Chapter 21
Remembering
Cairn rode throughout the day, traveling north. He had seen nothing of significance during his ride and began to doubt Kristian’s warnings. It was not hard for him to believe the King of Belarn would use treachery, every kingdom used deceit to win, but he could not accept what Kristian and Mikhal had told him. The dead could not come back to life.
Cairn had seen many things in his wanderings. Many incredible sights that could have been supernatural, but he had never seen anything as far-fetched as an army of walking dead. He had never seen a ghost or spirit, except the ones constantly haunting his dreams.
“Do you still remember me?” she asked again, a slight hint of amusement in her voice.
He remembered what Kristian told him about Allisia being held captive, and he was reminded of his own past. Cairn began to wonder if he had made the right choice. Were the last six years worth seeing Garnis and the others dead?
Is hatred and revenge enough to sustain me for the rest of my life? Cairn asked. He rode north through the woods, wondering if he was not making another mistake by turning down the Erandians.
“Why did I ever think that seeking revenge would ease my pain?” he asked himself harshly. After six years of searching, hunting down, and killing the last of the marauders, he felt even more pain than before.
Shouldn’t I feel exhilarated by what I’ve done? Where is the sense of fulfillment from killing those responsible for her death … for my parent’s deaths?
These questions constantly plagued Cairn’s troubled mind, and he could not find the answers. If anything, he felt emptier now than he had in a long, long time. He was lonely and had no sense of purpose.
Now that it is over, what am I supposed to do? Where should I go?
He wandered, seemingly with no direction until he realized that he was traveling toward the one place he vowed to never return; he was heading toward home.
Cairn had barely slept since his encounter with Garnis. The cold weather had little to do with his inability to find rest. He had searched for the cause of his suffering and could not find one. So he rode on as he always did, looking out for just himself, taking few risks except when it helped ease his troubled mind. Cairn deliberately made few friends so that he would not have to answer questions about his past.
The three Erandians had not cared about his past or his scars. There had been an immediate need for security, but there was also an unspoken need for companionship. Cairn joined with them, for a very short time, and they could have been friends. In the end, when they asked him to join their cause to defeat Ferral, he quickly turned them down. His excuses were unbelievable, but he did not apologize. Cairn had enjoyed their company, but he was reluctant to make lasting friendships.
I can’t let them know what happened. That’s a memory and burden that only I am allowed to have. If the night were to happen over again, Cairn reasoned, he might have stayed with them, but it was too late now, and he would have to live with his decision like so many others he made.
Cairn made camp near the edge of the woods as dusk spread over the land, covering everything in a gray haze. He settled himself in at the base of a hill where the light of his campfire would not attract any more patrols. He took time to look after his horse, combing him and covering him with an extra saddle blanket. Cairn could not comprehend how the sturdy horse managed to survive the bitter cold of the Mercies, but he was grateful for the strong horse. Ka’ap was a precious gift and his one constant companion.
“It’s just us again, Ka’ap,” Cairn spoke to the horse, patting him for comfort. After he finished taking care of the horse, he prepared a soup with vegetables and dried meat. He ate in lonely silence, staring at the fire. He must have been more tired than he realized because he fell asleep, the bowl of soup still in his hands.
That night Cairn dreamed about the past. His dreams were usually filled with horrific memories from his past, and he would struggle to wake up before he cried out, but this dream seemed incredibly real and was filled with one of the happiest memories of his life. He walked down the one road in the village, smelling the various scents of bread, meat, and pies coming from the homes on either side of him. He smiled, remembering that it was almost the day of celebration. Tomorrow would be the Day of Salvation and a great feast was being prepared. Tomorrow would also be the day he would be announced as Julia’s betrothed.
Cairn hurried on his way, saying hello to familiar faces as he approached her family’s home. Stone’s Brook was a small village far north of Belarna, though it was still within the kingdom’s borders. There were fewer than thirty families that lived in and around the town. They were mainly farmers and traders doing business with Belarn and the smaller communities to the north. Most homes and shops were combined in a simplistic but neat manner. The one road going through town was constantly grated and mixed with gravel to keep the dust down. It was a small town, but the people were good, and it made him smile as he continued down the road.
Cairn waved at Fandel, the storekeeper that sold Cairn’s father the best jarred fruit in the area. Fandel was sweeping his small entryway like he always did late in the afternoon. Life was slow here, but Cairn did not mind. Julia often dreamed of adventures in far away places, but they would probably never leave. Cairn was happy to just stay where they were.
Cairn slowed down to admire the flowers Julia’s mother had planted in the front yard of their modest home. She took great pride in her garden … the colors and scents always reminded him of his love for Julia. Instead of knocking on the front door, he crept around back to his love’s window. Julia seemed to have sensed that he was coming and was already waiting on him.
“We don’t have much time. I don’t have long before Mama comes to check on me,” she said, giggling as she looked back over her shoulder. “I think she suspects we’re up to no good every time I’m out of her sight.”
“I’m not exactly the best example of an honorable man, am I?” he added jokingly.
“Oh, Cairn,” she admonished. “We’ve probably kissed fewer times than any couple in town.”
“Yeah, but a few of those times were pretty good.” That made her blush, Cairn noticed. “Still, our parents wouldn’t approve of me sneaking over here the day before the ceremony.” Julia leaned out over the windowsill to watch the setting sun. The pale sky was turning from orange to pink as the sun fell below the horizon.
“It’s beautiful,” she commented dreamily. Her mind wandered as she thought of the future. “Cairn?”
“Yes, love.” In his dream, she was as beautiful as she had ever been. Her dark hair fell over one shoulder in long waves. Her piercing blue eyes always held him spellbound.
The dream continued.
“Do you still promise to take me away from here, to see more of Erinia?”
“The entire world, if that is what you want,” he pledged happily.
“All of it?” she asked astonished, her eyes widening. Julia loved to tease him.
“Yes, if that is what you want.” There was a hint of despair in Cairn’s voice.
Julia took a moment before answering. She smiled and said, “No, I don’t want to see all of it.”
“Why?”
“Because there would be nothing left to dream of.”
Cairn’s constant loneliness began to intrude in upon his dream, and he said, “You can always dream of me.”
She looked at him, deep love and admiration briefly reflected in her eyes, and then she smiled. “But do you dream of me, love? Will you always think of me?”
Grief filled him, but he managed to smile and say, “Always, Julia. Always.” She smiled, beaming with pleasure as she bent down and kissed him gently. Cairn smelled the flowers that scented her hair as they embraced. He held her tight, not wanting the dream to end. Finally, she said goodnight.
“What will I do now? I have kissed you more times than I have fingers. I’ll never be able to keep track of them all.” Her excitement forced him to smile
. Then she was gone.
Cairn was suddenly transported to a new scene. He sat at a table with his father and mother in the town’s square. The entire village was at the feast celebrating the salvation God had given them on this day. Everyone was happy, glad to be with their families, friends, and neighbors. Cairn looked anxiously across the square, searching for Julia. She saw him first and stood up at her table, waving to him. He finally saw her and waved back nervously. Something did not feel right. Julia looked frightened, more nervous than he had expected. She probably thinks I will make a mess of my speech, he thought.
Cairn knew everything that was about to happen, but he was only a spectator to the events unfolding within his dream, the same events that had occurred six years ago. Cairn knew when the food was going to be passed. When the prayers to God would begin and end. He dreaded what was to come next.
A call went out for silence as Julia’s father stood on top of his bench. The crowd turned toward the respected man as he raised his cup. Cairn’s parents smiled and hugged him as they all waited for the announcement. He winced as Julia’s father began to speak and wished there was some way to stop him.
Cairn tried to wake himself, knowing what was about to happen, but the dream continued. He sat helplessly at the table, listening along with everyone else. “Today is a proud day for me.” Cairn heard him say. “Today I wish to announce that my daughter, Julia, will be wed to the son of Netanyal of Stone’s Brook.” He raised his cup again in toast, and the gathered folk cheered also raising their cups.
Cairn suddenly jumped up and frantically scrambled over his table toward Julia, knowing he had already waited too long. The crowd seemed to ignore him as they drank in his honor. Drinks and bowls of food were spilled as he jumped from one table to the next, but they did not see him. They also seemed oblivious to the sound of thunder rolling down on them from the south. Just as he was about to reach Julia’s table, the horses came over the hill and entered the village. The villagers screamed in shock and fear, but he was still one table away from her.
Julia had not realized what was happening and smiled at him, giving him that special smile, sadder though than any he remembered. Then the villagers panicked, finally seeing their doom ride toward them, and Cairn was nearly knocked from the table as people ran in every direction, trying to escape.
The marauders rode into the village just the way they always did in his dreams. Most of the villagers fled from them, running toward the woods. The men dressed in black armor did not let them escape; all paths out of the village had already been blocked off. The Belarnian patrol began destroying the homes and buildings, setting fire to everything they saw and killing everyone they could find.
Cairn desperately tried to reach Julia. She was still by her table, calling to him frantically. Cairn finally broke free of the other villagers and sprinted toward her. Before he could reach her, one of the soldiers saw her standing there, stranded and alone. The rider shouted to some of his fellow men and raced toward her.
Cairn saw Garnis racing toward her and tried even harder to get to her first. He heard her scream out his name in fright as the black-armored man bore down on her.
“No. Stop,” he heard himself shout through tears of grief and pain.
“Wake up! Wake up,” he pleaded with himself knowing it would do no good. He had been so young, so naïve. Cairn kept running, almost reaching them, as Garnis grabbed Julia roughly and pulled her up onto the saddle in front of him. He said something to her then, and Cairn could see the horror on her face.
Cairn jumped off the table, reaching out for the man. He shouted in fury and blood lust, hoping that just this once he would kill him. His speed was enough to carry him into the soldier, knocking all three of them to the ground. The breath was knocked from his lungs, and he struggled to focus on the soldiers approaching them. Cairn and Julia were surrounded.
He saw each of the men in great detail in that brief moment. He saw their faces and their evil grins. He heard them joke about what they would do to Julia. He saw the blood-red crosses on their breastplates. Then the one he knocked off the horse came at him. Cairn would later learn that the man with dark, curly hair and neatly trimmed beard was Garnis. He was tall and strong, much older and experienced than Cairn. The smears on his chest plate were different than the others he saw, the bloody handprints still left a vivid impression in Cairn’s mind. The smears were fresh; Garnis had been specially selected for something. The rest of the patrol held back at Garnis’s command.
His spiked glove came down in a backhanded blow that smashed into Cairn’s face. The force of the blow sent him reeling to the ground. Through the haze and cloudiness of his mind, he heard Julia shout at them. He looked up at her through the sweat, tears, and blood. He silently pleaded for her to run away. His love did not hear him, and she continued to fight past them toward where he lay. He closed his eyes to block out the images, but it did not help. His mind had replayed the horrible scene almost every night since that day.
Cairn heard her scream one final time. He looked up to see one of the men holding her close. There was a look of disbelief on the soldier’s face as he let go of her. The lower-ranking soldier looked apologetically toward Garnis. Apparently, he spoiled whatever plans Garnis had for her.
Julia fell slowly to the ground beside Cairn. Her hand weakly reached out for his as her beautiful blue eyes began to dim. He looked from her ashen face to the soldier and the knife in his hand and back to his love. Julia’s blood flowed swiftly from a small hole in her chest where the soldier had clumsily stabbed her. The front of her special blue dress was a bloody ruin.
“No!” he screamed as blood dripped down his ruined cheek and pooled on the dirt road. There was a look of sadness on her face as the men pulled him away. Her beautiful eyes faded, and she died.
“No,” he screamed again finally able to break free of the nightmare.
Cairn shot up out of his blankets, looking for signs of danger. Seeing none, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. The dream was as real as ever. Cairn began to shiver almost immediately in the freezing cold. He packed his things and put out the fire, resolved to leave this place as quickly as possible. The sword master was alone again with the dark, more afraid of his memories than anything else in the world.
“Remember …,” her voice trailed off in his mind.
A full day had passed since the Erandian survivors separated. Garin had said his farewells quickly, vowing to inform their fellow countrymen of what had happened, of what Ferral had done. He also vowed to send orders back to the remainder of their country’s army. Kristian and Mikhal wanted the kingdom to consolidate its forces and aid in the struggle against Belarn. Kristian did not know Garin well, but it did not take the new king long to miss the added sense of security and companionship he felt from having the young soldier with him.
Garin’s attitude was optimistic despite their hardships. Even after the deaths of his friends and possibly his new wife, the cavalier pushed on. Garin’s absolute devotion to Kristian made Mikhal’s attitude toward him even worse. His skills as a hunter and a fighter were invaluable; he always took up the duty of rear guard, constantly looking over his shoulder for signs of danger. Garin also insisted on carrying the few supplies they had, proving he was as devoted and loyal a man as any. Kristian wished he could do half of what Garin was capable of.
Kristian was torn by his decision. Did I do the right thing? A part of him kept insisting he was betraying his countrymen, abandoning them when they needed someone to protect them from the Belarnians. Kristian thought of their plight, knowing hundreds were dying because of the invasion and harsh weather.
How could he be expected to get back if the Belarnians blocked all of the roads and were hunting for him? Garin was their only hope of getting news back to their people. It would take Kristian at least a month to get to Erand on foot. He would still have to raise a force to fight the Belarnians and would be no closer to saving Allisia.
Cairn had mentio
ned the spirit folk in the large forested area in southern Erinia might be persuaded to help him save her and destroy Ferral. If he could accomplish both, somehow, he would solve all their problems. Not to mention regain some measure of purpose in his shattered life. He quickly developed a headache from the constant stress.
Finally, Kristian shrugged. The decision was already made. He prayed he could save his people, as well as Allisia as quickly as possible. Kristian and Mikhal had charged Garin with establishing a formal resistance movement against the Belarnians in Erand. That problem was out of his hands.
“For the moment,” Kristian chided himself, “I need to concentrate on keeping up with Mikhal.”
The two had only each other to rely upon now. Kristian knew the cavalry officer was reluctant to trust him, but Mikhal had no choice. The cavalier could not do everything himself. He could not lead them south, as well as, protect them from danger that might approach from the north. He would never be able to stay awake all night standing watch.
Kristian did everything he could to show Mikhal he was dependable, mostly by copying what he saw the other doing. He wanted to prove his worth, a challenge he did not think he would ever win when it came to earning Mikhal’s approval. Kristian was not sure if he was doing the things he saw Mikhal doing correctly; he was not even sure why he was doing half of them, anyway, but at least Mikhal had not said anything negative in the last few hours.
That first night, when Kristian and Mikhal were alone, they had split the watch in half. Although he was exhausted, Kristian was able to stay awake and alert the entire time. Nothing eventful happened, and in the morning, the two shared a small breakfast of dried meat that Cairn had given them along with some nuts and roots Mikhal had found. After eating, they quickly packed their few things away in silence and headed south.
The winter morning had been quiet, but they were still concerned about their chances of escaping Belarn. The one conversation they had focused on how lucky they were not to see any more of Ferral’s creatures. The talk had forced terrible memories back to the front of Kristian’s mind. He had already been so weary and cold when the dead had risen and attacked that it almost seemed like a nightmare rather than reality. Mikhal’s comments forced him to accept that they were real.
Kristian tried to bury the horrible memories and his failures by focusing his attention on his surroundings. He carefully examined their heading and the trail they were making in the snow. After awhile he began to understand Mikhal’s methods. They did not head straight south but spent extra time searching out areas where there was less snow or where the snow was hard packed. Looking behind them Kristian could only see a few feet past where they had been. Beyond that their footprints were too distorted by their chosen path to be easily spotted. Kristian realized this was little help in completely covering their tracks, but knew Mikhal was doing everything he could to prevent them from getting discovered by another patrol.
Kristian tried to pay attention to the woods, as well. The ground was clear of underbrush, but some snow drifts were forming. This made security a little easier; they could spot others from a long way off, but it also forced them to hide so that they were not seen. Kristian’s alertness paid off when he spotted a trail of gray smoke rising off to their right.
By late afternoon, they reached a small rise; smoke rose from just beyond the hill. “You’re going to check it out alone?” Kristian asked Mikhal after seeing him adjust the strap on his sword. The cavalier said nothing, but gave him a stern look.
He sighed. “What do you want me to do?”
“Be quiet for starts.” Mikhal was as angry with Kristian as he had ever been. The cavalier was tense, worried about what they might find on the other side of the hill. He took a deep breath to calm himself.
“Well, at least it doesn’t sound like there is a patrol over there,” Kristian offered in a much lower voice.
“But they’ve been hunting us all night, and they might be asleep. That could just as easily be a Black Guard unit over there,” Mikhal countered.
Kristian decided to go along with whatever Mikhal decided to do. He was afraid of making any further decisions on his own, fearing it would spell certain doom for them. The cavalier’s gut feeling told him to be extremely cautious, but his curiosity pushed him into action. They needed food.
“I’ll go in for a closer look while you stay here,” Mikhal told him. Kristian wanted to go along and was about to argue when Mikhal added, “If it’s something more than I can handle, you can either move to a better spot to aid me or run … if necessary. It’s at least better than both of us being surprised or caught in an ambush.”
Mikhal’s admonishing look silenced any complaint Kristian had. Kristian doubted he would be any help if there was an ambush on the other side of the hill.
He followed Mikhal for a short distance, staying far behind the cavalier. He made sure he never lost sight of the young officer but was far enough away that he would not be detected at the same time as Mikhal. When they reached the left side of the hill, Kristian moved behind a snow bank. Mikhal nodded to him, his glare warning Kristian not to make any mistakes, and then he crept around the hill into the clearing.
The smoke was coming from the chimney of a small cottage. Kristian was immediately relieved. It did not appear as though there were any patrols in the area. Then he saw the open door to the cottage, and he knew something was not right. He scanned the clearing for the owner and began to notice other alarming things. Carcasses littered the snow. From his hiding place, he could not tell what they were, but he was sure they were not human. For a moment he feared they had run right into what they had wanted to avoid, Ferral’s dead creatures. Kristian looked back to Mikhal.
The cavalry officer was creeping toward the open door. He, too, saw the gross display of blood and gore in the front yard. Already exposed, he decided to investigate and find out what had happened inside the small cottage. One look inside was all he needed. Mikhal ran back to Kristian seemingly in panic. His stealthy approach was forgotten as he climbed over the snow bank to reach Kristian.
“There’s a dead man inside. He’s strung up over the hearth and his guts are all over the place.” Kristian cringed. He knew the innocent man was somehow dead because of him.
“The dead … are they here?” he asked afraid to hear the answer. Mikhal shook his head.
“No. It was definitely a Belarnian patrol, probably the Black Guards, by the look of the mess.” Mikhal sucked in air trying to calm down. “I’ve never seen such cruelty.”
“Are they still around?” Kristian asked, looking around nervously for signs of danger.
“I don’t think so. The body looks like it has been there for at least a day. I think we’re safe, but it concerns me that they’re already ahead of us. If they’re this far south, it will be much harder for us to leave the woods.”
“What should we do?” Kristian asked him. Mikhal looked around slowly, trying to get a sense of the place. Finally, he shrugged.
“I think that if we hurry, maybe we can find a few things in that cottage that will help us. Although, after seeing what I’ve seen, I doubt there is anything left worth scavenging.” Kristian nodded in agreement, and then they quickly stood and ran toward the cottage. Neither of them wanted to waste time discussing a plan. They quickly approached the door, Kristian trying to prepare himself for the sight of the corpse inside.
Mikhal stopped by the door, waiting for Kristian’s nod. When he was ready Mikhal walked determinedly inside. The poor man’s body was immediately visible. He was an older man. It was hard for Mikhal to tell just how old he was because of the condition of the remains. The body was suspended half way between the floor and the ceiling. His hands were bound and secured to the rafters. His feet were similarly tied and secured by other ropes to the hearth. Kristian’s gaze was drawn to the man’s face. His eyes and mouth were wide open as if framed by the murderers in a grotesque expression of horror and pain. What answers did they possibly tr
y to pull from his lips? Whatever the woodsman had said must not have been what the Belarnians wanted to hear. There was blood everywhere.
Mikhal forced himself to look away. Once they were more accustomed to the sight, he pulled Kristian over to the side. “All of the rooms are probably the same. But we might find something useful. Why don’t you go into the bedrooms and see if there are any clothes that would be more suitable for us.” Kristian swallowed and then nodded unable to say anything. He stepped carefully around the hanging body and went through a door to the back of the house.
Just then Mikhal sensed movement near the door. He quietly pulled his sword free and moved next to the opening. It was a trap after all, he swore to himself.
A shadow appeared in the doorway, and the Erandian prepared to bring his blade down. A large head pushed itself through the entryway. Its dark, round eyes stared inquisitively at Mikhal as if asking him what had happened here.
Mikhal sighed in relief, lowering his sword. He smiled as he reached out a hand to reassure the horse that everything would be all right.
Their outlook had changed dramatically after finding the woodsman’s animal. It was an older workhorse not used to carrying people, but it was still in good shape and helped them make better progress through the snow. Kristian had found some fur-lined clothes in one of the bedrooms, and Mikhal had managed to salvage some dried meat and biscuits. All of their new belongings were packed into a few blankets and loaded onto the horse’s back.
For the remainder of the day following their encounter at the cottage, the two took turns guiding the horse through the woods while the other rested on top. Near dusk, they found themselves at the end of the tree line. Kristian looked toward the south and west, taking in the relatively flat, open terrain with a little apprehension. They would be even more vulnerable out there. There was nothing to do about it, so they waited for the sun to go down before continuing on. Kristian wanted to get as far away from Belarn as they could. They would rest for a while, letting it get very dark before they started out into the open.
Still afraid of being spotted by patrols, the two survivors did not risk a fire. Instead, they dug into the snowdrifts around them making low walls to block the wind. They ate in silence, reflecting on everything that had happened and what needed to be done.
That night they both rode. The horse seemed ready to carry the added burden, and it seemed able to spot areas where the snow was not as deep. They found the road Cairn had mentioned just as the sun was rising.
“Follow the road west until you get to the foothills of the Merciless Mountains. Cross the river and then travel south until you reach the Great Forest,” Cairn had instructed them.
“How do we know if it’s the right road?” Kristian asked.
Mikhal snorted. “Do you see any other roads?”
They should have missed it completely; it was buried in the snow. Luckily, a strong wind had blown enough snow off part of it that they heard the horses’ hoofs skid on the frozen surface. In one direction, it headed off toward their homeland, a place as cursed as any in the world, its people scattered after the destruction of their citadel and death of their king.
The urge to turn left and see the devastation for himself was strong for Kristian. He wanted to hear from his people what had happened and hopefully, see where his father lay entombed. Kristian knew what was in store for him if he went the other way. His quest was seemingly impossible, and he could not imagine finding others willing to help him against Ferral. He was tempted to just turn east and head for Erand, but he also knew there was very little he could do there to help either Allisia or his own people. There would be no viable force coming from Erand or Duellr for some time. He regretted not being able to help his people or atone for his mistakes, but his instincts told him to go west.
Grimacing, he looked down the road to his right. “Well, Lieutenant Jurander, we’ve made it.”
Mikhal simply nodded. “We’ve made it, so far,” he added, scanning the horizon for Belarnian patrols. Kristian noticed that even Mikhal looked remorsefully to the east.
“I’m thinking the same thing. I don’t think we can help them, though,” Kristian said.
“No. We can’t help,” Mikhal commented. “We’d be dead before we even got to Erand. I just hope we didn’t send Garin to his death. But,” the cavalier sighed, “if you’re committed to ending this and killing Ferral, we must find new allies. For once … we have something in common,” Mikhal said.
“What do you think we’ll find out there?” Kristian asked. “I mean, who do you think we’ll find—others that will believe what we say and join us?”
Mikhal shrugged. “I don’t know. If Cairn is right, there should be people sympathetic to our cause within two days ride of here.”
“And if they aren’t there any more or they don’t want to help us?”
“Then I suppose we will have to keep looking.” Mikhal tried to look behind him to see Kristian. “Are you ready to start this quest, King Kristian?” His tone was full of contempt.
Kristian ignored him and surveyed the land again, hoping to see a hopeful sign somewhere in the snowy landscape, but there was nothing. Finally, he nodded, more determined then before, and answered, “Let’s go.”
Mikhal turned the horse he had nicknamed “Old Man” west along the snow-covered road.
They spoke little the next day. In unfamiliar territory, with the threat of enemy patrols still in the area, neither of them felt like talking. Mikhal was too preoccupied with maintaining a good pace and keeping a look out to say anything. Kristian knew the reasons Mikhal did not speak to him and, for awhile, he did not mind; he was more worried about how they were going to survive. The cavalier might know something about what to do, but he certainly was not going to share his thoughts with the man he hated.
The battle had been almost five days ago? he tried to remember. The memories were already so foggy in his mind that it was hard to remember the details of what happened. What had Ferral said? Kristian thought he would never forget the words of that evil man. Ferral had held onto Allisia, shouting down from the black wall, but Kristian’s constant fatigue made it hard to recall things. He suddenly felt shame as Ferral’s words came back to him.
I should have known we were in danger, Kristian told himself. I should have understood Ferral’s powers and warned the Duellrians to wait for the rest of their army instead of being the one to push them into attacking early.
Kristian shook his head in grief. An important lesson was learned about Ferral, but the knowledge came at a price no one should have had to pay, except Kristian. Tears began to well up in his eyes. He vowed to never quit until he had made everything right, but he feared more than anything that there was no way to make amends for what he had done.
Kristian tried not to linger on his own misery for too long, he was beginning to think he might go mad. His mind raced from one frantic thought to the next. Images of Allisia being tormented by Ferral frequently surfaced, and he tried not to think of her too much. He was already worrying so much that he was getting sick every time he imagined her face. At the end of every thought, however, his mind drifted back to her.
No one else had ever cared to listen to him or tried to understand his feelings. Allisia had not agreed with him, and she convinced him to see that he, too, was to blame for his behavior. Allisia was a stubborn girl, and Kristian liked that part of her.
During their first conversation, she had admitted their marriage was not what she wanted, especially since Kristian was the self-centered fool he appeared to be.
Kristian smiled despite the painful memory. He remembered how she sent people out to discover who he really was. It made him feel good to know someone went to that much trouble just to understand him. She was open and direct, but Allisia was also kind and considerate. No one had been that honest to him in a long time.
The truth hurt, and he had lashed out at her with terrible insults, forcing her to walk away. No one had done that
before either.
He instantly realized that she might be the best thing that could ever happen to him, but she was abandoning him, and he could not stand to see her go. Kristian apologized to keep her from leaving the garden. His actions in the courtyard could have been enough to ruin their relationship forever, but he refused to let her go away angry.
Kristian tried to say he was sorry again, adding as much sincerity as he could muster. He had never been forced to accept that he was wrong before. Allisia expected more of him, and in a way his father never had. It was as if she knew the true character of him that was trapped deep within and demanded that he share that side of his personality with her. She finally accepted his apology and promised to see him again to talk more about their future.
He remembered every word they spoke to each other from when they had first met up to the final night in the courtroom. Kristian also remembered her every expression. He felt terrible every time he remembered how she smiled or laughed or became angry. He had let Allisia down more than anyone else. She deserved to be safe. She was his only friend.
Kristian wondered if he loved her, but more importantly, she was someone he trusted and he could not fail her. It was hard to accept that Ferral was holding her prisoner in his fortress. He did not want to think that she lay alone in some dark corner of a cell and her only memory of him was the way he had initially treated her.
His mood began to darken even more as he thought of everything she had been through in just a few weeks. Allisia witnessed the brutal murder of her father right in front of her and had then been taken captive by the demon. She was forced to watch as Ferral’s dead creatures slaughtered her countrymen. And now, Ferral claimed her as his war prize, saying he would marry her and kill Kristian.
Everything he was about to do, this quest to raise a new army and his desire to kill Ferral, was to make sure that did not happen. He took in a deep breath to try and calm himself.
Kristian tried to stop worrying about her for just a few moments by looking at his surroundings.
In the distance, he could see low rises in the landscape, the foothills of the Merciless Mountains. They grew out of the darkness ahead, slowly taking shape in front of him. They looked so far away that it was impossible for Kristian to tell how long it would take to reach them.
Couldn’t they go faster? he wondered anxiously.
They reached the foothills early in the afternoon on the ninth day after the battle. The weather had gotten worse the closer to the mountains they got. Strong, cold winds blew ice and snow at the two, stinging their faces. Each looked at the jagged peaks off in the distance to their right in awe. Kristian had heard of the mountain range called the Mercies, which lured many into its high valleys with the hopes of riches and then trapped them forever in its cruel winter clutch. He never imagined they would look so forbidding. Even now, he could see more dark storm clouds rolling down the mountain peaks, rapidly approaching where they stood. He laughed out loud at their poor luck as he remembered how cruel the weather had been the night of the battle.
“At least it’s a natural storm,” he commented to Mikhal. “It doesn’t seem to have the cruelty to it that Ferral’s storm did.”
“I think you’ll change your mind about cruelty once it hits us,” Mikhal replied, sarcastically.
They continued to watch silently in dismay, as the clouds grew darker and closer throughout the day. In a rush that almost swept them from their horse, the fierce winds finally caught up to them and with the winds came a blanket of snow. The Erandians dismounted, grabbing hold of Old Man’s reins for support. Kristian had never witnessed such destructive storms before, and now he had seen two in less than two weeks.
Kristian shouted over the wind so that Mikhal could hear him. “I think I was wrong, these mountains are cursed after all. It certainly wasn’t a coincidence the night of the battle.” It was hard to see Mikhal’s reaction, his face was hidden deep within a fur-trimmed hood, but he thought the cavalier was nodding in agreement.
“I’ve been thinking the same thing. I saw that madman standing on top of his black walls chanting.” The cavalier looked around him at the swirling mists of snow. “This is definitely not natural. Look,” he said, pointing toward the hills to the north, “the storm winds are blowing directly south instead of to the east, and it is too early in the season for northern gales.” Mikhal even thought he saw odd colors swirling within the clouds where they met the mountains.
“Evil magic is at work here.” It was Kristian’s turn to nod in agreement. Neither had believed much in the ancient stories of sorcerers using magic to defeat armies, but it was hard for either of them to deny those stories now.
“How do we know which way to go? I can’t see my own feet,” Kristian complained as he stepped cautiously forward through the blizzard.
“I don’t know, but I can’t see any shelter either. We should keep moving until we find a few trees or a settlement. Anything to at least block the wind.”
They continued westward, hoping to find some place to take a break, but the storm died out as quickly as it had come. At first, the companions did not notice the change in the weather. Their ears rang from the howling wind, and their fingers and toes were numb from the biting cold. Then Kristian looked up and saw a star twinkling through the clouds. The storm had gone on for an entire day. He looked to Mikhal who was trying to pry his frozen glove away from his hold on the reins.
Mikhal’s first thought was to check on the horse. It was shaking badly, and its ragged breath was difficult to hear. “I’m afraid Old Man’s done for.” The cavalier tried to rub some warmth into the horse’s neck and then patted him. He loved horses almost as much as people. “I’m sorry, my friend. We didn’t take very good care of you. You served us well when we desperately needed you, and when you needed us we completely ignored you.”
“What should we do with him?” Kristian asked. He could see that Mikhal was truly upset. The young king had watched Mikhal closely and learned another important lesson. He began to understand, in part, what being a cavalier meant. A horse was just as important to one of the riders as a sword. The two, horse and cavalier, fought together and lived and died together. Mikhal was trained to care for his horse just as he was trained to look after all of his soldiers. And now, with his inspection of Old Man complete, Mikhal determined the animal would not last much longer. Part of Kristian felt shame for not having paid closer attention to the horse.
Mikhal shrugged. “He’s shaking badly from the cold. It looks as though he has frostbite on one of his front legs. His eyes are nearly frozen shut, and his lungs are raw from the freezing winds. We should say one final thank you and kindly end his misery, but I can’t even bare to mercy kill the poor beast. I’ve done too much killing lately.” Kristian nodded, understanding. Neither of them had the heart to end the horse’s pain.
Just then Old Man moved forward as though it understood what was being discussed. It nudged Mikhal, pushing him. He looked at the suffering animal questioningly. It nudged him again.
“What does he want?” Kristian asked puzzled.
“I don’t know.” Old Man nudged Mikhal again. He laughed in surprise. “I don’t think he’s ready to give in yet.” Both of them smiled as the stubborn workhorse moved ahead of Kristian.
The two shrugged as they struggled on through the snow with Old Man plodding on ahead of them. “Hopefully, we’ll find the river running south soon,” Mikhal commented.
“Or maybe a nice village with a tavern or an inn with a hot bath,” Kristian joked.
Mikhal stopped to look at him sternly. “As I recall, King Kristian, the last time you directed people to stay at a village, we were chased out by an angry mob. Besides, the last thing we want is to draw attention to us in an area where they might decide to turn us over to the Belarnians.” Kristian nodded silently, accepting the rebuke. He had only been joking, trying to lighten the mood, and it was not worth mentioning. Something else was nagging at him.
&n
bsp; “Why is it you only address me as “King” or “Your Highness” when you’re mocking me? Do you hate me that much?” Mikhal kept walking and did not turn to look at him.
“I need to know ...” Kristian stammered. “I need to know where I stand with you. Why are you helping me if you would rather see me dead?”
Mikhal stopped but still did not face Kristian. “I wish you dead no more than I wish myself dead.”
“I’m not sure that makes me feel any better after what we’ve been through.”
“We have our differences,” Mikhal offered, trying to be civil. “Like I told you before, you have a lot to answer for, but we have more important things to worry about right now. I don’t have the political savvy that you have, and we’ll definitely need your gift for words if we’re going to convince anyone to take on Ferral. I have some … leadership experience, but it will only be good if we get another chance at taking on Ferral. I promise that I’ll support you. You’re my king, after all. I’ll serve and protect you, but I’m not going to let you forget what happened.”
Kristian stared at Mikhal’s back dumbfounded. “You don’t have to remind me. I’ll never forget.” Would things ever be good again? he wondered. Then he realized that this was only the beginning.
“You’re wrong about something, though. You’re not giving yourself enough credit. You fought better than anyone else that I saw. You have courage and skill and … people respect you for your bravery.” He could not tell if his words had any affect.
Mikhal kept walking on through the snow, trying to ignore the compliment.