Hope (38 page)

"Regardless, I have to be there to back up Lord Alextor. Be safe, Commander Warren."

"Be safe, Sir Lanclor."

Shortly after returning to the castle, Lanclor found himself pushed up against the outer wall to avoid the roaring crowd. The sound reminded him of the Floalkel falls during the spring thaw. How the Council could ignore this warning amazed him. Peasants on the verge of revolt could ignite at any minute and disbanding the Knighthood—the only order capable of assisting the Royal Guardsmen—was suicide.

The Council’s ruling tonight would also decide if the peasants needed permission to practice any magic, not just healing. Each person had to justify to the Council why he should use magic. Money usually changed hands, so only the wealthy obtained approval.

Sir Lanclor edged along the wall touching the shoulders of the peasants as he went to urge them out of his way. Their heads would whip around, insults upon their tongues until they took in his armor and wings. Shy smiles greeted him as they slid out of his way. He may not have the respect of the Council, but Sir Lanclor had the respect of the people.

A short while later, he slipped into the back of the main hall as the head Councilman rose in his chair to deliver the verdicts. He was a thin man swimming in blue velvet robes and arrogance. "After numerous incidents of magical assaults and deaths, it is the decision of the Council that every resident will hereby petition their Council representative for permission to perform magic. For those found practicing magic without permission, the Council has the right to seize part of their livestock or crops as restitution."

Lanclor saw a small boy slip out the door of the chamber. The volume of the crowd outside increased, but the Councilman continued to speak.

"In regards to the future of the Knighthood, further review is required to justify the need for a military force during peacetime. Until the Council makes that decision, the knights will continue their patrols to eradicate the remaining Daemons and to assist the Royal Guard."

Lanclor sighed in relief. While it may be temporary, he still had a job to do. As his hand reached for the door, he paused long enough to catch the Councilman’s last words.

"Recruitment into the Knighthood shall cease until the Council reaches its decision."

He glanced back in shock. The Council just declared that the peasants no longer had the option to escape their stations and join the Knighthood. Shaking his head, Lanclor fled through the door and leapt into the sky over the heads of the furious mob. As he flew higher, he saw fires bloom amid the Council district. He made his way to the market district.

The half moons were just rising when he approached the middle of the dark and empty town square; the only sound that of the large fountain at its center. The rectangular fountain cradled the large statue standing in its middle upon a flat, upraised mound of black memory stone. The statue itself made of white memory stone mirrored Lady Kathryn.

She stood with her wings slightly upraised, her sword point-down on the black rock, and her hands resting upon the pommel. Her detailed white armor revealed a slight dent upon her shoulder received before the Final Battle, courtesy of Sir Hal’s hand-to-hand ability. The most shocking part of the statue, her helmet less head, bowed in sorrow with her eyes partially closed. Her face held such loss and sadness, but the stubborn set of her jaw revealed her determination to continue the fight.

The townsfolk saw her as a person without her helmet, not the faceless strangers the knights had come to represent. She’d already had a reputation for being polite to peasants and servants alike. The fact that she ended the Daemon War with her sacrifice made her practically immortal in the minds of Av’lor.

Upon completion of the statue, most of the Knighthood chose to go helmet less when not on duty. The decision transformed the people of Av’lor who now treated them with fondness and not just respect for armed and armored knights. Personal relationships grew among the Knighthood as the knights relaxed more, knowing the facial expressions and emotions of their colleagues. A change Lanclor never thought he would embrace, but truly appreciated as the wind blew through his hair.

He drew his sword as he approached, stopping directly in front of her with the water twinkling in the moonlight. Placing his sword point-down, he knelt before the Hero of the Last Battle. In a low voice, he explained his worries of this awful day and the days following her disappearance.

"It’s difficult to think of all that you sacrificed to bring peace to Av’lor. What was the cost? How are you repaid? The corruption of the Council is spreading to the militia. Sometimes, looking around at the peace you’ve bought for us, I feel only sadness. Sometimes the sheer cruelty of people can be unbearable. I don’t know how much longer I can go on as Knight-Commander. As the days move on, I feel as though I no longer make a difference. When I feel that way, I simply come here and I again have Hope."

He knelt there for quite a while in silence, listening to the sound of the water flowing around her. Knowing that he was the only one who had a reason to hope, he stood and made his way back to the castle, back to the workroom of the Knight-Commander. He hadn’t told anyone about their Joining.

Lanclor awoke with a start, disoriented and alone. Pain. Unbearable pain, but not his own. Agony engulfed her entire body then faded as she lost consciousness.

He jumped out of bed.

"Thal'salin sar." Calling his armor, he threw open the doors to his balcony and leapt off the edge. The cold night air filled his wings. With a quiet thump, he landed before the knight stables. Hurrying past the quiet stalls toward the end of the long line of knight horses, he smiled at Artemis' nose peeking over the stall door.

What's your hurry?

Lanclor grabbed her saddle and threw open the stall door. "I sense her, she’s alive."

Artemis whinnied and perked her ears forward.
You should ready the healer before you leave. She may need it
.

"Lak’oth ar’vat," he said aloud then concentrated on saddling Artemis while he Communicated with the only one he trusted to know she was alive.
Master Vetera, I may need your assistance
. There had been too many attempts on her life. Even after her disappearance, he sensed someone watching for her return.

Lanclor heard about people asking questions in the shadows of the taverns, money changing hands for any news about her. The whispers on the street said there were rewards for her, dead or alive. The vast majority of the world believed her a hero. All knew of her sacrifice to destroy the Daemon gate. Seven months of peace had followed, a rare treasure in the violent realm of Av’lor.

Master Vetera slowly responded.
Sir Lanclor? What time is it?

Lanclor must have woken him from a sound sleep, something healers seldom experienced
. I’m sorry to wake you Vetera, but I need you to go to my mother’s house immediately. Tell her I told you to meet me there. You may go there openly, but I will need you to figure out a way to smuggle my mother out of the house without anyone knowing.
Lanclor led Artemis from the stable into the torch lit courtyard.
I will need a safe place for her for a while. I need everyone to believe she’s sick and you’re caring for her. I trust only you, so please come alone. I will explain everything when I return shortly.

I understand Sir Lanclor. I know just the place your mother can stay in safety. Be safe, Sir Lanclor.

Be safe, Master Vetera
. Lanclor mounted Artemis and they galloped toward the south gate. The militia barred the gates at night, even with the Daemon War over. Orcs were still a problem, but the militia allowed men and women to come and go as they pleased. If someone reported an orc attack, the militia opened the gates to admit the village below, a refuge against the horror. The gate guards saw his approach and opened the gate without a word. All knew the Knight-Commander had many duties and nobody questioned him being up at this late hour.

They made their way over the frozen mud, the full moons lighting their way through the sleeping village. Artemis trotted out the last guard gate as the village militia closed it behind them. The night animals were quiet. Something had silenced them and it made him nervous. He rode for a full mile before he sensed her in the woods beside him. Dismounting, he eyed the thicket beneath the trees. A mount would never make it through that wall of branches and brush.

Pulling his wings tight against his body, he trudged through the low snow bank lining the road and into the trees. Using his armored arms and legs to plow everything aside, branches scraped his breastplate and whipped against his helmet. He walked for some time before he came upon the clearing. Snow ringed the blackened brush and trees revealing the site of a small battle.

About 50 Daemons lay in a semi-circle around what remained of a wooden gate. The gate, a tumble of scarred black boards, still smoldered with a powerful fire spell. He waded through the Daemon corpses searching for some sign of her in the light of the full moons. The crunching of charred talons beneath his boots brought the smell of burnt flesh to his nose. Lanclor heard a flutter of wings to his left and paused. Drawing his sword, he scanned the clearing. The abrupt sound of an owl hooting calmed his nerves. He glanced down toward the corpses and frowned.

Everywhere he looked, rage or pain contorted the Daemon faces. He feared he wouldn’t find her in time and she would join their silent hell, sleeping amongst the creatures she had sacrificed herself to destroy. He continued on, ignoring the death around him. A shimmer of moonlight upon metal drew his attention closer to the gate.

Lanclor knelt, brushing away soot to reveal a sword, much used, with runes lining the blue steel of its blade. Close to the hilt, blackened armor enclosed a small hand. Lady Kathryn lay on her right side, her right arm extended toward her sword, her left held a severed Daemon hand against her chest. The Daemon hand held a large black stone lined with alien runes lit from within by an orange glow. Her once white armor, blackened with soot, showed several tears where a Daemon blade had ripped it open to strike the flesh below.

What were left of her wings were jagged bones and broken feathers. One was significantly longer than the other. Her chest rose with her shallow breath, the only sign that she yet clung to life. A line of blood trickled out of the mouth of her helmet.

"Mel'ati sel'anthia. A'lath ent'yart sel'anthia." Lanclor cast a physical shield and an invisibility spell around them, enclosing them in a bubble of protection against any approaching enemies.

"Mel'int ent'bel'ak." He bent to inspect her, assessing how many spells he would need to sustain her while he moved her to safety. Closing his eyes, he viewed her body in his mind's eye, clenching his jaw at the damage. Infected wounds lined her neck and back. Pus just beneath the surface of her mutilated wings leaked onto the ground. Her fractured ribs made every breath a challenge, but the damage to her liver concerned him most.

She wouldn't survive long without help. He sensed her exhaustion, her magic most likely drained in her destruction of the gate. If he didn't do something fast, she wouldn’t survive another hour.

Looking down upon the Hero of the Last Battle, he knew what he had to do and placed his hand upon her shoulder. "Lak'oth lenk'enterun ent'me'ant lak'oth." He linked with her, giving her as much strength as he could without draining himself too much to reach the safety of the village.

There was a terrible risk in Linking with another, but he was willing to risk his life to see her to safety. Without her, the Daemons would have killed everyone and gained access to the portal to Earth. He retrieved her sword and scraped the drying blood off its blade with a cloth from his pouch, then placed it in her sheath.

"Thal'salin sar." He called a brown leather bag from his workroom and pulled the severed Daemon hand from her grip. Placing it in the bag, he wrinkled his nose at the smell and attached the bag to his belt.

Lanclor bent and gently picked her up, noting how light she felt in his arms as he rose to his feet. Her head leaning against his shoulder, he bent his legs and launched himself into the air with a vigorous beating of his wings. He could only maintain flight in his current state for a short time, but the amount of time it saved him by flying over the trees instead of walking through them could mean the difference between life and death for Lady Kathryn.