The Prisoner of Carronne - 21. Chapter 21

-- Chapter Twenty-One --

The road grew steeper as Jamal and his band climbed into the mountains, winding through thick forest where the sunlight filtered down in narrow shafts between towering pines. Streams crossed the trail in cold silver ribbons. Once they even startled a stag that bounded away into the trees.

And then, late in the afternoon, the pass opened suddenly onto a wide ridge, the mountains parting like a gateway, and beyond the pass there stretched a wide valley. Cradled between the ancient stone walls of rock and forest, dry, almost barren, fields ran down to a deep lake, while the ruins of the Highshaw battlements stood crumbling on a rise.

Jamal reined in his horse, with Whip and Devon coming to a stop on one side of him, while on the other side of him Enoch, Ansel and Marin came to a halt. The remainder of the knights and mercenaries spread out across the ridge on either side of them. In all, there were more than twenty riders now, which would be enough to strike fear into many hearts, depending upon the circumstances.

As Jamal took in the sight below him, he couldn’t help but have his breath caught as he gazed upon the country, and the gathering of knights he could see below. He could also see some activity amongst the many tents and campfires that were already burning, with smoke curling into the late afternoon sky.

‘Welcome to Highshaw,’ Enoch said quietly, almost with reverence. ‘There’s a good deal of history in this place.’

‘And with yet more to be added,’ Marin added.

‘One can only hope,’ Enoch replied.

‘And now, it seems we have been spotted,’ Marin observed. ‘There are riders coming already.’

‘Jamal,’ Enoch said. ‘If we are about to be attacked by these three riders, perhaps you should show yourself, then once they recognise you, they might know that we don’t belong to the hordes controlled by Septimus?’

‘And if they don’t recognise me?’

‘Then we’ll still have a chance to escape while you face them!’

Laughter broke out amongst those that were closest, as they recognised the mirth in the statement. Even Jamal managed a smile, as he nudged his horse forward, with Whip and Deven soon falling in alongside him.

As they started to jog down the slope they studied the three riders who were leaving the camp below, and it didn’t take long for Jamal to recognise the distinctive pinto stallion in the middle of the trio.

He spurred his horse forward, and at the same time the pinto sprang forward as well, with the two riders now racing towards each other, flat out across the slopes.

There was joy in Jamal’s heart as he galloped towards his Master, knowing they had both been successful with their missions. And when he looked past Luther, at the two riders trailing behind, he could make out that it was Prince Raemande and Garrett who were accompanying him, two of Luther’s closest friends, while his own friends were riding in his wake.

When they drew closer, both riders began to slow, and before long they came to a screeching stop in front of each other, with both jumping from their horses and embracing the other. Their reunion filled them both with joy.

‘You made it, lad! I never doubted you for a minute!’ Luther enthused.

‘And I see you found your Prince once more,’ Jamal replied, before they both laughed.

Just then the other four riders arrived and jumped from their horses, but when Whip and Deven realised they were in the presence of royalty, they were quick to drop to their knees and bow their heads.

‘On your feet, lads,’ the Prince ordered. ‘Here, I am just another knight amongst friends. No formalities are required between us.’

Somewhat sheepishly the two lads rose, only to be embraced by the Prince, and then Garrett in turn. The fact that all six of these riders were here at all, was something to celebrate.

Still, the two boys seemed in awe of the man before them.

Jamal turned and waved to the others on the hill and watched as they started to descend from the ridge.

‘It seems Chandar chose well in sending you,’ Luther said to him. ‘What were you doing, collecting strays along the way? I thought there were only three knights whom you were tasked to gather?’

‘Jamal is simply a gatherer of men, my Lord,’ Whip offered. ‘And of course, the cause is just.’

There may have been a time when he would not have been so forward, especially amongst such company, but this trip had changed him. He now held his head high and considered himself, if not an equal, at the very least worthy of taking his place amongst such men. And he had Jamal to thank for that, he knew.

‘Indeed, it is, young Whip. Indeed, it is,’ replied Luther. ‘Now come, let’s mount up and return to the camp. There is much to discuss tonight, as there are plans afoot.’

The six riders mounted and set off for the camp, while the remaining members of Jamal’s band continued to jog down from the ridge, following them.

From their chatter, it was easy to see that the camaraderie was still there, still evident, amongst Jamal and the knights he knew so well, and the two younger lads now felt honoured to be amongst such company.

When they reached the camp, it was Chandar who was the first person to greet them, waiting by the steps of the old ruins, and this was where Luther took them directly. The old knight nodded to Luther, then studied Jamal carefully, as the lad dismounted close to him and then dropped to one knee in front of the old knight, with his two companions doing the same. He could already see that a change had come over the boy; in fact, all three lads had changed in the short time they had been on the road. He had been right in choosing the son of Lucius of Jeebath, the lad with skin the colour of rich honey, showing his mixed heritage. The future of the order was assured . . . provided they made it past what they all knew was coming.

‘Come, lad. Stand and let me thank you properly for carrying the call to our knights so distant,’ Chandar said, as he held out his arms for the young squire. Jamal rose and stepped forward, before being wrapped up in an embrace by the old man, which seemed to last forever.

When he was finally released and was able to step back, Chandar turned his attention to Jamal’s two acolytes, embracing each of them briefly, before thanking them for their loyalty and support of the cause.

‘It was our honour, my Lord,’ Deven ventured.

‘And it seems like you make a good team,’ Chandar added.

‘We certainly think so,’ replied Whip, to which Chandar simply smiled and nodded, as he looked them over.

It was then that the other knights that had travelled with Jamal joined the gathering, lining up side by side and dismounting, before each of them dropped to one knee. Chandar, turned his attention from Luther and Jamal, towards Ansel, Marin, Enoch and the others, going to each of the knights in turn and welcoming them to Highshaw, greeting them by name, even those who had only just re-emerged after having not been seen in many a year.

‘My knights,’ Chandar boomed from the granite steps. ‘There is much we need to discuss tonight, and there is still much to do. We have seen the ravens watching us . . . we know the forces of Septimus are gathering . . .’

There was a general nodding of all the heads around him, but it was Ansel who spoke. ‘We saw them, my Lord. We came across a brigade close by.’

‘How many men?’ Chandar asked.

‘There were seven, my Lord. Six taken down in a short battle, with the seventh running for the hills, with his tail between his legs. And we believe there were others, possibly on patrol.’

Chandar chuckled at the news. ‘That makes sense. And where was this exactly?’

‘Near the high meadow, where the mountain trail narrows to a knife-edge ledge, between a forest of thick pine and a treacherous scree of rock climbing up the mountain.’

‘I know the place,’ Chandar replied. ‘And what of those of you who drew blood?’

‘The honours were shared, my Lord. Even young Jamal proved his worth to the Order.’

‘You’ve been blooded?’ the old knight quickly enquired, upon facing Luther’s squire once more.

‘Yes, my Lord. Three times on this journey. The first two, in defence of the amulet and my friends.’

‘I see,’ Chandar responded, while scratching the long, white hairs upon his chin. ‘Knights, tend to your horses . . . the camp lads will assist . . . and then join us here for a meal and council. There is much we need to discuss tonight, before we make our next move.’

*   *   *

The central fire was high when the knights gathered once more, with sparks climbing high into the clear night air, while a wild boar was roasted over a second fire.

Chandar was once again seated on the steps, talking with a small group of knights around him, when Luther and Raemande, along with Jamal’s gathered band joined them. Silently they took up positions on the ground, while Chandar continued.

‘The ravens have been busy these past days,’ Chandar said to his warriors. ‘And the presence of Septimus’ forces is strong. I fear for our safety if we remain in this valley much longer . . . and so, I feel it is time to tell you all of my plans.’

‘My Lord?’ Luther enquired, knowing full well that there would be a tale behind the old man’s plans.

‘If their forces are gathering beyond the walls of this valley, then I would rather we were not still in residence when they begin their descent upon us. They must find the valley empty . . . but they cannot see us leave.’

Wise heads nodded around the campfire, but there were many left wondering how this could be achieved?

‘I propose a strategic retreat in the darkness, my knights. While the fires are still burning, and that sliver of moon we have seen these past few nights still remains, we make our way up the southern pass, leaving a mere ghost of a campsite behind. Our tents and our fires will convince them of our presence, but we will not be waiting for them.’

‘And when do you feel they are likely to advance, my Lord?’ asked Halvern, one of the knights who had connected with Jamal’s band for the journey to Highshaw.

‘They will attack tonight. All the signs are pointing to it, and after the skirmish today with Jamal’s men, I sense that they will be wanting to move quickly.’

‘So, when do we leave, my Lord?’ Raemande asked.

‘Just as soon as we feast, and attend to other matters, we strike out. No later than the midnight hour, my Prince.’

‘That seems prudent, my Lord.’

‘Do any of you have anything to add? Or suggestions to make? We all must have a say in our own futures.’

‘Lead us from this valley, so that we may plan for our victory, my Lord,’ said Kao, another of Jamal’s band.

‘And are you all in agreeance?’

‘Aye,’ was the unanimous call from all those gathered. ‘We march!’

‘Then we march!’ Chandar agreed, just as a bell was rung by the men around the roasting boar, indicating that the feast was ready to commence.

*   *   *

As the knights feasted, there were soldiers on the move in the surrounding forests, with none other than the traitorous knight, Judayah, at the head of the column.

He was familiar with Highshaw, though it had been some years since he visited the place that was held so dear by his former Order, and for this reason alone, the Dark Lord had commanded him to take charge of the troops, and see to it that the forces of darkness would succeed.

‘Finally, I will prevail over the knights of the Order, wiping them from the face of this earth!’ Septimus had raged in his castle tower. ‘Their removal will be the only obstacle standing in my way, and permit us to march upon the city of Jeebath, where the Golden Crown I covet so, will be awaiting me,’ he ranted.

Judayah nodded and replied with, ‘As you wish, my Lord,’ before backing away from his Master and then closing the doors to his chambers.

Later, once settled in camp with the Dark Lord’s forces, Judayah briefed the regiment leaders as well, explaining the three known trails and roads into the valley and despatching columns to the entrance of each path. The north road, which leads to the high desert and the Plains of Ashmere. The western path, which leads higher into the mountains. The eastern road, which splits three ways and leads to Carronne, the villages along the coastline, and then south to Jeebath.

He gave scant consideration of the southern trail from the valley, as this was but a goat track when he had been a part of the Order. As the valley had been largely unused since, there was little chance of that route proving to be any risk.

And now, with everything in place, the soldiers quietly moved into position during the night, blocking each path. Their orders were to attack at first light, on Judayah’s signal, and so they sat and waited, while campfires burned in the valley below and the knights, they presumed, slept.

*   *   *

Once fed, the knights of the Order gathered once more around the steps of the once imposing Highshaw fortress, where Chandar now held court. He was sitting on one of the upper steps, with the legendary Sword of Erasmus across his lap, talking to his men and sharing experiences. The mood was thoughtful, but eventually the discussions turned serious, as Chandar laid out the finer details of his plans. Elsewhere, even as he spoke, there were squires and pages packing the belongings of their knights and saddling horses and mules in preparation for leaving.

After a short while, Chandar looked around at those who were gathered by the fire. Luther and Raemande. All the other knights of the realm. Various boys, including Drake from Carronne, and Christos from the Valley of the Ancients. Even the Warlock and his boy were present. Then he noticed Jamal and his two companions sitting at the edge of the firelight, legs crossed and looking on, while listening carefully. On seeing them there a smile came to his face, but then he turned to Ansel and addressed him.

‘Sir Ansel, pray tell me, other than your skirmish today, did you see any other sign of the Dark Lord’s men on your journey?’

‘No, my Lord. Our journey here was largely uneventful.’

‘And my messenger . . . I take it he must have been suitably convincing in his entreaty for you to accompany him to Highshaw?’

‘Your messenger spoke plainly and with conviction, my Lord. You chose well.’

‘Yes, I believe I have. And what of you, Marin and Enoch, what do you have to say?’

‘My Lord,’ Marin began. ‘I will admit, I had my doubts, but the lad has been tested, and proven himself worthy.’

‘And you concur, Enoch?’

‘I do, my Lord.’

‘And what of the rest of you? Do you have anything to add? I understand there were some difficulties prior to Jamal finding you?’

At this, both Whip and Deven turned to look at Jamal, who could be seen with the blood rising in his cheeks, even allowing for the firelight. He was not one to be comfortable being under such scrutiny.

But then Deven stood and faced the great knight.

‘My Lord, may I speak on behalf of my companion?’ he asked, somewhat sheepishly.

‘Of course, my boy.’

‘Thank you, my Lord. If it wasn’t for Jamal and his quick thinking, we would all be dead now, I am sure of it.’

‘Go on,’ Chandar urged.

‘We were attacked by highwaymen, even before we had found Sir Ansel. They stole our belongings, including your amulet, then tied us in a hut, to be used later as they saw fit.

‘It was only that Jamal had a concealed stiletto that they did not find, that we were able to cut ourselves free. But then one of the robbers returned. He attacked Jamal, and he defended us, killing the robber. When we then confronted the second robber, he too, tried to attack us, but Jamal had his measure also. We managed to escape with our belongings, and your amulet, intact. But taking two lives like that, I know it has weighed heavily on my friend.’

‘Just as it should, for anyone who takes a life,’ Chandar replied. ‘Wouldn’t you agree, Luther?’

‘I do, my Lord. The lad, Jamal, has learned well. He is as good a squire as a knight could ever hope to have. He is a young man of honour and ability far beyond his years.’

‘And it appears you have trained him well, my Knight.’

‘The teacher can only ever be as good as the student, my Lord.’

‘So it seems, my Knight. So it seems. Of course, there is no greater honour than that of serving the Order, our true King, and the people.’

‘Indeed, you are correct, my Lord,’ Luther replied.

‘Hmmmmm . . .’ Chandar murmured, as he scratched his chin and thought for a moment.

Jamal was frowning, not sure exactly why he was being subject to such attention. He was just a squire and a messenger, after all.

When Chandar continued, he looked directly at Jamal, but spoke to Luther. ‘So, do you sponsor this stripling to go further in this Order?’

‘I do,’ Luther replied.

‘As do I, my Lord,’ Raemande added.

‘Very well, then,’ the old knight replied, before giving a nod to Jamal’s sponsors.

Luther and Raemande rose and crossed to where Jamal was sitting, then each reached down and placed a hand under the lad’s elbows and urged him to his feet.

‘What is happening?’ Jamal asked, surprised.

‘Quiet, lad . . . you will know soon enough,’ Luther replied, to which Raemande could only chuckle.

They crossed the clearing and presented their charge to Chandar, with Jamal standing in front of the old knight.

‘Is this the squire, recently come of age, known as Jamal of Xant, son of Lucius of Jeebath, who stands before me?’ Chandar said in a loud voice.

‘It is, my Lord,’ Luther replied.

‘As we have already heard, there is no greater honour than that of serving the Order, our true King, and the people of the Five Lands of Candor. The Order thanks you, the knights present thank you for the success of your recent mission, and the people will also thank you. Now, if you would be so kind as to drop to your knees . . .’ Chandar requested.

‘My Lord?’ Jamal asked, somewhat confused by the request. At this Luther stuck the lad a gentle blow behind his knees, which caused his legs to crumple. Some of the crowd laughed, but overall, the mood was solemn . . . everyone but Jamal knew what was happening.

‘Jamal of Xant, I ask you to place your hands upon this sword,’ Chandar asked, which Jamal immediately complied with, while looking down upon the ancient blade. His eyes suddenly go wide as he felt the vibrations; the life force of the sword that Chandar also swore of.

Jamal blinked, then looked back at Chandar.

‘You feel that? You feel the life within this ancient, living Sword of Erasmus?’

‘Yes, my Lord.’

‘Very few ever do. It is a sign of the blade’s acceptance of you and of your worthiness. Do you agree that there is no greater honour than to serve?’

‘I do, my Lord.’

‘And is it your desire to devote your life to serving the Order of the Dragon?’

Suddenly, Jamal realizes what is happening.

‘It is, my Lord.’

‘And to serve your true King? And the people of the Five Lands?’

‘I do, my Lord.’

At this point Chandar stood, and then pointed the sword directly at Jamal.

‘Do the sponsors of this man agree that this ceremony should proceed?’ Chandar asked Raemande and Luther.

‘We do, Sire,’ the two knights confirmed.

‘Then let it be known that from this day forward, Jamal of Xant, shall be known as a Knight of the Order of the Dragon,’ Chandar proclaimed, while first touching Jamal’s left shoulder with the sword, then the right shoulder, before resting the tip of the sword on the ground and leaning on it slightly.

‘You may now arise, Sir Jamal of Xant, son of Sir Lucius of Jeebath.’

With Luther and Raemande on either side of the young knight, they help him to his feet, as those all around them break out in applause. He is embraced by Chandar, then Luther and Raemande. But then Luther pulled something from beneath his tunic and held it out for Jamal, who eyed the small, parchment-wrapped package with some string around it, with some suspicion.

‘What is this?’ he asked.

‘Open it and you will find out,’ Luther replied.

Jamal took the package, which seemed to be soft, and pulled the string from it, before he carefully began to unfold the paper. Inside he saw some black fabric, and as he slowly unfolded it he saw there were other colours – red and white – emerging.

When the fabric was fully unfolded Jamal found he is was holding a tunic; black, with a red cross, which had a narrow white border.

He looked at it, slightly puzzled, as he thought about why it looked familiar, but then it finally dawned on him.

‘That day . . . in the forest of Graysmark . . . the knight I saw there was wearing these colours.’

Luther nodded.

‘They are the colours of your father, Jamal, and of your family,’ the knight replied.

‘What? He was there?’

‘Only in spirit, son. Watching over you, as he has always done. Just as he is doing right now.’

Quickly, Jamal glanced around, but of course there was no one present wearing these colours. His father was not there.

He lowered his head and looked at the gift he held, then began to sob quietly.

Whip and Deven, who were nearby, saw this and quickly went to their friend and embraced him, supporting him in this emotional moment.

When Jamal recovered, and the lads separated, it was Raemande who spoke next.

‘Becoming a knight means that there are other things coming to you,’ he said. ‘When time is less pressing, we will arrange for your tattoo . . . the artist is here with us, and of course there shall be a fine sword crafted for you . . . the other benefits we will entrust you with once we are clear of the valley and the immediate challenges ahead.’

As Jamal used an arm to wipe his eyes, Luther said quietly to him, ‘I am sure that there is a great deal that you might want to say to your father . . .’

Jamal looked at Luther, appearing slightly confused, but then Chandar spoke.

‘Beyond the ruins, at the place where the forest begins, there is a grotto. It is a place of mystery, and our knights have prayed in that place for many hundreds of years. While we have time, before we leave on this very night, perhaps you should avail yourself of the opportunity. I am sure you will find it enlightening.’

‘I . . . I will do that, my Lord. And I thank you. I thank all of you for this great honour. I will not let you down.’

To be continued . . .