The Cavalier

Ten

War



Lord Moredin had seen many things in his life but the sight of the Banthra so near him was unnerving. The darkness of the beast lay upon everything and everyone like a dense fog. He felt the evil of the demon permeate his very bones as he glanced over at the Banthra who was standing several paces away in the shadows of his tent.

Several months ago the demon appeared and demanded he give his allegiance to Malbeck, allegiance that he had no choice but to give, for the alternative was death. Laying siege to Finarth was not something that he was looking forward to, but after looking at his new allies, he thought to himself that the venture could turn very profitable. The Banthra had brought in thousands of orcs, goblins, ogres, tribesmen from the flatlands, and even several hundred boargs. Combined with the thousands that he could summon and the thousands that would come from Prince Bomballa, the outlook for this coming war seemed bright indeed. Besides, it was just the prelude to Malbeck’s advancing army, who, when he arrived, would destroy his enemies and reward his allies. At least that is what Moredin hoped. But did he really have a choice? He didn’t think so.

The war council was assembled and the large spacious tent was filled with faces he knew, and faces he’d rather never see again. Ongessett, chief of the orcs, stood to his right looking down at the map sprawled out across the table. The orc war chief stood a full head taller than Moredin and his bulky mass looked half as wide as he was tall. He wore heavy plate mail interlinked with black leather. Any gaps in his protection were filled with charcoal gray chain mail. Ongessett’s massive neck supported a misshapen skull with a protruding pig like snout and thick lips that curled up exposing yellow fangs. His dark beady eyes scanned the map and Lord Moredin could see him struggling to process its intricate details. Ongessett was intelligent as far as orcs go, but that certainly did not mean that he could comprehend all that was being discussed. Moredin was not considered a good man, but even he didn’t like his present company.

The Banthra stepped closer to the table and Lord Moredin and the others shifted nervously away from it. The black knight wore dark armor covered with runes written in a language that Lord Moredin did not understand. The Banthra’s helm was made from dark steel, like his armor, and covered with serrated spikes. The most frightening part of the black knight’s visage was its eyes, two red glowing orbs of pure hatred that penetrated the black narrow eye slits. Other than the eye slits, the helm covered its entire face. There was not even an opening for its mouth.

Lord Moredin glanced at the others surrounding the table. The Banthra drifted closer and a blanket of evil draped over them, filling them with despair, fright, anger, and other dark emotions that penetrated their meager shells of humanity. The Banthras presence stained their very souls.

Prince Bomballa, leader of Numenell, held his ground at the table but his eyes betrayed his resolve. Numenell was the gateway city to the Flatlands and it was home to many bandits and raiders that used the city as a staging base for raids into Finarth and the lands of Annure.

His eyes darted nervously. The feeling of despair emanating from the black knight was obviously taking its toll on the prince. The tall black nomad was wearing his traditional flashy clothes, a bright red coat over a silky white low cut shirt. His deep purple pants were made of the same fine silk and the outfit was finished off with knee high boots made from expensive soft leather. He wore a purple hat with a long feather protruding from it. At his side was a jeweled rapier and dagger.

Moredin laughed inwardly at the outfit but he knew that looks could be deceiving. Bomballa was a deadly swordsman and Moredin had seen him slay more than one person who had underestimated him based on his outward appearance.

Also at the table was Arg’on, a gigantic black tribesman from the Sithgarin who was Lord Moredin’s war leader. He was huge and heavily muscled and the only thing he wore was the traditional war skirt that was standard for his tribe. A crisscrossed leather harness held together by a square piece of steel in the center of his chest wrapped his muscular torso. His tribe’s symbol, a desert hunting hawk, was embossed on the small steel plate. A giant heavy broad sword was lashed to his back and his tribal skirt was made from supple leather covered with thin plates of steel. Lord Moredin had never seen such a powerful and fearless looking warrior in all his life and he was glad that Arg’on was on their side.

Lastly there was Chief Grazzit, leader of the goblins. Grazzit was short, about as tall as a child who had seen twelve years, but his long arms gave him a wiry look. His thick skin was gray and patches of dark hair covered his body. The beast’s face was human in appearance but the yellow eyes, narrow fangs, and pointed ears were all too goblin-like. Dark plate mail covered thick wool clothing and at his waist hung a curved short sword.

Lord Moredin had heard that the history of the goblins was somehow linked to that of the elves, that they were fallen elves that had turned evil. He glanced briefly at the goblin and decided that there could be some truth to the legends.

The Banthra stepped to the table and slowly spread his hand over the map. The black spiked gauntlet clicked ominously as he opened his long fingers.

“We will use the goblins first to expose their archers,” hissed the Banthra. The demons voice was soft and guttural and it made the men and monsters alike fidget with apprehension. “How many warriors do you have, Grazzit?”

“Five thousand, my Lord,” muttered the goblin. His voice was high pitched and he mumbled slightly due to the many teeth that filled his mouth.

“Lord Moredin, you will use the phalanx, sending your cavalry around to the west while Prince Bomballa leads a second group of cavalry from the east. Arg’on will stay in the center with Ongessett and the orcs. I will leave the hundred ogres under your command, Chief Ongessett.”

“Very good, Lord,” replied Ongessett. The orc’s expansive chest gave his voice a deep, rasping baritone sound.

“We will flank them and crush them.” The Banthra’s speech was slow and calm, but it carried the weight of power, and darkness. To Lord Moredin it felt like someone was running a claw down his spine. The others felt it too for they glanced around the room nervously.

“Lord, what will your part be in the battle?” Moredin asked boldly.

The demon slowly turned its spiked helm toward Moredin. The black knight’s voice sounded like a whisper on the wind and its eyes sucked any shred of confidence from Moredin’s body. “I will be where I am needed.”

“Will our spy do his job as expected?” asked Bomballa nervously.

“Yesssss,” whispered the demon. “Everything will be ready.”

***

The Finarthian army had marched hard for several days before they reached the Lindsor Bridge. Scouts had been sent out periodically to assess the progress of the approaching army. Every modrig had been briefed daily as the enemy advanced into their lands.

Fil, Calden, and several other warriors sat around their fire discussing the news. Their army was spread as far as they could see and thousands of sparkling fires covered the grassy plains just beyond the Lindsor Bridge. The warriors with Fil and Calden were new recruits. Jack was a tall lean warrior who had joined the king’s forces a year ago. He was a kind quiet man who Fil had immediately taken a liking to. Lumis, his short haired blonde friend, had just joined the army several months ago. Lumis was stout and more square shouldered and definitely the talkative one.

“What do you think?” asked Lumis as he stoked the warm coals with a stick.

“What do you mean, what do we think?” asked Calden.

“About the orcs and goblins,” replied Lumis. Scouts had come in just that day and informed the king that Lord Moredin now marched with over ten thousand orcs and goblins. And to their dismay, they had also sighted ogres and boargs in the enemy ranks.

“I think we will kill them just like the rest,” muttered Fil under his breath. Fil’s mood had changed the last couple of days. He had become somber and agitated, his fear being replaced by a cold resolve to enact his revenge. Fil wanted nothing more than to kill and destroy the army that was approaching.

“Yeah, I guess we will,” added Calden, looking at his friend with concern.

“I’ve never seen an orc or goblin before, have any of you?” asked Lumis.

“I saw a dead orc once,” said Jack. “My father and I were hunting at the base of the Tundrens and we came across a ripped and torn body of an orc. A bear had killed it. It was hard to recognize, but my pa said it was an orc. It was pretty big and thick.”

“If it has a heart it can be killed,” Fil said, looking up at Jack. “If it bleeds, it can die. Boargs are tougher than orcs, but I’ve killed them before, and I will kill more.”

Lumis and Jack looked at Fil with interest. “You’ve killed a boarg before?” asked Jack.

Calden knew of Fil’s story but Fil had not brought up what had happened to his village to anyone outside of his knight apprentice group.

“Yes. They massacred my friends and family.” The intensity in Fil’s eyes was unnerving.

“I’m sorry, Fil. I did not know,” Jack responded sincerely.

Fil stood up abruptly. “I will get my revenge. Let them come.” He reached down, picked up his spear, and walked away into the darkness.

They watched him leave before Lumis spoke up. “I didn’t know that his family was killed. What happened?”

Calden added another log onto the fire. “Fil and his friend, Jonas, lost their entire village to boargs almost four years ago. He has not forgotten it.”

“I imagine not, nor would I,” Jack replied.

“What happened to his friend?” asked Lumis.

“I am not at liberty to say. But I will tell you that Jonas left the knight apprenticeship several years ago. We have not heard from him since.”

“Why would he leave and give up the chance to become a knight? Doesn’t make much sense,” Jack said.

Calden snorted softly. “If you knew the circumstances you wouldn’t be saying that.” He offered no more information so they went back to staring into the fire.

After a couple of minutes Jack spoke up. “Are you scared?”

Calden and Lumis looked at each other, replying together, “Yes.”

***

The trio had made it past Ta’Ron in good time. They passed through the city quickly, staying only long enough to learn that Lord Dynure had joined forces with his brother, King Olegaurd, four days ago, and was marching toward Finarth. Ta’Ron was a vassal city to Annure, and although not as large, still held a standing army of five thousand. The combined force would reach the Lindsor Bridge and join forces with the Finarthian army within the week.

The three rode hard across the grasslands staying clear of all major roads. The long journey was uneventful until they set up camp two days from Finarth. Kiln decided it was okay to light a fire so he went about collecting wood. They had run into no problems and since they were not traveling the roads they had not seen anyone else since they left Ta’Ron. Kiln figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a fire for as long as it took to cook a warm meal. They could put it out after they warmed their bellies with good food and hot tea. As he collected small branches from the plentiful shrubs, Taleen set up their sleeping rolls, while Jonas tethered the horses to one of the thick shrubs that grew like weeds across the grasslands.

Jonas was tying off the rope when he heard a horse whinny in the distance. “What was that?” he asked, standing up quickly, his hand moving to one of his swords.

Taleen and Kiln got to their feet as well, looking towards the sound. In the distance, cresting a gentle hill stood a magnificent white horse. The sun was setting behind the hill, silhouetting the majestic animal like a fine painting.

The horse whinnied again, rearing up on its hind legs. Jonas looked closer and saw that the animal was wearing silver plate mail that covered its head and chest. The horse also had a saddle that was rigged with sparkling silver buckles.

Taleen looked at Jonas and smiled. “I think your steed has arrived,” she said as Jonas stared at the horse in wonder.

“You think so?”

The horse was now running down the hill toward them. As it neared them, Jonas’s breath caught in his throat. It was the most striking horse he had ever seen. Its bright white coat was perfectly smooth and shining like it had been recently washed and brushed. The horse’s white mane bounced and fluttered in the wind as it galloped towards them.

There was not a speck of dirt on the animal. Its entire body was milky white, like freshly churned cream. The horse stopped ten paces away and looked right at Jonas. The plate mail on its chest was embossed with the silver and blue emblem of Shyann. The silver steel was mirror-like and it shone with brilliance. The black leather saddle was polished and lined with gleaming pieces of metal. Under the saddle lay a blue and silver cloth that rested over a blanket of sparkling chain mail. The horse snorted, nodding its head toward Jonas, seemingly beckoning him to approach. Jonas stood there awestruck.

“I think he wants you to come to him,” muttered Kiln, who was also staring in wonder at the incredible animal.

Jonas slowly approached the white horse. It gazed at him calmly, standing perfectly still. As Jonas neared the animal he was surprised at how big it was.

Taleen was also awed by the animal’s size and splendor. “That is the biggest, most magnificent horse I have ever seen,” she said.

“He must be over twenty hands tall,” added Kiln.

Jonas reached out, touching the horse on the head. Instantly Jonas felt a warmth flow through his hand. The horse turned and looked at him and Jonas clearly saw the intelligence in its deep black eyes. He gently stroked the animal’s head, laying his other hand on the horse’s muscular neck. Its glistening coat revealed rippling muscles forming the most perfect specimen of any steed Jonas had ever seen. He noticed that the saddle was covered with intricate artwork, embossed symbols of the gods, many of which Jonas recognized from the Kulam. Every piece of leather and shining metal that made up the saddle and harness had some sort of etching or carving. There was also a place for his bow and quiver.

Jonas’s hands moved down the animal’s side as he admired the horse’s perfect form. The horse was so large that the saddle was level with his eyes. He noticed that there was a blue cloth rolled up behind the saddle and strapped down with black buckles. Jonas unbuckled the cloth, lifting it off the horse. It was turquoise blue and made from a soft and flowing fabric. He unfurled it, holding it out before him. The outer fabric was like wool, but much softer, and the inside was lined with another fabric, something similar to cotton. It was a fine cloak, edged with silver thread, and on the back of the garment was a magnificent embroidered oak tree. It was the very same symbol that covered Jonas’s chest and the armor on the front of the horse.

“There can be no doubt, that horse is your cavalier steed,” Taleen said.

Jonas smiled, flipping the cloak over his shoulders. There was a silver clasp with a blue sapphire in the middle. He clipped the clasp together and glanced up at Taleen and Kiln. “How do I look?” he asked with a big smile on his face.

“Like a cavalier,” replied Kiln evenly.

Jonas turned his attention back to the horse who was still staring directly at him. “What do I call you? What would be a fitting name?” Jonas thought for a moment. Suddenly he smiled at himself. “I shall call you, Tulari,” he said, “my mother’s middle name. It is elvish.”

“What does it mean?” asked Taleen.

“Honorable,” replied Jonas.

“A fitting name for such a fine steed,” added Kiln.

***

King Olegaurd was a tall man, lanky, with sharp features like the craggy edges of broken rock. His armor was polished silver and edged in gold. Draped over his shoulders was a cavalry cape the color of deep purple, and embroidered in gold thread was the Annurien emblem. His hair was cut short, infantry style, and he was mostly shaven except for a few days of stubble. The king’s hair was dark brown and interlaced with silver. Thick bushy eyebrows edged his dark eyes, tired from hard riding and lack of sleep. But that did not take away the aura of power that emanated from him as he stepped into King Gavinsteal’s command tent.

With him was his younger brother, Lord Dynure of Ta-Ron, who was a spitting image of the king, but with lighter hair and much less silver. He too was tall, and together they portrayed a sense of calm power.

They had ridden hard with their army and had arrived at the Lindsor Bridge just before sunset. Orders were dispatched and their men had set up camp in the large open fields that covered the Finarthian hills for miles. Moments later they were escorted to the command tent.

Inside, King Gavinsteal was looking over several maps with his commanders. In audience were General Kuarin, General Ruthalis, and General Gandarin, along with first lance, Tilvus, leader of the Finarthian Knights. All the men were in battle armor and dressed for war. Standing next to their father were Prince Baylin and Prince Nelstrom. They, too, were in full armor in preparation for the coming violence.

King Gavinsteal withdrew from the map and moved to greet the king. “King Olegaurd, Lord Dynure, we thank you for coming, your presence is of great value to us.” The Finarthian king shook each of their hands in the warrior’s grip.

“Of course, we came in all haste and I’m glad to see that we were not too late,” replied King Olegaurd. His deep voice sounded like the rumbling of an angry mountain.

Lord Dynure spoke. “King Gavinsteal, please inform us what you know as we have received no other information from your messenger other than the fact that an army approaches bearing the banner of Lord Moredin. What else can you tell us?”

“Please, come and take a look at the map,” the king replied as he beckoned to a servant who was standing calmly at the edge of the tent. “May I offer you some wine?” he asked.

“That would be most gracious,” answered King Olegaurd. The servant went to a nearby table and poured several goblets of red wine.

“King Olegaurd, Lord Dynure, it is good to see you again. It’s been too long and I dare say I wish the circumstances were different,” Prince Baylin added as he greeted them both with firm handshakes. “You remember my brother, Prince Nelstrom.”

“Of course,” replied King Olegaurd with a nod to the younger prince.

“And General Ruthalis, Kuarin, and Gandarin,” continued Prince Baylin as they all greeted each other.

“Yes, it is good to see you all,” replied the Annurien king nodding to each of them as he took a goblet of wine offered by the servant. “Now, let us get to business so we can hope to get a few hours of rest tonight.”

The commanders smiled briefly at that comment as they knew that most of the night would be spent planning, issuing orders to subordinates, and preparing for the coming battle. Little, if any, sleep would be gotten this night.

“Very good,” King Gavinsteal began, “what we now know is that Lord Moredin’s army is one day out on the east road to Stonestep,” he said as he indicated the positions on the map.

“Do we have accurate numbers assessments?” asked Lord Dynure.

“No,” replied Prince Baylin, “our best guess is that he has near twenty thousand troops, ten of which come from various Sithgarin tribes. Our spies and scouts have not been very successful as the enemy is using boargs to guard their perimeter. The beasts can sniff my men out a mile away,” continued Baylin, frustration evident in his voice.

“Your court wizard?” questioned King Olegaurd. “If I recall correctly, Alerion was his name. Why has he not been used to get more information?”

“Indisposed at the moment,” King Gavinsteal said. “I have him hunting down other more pertinent information.”

“A blind army is a dead army,” stated King Olegaurd bluntly.

“His absence is necessary,” replied King Gavinsteal simply. There was a pause as if the Annurien king was expecting the king to continue, but he did not add any more information.

“They also have orcs, and possibly goblins,” General Ruthalis added, filling the silence. The general was not very tall, but he was built like a warrior, lean and strong, his handsome face tanned from many days in the saddle under the hot sun.

“What could possibly force Moredin to fight alongside orcs?” Lord Dynure asked. “The man is a backstabbing dung eater but even he must draw the line somewhere. And how was he able to unite that many tribes to fight?”

“Something is binding them together,” replied the first lance. Tilvus was pale, with plain features, but his mind was sharp and he was a natural at leading men.

Prince Baylin addressed the men. “We do not know what is binding them together, nor why he would openly attack us. His force sounds formidable, larger than I would have guessed he could bring together. But even if he defeats us here there is no way that he can take Finarth with his army, and surely he must know this.”

“Perhaps, but maybe he does not mean to win,” said General Gandarin. Gandarin was thick and his big head was covered with shaggy brown hair. His scarred face sported a bushy mustache and beard. Well known and respected, his presence resonated raw power and strong leadership. All eyes turned to him immediately.

“Meaning?” questioned King Olegaurd.

“Maybe they are just stalling. If the early reports from Alerion are accurate, then perhaps Malbeck’s army is massing to attack Tarsis, and in order to keep any of us from going to Tarsis’s aid, he occupies us here with another smaller force.”

“We had thought of that,” Baylin answered, “but it would take us over a month to march to Tarsis, and that is only if the weather holds before winter.”

“Might be just a precaution though, a guarantee that Tarsis and Finarth could not aid one another,” reasoned King Gavinsteal.

“So, Malbeck is back?” asked the stunned King Olegaurd.

“We do not know, but we suspect so,” said King Gavinsteal wearily. “An army is massing near Banrith, and we have reliable information that the Banthras are back, or at least one was. And then we have reports that many of our cavaliers have been hunted down and killed.” The king sighed in frustration.

“I know about the cavaliers, a great worry no doubt, but a Banthra? Are you sure?” asked Lord Dynure, his tone skeptical.

“We are. Airos, the cavalier, killed one, but unfortunately he died in the process,” Prince Baylin said.

“Let us discuss what we should do here and now, not about what is our best guess.” Prince Nelstrom spoke for the first time. “Tomorrow Moredin’s army will be here. What are we going to do about it?”

King Olegaurd looked at Prince Nelstrom. His dark eyes narrowed momentarily as he took in the prince’s curt words. Then he looked away and down at the maps on the table. “It is a foolish commander who ignores intelligence that has been gathered,” he said slowly before turning his gaze to the other commanders. It was not often that someone spoke to the prince that way, but none of them seemed to be terribly concerned, except for Prince Nelstrom of course, who looked as if he might boil over. But before he could respond, the Annurien king continued. “The young prince is partly right, though. Let us plan for tomorrow, and then the living can worry about whether Malbeck is back or not.”

***

Fil stood with his modrig facing the massive army assembling before them. The grasslands beyond the Lindsor Bridge were a perfect place for a battle. They were open as far as the eyes could see and covered with knee high grass. The colossal bridge was the only spot that an army could cross the river to approach the city of Finarth. It would have to be protected.

The Finarthian army, now combined with King Olegaurd’s troops, had assembled early that morning as their scouts had reported the enemy army moving into position. Fil’s modrig would be part of the infantry that stormed the center of the enemy ranks. King Oleguard and King Gavinsteal had met with their war commanders all night planning their attack. Fil had a fairly good idea of what the plan was. Tanus, their commander, had briefed them on their role in the battle. As the enemy army approached they would use their archers and the travel catapults.

Fil had not seen the catapults used before, but after looking at the hundred or so lined up beyond the bridge he easily surmised their role. Each one had a long arm that had a large stone as a counter weight to violently swing the opposite end into the air, launching the desired missile. They were built on huge wagons pulled by oxen.

As the enemy ranks were being bombarded with arrow and stone, the infantry would slowly advance with long spears and shields. King Gavinsteal would keep a reserve line in the back while the cavalry, led by the famous Finarthian Knights, would move in and flank the enemy. That was the plan anyway and Fil hoped that it would be successful.

The sun was just rising as the advancing enemy army stopped on the rise of a gentle hill. They were still a distance away but Fil could hear the goblins as they screeched and banged their shields. They spread out across the hill like a black wave ready to swamp them all. Fil could not see beyond the hill but he knew that there was more to the army than what they were seeing.

Calden stood next to him holding his long black spear tightly. “You ready for this?” he asked nervously.

“I am,” Fil replied firmly, his desire for revenge burying any residual fear he felt as he viewed the approaching goblin horde. “Remember, they bleed, and die, like anything else.”

Calden nodded his head, looking nervously toward the army of goblins before them. Fil glanced to his left and right at the thousands of stern fighting men quietly facing the enemy. They stood firm, their jaws clamped shut with resolve, their hands gripping long spears as if their lives depended on it. Maybe they would.

Suddenly a loud deep horn bellowed across the grasslands and the screaming goblins were racing down the hill toward them. It happened so quickly that Fil’s heart seemed to leap from his chest. It was finally happening. He had trained for this, waited for this, waited for his chance to revenge his family and friends. And now it was upon him. He would not fail them.

Tanus rode his warhorse across the front of his modrig yelling for the men to hold their line. He was wearing his great helm, and the boarg horns protruding from it helped remind Fil of the revenge that was due.

Anger boiled within him and his knuckles turned white as he squeezed his spear shaft. His heavy shield was strapped tightly to his right arm but he barely felt the weight of it as he vividly recalled the death and destruction of his town.

The Finarthian army answered the goblin’s charge with their own horns, signaling thousands of archers to let their deadly shafts fly. The arrows were so thick in the air that they momentarily blocked the sun’s light. Fil then heard the sound of the catapults behind him as they unleashed their lethal barrage of stone.

He looked up into the sky, seeing huge flaming spheres fly over them and explode in flame as they landed in the goblin ranks. Hundreds of goblins fell victim to the flames and arrows in several seconds.

“What are those?” asked Fil, for it was obvious that the catapults had not launched stones.

Gandis, a veteran warrior to his left, answered him. “Flaming jugs of oil. When they hit, fiery oil engulfs whoever is unfortunate to be near.”

Despite their losses, the goblins kept coming like a swarm of locusts. They were getting closer now and Fil could make out their distorted faces, fanged teeth, and yellow beady eyes. They were a mass of spindly bodies screaming wildly as they ran toward them with no discipline. Fil gripped his spear tightly, waiting for the order to advance.

He momentarily glanced up to the top of the hill to see another large group of hulking demi-humans emerge. They were much bigger than the goblins and thicker of limb. They must be orcs, thought Fil. He also spotted a handful of even larger foes, enemies that Fil recognized, for they were ogres.

Fil’s attention went back to the advancing goblins as a high pitched horn blew; it was the signal for their advance. Fil angled his spear forward and started moving toward the enemy with determination. The entire infantry began to march toward the screaming goblins that were now only a couple hundred paces away. The infantry lowered their long spears even further and the second horn blew ordering them to move double speed. Slowly the infantry built up speed as they approached the goblin horde. A deadly line of glittering spear tips bobbed up and down as they moved at the quick step, a drill they had practiced hundreds of times.

One hand carried their famous infantry shields while the other carried their spears. The shields were basically round with one spot cut out on the top in a small half circle. It allowed the infantry soldiers to hold the shield in front of them and angle their spears out over them, giving each warrior a spot to rest the heavy spear and jab it forward into a mass of enemies. It was an effective technique and one they had drilled for many hours.

The wall of sparkling metal spear tips spanned to Fil’s left and right farther than he could see. He screamed a battle cry, focusing on one goblin before him and listened for the signal.

Then he heard it.

A loud screeching horn sounded over the battle field and the infantry suddenly stopped in one big mass, shields came up in a solid wall of steel and spear tips angled out as the approaching goblins neared.

The two armies came together in a clash of bodies and steel. The sound was deafening but Fil kept his focus on the screaming beasts before him.

The goblins were propelled backward as they smashed against the solid shield wall. Thousands of the howling beasts were skewered by the razor sharp spears. The power of the wall came not from the first line, but the lines after them. The bodies of the men behind the first line supported each other and drove them forward as the goblins smashed into them. If someone in the first line fell then the man behind him moved into the position.

Spears jabbed forward again and again dropping the goblins by the hundreds. The Finarthian infantry slowly advanced, stepping over the growing number of enemy bodies.

Fil took his first goblin right in the throat and the momentum of its charge ran the spear point through the beast’s neck and a full pace up the spear shaft. Fil was forced to drop the spear and the dead goblin to the ground, and draw his short infantry sword. Battle lust took over and he screamed maniacally holding his shield and sword before him.

The battle was fierce and the noise deafening. Men and goblins alike screamed in defiance and pain. Blood, sweat, and dirt flew everywhere as the battle progressed. The trained infantry kept their shield wall tight as they used spear and infantry swords to deadly effect.

Fil blocked a downward stroke from a goblin sword with his shield and used his immense power to shield charge the beast. He rammed the shocked goblin with his shield, taking the beast directly in the face. The goblin’s head snapped back violently and Fil finished it off with a downward stroke of his heavy short sword. The blade took the goblin in the neck, showering them both with thick blood.

He felt Calden’s shield bang against his as his friend tried to fend off two goblins and still maintain the integrity of the wall. Fil noticed that he had moved forward too fast creating a gap in the wall near his friend.

He shuffled backwards and locked shields with Calden, taking another powerful strike against his shield. The blow knocked him back and his arm stung from the force, but he gritted his teeth, jabbing his sword forward and down through the gap he created by angling his shield to the right.

They had practiced the very same maneuver hundreds of times and now that training was paying off. Their short infantry swords were not made for jabbing, but their short length and weight made them deadly if used correctly and in conjunction with their sword brothers. The idea was to create gaps in the shield wall and jab forward and down, or forward and left and right, allowing the weight of the sharp blade to cut into arms and legs. If the wall could be maintained then the tactic generally proved deadly to their enemies.

This was the first time that Fil saw its practice in reality, and he thanked his trainers silently as he felt his blade swing down and cut into the thigh of the goblin before him. The beast stumbled to its knee and Fil finished it off with a powerful slash across its neck.

As the goblin fell to its death, Fil noticed the sunlight had momentarily disappeared. He glanced up and saw, to his dismay, thousands of arrows on their downward decent.

He had just enough time to get his shield up before the arrows turned him into a pin cushion. Many men near and behind him weren’t so lucky and their screams of pain and death sounded all around. He even heard the grunts and howls of goblins as they, too, fell victim to their own arrows. Three arrows pounded into his shield just as he saw a surviving goblin in front of him jab a spear at his unprotected belly.

Fil could do nothing but turn his body at the last minute, but it was enough. The tip of the goblin spear struck his leather armor a glancing blow and the deadly point slid by harmlessly, cutting a nasty gash across the hardened leather.

The goblin stopped its forward momentum but it could not pull its spear back for a second strike as Fil had slammed the hard edge of his shield down on top of the shaft, breaking it cleanly in two. Then he swung his heavy sword down on the goblin’s arm, cutting it in half just as easily as the spear shaft.

There was a brief reprieve as the barrage of arrows killed many men and goblins alike, creating gaps between the two forces.

Fil looked to his right to see Calden battling two goblins. They had both survived the enemy arrows, but now, they and their nearby comrades, faced the enemy in disarray, their formation momentarily crumbling around them.

Fil could not believe that Moredin’s forces launched their arrows into the fighting ranks while they fought so closely. Obviously they would kill some of their own troops in the process, which of course they had. But Fil did not have time to think any further on it as his friend battled for his life. He frantically looked for a way to help Calden, when his eyes glimpsed a discarded spear at his feet. Sheathing his sword, he picked up the spear.

He was getting ready to throw it when another goblin attacked him from the left. He used the spear like a staff, hitting the goblin’s sword away and then reversing the swing, taking the goblin in the side of the head. The goblin grunted, stumbling as Fil spun the spear around quickly, lancing the off-balance beast in the side with the razor sharp point. The goblin fell away into the battling mass of men and beasts around him.

Fil turned in one smooth motion and hefted the spear back for a throw. He spotted Calden fifteen paces away struggling to keep the goblins at bay. He used his powerful arms and legs, throwing the spear as hard as he could. Fil’s weapon of choice was the spear and not many could use it as proficiently as he. He had practiced with it every day and he could throw a spear farther and more accurately than any of the knight apprentices.

His practice had paid off, for the spear took one of the goblins in the side and the powerful throw launched the beast into the other goblin. Both creatures landed heavily on the ground and Calden cleaved the uninjured one with his short sword before the beast could untangle himself from his dead comrade. Calden glanced toward Fil and smiled before he was forced to engage another goblin.

Fil forced a frantic smile back as he glanced around at the chaos around him. He looked up and saw Tanus on his warhorse twenty paces away swinging his longer cavalry sword left and right, cutting into the enemy ranks, leaving a swath of death in his wake as he expertly led his horse through the mass of goblins.

Fil glimpsed a goblin sneaking toward Tanus from behind with a long spear in its hand. Fil looked around frantically for another spear but there were none to be found.

“Tanus, behind you!” Fil yelled.

Tanus glanced toward Fil, pivoting his horse around simultaneously. The warhorse shouldered several goblins out of the way but he wasn’t quite fast enough as the goblin jabbed up with the long shaft. The spear point took Tanus in the shoulder, penetrating a gap between his protective plates and knocking him off balance.

Fil unsheathed his blade and charged toward his commander, screaming in rage as he went. At the last minute he lifted up his shield, barreling through a goblin that stood in his way.

Tanus landed hard on his back, the wind knocked from his lungs, his helm dislodged from his head. Gasping for breath, he struggled to stand and find his sword just as he saw the spear wielding goblin jump on top of him screaming in bloodlust. The goblin kicked him in the face so hard that he saw stars as blood and a few teeth flew from his mouth. Tanus lay flat on his back, trying to shake off the dizziness. The goblin howled with glee and reversed its grip on the spear so that the point was angling towards him. Tanus looked up as the spear tip descended. Everything slowed as he looked upon his own death.

Suddenly a soldier rammed into the goblin, launching the beast into the air. Tanus didn’t waste any time getting up and grabbing his sword from the ground. He stumbled slightly as he shook off the fogginess and pain. After a few seconds he planted his legs firmly and stood up.

Fil stood next to him holding his blood smeared shield and sword.

“Nice timing,” Tanus said, looking about the battle field.

“Thanks.”

Blood ran freely from Tanus’s shoulder and mouth but the wounds did not seem to affect him. He nodded and then quickly engaged the nearest goblin with a defiant roar.

Fil fought next to Tanus for what seemed like an eternity. Goblins stacked up around them as they slashed, stabbed, and cut their way through the beasts.

Fil’s sword arm began to tire and his body was dripping sweat and blood. Suddenly another enemy horn sounded and Fil and Tanus looked around as they took advantage of the quick break from the fighting.

“What is that?” Fil gasped through deep breaths.

“The enemy is sending in their second line.” Tanus glanced around for his horse and saw his steed close by. The well trained animal didn’t leave his master’s side even in the heat of battle.

Tanus ran to his horse, stumbling slightly, the exhaustion and loss of blood from the wound now taking its toll. Fil rushed to Tanus and caught him before he fell.

“Let me help you,” he said as he guided Tanus to his horse and helped him into the saddle.

“My thanks,” Tanus muttered as he scanned the scene from his higher vantage point.

“What do you see, sir?” Fil asked anxiously.

“As I thought, they are sending in their second line.” Tanus pulled out a horn from the side of his horse’s saddle and blew it three times. It was the signal to reform their modrigs.

Quickly the soldiers reformed their fighting lines and tried to reestablish their shield wall. The remaining goblins had retreated and reformed with the advancing orcs and humans that were marching towards them. The enemy was beating huge war drums as the lumbering orcs marched down the hill. The menacing sound was deafening and the men around Fil looked about nervously. But most of them were veterans and they held their ground, their iron resolve strengthening the will of the younger inexperienced soldiers near them.

A horn blew behind them and Fil glanced back to see their reserve line move into position. Fil understood their role perfectly. The reserve line would fill any gaps that broke in their own line. Simultaneously the cavalry would be attacking from the flanks.

Fil could not see King Gavinsteal anywhere but he suspected he would be leading the Finarthian Knights into battle. Fil looked around for Calden and could not see him among the tired and bloody men nearby. He was exhausted and covered with the grime of battle.

“Drink from your water skins!” bellowed Tanus as he rode in front of his modrig. At his commander’s words Fil noticed how dry his mouth was. He took a long pull from his water skin, relishing the taste as the cold water took away the cottonmouth coating his tongue. The water brought new vigor back into his tired body.

Fil looked down and picked up another fallen spear. The thick shaft in his hand felt comforting as he looked upon the approaching horde of orcs and humans. The booming of the drums corresponded to the thumping of his heart as the adrenaline of battle coursed through his body.

Behind the orcs, Fil could make out the upper bodies of the massive ogres ambling towards them. The pace of the drums quickened and the orcs picked up their pace.

Fil set his feet into the ground, lifted up his shield with his sword brothers, and held his spear in front of him as the orcs bellowed defiantly, racing towards them, howling for blood.

“Give them nothing but death!” screamed Tanus on his horse as he lifted his sword into the air. The wound in his shoulder had stopped bleeding but the injury still hurt. He shook off the pain, raised his war horn to his mouth and blew into it, giving the signal to move forward at the single step. The silent infantry slowly advanced toward the enraged orcs, spears and shields held before them.

The two forces crashed together making a noise like a thunder clap. The fighting was intense and the tired men fared poorly against the fresh enemy troops. The orcs were strong and powerful and they sensed that their enemy was tiring. Tanus saw his line starting to falter.

“Formation, get in formation!” he screamed, pivoting his horse expertly behind the ranks. All the warriors near him quickly got shoulder to shoulder again, their shields defending the sword arm of the soldier next to him.

The reserve line sent in fresh troops to fill the gaps and maintain the line. Orcs ran at the formation wall with no sense of control or organization. The trained men used their shields to block the attacks while their sword brothers jabbed and cut into the orcs with their short swords.

King Gavinsteal, dressed in full battle array and carrying a long glittering lance, rode his warhorse over the peak of the hill. Behind him were two thousand Finarthian Knights. His armor shone brightly in the afternoon sun and his royal sword was strapped to his broad back. The king was old but he knew the importance of leading his men into battle. His very presence would provide the resolve his warriors needed to defeat this large force invading their homeland.

The king looked down at the battle and saw that his infantry was holding the orcs back, but barely. His eyes narrowed in anger and his jaw clenched in frustration as he surveyed the scene before him. For every orc that died upon the line, another took its place. The reserve line was filling in the gaps perfectly but they could only maintain the formation for so long.

Dagrinal rode up next to the king and gazed at the battle below. “Should I give the signal, my Lord?” he asked. “King Olegaurd should be in place with his cavalry on the east side.”

Upon the signal, both cavalries would ride in to flank the enemy army, each group representing the fearsome points of the “horn of the bull” attack. The powerful maneuver was designed to crush the enemy from all sides.

But something didn’t seem right to King Gavinsteal. Where was the enemy cavalry? Surely they had some mounted warriors. Also, there was no sign of Lord Moredin or Prince Bomballa in the enemy ranks. Where were they? King Gavinsteal continued surveying the battle and the lands beyond, anxiously looking for some clues.

“My King, if we don’t give the signal the infantry will be crushed. What are your orders?” asked Dagrinal again.

The king put his hand up to silence Dagrinal as he mulled over the decision, his eyes never leaving the battle below.

Prince Baylin rode up next to his father. His royal armor was polished brightly and his double headed battle axe was strapped to his back. The visor on his helm was up and his father noticed his worried expression.

“Are you thinking the same thing I am?” asked the king, turning to look at his son.

“I am. Where is their cavalry?” Prince Baylin asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve been blinded all night and day. They have boargs patrolling their perimeter and none of my scouts have returned. The boargs continue to sniff them out,” added the frustrated king.

“We have to assume that their cavalry is waiting for us to make our move and then they will try to flank us,” replied the prince as he surveyed the battle.

“Where is Nelstrom?” asked the king, looking about for his younger son.

Prince Baylin now knew about Nelstrom not being his brother, but he said nothing to his father about it. He figured if he wanted to talk about it that he would bring it up when he was ready. For now, with all that was happening, the issue seemed trivial in the big picture of things.

“I don’t know, father. I haven’t seen him. But you must make a decision now or our infantry will be destroyed.”

They all looked down as the ogres threw stones the size of human heads, punching holes in their infantry formation. The stones crushed several men at a time but the reserve line moved in to fill the gaps. The formation was holding but it was obvious they wouldn’t hold much longer.

“Baylin, stay here with half an akron. Keep Graggis with you. Dagrinal, you and I will sound the horn for the advance. If you see their cavalry, sound the horn and we will retreat to a defensive position while you ride in with your five hundred and re-flank them.”

“Yes, Father. May Ulren be with you,” the prince replied.

“And you, my son,” replied the king. “Dagrinal, give the signal.”

The king hefted his long lance and dropped his visor down over his face.

***

Fil’s arm was starting to tire. The orcs kept coming, ignoring the bodies of their brethren as they plodded through ground sodden with their blood. The Finarthian infantry stepped over their own dead bodies as they slowly pushed their formation forward.

A young man to Fil’s left suddenly disappeared as a huge rock blasted him from the line. A screaming orc with a black sword jumped at Fil, trying to barrel his way through the shield wall.

Fil had learned from Tanus that orcs purposely keep their blades dirty, that they sheath them still covered in blood, in hopes that they will turn black and become infested with grime that caused infections. A cut from an orc’s blade, even one that was minor, could be life threatening.

So he kept a wary eye on the orc’s sword as he jumped in front of the beast, lifting his shield to block its forward attack. But he couldn’t concentrate on that foe as another orc came at his sword arm. Long ago Fil had dropped his spear for his close formation sword, and he used it well. He slashed his sword across the attacking orc’s forearm as the other orc grabbed the edge of his shield, trying to yank it from his grasp.

The orc was strong, but so was Fil. He gritted his teeth and dug deep for the strength to keep the shield up. The orc’s face was close and he could smell its vile breath over the edge of the shield. The orc kept pulling on the shield and Fil’s tired arm was starting to weaken.

Fil pictured his younger brother being ripped apart by boargs and his vision blurred momentarily as raw anger flowed through his body. He gritted his teeth as he came eye to eye with the gruesome monster. The beast’s yellow eyes with their dark pupils pulsed with hatred. Its thick greenish skin resembled dried mud baking in the summer sun.

The orc growled, showing its long rotting canines. Its deformed head was bald, devoid of all hair except for a few patches that grew in random places.

The orc that Fil had cut on the arm dropped its sword and roared in pain, its forearm flayed open like a gutted fish.

“Time to die,” Fil whispered to the orc in front of him. He couldn’t hold the shield any longer, so he simply let the orc pull it. As the orc yanked the shield back, Fil used that momentum to lunge forward with his forehead, ramming the boney part of his skull into to the face of the orc, shattering its pig-like nose and several teeth. The impact was jarring but Fil maintained his balance, skewering the dazed orc right through the throat.

Suddenly he heard the cavalry horn. He quickly looked up and to the sides to see the knights storm down the hillside. The thundering horses shook the earth as the knight’s long glittering lances sparkled in the sun.

The men around him cheered with newfound energy as the charging knights sent hope into the tired infantry. Fil’s battle lust returned and he, too, cheered as new strength coursed through his body. His sword felt lighter as he lifted it to defend his land.

The knights’ lances tore into the orcs, killing hundreds of them instantly. Many lances were lost on the initial charge, either breaking on shields or piercing enemy warriors and falling to the ground with their victims. It wasn’t long before the knights were using their close formation weapon, the long cavalry sword.

The Finarthian Knights were known for their horsemanship and their skills were quickly displayed with deadly precision. They maintained their formation as they cut through the orcs, swinging their cavalry swords left and right, destroying the screaming monsters. Each horse was perfectly positioned to give them room to fight but also to maintain the line without any breaks. They had trained long and hard with their steeds until their movements became nearly instinctive.

King Olegaurd’s cavalry reacted to the signal horn as well. He and his brother, Lord Dynure, led fifteen hundred Annurian cavalry into the right flank. The orcs and ogres were in utter chaos. They were being attacked on three sides now as the ‘horns of the bull’ drove them back up the hill. Hundreds died as the unstoppable maneuver slowly closed in on the desperate creatures that couldn’t escape.

Dagrinal kept close to his king, his spinning sword defending his liege with lighting speed. The swordsman glanced to his left, making sure that King Gavinsteal was still close.

The king swung his massive sword with one hand, his powerful arm easily cleaving his sword into whatever unfortunate creature got close. But his movements were slowing already, his age taking its toll on the battle hardened warrior.

Dagrinal urged his horse on, expertly moving it closer to the tiring king. He roared defiantly as he lanced an orc through the eye and looked up for his next victim.

A huge ogre lumbered near on their right. The beast was twenty paces away and he carried a large stone in his hand.

“Lord, look out!” shouted Dagrinal as he frantically drove his horse forward. The ogre heaved the stone overhand with a loud grunt just as the king swung his horse toward the beast with his sword raised high.

The stone took the king’s horse in the neck, snapping its spine instantly and sending the king flying backwards into the air.

“To the king!” yelled Dagrinal as he leaped from his horse and ran to King Gavinsteal. One burly orc raced forward with a wicked looking axe lifted over his head. The beast growled and started to swing its axe downward towards the unconscious king’s head when a flying dagger took the orc in its open mouth.

Dagrinal followed his knife, jumping over the king, straddling his inert form and swinging his long sword in a deadly dance, keeping the attacking orcs away. Enemy blood covered his plate mail and Dagrinal clenched his jaw firmly, gazing through the eye slits of his helm at the enemies surrounding him. “Come on! This kill will not be that easy!” yelled Dagrinal as more orcs attacked him viciously, hoping to kill the downed king and the man now guarding him.

One lunged forward trying to skewer the swordsman but Dagrinal was too fast. He swatted the sword away with a lighting quick parry and sent his sword swinging left and right so fast that the orc didn’t even register the fact that its stomach was just sliced open. The orc’s eyes bulged while he frantically tried to hold his intestines inside his stomach cavity. Dagrinal kicked him in the face and lanced another orc in the throat. “Come on you dung eaters, my blade thirsts for more blood!” Dagrinal yelled in defiance as he parried another attack and sliced open an orc’s leg.

Third lance, Lathrin, hearing Dagrinal’s call, spurred his horse forward and rammed the remaining orcs away from the downed king. He swung his sword downward, slicing open the skull of one orc while Dagrinal leaped on top of another fallen beast, stabbing him through the heart.

Just then a ring of knights moved in to form a protective shield around their king.

“Get the king out of here!” yelled Dagrinal.

“I have him!” cried Lathrin over the screaming and yelling of the battle around them. Dagrinal lifted the king up as Lathrin reached down and grabbed a hold of the king’s sword belt. As Lathrin lifted up hard, Dagrinal heaved the king’s body over the back of Lathrin’s horse. Dagrinal swatted the horse on its hindquarters as Lathrin spurred it to the back of their line, towards the safety of the royal tent.

Suddenly Prince Baylin’s horn blew, signaling the appearance of the enemy cavalry. Seconds after that another loud horn blew, one that Dagrinal did not recognize. It was an enemy horn and he quickly found his horse, leaping back up into the saddle. Dagrinal’s heart sank as he saw a wave of enemy cavalry rise up over the crest and gallop towards them like a thunderous earthquake. In front of the horses ran several hundred boargs. But that wasn’t all. As enemy cavalry moved in from both sides, thousands of tribesmen sprinted over the hill towards them, yelling their war cries.

Dagrinal quickly grabbed his horn and blew the signal to retreat and regroup.

***

Fil had no enemies to kill as the remaining orcs backed away from the deadly infantry. He lowered his exhausted sword arm, panting heavily. He tried to lick his dry lips but his mouth and tongue were devoid of any moisture.

Just then he heard the horn that signaled their forces to retreat and regroup. The infantry officers sounded their horns again and the trained fighting force slowly retreated backwards in formation.

The thundering of horses drew Fil’s gaze up the hill and what he saw drained the blood from his face. Thousands of enemy cavalry stormed down the hill towards them. In front of them ran several hundred boargs. At the sight of the hated creatures, Fil’s heart began to beat faster. He clenched his jaw, his long-held rage at the boargs pulling him out of formation towards the oncoming beasts.

“Fil!” Calden screamed.

Fil stopped, recognizing the voice. He turned to see Calden running towards him. He was covered in blood and he had a vicious cut running down the side of his left cheek.

“Fil, you can’t beat them by yourself! Get back in line!” He grabbed Fil’s arm, cutting through Fil’s trance.

Fil shook his head and looked at his friend. Sweat soaked Calden’s head and dripped freely down his dirt covered face. The sight of his friend alive brought Fil out of his killing rage. “You’re right. I lost it for a moment.”

More horns blew and both the warriors looked around to see what was happening. Their own cavalry was expertly moving backwards and regrouping in two separate formations to the infantry’s left and right. They were angled outwards to deflect the incoming enemy cavalry while the infantry stayed in the center to fight face to face with the fearsome tribesmen.

“Here they come, get back in formation!” yelled Tanus.

Both the men ran back, joining forces with their infantry. The Finarthian infantry stood still, shields and swords locked together in a massive wall of determination, strength, and experience.

The screaming tribesmen raced down the hill yelling the names of their own gods. As they neared the infantry line Fil noticed their dark bare skin covered with black and red paint. Most did not wear any armor except metal and leather skirts. They carried short stabbing javelins and long curved swords. This fearsome group of fighting men screamed and raced down the hill with abandon, joining the remaining orcs as they neared the Finarthian infantry.

Prince Baylin raced his five hundred horses down the hill to reinforce the cavalry just as the enemy cavalry neared them. The enemy cavalry would have crushed the knights if they had not reacted so quickly. Their skill and experience as a fighting force enabled them to retreat and reset their cavalry against the vulnerable part of their own infantry. Now the enemy cavalry was racing towards a set line of determined knights rather than the backs of a surprised group of soldiers.

The prince lifted up his long lance, shaking it toward the approaching enemy. “Show them the strength of our steel! For your king!” he roared.

All the knights shook their lances or swords, yelling as loud as they could. The prince lowered his visor and spurred his horse forward. Instantly, five hundred knights launched forward towards the rapidly approaching enemy.

***

The Annurian Knights were not faring as well. The enemy had crested the hill closer to them, not giving them time to fully reestablish their perimeter. But they were skilled and brave knights who had fought in many battles. They held their ground as the enemy crashed into them.

Hundreds of Annurian Knights died quickly on the long lances of the enemy, but they didn’t break or flee. Lances were dropped and cavalry swords banged against shield and sword alike.

King Olegaurd leaned over in his saddle, slicing his long sword across the leg of a horsed rider. The man screamed and frantically brought his sword down to block the next attack, but the king met the man’s blade and rolled his razor sharp edge over the weapon, ramming the point into the surprised man’s chest. The warrior fell off his horse without a sound.

King Olegaurd had lost his lance after it snapped under the pressure of taking a horsed rider in the chest. Now that he had a few seconds, he reached up to the leather harness that lashed his buckler to his back and yanked it down, bringing the small round shield around to his front where he inserted his forearm into the straps. He cinched them down quickly and looked around at the chaos.

The small shield, or buckler as it was often called, had the diameter of his forearm and allowed him to use the reigns and block various attacks from the saddle. They were designed specifically for horsed combat and the Annurien Knights were experts in their use.

The cavalry skirmish was not going well for the Annuriens. They were being overwhelmed with superior numbers as the enemy had broken their ranks. It was now a free for all as Annurien Knights fought for their lives.

Lord Dynure rode up to his older brother, his face covered in sweat and splattered with crimson stains. He too had lost his lance and now held his long cavalry sword.

He nodded in greeting, no words needed to be said as they understood their situation.

“Stay with me, Brother,” King Olegaurd said softly, but with quiet intensity.

And with that he urged his horse forward toward the enemy line, his brother to his left, both with swords raised and fire in their eyes.

***

The black tribesmen barreled into the formation line taking many Finarthian men to the ground. The line broke immediately as the power and sheer numbers overwhelmed the already tired infantry.

The fighting became disorganized and fierce. The Finarthian reserves moved in to defend their brethren against the formidable warriors.

Fil jumped over a fallen comrade, swinging his sword down and through a tribesman’s neck who was preoccupied with defending himself from another attack. Wrenching his sword free of the dead man’s spine, Fil frantically defended himself against an onslaught of attacks.

The desert warriors were everywhere and it was all Fil could do to defend himself. He would block one attack with his shield while using his short sword to deflect any other blows. He began to feel the cold clutches of fear as he glanced left and right and saw his comrades in similar states.

Suddenly he felt a jabbing pain in his right side. He had turned quickly just as a curved sword lanced through his side from behind. The pain was quick and intense but Fil was forced to ignore it as he turned toward the new attacker. The warrior’s sword was stuck in Fil’s side and Fil had turned so quickly that it had ripped the sword from the man’s hand. Fil roared with fury, swinging his sword down, cutting through the screaming man’s arm just above the elbow. Fil followed the attack with a reverse swing, slicing through the man’s unprotected abdomen.

Fil didn’t even have time to pull the sword free from his side as more tribesmen attacked him. Luckily the sword had just cut through skin and some muscle so no vital organs were damaged. But the pain was immense as Fil fought; the sword bouncing and moving around inside his flesh. He gritted his teeth and embraced the pain as he fought for his life.

Suddenly a horse barreled its way to the front of the line, its rider swatting aside enemy warriors as he went. The rider swung his long sword down with a lightning quick strike that ripped open the back of the man who was attacking Fil.

Fil glanced up at the new rider and saw a dark haired man with steel gray eyes staring back at him. The man smiled, amazing Fil with his apparent confidence that seemed to surround him like a warm blanket. The warrior’s eyes shone with a focused intensity that reflected certain death to any who faced him.

Fil gave silent thanks that this warrior was on their side as the newcomer resumed his attack on the enemy ranks. He expertly maneuvered his horse left and right, cutting down any enemy that neared him. His long sword was a blur of green magical energy as he attacked the tribesmen, while staying in the center of the line at all times.

“To me, warriors, hold the center!” the dark haired man bellowed above the sounds of war.

The remaining Finarthian infantry fought and struggled to get near the horseman and reestablish the line.

Fil sidestepped a clumsy attack by one of the tribesmen whose sword glanced off his shoulder guard. He rammed his knee hard into the tribesman’s exposed stomach and the man keeled over, gasping for breath. He then brought the pommel of his sword down on top of the man’s head and he fell to the ground unconscious.

Fil looked up from the downed man and saw the horseman ride near him just as a massive spear took the stranger’s mount in the throat. The spear was huge, made from a crudely shaped sapling.

The horse stumbled to the ground, the spear sinking several feet into its chest. Something big had thrown that spear and Fil’s nightmares were realized as he looked up and saw a huge ogre lumber through the ranks of the tribesmen to finish off the rider.

Fil yanked out the sword in his side, grimacing from the pain just as the ogre moved towards the downed horse.

The rider had jumped free and rolled across the bloody ground to come up standing with sword and dagger held before him. “Finally a challenge,” the swordsman said to himself, loud enough for Fil to hear.

Fil marveled at the warrior’s amazing agility as he stumbled in to help him. The ogre glanced toward Fil as he tried to sneak in towards its tree trunk legs. The beast was as tall as two short men and its legs were stout and thick with muscle.

Fil sliced his short sword across the ogre’s leg but the blade did little damage to the thick skin. The beast roared, swinging its thick arm down and hitting Fil squarely in the chest, the immense strength of the blow breaking his ribs. He was thrown backward like a rock from a catapult, landing fifteen paces away. Though he was able to maintain consciousness, the pain was so intense that he could barely move. He felt his broken ribs move around inside him as he struggled to get up.

Kiln balanced himself on the balls of his feet as the ogre lumbered toward him. The ogre looked down at him as it attempted to kick him with its massive leather boot. The beast’s foot was as big as a small boulder. Kiln leaped to the side and sent his blades into motion. His weapons sliced into the ogre’s foot and calf twice before the ogre could even register the pain. His magical blades sliced through the thick skin easily, furrows of red appearing on the beast’s legs as Kiln danced around the slow behemoth.

The ogre roared in pain as it set its foot down and tried to reach out with its hands to crush the little human. But Kiln was a blur of razor sharp steel and he lunged under the hands, slicing his long sword across the beast’s abdomen simultaneously ramming his dagger into the left thigh of the ogre. The dagger sunk in deep and the ogre roared in pain as it reached down to yank out the weapon. Kiln dove between the ogre's legs, coming up in a roll just behind the huge creature. His long sword sliced left and right, cutting through the tendons located on the back of the beast’s knees. Again, the ogre howled in agony, dropping to the ground, while Kiln, simultaneously leaped into the air, driving the point of his sword down and through the ogre’s back, penetrating its lungs and heart. The warrior left his sword in the beast, landing lightly on his feet.

Fil held his body still and watched the swordsman carve the large ogre into meat. He didn’t want to move because of the pain and he was afraid an enemy warrior would see him and attack. Fil knew that in his state he would be hard pressed to defend himself.

The dead ogre fell face first onto the bloody ground with Kiln’s long sword jutting from its back, quivering in the air.

Kiln spun around toward the enemy warriors and yelled again. “Men of Finarth, hold the line!”

The soldiers responded with renewed courage and strength and they began to fight their way to the swordsman. Fil watched in amazement as the line began to reform and move towards the dark haired warrior. But the pain was too much and his vision began to blur. The ogre’s fist had done tremendous damage and it was difficult to breath. He fought to stay conscious but it was no use. His head sank to the ground and his body lay sprawled among the dead as he finally succumbed to the darkness.

Rorum, a young infantry soldier, felt a sharp sting to his thigh as he pivoted his body away from the curved blade of the attacking tribesman. The tribesman had swung hard, the momentum of his swing pushing him off balance as Rorum spun by him. He then sliced his short sword down and across the tribesman’s sword arm. The cut was deep and the enemy warrior screamed, staggering to his left where another Finarthian warrior finished him off.

The young soldier, and several other infantry soldiers, had fought their way to the dark haired stranger who had rallied the men and strengthened the line. More Finarthian warriors found the strength and courage to fight their way to this man, and they now stood before him exhausted but determined. They had formed a break in the enemy’s ranks but the fighting still continued all around them.

Kiln reached down and ripped out his sword from the back of the dead ogre. He glanced back and saw the men behind him, looking at him with uncertainty.

“Who are you?” asked Rorum through deep panting breaths.

Kiln glanced at the young warrior as he turned around to face the men. “I am Kiln!”

Then he looked forward and saw enemy soldiers converge on them screaming their battle cries. He grabbed his bloody dagger from the ground and focused his attention on the rapidly approaching tribesmen. He swung his sword from side to side. “If they want death!” he yelled, lifting his sword into the air. “Let them come!”

The men behind him yelled in unison, raising their crimson swords in defiance. Kiln smiled and ran forward to meet the enemy.

***

Jonas and Taleen sat high on their mounts scanning the battlefield below. They had followed the sounds of the battle and had ridden over the crest of a nearby hill. Below them, accompanied by the sounds of blasting horns and pounding war drums, raged a huge battle. The enemy riders had just attacked the flanks of the Finarthian cavalry.

Kiln, who had viewed the dire scene with them, had immediately spotted the desperate situation forming in the center of the infantry. He explained that if the center broke, enemy soldiers would surround and destroy them. Jonas had reluctantly followed Kiln’s orders and stayed behind while Kiln urged his mount down into the melee. Kiln told them that they would be needed to combat more dangerous foes, the priests of Naz-reen or Gould, or worse, a Banthra.

So Jonas and Taleen scanned the battle before them trying to figure out how they would best fit in. It didn’t take long for the cavaliers to sense the evil that was approaching through the ranks of enemy warriors.

“Jonas, do you feel it?” asked Taleen as she scanned the enemy ranks.

“I do,” Jonas answered, gazing out over the battle looking for the source of this malevolent feeling. “There,” he said, pointing towards a group of horseman that were maneuvering toward the Finarthian cavalry.

Their steeds had already sensed the dark force before them and both animals pranced, urging their riders forward.

Taleen looked at Jonas and nocked an arrow to her long bow. “May Helikon be with you,” she said with a nod of her head.

“And may Shyann guard your back,” Jonas responded, drawing forth one of his sabers. The cavaliers raced down the hillside towards the unearthly threat, eager to confront the evil that was corrupting their land.

Prince Baylin swung his mighty axe as if it were a toy. The razor sharp axe head dealt death to every enemy who neared him. His powerful legs controlled his horse expertly as he swung his battle-axe left and right with one hand. He lost all sense of time as he methodically cut down his enemies. Though he bled from several wounds, he didn’t register the pain as his mind and body became immersed in the heat and pandemonium of battle.

The prince’s battle frenzy was interrupted, however, by a sudden cold force that seemed to weigh him down, draining the warmth and energy from his body. He glanced frantically about trying to locate the source of this oppressive feeling that had so rapidly assaulted him, chilling his very bones.

His knights, too, were enveloped in the same dark miasma, their minds and bodies imprisoned by weakness and fear. Baylin saw his knights, and enemy warriors, part to give way to a trio of dark warriors mounted on even darker steeds, drifting through the ranks like a suffocating fog. Clad in black armor, the warriors and their horses emanated such evil energy that no nearby mortal could withstand it, turning their resolve into mindless terror.

The leader of the black triad caught Prince Baylin’s eye. Like the others, he wore dark plate mail the color of charcoal and his wicked helm jutted curved horns and spikes. What really drew the prince’s attention, however, were the warrior’s glowing red orbs that bore into his own, subjugating his will and causing his body to shake with uncontrollable fear.



Elsewhere, Graggis fought with the energy of a god, his mighty axe piling up bodies around his warhorse. He roared in defiance as he cut his way toward a giant black warrior riding a chestnut warhorse. He had spotted the muscle bound warrior and knew that this man was Arg’on, Lord Moredin’s war commander, a legendary warrior who was known for his strength and ferocity.

Graggis swung his magical axe down on top of the head of a nearby horseman, creasing his helm so badly that it drove the edges of the metal into the man’s broken skull. The path to Arg’on was now open and Graggis urged his horse forward.

Arg’on carried a massive two-handed sword that he swung easily with one hand. The black tribesman yanked his sword from the breast of a knight and pivoted his horse towards the new threat.

“Well met, Arg’on,” Graggis said evenly as his horse pranced eagerly in front of the huge black warrior. All the men fighting around them seemed to sense the contest and consciously moved away to give them room.

“Are you someone I should know?” asked the tribal warrior in the common tongue. He spoke it well and his accent was barely noticeable.

“You should always know the name of the man who is going to kill you so you can buy him a drink in the afterworld,” replied Graggis, smiling broadly.

“Then stop talking and tell me your name so that I may pray for your soul after I kill you and cut out your heart,” Arg’on responded calmly.

“I am Graggis,” and without further hesitation he spurred his horse forward, swinging his mighty axe in a powerful downward stroke.

Arg’on brought his sword up to block the blow but at the last second Graggis redirected his strike expertly to hit the tribesman’s horse. It was Graggis’s immense strength that enabled him to change the momentum of the stroke so quickly.

The magical blade easily sank through the steed’s armor, slicing through the animals shoulder muscle. The horse reared up, stumbling backwards before it pitched side long to the ground.

Arg’on jumped off the horse and landed hard on his side, but he was a tough warrior who had survived many battles. Few men could match his strength. He rolled backwards and came up quickly to face the horseman with the axe.

Graggis quickly dismounted from his horse and stood in front of the tribesman. He couldn’t help but think what a great specimen of a man this tribesman was. He was tall and heavy, with iron hard muscle. The warrior wore a metal-laced skirt that was cinched tightly around his narrow waist. His legs and arms were so corded with muscles that he almost looked deformed. He held his huge blade easily with one hand, his face a picture of confidence.

“I wouldn’t want anyone to think that I had an unfair advantage in killing you,” Graggis said as he attacked the tribesman with fury.

The fight was intense. Both warriors were skilled and strong. They traded blow for blow for several minutes, the power of each strike echoing across the battlefield. They had similar styles, both used to crushing their opponents with strength and speed, but after several minutes of hard fighting, Graggis noted a difference.

The tribesman was undisciplined in his fighting, accustomed to using his strength and power to destroy anyone who stood against him. Graggis, however, had been trained as a Finarthian Knight, trained by Master Borum, the greatest weapons master around, and they had learned not only discipline, but tactics that were beyond most common warriors.

Graggis noticed that Arg’on held his sword with his right hand only, making him a bit slow in defending his left flank. Graggis swung his axe left and right and looked for an opening. But the man was fast and strong as an ox. When their weapons met the earth around them shook. Graggis had never met a man whose strength equaled his own, until now. But Graggis now knew the tribesman’s weakness and he worked to exploit it. Arg’on swung his huge sword down, Graggis brought his axe up to block the attack. Just as the warrior retracted his blade, Graggis tossed his axe to his left hand and attacked the tribesman’s left flank with lightning speed.

Arg’on recovered quickly, and frantically deflected the axe blade. But Graggis’s attack had been a ruse. As he attacked the tribesman’s left flank with his axe, he swung his gauntlet covered right hand into the side of the powerful warrior. His fist struck the tribesman solidly in the kidney.

Normally such a blow would cause little damage, for the tribesman’s waist was protected by thick muscle. But he had never before encountered a man with such strength.

The blow crushed his kidney and he keeled over from the pain, bracing his fall with his sword arm. He gritted his teeth through the pain and looked up to fend off the deadly axe man. But all he saw was the razor sharp edge of Graggis’s axe as it split his astonished expression in two.

The huge tribesman fell heavily to the ground. “I’ll take a pint of Annurien mead when you see me next,” Graggis said as he yanked his blade clear of the grisly mess.

Back at the infantry’s center, Kiln had become the point of a wedge of the small group of Finarthian infantry that had followed him into the enemy ranks. He let the undisciplined tribesmen break themselves on the wedge point, forcing them to the sides of the formation where more Finarthian warriors were there to meet them.

He stopped advancing and held the point as he fought one enemy after another. He knew that if he advanced too far the enemy would surround them and crush them. He put some faith in the Finarthian commanders and hoped that they would see the wedge and move in to support them.

Kiln spun and pivoted as his blades cut into the enemy warriors. No one could touch him as he moved effortlessly, killing any tribesman that neared him. Rorum and the others fought furiously next to him. Kiln’s very presence seemed to give the men new hope, and they fought on, well past the point where their sword arms and lungs should have given out.

Prince Baylin had never been more afraid. He couldn’t move as the deadly trio moved closer to him. The lead warrior spurred his black horse forward and the prince shifted his gaze to the horrible animal.

It was huge, a full pace bigger than any warhorse Baylin had ever seen, with a coat that was thick and covered with sweat. Its long black mane was tangled with knots, but it was the animal’s eyes and mouth that made Prince Baylin realize that this was no ordinary horse. Glowing red eyes, like those of its master, peered out over a mouth that opened to expose long razor sharp teeth embedded in gums the color of congealed blood.

“Do you know what I am?” hissed the Banthra. The Banthra’s voice drifted towards the prince and danced around in his mind as he struggled against the magic that was paralyzing him.

Prince Baylin redirected his gaze to the warrior and used every ounce of inner strength to answer the demon. “You are a Banthra, a fallen cavalier corrupted by magic,” replied the prince as he swallowed the knot growing in his throat.

The Banthra hissed again and the big black horse shifted uneasily beneath him. “And you are Prince Baylin, next in line for the throne of Finarth, a position that you will not be filling.”

At that moment a dazzling white light burst forth from the fighting men behind the prince. Two huge horses parted the milling mass of warriors, completely washing the area with a light that shone with the brilliance of the sun. The warhorses carried magnificent warriors wearing gleaming silver plate mail and glittering steel helms that hid their identity.

The Banthra hissed loudly as it shifted in the saddle. The demon’s horse growled menacingly and pranced backwards a few steps. The riders that flanked him also moved uneasily in their saddles, retreating several steps away from the light. These riders were dark clerics of the Forsworn and each wore similar armor and spiked helms, both cursed by the dark magic of the three evil gods.

Jonas and Taleen urged their horses forward as their light flared even brighter, sending rays of hope into the fighting men around them. Enemy warriors moved away, the light from the cavaliers frightening them into a panic. Finarthian soldiers around them looked up in awe as they gazed at the cavaliers. As the light washed over them, all fear and fatigue evaporated. They stood taller, gripping their weapons with new strength and confidence.

Jonas drew forth his second saber, not needing his hands to control his magnificent mount. Tulari took him directly towards the Banthra.

Taleen pulled back the string of her powerful bow and sighted the arrow as her horse approached the evil warriors without the slightest bounce. The ability to fire a bow from a riding horse was a skill reached by few, and even amongst cavaliers it was rare.

“Cavaliers!” hissed the Banthra.

The two priests gripped their long lances angling their sharp tips toward the approaching threat. The shafts of the lances were smooth and black and the steel points were as long as a short sword, dark in color with a sharp edge that sparkled like silver in contrast to the black metal. Just as they brought their weapons to bear, two arrows slammed into one of the priests, both hitting him in the chest. The magical bolts sunk in deep and the priest’s enchanted armor could not protect him against Taleen’s blessed arrows. He fell from his horse, landing heavily on the ground.

As the cavaliers galloped past the prince, their white light blanketed the area, evaporating the oppressive fear that had immobilized him. In control of his body again, the prince quickly moved his horse away from the Banthra as Jonas flew at the demon, both sabers held before him.

The Banthra hissed angrily as the God Light washed over him. He drew forth a deadly looking battle axe that was bladed on one end, opposed by a long spike on the other.

Jonas’s heart pounded in his chest as he drew near the black knight. He screamed Shyann’s name, pushing away his fear and urging Tulari forward. Jonas did not have much combat experience, and facing a Banthra as an untried cavalier had filled him with fear. But he remembered his training with Kiln, and he thought of his connection with Shyann, forcing the uneasy thoughts away.

Taleen expertly sheathed her bow on Kormac’s side and drew forth her sword as she closed the distance to the second priest. He lifted his lance and whispered several words of power. The lance head glowed red shooting forth a stream of red orange flames toward her.

Her horse pivoted at the last minute, the flames shooting by her, but cinging the side of her horse and her right leg. Taleen grimaced, her God Light shining brightly as she brought her sword down towards the evil priest. He backed away from the light, lifting his magical lance to block the blow. Taleen swung her sword expertly, attacking the retreating priest left and right, trying to score a killing blow.

As Tulari rammed into the demon horse, Jonas didn’t waste any time in attacking. His twin sabers worked independently as Tulari guided him perfectly around the Banthra. Jonas had never been on a horse such as Tulari and he had no idea what the horse was capable of. Luckily he didn’t have to know. Tulari needed no guidance as he positioned Jonas perfectly as the two combatants traded blow for blow.

But the dark warrior’s horse was no ordinary animal. The beast used its massive head to bash Tulari in his flanks, trying to get him off balance so its master could destroy the cavalier. But Tulari’s size and strength allowed him to shake off the blows, hammering his own head and shoulders into the beast. The Banthra wielded its axe to fend off the attacks as both animals danced left and right, tearing up grass and dirt, trying to gain an advantage.

Prince Baylin was an experienced warrior and he didn’t waste his good fortune. He rejoined the fight, fighting off any enemy cavalry that neared the battling cavaliers. It wasn’t long before Dagrinal galloped up to the prince on his tired warhorse, his sword wet with enemy blood. “Lord, I tried to get near you when the Banthra approached, but I was surrounded by enemies,” the weary warrior said as the chaos of battle whirled around them.

“Thankfully the cavaliers intervened. I could not even move against that abomination,” the prince replied as he scanned the battle field.

Both men pivoted their warhorses back and forth as they spoke, ready to attack their foes and hoping the cavaliers had changed the tide of battle in their favor.

Things were looking better. The center was holding, although the prince was not sure how. The cavaliers had given the men a jolt of hope and the fighting seemed to be swinging in their favor.

“Is that Jonas?” asked Dagrinal in astonishment.

“I don’t know. I can’t tell under that horned helm he is wearing. I don’t recognize the female cavalier either,” replied the prince as four boargs leaped over the heads of several nearby fighting men and ran towards the two warriors. The animals moved with lighting speed and Dagrinal and Prince Baylin lifted their weapons to defend themselves as their horses positioned them to face the charge.

Jonas and the Bantrha maneuvered their huge horses side by side, exchanging blow for blow, their magical weapons meeting in a shower of sparks.

In one close exchange, the Banrtha was able to reach down and grasp Jonas’s leg with its gauntleted hand, and at the same time deflect one of Jonas’s swords. The Banthra’s fist glowed red, sending a burst of burning energy into the cavalier.

Jonas screamed and Tulari bolted backwards away from the demon. His leg was badly burned but he didn’t have time to heal himself for the Banthra quickly attacked again. The demon came in with its axe raised, ready for a killing blow.

Jonas saw the blow coming and instinctively used his IshMian powers, stopping the blade in mid-swing, immobilizing the demon’s entire arm in energy that only he could see. Jonas worried about using the power so early in the fight, as the toll in doing so could be too great, causing him severe headaches, and in some cases debilitating him. But the blow came so quick that Jonas had no choice.

The puzzled Banthra had little time to try and figure out why his axe wouldn’t move. Jonas took advantage of the brief pause and lunged with his right saber, driving his blade deep into the shoulder of the Banthra.

The demon hissed and dropped the axe to the ground as its steed jumped back from the attack. The Banthra then lifted both hands and screamed several words of power that Jonas did not recognize. Jonas sensed what was coming and used his mental powers to quickly create a swirling shield of energy in front of him. An observer would have seen an iridescent wall of bluish magic swirling before him.

The Banthra’s flames shot forth from his hands, hitting the wall with an explosion. The power was immense and it was all Jonas could do to maintain the mental shield. His head pounded from the pain of using his powers to hold back the burning flames conjured by something as powerful as a Banthra. But he clenched his teeth and willed the energy wall to hold. He could feel the heat of the magical fire through the shield, but none of the deadly flames struck him.

Taleen was struggling against the dark priest. The evil priest used his lance perfectly, deflecting every blow that Taleen sent his way, but he was tiring. Taleen kept at it furiously, her God Light gradually draining the energy from the dark warrior.

Then the priest used his warhorse to give him some time, forcing the animal to rear up and attempting to bring its front hooves down on top of Taleen. Her steed reacted quickly, perfectly maneuvering away just in time. The deadly hooves didn’t find their mark, but it gave the priest a few precious moments to cast his spell.

He muttered a few words and threw something to the ground between them. A massive black spider suddenly appeared before her. The bulk of the creature was several paces wide and each leg at least two paces long. Nearly the height of a horse, its ugly hairy head was at eye level with her. The spider clicked its long sharp mandibles together and leaped into the air towards Taleen.

All she could do was scream and raise her sword to try and deflect the nasty creature. Kormac, her horse, quickly jumped away from the attack. The spider just missed her, but several of the long hairy legs had hooked into her cape, pulling her down from her saddle. She swung her sword in a deadly arc as she flew through the air, slicing one of the legs off as she landed hard on the ground, which momentarily knocked the wind out of her. But she frantically regained her composure and scrambled back up to her feet.

The spider hissed from the pain but moved in quickly for the kill.

Jonas and the Banthra were locked in magical combat. Finally the Bantrha’s flames ceased and Jonas released the mental shield. The Banthra hissed in frustration as it pivoted its horse back and forth, trying to figure out a way to destroy the troublesome cavalier.

Jonas’s head felt like it was going to explode and he slumped over briefly in his saddle, but he managed to push the pain away and concentrate on the deadly foe before him. He could not risk the use of his IshMian powers again, fearing that he would lose consciousness. So he spun both his blades in the air and urged Tulari forward to meet the Banthra with cold steel.

The Banthra drew a dark blade that was strapped to the side of his steed’s saddle and met the cavalier’s charge. Both animals came together hard, their strong bodies pounding into each other again, trying to position their riders in an advantageous position. The warriors’ blades came together again and again as they both fought for an opening in the other's defenses.

Jonas’s opening came when Tulari used his incredible strength and agility to counter the demon horse’s attack. The steed lunged forward with its thick armored head but Tulari pivoted to the side and bashed the demon horse on the side of the neck, causing it to stumble. The Banthra was forced to grab the horse’s mane with its free hand to keep from falling from the saddle.

Jonas capitalized on the distraction, swinging his left sword down in a powerful strike, completely cutting off the demon’s sword arm. He followed up the attack by lunging forward with his right sword, piercing the Banthra’s armor and spearing the black knight through the chest. The demon horse leaped backwards, ripping Jonas’s sword from his grip.

The Banthra screamed shrilly and brought its only hand down to the handle of the weapon that was buried to the hilt in its chest. The sword sizzled deep in the demon’s chest as it seared the howling Banthra. The demon’s hand also burned as it grasped the hilt of the blessed weapon, trying to yank it clear. Gray smoke drifted from the burning wounds bringing forth a horrid stench, like rotting flesh baking over a fire.

Jonas, remembering what had happened to his town, to his mother, to Gorum, the baker, brought forth all his anger and called on his God Fire. He felt the energy course through his body, his hand bright with a bluish glow. Jonas centered his hatred on the Banthra and sent the magical energy towards the screaming black knight. The blue flames burst forth with such power that they completely covered the demon and its horse. Jonas gritted his teeth and ignored his pounding head as he channeled more energy into the Banthra. He was close to losing consciousness by the time the blue flames consumed the demon, leaving nothing but a pile of ash with his unscathed saber lying perfectly in the middle.

Taleen was not faring as well. The spider scurried forward quickly trying to destroy the downed cavalier. She retreated, using her sword to maintain a defensive wall against the spider’s vicious attack. The spider, using its many legs like sharp spear points, attacked her with quick precision.

She frantically called on Helikon and brought forth her God Light, concentrating on making it brighter, hoping to blind the creature. She glowed so brightly that the spider could not penetrate the light. The creature backed up slightly, dropping its ugly head to shield itself from the burning magic.

Taleen used this brief reprieve to strike the spider across the head with her blade, the razor sharp edge slicing through one of the creature’s eyes. But the spider was quicker than anything Taleen had previously encountered. Two legs, like spears, blindly shot out, one deflecting off her breast plate, but the other managed to pierce the plate that protected her thigh, shattering her knee cap. Taleen stumbled to the ground as the spider leaped on top of her, eager to destroy the woman and the searing light.



Jonas, hearing Taleen’s scream, brought himself from his tired daze and jerked his attention from the charred remains of the Banthra just in time to see a bolt of red flame strike him cleanly in the chest. He flew off his horse and landed hard on his back. The flames had burned his exposed skin but his magical armor had protected most of his body. He struggled to stand and saw the second priest riding towards him, his magical lance angling toward the ground, the tip again glowing red.

Jonas’s head still pounded, and his body felt like it weighed three times its weight, but he didn’t have the time to fight this enemy sword to sword and he didn’t know what kind of trouble Taleen was in. So, again, he called upon Shyann to help him in pushing aside the pain and giving him the strength to use his powers. He felt renewed energy infuse his mind and body as he used his cognivant powers to lift the saber from the ground and send it flying towards the priest. The sword struck the evil priest’s chest so hard that he flew off his horse and was launched five paces backwards.

Jonas stumbled over, relieved to see that the priest was dead, his sword buried deep in his chest. He stumbled again as his head swirled from the pain of his exertions. Concentrating on the state of Ty’erm, his mind focused slightly, just enough to take in his surroundings.

Frantically he looked for Taleen and saw her fall onto her back as a huge spider fell upon her. Jonas couldn’t use his God Fire as he had no idea if it would consume Taleen as well. So he concentrated on the massive form of the spider and drew forth his mental powers one last time. He knew that if he exerted anymore mental energy that he very well could pass out. But he also knew that Taleen’s life may depend on his IshMian abilities.

Again, he focused on the particles that surround the spider’s bulbous abdomen and used them to squeeze the creature.

Taleen screamed again and that was all Jonas needed to bring forth all his mental power together on the bloated form of the spider. The pressure of the particles around the spider came together like a loud clap, and the creature’s abdomen exploded in a shower of blood and entrails.

Taleen felt another leg pierce her side just as the spider exploded all over her. She painfully scrambled out from underneath the gore and tried to stand, but her injured knee gave out on her.

Jonas stumbled toward her, nearly falling beside her. “Are you okay?” he asked, panting heavily.

“Yes, I’ll be fine,” she said, her teeth clenched in pain. “I just need to heal myself.”

Jonas nodded as speaking was too difficult. He focused all his remaining energy on standing up to protect her as she prayed. Swaying slightly, he dropped to his knee again to keep from falling. The use of his cognitive abilities combined with the exertion of using magic had weakened him severely.

The fighting coursed nearby but luckily no enemy ventured too close, afraid of attacking anyone who could defeat a Banthra.

After a few seconds Taleen stood up next to him, her wounds healed. “Now it’s your turn,” she said with concern. “You look burned and exhausted.”

“I am; I don’t think I have the energy to heal myself, my head feels like it’s going to explode.”

“Let me heal you and then we’ll see if we are needed elsewhere,” Taleen said, placing both hands on Jonas and asking Helikon for his power again.

In the meantime, a huge boarg had vaulted upon Dagrinal’s horse, wrapping all four limbs around the animal’s muscled neck. Clawed hands dug into exposed flesh as its long fangs searched for an opening in the horse’s armor. The boarg snapped its jaws again and again but couldn’t break through the horse’s armored chest. But it didn’t need to, for the weight of the boarg alone drove the horse to its knees, and Dagrinal didn’t wait to see if the boarg would finish off his warhorse. He leaped off the animal’s back and brought his sword down across the boargs right arm, which was firmly clenched around the horse’s body. His sword cut in deep and the boarg finally released its grip, rolling backwards off the animal. It roared in fury, swinging its huge head from side to side as if to shake off the pain. The enraged animal then barreled forward hoping to crush the human in its powerful arms.

Dagrinal whipped his blade back and forth, cutting several deep gashes into the advancing boarg. Still, its fury and pain propelled it forward. Just as it was about to leap on Dagrinal, however, several arrows took the animal in the side, one skewering its neck perfectly. The boarg pitched to its left and then fell over dead.

Dagrinal glanced to his left and saw two cavaliers galloping toward him on their magnificent mounts, both holding their long bows. Dagrinal smiled broadly as he recognized Jonas under the horned helm. He took a moment to look for his prince and saw Lord Baylin several paces away swing his blood coated battle axe through the neck of a dying boarg. The prince flipped his sweat soaked hair from his face, having lost his helm early on in the battle. When he spotted Dagrinal and the cavaliers, he maneuvered his steed quickly toward the trio as the battle continued around them.

“Well met, Jonas. It is good to see you,” Dagrinal said with a wide smile as he remounted his warhorse. “You look well, to say the least,” he added as he gazed at his armor and horse in open admiration.

Suddenly an enemy horn blasted through the noise of the battle. As they all looked toward the sound, they saw another enemy force rise above the hill. Fifteen armored hill giants lumbered down the hillside with long heavy strides, carrying huge war hammers as big as a man. The ground shook as each meaty leg moved them closer. Their black breast plates were painted with Gould’s white eye.

The remaining enemy cavalry disengaged from the fight and rode toward the giants. The remaining enemy infantry did the same, leaving a dazed and tired Finarthian force scattered across the field.

“In Ulren’s name,” whispered Dagrinal. “How do we fight armored hill giants?” The prince surveyed the scene quickly. There were several hundred horsed knights left, and maybe a hundred infantry nearby. Fighting continued farther down on both flanks, but their forces were busy trying to hold back the horde of orcs and tribesmen.

They would be alone against this powerful group.

“Look, Prince,” Jonas said as he urgently pointed towards the giants.

Prince Baylin looked again toward the enemy, and saw, crested on the hill, several men on horseback. Two were obviously warriors of Gould since they bore his mark, the other wore a black billowing robe and cape lined with red.

“Two knights of Gould,” Taleen said, answering their unasked question.

“And the other?” asked the prince.

“A dark wizard to the Forsworn,” she whispered.

Jonas looked around frantically. He saw many Finarthian warriors slowly retreating backwards as the huge giants, now followed by enemy cavalry and infantry, thundered towards them. Even the knights looked around with uncertainty, their horses prancing nervously underneath them. Jonas had to admit, the site of attacking hill giants wearing armor and carrying huge steel war hammers was nerve racking. They were so big and their weapons equally so that it looked like they would hammer their way through them with ease.

Tulari stood still and tall, fearlessly waiting for his master to make a decision. Jonas took strength from his steed, and digging deep within himself to find the courage and power he needed, he sent his prayers to Shyann, praying for the power needed to confront this force. He felt her energy infuse him as he called forth his light and rode Tulari before the men, his horse prancing back and forth as he spoke. But no one on that battlefield had ever heard a voice like his before. Jonas had no idea how he did it, but he spoke with the power of a god, his words carrying strength, courage and hope.

“Men of Finarth! I am a first rank cavalier to Shyann! Raise your weapons, and stand beside me to face this threat!” His voice echoed across the battlefield and it slammed into the men like a hammer wielded by Ulren himself. All fear and uncertainty seemed to dissolve from them and they stood up straight, gripping their weapons with newfound strength. “This is your land, and they stain it with their blackness!” Jonas felt Shyann’s power flow through him and fuel his words.

His voice was so amplified that even Taleen looked on with awe, his words infusing even her with increased vigor, courage, and the desire to destroy the enemy before them. She was no longer fearful, nor were the men around her.

“Knights! Form up with me, with your prince, and fight for your land and your families!” Jonas shouted. “Shyann is with us on this day!”

The remaining knights galloped into formation behind Jonas; some still held their long lances, but most had discarded them long ago for their cavalry swords. Their eyes shone with determination, their weapons held before them, Jonas’s light and voice saturating them with courage.

Graggis rode from the crowd and approached his prince, who also stood wide eyed as Jonas finished his speech.

“For your king! For Finarth!” Jonas yelled, raising one of his sabers in the air and turning Tulari towards the approaching enemy, his entire body glowing brightly.

“By the gods, I have never heard anything like that,” Graggis said in amazement.

“Nor I,” replied Prince Baylin as he directed his horse forward to lead his men. The magic in Jonas’s words spurred him forward confidently. He was not afraid, he would die this day if need be, and he would die next to his men, fighting for the land that he loved.

Dagrinal, Graggis, and Taleen followed close behind him. Soon they were all lined up next to Jonas, and behind them was a line of Finarthian cavalry, followed up by a line of infantry, all of whom stood tall, proud, and confident as they looked toward the huge giants.

“Knights! All with lances ride behind me! Target the giants!” yelled the prince. Ten knights holding long razor sharp lances spurred their horses forward to take up positions behind the prince. Prince Baylin glanced at Jonas and smiled. “Very impressive, Jonas, I feel like I have the strength of ten men. I pray it is not an illusion.”

“My Lord!” yelled a young warrior to their left. They all turned to see a young soldier carrying two lances struggling toward them. He was covered in dirt and blood and limped badly on his right leg. The boy’s face had the smoothness of youth, but his eyes revealed a maturity that was likely gained by the blood shed of battle.

“Good work,” the prince replied as the young man handed him and Dagrinal each a lance.

They were interrupted by the sudden shaking of the ground. They looked toward the advancing line and saw that the giants had started to run, their long strides keeping pace with the cavalry that rode on their flanks. The ground rumbled as each pounding step brought them closer.

Jonas glanced quickly toward the top of the hill. Sure enough the three minions of Gould were still there.

“Warriors of Finarth! Victory is won through courage!” The prince yelled. He lowered the tip of his long lance and spurred his horse forward.

The warriors behind them screamed ‘For Finarth!’ and followed their lord.

Twelve glittering lances led the three hundred defenders toward the enemy who was storming toward them with great speed.

Taleen brought forth her light to join Jonas’s, and their combined energy made the bright sun look small in comparison. Jonas urged his horse forward and Tulari’s great speed pushed him to the front of the line and beyond the bouncing tips of the lances. Jonas heard Taleen yell at him from behind, but the pounding of the horse’s hooves and the giant’s feet drowned her words.

He had a plan.

“Tulari, run like the wind!” he yelled, sheathing his sword and leaning forward in his saddle. Tulari surged forward, in a blur of speed and power, shooting toward the enemy. As Jonas flared his light brighter he could see the giants hesitate slightly as they squinted their eyes against the glare.

Then he called on more of Shyann’s power.

“Shyann!” he screamed, channeling an immense amount of her energy into his right hand. His fist burst with an intense blue flame, the power of the flames building within him until he felt they would consume his very being. Though he was relatively inexperienced in the use of this magic, he could feel that if he didn’t release the power soon that it would burn him to a crisp.

When he was close enough that he could almost smell the giants, he released his God Fire in a powerful burst of blue flame. The running giants saw the shooting flames and tried to veer away, but their formation was too tight, and all they succeeded in doing was tripping each other up and distracting them from the Finarthian lances that were quickly approaching.

Jonas’s flames hit two giants directly, blasting them from their feet and taking a score of their own infantry out behind them. The intense blue flames burned hotter than any known fire, creating a searing hole in the enemy ranks through which Jonas rode unharmed. Anything caught in the path of his God Fire was blown aside in a pile of ash.

Jonas erupted out the other side of the enemy ranks and continued up the hill toward his real targets, the trio of dark riders.

Taleen saw Jonas’s plan evolve before her eyes, but she could not keep pace with Tulari. No steed could. She screamed his name, hoping to deter him from his present course of taking on the vile minions of Gould on his own, and urged her horse to run faster. Jonas had blasted a hole through the enemy ranks but the hole was beginning to close quickly as the astonished giants stumbled to resume their attack. Her path to Jonas was closed, so she held her sword before her like a spear and targeted the nearest giant who stood in her path.

Taleen’s steed brought her toward the giant with lightning speed. At the last moment, she veered to the behemoth’s left. She had prepared herself for the sharp change in direction and leaned sharply over in her saddle, swinging her silver sword across the giant’s arm. It roared in pain as her blade opened its forearm from elbow to hand.

The giants had slowed their pace as they tried to recover from Jonas’s attack. That’s when the Finarthian defenders slammed into them. Five of the giants died instantly as the sharp lances hit them with tremendous force, spearing them through their chests. But the tremendous force of the clash sent many of the knights sprawling into the air, their horses broken and dying as they collided with the huge creatures.

Meanwhile, Taleen pushed through the giants into the other enemy fighters. Orcs and tribesmen alike fell to her blade as her bright light blinded them from her deadly attack. Her powerful steed pierced the lines of enemy soldiers, scattering aside infantry and horses alike. She continued her surge through the enemy ranks, swinging her sword mercilessly down upon any hapless soldier she encountered.

She looked up briefly to see Jonas, his light shining impossibly bright as he flew up the hill toward the followers of the Forsworn. She growled in frustration, urging her horse forward.

She had to get to Jonas. He would need her.

Back in the melee, Prince Baylin’s lance took a giant in the throat just as the beast had raised its huge club to crush him. The giant had been too slow and the prince’s lance sliced through its thick neck. His momentum, however, propelled him right into the giant’s chest, snapping his poor horse’s neck and sending the prince flying through the air. He quickly tucked his head as he smashed into the dying giant’s armored chest. He felt the sharp pain of broken ribs as he hit the ground hard, scattering a group of enemy infantry. Though dazed and in pain, he knew that he had to move or he would die. His broken ribs sent sharp pains shooting through his body, but he forced himself to bury his agony as he roared in defiance. Spinning his legs beneath him he leaped to his feet with remarkable speed for someone his size, simultaneously grabbing the leather strap that held his battle axe and un-slung the weapon.

Others were fighting frantically around the downed prince.

Dagrinal leaned forward in his saddle and held his lance firm as his warhorse barreled into the enemy ranks. It took many years of practice to become proficient at holding a lance steady as one’s horse charged ahead. Dagrinal was the elite of the Finarthian Knights. He was able to manipulate his body to counteract the galloping motion of the horse, keeping the silver tip of his lance on target. At the last minute Dagrinal steered his horse to the right just as he angled the lance tip to his left, spearing the giant right through its chest armor and taking Dagrinal past the astonished beast.

The lance snapped as Dagrinal rode by, but the tip had pierced the giant’s heart. He couldn’t see the beast stagger around before it fell dead to the ground since his horse took him right into the enemy infantry. He roared, “Finarth!”, as he used the sharp end of the broken lance to take an orc in the face, then he dropped the useless weapon and drew forth his long sword.

The fighting was chaotic; everyone was fighting for their lives. Graggis had never been a warrior who fought with finesse. His method of attacking the giant before him was impulsive and direct. He charged his horse right toward a giant, hoping to throw it off balance and finish it off with his axe. But this giant, being on the far right flank, was not nearly as disoriented as the rest, and quickly lifted its war hammer, thrusting it forward into the charging horse’s lowered head.

The head of the huge weapon smashed into the horse’s nose. The heavy hammer, the immense strength of the giant, and the power of the impact, caused Graggis and his horse to launch backwards as if they had hit an invisible wall of steel. The horse’s head collapsed under the impact, snapping its neck with a loud crack.

Graggis and his dead horse were thrown back, landing hard on the grassy ground. The air was driven from his lungs but he struggled to get up as he fought for his next breath. The giant, meanwhile, recovered more quickly from the massive impact.

The thundering of heavy footsteps directed Graggis’s gaze toward the giant that was now standing above him, its hammer raised in the air, ready for the downward descent that would crush him. But before it could strike, a young Finarthian warrior flung himself at the giant and stabbed the thing in its thick muscled leg. The blade barely broke the skin, but the attack distracted the giant enough to give Graggis a split second to recover.

As he sucked in desperately needed air, he saw the enraged giant pivot, swinging its huge hammer down onto the boy. Everything seemed to be in slow motion to Graggis as he saw the look of shock and horror on the boy’s face. It was the same boy who had brought the prince and Dagrinal the lances. The monsters hammer slammed into the young warrior, crushing him into the ground.

Graggis roared in anger as he gripped his magical axe. “Now it’s your turn!”

The giant looked down at him with a confused expression on his face, as if trying to understand his words. But the giant’s expression changed to one of pain when Graggis bolted forward and swung his axe in a mighty swing at its unprotected ankle. The attack was so quick that the giant didn’t have any time to respond. In a blur, Graggis went to work on the giant’s ankles like he was downing a tree, and he might as well have been, considering the size of the beast’s massive legs. Graggis’s immense strength, fueled by his anger, drove the magical axe head through tough skin and muscle to stop dead at the beast’s strong ankle bones.

The giant bellowed in pain as it toppled to its knees. As the beast fell, however, it was able to reach out with its right hand and seize Graggis around the waist, lifting him in the air. Though the hill giant’s hands were not able to totally encircle Graggis’s thick waist, its grip was so powerful that it was able to grasp and hold him securely in the air. Even though the giant was on its knees, Graggis was still several paces from the ground. Graggis struggled, but it was no use, the giant’s fingers squeezed harder. Luckily Graggis’s armor was protecting his flesh, but even that was beginning to bend under the sheer power of the beast.

The giant, groaning from the pain in his ankles, brought Graggis closer to his face. “You hurt Toglin, now you die,” the giant growled, its deep voice covering him with breath that stunk of rotting flesh.

Fortunately for Graggis, giants were not too bright. The injured giant had overlooked the fact that Graggis was still holding his deadly axe.

“This is for the boy!” Graggis growled back as he lifted his enchanted axe with one hand. Most men could not wield an axe that size with one arm only, but Graggis was not like most men; he was as strong as dwarven steel, and right now, as angry as a wounded bear guarding her cubs.

By the time the giant processed the angry human’s words, Graggis’s axe had cleaved the stupid beast’s face. The giant convulsed several times before it fell backwards, releasing its deadly grip on Graggis. Graggis landed hard on top of the giant’s chest. He stumbled to his feet and stood tall upon the dead giant’s chest. He reached down, gripped the axe handle, and placed his booted foot on the dead giant’s chin. The axe head was buried deep in the giant’s skull, but he pulled hard and the axe broke free from the grisly wound.

As soon as he had retrieved his axe, he looked up and saw four orcs running toward him. Glancing quickly around him he saw that the fighting had turned to complete chaos; everyone, man and beast alike, was fighting wildly to try and stay alive.

Graggis growled, and yelling maniacally he leaped off the dead giant to meet the orcs. The boy had saved him, and his death had caused a fire to burn inside him, a fire that needed more blood before it could be extinguished.

As the chaos of battle continued, Jonas was rapidly approaching the dark trio on the hill. Tulari’s effortless strides quickly narrowed the distance between them. He drew forth his long bow. From his magical quiver he could draw an endless supply of arrows, another gift from Shyann, one he had realized a few days earlier as he and Taleen practiced their bows one evening before the sun had set. He nocked an arrow, and though he was still some distance from his target, he took aim.

This was no ordinary weapon. He pulled back the string and leaned forward in the saddle, in harmony with Tulari’s movement, his light still pulsing bright with Shyann’s power.

The two clerics of Gould drew their swords and spurred their horses down the hill to meet Jonas’s attack.

Jonas smiled and released the arrow, and a heartbeat later he followed it up with a second. The arrows whistled through the air with incredible speed, a trail of blue tracing their path.

The first arrow took the astonished cleric between the eye slits on his black helm. The tremendous force of the blow shot him out of the saddle and he landed dead on his back.

The second arrow took the other cleric in the shoulder, the force spinning his body sideways. But he was skilled and experienced and he was able to hold onto the reins of his warhorse.

Jonas quickly nocked another arrow and pulled back on the string as the black cleric neared him, his sword held low in his undamaged arm. Before the cleric was close enough to attack him, Jonas’s third arrow slammed into the man’s chest, burying itself deep, the power of the bow launching the man through the air to land heavily on his back. He struggled momentarily, the glowing blue arrow quivering slightly in his chest, and then he went still, death overtaking him.



Taleen was fighting with all her skill and power, but her sword arm began to tire as she furiously fought back the horde of orcs and tribesman who swarmed around her, trying to extinguish her light and yank her from the saddle.

She desperately asked Bandris for the strength to keep fighting, and she felt his answer as new power began to surge through her body. She grinned, yelling Bandris’s name as she renewed her attack, slicing her sword down, left and right, killing the enemies surrounding her. Kormac, her tireless steed, used his massive body to throw enemies off balance, giving Taleen the upper hand as she expertly carved her way through them.

She didn’t escape unscathed, however. One of the orc’s blades managed to slice across her calf. She grimaced in pain and kicked that same foot out, connecting solidly with the beast’s nose, crushing it and sending blood into the air. Taleen then quickly brought her sword down on the dazed orc’s head, splitting its skull all the way to its broken nose. The Orc fell away and disappeared into the crowd of enemies.

Elsewhere on the battlefield, Prince Baylin used the end of his battle axe like a spear and rammed the spiked end into a rushing orc’s face. He quickly yanked the point out of the dead orc and spun to his left, swinging his mighty axe in a wide arc, taking a tribesman on the shoulder. The prince roared as fury and adrenaline rushed through his body. The tribesman fell to the ground as other enemies swarmed around the fighting prince. But he continued to fight like a demon possessed, roaring in defiance, his eyes lit with fire as he attacked the enemy before him.

Suddenly the prince felt a sharp pain in his back. He screamed and spun around, yanking a sword from a tribesman’s hand. As he spun he sent his axe flying through the air into the neck of the surprised warrior. The man’s body slumped to the ground as his head flew through the air to land among the fighting warriors.

Then he felt another pain on the back of his leg, causing him to fall to his knees. Holding his axe with one hand, he swung the mighty weapon blindly as he tried to spin his body around. The blade hit an orc’s knee, shattering it and causing the howling monster to fall to the ground.

Baylin dug deep for the strength to fend off the foes moving in from all directions. He again yelled, “Finarth!” and jumped to his feet, swinging his battle axe and cutting into the orcs and tribesmen that surrounded him. He saw no Finarthian warriors nearby.

He was alone for this fight.

Taleen had finally broken through the rear of the enemy ranks. Her legs and her horse had sustained some minor cuts but nothing that needed healing immediately. She saw Jonas, his light marking him like a beacon, near the top of the hill, a lone rider there to meet him. She urged Kormac forward and he followed her demands instantly, launching them up the grass covered hill.

As Jonas moved closer to the horsed man he could better make out his features. He wore a black cape that was lined in red cloth and it had a sinister look to it as it billowed in the breeze behind him. His horse was as dark as night and its coat glistened like black blood. The man’s long dark hair fluttered in the breeze, and his piercing green eyes shone with confidence. He carried no weapon other than a long staff made from some dark wood, with a carving of Gould’s eye at the end. The center of the eye was white, in stark contrast to the black wood.

Jonas drew another arrow from the quiver at his side and nocked it to string. The man did not move even as Jonas drew the powerful bow back. As Tulari closed the distance between them, Jonas saw the man smile just as he released the shaft.

His arrow shot toward the wizard with great speed, but just as the arrow was going to take the man in the chest, it stopped, and flew back at him with the same tremendous velocity.

It all happened in the blink of an eye and Jonas could do nothing as his own arrow took him in the chest. The pain was intense and the force of the arrow knocked him from Tulari’s back. He landed hard, the shock of the attack causing his light to disappear.

Jonas gasped in pain as he struggled to get up, his own arrow shaft buried deep just below his right shoulder. His lung had been punctured and he was struggling for air as blood filled his chest. He got to his knees as he coughed up blood onto his hands. He heard, rather than saw the horse gallop up to him.

“A repel spell, one of my favorites,” the evil wizard said calmly.

Jonas glanced up, slowly regaining his footing, sharp pain shooting through his right arm and chest. His right arm hung useless. Despite the intense pain, he calmed his mind and drew one of his blades with his left hand.

The man laughed as Jonas struggled to steady himself. “Go ahead, young cavalier, attack me. Even your mighty weapon will not save you now.”

Jonas felt his strength slowly dissipate as his lung continued to fill with blood. Healing himself would be impossible while the arrow was still embedded deep in his flesh, and he did not have the strength to pull it free. He was running out of time, and he knew it.

He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on the man’s face. He was middle aged, his hair was peppered with gray and his tan skin wrinkled like tough leather. A dark moustache folded into a long trimmed beard decorated his chin. His green, deep set eyes were pools of malice.

Jonas was desperate, but as he focused on the wizard’s eyes, he had an idea. He continued to focus on the man’s eyes, wrapping his energy around his brain. He had never used his cognivant powers in this way before, but he could think of no other option. He entered the state of Ty’erm to conquer his pain and center his focus. Then he entered the man’s mind, wrapping it with tendrils of energy, constricting the tendrils with the power of his own mind. It all happened in a few heartbeats. The wizard didn’t know what hit him.

How does that feel? Jonas asked within the man’s mind.

The wizard grimaced with pain as he brought his hands to his head. His horse pranced underneath him as he struggled to stay in the saddle. Moaning with pain he dropped his staff.

Jonas’s vision blurred briefly as the pain in his own head intensified from the use of his powers. The wizard was powerful, and it was taking everything Jonas had to continue the attack. But he forced himself to use any power he had remaining to concentrate on the task. He stumbled to his knees but kept his head up, focusing on the man before him, trying at all cost to crush the wizard’s mind.

Suddenly two arrows slammed into the wizard’s chest, one after the other. The impact forced the man to fall backwards from his saddle and land hard on his side. As the wizard fell the mental link between the two was broken.

Jonas was on all fours trying to stay conscious as the pain from his effort exploded in his head. He was exhausted, both physically and mentally, and he desperately needed to rest.

He looked up at the man sprawled out on the ground before him. He could clearly see the blue feathered arrows embedded in the man’s chest, and that quick vision forced a brief smile through the pain. The wizard’s repel spell must have dispersed when he attacked the man’s mind.

“Are you okay, Jonas?”

Jonas recognized Taleen’s worried voice behind him. He looked up just as she rode next to him. He forced a painful smile to reassure her.

“I’m injured badly. I need healing…quickly.” He coughed up more blood as he fell to his back, his own feathered arrow protruding from his chest“In Bandris’s name, what happened?” Taleen cried as she quickly dismounted and rushed to Jonas’s side.

“Remove the arrow and heal me and I’ll be happy to tell you,” Jonas gasped.

Back among the hordes, Prince Baylin swung his axe in frantic strokes, hoping to keep the enemy away from him long enough to give someone time to come to his aid. His arm was tiring and he stopped momentarily as he noticed the orcs were no longer advancing.

Just then a huge orc pushed through the ring of enemies to stand before the tired prince. The enemy warriors, including the tribesmen, looked to the colossal monster for their orders. The orc wore thick plate mail that covered his muscled body. He was abnormally wide, which gave him the look of a walking boulder. In his right hand he carried a thick wood handle capped with a long chain. At the end of the chain was a heavy spiked ball of steel. The weapon, called a morning star, was large and cumbersome, but the massive orc carried it with ease. The beast’s yellow eyes narrowed with malice as it stepped closer to the exhausted prince. “You are Prince Baylin,” the orc growled. “I am Ongessett, war leader of the orcs.”

Prince Baylin was bleeding from several wounds and his arms felt like they were weighted down by rocks. He took a deep breath and stood up tall, holding his magnificent axe before him. “I do not banter with orc scum,” he growled back, launching his body forward, the sharp point of his axe leading the way.

Ongessett lifted his morning star, one hand grasping the handle while the other grasped the chain near the ball, using the thick chain like a staff to block Prince Baylin’s weapon. The orc chief moved quickly for someone so large. He stepped back as he deflected the prince’s axe with the thick chain of his awesome weapon. The orc continued the momentum of his parry, attempting to bring the heavy spiked head of the weapon down on top of the prince.

Prince Baylin continued forward, the heavy spiked ball slamming into the ground near him leaving behind a deep divot. He shifted his grip on the handle of his axe and rammed the razor sharp blade into the orc’s chest. But he could not find a seam in the beast’s armor and his blade slid across the armor harmlessly. The orcs armor was clearly enchanted as it so easily turned aside the prince’s powerful axe.

The orc growled, bringing its left mailed fist down on top of Prince Baylin’s head. He tried to dodge the powerful blow but his tired body wasn’t reacting. But the orc’s fist missed Baylin’s head and crashed instead into his shoulder. The power of the blow popped his shoulder from its socket. He screamed in pain and stumbled to the ground. Frantically he glanced up, struggling to get away, but all he saw was a large steel toed boot crash into his face. Teeth and blood erupted from his shattered jaw as he flew backwards to land heavily on the trampled ground. His vision blurred and darkness enveloped him as he heard the Orc chief’s words.

“Do not kill him.”

Then all went black.

The fighting throughout the battlefield was intense. Dagrinal used all of his skill to stay alive. He had no idea how long he was fighting when suddenly an orc before him shuddered in death and was launched to the side like a rag doll. Standing in the beast's place was Graggis, his bloody axe held before him. He was covered in dirt and blood but he did not seem hurt. Within moments they had killed any enemy nearby.

“Where is the prince?” stormed Dagrinal over the cacophony of the battle.

“I know not! I lost him when we hit the giants!” roared Graggis in reply. “We must find him!”

Suddenly a horn sounded above the din of battle.

“That was not ours!” yelled Dagrinal.

As they spoke they noticed the decimated enemy troops start to pull away, leaving an exhausted Finarthian force standing amongst the dead. Dagrinal and Graggis pushed their way through the tired soldiers.

“The prince, where is the prince!” yelled Dagrinal. The exhausted soldiers could barely stand up, but they immediately began searching for their prince. The men parted as Dagrinal and Graggis quickly moved through the ranks, looking for some sign of Prince Baylin amongst the living, or the dead.

Graggis found the body of the boy that had saved him. His face and upper body were crushed and his neck was unnaturally twisted. Graggis knelt by the boy and gently closed his eyes. “You’re a brave boy, and I count myself lucky to have fought next to you. I look forward to buying you a drink in Ulren’s great hall.” Graggis shook his head sadly before he stood up and looked up the hill towards the retreating enemy forces.

“It looks like they are retreating for the day,” Graggis said.

“I think I know why,” replied Dagrinal softly. He held up a weapon for Graggis to see. In his hands was Prince Baylin’s axe. “I found it over there,” Dagrinal continued, indicating to his right, “but there was no sign of his body.”

“You think he was captured?”

“That would be my guess. The absence of a body means that he is not dead on the field. And if they captured him then they must want him alive, at least for now,” added Dagrinal as he grabbed a nearby soldier. The warrior was tired and covered in blood, but other than that he was not injured. “What is your name?” asked Dagrinal.

“Fulren, sir.”

“Fulren, find third lance Lathrin and inform him that Prince Baylin is missing. Have him search the nearby area.”

The man’s face reflected his shock at the grim news, but his posture straightened as the importance of the mission infused him with new energy.

“Yes, sir! Right away!” The warrior sprinted away, searching the ranks for Lathrin.

Graggis grabbed Dagrinal hard on the arm. “Dagrinal, if he is captured…” Graggis did not finish the statement. “We must get him back. There is no telling what they will do to him.”

“I know, my friend, I know.”

Just then two horses galloped toward them. It was Jonas and Taleen. Jonas was tired but Taleen had healed him completely. Even the hole in his armor was gone. They were both covered in blood, luckily only a small amount of it was their own.

“Why are they retreating?” asked Jonas.

Both men gazed at the horse with open admiration.

“I don’t know, but I’m glad to see it happening,” Graggis replied. “Well met, Jonas. It is good to see you so well.”

“And you, Graggis. This is Taleen, cavalier to Bandris.” Taleen nodded her head in greeting.

“Taleen, I shall thank Bandris for your sword,” Dagrinal said smoothly, quickly redirecting his gaze to Jonas. “Jonas, the prince has not been found, and his weapon was lying among the dead.”

Jonas sat back in his saddle at the distressing news. Prince Baylin had done a lot for him and he respected the man immensely. The news made him sick, the thought of what the enemy might do to him if he were captured caused his stomach to churn with anxiety. He clenched his teeth in anger.

“Then let us withhold the pleasantries and find him.”

The large tent of the king had been set up in a lightly forested glen far enough from the battlefield to be secure, but close enough that the progress of the battle could be relayed quickly to the king and other commanders whose job was more logistical than physical. The king’s tent was made up of heavy red cloth held up by long straight pine trees. It stood out from the rest of the encampment and it was surrounded by the king’s personal guard. Four burly soldiers holding halberds stood before the entrance. They moved aside quickly as they saw Dagrinal, Graggis, and the two cavaliers move briskly toward them.

The spacious tent was empty except for a huge table in the middle surrounded by ten heavy wood chairs, and the king’s sleeping furs that were stacked up in the corner on a large mattress of goose feathers. King Gavinsteal sat on the edge of his bed while a priest of Ulren removed the bandage on his head. The king’s wound had disappeared, the priest obviously having done his job. The king looked up as they approached.

“My King, how are you feeling?” asked Dagrinal with concern.

“I am fine, just a nasty gash and a bad headache, nothing serious,” the king said as his gaze moved to Taleen and Jonas. He smiled broadly. “Jonas, it is you. My men told me that two cavaliers had arrived killing the Banthra and the Naz-reen priests. That is good news! I am very glad to see you.”

“Likewise, King Gavinsteal, I’m glad you are well. Are you in need of any healing?”

The king glanced at the old priest by his side. “No, Hondris here has taken care of me. The gash is no longer and my head is now beginning to clear, but I thank you nonetheless. Hondris, this is Jonas, and by the looks of it he is a cavalier to Shyann.” The king’s last words were stated as a question.

“I am, my Lord, sanctioned by Annure and Shyann herself. It is a pleasure to meet you, Hondris, priest of Ulren.”

“The pleasure is mine, young cavalier,” replied the old man as he turned to face Jonas.

“When we have more time I would like to hear what has happened with you. But right now we have a war to win,” the king said as he stood up from his bed.

“Very good, sir. Lord, this is Taleen, cavalier to Helikon. She has come to help where she may.”

The king slowly approached Taleen and extended his hand. “Thank you, Taleen. Helikon? Are you from the west, beyond the Tundrens?” the king asked, shaking her hand warmly.

“I am, King Gavinsteel. I am from Osrigard. Helikon sent me here to help Jonas.”

“Very good, your presence gives me hope. Thank you for being here,” he said sincerely.

“Thank Helikon,” replied Taleen, releasing the king’s grip.

King Gavinsteel smiled broadly at the beautiful warrior. “I will do that,” he said, sitting down in a large wood chair and looking around for his son. “Where is Baylin, where is my son?”

Dagrinal looked down at the ground momentarily before returning his gaze to his king. He felt to blame for not staying closer to the prince during the battle and he had a hard time looking his king in the eye. The king spent his life reading men, and he could see the pain and sorrow in Dagrinal’s eyes before he even said anything.

“My Lord, we found Prince Baylin’s axe among the dead,” Dagrinal said, reaching behind him as Graggis handed him the prince’s axe. Dagrinal held the axe before him as the king stood up slowly, his eyes wide with shock.

“Did you find his body?” asked the king, his voice shaking slightly.

“We did not, my Lord. He may have been captured,” answered Dagrinal.

The king stood up straighter at the news that is son might be alive. He walked briskly forward and took his son’s axe from Dagrinal’s grasp. “Then he must be alive. We must find him! Send out a messenger now, I will pay whatever price they demand.”

“Very well, my Lord,” replied Dagrinal as he glanced at Graggis. Graggis nodded his head and walked from the room to find a messenger.

The king sat back down and tried to push the grave news away and focus on the task at hand. He laid his son’s axe on the table and looked at it momentarily before he spoke. “How did we fare, Dagrinal?”

“We did well, my King, considering. Jonas killed the Banthra which helped us greatly. It is even possible that the army will not continue to fight without the Banthra and the Naz-reen priests.”

“And if they do? How many men have we lost?”

“The numbers are still coming in, but I believe we’ve lost more than a third of our infantry and at least an equal amount of our cavalry.”

The king shook his head sadly and sighed deeply, the pain of those losses sitting heavy on the tired monarch. “What of the enemy?”

“I do not know. Most of our scouts have not returned. The ones that did reported that a large army still rests beyond the hills past the Lindsor Bridge. I would imagine that most of the orcs and ogres that are still alive will not fight without the Banthra there to force them. There are still a few hill giants, but who knows who controls them. We cannot be sure of anything at this point.”

“Sir, if I may interrupt?” asked Jonas.

The tired king looked at Jonas. “Go ahead, Jonas. You’ve earned the right to be rid of formality in my tent. What is it?”

“Sir, we have brought someone with us who may be able to help.”

Just as Jonas spoke, Graggis returned through the tent flaps followed by Kiln. Though Kiln was covered with blood but he walked with no sign of injury.

“My Lord, I have sent out your messenger. And I have found someone that wants to see you,” Graggis said, bowing his head.

King Gavinsteal stood, nodded his thanks to Graggis, but kept his wide eyes fixed on Kiln, who stood facing the monarch, his own face struggling to mask a maelstrom of emotions.

Jonas shifted his feet uneasily, not sure how this meeting would go.

King Gavinsteal walked over to Kiln, and placing his hand on his shoulder, he forced a smile from his tired and sad face. “My friend, it has been far too long,” he said slowly. “I did not think I would ever see you again.”

Kiln subtly nodded his head, giving the king a slight smile. “Uthrayne, it is good to see you as well. I have grown bored in the mountains and I have sulked long enough,” he said sofly. “It is time I put my grievances aside and return to the world of the living. I thank you for your letter, and your words.”

The warriors around the duo looked about uneasily, uncomfortable at witnessing such a personal encounter.

“I wronged you, my friend and I have carried this guilt for over twenty years. There has been only one action in my life that I have regretted, and it was what I did to our friendship.”

Kiln nodded his head in acknowledgement. “Women have a way of making fools of men, my Lord,” replied Kiln, putting emphasis on the words, my Lord.

The king tried to force a smile, but the strain of the recent news regarding his son hindered his effort, and Kiln knew that something was wrong.

“What is it, Uthrayne?” he asked with concern.

“My friend, my son Baylin is lost, probably captured by the enemy. I need you Kiln, now more than ever.”

The king walked over to the large table and spread some maps out on it. Just then Prince Nelstrom strode into the tent wearing his typical black clothing and burnished black steel chest plate. His long dark cape billowed behind him as he moved quickly to the table. “Father, I heard you had been injured. It is good to see you are well,” he said as he quickly surveyed the room. His eyes swept past Jonas but returned briefly, recognizing him easily.

“I see that we have guests. Jonas, how good to see you. You look like a cavalier. Are my eyes betraying me?”

“No, they are not,” Jonas said curtly.

“When did you arrive?”

“Just today. This is Taleen, cavalier to Helikon,” Jonas replied smoothly. Jonas could still feel something about this man that he did not like. He couldn’t place it but his spine tingled slightly whenever he was around.

Prince Nelstrom nodded his head toward Taleen and smiled. “I did not know that cavaliers were so beautiful.”

Taleen kept her face a blank mask and simply nodded her head in greeting. From anyone else those words would have been a compliment, but even though Taleen did not know Prince Nelstrom, the words he spoke sounded like the hiss of a snake to her. She clearly felt that his words were condescending and she made no effort to mask those feelings.

The room was uncomfortably silent for a few seconds before the king spoke. “My son, this is Kiln, who I think needs no introduction. He arrived today with Jonas.” Prince Nelstrom crossed over to Kiln and reached out, shaking his hand in the warrior’s grip. As the two shook hands the Prince’s master swordsman mark could clearly be seen on his right hand.

“I have heard much about you. You are a legend,” the young prince said. “I would be honored if you would cross blades with me when time permits.”

Kiln glanced down at his son’s hand, although the only people that knew that Prince Nelstrom was of Kiln’s loins were the king, Jonas, Dagrinal, and Graggis, basically everyone that was standing in the room. Kiln smiled, his eyes sparkling at the prospect of a challenge as he noticed Prince Nelstrom’s master swordsman’s mark. “It would be a pleasure. I’d love to see if that mark has been well earned.”

“I can assure you that it has.”

“Where have you been?” asked the king.

“I was fighting with the right flank, Father,” replied the prince.

Dagrinal glanced at Graggis skeptically, but no one saw the brief exchange. They both knew that the prince had not taken part in any of the fighting. The young man was a skilled swordsman, but fighting in the dirt and mud, next to common soldiers, was beneath him. Everyone knew it, but no one said a word.

“My son, Baylin is missing, we believe him to be captured,” the king announced, sitting down heavily to look at the maps.

Prince Nelstrom sat down next to him. “Are you sure, Father?” he asked with concern.

“No, but we did not find his body. I have sent out a messenger to Lord Moredin to barter for his return.”

“That is good. We will get him back if he is indeed taken, I have no doubt,” replied the prince, his tone rather unconvincing.

The king looked at his youngest son for a few moments before shifting his gaze to Kiln. “We have much to prepare for. Kiln, you are needed now. Volnos, my high commander was slain today. It is a great loss to us. Would you offer your services to Finarth in its time of need? No oath need be taken.”

“I will,” replied Kiln evenly.

Suddenly a man in long robes hurried through the king’s entrance. It was Alerion, the king’s wizard. He looked haggard and his brow was covered with sweat. He carried a wooden staff ending in a blue stone held firmly on the end with silver wire. “My Lord,” he said as he walked toward the king. “I am sorry to barge in on you like this but I have urgent news.”

The warriors shifted away from the table to make room for Alerion.

“No need to apologize, Alerion. Here, take some water first.” The king offered, pouring the wizard a glass of water from a ceramic jug on the table. “Now, what is it that brings you to my tent in such haste?”

“My Lord, I have dire news. I have learned positively that Malbeck has been resurrected. But that is not the most troubling news as it was already suspected.” Alerion stopped to take another sip of water. “Malbeck’s energy has been floating in limbo for over a thousand years. Your ancestor killed his physical body only.”

“Then what brought him back?”

“The Shan Cemar.”

“What! That is not possible. The Shan Cemar is just a legend.” The King stood up in surprise.

“No, my Lord, the Shan Cemar is real, and it is now in the hands of the Dark One.”

“What is the Shan Cemar?” asked Jonas.

Alerion turned toward Jonas and noticed him for the first time. “Jonas, it is good to see you. I’m glad that you are well, and it seems the gods have favored you,” Alerion said, looking Jonas up and down with new respect. “The Shan Cemar is an ancient elven book that holds their most powerful words of magic. The book is so old that even the elves did not know its location; it was hidden thousands of lifetimes ago to keep the power safe. Wizards have been searching for the manuscript for a long time. It has somehow been found, giving Malbeck more power than you can possibly imagine. With that book he has access to all the ancient elven words that can unlock the true power of the Ru’Ach.”

“How do we stop him?” asked Jonas, a grim look on his face.

“I don’t know.”

An oppressive silence filled the tent as those inside contemplated this new development.

Finally the king spoke up. “One step at a time. We have a threat here to face first, and we have my son to find. Then we can worry about Malbeck.”

“My Lord. I’m afraid that this army is just a ruse to keep you busy while Malbeck destroys Tarsis. As we speak, Tarsis smolders and boargs roam the lands searching and destroying any scouts that King Kromm has sent out.”

As the king listened to this new revelation, the blood seemed to drain from his weary face. He collapsed heavily on the edge of his bed.

“You mean Tarsis is destroyed?” asked Dagrinal.

“Yes. King Kromm escaped at the last moment with a small force of followers. He is being pursued by Malbeck’s minions as we speak.”

“How do you know this?” asked Graggis.

“Graggis, your skills are with the axe, mine are with magic. The means by which I found this information is irrelevant. The fact is, Tarsis is no more, and King Kromm fights for his life.”

“And that very same army that took Tarsis is sure to be moving south toward us,” added Taleen.

“We will be flanked on two sides.” Jonas said what everyone was thinking.

The king rubbed his long beard in thought. “Kiln, what would you suggest?” asked the king, his tired eyes almost pleading.

All eyes turned towards the famous war commander.

Kiln stepped close to the table and gazed down at the big map positioned there. “It would take Malbeck’s army over ninety days to march from Tarsis to Finarth and that is in the most advantageous conditions. Winter will be approaching by then and it is hard to say how that will affect his plans. Will he force march his army during the winter? Will he hold up and let the snows pass? We will have to keep careful watch on his forces. We should send out our best scouts now. I would suggest that you take your army back to Finarth to prepare for a siege and a long, hard winter. Finarth has never been taken, and that is where we should make our stand.”

“If Malbeck brings the Shan Cemar to our doorstep, then I do not think we can stop him,” Alerion said somberly.

Kiln narrowed his eyes in thought. “There must be something that can fight the power of the Shan Cemar. No army is undefeatable.”

“There is one thing,” added the wizard.

“What, Alerion? What can defeat Malbeck?” asked the frustrated king.

“I was told by my source that the only thing that may defeat Malbeck is an IshMian whose veins pulse with the blood of Finarth.”

“That sounds like a riddle,” interjected Prince Nelstrom. But he did not miss the looks that Kiln, Taleen, and Graggis, sent Jonas’s way.

The king did not miss the looks either. “What? Why are you all staring at Jonas?” asked the king.

“King Gavinsteal, Jonas is an IshMian,” said Taleen.

“Really? Jonas, you are definitely full of surprises. But what does the riddle mean, the blood of Finarth?” asked the king.

“My Lord, it sounds like that phrase would have some connection to the royal family of Finarth, which would exclude Jonas,” reasoned Alerion.

“King Gavinsteal, are there any members of the royal family that are IshMian?” asked Jonas.

“The only members of the royal family are standing in this tent, and none of them have the powers of an IshMian,” the king answered.

“There must be something we are missing,” Kiln pondered thoughtfully.

“Alerion, What do you make of the riddle? Is it possible that Jonas could be the IshMian that your source spoke of?” asked the king.

“I do not know, my Lord. I have relayed all I was told. If Jonas is an IshMian, then he could be that man. I know of no other IshMian with powers that might enable him to defeat the Dark One. On the other hand, the blood of Finarth part of the riddle does not seem to apply to him at all. Even if he is this man, I do not know how he might defeat the powers of the Shan Cemar. I will think on this riddle further and see if I can find anything related to the blood of Finarth.”

“IshMians are extremely rare and the gods seem to have a plan for Jonas. It is very possible that Jonas may be who your source was speaking of,” Taleen said.

“Jonas, I know I cannot give you orders as a cavalier, but will you stay and fight with us?” asked the king.

Jonas did not hesitate in his response. “My Lord, I have not yet received a calling. If my calling is to stay and fight then my steel will be yours, but if I am called, then I cannot argue with Shyann’s will. She knows best where I may be of use.”

“Very well. Dagrinal, send out scouts and spread the word that we leave at first light back to Finarth. Kiln, Jonas, and Taleen, will you three stay awhile so we can talk? I need your council on this dark day.”

“It would be my pleasure,” replied Kiln.

“Sir, there are men to be healed and I would like to find my friend, Fil. Do you know where I can locate him?”

“You are correct, Jonas. I’m embarrassed I did not think of my wounded first. Both of your healing powers would be appreciated. We can talk at another time. I think Fil is with Tanus’s modrig. They should be camped to the southeast.”

Jonas bowed his head slightly. “Thank you my Lord, until tomorrow.”

“It was a pleasure to meet you, King Gavinsteal,” replied Taleen with a slight nod.

“The pleasure was mine, cavalier. Thank you for your help,” the king nodded in reply.

She turned and followed Jonas out of the tent. They strode through the tent flaps to their horses. Jonas climbed onto Tulari who was standing patiently outside. Several of the nearby guards were staring at them and their magnificent horses with open admiration. Taleen mounted her steed as well and they slowly trotted southeast.

As they made their way through the various camp sites, many men stood up and acknowledged their presence with a smile or a simple greeting. It was obvious to them both that their presence was uplifting to the entire army. It was a strange feeling for Jonas and he wondered how long it would take him to get used to it. He openly expressed his feelings to Taleen.

“It feels strange to have everyone look at me with awe and respect. I am so accustomed to the opposite reaction.”

“It will happen wherever you go, Jonas. I am still not accustomed to it, and I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“I guess that is a good thing. Who were you before you became a cavalier?” Jonas asked as he snuck a peak at her beautiful profile.

“I was the daughter of a blacksmith. He raised me like I was his son, taught me how to wield a sword and ride a horse. He was a stern strong man whom I loved very much.”

“What happened to him?”

“He was killed when our village was raided by goblins. After that I joined King Allryan’s army and fought for him for eight years.” Taleen paused as her memories came flooding back.

“I am sorry, Taleen. I didn’t mean to bring back unpleasant memories.”

Taleen looked at him and smiled. “Do not fret, Jonas. It’s just been a long time since I thought about my father. Anyway, I rose quickly through the ranks as a soldier and I decided to try my skills as a cavalier. It took me five years but I was granted the rank of cavalier by Helikon six years ago.”

“What about your mother? Do you have any siblings?”

“My mother died during child birth, along with my sister.”

“I see. I’m sorry. It seems we both have had difficult pasts,” Jonas commented.

“I guess so. But my father loved me and he cared for me the best he could. I was better off than many,” Taleen reasoned.

Jonas thought about her words knowing full well the truth of them. Even he, who led a very difficult life, realized at a young age that no matter how hard your life seemed, it could always be worse. He, too, had it tough, but he did have a loving mother who did her best to care for him. Jonas changed the subject. “Did many women serve with you? We don’t have many female warriors here.”

“There are not many, but I would not say it is rare. Women are allowed to fight but few can pass the training.”

Jonas looked at her again and marveled at her beauty. She noticed him staring and didn’t look away.

“Have you ever been married?” Jonas asked softly.

“No. The life of a cavalier is not fit for marriage,” she replied with no hint of emotion.

“Is it forbidden?” Jonas asked.

“No, it is not forbidden,” Taleen replied as she looked at Jonas.

Jonas looked away and pretended to scan the camp fires for Fil. A lone rider galloped toward them and pulled up short. He was wearing plate mail and a helm similar to Jonas’s, except the horns were those of a boarg.

Jonas shivered involuntarily as memories came flooding back to him. It was hard for him to picture a boarg, or even hear the name, without thinking of his mother’s brutal death. The warrior was bloody and he held his shoulder as if he were injured. He lifted his visor and smiled warmly at the two cavaliers.

“Greetings, cavaliers, word of your presence has quickly spread through the ranks. My name is Tanus and I am a captain in the king’s army.”

“Hello, captain, my name is Jonas Kanrene, cavalier to Shyann.”

“And I am Taleen Gothar, cavalier to Bandris.” Taleen figured it was easier to use the western name for her god so as not to cause confusion.

“I am glad you are both here. Is it true that you battled a Banthra and several priests of the Forsworn?” Tanus asked, crossing his chest at the mention of the dark gods.

“It is true. Jonas killed the Banthra and helped me slay the priests,” stated Taleen. “Sir, are you hurt? Do you need healing?”

“I took a goblin spear to the shoulder. I had it patched up to stop most of the bleeding. I’d rather have you save your energy for my men if you are up to it. I have many men more severely wounded.”

“It would be our pleasure. After we heal who we can, would you be able to lead us to a friend of mine? I believe he is in your modrig?” asked Jonas.

“What is his name?”

“Fil Tanrey, he is a knight apprentice.”

“Ah yes. Fil saved my life today. He was hurt badly but nothing life threatening, thank the High One for that. He is brave and strong. I am glad he is on our side.”

Jonas felt a twinge of worry and pride as he thought about his friend. “Please, take me too him. I must see him and heal him immediately,” Jonas said eagerly.

“Very well. Follow me.”

Tanus led the two cavaliers through the camp; the men’s faces, reflected in the many campfires, showed a mixture of emotions. Some looked tired and haggard, others seemed happy to be alive, or solemn at the loss of their brethren. But all stood and greeted the cavaliers with a nod or a smile as they rode by.

When they neared a large cream colored tent, Tanus dismounted and tethered his horse. Taleen and Jonas both followed his lead, though they had no need to tether their own mounts.

Tanus stared openly at Tulari as the giant horse stood passively, and Jonas couldn’t help but feel immense pride for his new steed.

“That is the most magnificent animal I have ever seen,” Tanus said as he admired the huge animal.

“Thank you, Tanus. His name is Tulari, and you’re right, he is magnificent in many ways.”

Tanus broke his gaze from the animal and led the two warriors into the tent that housed the wounded. The first things Jonas noticed were the sounds and odors. It had been many years since he had seen the results of a battle, and even then he had only seen the dead. But here he was looking at the wounded. It did’nt take him long to realize that witnessing the survivors of a battle may be worse than seeing the dead. The dead didn’t moan or cry out in pain. The sounds of the wounded and dying were something that Jonas would not forget. But it was the smell that would stick with him. The interior odor was a mix of sweat, blood, infection, and vomit that assaulted Jonas’s nose. The tent was filled with makeshift cots lined with the many wounded. Surgeons and their apprentices moved quickly among the men, cleaning their bandages, and stitching their wounds. There were men unconscious, men moaning in pain, and even some men screaming as surgeons cut, sewed, or sawed. It was a gruesome scene that Jonas would not forget.

“How many other tents are there for the wounded?” Jonas asked.

“One or two for each modrig. The injured are organized into three groups. A black mark on their forehead means they will probably not survive, a red mark means they are seriously injured and they need treatment immediately, and a blue mark means their injuries are minor and they can be looked at later. The few priests that we have will try to heal the severely injured first, but we just don’t have enough magical healers to go around.”

As Tanus led them through the injured men Jonas began to make out the colored marks painted on each man’s forehead.

“Jonas!”

The familiar voice broke Jonas’s trance as he was looking at the helpless men around him. Tanus had led them to a cot where Fil lay nursing his wounds. His skin was pale and he had a bandage wrapped around his bare chest.

Jonas smiled happily as he gazed at his friend. “Fil, are you okay? Where are you hurt?” Jonas asked anxiously.

“I was stabbed in the side and then an ogre broke some ribs and cracked my breast bone.” Fil struggled to sit up, his face strained as pain shot through his body.

Jonas laid a restraining hand on him, easing him back down to a prone position. “Take it easy, my friend, all in good time.”

“It is so good to see you, Jonas,” Fil said through a forced smile. He looked at Jonas more closely, his eyes moving across Jonas’s immaculate sparkling armor, and the beautifully crafted swords strapped at his side. The blue and silver symbol of Shyann danced in the candle light.

“Ulren’s star, you did it, you’re a cavalier,” Fil said in amazement.

“I am, my friend, but let me heal you first and we can talk in detail once you feel better.”

“You can heal now? I knew you would do it, Jonas.”

“I can do many things now. Now hold still. You will feel some heat and your body will feel warm as I mend your wounds. But it will not hurt.”

“Okay, go ahead. I am ready.”

Jonas reached down and put both of his hands on Fil’s chest. He began to pray silently, calling on Shyann for the power to heal his friend. His hands began to glow blue as he sent the healing energy into Fil.

Jonas searched Fil’s body for the injuries and saw his breastbone was indeed cracked and he had seven broken ribs, one dangerously close to lacerating his lung. Jonas went to work on mending the bones, any ruptured blood vessels, tendons, and the surrounding tissue. Then he went to work in eliminating the infection that was building up in Fil’s side. The wound was shallow and he sealed it quickly. After a few minutes Jonas opened his eyes to see Fil staring at him with wonder.

“That felt incredible. Thank you, Jonas. I feel perfect,” Fil said. He leaned up in bed and bent his body to test it for pain. He smiled broadly as he got out of bed. “I feel no pain. I’m a little sore but I feel much better. You completely healed me! Amazing!” He rambunctiously grabbed Jonas in a big bear hug and held him tightly. “I’ve missed you, my friend! We have much to discuss. But first, who is this beautiful lady beside you?”

“My name is Taleen, and I’m a cavalier to Bandris,” Taleen said with a warm smile.

Fil noticed for the first time her immaculate armor and he reddened in embarrassment. “I am sorry, Taleen. I was so excited to see Jonas that I did not notice you were a cavalier. Please forgive my lack of respect.”

Taleen reassured Fil with a brilliant smile. “You are forgiven, Fil Tanrey. Besides, even a cavalier likes to hear compliments from time to time,” Taleen added. Her smile was infectious and seemed to make the tough warriors around her blush.

“It is nice to meet you, Taleen. And let’s just say that you are both a wonderful sight. I had heard that two cavaliers had arrived and destroyed the Banthra, but I had no idea it was you, Jonas.”

“It was. We arrived today with Kiln. He held the center line today.”

“Kiln is here?” asked Tanus, clearly shocked at the mention of the great swordsman’s name.

“He is with the king now. He has taken over as high commander,” replied Jonas.

“Is Kiln dark haired with gray eyes and fights like a demon?” Fil asked skeptically.

“That is him. Have you seen him?” asked Jonas.

Fil smiled as he thought about the fight today. “I have. I fought with him today. He came in on his horse and kept the line together. I have never seen anything like it. We were crumbling and getting scattered and he barreled in and took control, killing anything that came at him. He diced up the ogre that almost killed me like it was nothing more than a tiny goblin. He rallied the men and held the center, wading into the screaming tribesmen with no hint of fear. I couldn’t believe it; he just cut into them like they didn’t exist, leaping and spinning from one enemy to another, leaving dead bodies wherever he went. The enemy was so thick around him that I could no longer see him. I thought he had been killed, until our men, encouraged by his bravery, fought their way through the enemy ranks and found him fighting for his life. I passed out before that, but that is the story that I heard. Everyone is talking about him, but I don’t know how many knew that he was Kiln, the legend.”

“That sounds like, Kiln,” Jonas said with a smile.

“Jonas, we need to start healing these men,” Taleen interrupted.

Jonas looked at her and at the wounded and dying men around them. “Yes, you’re quite right. Fil, let us talk later. Taleen and I must heal as many of these men as we can. We will take care of the most urgently wounded first, and then we will heal you, Tanus. Your men will need you healthy in the trials to come.”

“Very good, Jonas. Thank you for helping my men, both of you,” Tanus said.

“You’re welcome. I will find you later to tend to your wound. Fil,” Jonas said, turning his gaze to his friend. “How will we find you later?”

“You can find my camp farther on the south side. I will have a warm cup of tea waiting for you,” Fil said.

“I am looking forward to it.”

“Taleen, I’m glad to have met you,” Fil said. “I hope you accompany Jonas to our camp site so that we may talk more.”

“It would be my pleasure, Fil,” replied Taleen with a nod.

“Sir, do you need me for anything or am I free to go to my camp?” Fil asked Tanus.

Tanus smiled and shook his head. “No, you’ve done enough. You saved my life today and I thank you for that. Go ahead, get some rest. You’ve earned it.”

Fil nodded his head and looked one more time at Jonas, smiling widely before walking out of the tent.

Jonas and Taleen spent the better part of two hours healing as many men as they could. They were both exhausted as they drug themselves from the tent to their horses and made their way towards Fil’s camp. They couldn’t heal all the men in one night. The energy expended took its toll on their bodies and they had to rest. A warm meal and a soft bed were needed now. But Jonas had to see Fil and that is where they headed.

They found Fil’s camp easily enough and it wasn’t long before they had their tired bodies resting on their sleeping blankets in front of a warm crackling fire. A full belly, a cup of warm tea, and the camaraderie of friends did wonders for Jonas’s bone-weary body.

Jonas and Taleen talked with Fil for as long as their tired bodies would allow. Fil and Jonas had a lot to catch up on and the words flowed from their mouths. They were both very happy to see each other, but it wasn’t long after they got there that Jonas began to tire, his fight with the Banthra and the healing finally wearing him out, finally overcoming the excitement of seeing his friend. Taleen was also exhausted and Jonas took notice of her heavy eyelids fluttering beyond the dancing flames of their campfire.

“Fil, my friend, Taleen and I are both exhausted and we need to get some sleep. We have much to do in the morning,” Jonas said.

“Oh yes, of course. Do you want to lay your bed rolls here at my fire?”

Jonas was just going to accept when a lone horseman approached them from the darkness. The bright moonlight and many campfires enabled the rider to maneuver through the campfires to find them. The man was one of the king’s knights.

“Cavaliers, the king has prepared a tent for you. There is warm water, food, and drink waiting. Would you like me to escort you there or send a rider for you later?”

“We will go now. Thank you for the offer,” replied Jonas.

“It is my pleasure. I am glad that you both are with us.” The warrior looked to be older than fifty winters. His face was covered with course whiskers, some of which were gray. He was powerfuly built, and his thick wavy hair gave him the look of a lion.

Jonas and Taleen mounted their horses which had been standing near by.

“Fil,” the veteran warrior spoke up. “I heard that you fought well today. Tanus said you saved his life. Good work, son.”

“Thank you, Renagar,” Fil replied seriously.

Renagar addressed the two cavaliers who were both ready to leave. “Follow me, if you please.”

“I’ll find you tomorrow, Fil.” Jonas smiled at his friend as he turned his horse to leave.

“Thank you for inviting me to your fire, Fil. I am glad to have met you,” added Taleen.

“I’ll see you both tomorrow,” Fil said, watching them ride away into the night.

Their tent was not large but the interior was spacious since it had little furniture. It had been placed near the king’s own tent, for which Jonas was grateful, in case the monarch might need them. Inside were two beds hastily made from furs, thick cotton blankets, and soft pillows. Just the sight of them made Jonas’s eye lids feel as if they were made of lead. A small table, covered with trays of meats, cheeses, and fruits was set up in the middle of the tent. They were also provided a large copper wash basin filled with steaming water. King Gavinsteal had also taken into consideration Taleen’s privacy and had his men construct a screen framed with wood with blue dyed cotton forming the panels.

They used the wash basin to wash away the grime of battle, and after eating their simple but nourishing meal, they finally dropped their tired bodies down onto their soft beds. They fell asleep quickly, exhaustion permeating their bodies.

Jonas slowly opened his eyes as a bright light shone before him. He squinted and held up his hand to block out what felt like the sun’s rays shining right in his face.

After a few moments the light disappeared and Jonas opened his eyes fully, revealing Shyann before him. She was standing on the edge of a cliff, with her back to Jonas, and she was wearing black leather breeches and a matching black sleeveless shirt. Her whole body seemed to be bathed in white light.

Jonas looked around and noticed that he was standing on a mountain and Shyann was looking down at something below.

She turned her head, smiling warmly at him. “Jonas, come here. I want to show you something.”

Her voice was the same as before, melodic and entrancing, and it warmed his very soul. Jonas slowly approached and stood next to her, looking at her beautiful features the entire time.

She turned and looked at him, but her face was a mixture of pain and sorrow.

“Jonas, Look down,” she ordered.

Jonas followed her gaze and saw that they were standing above a huge city that was burning, smoke billowing from every corner. There were thousands of orcs and goblins camped along the perimeter and Jonas could see many still plundering the area. The city was obviously in ruin.

“Is it Tarsis?” he asked.

“It is, Malbeck has taken the city and King Kromm is now being hunted in these very hills.”

“Is he alone?”

“No, he has a small group of his elite guard with him, but Malbeck will find him. He is sending out his hunters as we speak. That is why I need you.”

“You want me to go to the king and bring him to Finarth?”

“I do. There will be forces hunting him and his family that even Kromm, the mighty warrior king, cannot face. Take Fil and Taleen with you. You will need help in this venture. Jonas, King Kromm and his family must not be captured. The king is necessary to the survival of these lands.”

“What can one man do against the Shan Cemar?”

“To win this war we will need a culmination of what many men can do. The power of one, combined with the power of others, is a force that is hard to break. This is the ultimate difference between good and evil, men working together for a common cause. Evil harbors resentment, greed, and other emotions that eat their power away from the inside. It is a time for heroes, Jonas.”

“How will I find him, my Goddess?”

“Remember, Jonas, call me Shyann. I was once just a farmer and a hunter like you.” Shyann smiled warmly now. “Tulari will lead you there.”

Shyann’s eyes suddenly lit up with shock, as if she were watching something terrible happen. “Jonas, you must awaken! Treachery is happening in the king’s chamber! Hurry or it will be too late!”

A bright flash of white seared Jonas’s eyes……

......And he awoke with a jolt, his eyes wide and his body fully awake. He leaped out of bed and noticed that he was already wearing his armor and both his swords were strapped at his side. He didn’t stand around pondering how that happened but ran out of his tent, yelling for Taleen as he went. “Taleen, to the king’s chamber!”

Jonas was long gone as Taleen awoke quickly, grabbing her sword next to her. She was already wearing her chain mail shirt but she didn’t bother taking the time to put on her plate mail.

Jonas raced towards the king’s tent and noticed the guards at the entrance were all lying on the ground. He didn’t stop to see if they were hurt or just spelled, barreling through the drape that covered the entrance and calling on his light simultaneously. He drew both his blades so quickly that it looked as if they leaped into his hands. His light bathed the entire interior and nothing of darkness could escape the magic.

A tall figure stood over the king’s bed and the man turned as Jonas’s light filled the room. It was Prince Nelstrom and he was holding a bloody dagger.

But Jonas’s light wasn’t touching the prince. He was surrounded by a shadow that seemed to pulse around him, just like Jonas’s light, but dark and heavy with evil. Jonas’s light hit the darkness and was repelled.

Prince Nelstrom’s eyes were glowing red and his features seemed to grow and elongate, until he was two heads taller than Jonas with long legs and arms. The fingers holding the knife grew as well, becoming long and tipped with short talons. His features were still that of the prince, but different, demonic in appearance. The bloody dagger in his hand slowly grew in length until it became the same long sword that he always wore at his side.

“It is too late, cavalier,” hissed Prince Nelstrom, spitting out the last word like it was poison. “The king is dead.”

“But you still live, something I will remedy shortly,” Jonas growled, stepping further into the room, his twin blades glowing faintly, as if they were waiting to explode into action.

“I’m afraid that killing me will not be that easy. Do you know what I am?” The prince asked, advancing slowly towards Jonas. His long arms and legs carried him smoothly a few steps closer.

Jonas noticed that he was wearing the exact armor and clothes of Prince Nelstrom. It had somehow grown and stretched to fit his new size.

“You are a man who sold his soul to the Forsworn. You are weak. You are nothing,” Jonas responded.

The prince laughed as he started to circle Jonas, his aura of darkness still holding back Jonas’s light. “I am much more than that. Right now your cavalier friend and many others are trying to get into this tent. But they can’t. I have magically sealed it off. It is just you and me, something for which I have been patiently waiting.”

“As have I, traitor,” Jonas whispered through clenched teeth. He willed his mind into the state of Ty’erm and readied himself for battle. All his senses were sharp and his finely honed muscles twitched, eager to spring forth and crush the murderous traitor. The king was a great man, and now he was dead, killed by his own corrupted son, at least that is what Prince Nelstrom believed. Jonas knew that Prince Nelstrom did not know that his real father was actually Kiln.

Again the prince laughed, refocusing Jonas’s attention. “I have more power than ever. My Lord Malbeck has shared with me some of the power of the Shan Cemar. That is why you could not detect me, cavalier. We have new power, power that was hidden for many years, but it is ours now and you cannot stop us. I am Malbeck’s right hand, the hammer that will crush Finarth so that I may rule this land in his name and the power of the Forsworn will cover the lands.”

“Your heart is now dark and corrupted with the stench of the Forsworn. They hold no power over me,” replied Jonas sternly, flaring his light again, trying to break through the prince’s defenses, but to no avail.

“Oh but they do. They have been watching you for a long time; even before you were born they were watching you.”

“What are you talking about?” Jonas demanded.

The demon prince laughed again. “Do you know what happened to your father?”

“He left us when I was born. He did not want a cripple as a son,” Jonas said, a little bit shaken by the direction of the conversation.

“You were a cripple because the Forsworn made you so. Gould the tormentor had known about you before you were even born. Your mother was poisoned during her pregnancy hoping to kill her and you.”

“You lie,” spat Jonas, gripping his swords tighter. Jonas used his powers to weave the energy around him into an invisible shield. His powers were growing stronger and it only took him a couple of seconds to spin the molecules around him into a translucent shield of energy.

But Jonas knew that he had to use his powers sparingly, for the headaches that came with their use could incapacitate him, something that would be his doom when facing a foe like the one before him.

The demon prince snickered knowingly. “We had assumed your mother would die, killing you along with her, but she was much stronger of spirit than we thought. She was sickened; however, the poison deformed you. Your father was strong of body, but not of spirit. Gould used his servants to force him to leave and then they took him as Gould’s slave.”

“You mean my father did not leave us on his own accord?” Jonas asked shocked.

“Correct, and we thought you as good as dead, a mistake which I’m here to remedy.”

“You should have killed me then, I will not be so easy to defeat now. My heart is pure. You cannot corrupt me with your seeping blackness.”

“When the Forsworn realized that you were still alive, they had Malbeck the Dark One, my master and their sword on this plane of existence, order your death.”

“But the High One sent Airos to protect the town and me,” replied Jonas as he thought about Airos’s sudden arrival. “But Airos did not know exactly who I was, only that he needed to help fight off the threat that attacked my town. His death helped me survive and I believe now that Shyann shielded me on that dark night.” Realization of Airos’s sacrifice and the simmering plot to destroy his family hit him like an ogre’s fist. “But why me?” Jonas asked more to himself than anything.

The demon prince spat on the ground and hissed. “You already answered that question. You are IshMian, a rare power that threatens my masters. More importantly, your heart is pure and incorruptible; a rarity in men and a potential threat to the powers of darkness, but it is a weakness, cavalier, for you cannot truly accept the power of the Forsworn. ”

Now it was Jonas’s turn to laugh. “Power? They hold no power! They only exist because they feed off of the weaknesses of men. Your Forsworn are parasites that have no power of their own,” Jonas countered, swinging his swords left and right.

The demon prince crouched, hissing angrily like a snake, his long blade bursting in red flames. Then he whispered a few words and orange flames suddenly burst from his left hand. Jonas stood his ground as the flames slammed into his mental barrier and rushed to either side of him. He smiled as the flame’s heat did not touch him. The fire subsided, revealing Jonas unharmed, holding his swords at his side.

Jonas used his mind to send the translucent shield forward like a battering ram. The energy wall hit the demon prince hard, slamming him against the back of the tent. Strangely, when he hit the tent wall it looked like he had crashed into stone. Whatever magic the demon had used to seal the tent turned the walls into something hard and unbreakable.

Jonas quickly charged forward as the demon prince smashed into the wall. Releasing the energy of the shield he used his leading blade to hastily block the demon’s fire sword, but his second blade scored a hit on the demon’s leg, causing a deep cut across its thigh. Nelstrom hissed and kicked his leg out impossibly fast. His powerful foot struck Jonas in the abdomen and sent him reeling backwards.

Kiln had taught Jonas many things, one of which was how to deflect the power of a blow by not fighting against it. And Jonas’s agility almost equaled Kiln’s, allowing him to move like an acrobat. So Jonas went with the blow, leaping backwards at the last moment, deflecting some of the power of the strike. He rolled backwards over his head and came to his feet quickly.

The prince wasted no time and attacked him furiously with his fire blade. The struggle became a blur of blades as the two master swordsmen used all the skills they had. They spun and danced, their magic blades leaving traces of fire and blue light as they whirled through the air. The demon’s long arms and legs allowed him an advantage, but Jonas’s skill with two blades allowed him to keep the demon’s steel away from his flesh.

The demon prince pushed Jonas close to a wall, hoping to pin him against it, but Jonas sensed the wall’s presence and frantically fought to keep from being cornered. Nelstrom’s foot struck out again, so fast that Jonas could not avoid it, striking him in the thigh, the power of the kick forcing him to stumble backwards.

The demon prince saw his opening and swung his fire blade downward towards Jonas’s head. But Jonas, too, was fast and he quickly brought both blades up in a cross to block the powerful stroke. The power of the strike sent sparks everywhere, severely jolting Jonas’s strong arms. It felt like he had caught a falling boulder.

The blades held together and the prince stepped in close to Jonas’s face. Jonas used all his strength to hold the blade still as the demon leered down at him. He strained and gritted his teeth as the flaming steel inched closer.

As the demon’s head moved closer, he opened his fanged mouth, spitting burning flames at Jonas’s face. Jonas screamed as the fire seared him but he did not let go of his swords for he knew that the demon’s fire sword would cleave him in two. He felt his skin bubble and the pungent smell of his burnt hair assaulted his senses.

Jonas closed his eyes and drew on his cognivant powers again. Using these powers was always tricky. He had to balance the need against the power of his opponent and the energy he would expend in using it. Against a powerful opponent like the one he faced now, he risked incapacitating himself. But if there was a time to use those powers, it was now. He called on the energy around him and wrapped it around the demon prince. Instantly the flames went away and Jonas used his mind to lift the demon in the air and throw him across the room to smash again into the wall of the tent.

Jonas stumbled from the agony, trying to open his eyes. The pain was immense. He had been burned so badly that his eyes were sealed. His head pounded from the cognitive energy used to fling the powerful demon against the wall.

From a distance, Jonas heard the demon laugh as he struggled to maintain his balance. His heart beat quickly as he fought to get control of himself through the pain and fear. Jonas could heal himself but he didn’t know if he had time before the demon attacked again.

Then he heard Shyann’s voice in his head and all fear went away. “Hold tight Jonas. Do not fear. I am here with you. Use your mind.”

Jonas’s mind cleared and all fear evaporated in a rush of energy. He opened up his mind and used his powers as a cognivant to see the area around him. In his mind’s eye he could make out the particles of everything around him, including the demon prince who was now just before him with his sword raised above his head. Everything shone with different hues of light but it was enough to give Jonas an idea of distance, size, and shape.

Prince Nelstrom smiled wickedly as he brought his fire blade down with all his strength at the blinded cavalier. But the blade struck the ground hard as Jonas had moved aside with impossible speed and agility.

The prince tried to get his blade up but the cavalier was too fast. As Jonas sidestepped the powerful swing, he swung his right hand blade down onto the exposed arm of the demon, slicing easily through its flesh. As the demon’s sword arm fell to the ground, he watched in horror as the cavalier spun like a dancer, the momentum of the spin sending his left sword whirling by his face, slicing through his throat. The prince’s neck parted easily on Jonas’s blade, and he stumbled backwards from the blow.

Jonas, his eyes still burned shut, saw the demon prince move backwards holding onto his slit throat with his one good arm. But he would not be so easily killed. In his mind’s eye, Jonas saw the demon work some dark magic. Two bolts of energy shot forth from the demon’s hand but the bolts did not hit the cavalier. Instead they landed on either side of him creating two huge spiders from the crackling energy. Jonas could not see the spiders perfectly but he could make out their shape and size. They were as big as a man, similar to the spider that Taleen had fought on the battlefield.

Both spiders instantly attacked him. They leaped with incredible speed and slammed into the invisible wall that Jonas had quickly formed with his mind. One landed heavily on its back while the other maintained its footing, sending long clawed legs into the barrier as it tried to reach the retreating cavalier.

Jonas asked for Shyann’s help and brought forth burning blue flames that erupted from his right sword. He pointed the blade at the spider that was attacking the invisible barrier and sent a column of flame into the hideous beast. He had to drop the wall to let the flames out and he hoped that the spider on its back would take a few moments to recover.

The flames struck the spider with a flash, quickly incinerating it. Its squeal of pain was quickly extinguished as it was transformed to a smoldering pile of ash.

The second spider was quicker than he had expected, attacking Jonas simultaneously with four spiked claws. He stumbled backwards and used his right sword to deflect the first three attacks, but the last lightening quick claw shot through his defenses piercing his thigh just below the metal skirt that protected his hip and groin. The spider retracted the leg and attacked again as Jonas screamed from the pain and stumbled backward.

Jonas knew that he had to finish this spider off quickly or the demon might soon join the fight. He did not know if the demon prince had survived his attack but he had to assume he had.

The spider was a blur of red energy in his mind’s eye. He used his two blades frantically to keep the beast at bay while he used his mind to concentrate on the hunting knife that was sheathed at his side. The spider did not see the knife coming as it was focused on trying to get through the deadly blades that blurred before it. Jonas used his mind to send the knife into the large right eye of the spider. Green gore burst from the wound. Screeching in pain, the spider backed up, trying to use several legs to knock the knife free.

Jonas had never used his power to levitate his own body but he had to try. His head was pounding with the exertion of using his powers but he put his trust in Shyann and forced himself to focus and draw forth whatever energy he had left within him.

He was able to use his power to leap high into the air, wrapping his body in energy and lifting himself well above the spider, then quickly releasing the energy to slam his body into the injured creature. His feet hit first followed closely by both blades. His feet slammed the spider down into the stone while both swords plunged to the hilt into the soft hairy body. Jonas ripped both blades outward, slicing open the abdomen and showering the floor with its entrails. Simultaneously he jumped off the dead spider, landing on his shoulder and rolling quickly up to his feet, both swords held before him.

He mentally scanned the room for another attack. He was tired and severely injured, but in the state of Ty’erm he was able to block the pain and focus on what needed to be done. His head ached badly but in his meditative state he could handle more pain than normal. He pushed his strength to its limit, knowing that it would mean life or death.

Various colors assaulted his mind as he tried to makes sense of what he saw in the room. He could make out the two dead spiders, their color in his mind now a darker red as their bodies cooled in death. He could see the king’s bed and the softly glowing blue outline of the dead ruler.

Prince Nelstrom was choking on his own black blood as his spiders were attacking the cavalier. He tried to whisper the healing word that his master had taught him, a secret word found in the Shan Cemar. All that came out was hissing and gurgling as his ripped throat showered the ground with his blood.

One of his innate abilities as a follower of the Forsworn was that he could call on Naz-reen’s servants at will, once a day. So he didn’t need to say words of magic to bring forth the spiders. He simply willed them to arrive and they would, but to heal himself he needed to speak, to use words of magic like a wizard.

His red eyes boiled with rage as he felt his life’s energy begin to leave his body. But he was not dead yet, his magical body was able to handle injury and pain beyond that of any human.

He used the last bit of his energy to run forward, grabbing his sword off the ground with his only arm. His eyes focused on the cavalier with hatred and fury and he ran toward Jonas just as he had finished off the last spider. The demon prince attacked Jonas from the side, hoping to drive his dark blade deep into his body.

Jonas detected a glimpse of energy from the corner of his eye and turned quickly to meet the attack. He felt a searing pain lance through his side in the seam below his breastplate. No normal blade could puncture Jonas’s chain mail shirt under his armor, but this was no normal blade; it was a dark blade cursed by the Forsworn, and its magic was powerful. The blade pushed through the chain mail shirt, and through his abdomen, bursting out his back.

Jonas screamed in pain as the demon prince held the blade inside his body, twisting it left and right as the flames burned his soul. Jonas’s arms were flayed out to his sides, but he still held his swords in both hands. He whispered a prayer to Shyann as the pain enveloped him, nearly causing him to drop his swords.

“I am here, Jonas,” Shyann whispered in his mind as she shielded him from the pain.

Instantly the pain went away and Jonas spun his swords in both his hands so the points were facing down. The demon used his sword as leverage lifting Jonas’s body off the ground with one arm just as Jonas raised his blades high, and slammed both points downward through the demon prince’s chest and into his lungs and heart. Simultaneously he called on his God Fire, sending the flames roaring down the blades and into the body of the screaming demon. The flames burst inside the prince and shot forth from his ears, eyes, and open mouth, until his entire body was glowing with God Fire from the inside. Suddenly Prince Nelstrom burst into flame and disappeared in a shower of fire and ash.

The only thing left on the ground was his armor.

Jonas crashed hard into the ground and fought to maintain consciousness. The pain was minimal as Shyann still shielded him, but he did not have the strength to pull forth the dark blade or heal himself. He lay on his side, the cursed blade buried deep in his flesh, his face burned like a blackened piece of roasted meat, his long curly hair scorched and burned to his scalp. His head swirled with exhaustion and he barely held onto consciousness.

He heard the faint sound of rushing footsteps nearby but didn’t have the strength to view the scene in his mind. But through the black haze he thought he heard Taleen’s frantic voice.

“Kiln, do not touch the blade, it is cursed. Let me do it!” There was a pause. Then he heard Taleen whisper close to him. “Jonas! Bandris help me! Jonas, do you hear me?”

His senses were blurry with sounds and smells whirling around in his mind. Finally, the pain from his injuries slammed into him like the gust from a dragon’s wing. Jonas’s head swam and his body finally succumbed to his terrible wounds. The last thing he felt was the dark blade being pulled from his body. Then he felt Taleen’s hands on his abdomen and nothing more.