon. The demon lowered her gaze from the stars and replaced her hood in shame and then moved back toward the city. There was one final thing that needed doing this night … Ferral would want proof. Then she would rest and try to forget.