Chapter 1
"The Healer and the Lord Knight"
Somewhere behind the large foreboding Biddithen Mountains, the late afternoon sun was bidding farewell to the western land of Grethania as it slowly sunk into its slumbering cradle far far below. The sky above was cloudless except for a few wisps here and there, emitting a strange dye of pinkish lavender and pale orange. It was nearing the end of spring and the onset of warm summer days. The tall and massive trees that made up the Biddithen forests were bright green and birds of every kind had found shelter on their wide branches and were slowly making ready to sleep. Thousands of beautiful and enchanting wild flowers sprung forth at every turn and nocturnal creatures of all kinds emerged cautiously out of their homes sniffing the dusk of night.
All seemed to be as it was for centuries on that very late spring night but then drifting above a few thick-branched trees were thin streams of gray smoke and it seemed that the creatures of the forest had indeed some unexpected visitors at the moment who were taking refuge in their forest.
Small campfires lit by an even smaller band of soldiers caused the grayish smokes that were hovering in the dusky air. There was a slight bustle in the small camp as the men were preoccupied in dealing with crucial duties of the night such as banking their fires, roasting freshly caught game, washing and cleaning up, gathering wood and any kind of food supplement they could find in the forest while simultaneously caring for their wounded who were sheltered underneath medium sized tents made of humongous animal hides and rough cloth supported by thick man made poles that were driven steadily to the ground.
The wounded men were the majority of the small mass clustered in their camp so those who were left undamaged and intact were in a frenzy trying with their utmost skill to heal their injured fellowmen. For the skirmish these soldiers had just encountered was a battle of the most extraordinary kind. Indeed, it is difficult for one to deny the inimitability of such an encounter with the Black Knights of Gilbor, creatures of the most horrendous nature, bred for the sole purpose of initiating and enacting complete and utter destruction and turmoil upon those who dare entice or invoke the notice of their lady, the malevolent Sorceress. The men of Waldǖrth, badly bruised and bleeding, were lucky to escape with their lives from their very recent encounter with these implausible creatures that breathed and relished death and its like.
But none were as distraught or as puzzled as their captain.
Seated inside his large tent on a makeshift wooden stool, his metal helmet tossed aside negligently on the floor draped with thick rugs made of exquisite furs, the sullen knight's brows were bent in troubled concentration. His dark russet colored beard and hair that were roughly cut in a roguish manner emphasized the lighter copper shade of his dark stern eyes though his hair were slightly tinged with the aging color of silver, his demeanor showed no signs of waning strength. The skin uncovered by any armor was tanned and dark as if he had spent many a day out in open sunlight. A brown tattered parchment clutched tightly in his left hand whilst his right was pressed to his throbbing temple. Atop his bed of furs laid the enchanted weapons of Waldǖrth, which only the worthy rulers of the land could wield since it was blessed by the Great Criastus himself, handed down from generations past. The Sword and Shield of Criastus, the most revered spirit of the West who appears in a form of a humongous and powerful black bear, was passed onto the Lord Knight since he took command of the kingdom after the death of Waldǖrth's king. The king left no heir and only those of royal blood could be rightly named as king or queen of the land. The Lord Knight, being the closest to the King, did not assume the throne but instead opted to simply lead the people till an heir could be found. But it was not an easy burden to bear.
It seemed that the knight had clearly more than enough difficulties at hand during this time of utmost trouble and confusion.
An arm that noisily swept aside the flaps of his tent abruptly interrupted his silent rumination, and the knight glanced up in irritation.
He growled impatiently as he saw a very pale young man clad in light armor hesitantly enter his large tent.
"My l-lord…" he stammered before cowering slightly at the livid expression of the knight.
"Speak!" the knight barked, "What of the condition of the wounded men?"
"My l-lord, fifteen of your most noble knights and soldiers has p-passed, whilst less than twenty are still fighting for to stay alive. T-their severe wounds were causing illness beyond the skills of any of o-our healers, even those of Master Grêth and we- we knew not…knew not how to cease its growing pestilence… and… we did what we could my lord, but…" he stopped abruptly as tears started to form in his eyes and he looked away with shame.
"Your brother?" muttered the knight softly, his stern face softening.
The young soldier shook with grief, "He was…too young my lord…only seen twenty summers…he was severely wounded by the Gilbor blade, his wounds festered greatly and he…"
The knight nodded, "I share the pain of your loss. Your brother was one of my best men. Leave me now; you have done your duty. Go and rest, command the others to relieve their duties for the time being. The gods know how dire our need for a moment's peace is at this time of great crisis."
The young soldier bowed respectfully before exiting with haste.
Shaking his head ruefully, the knight tucked away the parchment he held in a large leather pouch on the floor before burying his face wearily into his hands. The growing troubles in his mind were eating him up inside and it was one of those times when he felt so weak and helpless but knew he couldn't give himself away like that since he was the one his men were looking up to, to bring them out of this terrible occurrence.
The tent flaps rustled once again but the knight hardly bothered to glance up.
"Forgive me, my Sir Callium, it is insensitive of me to intrude upon your solitary counsel." A calm thoughtful voice declared humbly.
The knight looked up to see a short old man with long gray shaggy hair dressed in dull colored robes soiled with grime and blood, bowing apologetically just inside the closed tent flaps.
"Master Grêth." The knight acknowledged warmly with slight relief, holding his hand out indicating the older man to sit on a vacant stool across his own, "You know all too well that I neither despise nor regret any intrusion of yours, on the contrary I find it almost always it a convenience during times such as these."
"You have given the men the command to relieve their duties as of the moment?" the old man inquired as he sat down wearily.
Callium nodded, "Aye, indeed I have. It has been more than fortnight since our vicious skirmish with the Dark Knights and after which time we have all had no moment of peace or repose after the battle. It is too much to ask of my men to continue in this fashion taking into grievous account what they have endured."
Grêth looked grimly at the knight with his piercing cobalt blue eyes, "I know you've received the report on the unlikely deaths of many of your men—"
"Speak not of it, Grêth, I do not wish to hear any more of it and before you say anything further, I would like to have you aware of the fact that I do not hold any of the blame against you."
The old man simply nodded his head but continued, "But I must say their ills were far worse than I could have ever anticipated. The Gilbor blades were fortified with a potent poison beyond my own skill to heal. For once in contact with mortal skin, they cause it to burn and swell at an increasing speed. The poison seeps through the open wound and runs through the mortal's veins until it has permanently paralyzed the mortal. If the one wounded does not immediately die of severe burning and blood loss, he will soon perish from the fever and paralysis caused by the blade or –"
"I asked you to speak no more of it!" the knight interrupted menacingly, his copper eyes blazing as his fists clenched tightly.
Grêth smiled contritely, "Forgive me again, my lord, I had the inkling you would have wanted to be aware of the… severe enigmatic ailment you're men have… are suffering."
Nodding absentmindedly, the knight smiled minutely all of a sudden, "You know me all too well, my bosom friend."
Chuckling slightly he added, "You also know how much I detest you acknowledging me with 'lord'. We are friends, are we not? What cause has to make us both address each other formally?"
Grêth gave no reply.
Silence reigned in the tent as the two men were left to their own voiceless thoughts for a few moments. Then, after shaking his head slightly, the knight finally mustered the obligation in removing his body armor at last and while he stripped down to his breeches and clad himself in a more casual yet still the great noble sort of attire, he cleared his throat and asked his companion quite nonchalantly,
"So then, how fares our young lass?"
The old man's face suddenly grew grim, "Her state has improved very little. Her health progresses at a listless pace. Her fever has not broken, Callium. She has been my top priority since we rescued her from those fiends."
Grêth stood up rather abruptly and his face contorted with anger and confusion as the knight watched his friend slowly pace about in his tent.
"Tis' not her condition that condition that puzzles me so for surely it is a generally known truth that wounds that are left uncared for a long period of time after being opened would result in fever and chills but, Callium, you held the girl in your arms during the entire journey, were you not even the slightest aware of the countless, unfathomable abrasions, blisters and cuts she had sustained? It is an utter miracle she survived up to this point!"
Callium copper eyes grew tense and troubled at this assertion, "Of course I took notice, Grêth! I am neither blind nor insensitive. Aye, I saw the lass's cuts and wounds and indeed I was certainly appalled by it all but Criatus! My men were dying! Those who were uninjured were weak, confused and distraught. Which was why I left the girl in your care, did I not? I wouldn't have given her over if I had not complete trust in your abilities and diligence in this quandary!"
Grêth paused in his pacing and bowed apologetically once more, "Forgive me once again, my friend. It seems it is I who has been insensitive. My tongue has waggled enough callousness these past few days."
"Think nothing of it, Grêth, for we are both suffering from the same transgression." Sighed the knight wearily, rubbing his hand along his rough russet beard.
Taking a deep breath, the old man continued his pacing while speaking, "Nearly the entirety of her back was terribly burned. She has several deep cuts on her legs and lower arms. Her face, too, incurred large bruises and several deep scratches. Her left ankle is bent in an unnatural fashion, she has a broken arm and several of her ribs are, I fear, broken as well. She has also lost an alarming amount of blood and she suffers all the more from her frequent… nightmares. ."
As the master healer ended his report, the knight's gazed stood affixed to him, "Yet she lives?"
Nodding knowingly, Grêth replied, "Yet she lives."
"How is it possible?" the knight asked.
"Even I have not the answer to the question, Sir Callium, it is clear that this girl possesses some very unique qualities."
"How— How have you treated her, then?"
"In more ways than one, I can assure you, the herbs I have carried with me were not enough for her since I had given much the amount to the wounded men so I had to send a few lads to fetch more for me from the forests and also since I realized it would take some time before their return and I still had more patients to tend to. I had to treat her with great haste. After cleaning, dressing and binding her wounds, the herbs that I sent for arrived and then immediately as soon as I had finished applying the poultice, I had to leave her awhile to see to the men. Before long, I was back at her side trying to provoke a positive reaction from her but my efforts proved in vain."
The knight's face grew even more troubled, "Has she eaten anything since then?"
The old man's face then turned anxious and he wrung his hands helplessly, "She has not roused since the night we left the Northern Lands. I had to feed her whilst she slept and even then she would not permit anything nourishing into her stomach. She ejaculates everything I have tried to give her. I am completely powerless. I know not what to do. She may--"
At this, the knight stood up from his stool and the old man had ceased his pacing once again.
"There is one more thing I have neglected to mention."
"Yes?"
As I was binding her right arm, I happened to notice a strange mark just above her wrist. Thinking it must be just another bruise of scar I ignored it a moment. But when I chanced a closer inspection, it appeared to be not a scar or a bruise at all. Instead, it was a very strange six pointed red symbol, as you might call it."
The knight looked at his companion curiously, "A mark, you say? What sort of mark?"
Shrugging his shoulders, Grêth replied, "I have not the slightest notion of what it is. It slightly resembles the symbol of a star, but then, it can't be. For our star symbols are neither red nor six pointed and if she happened to be a descendant or heir of some magical abilities, there is no symbol like that of hers and it would have been on her temple, palm or chest as mine is."
"So what do you make of it then?" the knight asked.
"I do not know yet… But I will find out soon… Could it be..." his voice trailed and he resorted to his inner thoughts.
"Do you wish to see her?" Grêth asked after a few moments.
The knight nodded curtly and as he reached out for his heavy black mantle, he muttered, "After I have seen my men."
With a relieved sigh, the old man bowed respectfully and held out the opening of the tent as the knight passed through them with a hassled gesture.
As they both stepped out into the night, Sir Callium surveyed his site critically. The camp was lingering in a grievous as well as anxious silence. A few murmurs and rustling could be heard here and there as a few soldiers entered and exited from their tents with haste carrying basins of heated water or broth, their clothes still damp with crimson blood and ghoulish purplish green muck. As the entirety of the camp was solely male, none were seen out in the open shedding their tears of sorrow and woe. Though the sobbing heaves of the men were hardly soundless to one's ears echoing behind the sheets of the tents for their companions who had passed.
Grêth followed silently behind the head knight, checking and aiding those who still lingered between this world and the after world whenever they entered a tent sheltering a wounded one. The other knights conversed awhile with their leader when he called on their tents while the soldiers merely bowed in respect and mumbled a few significant lines before returning to their grave silence.
They were finally nearing Grêth's own tent, which was smaller in comparison to the head knight's but to an old healer like Grêth, it was sufficient enough for his use.
Suddenly from above, a falcon's call echoed through the forests and the old man stopped to look up. A large silver falcon then swiftly landed unto his shoulder with amazing agility and speed, with a dead corpse of a small forest snake dangling from its strong beak.
"Ended your hunt for tonight early, have you Paladin?" Grêth asked thoughtfully to the bird of prey perched on his shoulder that gobbled up his kill in reply.
Ignoring the arrival of the falcon, the knight cried aloud in anguish as they walked, "I left the West Land of Waldǖrth with three hundred men, now I return with less than fifty. What shall I tell those who still stand anticipating our return in Wrǖth castle when they come to me asking for their loved ones? How can I comfort those whom I have deliberately orphaned and widowed? How can I atone for this great sin of mine after I blindly led their fathers, brothers, sons and husbands to their death?"
"Our people will not look to you as the cause of their loved ones deaths. Those who have passed have served their lord and land honorably and will be dutifully rewarded in the after world of Kannaham. The grievances of those who mourn for them will soon turn to joy once they have understood what their lives were given up for." Grêth said comfortingly.
Suddenly, his copper eyes blazing, he turned to Grêth and snarled, "Many of my men would still be living if we had not turned northwards instead of immediately returning home after our victory in Jusderen! Because of you and that accursed bird's screeching that swayed my decision into directly bringing my men back to their homes! You meant right when you said our people will not look to me for the blame because it should be you!"
Matching his steady stern cobalt blue gaze with the knight's fiery copper ones, Grêth answered calmly, "I never persuaded you to take with you your entire army nor did I conjure up the idea of charging against those Dark Riders. I am not as ignorant or as imprudent as you might think I might be. The battle that went on in Vasdenin was all your doing, I merely suggested for a patrol in the north to ensure that all of those Jusduren traitors were dead and none escape. For, if you might recall, there was a festival taking place in Vasdenin and Jusdurens dare not turn down a chance to elude us in the midst of a crowd that despises Men of the West. It was as much astonishment for me as it was for you when we came upon a burning city and a pack of Gilbor knights harboring nearby."
But the knight hardly backed down from the heated argument and retorted, "But just when I made to turn back, you hindered me from doing so to rescue that peasant girl!"
The calmness of the old man's voice broke as his tone rose, "Would you have turned your back on a poor defenseless creature belligerently abused in front of your eyes without any action? She would have died, had we not come to her rescue?"
The knight scoffed harshly, "Is that what my men had given their lives for? I lost more than a hundred of them back in Jusderen but still you never even hesitated a moment in calibrating my attention on that girl!"
"Did you not hear what that South Raider said, Callium? The girl was meant to be a tool for the Sorceress! The witch's armies are spreading far and wide; soon she will take over not just the South and the East but the entire Grethania! Who knows how many lives we've saved by foiling whatever plans the Sorceress planned to take aside from our own?"
"Even if what you are saying now Grêth could be true, what will a mere peasant girl mean to us?"
Grabbing the left side flap of the tent and roughly yanking it aside, the old man cried, "Open your eyes Callium and tell me that you dare look upon this creature as a mere peasant girl!"
The knight was instantly taken back, drawn by the emotions stirred from the heated argument; he hardly took notice that they had already reached the entrance of the healer's tent. Deep inside the dimly lit tent, partly obscured by thick furs, laid the peasant girl.
Dark tangled scarlet hair stained with grime and mud tumbled haphazardly from beneath the soft covers. White thin sheets of cloth were wrapped along her arms and around her small head. Her cuts were tinged with the dark brownish cream of healing ointment. A thick folded rag was pressed to her temple. Her face could hardly be discerned as it was still colored with dark bruises and deep cuts and marks.
But it wasn't the bounds or blemished scars that stayed the knight's gaze. For when his eyes rested on the girl, she was neither motionless nor silent. She was thrashing wildly in her sleep. Pale white hands clenched and unclenched the furs as the young girl tossed and turned on her covers, screaming frantically in her native tongue, calling what sounded like a name over and over again. She shook violently and beads of sweat trickled down her brow. The pillows she rested on were drenched with perspiration and tears.
Rendered immovable by the frenzied infirmity of this Northern peasant girl, it took a while to notice that the old healer was immediately by the girl's side holding down firmly on the girl's arms murmuring incantations, soothing her till she fell gradually back to silent weary slumber.
"Her outbreak has done at least some good to her this time. Her fever has broken. She may rouse in a few hours and hopefully her appetite would improve. Only then will we know of her chances for recovery." Grêth informed slowly, taking the thick cloth and dampening it with cool water.
"Do… her outbreaks… happen… often?" Callium asked thickly, having difficulty in finding the right words to say.
"Only when her nightmares commence and thankfully they don't occur as often as we would like." The healer replied with a wry smile.
Callium nodded absentmindedly as he continued to stare at the now peacefully resting figure upon the furs. The girl mumbled something incomprehensible as she fidgeted slightly, the healer immediately resting his warm palm on her cold hands resuming his incantations. When he fathomed his patient to be at last in deep sleep, he released his grasp.
"She calls out for a loved one, but I cannot yet tell who." The old man said smoothly.
The knight's eyes flitted towards his friend, "You can speak in her tongue?"
"Yes, I know a little of her Northern language, though not very fluently, mind you. But it is just enough to make conversation a possible."
Nodding again, Sir Callium composed himself, regaining his air of distant formality and gallantry as he tightened his dark and heavy cloak.
"The moment she recovers her health, educate her in our tongue. I would not want any foreign speech spoken once we reach Wruth castle. I will return and call on your tent tomorrow morning before we take to the road once again. For now, I must see to the state of my men. A pleasant evening to you, Master Grêth."
"And to you, my Lord, Sir Callium." The old man replied modestly bowing his head in respect.
With a flutter of his cloak, the knight turned away heading towards another tent nearby. His mind turning back to serious matters yet subconsciously couldn't prevent himself from regretting the unfortunate prospect of not having clearly perceived the face of the one he had carried safely in his arms away from a diminishing land of death and despair.
