Duvodas
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The two of them walked slowly, expressionless, their defiant eyes fixed on the path ahead. Valanus carried his longsword sheathed in his sheath belt, his left hand reluctantly resting on the hilt. Dedan, his quiver, full of black arrows, as well as his bow, hanging on his back, the bow stings running from shoulder to belly, had the same reluctant attitude of his partner, but at least, he allowed his glance to deviate for mere seconds to scan the surroundings.
Suddenly Dedan came to a halt; Vanalus’ grasp of his sword hilt became stronger as he stared at Dedan, who had drawn two large knives, one of each hand. He looked around, as if trying to see or hear what had captured the bowman’s attention. Then he heard something that made the hardship of his expression soften.
“I still can’t believe that you do not recognize the sound of your own horse when you hear it,” he said.
“Shhhhh!” His companion snapped, his voice, a whisper. “Be quiet.” Looking everywhere, Dedan advanced cautiously, trying not to make a sound, listening to the wind’s song.
After a few more seconds of uneasiness, Dedan gave up his search and sighed.
“These are dangerous times, Valanus,” Dedan murmured. “We still don’t know if there are more Black Knights around.”
“You are getting old, Dedan. We just killed the last five of them.”
Dedan glanced at the arrogant warrior standing in front of him. The moonshine now lightened the other side of his face that had been occulted by the dark. He saw the mark of death and despair on the youth’s features as he discerned a red scar furrowing his left cheek, toughened and stroked by the wrath of war. Valanus was merely eighteen, but he looked older, his green, sparkly eyes, were the only sign of a briefly, short-lived, and forgotten youthfulness.
Flashes of the night when he had rescued a golden-haired child from a band of mercenaries came to his mind. A house on fire… a woman begging for mercy…a child crying as he saw his mother being savagely raped…three men on ground, one of them merely fifteen…He put the thoughts away from his mind.
“You still have much to learn,” he said, and headed to where the sound had come from. Valanus followed him without saying a word.
At first the bowman could only see the darkness, but as he kept moving he descried three silhouettes, which materialized into two black horses standing at the shadow of a small tree, waiting for their riders.
Dedan untied the reins from the branches and scrambled to the saddle as Valanus used a rope to tie a round, dark shape to his. Then he mounted and drove his horse to the moonlight; as the light shone on it the shape turned to a horrendous image: Jayr Reniard’s head. The young warrior had tied the head by the hair, causing it to move back and forth as the horse walked. Jayr’s mouth was half open, twisted in despair as if trying to breath; his eyes wide opened in frantic shock, blood drops dripping from his sliced throat.
Dedan merely looked at it. And the events came to life once more.
Shortly after the battle, Kenan, the Deltorian captain, had organized a riding party to hunt the survivor knights and their leader, Jayr. At least twenty rebels, including him and Valanus had rode north in search of the fleeing knights. A small group of fifteen Black Knights was found after a while. They had stood their ground, prepared to fight and die, for living was not something they expected. Not from the Deltorians.
They have been crushed and cut down to pieces, but Jayr was nowhere to be seen. Kenan had continued uselessly riding, for he had found no one.
Dedan and Valanus had ridden back then. He had dismounted to scan the ground and read the tracks, finding what he had wanted. The knights had split before the Deltorians had arrived. The majority of them had remained, and now they laid dead, serving as food for the bears and wolves. Only a small group, five from what he could read, had gotten away. He and Valanus had followed the tracks for half an hour and found themselves at the borders of the great forest of Kandor.
At first, it had seemed bizarre that Jayr had entered the woods, for the knights knew it was a cursed forest, they had never dared to set a camp near it in their campaigns, fearing that the spirit of the Great King himself would come out of the woods with his army and slaughter the invaders.
Dedan had frowned, and then laughed.
“Do you see what a man can do when death is at his heels and despair engulfs his heart?” he had asked Valanus.
“I can see a brainless man who leaves his soldiers to die while he watches them being killed hidden in the trees.”
“Indeed, but his idea was not bad at all, though I do not know whether he could have saved his soldiers or not. Considering that the Black Knights fear this forest…” he hesitated, “and even the Deltorians, in other circumstances I would have said that the man was a daredevil, but now I perceive he’s crazy.”
“That’s why almost none of his soldiers followed him.” Valanus had pointed out.
The bowman had nodded his head in agreement.
“Jayr knew we would come for him, so he tried to hide in the forest, thinking that we would never look for him there.”
“And he was wrong; for he didn’t count on that he had the Shadow Walkers hunting him.” Valanus had said, unsheathing his longsword.
Dedan had stared at him with a harsh look. For a moment Valanus’ eyes met the bowman’s, and Valanus instantly looked away.
Than he had opened his mouth as if to say something but Dedan had raised his hand and stopped him from doing so. A moment of silence had followed and then he had spoken.
“You’re too conceited, Valanus. And you’ll pay dearly with your life, and even with the life of others, if you don’t learn to be more careful with your words.”
The youth had bowed his head and placed the black hood of his robe upon his golden hair, and now only a shadow could be seen where once had been his face, for the night had already fallen upon the lands of Loren and Valanus’ back was facing the moon.
Dedan decided to change the conversation.
“I’m guessing that he is not too far away from here,’ he had said. “He will not adventure himself further inside. Even in his craziness, he fears this place.”
Valanus had turned around and stared at the bowman, the red scar seemed to shine at the moonlight.
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because he will want to get to Camuldon tomorrow, after all the confusion is gone. Therefore, entering deeper in the woods is not what he will think, the deeper is enters, the farther he will be from Camuldon, and the more chance he has to get lost and never see the sunlight.”
“Let’s get to the task then,” Valanus had said, heading to the woods. “I can’t even feel my legs because of the inactivity.”
Dedan had straightened and followed the young warrior. He has an insatiable spirit, he thought, a smile on his face. Then he had also covered his head with a black hood and entered the forest.
They hadn’t walked for fifteen minutes when Valanus’ hawk eyes spotted a small red point a hundred yards to the west.
“There,” he said, drawing Dedan close to his side and pointing his finger to the red dot. “It’s him.”
Dedan nodded affirmatively
“Indeed, no animal that I know of is capable of lighting a fire.”
Valanus had chuckled. “This is no time for jokes, Dedan.”
“I agree, yet, a real hunt has to be somehow enjoyed by the hunters,” he had said while clapping his hand on his Valanus’ shoulder, and then he had walked away, following the sight of the fire.”
They had walked until the fire was not a dot on the horizon anymore. He could feel the presence of the Black Knights near him, which made him place an arrow on his bowstring.
Valanus’ voice came from his back
“Why would a man light a fire so close to the borders and while he’s being hunted down? I had my doubts, but now I see that he’s out of his senses.”
He had turned around and stared at the youth.
“Because of what I told you before, he fears this place.”
The young swordman remained silent for a while, and then he broke the calm of the night again.
“I don’t like this man.”
“Why?”
“He is making this easy.”
Silently and without making any noise, they had approached to the place.
There, at the light of the fire, five men were sitting on the ground, their armors taken off so that their bodies could be heated, and swords at their sides, forming a circle around the flames. Four of them were awake, their hands extended to the fire. The other, bent downward, had his head buried between his hands that were resting on the knees.
Then he had aimed the bow, stretching the bowstring…and loosed the arrow…
He saw Vanalus gazing at him as he came back to reality.
“I thought you would never awake,” he said.
“As you said: I’m getting old,” he forced a smile and stirred the reins, heading his horse in the direction of the camp.
Valanus observed Dedan leaving, his ride swift and calm, until he was only a shadow in the night and then disappeared.
“No, you’re not,” the young warrior murmured. “You’re just getting soft,” and he went after the bowman.
Concealed by the shadows of the trees, a dark figure watched as the riders rode away from the forest.
Suddenly Dedan came to a halt; Vanalus’ grasp of his sword hilt became stronger as he stared at Dedan, who had drawn two large knives, one of each hand. He looked around, as if trying to see or hear what had captured the bowman’s attention. Then he heard something that made the hardship of his expression soften.
“I still can’t believe that you do not recognize the sound of your own horse when you hear it,” he said.
“Shhhhh!” His companion snapped, his voice, a whisper. “Be quiet.” Looking everywhere, Dedan advanced cautiously, trying not to make a sound, listening to the wind’s song.
After a few more seconds of uneasiness, Dedan gave up his search and sighed.
“These are dangerous times, Valanus,” Dedan murmured. “We still don’t know if there are more Black Knights around.”
“You are getting old, Dedan. We just killed the last five of them.”
Dedan glanced at the arrogant warrior standing in front of him. The moonshine now lightened the other side of his face that had been occulted by the dark. He saw the mark of death and despair on the youth’s features as he discerned a red scar furrowing his left cheek, toughened and stroked by the wrath of war. Valanus was merely eighteen, but he looked older, his green, sparkly eyes, were the only sign of a briefly, short-lived, and forgotten youthfulness.
Flashes of the night when he had rescued a golden-haired child from a band of mercenaries came to his mind. A house on fire… a woman begging for mercy…a child crying as he saw his mother being savagely raped…three men on ground, one of them merely fifteen…He put the thoughts away from his mind.
“You still have much to learn,” he said, and headed to where the sound had come from. Valanus followed him without saying a word.
At first the bowman could only see the darkness, but as he kept moving he descried three silhouettes, which materialized into two black horses standing at the shadow of a small tree, waiting for their riders.
Dedan untied the reins from the branches and scrambled to the saddle as Valanus used a rope to tie a round, dark shape to his. Then he mounted and drove his horse to the moonlight; as the light shone on it the shape turned to a horrendous image: Jayr Reniard’s head. The young warrior had tied the head by the hair, causing it to move back and forth as the horse walked. Jayr’s mouth was half open, twisted in despair as if trying to breath; his eyes wide opened in frantic shock, blood drops dripping from his sliced throat.
Dedan merely looked at it. And the events came to life once more.
Shortly after the battle, Kenan, the Deltorian captain, had organized a riding party to hunt the survivor knights and their leader, Jayr. At least twenty rebels, including him and Valanus had rode north in search of the fleeing knights. A small group of fifteen Black Knights was found after a while. They had stood their ground, prepared to fight and die, for living was not something they expected. Not from the Deltorians.
They have been crushed and cut down to pieces, but Jayr was nowhere to be seen. Kenan had continued uselessly riding, for he had found no one.
Dedan and Valanus had ridden back then. He had dismounted to scan the ground and read the tracks, finding what he had wanted. The knights had split before the Deltorians had arrived. The majority of them had remained, and now they laid dead, serving as food for the bears and wolves. Only a small group, five from what he could read, had gotten away. He and Valanus had followed the tracks for half an hour and found themselves at the borders of the great forest of Kandor.
At first, it had seemed bizarre that Jayr had entered the woods, for the knights knew it was a cursed forest, they had never dared to set a camp near it in their campaigns, fearing that the spirit of the Great King himself would come out of the woods with his army and slaughter the invaders.
Dedan had frowned, and then laughed.
“Do you see what a man can do when death is at his heels and despair engulfs his heart?” he had asked Valanus.
“I can see a brainless man who leaves his soldiers to die while he watches them being killed hidden in the trees.”
“Indeed, but his idea was not bad at all, though I do not know whether he could have saved his soldiers or not. Considering that the Black Knights fear this forest…” he hesitated, “and even the Deltorians, in other circumstances I would have said that the man was a daredevil, but now I perceive he’s crazy.”
“That’s why almost none of his soldiers followed him.” Valanus had pointed out.
The bowman had nodded his head in agreement.
“Jayr knew we would come for him, so he tried to hide in the forest, thinking that we would never look for him there.”
“And he was wrong; for he didn’t count on that he had the Shadow Walkers hunting him.” Valanus had said, unsheathing his longsword.
Dedan had stared at him with a harsh look. For a moment Valanus’ eyes met the bowman’s, and Valanus instantly looked away.
Than he had opened his mouth as if to say something but Dedan had raised his hand and stopped him from doing so. A moment of silence had followed and then he had spoken.
“You’re too conceited, Valanus. And you’ll pay dearly with your life, and even with the life of others, if you don’t learn to be more careful with your words.”
The youth had bowed his head and placed the black hood of his robe upon his golden hair, and now only a shadow could be seen where once had been his face, for the night had already fallen upon the lands of Loren and Valanus’ back was facing the moon.
Dedan decided to change the conversation.
“I’m guessing that he is not too far away from here,’ he had said. “He will not adventure himself further inside. Even in his craziness, he fears this place.”
Valanus had turned around and stared at the bowman, the red scar seemed to shine at the moonlight.
“Why are you so sure?”
“Because he will want to get to Camuldon tomorrow, after all the confusion is gone. Therefore, entering deeper in the woods is not what he will think, the deeper is enters, the farther he will be from Camuldon, and the more chance he has to get lost and never see the sunlight.”
“Let’s get to the task then,” Valanus had said, heading to the woods. “I can’t even feel my legs because of the inactivity.”
Dedan had straightened and followed the young warrior. He has an insatiable spirit, he thought, a smile on his face. Then he had also covered his head with a black hood and entered the forest.
They hadn’t walked for fifteen minutes when Valanus’ hawk eyes spotted a small red point a hundred yards to the west.
“There,” he said, drawing Dedan close to his side and pointing his finger to the red dot. “It’s him.”
Dedan nodded affirmatively
“Indeed, no animal that I know of is capable of lighting a fire.”
Valanus had chuckled. “This is no time for jokes, Dedan.”
“I agree, yet, a real hunt has to be somehow enjoyed by the hunters,” he had said while clapping his hand on his Valanus’ shoulder, and then he had walked away, following the sight of the fire.”
They had walked until the fire was not a dot on the horizon anymore. He could feel the presence of the Black Knights near him, which made him place an arrow on his bowstring.
Valanus’ voice came from his back
“Why would a man light a fire so close to the borders and while he’s being hunted down? I had my doubts, but now I see that he’s out of his senses.”
He had turned around and stared at the youth.
“Because of what I told you before, he fears this place.”
The young swordman remained silent for a while, and then he broke the calm of the night again.
“I don’t like this man.”
“Why?”
“He is making this easy.”
Silently and without making any noise, they had approached to the place.
There, at the light of the fire, five men were sitting on the ground, their armors taken off so that their bodies could be heated, and swords at their sides, forming a circle around the flames. Four of them were awake, their hands extended to the fire. The other, bent downward, had his head buried between his hands that were resting on the knees.
Then he had aimed the bow, stretching the bowstring…and loosed the arrow…
He saw Vanalus gazing at him as he came back to reality.
“I thought you would never awake,” he said.
“As you said: I’m getting old,” he forced a smile and stirred the reins, heading his horse in the direction of the camp.
Valanus observed Dedan leaving, his ride swift and calm, until he was only a shadow in the night and then disappeared.
“No, you’re not,” the young warrior murmured. “You’re just getting soft,” and he went after the bowman.
Concealed by the shadows of the trees, a dark figure watched as the riders rode away from the forest.
