With the help of the Ayrian’s keen sense of direction, Captain Brodst, Calyin, and the others made their way out of the detention area. Ayrian and Captain Brodst quickly dispatched the few guards they encountered along the way. Soon they were all in the wide open chamber with the falls and warm pool where Captain Brodst had spent many long days and nights. They paused to plan their next steps and to examine the gear collected from the guards. Captain Brodst distributed helmets and armor. Geoffrey made sure each had a blade.
Keeper Martin took inventory of another type. He studied their wounds and maladies. Edwar Serant and Calyin Alder were recovering from the drink they’d been given but were still groggy. Ayrian had deep gouges on his wrists and ankles where he had been shackled. He maintained a length of the shackle chains even now. Martin had seen its deadly effectiveness against the guards so he did not question the need for it; however, he did question the way Ayrian clung to it. He knew you chained a man to break his spirit and his will, but Ayrian did not seem broken, only angry.
Captain Brodst had scarcely taken his eyes off Midori since entering the pool room. For her part, she fussed over the wounds he had taken and the condition he was in. “What is it?” she whispered to him as he watched her work.
“Thinking of another life, another time,” he replied. “If only—”
“If only what? I know what you are thinking. You had better think of the here and the now and not the could-have-beens.”
Captain Brodst got a far-off look in his eyes. “I am a great fool,” he whispered as he pulled away from her. He walked to where Geoffrey and Martin stood. Martin tended to Ayrian. Across the chamber, Calyin and Edwar Serant were enjoying a private moment. As he watched Calyin tend to her lord husband, he envied them.
It was a short while later as the group gathered at the basin of the pool that the one who had been in Geoffrey’s cell approached them from out of the shadows. “Do you want to know the truth of your capture?” the other asked as he approached.
Recognizing the voice, Geoffrey stayed the captain’s sword arm. “It is you,” he said, “I had all but forgotten.”
The other proffered the blade the guard had given the two so they could kill each other. Geoffrey did not take it.
“I do not hold you as an enemy,” Geoffrey said.
“You should,” the other said, “I am Ærühn, Dragon Man of the Stone Shields.”
Geoffrey took in the full sight of Ærühn for the first time. Long black hair hung from the Dragon Man’s head in dozens of thin braids. His forehead sloped back at a sharp angle and his flat nose made his thin-set eyes seem enormous round globes. The way the eyes bulged from their sockets reminded Geoffrey of the dragon lizards of the north whose eyes could follow you wherever you went without requiring the lizard to turn its head. “Ærühn, if you are the enemy of my enemy, can we not be friends?”
“It is no time to speak of such before you know the truth of where you are and why you are here.”
Ayrian cocked his head a full half circle as only a bird or bird man could do. He probed the distance with his eyes, looking to the rope ladders that reached up to the sky from either side of the falls. He tightened his grip on the chain in his hands. “Find cover; they come. The door will open soon,” he whispered, his beak clicking as he spoke.
“How many?” asked Brodst.
“Three, I hear three. There is another, but he does not come with the others.”
“It’s not the changing of the guards,” Brodst said, “They send a full compliment of twelve at the change.”
Lord Serant’s eyes went to the rope ladders on either side of the falls. “Surely, there is another way out of this hole. I don’t remember climbing when I was taken to the audience with the High Lord.”
“Belajl Entreatte spoke to you?” Ærühn asked, looking as if he suddenly had a different opinion of Edwar Serant.
“Quickly, quickly,” Ayrian said, interrupting.
Without a further word passing between them, Captain Brodst, Lord Serant and Geoffrey took up positions beside the ladders. Martin, Midori, and Calyin slipped away into a dark corner of the room. Ayrian took flight, delight reflected in his eyes as he stretched his wings and felt freedom for the first time in what seemed ages. He flew to a small recess in the wall beside a small door of stone, crawling into the hole and disappearing from sight. Using his bare hands and feet, Ærühn climbed the wall.
The way he moved reminded Captain Brodst of the way spiders crawled along a wall. His eyes fell upon the doors on high. He watched as both swung open, gesturing to Geoffrey and Lord Serant as he looked on. Be ready, he indicated wordlessly.
Two guards, one on each rope ladder, worked their way down to the pool room. As the guards reached the bottom of the rope, Captain Brodst, Lord Serant and Geoffrey set upon them. High above, Ayrian made his way through one of the open doors and Ærühn made his way through the other.
The melee was over quickly. Captain Brodst and Lord Serant gave no mercy. Above it was much the same: Ayrian and Ærühn found only fury in their hearts. Soon they were all up the rope ladders and running down the long hall to what they hoped was freedom. Freedom that seemed an eternity in the coming.
Safe. Was she safe? The words echoed in her ears. As she questioned the world around her, the path split and reality sped inward.
As the images of the fountain enclosure and the garden faded, the voice called out to her. “You should have waited, Adrina Alder. We could have walked together until it was time.”
“Time for what?”
No answer came as Adrina faced stark reality. She could see someone or something lying on the ground across the open courtyard. As she got closer, she saw it was Xith. He was on his back, his eyes open wide, staring up at the heavens. She shook him until he roused to conscious thought.
“Talem,” Xith said, “The dark priest. Is he?”
“There is no one else,” Adrina said.
Xith sat up. “Adrina? We must hurry; we must find the others.”
Adrina helped the shaman to his feet. “This place—what is it?” she asked.
“It is the path without end.” Xith turned his eyes away from her, surveying the courtyard. “A magical enchantment to protect the way. It keeps out intruders, trapping them in a world between reality and dream. Only the chosen or the knowing can get past the path. Talem and his followers never got past the path though they learned to escape its grip and to navigate the between.”
“Talem?”
Xith turned back to her. “What did you find in the path, Adrina?”
“The blue eyes, the voice. He told me I could walk with him. That I was safe. Would I have been safe?”
Xith gripped her forearms and looked directly at her. “No, Adrina. You were not safe in that place. Come, quickly now,” he said leading her across the open courtyard into the tower of dark stone.
Xith and Adrina came upon Nijal and Shchander first. The two stood stock-still like statues. Both men’s mouths were open as if they’d been talking between themselves when the path had taken them.
Xith called out to them, using the commanding power of voice, “Find the question in your mind. Ask it and you shall be free.”
“But how can I?” Nijal was asking Shchander as he returned to the present.
Shchander started to reply but found himself at a loss for words as he stared past Xith to his men, still frozen.
“Quickly now,” Xith said, “I’ll explain everything as soon as I am able.”
Xith helped Shalimar and the six remaining members of Shchander’s men find their way beyond the path. Farther along the long central hall of the tower, Adrina found Amir and Noman. “Amir, Noman,” she shouted, pointing to the two.
Within moments, Amir and Noman were free of the path as well. Noman’s eyes were wide with alarm as he turned to Xith. “Shadows,” he gasped. “We’ve been battling shadows for what seems like days.”
Noman took a step and nearly fell to his knees as fatigue overcame him. “Amir,” he whispered. “Save him.”
It was then that Adrina noted that Amir actually wasn’t free. He will still frozen in place. Xith turned to Adrina and the others. “Take Noman from this place. Go to the courtyard. Wait there for my return. Do not return to the tower lest the path take you again.”
Xith raised his hands over his head, spoke a word of power and entered the path. The realm he found was nothing like he expected. He knew instantly he was within the gates of the dark realm where the Fourth and his minions had been bound.
“I am here,” Xith called out to the watchers in waiting. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Movement ahead in the distance caught his eye. He ran. As he mounted a towering rock, he saw Amir. He closed his eyes, sucked at the air. “Great Father, give me strength,” he implored.
Amir wielded two blades with deadly accuracy. He attacked and spun, around and around, countering and blocking the horde of shadow wraiths that surrounded and sought to overcome him. If Amir could see what Xith saw from atop the rocky precipice he would have closed his eyes, sucked at the air and begged the Great Father for strength as well. The mass of wraiths spread out in all directions as far as Xith could see, seemingly without end. Overhead floated ranks of wraiths whose arms did not end in hands but enormous rounded blades—scimitars—and who floated in the air as if with unseen wings.
Across the valley on a towering rock stood a figure who wore the bones of a ram as a headdress upon his cloaked head and whose armor was studded with the white and black ivory tusks of some great and mighty beasts. The figure turned now and Xith was sure the other saw him, also sure that the other was the Shadow Warrior King of old, a minion of the Dark Lord. He no longer had doubt in his heart that this was the place, that he was within the gates, that the Fourth himself was near.
He set into the battle, calling lightning to his hands as he did so. He used the lightning to clear a wide swath through the wraiths and reach Amir’s side. “It is good to see you,” grunted Amir as he fought. Xith answered by casting a blue white ball of fire from either hand as he sought to create a protective shield around them.
The shield failed almost as soon as he enacted it. There were simply too many enemies to hold at bay with the shield; so instead of trying to hold off all enemies, he directed the shield overhead and selectively behind them. His hope was to keep those overhead from descending and engaging, and to keep both of them from getting stabbed in the back.
As soon as he enacted the shield, he turned his attention to the wraiths, unleashing wave after wave of lightning and fire upon them, clearing paths long into the distance each time he did this. Amir fought gallantly beside him, his sword equally as deadly as Xith’s magic. For every one of the wraiths they struck down, another took its place and there was no end in sight. The horde spread across the dark land as far as they could see.
“There is no hope in this,” Xith cried out as he called forth the rock and stone of the land and rained it down upon the wraiths.
“There is hope,” Amir shot back.
“There is indeed hope,” Noman said, appearing suddenly next to Amir. “Our presence is what caused this. The Dark Lord has many at his call. Quickly now, we must leave this place.”
“No,” Amir protested. “The gates are open and the keeper is gone.”
“Not true,” Noman said, lowering his cloak to reveal the form of the princess whose face was frozen in a wide-eyed expression, “I bring the key.”
Xith angrily cast a wall of fire from his hands, sending back a sudden frenzied push from the wraiths. “We discussed this; there is another way. The boy. We agreed. The boy.”
“The other is a boy no longer. You yourself said this.” Noman turned around, swept his hands in a great circle, sending an arc of searing white light into the mass behind them. A swath of wraiths dozens wide and several dozen deep winked out of existence. He turned to Adrina. “Without fear,” he told her as he touched her forehead. “Call him forth.”
Outside the command tent, Prince Valam walked the long line of captains and lieutenants. He stopped at the line of crossed swords symbolizing the leaders lost in the battle. The first marker was for Captain Eran of the long swordsmen. He cast a sidelong look at the mustered ranks, knowing in his heart the pomp and ceremony was necessary to restore faith and order.
Captain Vadan Evgej, who had walked silently at the prince’s side, spoke quietly to the prince. The two then walked to where the long swordsmen were mustered. At the fore of the ranks were the masters of the sword, behind them the swordsmen, and further back those few of the sword apprentices that remained. He granted field promotions to three of the swordmasters, but it was Ylsa Heman, on behalf of her fallen brother Eran, who gave each their insignia of rank and office. Eddrick Reassae, Nobel Jrenn, and Seran Hindell stood proud and accepted the promotions graciously. As they were all from some of the kingdom’s oldest Great Houses, Valam did not doubt that they would serve well in their new offices as lieutenants.
Before he turned away, Valam regarded Ylsa. He put his hand on her shoulder. Her archers had performed many a miracle on the field. “Captain of the Fourth Order Ylsa Heman,” he told her as he directed her to the ranks of her bowmen. Several of the squires of the bow, ahorse at the back of her lines, let out a whoop. Valam grinned, saying nothing of the breaking of the attention order.
The mood was not as good among the decimated ranks of lancers and pikemen that had been led by Willam the Black. Willam was the first of the kingdom lieutenants to fall. While he had taken many of the enemy with him, his men had not fared well after the loss and had succumbed to a blood fury, charging relentlessly into the heart of the enemy until there were but few left of their original company.
Valam eyed the lone squire of the lance at the back of the ranks and called the young lad forth. The squire, no older than Valam himself, had a bold, wild look in his eye—a look that said he feared nothing and no one. “What is your name?” Valam asked the squire.
“I am Michal Klaive,” the squire said.
Surprised to find a nobleman’s son in the rank of squire, Valam asked, “Rudden Klaive?”
“I am my father’s namesake,” Michal returned boldly. “Rudden is my brother.”
“And why are you a squire in my company when your house title gives you the rank of lancer by right?”
“My father says a man must work his way from nothing to something.”
Captain Vadan Evgej’s eyes showed his surprise at the bold tongue of the squire, but Prince Valam’s face gave no hint of what he was thinking.
“Kneel,” Valam commanded as he withdrew his sword from its sheath.
Michal looked to Vadan Evgej as if beseeching the other to intercede on his behalf. “Kneel,” growled Vadan.
Michal knelt quickly. His eyes said he was wary of what Valam intended to do with the sword. As Valam raised his sword, Michal closed his eyes. Valam touched his sword to Michal’s right and left shoulder.
“What is your preferred weapon?” Valam asked as he brought his sword to the top of Michal’s head.
“The great lance,” Michal called out, his eyes still closed.
“Then rise true, sir knight, and from this day henceforth be known as Knight of the Lance. You are a First Lance now and a knight, no more an apprentice. Do you understand?”
Michal nodded solemn understanding of everything that went with the title.
Valam turned his eyes to the short line of lancers who stood their mounts, asking “Who among you shall I name lancemaster?” Without waiting for a response he turned to the line of pikemen, asking “Who among you shall I name pikemaster?”
Not one of the lancers or pikemen said a word. Valam turned to Michal and asked the questions of the newly named knight. Michal offered no response. “Very well, then,” Valam said turning on his heel to face the lines. “One and all, it shall be,” and upon the saying a cheer went up from the ranks all around the lancers and pikemen. No few of the kingdomers knew of the deeds of Willam’s men on the field, and no few held back their cheers.
“Captain Danyel’,” Valam called out. The former lieutenant rushed to the prince’s side from the fore of his lines, a new light in his eyes at the sudden appointment. “These men become part of your ranks now. Treat them as befits their great skill and courage; treat them as masters of the lance and pike. All save this one,” he said turning to Michal.
“Captain S’tryil,” Valam called out. The captain stepped out of the lines and joined the prince. “I trust you’ve a position of honor for a First Lance.”
“I do indeed, my lord prince,” Captain S’tryil said, bowing his head in formal fashion as the hour of ceremony required.
Valam addressed Danyel’ and S’tryil’s lines next, each in turn, before he announced the field promotions of Pavil and Redcliff to the rank of Captain of the Fourth Order. The new captains were then in turn given permission to promote within their lines.
New sergeants and lieutenants were appointed throughout the kingdom lines. Bow apprentices became bowmen. Horse apprentices became knights. Lance apprentices became lancers. Pike apprentices became pikemen. Shield apprentices became shieldbearers. Sword apprentices became swordsmen. Masters of the bow, horse, lance, pike, shield, and sword were appointed as well.
Before the ceremony concluded, Captain Evgej and Captain Mikhal were named to the rank of Field Commander, a rank that put them at the same level as commanders in garrison and the king’s own Knight Captains.