Shadow Of The Mountain (8 page)

“I wish I could send you out with a hundred riders,” the king told him. “But too many men would attract unwanted attention. I think tight and fast is your best option.”

“You still have men who can do this, Healianos. It doesn’t have to be me.”

“Of course it has to be you.” The king rested both hands on the table. “I need you on this ride more than anything else in the world. If I could keep you here, I would, but I won’t leave this to anyone else.”

“Fine. When the task is done, I’ll return…”

“Just stay with the boy until Korando, then you can do as you please,” Healianos said soberly.

“It would please me to return to the army, but your point has been made.” The king reached across the table and they gripped hands the warrior way, wrist to wrist. “It’s not easy being king, is it Healianos?” the First Sword asked.

“No more so than it is to be a king’s champion. Tell me, why haven’t you asked why the apprentice is so important? I’d be curious if it were myself.”

“If you wanted me to know, you’d have told me.”

“It’s best if I don’t.” The king moved around the table. “You need only know that he is of great importance to us. You must protect him, Kreiden, and see him to the coast. Gather your ten and leave as soon as possible. Braiden and I will brief the boy.”

Almost as soon as he spoke, the heavy entrance flap of the chamber swung open and one of the sentries entered. The man was lean, his face and armor polished to a shine.

“King Healianos,” he said tightly, “the apprentice, Tenlon, is outside awaiting you.”

“Give us a minute, then send him in.” The sentry disappeared through the flap. “He can ride, brother,” the king said. “That’s why he was chosen. Would you like to meet him?”

“Later. I have a message to send out. I already have the men in mind for the journey and I’ll return shortly to brief you. Time, I’m guessing, is a scarce luxury?”

“Send to Talia and gather your men,” spoke the king. “I won’t be here when you return.”

“So it shall be,” the champion replied, wishing there was more to say. He made to leave but paused at the canvas tent flap.

“Goodbye, Healianos,” he said simply.

“Farewell, brother.”

***

Tenlon nervously adjusted his gray robe and stood waiting outside the king’s tent beneath the storming sky. The sentry had returned but said nothing, standing almost motionless next to the other guard.

He noticed two more sentries in dark-green cloaks circling the tent with tall spears. Suddenly the heavy entrance flap reopened and a warrior with long golden hair ducked out. He was tall and wide-shouldered, with a curved saber at his side. He stared at Tenlon as he took the few steps off the platform past him, saying nothing.

Tenlon turned to watch him leave, noting the warrior’s easy stride beneath the green cloak. He desperately tried to remember where he’d seen the man before, but it wouldn’t come to him. His mind must be too muddled from everything, he decided. Normally he didn’t forget anything, especially a face.

When his gaze returned to the tent entrance, one of the sentries was holding the flap open for him to enter.

“King Healianos will see you now.”

Tenlon took a deep breath, gathered himself, and stepped up onto the tent’s platform.

The area within was well lit and warm. Moving through a sparse hall, he approached two more guards who ushered him through to another chamber. Seeing the king behind a large table examining reports, his breath caught in his chest. The wooden floor was polished and the many rugs were the finest Tenlon had ever seen.

He took in his first real look of King Healianos. Without the golden armor he didn’t seem as colossal as he had earlier in the day, but even in the simple white tunic he still cut an imposing figure. Energy and strength emanated from him like heat spreads from a fire.

At first there was no response from the king and Tenlon felt ill at ease, unsure of what to do. Remembering the words of Accostas, he dropped to his knees and bowed his head.

“Damn it, stand up!” the king’s deep voice boomed. “Which one of those idiots told you to bow to me?” Tenlon rose quickly to his feet. “Well?”

Tenlon struggled to find an answer. He was so nervous.

“Doubtful if it was Desik, unless he’d been drinking.” The king thought about it for a moment. “Which is possible after a day like today. Still, I’d say it must’ve been Accostas. I’ll have a word with that one, not to worry.” The king walked around the table before Tenlon, resting a hip on the edge, waving him over.

“Come closer. It’s all right; I’m not going to fuck you. My, you are even smaller than I was told! That’s good. Very good.” The king was looking Tenlon up and down now. “So, do you still compete?” The words were hung up inside Tenlon’s mind, tangled and twisted. He suddenly felt thirsty.

“In…horse races you mean, sir?”

“No, turd-eating contests.” The king said the words with all seriousness. “Yes, horse races! I’m told you beat out a few of my light cavalry riders last spring. I didn’t see the race but know the men. Good riders. Not easy winning those races when you’re as young as you are, but you’ve got the frame for it.”

“Thank you, sir.” Why was everyone so interested in that race, though? Had he done something wrong?

“First Mage Braiden tells me you wished to study dragons at Odenna and that you did very well on the entrance exam. He also told me you qualified, so you would have made it. Congratulations.”

“I…that is all I ever wanted to do,” Tenlon said as he exhaled a deep breath.

“Yes, I know, a sad state of affairs.” The king waved his hand, moving back behind the table. “Draxakis fought with Shadowfist so many years ago, and had we been able to breed him, today would have been a very different day. But that is not a discussion for the here and now. I‘m sure you are wondering why you were brought to me.”

“Very much, sir.”

The king cleared his throat. “I have something here that I need to get to the coast. An artifact. You are a mage apprentice and a good rider, so you will carry it for me. Kreiden Baelik will accompany you, along with a small escort.”

At the mention of the champion’s name, Tenlon immediately recognized the golden-haired warrior near the entrance. First Sword to the king? This continued to get worse.

“The old mages dug up all sorts of antiquated shit from Corda’s archives before the battle, texts and artifacts I’ve neither the time nor inclination to begin to understand. Anything they thought to be useful was brought with us. And now…” The king shrugged his shoulders. “Should we fall here, there are a few pieces that cannot be allowed into enemy hands. You will be carrying one such piece to safety.”

Tenlon was frightened now. This was really happening. He was just a boy, a student, not a warrior-in-training. It all sounded like an extremely dangerous task, even with an Amorian escort. Anything could go wrong on such a ride, especially with the Volrathi so close.

“I am honored, sir, but…” The words already sounded so lame it damn near made him cringe. “You must have others who can handle this.” A look of annoyance flashed across Healianos’s bearded face.

“The artifact is heavy so I need someone small. The artifact needs to have its enchantments adjusted, so I need someone familiar with the Arts. I have no desire to send good cavalrymen into hostile territory to protect some random mage who rides like a fucking old woman.” His words gained force. “My lead mages have all been slain and their understudies will likely follow them in a few hours. You will do as I order, without question. And you should consider yourself lucky. I’m giving you a horse and an escort out. Few will get such a chance in the coming hours.”

The king seemed to be fuming now, his anger held in check by some unseen thread that was twisted and frayed, in danger of snapping any second. What could he say to the king or even begin to offer? What could anyone offer the man except compliance?

“I will do what you ask of me,” Tenlon told him softly.

“I knew you would.”

Suddenly the flap of the tent’s entrance opened and an Amorian soldier began making his way backwards into the chamber.

To Tenlon’s horror, the man was carrying a corpse towards them with the help of another. The body was garbed in black armor and the two seemed to strain under its weight. It was the first time Tenlon saw a soldier of the Volrathi up close.

The corpse was dropped on a sheet of canvas and Tenlon stared at the largest man he’d ever seen. His neck and arms were bulging with muscle and veins wrapped around his biceps like buried snakes. There was a nauseating gash on the top of his head that exposed his insides, and when the soldiers dropped him Tenlon swore he saw a chunk of skull and brain dash out with the blood. The young apprentice thought he might vomit.

“A bigger one, just like you asked,” one of the soldiers said, breathing hard. The king bent down and began to examine the giant, waving Tenlon over. Hesitantly he made his way to the king’s side, teeth gritted against the bile rising up in his throat.

“Notice anything?” the king questioned.

“Besides the fact that he’s built like a bull?”

“Yes, besides his obvious size. Look closer,” the king said. “Look at his eyes.”

Tenlon leaned in, pulling his gaze from the terrible head wound, examining the man’s eyes. The pupils were a perfect black, like deep pools of ink. The rest of his eyes were a normal white, and Tenlon knew something was wrong. No one had eyes like that. There was something vile about the man lying on the floor, something unnatural. Tenlon suddenly felt too close to the body and thought it might reach out and crush him.

Maybe the man wasn’t dead, his mind screamed. Maybe he was just pretending so he could get closer to the king and kill him. Tenlon rose and backed away a pace.

“His eyes are black as night. What is wrong with him?”

“Nothing,” the king answered. “They are all like that.”

Tenlon had no reply. He knew the great army called itself the Volrathi but had no idea their men were so large. Lightning cracked against the sky outside and he remembered the clouds that had pulled together, swirling around the battling mages. Dark magic had changed the weather and created the storm, which still hadn’t stopped. In fact, it seemed to be growing in strength. That was real power.

Amoria was the greatest army in the realm, and if they lost so much on the first day, then other nations would surely suffer the same fate. Draxakis was no longer here to protect them. Amoria was alone and far from anyone resembling an ally.

“I don’t think I can do what you ask of me,” he whispered.

Healianos ordered the two soldiers to take the body outside. Tenlon stared into the black eyes as they wrapped him up and carried him out.

“I have much to do,” the king told him calmly. “You are the one I choose. This is not a discussion.”

Tenlon’s frail shoulders dropped. He nodded in agreement.

“Braiden!” Healianos bellowed, startling the young apprentice.

The heavy canvas of an inside wall was pulled aside and an old mage with wrinkled skin and a wispy, white beard poked his head in.

The king walked back to his reports on the table, speaking to Tenlon without looking up. “This is First Mage Braiden. He will instruct you on what you are carrying and where you will be carrying it to.”

Even though the conversation appeared to be over, Tenlon felt as if he were in a daze, replaying everything in his mind, seeing again the dead giant’s eyes of black.

“Boy!” snapped the old mage from behind the wall, bringing him back to reality. “There is much to go over and I don’t tolerate stupidity. Follow quickly now! Come on!”

The First Mage vanished then. Tenlon paused, feeling his heart hammering in his chest. After a moment he quickly moved to the far wall and slipped behind it.

Chapter 4

Kreiden moved away from the king’s tent beneath a black sky. Lightning stabbed through thick clouds and his heart was heavy as he made his way toward the message tent at the far end of the camp. The image of the king floated across his mind. That he was loyal to Healianos, there was no doubt. Kreiden wasn’t troubled by what the king had asked of him. He would gladly offer his life for cause and country. It was the thought of what he had to leave behind that distressed him.

He loved Talia and his years with her had been a joy. But there was always a battle to be fought or a nation to march against. He was a man of war, ill-suited to married life, yet she loved him anyway.

Natalia was wildly intelligent and wondrously beautiful, and she possessed a deep strength that was a rare quality, not only in women but in anyone. When last they were together, he had promised to return, for his skill in combat was great and he’d always come home before.

Kreiden knew now that it was a promise he shouldn’t have made.

He thought back to the frightened little apprentice outside of the tent. What was his name again? Trotan? Tarnan?

Whatever it was, he hoped the youth was worth the lives of ten men.

Kreiden dismissed the foolish thought. He was well aware that the king wouldn’t send them to protect the boy if there wasn’t a significant reason.

Kreiden weaved his way through campfires, coming to a group of soldiers he recognized from the light cavalry. They had removed their armor and were lounging around a fire, staring up at the tumultuous sky. One of them saw the champion approach and sat up.

“What say you, Kreiden? Night attack against the Volrathi?” the man called out. “Please tell me we’re going to attack! I need to do something. All this waiting around is torture. And Pallagrian won’t stop pissing on about his eye.” A man on the other side of the fire bolted upright, left eye wrapped in bandages.

“I said it was itchy once, Fenton.
Once!
So you can eat shit.”

“How is the eye, Pallagrian?” Kreiden asked across the fire.

“It’s good, sir…wait.” The man paused. “The one that I lost or the good one?”