The Three Kings
by Slawomir Rapala
Chapter IX : Knight in Shining Armorpart 4 of 4
Angry cries followed him, but Iskald paid no attention. Soon he was out of the city walls and heading south, towards the Zimm Mountains. The air was heavy and hot and the thin dark line marking the horizon quivered before his eyes
Beating his horse mercilessly, the young Captain urged the animal to race faster and faster still, running with the wind now, all the time praying and hoping that he was wrong about Nylahss, that all this was just a figment of his imagination and that he was being paranoid, that none of this was really happening.
The ground disappeared fast beneath him as he raced faster and faster, quickly shortening the distance between him and the Princess. They could not have gone far yet, he reasoned; before they readied the horses and set out, plenty of time had to pass. They were probably only leaving the city when he was talking to Keilah, and there was no reason for them to be in haste, so Iskald should be able to catch them soon. Hopefully sooner than anything Nylahss might have planned for Laela would happen. He also hoped that the Princess had taken a few guards with her, something he always reminded her to do when she was leaving the palace.
His mount was slowing. The guard who had lent it to him had probably made a long trip, and the animal was tired, Iskald noted. It was slowing its pace, though the young man continued to beat it over its head in a feeble attempt to inject a new burst of strength into its fatigued body.
He was so involved in what he was doing, so lost in desperate attempts to urge his mount into another sprint, that he almost failed to notice the sound of riders approaching from behind. Only as the galloping sounds and the distant at first shouts grew closer, did Iskald turn in his saddle to look at the nearing men.
All he saw, however, was a great flash of light coming straight at him with viper-like speed. The young Captain pulled hard on the reins and instinctively brought his horse to an abrupt stop, ducking behind the animal’s neck at the same time. A heavy double-edged war-axe swung dangerously close to the side of his face. A deadly breeze touched his cheek and death herself loomed over him for a moment.
Then the sudden stop forced him out of the saddle and sent him soaring over the horse’s head and tumbling face first into the ground. Iskald quickly scrambled to his feet, cursing and looking after the small group of riders who were a great distance away now, riding with the wind straight into the horizon, rapidly covering the distance between them and the strip of mountains now clearly visible ahead.
“Serpents!” Iskald growled.
He clenched his teeth and groaned painfully as he climbed back into the saddle; his body was already beaten and bruised.
“Hyah!” as if sensing the importance of its role in the unfolding crisis, the exhausted animal fought fatigue and darted after the riders. They were long gone, but Iskald was relentless in his pursuit. There was no doubt in his mind that they aimed to either kidnap or murder the Princess. It was his duty to protect her and he would, even if he had to fight his way through an entire army of the Serpents, even if he had to cut their veins and drown them all in their cold, cold blood, and even if he had to die trying. Perhaps then Laela would forgive him.
One more rise, another one, and another. Once he had reached the top, Iskald looked down and roared in terrible anger. Down at the bottom of the winding slope, in the middle of the road flooded by the sizzling rays of the mid-day sun, a wicked battle raged.
The young Captain looked once only before plunging head first down the rise, but noted everything in sight. He saw two of his guards lifeless beside the corpse of one of the reptilian soldiers. He noticed his trusted companion and friend, Akirem, dueling with three or four more Serpents and behind him, Iskald saw Laela with a short sword in her hand, defending herself against the assaults of one last aggressor.
Out of the corner of his eye Iskald also spotted Nylahss slowly leaving the scene of the battle, presumably in the direction of his plantation. Convinced that the Princess and her lone guard could not counter the attack of five highly trained Serpent warriors, the Chancellor felt he was not needed during the murder. At any rate, the sight of blood always made him nauseous, he thought...
Iskald charged down the slope fuming, bearing his teeth in a terrible smile, and swinging his heavy sword in the air like a madman. Akirem spotted him first.
“Iskald!” he shouted cheerfully almost, thinking his Captain was leading with him the remainder of the Company, and that the battle was surely won now. The careless yell cost him his life. He lowered his shield for a moment and one of the Serpents skillfully took advantage of his negligence. Slithering beneath Akirem’s sword, the warrior slit his throat with one sure quick move, and the guard dropped down to his knees bleeding, with a stunned look on his face.
Warned by the guard’s careless shout, the Serpents turned to face the charging Iskald; he did not slow down and plunged right into the small group. Rising up in the saddle to gain more leverage, he delivered two terrible blows, one to the left and one the right, as he broke through. The man towering over Laela and a warrior on Iskald’s other side collapsed to the ground with their skulls nearly split in two.
Without as much as looking back, Iskald turned his horse towards another Serpent, but this man swung his weapon and cut the animal down. Falling, the young Northerner did not have enough time to slip off the saddle, and was pinned to the ground by the dying animal. Immobilized and in pain radiating from a crushed leg, Iskald could not shield his body against a savage blow delivered by a Serpent.
The ring armor saved his life, but he felt the blow nevertheless and it took his breath away. Mad with anger, Iskald somehow managed to pull his body from underneath the dying steed and as he scrambled to his feet, he swung his sword wildly, clipping the man’s head. He heard the repulsive sound of steel sliding across bone, and it sent a wave of joy racing through his heart.
The Serpent dropped to the ground before him, twisting and jerking in painful agony and holding his face with both hands, blood gushing from between his fingers; just then Iskald received a vicious blow to his head. The steel hat saved him from having his head cut in two, but blood streaked his face anyway, the crimson curtain concealing the last two Serpents.
Lost in the scarlet mist, Iskald dropped to his knees convinced that these were the last moments of his life. Desperately swinging his weapon, he slashed the warrior’s legs; he swung it again blindly, but struck nothing but air. He then heard new cries and shouts. Lifting his head and shaking blood and sweat off his face, Iskald looked up and saw a fully armored rider atop a white horse, charging the two remaining Serpents with a group of warriors following him.
The newcomer gave chase after the running reptilian soldier and with one wild blow, he severed the head from his body. The last of the murderers, already wounded by Iskald, quickly died under the blades of the other men.
The stranger slid off his pale mount and darted towards Laela who was a goddess amidst all the destruction; twisted corpses hidden beneath steel and armor surrounded her as did crimson pools of blood that slowly seeped into the scorching sand. The air quivered under the immense heat and distorted the battle-scene.
The rider’s companions surrounded Iskald and helped him up to his feet, asking questions and looking for answers. The young Captain shoved them all aside with a wicked growl and sprinted towards the nearest horse.
The stranger who tended to Laela left her with his warriors now and ran after Iskald. Grabbing him by the waist, he tried to pry him away from the struggling horse, but Iskald already gripped tightly at the saddle and would not be held back.
“Let me... go!...” the young Northerner groaned.
“Where do you think you’re going, friend?” the stranger still kept him from climbing the saddle. “We have questions that need answering!”
“I have to... kill... traitor!” at last Iskald pulled himself free of the strong embrace and managed to mount the animal. “Look after the Princess!”
Then he squeezed the horse with his knees and burst forward, in the direction he saw Nylahss riding before.
“Princess?” the stranger mused over that word for a moment. He quickly pulled himself together, though, and turned to his companions.
“Take the girl and head for Arrosah!” he said. “I’ll go after this hot-headed fellow and make sure he doesn’t do anything we might have to regret later! Go!”
Iskald in the meantime was already long on the Chancellor’s trail. Nylahss, unaware of what had transpired behind him and convinced that everything was happening according to his carefully arranged plan, was in no haste. The young Captain quickly spotted him on the road ahead. He grinned threateningly and urged his horse into a gallop. The Nekryan continued to ride at a slow, leisurely pace, unaware that Iskald, enraged and bloodthirsty, raced right behind him.
The young Captain, on the other hand, completely absorbed in the pursuit and with his eyes fixed on Nylahss in front of him, failed to take notice of the foreign warrior who rode his white steed just a few paces behind Iskald and kept a close look on him.
When the Chancellor finally realized the danger, it was too late. Before he even had a chance to hasten his horse, Iskald threw his legs over the horse’s saddle and hurled his whole body at the Nekryan, taking him to the ground and pinning his arms down. Breathing heavily, bruised and broken, with blood dripping from the wound in his head, Iskald knelt on the Chancellor’s chest and bared his teeth in a terrible grin.
Nylahss fixed his frightened gaze on Iskald, but was not even able to squeeze a word out of his throat. He realized that he could not expect mercy from this savage Northern beast. Too many stories he had heard about his bloody deeds, about what he did to his enemies. Just today he had witnessed this man kill his best assassin in plain sight of everyone.
The foreign rider halted a few paces away, dismounted and approached the two men lying on the ground.
“Traitor!” Iskald hissed, lowering his head to peer into the Chancellor’s frantic eyes. His sweaty, bloodied hair swept Nylahss’ face and the touch sent a cold shiver down the man’s spine. Iskald leaned back and raised his sword over his head, pointing the tip of it straight into the Chancellor’s heart. Two or three drops of blood slid off the shining point and dripped down to Nylahss’ face. He slithered under the young Captain, desperately trying to pull himself free, but Iskald was weighing him down like a mountain.
“Die!” the Northerner was about to sink the sword in the Nekryan’s chest when suddenly his hand was stopped mid-way and pulled back by the foreign warrior.
Iskald gave him a dangerous look, but the man did not let go off his arm. He was not as big as the young Northerner and his body was not as toned, but Iskald could feel the frightening power lurking behind the seemingly casual grip the man had on his arm.
“Let it be, friend,” the stranger said calmly. “If he’s guilty of a crime, let the courts judge him!”
It seemed to Nylahss that the entire length of eternity passed before Iskald finally lowered his hand.
“You’re right, whoever you are,” the Captain said as he staggered back to his feet and sheathed the sword. “I won’t spill his treacherous blood. The Royal Executioner can do that quite well himself!”
Iskald pulled Nylahss back to his feet unceremoniously.
“You’re lucky,” he whispered into the Chancellor’s ear when he tied him to his horse with his own belt. “I would have skinned you alive!”
“Now that we have him out of the way, who are you?” Iskald asked when they climbed their horses and turned back towards the Capital. He was weak and the foreigner had to help him up the saddle. “You saved the life of Princess Laela and my own as well; I would like to know to whom I owe thanks!”
“You’re a elegant man, despite your somewhat rugged exterior!” the stranger laughed whole-heartedly. Then he bowed his head with grace, “I am Nathaniel, Duke of Burrodha!”
Iskald stopped his horse abruptly. “Forgive me, Highness,” he said somewhat confounded. “I couldn’t have known.”
“Don’t worry about it,” the Duke smiled again. “I have great respect for all valiant fellows such as yourself. You have the strength of a mammoth and you fight like a true warrior! Who are you?”
“My name is Iskald and I’m the Captain of King Diovinius’ Royal Guard.” The two men shook hands without slowing their horses. They trotted along toward the city, passing by the dreadful site of the battle, where desert scavengers already feasted on the Serpent corpses that had been left behind.
They rode further on, following the group of warriors who carried the bodies of the fallen Royal Guards and led the Princess back to Arrosah.
“You’re a Northerner?” the Duke asked. Iskald nodded, but did not say anything else. The world spun around him and he felt his strength leaving him with each passing moment. Nathaniel noticed him swaying in the saddle, so he rode up to his side and put his hand on his shoulder to hold him up.
“Thanks,” Iskald whispered. He would not let go of the horse that carried the Chancellor tied to its back, though the Burrodhian offered to lead the animal the rest of the way. Iskald would not let go off the traitor for the life of him.
“We’re almost there,” the Duke said soon. “My men are waiting for us up ahead with the Princess. I guess they didn’t want to enter Arrosah without me.”
Soon the warriors surrounded them. Iskald gave his precious cargo away, then slid off the saddle and walked towards Laela, who sat on her own mount, still pale and shaken following the ordeal. Duke Nathaniel walked with Iskald, helping him along the way because the young Captain was weak from the wounds and stumbled often as he walked. Iskald lowered his head before Laela, while Nathaniel kissed her shapely foot.
“Thank you, Your Highness,” the Princess said from the saddle. “If it weren’t for your help and the help of your men, we wouldn’t be among the living anymore.”
“Milady, I thank the gods for putting us on your path,” Nathaniel responded.
“And I thank them with you,” here Laela turned to the young Northerner and added softly, “And I thank you as well, for your courage and selfless sacrifice. Were it not for you, the good Duke would have came too late.”
Iskald lifted his face to look at his Princess. “Does that mean, Highness, that you forgive me?” he asked anxiously.
Laela smiled gently and put her hand on his bloodied, sweaty head. “How could I not?” she whispered.
Fatigue finally overwhelmed him and Iskald staggered back into the arms of the men surrounding him. The wounds, the exhaustion and the extraordinary effort could not take him off his feet, but finally he had succumbed to emotion.
Losing consciousness, Iskald slipped into a world of superb blackness, one he would not leave soon. Six of the warriors took the young Captain in their arms and the small procession slowly walked towards Arrosah emerging on the horizon. Nathaniel rode alongside of Laela, unable to take his eyes off her beautiful face.
To be continued...
Copyright © 2008 by Slawomir Rapala
