EIGHT

 

CLASH OF ENCHANTMENT

 

Leonado’s head still reeled at what he had seen in his magic sphere tonight. Determined to catch a glimpse of his father before Dragonfire managed to take control him completely, instead he had chanced upon the king’s council chamber. He saw Karina, his old playmate, clasping the hand of an exceptionally tall, pale man.

He could barely believe it. One of Captain Rose’s crew had survived and made it south. Leonado was certain he hadn’t been amongst those to set off into the jungle the day he brought The Crystal Rose to the Pavlo Inlet. He was certain he would have remembered a man who looked like that.

Somehow he must have survived in the water, eventually being swept to shore by the strong southerly currents. But what amazed Leonado even more was that somehow this man had become a knight in the king’s army, and that he had some kind of hold over the princess. Leonado cursed his inability to yield sounds from the magic sphere, and thus find out what they were arguing about.

He debated telling Captain Krystos about the tall, pale knight, but decided to let it lie. They barely discussed anything these days, their lives bound too strongly to their respective masters.

I’d keep my eyes on that knight if I were you, Dragonfire advised him. I believe he might be of considerable interest to us in the future.

 

His feet aching with weariness, Sir Alecsis led his army through the dense Blanco Forest at a plodding pace. He never though he would have to travel through this vile, festering place again, but it was the only way north along this particular stretch of coastline.

The humidity and biting insects were taking their toll, making the heavily armored soldiers sluggish and ill-tempered as they trudged along rough, unmarked trails, through countryside filled with vicious predators. Alecsis had managed to keep the nameless beasts at bay with his soothing thoughts and magic artifacts. The weight of the gold-hilted Avenger in its scabbard was comforting at his side. The jeweled belt encircling his waist had helped him on several occasions. The great sapphire rendered him invisible, the ruby allowed him to see in the dark, and the green emerald enabled him to fly. Alecsis had several other powerful items at his disposal; his healing pouch which Lorenso had refilled numerous times, and a gilded dagger that sliced a kill until enough could be shared by everyone.

Alecsis had once welcomed these special gifts. Now all he wanted was for his final battle to end. He was spurred on by the knowledge that at the end of this mission he would get his reward, the promise of Princess Karina’s hand.

Not all his men would make it home to their wives and families. Some had already succumbed to an illness nobody could name, and Alecsis’s herbs couldn’t heal. Jungle fever, the men called it, crossing themselves with fear in their eyes. Even now several could barely keep themselves upright, their minds already numbed by the strange delirium that marked the early stages of the illness. Knowing what was to come, Alecsis shivered with fear. In the end, their dementia caused them to commit suicide, usually by impaling themselves on their swords.

Navin, God of the Land, didn’t seem to have any powers of protection in this alien and frightening place. Although he hadn’t known it then, She had kept Alecsis safe on his initial journeys. It seemed Serpon, the Dark Lord ruled supreme in the jungle, the God the Pirate Krystos obviously worshiped.

During the early leg of the journey, his advisors had told him what they knew of Krystos, which was pity little. His ship had appeared out of nowhere, a massive warship the likes of which no one had ever seen. They said it could shoot fire balls capable destroying entire townships. The pirate captain fought like a demon, murdering whole crews without a qualm.

Alecsis didn’t know how much to believe of these tall tales, for if the pirate captain really was so ruthless, why hadn’t anyone been dispatched to take care of him sooner?

“No one left alive to pass the tale on perhaps,” a soldier said dryly.

“Well, I’ve been told his vessel was last sighted at the Pavlo Inlet. If he’s not there, we’ll keep looking until we do find him,” Alecsis answered, knowing he had no choice but to hunt down the evil pirate. Without Captain Krystos’s head on a stick Princess Karina would never be his.

A shout brought Alecsis and his men to an abrupt halt. A leather-clad soldier, longbow slung over one shoulder, approached with a message. “We have reached the Pavlo Inlet,” he panted. “We can camp overlooking it.”

The dense, damp vegetation gave way to stunted trees, then a grassy slope which dropped into a rugged decline a couple of hundred feet away. As the warriors dismounted and began setting up camp, Alecsis gratefully shed his clanking plaitmail and joined two soldiers in creeping to the cliff’s edge. He prayed the pirates were still there. Those still fit to fight, sixty men in all, still outnumbered their foes.

The final rays of sunshine slanted across the ocean’s rippling surface. Alecsis took in the magnificent display of colour as they hunkered down in the waving grasses. The sky turned crimson, then orange, and finally deep blue, the water reflecting the sunset in brilliant detail.

He cast his gaze over the numerous tents pitched on the grassy embankment not far from a sandy white beach. Scruffy pirates milled around fires, preparing evening meals.

“Thank the Gods, they are here,” Alecsis whispered to Antano. “Captain Krystos must own the big, brightly-coloured tent at the centre.”

“Aye,” the youth agreed. “But where is their vessel?”

Alecsis wondered the same thing. Pirates spent much of their time aboard sailing ships, and Krystos’s was conspicuously absent. “It could be anchored in another bay,” he said, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “Not a good sign. Perhaps they knew we were coming.”

“How do you suggest we find out?”

“As soon as the sun goes down, I want you to take three scouts and find out how many watchmen they have and what their plans are. They must be disposed of. If all goes well, we attack at dawn.”

Antano nodded in agreement, long brown hair falling into his eyes. “Aye, Sir Alecsis.” The young man had grown handsome and strong, with fighting skills that would soon set him among the best. Even though he was usually good-humoured, occasional bouts of melancholy reminded Alecsis of the great loss he had suffered.

His anger over losing his father surfaced every time they charged into battle. Antano continued to fell the king’s enemies with deadly intent, revenge blazing in his eyes as he hacked into their foes.

The four scouts set off. Three remained behind to watch over the warriors as they ate a cold meal, then crawled into their bedrolls. Sir Alecsis had banned the use of fires in case they were detected by the pirates camped below.

Antano and his scouts returned not long after the moon had risen, reporting that the pirates were being guarded by three watchmen, two of whom were rolling drunk.

Apparently, during the pirates’ last attack, they had managed to acquire some kegs of very fine Alurian brandy.

“And they know not of our presence?” Alecsis asked.

“None whatsoever, Sir,” Antano answered confidently.

“Good work, Tano.” He clapped him on the shoulder. “What of the ship?”

“Nothing was mentioned.”

“Never mind,” Alecsis answered lifting a dismissive hand. “Get some sleep. We rise at dawn.”

Several hours later the soldiers readied themselves for battle. A soft glow purpled the eastern horizon when Antano led his scouts back down into the valley, their job clear; dispose of the watchmen.

As the knights crept down the hillside, using the long grasses and scruffy trees as cover, Antano returned, announcing that all three watchmen were dead. “We had the bastards unseamed ‘ere they knew what hit them.”

Alecsis sped up his pace. By the time they reached the Pavlo Inlet’s sandy flat ground, they were moving at a run, clanking and rattling like a tinker’s cart.

“Remember, Krystos is mine!” Alecsis cried as he drew The Holy Avenger. Its blade started to glow, turning ember-white as it detected the presence of powerful evil. Never before had it glowed so brightly, and Alecsis shivered, fearing a negative outcome to this day.

Without the watchers to sound the alarm, the pirates did not hear the approaching knights until they charged into the camp. Armour-plated warriors hacked into the tents, killing befuddled pirates as they scrambled out of bedrolls and groped for their weapons.

Even though buccaneers stumbled into his way, swords upraised, Alecsis dispatched them without even slowing his stride. Men fell groaning and dying behind him as he ploughed through the camp, seeing only Krystos’s tent. Some of his fellow warriors didn’t fare so well. Despite the surprise of their attack, the pirates were quick to fight back, killing and maiming several of Sir Alecsis’s men with their deadly sabers.

Krystos woke to the sounds of carnage. At first he thought he was still asleep, dreaming of bloodshed and death.

Leonado, who had been slumbering beside him, poked his head out of the canvas flap of their tent. He’s come then, has he? Dragonfire asked.

Yes, just like you predicted he would.

Good. With the two enchanted swords in our grasp we’ll be able to accomplish the task you could not.

Leonado sighed, preparing for the battle ahead. His head still smarted from Dragonfire’s wrath. He had tried so hard to draw on enough power to bring down the cliff faces of northern Avion, but all he’d managed were minor rock falls.

He knew now why Dragonfire required such a powerful mage. He was trapped beneath a mountain and wanted his freedom. It reminded Leonado of his father’s tales of his dragon hunting days, and feared that he’d been summoned to free the very beast he’d thought dead all these years. If Dragonfire really was one of the red dragons then he was in deep deep trouble.

“What’s going on out there?” Krystos demanded, jamming his feet into his boots.

“Just the king’s men come to kill you,” Leonado answered laconically.

“What!” Krystos exploded. “Ye knew of this and never told me! Ye saw their approach through yer magic sphere, and ye never thought to tell me!”

“I might have. Ye have the most powerful sword at your disposal. Take care of them yourself.” He couldn’t wait to see Krystos’s face when he saw the pale knight and The Holy Avenger. Leonado had never actually laid eyes upon the weapon, but he’d heard much about it. Kept under lock and key in the king’s safe, he was stunned to now see it in the hands of one of Krystos’s countrymen.

As Leonado had watched the pale knight and his men make the harrowing journey north through his glass spere, he realized that he too must be in possession of magical powers. Why else would his own father have given the man the artifacts that aided him in battle? Why else would the king have elevated him to such a position in command? A new kind of jealousy coursed through him, one tinged with regret and sorrow. His father must have befriended the pale knight, and his playmate seemed to desire him above all others. To all intents and purposes he’d taken Leonado’s place in the hearts of those he’d once held dear. This was his last coherent thought as himself, before Dragonfire took over his soul once more.

Krystos had no time to argue with the sorcerer as the sound of fighting drew closer to his tent. Why had he listened to Leonado when he suggested they camp on the shore for a few days while he practiced his new invisibility spell on The Crystal Rose? Now they would pay for this folly.

He scrambled from his tent to the sight of his pirates falling to soldiers far more experienced in warfare. Darkfire started to pulse with bloodlust in his hand. He darted his gaze around, catching sight of a figure running towards him. It wasn’t merely the strange bright glow of the sword clasped in his hand, but the unusual appearance of the man. Krystos gasped in surprise, stunned to see one of his own countrymen.

“But, but I thought they all died,” he gasped out loud. He stared at the tall, fair man, his striking face grim with determination, emerald eyes blazing with vengeance. For a moment Krystos had no idea who he was.

When recognition came, a blood curdling scream tore from his throat, and he rushed at him, determined to end his life once and for all.

Alecsis slowed, swinging his sword into a defensive position, watching the muscular, leather-clad figure bounding towards him, his thick black hair pulled severely back in a long braid. A huge black saber glinted wickedly in its right hand. It appeared to be eating the light of the approaching dawn. Was that sword as enchanted as his own? “Captain Krystos?”

“Hello Alecsis,” the unusually tall man answered. He looked formidable in his black armour. King Rostan hadn’t exaggerated. This man made a deadly enemy. “And how very unlike you - murdering us in our beds!”

An icy shiver rocked down Alecsis’s spine. Something from his past tried to infiltrate his mind, but as he metally tried to grasp it, it wafted back out of reach, leaving a foul taste in his mouth. “Have we met?”

Krystos laughed harshly at the strange poetic justice of the situation. Here they were, life long enemies standing face to face, both in possession of an enchanted weapon.

Then a thought struck him, so brilliant, it momentarily blinded him. Leonado might have led him astray by not telling him of Alecsis’s coming, but neither did he know the role the young man had played in ruining Krystos’s life. Krystos realized he could have everything he ever dreamed of. “Not on these shores. Now prepare to die! Darkfire will tear your soul out ‘ere ye realize ‘tis gone!”

Alecsis flung up The Avenger as the dark sailor came at him with his saber. The foul stench of black magic attacked his nostrils, making his stomach heave. Alecsis had never taken on another enchanted weapon before, and doubt clenched at his heart. No, he had a promise to keep. With Karina’s image at the forefront of his mind, he swung to defend Krystos’s blow.

Holy Avenger and Darkfire met with a shower of magical sparks. Alecsis felt the metal beneath his fingers grow hot as good fought against evil. The pirate captain forced him to recall all the lessons he’d been taught in swordsmanship. What dark master had taught Krystos to fight so well? Alecsis asked himself, as he was forced not only to deflect against Darkfire, but against kicks and leg-sweeps. And from where had he acquired such a deadly weapon?

A sudden flash of bright light momentarily blinded Alecsis. He stumbled back, and Darkfire pierced his midriff. Cold hatred tore at his heart, and evil ate into his body even after he’d jumped away from the blade.

“No!” Alecsis snarled, swinging wildly and forcing Krystos back. Blood poured down the inside of his armour, its rank odor filling his nostrils. For the first time The Holy Avenger failed to heal his wound. What sinister game was the evil pirate playing now? “Sorcerer,” he spat.

Krystos shook his head. “I am not the sorcerer. He be over yonder.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder - just as a lanky figure stepped into view. He was young, with spiky, multi-coloured hair, and earrings adorning both ears. His blood-red robe shimmered in the early morning sunlight, completing the ensemble of utter vanity. “Leonado – help me destroy this creature!”

“As you wish.” Leonado lifted his hands, preparing a spell to wrench the swords from their grasps. He’d watched long enough, and Dragonfire grew impatient.

What does that man have on his feet? Dragonfire boomed inside Leonado’s mind.

What? Leonado asked in confusion. Whose feet?

The one they call Alecsis. I do believe it’s dragonhide, made from the skin of my lover. Kill him. Destroy him.

All Leonado’s fears were confirmed, but he had no choice but to obey Dragonfire. Already the pain bore down on him. He changed the words of his chant, trying to remember the incantation through the torment Dragonfire wreaked inside his skull.

Alecsis charged him, hoping to reach him before he could finish his spell. He had heard the name Leonado before. It sounded suspiciously like Lorenso. Could this be the wizard’s long lost son, the boy he refused to talk about? That thought almost made Alecsis waver, but he forced it back, and increased his pace.

Leonado finished his spell, and lifted his hands to scream out the release word, but nothing emerged from his mouth except a strangled gurgle and bubble of blood. Alecsis stared in disbelief, noticing the shaft of a poisoned arrow protruding from the sorcerer’s stomach. Stunned, the sorcerer crumpled to the ground, revealing Antano lowering his crossbow.

“Thank you!” Alecsis gasped.

“No time Sir - your real quarry escapes!” Antano notched another arrow.

The knight spun around in time to see Krystos sprinting past the ravaged pirate tents, his long black cloak flying out behind him like bat-wings. Several of King Rostan’s army were already in pursuit, but Krystos managed to hack them down.

Alecsis caught Krystos at the edge of camp, forcing him to turn and meet him in combat. Their swords clashed again and again, but despite their obvious exhaustion, neither managed to do any more damage. Alecsis wondered how much longer he could keep this up. As long as it takes to bring the evil fiend down, he told himself. This final positive thought gave him the strength to catch Krystos off guard, as he spun round with another swoop of his dark weapon.

With a mighty swing of The Avenger, Alecsis knocked Darkfire from Krystos’s gloved fingers. The black sword spun through the air, angry dark sparks sizzling from its blade. It landed with a loud clatter on some nearby rocks. “You’re finished,” Alecsis growled.

The pirate fell to his knees, hands clasped in mock appeal. His face showed no sign of fear, only contempt. “Have mercy, great knight!” he cried as though it was all a big joke. “Ye wouldst not kill an unarmed victim, would ye?”

Alecsis rested his sword against his shoulder. “I’ll show you the mercy you deserve.” Thinking only of Karina, he lifted his sword high into the air, and with a mighty swing, lopped off Krystos’s sneering head.

Overcome by a sudden bout of dizziness, Alecsis staggered back, his grip tightening around his bloody sword. For some reason he suddenly feared to let it go. Icy pain sliced through his head like knives. It felt as though some cold dark force was trying to take over his mind. In an attempt to steady himself, he squinted against the early morning sunshine, trying to focus on something solid. The only objects directly in front of him were the prone body of Krystos, and his blood-splattered head lying about a foot away. He stared at the leering face, trying to keep only one thought in his mind; endure.

After what felt like an eternity the dizziness eased. He was left with a thundering headache, but at least he was back in control.

“Are you all right, Sir?”

Still unsteady on his feet, he turned to see Antano stop beside him.

“’Tis the wound. I must have lost a great deal of blood,” he answered. Too concerned with defeating the evil pirate, his injury had plagued him little, but now that the battle was over, he felt the sharp tug where Krystos’s sword had left his mark.

“Now that he lies dead, perhaps ye’ll let me attend to it,” his friend said. “Although The Avenger’s failure concerns me gravely.”

“And I. This has never happened before.”

In their haste to return to Scarthe with their prize, nobody thought to retrieve Darkfire. Neither did they seek out the conspicuously absent warship. Their mission was to return with Krystos’s head, and they traveled home with it secure in a vat filled with the pirates’ stolen brandy. It needed to be recognizable enough for King Rostan to honour his promise to Sir Alecsis. If he’d been the king Alecsis would have had Captain Krystos banished to the dungeon, where he could live out the rest of his miserable life repenting his sins.

After almost three months on the road, the greatly diminished army marched through Scarthe. Townspeople emerged from their dwellings as though by magic. The word had spread quickly that the pirates were dead. Everyone wanted to see the proof, but Sir Alecsis had strict orders that Krystos’s head be presented to the king first. Then it was to be impaled on a spike in the town centre where it would remain until the vultures had picked it clean.

Still suffering from his battle wounds, Alecsis made a valiant effort to carry himself with grace into King Rostan’s throne room. Antano had treated his injuries with the healing herbs too late, only managing to stop the deep gash from bleeding. Time would have to do the rest. But for some reason it seemed to be getting worse instead of better. Alecsis feared that Darkfire’s Serpon spawned magic might have something to do with it.

The monarch knew of the soldiers’ return, and had ordered the castle guards to guide them to him. Alecsis and Antano carried the vat containing Krystos’s head between them, the clatter of their armour echoing up and down the long stone corridor.

The ornate double doors at the end swung inwards as they approached, pulled open by two more of king’s guards. The two soldiers reached the dais where King Rostan reclined on his gilded throne. As usual the monarch wore robes encrusted with rubies, emeralds and diamonds, his gold crown sitting low on his balding head. He uncrossed his fleshy arms, motioning for the two men before him to rise. “So you have succeeded in your mission.”

“Aye, your Highness,” Alecsis replied, as they set the vat down on the marble tiles.

“Let me see it then,” the king commanded.

Alecsis and Antano exchanged glances, and removed the lid together, but it was understood that Alecsis present the head. Gritting his teeth, he reached into the swill, thankful he still wore his leather gloves.

But what emerged from the container wasn’t the decaying head of Krystos. It was that of a much older man, one Alecsis had never seen before. The dead eyes seemed to stare at him accusingly, damming him for his failure.

“By the Gods! Who is that?” Antano exclaimed.

“I - I know not,” Alecsis stammered in confusion, dropping the severed head onto the tiles with a wet splat.

“What have ye done?” King Rostan roared.

“Somebody must have swapped them,” Antano cried.

“You evil, barbarous traitor! That is none other than Prince Dorban of Braythe Province - my brother!” King Rostan’s furious voice echoed around the cavernous chamber. Alecsis heard the word brother repeat itself over and over inside his head, long after it had stopped bouncing off the marble covered walls.

“Princess Karina will be betrothed to another, someone more worthy.” The king pointed an accusing finger at the trembling knight. “You will never see her again!”

Clasping shaking hands to his temples, Alecsis dropped to his knees. “No!” he screamed. “Nooo!”

“Guards!” King Rostan roared. “Take this vile creature to the dungeon. On the morrow it will be his head upon a spike in the town square!”

Rough hands hauled Alecsis to his feet and dragged him from the throne room. Through his tear-filled eyes, he saw Antano staring at him in confusion. He too wondered what had gone wrong. What evil had brought this about? Who sought to punish him for doing the king’s work?