The Cavalier

One

The Meeting



Jonas stumbled down the town’s main road, his awkward gait punctuated by the wooden crutch that Gorum the baker made him for his fourteenth birthday, one year ago. His twisted hands could barely hold onto the crutch and the stale loaf of bread that his mother sent him to fetch.

It was a good day for Jonas. The cold winter air and heavy snows kept most people in the warm confines of their homes, which meant there were few people on the street to stare at his crippled and misshapen body as he slowly ambled home.

It was cold, the mountain air freezing him to his bones, his old battered and threadbare clothing doing little to keep him warm. Despite it all, he felt happy. There were no appalling looks from the townspeople, and Jonas’s stomach grumbled as he thought about the bread on their table tonight. It was indeed a good day.

Jonas was born a cripple. His bones never grew straight and he struggled to get his muscles to react to his commands. They always tightened up on him, causing him to spasm, twisting his legs and body into unnatural positions. Even his face would contort at times, making it difficult for him to talk. But his mind was sharp and his personality was uncharacteristically gentle and kind for someone in his position.

Despite his twisted and awkward body, his eyes sparkled with an inner light, and if anyone had bothered to stop long enough to talk to him, they would have noticed the intelligence and warmth hidden there. But few took the time to look past his frail and contorted form. Despite his obvious physical handicaps, Jonas’s face was handsome with bright eyes and wavy dark brown hair.

Cripples were often abandoned and left to die. It was believed that the goddess of the hunt, Shyann, disapproved of the birth and left her mark upon the child. More often than not, crippled children were seen as a bad omen for the town and the family. In a mountain town like Manson, ones very survival teetered back and forth on the whims of winter storms, wild animals, and roaming monsters looking for their next meal. It was important for the townspeople to believe in something that offered strength and to offer disdain to those who brought weakness. Jonas understood, but it didn’t make it any easier.

When Jonas was born, his father, Liam, a reputable hunter, trapper, and warrior, refused to accept the child into his home. His mother had saved his life that day which forever cast a shadow over his family name. She would not allow Liam to abandon him, protecting Jonas and forcing her husband to leave.

His father left the small mountain town of Manson, never to return. It was on that day that he and his mother became outcasts, shunned by most, tolerated by few. It was only the baker, Gorum, who treated them with any kindness. He often traded them old bread for some of his mother’s wild onions or various other plants that she grew by their mountain cabin. Gorum became the only positive male figure in Jonas’s life.

The sound of horse hooves crunching on the frozen ground brought Jonas from his thoughts. He looked toward the noise just as his crutch slid on the icy path, pitching him hard to the right, sending the stale loaf of bread into the air and cracking his head hard on the frozen ground.

Dazed, he slowly moved his twisted hands around for the crutch, hoping that the bread did not land in any slush or mud that covered the road.

“You okay, son?”

A deep concerned voice came from the road but Jonas couldn’t turn his head in that direction until he found the crutch and lifted his tiny frame from the cold ground.

He felt strong hands lift him easily and hold his body upright. Jonas steadied his shaking body before studying the man closely.

He was tall, lean, with the look of a hawk, eyes that blazed with energy and a hooked nose that made him look regal and fierce at the same time. He had long dark flowing hair and his face was covered with the rough growth of a traveler who hadn’t shaved in several days. But his hardness disappeared when he smiled warmly at Jonas.

He wore a silver shining breast plate and a wool traveling cloak hung down his back, draping his strong legs. Powerful shoulders were encased in polished steel and his arms and legs were also covered in plates of glittering metal. The man’s feet were covered in thick leather riding boots capped with bright metal and everything seemed to sparkle with diamond brilliance. Although he was unshaven, the man was clean and his clothes and armor appeared brand new and of the highest quality, as if he had just purchased everything from a fine merchant’s store. There was no sign of mud or dirt typical of a mountain traveler.

The steel breastplate he wore caught Jonas’s eye for it was embossed with a silver symbol that looked like a four pointed star on top of a smaller circle. Under the amazing armor Jonas could make out the silvery metal edges of a chainmail shirt.

He looked back at the symbol in the middle of the man’s chest for it seemed to draw his attention. It was simple but beautiful, the lines elegant and strong, each point of the star emerging from the circle. Jonas’s wide eyes moved down to the man’s belt where he wore a magnificent sword and a hunter’s knife. The sword handle looked like it was made of a light wood or bone with silver wire adorning the handle. The pommel of the hunting knife was the same, an obvious mate to the sword.

Jonas looked into the piercing but warm eyes of the stranger, trying to smile back, but knowing that his action looked like a sneer, his muscles in his jaw not able to form to his wishes.

“Thank you, sir…..I slipped,” Jonas said awkwardly, his deformed mouth making it hard to pronounce the words. Cold weather had an adverse effect on Jonas’s ability to relax his muscles, making it more difficult than normal to talk and walk.

Jonas remembered his bread and looked around for it.

“Looking for this?” the man said as he held up the loaf of bread in his hand. “I caught it as you slipped”.

Jonas noticed that the man’s hands had two identical marks on the top of them, a circle with a four pointed star in the middle, the same mark that was on his polished cuirass.

The man noticed him staring. “Do you know what these are?” the man asked gently.

“No sir, I’ve never seen anything like them.”

“Really,” the man said, “do they not teach you about the gods here?”

“I’m sorry sir, I only know of our goddess, Shyann, the goddess of hunting and farming. I have heard my mother mention the High One, but I know little of him.”

“Well, that’s a start. What happened to you, boy, were you injured or born as a cripple?” the man asked kindly.

“I was born this way, sir. The gods did not want me,” answered Jonas, his head hung low in shame.

The man knelt so that his face was close to Jonas’s and held onto him with his strong callused hands.

“What is your name, boy?” the traveler asked gently.

“Jonas. Jonas Kanrene.”

“Listen to me, Jonas. If the gods did not want you, then you wouldn’t have been born and you would be dead already. Remember that. Do not let people’s superstitious ideas cover your life with a black cloud. The gods have a plan for all of us, including you. Is it just your body that is afflicted?”

“I’m sorry, sir, what do you mean?” asked Jonas.

“I mean,” said the man as he softly tapped Jonas’s forehead, “is your head intact? Can you think, or did your brain get damaged along with your body?”

“My head is fine sir. My thoughts are clear, but talking is difficult because my muscles tighten around my face making it hard to move my mouth as I would wish.”

“I see,” the man said thoughtfully.

The warrior stood up and moved toward his horse, which was the most magnificent animal Jonas had ever seen. It was tall, strong, and its coat glistened as if it was recently cleaned and brushed. The horse’s muscles rippled like an ocean’s wave as the man leaped up gracefully onto its saddled back.

Jonas noticed a long black bow and quiver of arrows strapped to the side of the horse. He had never seen a more impressive bow. It was wrapped with silver wire and covered with intricate carvings. Everything on the horse shone with brilliance; every buckle, strap, and harness was immaculate. Jonas wondered how a traveler could keep himself and his steed so clean.

To Jonas, the warrior looked god-like sitting erect and strong on the massive back of his warhorse.

“My name is Airos. Remember what I said, Jonas. You are a good boy with a pure soul, for I can see into the hearts of men. It is very rare to lack the taint of evil, especially for one afflicted as you are. You should be proud of that.”

Airos rode forward, brought his horse close to Jonas, and, leaning down, he handed Jonas something.

Jonas grabbed it awkwardly and looked at it. It was a shiny gold coin.

“Take that home to your mother. It was nice to meet you, Jonas,” the man said with a smile.

“It was nice to meet you too, sir,” Jonas murmured, a little stunned by the unique encounter and the heavy gold resting in his palm.

The man nodded his head in farewell, and gently touching his steed’s flanks, they slowly trotted down the snow covered road.

Jonas looked at the heavy gold coin in his hand. He had never seen gold before, but he knew the shiny sparkle promised enough food for a month. Jonas forced his muscles into a smile. It was indeed a good day.

Jonas continued to walk down the town’s main road toward the north gate. Though Manson was a small town, it did have an impressive log wall that guarded the villagers from the dangers of the Tundren Mountains.

As he patiently made his way to the north end of town, a snowball came out of nowhere hitting him square in the shoulder. Stumbling, he used his crutch to catch his fall. Jonas turned toward the direction the snowball came from only to catch another one in the face. The snowball was mostly ice and it stung fiercely as it struck him on the chin. His head jerked back and he was knocked to the ground. Jonas heard the laughter of boys as he struggled to get to his feet, the pain in his jaw causing his eyes to tear up. He fought back the tears, not willing to give the boys the satisfaction of making him cry.

“Look what we have here, the town’s cripple!”

Jonas recognized the voice of the butcher’s son, Wil. When he stood up he saw Wil and two other boys walking from a side alley.

Wil was Jonas’s age, but much taller, with long black hair. Next to him was Filstar, but most people called him Fil. Fil was short and stocky of limb with curly locks of golden brown hair. Lastly, there was Kohl, the son of the town’s mayor, and he was holding a snowball in his right hand. Kohl had a fat face, which matched his large round frame, a visual reminder that his family never went hungry.

“What’s in your hand?” asked Kohl with scorn as they strode closer to him. Jonas unconsciously hid the loaf of bread behind his back as he awkwardly stood up.

“Nothing of your concern,” Jonas replied. He was hoping that they would just leave him alone, but they seldom did. His real worry was that they would take the bread, or destroy it.

“Really?” Kohl replied. “Maybe we’ll just beat you and take whatever you have. How does that sound?”

Jonas noticed that Fil was standing back from the other two boys. He had never had any problems with Fil and he hoped he wouldn’t today.

Suddenly Jonas remembered the gold coin he had tucked into his pocket. Losing the bread would be bad, but losing the gold coin to these ruffians was something that Jonas couldn’t let happen. Steadying himself he lifted his stout cane before him gritting his teeth in determination. “Don’t come near me. I have done nothing to you. Just let me be on my way.”

Wil and Kohl looked at each other and laughed. Fil stood back from the others, looking at Jonas with concern.

“What are you going to do with that?” asked Wil through his laughter.

Jonas knew he couldn’t really do anything. Holding the stick before him was one thing, but swinging it with enough power to do any damage was another. So he changed tactics. “Do you really want a stale loaf of damp bread?” Jonas asked as he brought the bread from behind his back.

The boys laughed again. This time Fil stepped forward. “Let’s go. Leave him alone,” he said.

“Why? He’s just a cripple,” snarled Wil with obvious disgust.

“Which is why we should leave him be,” responded Fil.

“You a cripple lover?” asked Kohl.

“No, I just have better things to do than threaten someone who can barely stand and defend himself. Let’s go, we need to build the fires in the grange before your father has our hides.”

Kohl looked at Jonas and then back at Fil. Finally his face relaxed, dropping the snowball. “You’re right, let’s go. He makes me sick just looking at him.”

Jonas lowered his cane in relief. Wil gave him a disdainful look and pushed him hard as he walked by. Jonas slipped, again falling hard on the snow covered ground. Awkwardly he struggled to get up to defend himself. As he propped himself up on his elbow, he looked up and watched the boys walk off. Wil and Kohl were laughing loudly as Fil brought up the rear, looking back with a troubled glance.

Jonas brushed his wavy brown hair away from his face, slowly lifting himself to his feet. His jaw hurt but he still had his bread and gold coin. Smiling, he shook his head in disbelief. From his perspective, he was actually happy that he came out of that ordeal with just a bruise. It wasn’t right, but it was his reality. His happiness was relative to how much pain and scorn he could avoid. Jonas tried to never pity himself, so he shook off the incident and continued his long journey home.

The mile walk to their cabin took Jonas over an hour. His weak frame and the heavy snow hindered his progress. The walk, however, always seemed to go by quickly for Jonas, for he spent his time within the safe confines of his own mind. He watched the birds flying gracefully through the air, and the deer jumping with such ease over the brambles, and wished that he could move like them. Sometimes he would get angry and curse the gods for what they did to him. Today however, he thought about what the man had said. Maybe the gods did have a plan for him, but what would they want with a cripple? Maybe it was a test, as his mother always told him. They would sit at their hearth at night and his mother would tell him that the gods were testing his strength and his resolve, and that if he met their expectations then when he died and went to the silver city of the High One, he would be rewarded with a strong body and a wonderful afterlife. He would be able to meet Shyann, their goddess, and she would show him a life of peace and wonder.

It was a wonderful thought, but it didn’t always make his days in Manson any better. I have it better than some, he thought. I am alive, and that is something. I have a mother who loves me and we have a roof over our heads and we are not starving, although sometimes food is pretty scarce. It could be worse, Jonas thought as he emerged from the woods into the meadow that housed their little stone cabin his father built twenty years ago, before Jonas was born.

Suddenly Jonas stopped in mid-stride. Lying in the snow before him was the carcass of a large mountain elk, rare at these times since the snows usually pushed the animals to lower elevations to avoid the harsh winter conditions. A white feathered arrow protruded from the elk’s side. The animal had been gutted recently and its innards lay in a steaming pile just to the side of the large beast. The blood was fresh and the animal was obviously still warm.

Suddenly Jonas felt a gentle breeze and then something cold pressed up against his throat as a powerful hand clamped around his mouth. A strong smell of wood fire and sweat washed over Jonas as he struggled in the iron grip. Jonas was shocked by the speed and stealth of the attack.

“You wouldn’t be think n’ of stealen me kill, would ya boy?” Jonas’s assailant hissed in his ear. His breath stank of strong tobacco, similar to what Jonas had smelled from many of the men in town as they smoked their wood pipes. Jonas shook his head from side to side, his eyes wide with fright as the man’s blade moved up closer to his left eye, allowing him a glimpse of the glimmering steel. “Are you that crippled boy, Jonas?” the man asked in his ear. The man’s voice was soft and raspy but was filled with a quiet strength. Jonas nodded his head up and down in reply. Finally the man released his grip and Jonas turned around to face him.

Jonas recognized the man, for he had seen him several times in the past. He was called Tuvallus, but no one knew if that was his real name. The burly man was a hermit, a hunter and trapper who lived on his own deep in the mountains. He only came into town a few times a year to trade his dried meats and furs for supplies that he needed. He was always spoken of with a mixture of fear and awe, for people feared what they did not know and no one knew much about the strange trapper. But he always came into town with the most furs and meats to trade, a feat that was highly respected in the mountain town of Manson. He rarely spoke and many people thought he was crazy.

The man was tall and wide and he wore a coat of thick mountain wolf furs. His boots were made of leather and lined with similar fur. He needed no hat for his head was draped in a mass of long curly black hair and his face was covered with a thick beard and mustache. It looked as if his entire face was hair, except for two holes for his eyes and one for his mouth. Tuvallus carried a big hunting knife in his right hand and a longbow lashed to his back next to a quiver of arrows. Dangling from his side was a sword, its pommel wrapped in black leather and the cross piece was polished silver like his knife blade; both seemed to be in contrast to his dirty and wild appearance.

“My apologies, boy, thought you might be after me kill,” Tuvallus said as he moved past Jonas and continued to dress the elk, cutting away skin and slicing off large pieces of flesh, which he laid out in the snow.

“Are you Tuvallus?” Jonas asked as he moved closer to him. The man simply grunted in response and continued to prepare his kill. “I have never seen a mountain elk this time of year,” Jonas commented as he watched the trapper expertly slice into the warm red flesh.

Tuvallus did not respond as he continued to lay out strips of elk meat.

“How did you sneak up on me in this snow? I did not hear a sound until I felt your knife,” Jonas said as the man continued to ignore him.

Jonas waited for a response while the trapper worked on the dead elk. Finally Jonas shrugged his shoulders and turned to walk away. His cabin was not too far off; he could see the smoke rising from the chimney into the frigid mountain air. He walked a few paces before turning back to Tuvallus.

“Sir, my mother has a warm fire and she is sure to have some rabbit stew boiling. Would you like to step out of the cold for a while and warm your belly with the best rabbit stew you’ve ever eaten?”

Tuvallus finally stopped and looked up from the dead elk. His face was completely covered with hair so Jonas could not read his expression. After a few moments of silence he spoke.

“You be invit n’ me to ur cabin? A man you don’t know, who just put a blade to ur throat?”

“Umm…yes. We don’t have lots of food, but it is very good. I can assure you of that,” replied Jonas confidently.

Tuvallus shook his head grunting and went back to dressing the elk. Jonas shrugged again and turned back around. He walked a few more paces before Tuvallus called to him.

“Hey, boy!”

Jonas turned around to face the trapper.

“Bring this to your mother,” Tuvallus said, tossing a large piece of elk meat toward Jonas. The bloody meat landed in the snow at his feet and Jonas picked it up with a smile. It was wet with blood and still a little warm. Jonas had never had elk meat but he had heard it was the best.

“Thank you, Tuvallus,” Jonas said excitedly.

Tuvallus simply grunted and went back to work.

Jonas put the piece of elk meat into the cloth satchel he carried on his back. He had to take out the loaf of bread so the blood from the meat wouldn’t spoil it. That was okay though; he could carry the loaf in one hand and still use his crutch since their cabin was so close. Jonas turned around and walked toward his cabin. He smiled, for he had two gifts to give his mother on this day.

Jonas set his crutch down, his hand awkwardly freeing the door latch. The door swung open and the warm air from within covered him like the summer sun.

Lorna, his mother, was adding some spices to their stew that was boiling in a heavy black cauldron hanging over the fire. She was a strong woman with a beautiful face despite the slight wrinkling caused by many years of hard work in the sun. She wore her long dirty blonde hair pulled back and tied with a piece of leather. She had seen over forty hard winters, many of which were laced with bitterness and scorn from her town, but she was content with her life and she smiled often, which lit up her face and made Jonas feel safe.

“Jonas, it’s about time,” his mother said thankfully. “I was beginning to worry about you.”

“I’m fine, Mother. You know it takes me a while to walk back home.” He plopped his tired body on the wooden chair that his mother had made him. The seat cushions were made of many rabbit hides stitched together and stuffed with straw. It was very comfortable and Jonas loved to rest in it before the crackling fire.

“Here is the loaf. Gorum said he would love some of your dried rosemary as payment. He said to bring it by tomorrow if you have any and he will get us another one.” Jonas handed the hard loaf to his mother and she moved to the wooden cutting board on their table.

“Thanks, Sprout. We’ll go into town tomorrow,” his mother replied as she cut several large slices from the loaf.

Jonas smiled at the nickname. He always loved how his mother did not focus on his disability; she always tried to treat him as a normal boy, including him in everything that she did. She would wait patiently for him as they picked berries in the forest, tended their garden, or set their rabbit traps. They were all each other had and he loved her dearly. Jonas smiled excitedly as he pulled out the slab of meat from his satchel.

“Mother, look at what I have.”

Lorna turned from the loaf of bread to look at the piece of meat Jonas had in his lap. “What is that?” she asked curiously.

“It is elk. I met Tuvallus the hermit on the path here and he gave me a slice of his kill to give to you,” Jonas said with a broad grin.

Lorna moved towards Jonas with a beaming smile. “Really? Tuvallus gave you that?” she asked as she took the meat from Jonas.

“He did. I have never had elk meat before. Can we cook some tonight?”

Lorna smiled at Jonas as she put the piece of meat on the table. “Yes, we can have a little tonight with our stew. I’ll dry and smoke the rest. This is a great gift, Jonas. I hope you thanked him,” she replied as she cut off a few slices of the meat.

“I did. I invited him home to eat with us, but he didn’t want to come. Mother, do you know anything about Tuvallus?”

“Not really. People in town say he used to be a soldier in Tarsis. He keeps to himself and not much is known about him,” Lorna said as she continued to prepare dinner.

Jonas thought about Tuvallus, the heat from the dancing flames stroking his tired muscles, easing his thoughts as he processed his interesting day.

They sat at their old wooden table eating the rabbit stew and bread. Lorna had fried the elk with salt and onions and it was delicious, the most incredible food he had ever eaten. It was soft, full of flavor, and it didn’t have the strong gamey flavor that he was used to in venison. Jonas held his spoon between his thumb and palm; his other fingers didn’t usually work well enough to grasp the spoon handle.

“I met a stranger in town today,” Jonas said through a mouthful of stew soaked bread.

His mother looked up startled, for it was not common to have strangers enter the mountain town of Manson during the winter. The passes would be snowed in and only the hardiest of men could traverse them.

“What did he want?” she asked concerned.

“Oh nothing, he just wanted to give me this,” Jonas said as he brought his hand down on the table and removed it quickly, leaving the gold coin spinning around like a top. It was pure luck that the coin was spinning, as he didn’t have the dexterity to do it on purpose. But the effect was dazzling as the coin spun, catching the subtle light in a beautiful dance of brilliant gold.

Jonas smiled as his mom put her hand to her mouth in shock. She quickly reached out and grabbed the sparkling coin, inspecting it closely.

“Where did you get this?” she asked with astonishment.

“I told you, a stranger with paintings on his hands helped me up when I fell. We talked a little and then he handed me this coin and told me to give it to my mother. He was so kind, and he had a sword and bow, and the most magnificent horse I’ve ever seen,” Jonas said excitedly.

“Paintings on his hands? What do you mean?” she asked.

Jonas explained to her the marks on his hands and the symbol on his steel cuirass. Lorna’s face lit up in amazement.

“He was a cavalier. I can’t believe it. I’ve heard of them but I’ve never seen one,” she said to herself. “Did he give you his name?”

Jonas looked up as he stuffed another spoonful into his mouth, “Yes, he said his name was Airos. What’s a cavalier?”

Lorna looked at Jonas with a huge smile on her face. “This gold coin can feed us well for a month. We’ll be able to get through the end of winter with warm food and full stomachs. This is a fortune, son, I can’t believe our luck.”

“I know, Mother,” Jonas said impatiently, “but what is a cavalier? He looked like a warrior.”

“I only know what your father told me many years ago. He said he saw a cavalier once in Finarth and they are warriors chosen by the gods to protect and serve the weak, and to serve the greater good of mankind. They are very rare and known to have special powers. The marks on his hands meant that he was a master swordsman sworn to uphold the High One’s word. The symbol of the High One is a four pointed star over a circle. Each point of the star represents all four elements; earth, air, water, and fire.” His mom paused to look at the gold coin in her hand. “Who you saw was a great warrior, God Marked, and you should consider yourself very lucky to have met him.” She looked again at the coin, smiling. “Actually, we should both be thankful that you met him,” she said, laughing with happiness.

Jonas, smiling at his mother, happy in her joy, continued to eat his soup, thoughts of the day’s events running through his head. “Mother, does the High One have a name? You’ve never talked about him much.”

Lorna got up, hiding the coin in their secret spot under a floor board. “Yes, the High One is called many names throughout Kraawn. But you should not use any of them lightly,” she said as she sat back down at the table. “I only know several of his names; we call him Ulren, but I know that in the West he is called Toolm. It is believed that our goddess, Shyann, has a palace in his realm.”

“So Ulren is the most powerful of the good gods?”

“Yes. It is believed that the lesser gods all have a place at his great hearth,” Lorna said as she ate.

“Is our goddess, Shyann, a lesser god?”

“Shyann is a saint. That means that many, many years ago she was just a normal person like you and me, but she performed a great feat of selflessness and bravery, catching the High One’s attention. Ulren rewarded her by granting her sainthood, power, and a place at his hearth.”

“What did she do that made her a saint?” Jonas asked before he took a long drink of water.

“I don’t know exactly. The tales say she took a small village, like our own, and fought back against an army of boargs, orcs, and other monsters.”

“What do boargs look like?”

Lorna smiled, Jonas loved hearing about boargs. “Boargs are strong, fast beasts that inhabit the high Tundren Mountains. It is thought by some that they are related to the big mountain boars that live there. Some think they are the result of a wizard’s magic, but no one knows for sure. They have pig like faces with tusks like a boar, sharp teeth, and two great horns that protrude from their bony heads. They are taller than a big man, but they look shorter because they are bent over and their long arms usually rest on the ground. Short, rough hair, covers their muscular bodies, and they are said to be stronger than several men. And I’ve heard they run on all fours and are swifter than deer. They are ferocious animals that will eat anything they can get their claws on.”

“When was a boarg last seen around here?” Jonas asked, never short of questions.

“The last one I can remember was when you were just a baby. Jornath Longhorn went hunting and he never came back. His brothers went out into the Tundrens to investigate and found his ripped and torn body. As they wept over his body, a boarg who was coming back to finish its meal attacked them. Braal, the bigger of the two eventually killed the boarg, but not before he was seriously wounded and his other brother was killed. Braal still has the boarg’s skull mounted in his home.”

“I hope a boarg never shows up at our cabin. Keep going, Mother, tell me about Shyann,” Jonas said excitedly.

Lorna, smiling at her son, drank some more water. “She was just a normal girl that went off to become a soldier, which was rare for a female in these parts. She fought many battles and finally came home to serve her family on their little farm in the Tundrens, not far from here I’ve heard. I guess they raised cattle and hunted and grew food that they sold in the local markets. There came a year when her village and the other villages nearby were raided by boargs crossing the mountain ranges towards Finarth. This was one of the great wars that you’ve heard about.”

“Yes, I remember. Go on, Mother, what happened?”

“I don’t know the details, but the story goes that she trained and united the many mountain towns all across the Tundrens and fought back this horde. Evil men who were trying to unite with the forces of Malbeck led the boarg army and she crushed them, marching her ill-equipped group of hunters, farmers, and herders, to help Finarth combat this evil. I have no idea how she did it, but the stories and songs say that she could inspire anyone. She was good with a sword but her real skill was convincing ordinary men and women that they had something to offer, that their blood was just as strong as another’s.” Lorna took another spoonful of soup and smiled at her son who had stopped eating altogether, entranced by her story. “I’ve told you this story before, Sprout,” Lorna said as she swallowed her stew.

“I know, Mother. I just really like it. Keep going, please”.

“Well, all I really know is that after the forces of Malbeck were destroyed, the king of Finarth knighted her. Then one day, when she was traveling back home to her village, tragedy happened. Her small army was camping deep in the Tundrens and boargs ambushed them in the middle of the night. Shyann’s forces defeated them but the cost was great. In the battle, Shyann was mortally wounded. She lay in her tent dying, her men trying everything they could to save her. The next morning when the surgeon came in to check on her, her body was missing. There was nothing in her bed, no body, no clothes, just her sword, bow, and her shield. But the strangest thing about the legend was that in the middle of the tent, a stout oak tree, no more than five feet tall, appeared, and as they cleared the camp and set for home, the men noticed the tree had grown. It grew to the height of ten men with great limbs reaching out towards the sun’s rays.”

“Is that why one of her symbols is the great oak?”

“Yes, it is,” Lorna said as she added more water to their cups from the clay pitcher on the table.

“Where is the tree now?” asked Jonas

“No one knows, but some people think that her tree is somewhere in the Tundrens and her tomb is located there, or maybe it is just a story and it doesn’t exist at all. Now finish eating and get some sleep. We have to head into town tomorrow early.”

“Okay, Mother,” Jonas said, stuffing his mouth with more stew, thinking about the next month without the usual trepidation. The gold would buy meat and other things that would make the last winter months bearable.

***

The morning came quickly. It seemed to Jonas that he had just put his head down to sleep when his mother woke him gently. The aroma of her herbal tea was a sweet comfort that greeted him every morning. She swore that her recipe kept them from getting sick during the winter months. Jonas loved her tea. It warmed and invigorated him after drinking it. Jonas was excited as he drank the tea, knowing that he would need the energy for the walk into town that his mother and he had planned last night over dinner.

The morning was cold, and the harsh mountain air poked and prodded their skin through the gaps in their clothing. The night’s new snows made it harder than expected for Jonas to make the mile long walk into town. The heavy, wet snow, grabbed at his feet and crutch, making the walk more difficult.

Finally, after an hour and a half of walking, they entered through the town’s main gate. The town was surrounded by a sturdy wall of tall thick logs lashed together and stuck four feet into the ground. The stout gate was built of oak and bound together with bands of black iron. It was open during the day but at night it was shut to keep out the wild animals, and any roaming monsters or boargs. It was rare, but on occasion a hunter would return with stories of mountain ogres, hill giants, and other wild creatures.

Normally, at this time in the morning, the town would just be awakening, but today, the town was already a bustle of activity. The rich smells of Gorum’s fresh baked bread and freshly lit hearths wafted down the street as Jonas and Lorna made their way across town. Lorna reached over and held Jonas close to her as the townspeople hurried towards the grange, where they often had town meetings. Several children that Jonas recognized stood by the butcher’s shop staring wide eyed at the people moving toward the grange. The feeling in the air was tense; something was wrong.

The butcher’s son, Wil, stood against the wall with his two friends, Fil, and Fil’s younger brother, Colsen. Jonas stood behind his mother, not wanting the boys to see him and pepper him with their endless barrage of insults.

“What is happening, Wil?” asked his mother.

Wil looked at her with malice. “My father said not to speak with you…that it would bring us bad luck”.

“Your father is ignorant and a drunk, now tell me what is happening,” Lorna demanded.

Wil was just about to retort when Fil interrupted him. “A cavalier came into town last night and he has called a meeting this morning. He said it was urgent…that the town is in danger,” Fil said, barely able to hide his excitement, and fear.

Jonas had always liked Fil more than the rest, and after the previous day’s occurrence his respect for him grew. When the kids would yell at him he always noticed that Fil didn’t participate, that he just stared at Jonas with pity, the same look that Fil gave Jonas the day before as they left Jonas sprawled out on the frozen ground.

Jonas leaned out from behind his mother. “Was he tall, with long black hair and did he go by the name of Airos?” Jonas asked.

“He did. How did you know that, Jonas?” Fil asked.

Jonas smiled. “I met him yesterday. He gave me a gold coin.”

His mother squeezed his arm gently. “That’s enough Jonas. Let’s see what this cavalier has to say.”

His mother gently helped Jonas walk down the street toward the grange. The grange was a great vaulted structure built with strong trees each as big around as a man’s waist. It was a large, simple building, big enough to sit at least a hundred people. There was a wooden stage facing rows of benches flanked by two great stone fireplaces with chimneys that rose to the ceiling twenty paces from the floor. Lorna and Jonas entered through the large double doors. The fires were blazing, casting an orange glow flickering across the room.

Airos stood on the stage addressing the confused and frightened townspeople. He was splendid in his shining armor and he had replaced his wool traveling cloak with a long green flowing cape. The cape was made from a light material that seemed to flutter around him as he moved.

Jonas wondered again how he kept so clean, but his thought was cut short as a rough hand reached out and grabbed Lorna by the arm. It was the butcher, Marsk.

“You are not wanted here. Get out and take your cripple with you,” the heavy set butcher whispered.

There were a few other people near them that joined in, whispering in fear for them to leave, and glancing at them with frowns.

Lorna held her ground, looking directly into the fat man’s eyes. “I have as much right to be here as you do. I am a member of this town whether…..”

Lorna was cut off as Marsk grabbed her arm tightly pulling her roughly towards him. “You have no right to be here, now get out,” he said, pushing her and causing her to stumble backwards.

Jonas tried to move out of his mother’s way but his body refused to react quickly enough. Lorna crashed into him and they tumbled to the floor. Several other townspeople began to taunt them, whispering curses and shooting them shunning stares as Jonas fumbled for his crutch.

Suddenly the entire room lit up with a bright light, and their voices hushed instantly. The light was pure white, and as it washed over everyone the feeling of tension subsided. Though the light was almost blinding, it caused them no harm. Quite the opposite; Jonas felt invigorated and happy as he slowly stood up, the insults becoming an increasingly distant memory. Everyone looked up; the light slowly dissipating from Airos’s outstretched hands. To Jonas’s eyes it looked like the light just drained into his body.

Airos looked directly at Jonas and his mother as they slowly stood. Jonas saw a hint of a smile before he turned his gaze on Marsk and several others. The change in his expression was so severe that Jonas thought he would draw his sword and strike Marsk down where he stood. Airos’s hawk-like eyes pierced Marsk’s tough façade, forcing him to look away.

“What is the meaning of this? Is not a woman and her boy welcome in the town’s hall?” Airos asked; his voice strong and demanding. Something in the powerful voice stirred Jonas to his core. He felt like he would follow this man to his grave and back. The white light was definitely magic and Jonas thought that maybe Airos was using magic in his voice as well. Having never experienced magic before, he just stared at Airos with awe, his every word reverberating through the hall like a god’s voice. Maybe it was a god’s voice thought Jonas.

The others felt it too. His voice was magical and commanding and everyone looked directly at him as if in a trance. Airos looked around the room slowly. “What kind of village is this that turns its back on its own townspeople? This boy is a cripple. The gods willed it so, for reasons we know not. Who are any of you to question their will?”

No one said a word as Airos scanned the crowd before finally directing his gaze to Marsk, the butcher. “The poor and the weak should be protected, or we become nothing more than the evil that threatens this town. Am I understood, butcher?”

Marsk, his eyes showing his nervousness, scanned the room. He turned back to Airos trying to match his stare, but to no avail. Marsk, lowering his eyes said, “Yes sir. You are quite right.”

“It is not I who am right, but the High One. I am his voice and that is why I am here. Men and women of Manson, listen closely to what I have to say for I am a cavalier of Ulren, the High One. I am his warrior and I fight to protect the righteous and the good of the lands. Airos drew forth his sword with one smooth motion and held it high in the air, the silver blade glowing green and humming as if alive. The crowd was deathly silent as they listened. “I fight the vile darkness spreading through the lands like a plague. I fight this evil on Ulren’s demands. He has directed me here, to your hardy mountain town.” Airos stopped and sheathed his sword.

Jonas grabbed his mother’s hand tightly as Airos’s gaze moved over him like a searchlight.

“A small army of boargs approaches your town even as we speak,” Airos said bluntly.

The townspeople erupted with frightened responses to this grave news. Jonas felt his mother squeeze his hand tightly as she pulled him closer. Boargs, thought Jonas, what would happen to the town? What would happen to those like him and his mother who couldn’t run or fight? The questions rolled around in his mind.

Airos’s powerful voice rang through the hall again, quieting the townspeople. “That is not all. This force is led by a Banthra.”

The shock of this news hit the townspeople like a hammer. They all stood speechless, wondering if they heard Airos correctly.

Marsk reacted first.

“Sir…a Banthra?” he asked. “I have only heard of the legends. I thought the Banthras disappeared with Malbeck during the last Great War.”

“So we all thought. It seems that the Banthras are back, but we are not sure why. Over the last five years there have been signs of a blackness rising up again throughout Kraawn. There have been mysterious disappearances, animals migrating and leaving the forests, vile monsters crawling from their caves and killing ruthlessly. I have felt it, and even fought it in some cases. The land is being poisoned again by this vileness. This Banthra is yet another sign that evil is stirring again”.

Gorum the baker stood up from his bench to address Airos. “Sir, my name is Gorum. Why would a Banthra and an army of boargs be heading to our small town? It makes no sense.”

Airos looked at the baker for a few seconds before answering. Gorum looked around, uncertain of the cavalier’s stare. Finally Airos smiled and responded. “Ah, good baker, that is a fine question and one for which I have no answer, for I know not why this force threatens your town.” Airos paused and looked at the nervous gathering before him. “My guess is that the Banthra is amassing a small army of boargs and that they are moving through the mountain passes to get to the east.”

Braal, the only man in Manson who had fought a boarg, stood up. He was thick and powerfully built, his tan face reflecting many years of trapping the harsh lands that surrounded their small town. “Sir, the mountain passes are miles from here. They could just move through them unnoticed. Why go out of their way to come to our town?” Braal asked.

Airos looked at Braal with his intense blue eyes. “You are Braal,” Airos said knowingly.

“Yes, sir, I am.”

“You of all people can answer that question. That day, many years ago, when you found the body of your brother? Why did the boarg attack you and your brother when you arrived at the corpse?”

“How do you know about that day?” Braal asked uneasily.

“I know about many things. Tell me.”

Braal looked at his fellow townspeople. “The boarg was protecting its kill. It was feeding,” he said softly, not wanting to bring up the painful memory of that horrible day many years ago.

“That is correct. I believe the Banthra is moving his force to this town so he can feed his army before moving east. You are faced with a dire threat, good people. Your options are few and only the strongest of you can make it through the mountain passes. That means you cannot run.”

Jonas’s mother spoke up for the first time.

“What are we to do, sir?” Lorna asked with concern, her hand gripping Jonas’s in fear.

Airos looked at her, his eyes ablaze with fire, and said two frightening words. “We fight!”