Sir Dalton and the Shadow Heart (9 page)

RETURN TO TIME

Dalton awoke from his dream of memories and into the reality of a nightmare. The burning pain of Drox’s blade in his abdomen screamed in his mind as well.

“My Prince, help me!” he cried out as tears fell from the corners of his eyes and ran down his temples…tears of pain, tears of humility, tears of sorrow.

Dozens of huge double-winged ravens landed near him, and he knew it was only a matter of time before the agony of their tearing beaks increased the pain of his pierced torso tenfold. He grasped the grisly blade once again and lifted with all his might, but the pain made his attempt paltry. He covered his eyes with his hands to protect them and felt the ravens descend on him like a thick black thundercloud. But the world of unconsciousness mercifully swallowed him before any flesh was torn from his body.

The lyrical words of this strange song were faint and hollow to Dalton, but as his mind lifted from the fog, the voice became clearer.

The voice seemed to belong to an aged man. He hummed the tune when there were no words to sing.

Dalton tried to open his eyes, but every fiber of his body, including his eyelids, felt as if they were crushed by the granite of a mountain.

“Am I dead?” he asked.

He heard the shuffle of old feet coming toward him. He opened his eyes enough to see a blurry figure bent over him.

“Yes, you are,” the old man said. “Well…not quite.”

Dalton tried to lift his head but as his neck muscles pulled taut, his abdomen shot barbs of reminder pain to stop him. He winced.

“Where am I?”

“Well, you’re not in the bellies of twenty death ravens, and you’re not wrapped around a blade of steel.” The old man lifted his chin slightly and peered down his nose at Dalton as if to get a closer look at him. “You are in my cave, and I don’t really like visitors, so you’d best be on your way now.”

Dalton was extremely confused, and the babblings of this old fellow weren’t helping.

“Off you go now…off with you.”

Dalton tried to roll to his side and moaned in deep pain.

“Not well enough?” The old man looked concerned. “I guess you can stay awhile longer, but you’ll have to compensate me when it’s time.”

“Who are you, sir?” Dalton asked as he looked closer at the strange character.

“I’m a collector.”

Dalton squinted in his confusion.

“I take old things and make them new,” the old man said with a grin. His full head of white hair flowed to the back of his neck. His eyes were deep blue and did not look wild or deranged. The gentle wrinkles on his face seemed to have been formed by joyful smiles rather than by scowls or burdensome toiling. His welcoming countenance contradicted his dismissive words.

“For example…,” the man continued. He shuffled to a table nearby where he had tools and polishing instruments. It took considerable effort, for he was slightly bent and walked with a hindered gait. “Here are two buckles that I found cast aside. One is old and tarnished, but look at this one.”

Dalton turned his head with effort. The bronze buckle gleamed in gnarled, wrinkled hands.

“See how beautiful it is. Both of these looked like the first, but with the right tools and some hard work, this one shines brilliantly.”

Dalton didn’t care at all about polished buckles. He turned back and closed his eyes. The longer he was awake, the more miserable he felt. He wondered if his death had just been postponed a day or two.

“I’m thirsty,” he said, realizing he hadn’t drunk any water all day.

“You should be… It’s been days since you’ve been here. You’ve taken a few sips of water, but that is all.”

The old man brought a cup to Dalton and helped him lift his head to drink. The water was cool and refreshing. It tasted sweet, and when Dalton finished the cup, he asked for more. It seemed to wash him from the inside out.

Dalton suddenly realized that his enemy might be near. Surely it would be impossible for this old man to drag him very far.

“Lord Drox—where is he?” he asked with eyes wide.

“Lord Drox?” the old man tilted his head.

“Yes, the one who pierced me through. The mighty warrior who has imprisoned many knights.”

“Ah…you speak of the one named Skia Ek Distazo.” The old man nodded. “He is the one you fear.”

“The one everyone fears.”

The old man smiled. “Not everyone.”

Dalton took a breath. “You do not know him then.”

“True, I do not know him—only of him.”

“Is he near?” Dalton insisted.

“I have not seen him here,” the man said, and poured another cup of water from a jar. “Distazo has no use for an old man like me.”

Dalton realized there was truth in that statement. Perhaps Drox wouldn’t think to look in the cave of this old man, at least for a while. He looked at the old man and realized he was probably in grave danger and didn’t even know it.

“Thank you, kind sir. I am eternally grateful to you.”

The old man stopped and looked into Dalton’s eyes. He smiled gently and put a hand to Dalton’s chest. “Rest, young knight.”

Dalton took a deep breath and felt peace sweep over him. He closed his eyes.

“What is your name, good sir?” he asked.

“I am Mister Sejus. What is your name?”

“I am Dalton of Salisburg, and I’m…” Dalton found it impossible to form the last of his words, and he was pulled once more to sleep. He heard Mister Sejus begin humming again, the unsung words echoing in Dalton’s dreams…

THE MYSTERIOUS MISTER SEJUS

Dalton opened his eyes and took a deep breath. It took a few moments for him to remember where he was. Then he looked around and realized Mister Sejus was absent. The cave looked as though the old man had lived there for many, many years. Dalton was lying on the only cot, and it appeared that Mister Sejus had been sleeping on some blankets not far away. Dalton spotted two oil lamps that were probably used during dusk and early morning, but the cave entrance was wide, allowing slanted rays of daylight to illumine the interior. Was it late evening? Early morning? Dalton couldn’t tell.

Just inside the entrance was a three-footed bronze cooking pot with a variety of pots, pans, and clay jars nearby. A fire burned beneath the cooking pot, and the exquisite aroma of the contents made Dalton’s stomach howl in hunger. Near the cooking area stood a small table with two stools. A long workbench nestled along the far side of the cave wall with an organized array of tools along the back. On the right side of the bench, spread on a cloth, lay an assortment of brightly polished cups, buckles, and trinkets, while a sizable pile of rusted and tarnished hardware lay on the dirt floor to the left. Near the foot of Dalton’s cot, a
cushioned chair with a lamp and small stand created a cozy vignette. A similar stand hugged the head of his cot.

Dalton heard the faint sound of Mister Sejus’s humming and singing. The sound grew louder as the man himself appeared in the cave entrance.

“Ah, the sleeping Sir Dalton awakes!” Mister Sejus smiled as he unshouldered a shabby pack and laid it on the table. “I can imagine you are quite hungry by now.”

“I am, sir.” Dalton carefully lifted his head. He waited for the intense pain of his abdomen to return, but it did not. He was relieved, though puzzled. Surely it should take longer to heal from such a grievous injury.

He looked down. The lower portion of his torso was wrapped tightly with white cloth. Then he shrugged.
Perhaps I shall live after all
, he thought.

Mister Sejus lifted the top of the cooking pot and used a polished ladle to fill a bowl with fragrant soup. He set it on a stand and helped prop Dalton up by placing a pillow and another blanket behind his head and shoulders. This movement did revive some of the pain he’d felt earlier, but with far less intensity. Dalton tried his best to move slowly and carefully.

Mister Sejus then sat on a stool beside the cot and lifted a spoonful of soup to Dalton’s mouth. Dalton sipped and swallowed. He thought he had never tasted anything so delicious in all his life. He looked at the old man in amazement.

“This is wonderful!” he exclaimed.

Mister Sejus smiled. “It contains an herb that will help heal your body as well.”

Dalton finished the bowl and asked for another. “I am indebted to you for your kindness,” he said as Mister Sejus moved to refill the bowl. “I’m certain this has been quite an inconvenience for you.”

“Yes, well I’ve grown accustomed to your presence, and I suppose you are still too weak to leave, so what’s an old man to do?”

You are an odd fellow
, Dalton thought as he watched Mister Sejus return with the soup. He lifted several spoonfuls to Dalton’s mouth.

“Where in the kingdom are we?” Dalton asked between swallows.

Mister Sejus paused with spoon in the air and squinted at Dalton. “Are you planning to come back with thieves and steal my treasures?”

“Of course not.” Dalton nearly laughed as he thought of Mister Sejus’s “treasures” but caught himself. “I was taken captive by Lord Drox, and I have no idea how far from home I am.”

This seemed to satisfy Mister Sejus. “Ah,” he said and continued with the soup—but still didn’t answer his question.

“How long have I been here?” Dalton asked.

Mister Sejus paused again, closed one eye, and looked to the cave’s ceiling, seeming to ponder the question.

“Nine days,” he finally said. “Your wound was particularly difficult to heal.” He shook his head. “It is fortunate I was nearby to hear you call out, for you wouldn’t have survived long with those nasty death ravens about you.”

“But how did you…” Dalton tried to imagine this old man shooing away two dozen ravens, pulling Drox’s sword out of the ground—and out of him—and hauling his body out of the box canyon back to his cave.

“Yes?” Mister Sejus brought another spoonful of soup to Dalton’s lips.

“How did you save me?”

Mister Sejus leaned forward and stared into Dalton’s eyes, startling him with the intensity of his gaze. “I may be old, young knight,” he said, “but I am not weak.”

It wasn’t what he said, but how he said it. Suddenly Dalton became aware of something strange in the old man’s demeanor—something that made the hairs on his neck stand straight. He swallowed hard and resolved to be on his way as quickly as possible.

“How far—,” Dalton began again, but Mister Sejus held up his hand to silence him.

“Your questions are misguided, young one. It is your life that has intruded upon mine, so I will ask the questions now.” Mister Sejus set the spoon in the bowl. “Tell me, Dalton, what is important to you?”

Dalton was taken aback at the personal question, which seemed completely beside the point.

“Excuse my asking, sir, but why do you want to know?”

Mister Sejus gave an annoyed sniff. “Because if I am going to make you well, I want to know that my time is not being spent on foolishness.”

Dalton didn’t answer at first. Clearly there was more to this hermit than first appeared. Besides, no one had ever asked him a question like that, and he was not fully prepared to answer it.

“There is a fair maiden,” Dalton finally said and smiled as he thought of Lady Brynn. “I hope to one day win her heart and her father’s approval.”

Mister Sejus slowly nodded. “Kingdoms have risen and fallen on the quest for such a love. Where did you meet this fair maiden?”

“At the haven in Salisburg.”

“Haven?” Mister Sejus asked.

“Yes, our place of training for the Knights of the Prince,” Dalton replied.

“You serve the Prince?” Mister Sejus asked with wide eyes.

Dalton was surprised that word of the Prince had made it to the ears of this old hermit.

“Yes, how have you heard of Him?”

“When one has lived as long as I, one hears of many things.” Mister Sejus set the empty bowl on the bedside stand and crossed over to the table. He picked up his pack and began lugging it slowly back toward the cot. “If you serve the Prince I know of, then you must be a mighty knight indeed.”

Dalton’s countenance fell. He did not feel mighty at all, especially now. He wasn’t sure he had
ever
felt mighty as a Knight of the Prince. He rested his head back against his pillow.

“No, Mister Sejus. I am not so mighty a knight.”

“But I am told that such knights carry the passion and the power of the Prince in their hearts. How can it be that you don’t? Knights of this order claim that the Prince is the mightiest of all.”

The old man’s questions were beginning to burn in Dalton’s soul. He wished Mister Sejus would mind his own business.

“Evidently I am not as mighty!” he retorted.

“Evidently.” Mister Sejus let his pack fall to the floor and sat down on the stool again. He reached into the pack and pulled out the pieces of Dalton’s sword.

“You collected my sword?”

“Of course. I told you—I collect things, even broken things…like you.” Mister Sejus smiled, but it didn’t make Dalton feel any better.

“This is the mark of the Prince.” Mister Sejus looked closely at the hilt of Dalton’s sword and nodded. “You must be telling the truth.”

Dalton rolled his eyes in annoyance and shifted stiffly against his pillow. Unfortunately he was a prisoner to the old man’s bantering. Mister Sejus held the sword’s blade with his left hand and the hilt with his right. He fit the two pieces together and looked closely at the fracture.

“Strange,” he mumbled.

“What?” Dalton asked.

“I know these swords well. A sword of the Prince is also a sword of the King. They are not supposed to break!”

“Yes, well, as you can see, mine did.”

“There is only one reason why a sword of the King would break, and that is if the one who holds it does so without skill.”

Dalton had had enough. Who was this old man to criticize his skills as a knight? He tried to straighten, indignation warring with pain

“I have trained and served on many missions for the Prince. There isn’t a knight in the kingdom who could stand against Drox and survive. What do you know about battle anyway, old man?”

Mister Sejus slowly put the two pieces of Dalton’s sword on the
stand nearby. He pursed his lips together as he looked at Dalton’s bandaged midriff, then into his eyes.

“You have the sword and the mind of a Knight of the Prince, yet you lack.”

Dalton closed his eyes and shook his head as he sagged back into his pillow.

“What gives you the right to say such things?” He looked at Mister Sejus again. “You say I lack. But exactly what is it that I lack, old man?”

The old man put a finger to Dalton’s chest. “You lack the heart. Serving the Prince takes all three.”

The words were so blunt they left Dalton speechless. Tears welled up in his eyes as he realized the truth of the message. Never before had his soul been laid so bare. He felt pierced again, but this time in his heart and with a different sword.

Mister Sejus creaked to his feet.

“You are weary, young Dalton. Lie down and rest again.” He removed the blanket from behind Dalton’s shoulders, then crossed over to light the nearby lamp. “I find that the morning always refreshes the body, soul, and spirit.”

So it was evening. Dalton had not even realized that the entrance to the cave was darkening.

He closed his eyes and did not think that he could sleep just yet, but he did.