Knights of Aralia Book IIII: The Conquest

Chapter XI-Awakening

It was still dark and cold when Fordain opened his eyes. How he missed Aralia! Winters were so much milder there. Even in the Evandrian Basin where he’d grown up, the snow and cold had never been as consistent or biting as here. Here, winter was an ever-hungry beast to be staved off at every turn. If you let your guard down for a second, it would swallow you whole. When the snow piled up especially high, even the House Guard did not leave its quarters.

Fortunately, inside the royal residence, things were not so bleak. The big fires constantly burning throughout the complex kept the air nice and warm, and the blankets, while a tad rough and scratchy, did their job well. He lay there for a moment fighting the urge to sleep in, then finally shook his head, threw back the covers, and sat up on the edge of the bed. Whereas in Aralia the cold stone floor would have jolted him into wakefulness on contact, the smooth wooden floor here was pleasantly warm to the touch.

He sat still a moment, sighed, then reached over and grabbed his medallion from the nightstand and hung it around his neck. Where the floor had failed, the cold metal against his hot skin succeeded. He rose and stretched for a bit, looking out the windows in between.

It was still winter all right. Knee-deep snow coated the grounds, and the treetops swayed in a chilly pre-dawn breeze. How he would have loved to wander through those woods like he used to in Aralia and Emprius. With all those firs he could well imagine the scent—just like in his dream. Then there was the feel of the dead pine needles beneath his feet and the sound of squirrels gathering nuts and cones at daybreak. At least, that was how it had been back home. How wonderful it would be to experience that all again! But it was simply too cold now, even for a Noronir. Maybe when the weather was better—and the war over.

The skies were almost clear now, which meant the Guard might be out to do their practice, albeit later in the morning than usual.

Still, he figured, no need to rush down and meet them. It would be a little while before breakfast was served too. So, he did a few warm-up exercises, then stepped out into the corridor to see if any of his companions were awake.

Elagor was probably up by now, though whether he was in his room or out and about was hard to say. He could tell Drakor had been up a while by the muffled groans the drake made as he stretched for the morning. He tried not to be too loud, as his next-door neighbour Ralor was more accustomed to sleeping in on days like this. Fordain went over and knocked softly on Drakor’s door.

“No need to knock,” said the drake. He had said this a hundred times during their stay, but Fordain still did so out of courtesy.

Fordain entered and found his friend lying back on the bed with his legs and tail hanging over the edge in a relaxed sprawl, his hands folded behind his head. The cream-coloured scales of his muscular midriff and chest were glistening with moisture in the soft candlelight, but Fordain simply said, “Morning, Drakor.”

“Morning, mate. How are you?”

“All right. And you?”

“Hungry. When’s the food gonna’ be ready, d’you think?”

“When it’s always ready.”

“See, that’s the problem with this country.” He rose to a sitting position as he went on. “Everything’s so set in its time and place. There’s no flexibility in these people’s lives.”

“Perhaps they like it that way,” suggested Fordain.

“Can’t see how,” stated Drakor, wiping himself off with his covers. “Dratted boring. Anyway, haven’t bothered to look, but how’s the weather out there?”

“Same as usual.”

“I figured as much. I’m quite starting to hate snow.”

“You and I both.”

Suddenly Elagor walked in bearing a tray with cups of steaming bone broth. Norlanders did not drink tea, so they settled for the next best thing.

“Well, good morrow to you both.”

“Same to you, Elagor,” said Fordain. “Thank you.”

“Not at all. Just a little something I found to keep myself occupied while the real cooks are at work.”

“They almost done yet?” asked Drakor after taking a sip.

“Very nearly, my impatient friend. I was just about to tell Ingred and Evander. I think they’re both awake.”

“Who wants to wake Ralor?” asked Fordain.

“I’ll do it,” volunteered Drakor, rising. “If the young un’s ever going to be one of us, he’s got to learn to do without late mornings.”

And so he proceeded to go and roust Ralor. Breakfast was served shortly after, and the Aralians convened at the table to eat and hold their usual lively discussions. Though they had been essentially trapped together for months, they never seemed to run out of amusing stories to tell, and always came away from the table feeling closer than ever. Afterward they got dressed, then went on to their various routines until they rejoined one another for the evening meal. Norlanders, as they had found out, did not bother with lunch.

One such evening, after all had eaten, Fordain decided to go check on the horses. He hadn’t seen Solus in a week due to the snow, and couldn’t bear being away from his beloved old friend a moment longer. So, throwing on his boots and an extra layer of furs generously loaned to the knights by their host, he hastened outside into the freezing night air. He entered the stable, only to find Ingred already there. She turned from tending to her horse.

“Seems we had the same idea,” remarked Fordain.

“Seems so,” she replied.

He nodded, then went over to take a look at Solus. The brilliant white stallion whinnied with delight as Fordain brushed his mane.

“There now, boy. Missed me have you?” he spoke softly. “I’ve missed you too.”

Ingred never ceased to be amazed by the extraordinary bond shared between the horse and the Vildspreek, as those who were able to connect to animals like Fordain were called.

“He looks so happy.”

“He is,” replied Fordain. “They take good care of him here. Give him extra blankets and everything.”

Ingred waited another minute before continuing.

“I hope my brothers are safe, wherever they are.”

“I’m sure they are. They’re skilled warriors the lot. And I’m sure they’ll have more exciting adventures to talk about than us when they get back.”

“I know you’re right.” She paused, then murmured, “You always are.”

An uncomfortable silence ensued. Fordain adjusted Solus’s blanket, then asked, “Something bothering you, Ingred?”

“Not at all,” replied Ingred hastily. Too hastily, she thought. “I’m just...tired is all.”

“Aren’t we all? But I can tell there’s something else on your mind. There’s certainly something on mine.”

She looked into his calm blue eyes as he turned to address her directly.

“For a long time, I have held you at a distance, Ingred. Ever since Arrentum, I’ve grown so much further from the light we once shared. After what happened to Maritius and Felldor, I feared that to get too close to anyone would only make the wound twice as deep should anything happen. But I realize now that in these dark times, I need that light in my life more than ever.” He paused and swallowed hard, taking both her hands in his. “If you would be willing to share that light with me, that is.”

She shook her head. “How could I be otherwise, Fordain?”

The kiss that followed was only natural. They had done it before, though not for a long time. But the years had not lessened their ardour. Fordain broke off with a light chuckle.

“What is it?” asked Ingred.

“Oh, it’s just Solus. He’s a bit jealous, I think.”

Ingred grinned and glanced at the horse. “Perhaps we should continue where we won’t bother him so.”

“Perhaps so.”

They nevertheless hesitated for a moment, glancing back and forth between the horse and each other. At last, Ingred nodded.

“Shall we?”

“Aye.”

Fordain patted Solus on the muzzle one more time and whispered a hasty “Good night,” then stepped over to the door and held it open as Ingred passed through. He slipped swiftly and noiselessly out behind her. Together they proceeded inside and upstairs to the guest wing. They acknowledged Elagor and Drakor with a curt nod as they passed through the common area, then moved on to their quarters. And there they remained, rekindling their old flame against the chill of the winter night.

“Quicker, Ralor, quicker! You won’t survive a minute on a real battlefield moving as slow as that.”

Fordain and Ralor were out early in the training yard this crisp March morning to get in some additional practice before the House Guard came out for its drill. For the first time since their arrival, the ground was almost bare again, though the cold time was far from over. “Winter may yet have a few hidden surprises for us,” King Svenn had warned them. “Though we may hope, of course, it does not.”

Ralor would have much preferred to stay in bed or by the fire under these conditions, but his desire to not disappoint the Aralians after everything they had done for him won out. Thus, he had gotten up and headed outside, throwing on an extra layer for warmth. The other knights had turned out to watch them train as well.

“But Captain Berkana told me I should choose my opening carefully, then strike,” complained Ralor.

“And he’s right,” replied Fordain. “But you can’t expect your opponent to stand there while you find that opening, can you? You’ve got to strike fast and hard or you’ll find yourself on the defensive, and that’s the key to wearing yourself out in no time at all.”

Ralor sighed dejectedly. “I’ll never get the hang of this.”

“Warriors aren’t made overnight, Ralor,” said Fordain reassuringly. “It takes dedication and a lifetime of practice to become any good.”

“Unless you’ve got natural talent,” said Ralor.

“That helps, yes, but those are few and far between. And even born fighters are no good if they don’t practise.”

“Born fighters like you?”

The comment was unexpected, but Fordain simply smiled and replied, “More like Drakor there.”

“I think that’s enough for one morning,” called Elagor from the side. “Ralor’s more than learned his lessons for today.”

“I agree,” said Fordain. “Come on, Ralor.”

They headed back to their companions, who led the way toward the door.

“You’re really quite good at this, Fordain,” commented Ingred. “No wonder they chose you to help instruct the younger recruits back in Aralia.”

“She’s right, mate,” said Evander. “You’ve got a knack for learnin’ ‘em.”

“You think so?” said Fordain.

“I know so.”

“Well, maybe when all this is over, I’ll just settle in to doing it full time.”

“Whenever that may be,” remarked Drakor. “We’ve still not gotten our decision from Svenn yet, and at this rate spring will have come and gone ere we even get started.”

“Patience, Drakor,” said Fordain. “The king said we would have his decision before this week was out, and as we have all but three votes in, I believe him.”

“Come now,” said Elagor with a chuckle. “You ought to know better than to urge such virtue upon this drake.”

As they neared the door, they passed a group of guards who were also watching Ralor’s training. Among these was none other than Prince Björn.

“A fine display there, Imperial,” he said to Fordain, “if you were training to fight an army of corpses!”

“Good morning to you as well, Your Highness,” said Fordain as civilly as he could.

“And you truly believe you’ll be able to destroy the Eastern Union fighting like that?” continued the prince. “I haven’t seen such a pathetic bunch of so-called warriors in all my days.”

“And your days are as numerous as the stars on high, of course,” remarked Elagor.

Björn ignored the counter and proceeded:

“I’ll bet that even the lowliest of the House Guard could best any of you Aralians on his worst day.”

“Just say the word, Your Highness, and we’ll see whose day is worse right here and now,” said Drakor, tail thrashing in agitation.

“No, Drakor,” said Fordain, staying his hand. “Much as I share your sentiments, we’ve no need to waste our effort on his lot. It is unworthy of a knight to be drawn in by mere taunts.”

Drakor reluctantly submitted, more out of his respect for Fordain than the oath he hoped to take, though he maintained a baleful gaze toward the prince. In spite of Drakor’s threat, Björn was not to be dissuaded from his taunting, and Fordain’s intervention only served to encourage him further.

“Ha! That’s the problem with you Aralians. You think you can satisfy everyone with mere words.”

Fordain paused to compose himself. Hehad managed to ignore the prince’s taunts all winter, but after three months of his nonsense, it was becoming extremely difficult. And his shift from personal insults to attacks on Aralia as a whole made it worse. Whether Björn truly believed what he said or not, it was a complete lie.

“We of Aralia are not so naïve as you seem to think, Your Highness,” he said. “We are not averse to fighting where it is both necessary and just. I think we’ve demonstrated that amply in the last year. However, we do not go out of our way to seek quarrels as seems to be the custom in some nations either.”

Prince Björn just shrugged. “You talk a good deal, Imperial, but your skills end there I’d say.”

Fordain again turned away, but Drakor sprang forward.

“Go on, show him how wrong he is, Fordain!”

“No.”

“But he’s insulted you, and the entire Knights’ Order besides. If you won’t take His Royal Cheekiness here down a bit, then let me do it.”

“Hold, Drakor,” commanded Fordain. “Our purpose in coming here was to make allies of Norlanders. Not to create further enmity between us by getting into petty quarrels with their prince.”

“You don’t understand, do you?” spoke Drakor defiantly, shaking his head in annoyance. “These people respect force. What better way to earn their allegiance than to beat their best in single combat?”

Fordain hesitated, and Ralor spoke up. “With all due respect, sir, Elder Vargon taught me that a wise dragon always knows when to fight and when to turn away. I think, just once, this might be one time when it’s actually better to stand and fight.”

Fordain stared long and hard at the drake, then heaved a great sigh and shook his head. “Very well. But I’ll have no one fight my battles for me.” He turned to face Björn, “All right, Prince. Where shall we settle this?”

A great smile lit up Björn’s features as he replied, “Why not right here and now, in the middle of the yard where everyone can see for themselves?”

“Fair enough.”

Together they walked a few paces out. Those who had not taken notice before now watched with intense curiosity as their prince and the leader of the foreign party faced off in plain view. Most had long been expecting this, and many looked forward to watching the Aralians be put in their place.

“With or without weapons?” asked Fordain.

“With,” replied Björn. “Unless you’re afraid you’ll hurt yourself.”

This surprised Fordain, who had imagined Björn would want to show off his raw strength. But he was not deterred, and drew his sword from its sheath. Björn would have normally scoffed at such a small thing, but felt no need as his own two-handed sword was brought over to him. It was an exquisite weapon with an elongated bone handle and a double-edged blade over twice the length of Fordain’s—though oddly enough it had a blunt tip. This reflected the Norlandic preference for slashing weapons over the stabbing instruments favoured by Imperials. The combatants stood facing one another with their swords at the ready. Following a brief, tense pause, they began.

Björn took a couple of wide swings at Fordain, both of which he neatly dodged. He then made some quick uppercuts which Fordain also avoided. The prince wielded his blade with enviable grace, for the long hilt allowed his hands to manipulate it with surprising finesse. Still, Fordain was not easily discouraged by simple tricks, and kept an eye out for an opportunity to strike back. Björn was a burly fellow, a head taller than Fordain, and not as agile. Fordain knew that this would be his key to victory, and awaited his chance to strike.

Rolling around to the side, he managed to whack Björn’s arm with the flat of his blade. Björn rounded on him and forced him to block a heavy blow. The prince made a more cautious lunge then, which caught Fordain off guard. The knight found himself tripped up as the prince struck his ankle, and he fell over. He instinctively turned his momentum into a forward roll from which he swiftly recovered and parried another attack. The Aralians off to the side cheered at the manoeuvre, but could not hide their concern that he was forced to remain on the defensive. The two combatants continued to tumble and tussle about the yard, neither gaining a distinct advantage over the other. But nor did they tire, at least not so that their foe could see.

Suddenly, one of the soldiers near the west end of the yard shifted his shield from one arm to another. The flash of sunlight off the boss at the centre caused Fordain to blink. That was enough for Björn, who swiftly knocked Fordain’s sword aside. Then, with a massive windup, the prince struck Fordain hard in the side with the flat of his blade, knocking him to the ground and his sword from his grasp. As he rose to collect it, the young knight found Björn’s elongated sword hilt locked about his throat with the prince’s firm grip pulling it tighter.

“Give in, Imperial?” asked Björn with a sneer.

Fordain hesitated for a moment as though in resignation. Then, with alarming alacrity, he grasped the hilt tightly; crouched down; and rolled forward, dragging the prince with him. In an instant he was free. He snatched up his sword, planted one foot firmly on Björn’s sword arm and set his blade against his foe’s neck.

“Give in...Prince?” he asked, breathing hard.

Prince Björn writhed to free himself, but Fordain remained unmoving. Finally, after exhausting all other options, he blew a frustrated sigh and said, “I yield.”

“A bit louder there, Your Royal Highness,” said Fordain, letting up his pressure ever-so-slightly. “So we can all hear.”

Björn again tried to wriggle free, but Fordain clamped down again in a trice. Finally, Björn took a deep breath and cried, “I yield!”

The Norlanders gasped in shock, even as the Aralians and Ralor cheered. Prince Björn, often reputed to be the best among the House Guard, had been beaten by a foreigner—an Imperial at that! They did not know what to say. Drakor, on the other hand, had no shortage of words to expend.

“Not so tough now, your prince, is he?” he sneered.

Fordain let Björn up and sheathed his blade.

“Peace between us, Prince?” he asked, offering his hand. Björn reached out and they grasped each other’s forearm, as was customary in Norland and Emprius.

“I can see now why my father so admires you knights. It seems, after all these years, I have a few things left to learn.”

“There is no better trainer than the battlefield, Your Highness,” replied Fordain. “Especially against a foe as brilliant as Lord Caritus.”

“We will see.”

As they made for the keep, Drakor rushed over to give Fordain a hearty pat on the back.

“Nicely done, mate! Not so much to say now, eh, Your Royal Cheekiness?”

“That’s enough, Drakor!” reprimanded Fordain sharply.

“Don’t worry, Draga,” said Prince Björn. “If ever we meet again, I promise you and I shall have our battle with more than words.”

“I look forward to it!” said Drakor as the prince and his entourage walked away.

“Well done, Fordain!” congratulated Ingred.

“Yes, that was well fought,” added Elagor.

“Fordain!” called Prince Björn, who had halted halfway cross the yard. The knight turned at once. “I hope that we do become allies in this war. I would be pleased to fight by your side any day.”

He then turned and continued on his way.

“There’s a turnaround,” said Evander. “Imagine ‘im sayin’ that a few minutes ago.”

“See? What did I tell you?” spoke Drakor.

Fordain nodded wearily. “Aye, you were right, mate.”

As they finally turned to head inside, a court messenger came out to meet them.

“Aralians,” he spoke. “The king wishes to speak with you immediately.”

“Very well,” said Fordain. “We’ll be there right away.”

They quickly ascended to the anteroom outside the throne room. They were guided by the court messenger, but in truth they now knew the passages of this palace so well that they could have found it in their sleep. They entered at once, having no one ahead of them in line of importance. King Svenn was pacing the chamber, but stopped at once upon their arrival.

“Aah, Lieutenant Abendroth! I understand you have been having more trouble with my son this morning.”

“We did,” stated Fordain. “But we have settled it.”

“So I have heard. I had hoped it would not come to blows, but Björn brought it upon himself and got what he deserved. I hope he has at last learned his lesson.”

“I believe he has, sire.”

“Good. Now, on to the reason for my summons.” He paused, then stated plainly, “The last of the districts have delivered their votes this morning.”

“That is good to hear,” said Fordain, not certain it really was.

“As the vote now stands at nine to six, upon this day I declare a state of war between Norland and the Eastern Union.”

The Aralians exchanged incredulous looks as though to reaffirm what the king had just said. It was simply too good to be true.

“Just as the spring awakens the forest, so has your coming been an awakening for my people,” continued King Svenn. “War beckons us, and you are right to say that we cannot ignore it. I believe that the Eastern Union cannot last against such will and might as your nations bring to bear against it, and I would not have it said that Norland did not do her part where the fate of the world was at stake.” He looked Fordain straight in the eye. “We shall be proud and honoured to fight alongside such brave and noble souls in this struggle against the Eastern tyrants.”

“The honour is all ours, sire,” said Fordain, feeling his strength return to him all at once. “We shall ride now and spread the news to our commanders, if you’ve no further need of us.”

“I have not,” said Svenn, with a shake of the head. “By all means, ride now and tell your leaders that they stand a nation stronger. But know this before you do. A message was conveyed to me last night from the watch in Roanor. It came from Lord Elezier of Aralia, and says that the armies of the West are moving. You are not to return to Hengrius, but proceed directly to your assembly point on the Great Plains as soon as you have my reply.”

“We will do that,” said Fordain, his heart pounding with delight as they made to leave.

“He says also that Elder Vargon travels with the Hengorothian army, and is most eager to see his young ward again soon.”

Ralor’s eyes widened and his ears laid back for a split second, but Fordain merely nodded. “He shall. Farewell now, Your Majesty. And thank you for everything.”

“Thank you, young warrior. May we meet again at your rally point on the plain. Or if not, then upon the steppes of Cairaga itself!”

The Aralian company bowed and departed.

“Captain Berkana!” called the king energetically as soon as they were gone.

The captain stepped forward. “Yes, sire?”

“Ready my horses and assemble the Guard.”

“Yes, sire,” replied Berkana with a bow, and he hastened out of the room.

“The outside world has called for our aid,” said Svenn as he pulled his axe down from the wall and tested its heft. He ran his fingers along the still very deadly blade, then tightened his grip like a vice around the solid steel handle. “And Norland will answer.”