John Marco - The Forever Knight

I made the bloody calculations and realized we were losing.

“Marilius!” I shouted, throwing myself once more into the battle. I needed to reach him, to find him and rally him, but a wall of soldiers blocked my way. I cut at them, stabbing and trampling into the heart of the fray, calling out to the mercenaries to help me find Marilius. At last I found him, still alive, still atop his wounded horse. A band of mercenaries fought alongside him, encircled by legionnaires. I watched, amazed, as Marilius hacked at them, his helmet knocked from his head, his face scarlet. He looked nothing like the youngster who’d brought me to Isowon. That fellow was gone, replaced by a berserker.

“Here, devils!” I cried, luring the legionnaires to me. They turned at once, sighting me and raising their weapons, some on foot, others on horses so damaged now they could barely stand. Marilius and his gang pressed with new vigor, fighting their way out of the noose as he we swatted a path to each other.

“Lukien, get to the front!” cried Marilius as our steeds met. “Get to Diriel before they push us back!”

“We can use the conscripts,” I shouted. “Get to them. Get them out here to fight.”

“Them?” Marilius glanced over his shoulder toward the rear of our broken ranks. “They can’t fight, Lukien.”

“They’re ready,” I swore. “Rally them! Tell them we can win!”

“Lukien, you can win! Fight your way to Diriel and kill him. We’ll ride with you!”

“Go!” I ordered. Killing Diriel wasn’t my plan. “Bring them into the fight. Drag them out there if you have to!”

“He won’t have to,” cried one of the mercs. “Look!”

Together we turned toward the sand dunes. A wave of men came pouring onto the field, ragged, exhausted, but holding high their weapons and shrieking like madmen. The charge of the conscripts fed our army’s spirit. The mercs cheered when they saw them, and the Drinmen picked up the cry. The men of Isowon joined their brothers, and suddenly we were moving again, pushing hard against the Akyren wall, exploiting every tiny crack.

“Malator, where’s Sariyah?” I asked. I searched the field, but in the madness saw no sign of him. “I have to get to him. I have to protect him.”

Suddenly Malator burst into my mind. Lukien! Diriel!

Suddenly the cue I’d waited for all day had come. At once I whipped my horse around, sitting up high and riding out to see. And there was Diriel’s chariot, turning at last from the battlefield.

A thrill shot through me. Now I needed speed.

“Marilius, take the front!” I shouted.

Marilius looked stunned to see me riding the wrong way. “What? Where are you going?”

“Trust me, remember? You’re in command now. Don’t give them an inch! Push until your heart bursts. Push and push until they’re dead!”

“Damn it, Lukien, you can’t leave us! Tell me where you’re going!”

“To save Anton,” I shouted. “To kill Diriel!”

I heard his curses follow me as I raced toward the berm, where my swift-footed Venger waited.

Venger was the kind of horse that would literally run until he died. He had that kind of rare heart, so I knew that what I asked of him that night was not impossible. It was nearly dusk by the time we left the Sklar Valley, but I didn’t notice the sun until the battlefield was far behind us. I pointed Venger east, following the coast, choosing the quickest route I knew to the tombs of the Kings of Akyre. I doubted Diriel or anyone had seen my escape, but I knew that the madman himself would be close behind me. There was only one thing he wanted enough to make him leave the battle, I knew, and I suppose he thought his generals could take care of the rabble he was leaving behind. I didn’t know how well Marilius would fare, if he’d be dead when I returned or if Isowon would be overrun by legionnaires. I had but one plan in mind to end my enemies, and it all depended on Venger.

And on Crezil.

So we rode, through the forest and through riverbanks, and through the night when it finally came. I used the eyesight Malator had given me to navigate the hazards on our way, and Venger trusted me completely, never flagging even as the road grew rocky. It was nearly a full day’s journey to the tombs, a treacherous trip in darkness, and yet Venger seemed as enchanted as I was, as though he too gleaned power from the sword. Malator remained silent inside me, hidden from me, but I could still feel the enormous strength of him coursing through me. My armor and the flesh beneath it had been battered. Pieces of my golden suit hung from rivets. I had bathed in blood and smelled of every human stink, and I knew I looked like a carcass as I rode, finally stopping at a river to rest my horse and wash myself. The moon rose above me. I stopped splashing and knelt by the river to listen to the silence. Venger lapped the water next to me. Insects made their noises. But there were no screams, no clash of swords. Slowly, I felt my humanity creeping back.

How could that be, I wondered? I had no soul, yet still had a conscience. I regretted nothing of what I’d done, the heads I’d taken. And yet. .

Washing myself had turned the river scarlet. It looked black in the moonlight. I saw my stricken face in the water.

“I’m broken,” I whispered. “I need to fix myself.”

But not yet. I still had vengeance to meet out.

* * *

The valley of the tombs was suitably deathlike when I finally reached it. With hours left until morning, the moon waned over the dark land, barely touching the valley with its light. By now poor Venger had given me all he could. I dismounted and led him by foot between the hills and toward the ribbon of water leading to Crezil’s tomb. The place was deserted, of course, but I knew Diriel wouldn’t be far behind me. He would take enough horses with him to expire as many as he needed, but he wouldn’t reach the tomb until sunrise. That gave me time to rest and plan. More importantly, it let me seek out Crezil for myself.

As if awakened by the valley, Malator suddenly stirred within my mind. I picked up a broken branch, held it out in my hand, and asked the Akari to light it for me. At once a soft, heatless glow engulfed the stick, lighting the river rocks around me. Crezil’s cave lay just ahead, the great, silent maw of it menacing me. I glanced around, looking for fresh victims, piles of bone, anything to tell me whether Crezil had fed. The area was eerily bare.

“Malator,” I whispered, “is it in there?”

Yes , said Malator.

“Is it awake?”

Yes. And it knows we’re here.

I approached the entrance to the tomb, sensing the monster within it. Through Malator’s eyes I saw it deep within its lair, waiting near the portal to its own, hellish world. Crezil felt curious to me, almost impatient. I thought of going to speak to it, but stopped myself.

“Wait,” I said, trying to impart my thoughts to the creature. “Soon. Soon we’ll make our bargain.”

If the beast could hear me or sense my words, it made no move to say so. It merely waited, and in the cloudy vision of Malator’s sight I saw it looking back at me with its many eyes. It had changed again, I realized. Divested of bones and human flesh, it was naked now, like it had been when Anton had first pulled it through the portal. Even in the darkness it was enormously vile. I shut my mind to it, shuddering, and stepped back from the entrance.

“Will it wait?” I asked Malator.

For a time, I think, he replied. But not much past morning.

“It won’t have to wait past morning,” I said confidently.

I no longer felt immortal. The battle had drained me, or maybe it was seeing so many, many dead. Slowly I stripped off my ruined armor, examining each damaged piece as I laid it aside. The vambraces were cracked, and the breastplate was so badly dented that it pushed against my chest. I had cuts and bruises I didn’t even realize were there until I peeled the armor off. Finally, when that was done, I stripped off the torn and bloodied shirt beneath. I made a filthy pile of the lot until all I wore were my trousers and boots and the blue hahlag Chuluun had given me.