The Knight's Trials

Chapter I: The Trail to Foresight

25th of Frendalo, Year 1124 AGW (After the Great War)

Burned and frustrated, Victor was having an unbelievably bad day. How easily the stranger wearing the black cloak with the red hood had talked him into this. Beauregard, Victor thought the stranger had called himself, first proposed to him and his friend Mortimer that they come out here to waylay travelers. It sounded like a splendid idea. They could attack individuals traveling to the city. This close to the Great Chasm, few who survived the barrage of long-range spells would give chase. The first three travelers they encountered went down easily.

Beauregard cast his spirit bolts at the first small group of three riders. They all fell from their horses. He had hit the two larger armored men with four bolts each, leaving three for the smaller, unarmored man. When they ran up, the three were still alive, but unconscious. They dragged the bodies back to a cave, bound them, then divvied up the loot. The next two to come along were single riders, and once again, Beauregard efficiently dispatched them. Then, with the sun barely a quarter of the way through its arc, Beauregard left them.

“Let’s go, too, Victor.” Mortimer suggested. “We have at least a hundred dolcots between us, and a handful of malnots as well. Not to mention the other loot Beauregard let us keep.”

“You want to leave already? The day isn’t even half over.” Victor complained. “Neither of us has even had to cast a spell. I know we have more than we expected when we came out here, but there are going to be travelers all day. Why leave now when it will take us hours to get home, anyway?”

Mortimer sat silently for a moment, then replied, “That’s right, neither of us has had to use a spell or been hurt, but that is because Beauregard did all the work. We have more than we could have hoped for without having to do anything. Here,” he said, holding up the cloak they took off the first group, “Look at the way this cloak shimmers. You know it’s enchanted. I want to find out what it does.”

“Exactly my point. There may be someone with another cloak, or some other enchanted item and we will have no chance if we head back now.” Victor was getting a little excited as he thought about the value of the cloak if it carried a powerful enchantment. “Just one set of plate mail would almost double the value of what we have so far. That’s why Beauregard gave us the weapons and took the armor. Now that I think of it, we should have checked to see if any of them were enchanted. Just imagine if we found a set of enchanted plate mail!” Now Victor’s eyes were almost glazed over as he imagined what the Sargent of the Guard would pay for that!

“Victor, you know that the more valuable something is, the more likely the person who owns it is going to be more powerful as well, right?”

“But Mortimer.” Victor pleaded, “If they look like they are glowing with magic, we can just let them pass.”

In the end, Victor convinced him to stay at least until midday. They were thinking about packing up when a lone rider appeared. They readied their spells and then the bad luck began. The traveler survived Victor’s fire blast and Mortimer’s spirit missiles, then retaliated with an even stronger fire blast of their own. Victor could see the blast coming. He was in the middle of casting another spell and didn’t want to lose it, so he ducked behind the stone in front of him and hoped it would protect him.

The poorly aimed blast turned the already dry morning air into a furnace. Mortimer’s hair singed, and the smell of flash-burned flesh filled his nostrils. Victor noticed the clothing Mortimer wore which insulated his skin from the charring. His friend’s face was exposed, however, and he knew he would have blisters forming soon.

Despite his obvious pain, Mortimer followed up with a shot from his longbow, but even the poisoned arrow failed to drop the traveler. Nor did the horse go down, the rider spurring it to a gallop. Victor was going to try hitting the rider with a ray of lightning, but by the time he had come out from the rock, the rider was out of range.

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Puffs of dust from the hard-packed ground rose with every step of Leaf Dancer’s steady trot. Even at this pace, the precise movements looked more akin to a circus performance than a horse carrying a rider and packs. Ariandel was fortunate to have acquired him, even though the means may have been a little suspect. She often received stares, as a Silver Aelf riding a warhorse. She had sold the lavish saddle, pads, and cloth barding that she had received with Leaf Dancer years ago. A sturdy blanket and saddle were all the horse carried now, along with Ariandel and her packs. Still, she was much smaller than his previous rider. Leaf Dancer was bred and trained as a cavalry horse, having much more strength and endurance than a normal horse of his size. Even without the armor and tabard, she looked a little out of place.

The blanket was made of dyed wool, softened by years of wear. Ariandel had learned the magical trick of cleaning and mending minor items. She performed it as needed on the blanket. Otherwise, it would have worn out completely in the many years since she had bought it at a small bazaar in Candeltin on the plains near her home. She favored blue, and she wore a dark blue cloak over a pale blue blouse with brown wool riding pants tucked into rugged black leather boots. She carried a dress of the same color blue in her pack. Which she only wore when she was in town. It was a lovely, if plain, dress, but the narrow hips and the hem made it impractical to wear when mounted.

She supposed she could stop at a village along the way, but Ariandel was hoping to find a sorcerer, or maybe even a bard, to provide her training. She was eager to get started. She would have to earn some money first, but if she could find a quiet room, she could write some scrolls and sell them. She had one written already, written on silver bark linen, but the scroll alone was worth more than she expected the training to cost.

She hoped her instructor would have some interesting spells as well, but that was of lesser importance. She thought again of the spell she had been working on that would carry her and her horse to anywhere, nearly instantaneously—however, she did not have the knowledge or experience in manipulating the spirit energies to perfect it yet.

The sun was almost halfway through the sky, and Ariandel still had many miles to travel to get to the Central Kingdom’s capital city of Foresight. She was barely past the Great Chasm. The small hills to the south went on for several miles before ending at the border of the Human Kingdom. There were scattered trees and bushes and even patches of grass here and there as she neared the plains west of the Great Chasm. The fall weather had finally arrived, and the smell of prairie grass floated on the light breeze. She was glad that there had been no rain, although this region received precious little rainfall, even during the wet season. Muddy trails would have delayed her enough that she would have had little chance to make it to Foresight before nightfall.

A blast of fire exploding in front of her, interrupted her thoughts. The heat beat through her cloak and singed the hairs on Leaf Dancer. He reared back, nearly unseating her. She quickly regained her balance and looked around for the source. As she did, several flashes of light came at her from an outcropping of rocks to her left. They struck her squarely; her necklace glowing before shrinking noticeably. But the necklace absorbed the magical impact, saving her a good deal of pain. She ran through the stamins she had memorized and summoned her energy, sending her own flaming ball to explode where the lights had come from. She spurred Leaf Dancer and galloped away as fast as she could.

An arrow flew at her and pierced her shoulder with a splash of poisoned gel. It burned deep inside, but she rode on. The arrow fell away, but the poison continued to burn. She could feel her strength ebbing as the poison and burns took their toll. Leaf Dancer continued on, following the trail even after he had stopped receiving tugs and prods from his rider. This was not the first time that the stalwart horse had borne an injured rider out of an ambush. He trotted even after the terrain blocked line of sight from the attackers. He finally stopped when his rider fell. Ariandel landed hard on the ground, lying still. He prodded her with his hoof, then stood guard over her, challenging any to disrupt her body while he still lived.

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Great clumps of dirt and rock flew into the air as each step of Aeris’s great hoofs drove the horse quickly across the uneven ground. Red scale mail armor glistened and flashed, reflecting the midday sun as he galloped across the plains just north of the foothills surrounding the Great Chasm. A great lance rode in its straps, pointing nearly straight up at that sun, and blue-black legs carried the massive steed at a seemingly unsustainable pace. In fact, Aeris was not even moving half-speed and could maintain this pace for hours if need be. Even with the armor and armored rider he carried on his back.

Alliandre Del Nileppez Drol Hulloc rode purposefully to Foresight. Being the vanguard of the Party of The Seven, he needed to set up rooms and stables for everyone before they arrived and before the inns filled with other travelers, who generally arrived in the evening. This offered plenty of space for farms and growth. It also ensured that, unless they wanted to, rarely would travelers have to camp in the wilderness at night. But with the jubilee beginning in Foresight in a less than a week, travelers would arrive in great numbers, taking up the inn spaces available. Those arriving after the inns were full would be forced to stay in the inevitable tent city outside the gates. Even now, Alliandre suspected that there was a good-sized tent city forming. The Party of The Seven would not be among them if he could help it.

Alliandre was not opposed to sleeping in a tent, or even on the ground if need be. Raised in the court of the Southern Kingdom, he had been forced to flee. After, he had been a squire to the knights in the Freehold of Dragonsbane and trained as a warrior. As such, he was accustomed to being “in the field” for weeks or months at a time. When he was fifteen, he spent the better part of nine months in survival training in the Northern Kingdom’s tundra with just a cloak and knife.

But Fairwind Duine Fionn, Princess of the High Aelf, was not fond of lying on the ground. Her idea of camping outside was casting spells which created a small wooden keep and bedding for a score of people. Real cots, not just bedrolls on the ground. She wrote scrolls to carry with her in case they couldn’t make it to a town with a decent inn. They had all stayed in one such keep the prior night.

Alliandre was fond of the aelf princess, despite their history with the Del Nillepez line. She always smelled of flowers, reminding Alliandre of his great love, Marion the Virtuous. Despite her tendency to demand creature comforts, she had proven herself to be a tenacious ally during their many campaigns together. While she gravitated to the other nobles, she was always kind to Alliandre. And she almost always smiled when she called him Drullock.

He chuckled to himself at the thought, then stopped and turned as a flash came from the hills to the south. The flash turned into a bolt of electricity. The hairs rose on his body as the lightning nearly missed him. Nearly missed wasn’t the same as missed. He jerked uncontrollably for a second as the shock went through him. Aeris also trembled, but he knew through experience that his mount was quite resistant to electricity. Fire and cold as well, Alliandre had learned over the years.

Alliandre spurred Aeris to a full gallop and drew the sword from his left bottom scabbard. “Fuair Seifean Ghaoithe.” He yelled the command words as he pointed the sword towards the outcropping of rock whence the bolt of lightning had originated. There was little visible effect, just a cyclonic gust of air springing from the sword. Crystals of ice formed on the ground in the direction the sword was pointing. The outcropping of rocks sprouted their own ice crystals, as Alliandre bent over his charging mount.

He did not have time now to delay hunting highwaymen, and he was confident these brigands were no threat to his companions behind. In fact, Braxlo the Brave, Hero of Formount Pass, would probably enjoy the exercise entailed in riding them down.

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Ariandel awoke with a pounding in her head, and pain all over her body. Her mind was fuzzy. She could not see and went in and out of consciousness. Her left shoulder burned with a deep pain, the rest of her arm numb. Her exposed skin severely burned; she could see blisters on her hands. The first time she was ambushed while traveling popped into her head. She tried to focus on it to stay awake. Instead, the memory stayed with her as she drifted off into a dreamlike torpor.

She had been traveling with a caravan when vreen attacked out of nowhere. The whole caravan descended into chaos. One of the knights, Sir Jon Del Merion of the Knights of Iron Keep, scooped her up, throwing her across the front of his saddle while he rode off to carry her to safety. She clung to the old knight’s legs with her left arm and pushed up with her right hand on the peytral of the horse’s armor plating to stay on.

What seemed like hours later, the horse finally stopped when Sir Jon dropped from the saddle and collapsed on the ground. One small bolt had penetrated his armor. From the purple stain on the armor, she suspected it had been poisoned. She treated the wound as best she could, even removing his pauldron and guardbrace and trying to suck out the poison. She had no way to neutralize the poison, even if she had known what it was.

She found out later it was blackthorn poison. Blackthorn was fatal in minutes. That Sir Jon got her away was nearly a miracle. That he was still alive was definitely one. She helped him back onto his horse, secured him, and walked beside him to the nearest town for healing. Unfortunately, it was too late when they got there.

The townspeople and the local guardsmen questioned her and sent a message to the Iron Keep of what had transpired. Then the local priest performed a ceremony to preserve his body. They confined her to a small hut until a banner of armed men from the order came into town. It had been less than two weeks since the original attack had occurred.

The Standard Bearer of the knights, Sir Richard of the Waste, set up a large round pavilion at the edge of town, and questioned Ariandel and everyone she had met with or talked to in the town. Sir Richard was an imposing man. Over six feet tall, with full plate armor similar to that which Sir Jon had worn. His helm had wings sweeping back from the front, and what looked like a bird beak shading his eyes from the sun. Eye to be more specific. A bright blue sapphire embedded into a leather head band covered his right eye.

They were all very polite and professional, and the only genuine drama came when they attempted to lead Leaf Dancer to the tent. He reared up and kicked the squire leading him, leaving the poor boy sprawled on the ground. He then ran straight to Ariandel and stood next to her, lowering his shoulder as if to have her mount him. Sir Richard came out, scowling at everyone around him. His massive sword drawn, he looked ready to do battle. After briefly assessing the situation, Sir Richard’s scowl softened. A smile started at the corner of his mouth and something like a twinkle appeared in his eye.

“It would appear that your care for his knight has earned you the respect of this poor stupid animal.” Well, I guess we will have to kill it or give it to you. A smile was definitely visible now, and Sir Richard turned to the remaining knights. “Come men, let’s decide what to do with Sir Jon’s accoutrements.” In the end, they presented Ariandel with Leaf Dancer, and she had traveled with the war horse ever since.

Suddenly, a hand lifting her head broke her pain-induced mini-coma while water was being poured across her lips. She sputtered and choked on the first drops, but then drank as best she could. The smell of oiled leather and metal assaulted her nostrils. She opened her eyes and saw a stub-nosed dragon head staring back at her. Her entire body jerked in terror, and she began twisting and turning to escape its grasp.