Chapter Seven - The King’s Orders

At daybreak, with the sun just peeking over the horizon in a spectacular display of golden light, Dean’s rough voice woke up Lise and the rest of the company.

His eyes were half closed with pain. His tired brain registered it was morning, but he felt like he was stuck in honey.

“How are you feeling?” Lise reached over and touched his face, now covered with a light dusting of blonde whiskers.

He rubbed his hand across his chin; he needed a shave, but that was the least of his worries. “Terrible,” Oliver croaked. “The wound hurts even worse than last night.”

“We're leaving, immediately this morning. Pack up, and stay out of the buildings. I want to leave,” Dean demanded, his eyes falling on Oliver.

Around them, the paladins leapt into action. Patrick rose from his bedroll, quickly rolled it up, put his few things in his bag, and then knelt next to Oliver. “Do you think you can ride today? I can get your horse ready for you.”

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully; every movement caused burning pain to roll across his chest.

Dean approached, his eyes dark and angry. “Leave me with him,” he demanded, and Lise complied, moving away near the wagon. She started to rearrange boxes and bags, glancing in their direction.

“I don’t know what happened last night, but you are hurt badly by some sort of curse. I don’t know what you were thinking, wandering into the ruins at night, especially after your first experience here.”

“I’m sorry,” Oliver said, sitting up. His shoulders slumped, and he looked over at his friend and commander. “It was as if something was forcing me to walk. Something came over me, and I just found myself in the apartment. The shade, it was the shade, enticing me, I think.”

“As soon as we get back to Eastmere, you’ll tell us the whole story. It looks like Lise is making a spot for you in the wagon. I’m sorry you are hurt; is there anything else I can do for you?” Dean asked, offering him a hand up.

He took it, feeling the strong hand of his commander. As he stood, he wobbled dizzily, holding his stomach. “A bit of tea, if there is any,” he asked weakly as Dean led him to the wagon.

Lise took her own bedroll, and even though there wasn’t much space with the boxes and bags of documents and books, she had made space at the end, enough for him to sit with his legs stretched out. He climbed in, finding a somewhat comfortable spot. “Thank you,” he said, closing his eyes against the waves of fire that danced across his chest. Something was not right, and he was worried now. He had set some evil in motion, that was clear.

Patrick came back with a mug of tea for him, and he sipped it gratefully as the final preparations for leaving were made. All the horses were brought from where they had been picketed. The final items were gathered, the rest of the books and artifacts tucked away.

Lise placed her hand on the horse's mane and pulled herself up, her leg swinging over the horse's back. She settled into the saddle, feeling the horse's muscles twitch beneath her. She adjusted the reins, feeling the leather in her hand, and took a deep breath as the young novice settled into the wagon box and then lightly touched the horse's back with his whip.

The wagon jolted down the road, but he was fine, tucked here in the back. The wagon was at the end, and he watched as the Temple complex disappeared into the trees. He swore he heard a bell toll and saw a wisp of black, peering at him from the broken window of the study. Shuddering, he closed his eyes and finally drifted off to a restless sleep.

He slept most of the day, only waking when they stopped for a brief noon break. Lise brought him water, a bit of bread, and cheese. He ate it slowly, and she fussed over him, adjusting the blankets to make him more comfortable.

“The men are saying now for sure the Temple is haunted and cursed,” Lise said in a whisper so others would not overhear them.

Oliver nodded and took a drink of water, wishing it was spirits. That might help with the pain. “It is.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened?” she said, her brow creased in worry.

“Not here. This isn’t a good place. Too many ears,” he said, looking over at Patrick and Susana, shamelessly flirting with each other.

“Finish up,” Dean barked at them all. “I want to get back to Eastmere by dark, and we will have to push on if we are going to make it.”

Lise leaned over and gave him a peck on the cheek, which did make him feel better. He reached out and took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “I promise I’ll tell you when we get to Eastmere,” he said.

And they were off again, and once again he fell asleep against the boxes. He was just overcome with exhaustion. Maybe it was his body trying to heal, or maybe it was the curse, settling in. Whatever it was, he couldn't keep his eyes open.

In his dreams, his mind searched for a way out and went over the words the Master had said, “If I am the heir,” he thought, “and have been forced to this task, if I kill myself, there is no heir. Maybe I can save Eastmere and Lise by taking myself out of the equation.”

He looked for his sword, but it was still with his things, strapped to his horse. He would have asked for it. But then he fell back into a restless slumber, until the wagon wheels hit the cobblestone streets of the city. His eyes snapped open; it was dusk now, the entire day had slipped by. He heard the sounds of the city and watched lazily the street traffic around him.

But soon, the wagon wheels rumbled over the bridge that led to the castle, stopping in front of the barracks and stables. Patrick and Susana came to help him out of the wagon. “Dean ordered you to the throne room, immediately.”

Once he was on his feet, he waved them away. “I can walk,” he said. He felt full of energy, and his pain seemed to have lessened. In fact, he decided to take off the bandages, leaving the bandages in a pile on the back of the wagon. People around him began to stare at the whorls that covered his pectorals and shoulders and of the wolf face over his sternum.

“Those are some wicked designs on your chest,” Susana said, her eyes falling on him. “Better than any of the inkers down at the docks, but you're going to need a shirt if you are going to see the king.”

“Here, you can have mine,” Patrick said, with a grin, quickly taking off his shirt, right there in the middle of the street. He handed the cream-colored tunic over, with the coat of arms of the Order of the Fallen on the left breast.

Feeling thankful, he slipped on the shirt. The rough fabric brushed against the scars uncomfortably, reminding him of their presence.

Dean gestured for them to follow him, and Lise walked beside him, with Patrick and Susana walking in front. He felt like a prisoner and realized he still didn’t have his sword.

“The king had court today, but the throne room has been cleared as you requested,” the man-at-arms said, as they approached the thick wooden doors, with ornate iron fittings. It swung open, revealing the throne room inside.

The ornate throne room was a sight to behold. After the war, it had been redone, and now its towering pillars, intricately carved walls, and gleaming marble floors were elegant. The room was brightly lit, with massive leaded glass windows allowing sunlight to fill the room. As it was nearing the end of the day, large lanterns had been lit, standing on either side of the throne.

At the end of the room, on a raised platform, sat the King, flanked on either side by his father and his wife, Queen Beatrice. The throne was a work of art, its high back intricately carved with scenes of battle, triumph, and peace. It was made of dark polished wood, with precious jewels embedded in its arms and legs.

The king’s presence filled the room. He wore a crown of gold, set with diamonds that glimmered in the light. He wore purple robes, lined with fur, and he leaned forward with a smile.

“Dean, you and the paladins have returned. What did you find at the temple, and why did you ask for a private audience?”

Oliver felt the king’s eyes on him, and he closed his eyes and bowed his head.

“We had a problem at the Temple, Your Majesty,” Dean said, addressing his king formally.

“I know the first time you went, and my sister found the book, there was some problem. More of the same?” Rory asked, concern in his voice.

“Something strange happened, Brother,” Lise said from his side. “Something happened to Oliver.”

Still, he did not speak, and he felt everyone’s eyes turn to him. He took a step forward and opened his eyes. “Your Majesty, it was terrible. Truly terrible. I have encountered the shade of Master Simeon in the Temple.”

Beatrice gasped, and she clutched her chest, “No, that evil man has returned from the dead?”

Rory touched her leg, and then glanced at his father, “How is this possible?”

Rordan's hand raised, and his fingers began to form the words. “Black magic. It is known that the Master is always the most powerful. And he did not share every piece of knowledge he had with me. There were some books, rumored to be bound with human skin, that he kept in his office.”

“What did the book I give you contain?” Lise asked, knowing that her father had read it thoroughly in the weeks since she had given it to him.

“Magic for binding the soul to a physical place,” he signed. “I assume this is what Master Simeon used. He didn’t think it would take us so long to explore the ruins.”

Dean looked at Oliver, “Tell us exactly what happened. I know only that we heard your scream, and it sounded tortured.”

Oliver hung his head and then started to recount his tale, speaking slowly, as he tried to remember all the details. “And then, his claws ripped my shirt, and into my skin. They seemed to burn as they cut into my flesh.” He slowly took off his shirt, revealing the design now etched on his chest.

“Claws, you say? And he was unsubstantial, like black shadow? It tracks with the magic in the book,” Rordan signed, getting up from his chair.

Oliver held the shirt loosely in his hand as they all stared at his chest. Rordan approached, “If I may?” he asked kindly. Oliver nodded and Jordan's hand began to trace the design. Then, white healing magic appeared at his fingertips. But it sputtered, and Oliver’s skin burned. His face twitched in pain, but he didn’t call out.

“That hurts you?” Rordan asked, concern filling his face.

“Only a little,” Oliver lied, looking away from the king.

“You’ve been cursed, for sure,” Rordan said, with a sigh. “And what did the Master want from you? Why did he do this?”

“I’m not sure I can explain. He said there were men to the East, who were still loyal to the Temple, and who had fled all those years ago when the Temple fell. He insisted that I was his heir, and that I was to travel east, retake my vows, and become their leader,” Oliver said, slowly putting his shirt back on.

Rordan turned to his son, and nodded. “Oliver was the named heir. He would be recognized by them as the Master.”

“And these men clearly do exist,” Rory said, “Based on Susana's map. Susana, tell us what you know,” Rory said, his eyes flicking to the paladin who stood behind Oliver.

She stepped forward. “As you know, I have only just returned from the East, from my trip to map those lands. I hope you have found my map helpful. But yes, there are still rogue knights in that area. I ran into several of them and barely escaped with my life. I do think they wanted to burn me as a witch, so I didn’t stay around long enough to find out where they were living.”

Rordan nodded, “A fair number of paladin knights were never accounted for. We had assumed they died in battle, and of course, that they slipped away, unwilling to accept the change in the holy order. But tell me, Oliver, what did the Master threaten you with? Simeon was always fond of threats and violence. I’m assuming that hasn’t changed since his death.”

“He said that he knows where worm eggs are, on this continent. If I do not comply, he will cause them to hatch, and that they will devour Eastmere,” Oliver said solemnly.

Rory gasped, “Fire worms? Father, how can this be?”

Rordan looked shocked, “I fought a fire worm many years ago, in Freshav. We destroyed a clutch of eggs, and when we broke them open, we found baby worms. I have heard rumors over the years of an Ice worm to the East, and another worm that lives in the water. But, if the master threatens it, I am certain it is true.”

“I know a way to solve this problem,” Oliver said, taking a deep breath. He dared not look at Lise, for fear he would lose his resolve. “I throw myself at your mercy. If I am no longer alive, there will be no heir. Kill me, and your problem will be solved.” He threw himself to his knees in front of the throne, and lowered his head.

He heard Lise gasp, “No! Oliver, no! Brother, please do not listen to him!” She begged, clutching her hands to her heart.

“Of course, I will not kill Oliver. What ridiculousness and drama,” Rory said, and Oliver glanced up; the king rolled his eyes and motioned for him to stand. “Although it is a very noble gesture.”

“What would you have me do, my liege? Although the holy order does not exist, I still hold the vows I took close. I swear upon this cross that I will take no wife, hold no lands, and serve my God and kingdom faithfully until my end of days.“ He repeated from memory, as if he had said them a million times in his head.

Rordan fingers moved sharply, and his face was fierce with anger, “Oliver, of all people, I think you would know that oath is no longer binding. I fought to earn our freedom, and I hope this silly oath has not prevented you from living your life to its fullest.” His eyes flicked to Lise, and she lowered her eyes.

“I concede it has held me back from love,” Oliver admitted, reaching out a hand to Lise. “I’m sure Lise is angry at me for this. I am trying to make amends, but this task, from the Master. I’m afraid he seeks revenge. He said he would keep her alive, to force me to comply. I do not want anything to happen to my beloved.”

Lise blushed and squeezed his hand. Rordan’s eyes were on him, and they softened as his fingers moved. “Of course, I’m glad you two came to your senses. But that doesn’t change the trouble we are in.”

Susana stepped forward, “We are already planning on another mission to the East. Perhaps we can take a larger force and destroy the last remnants of the Temple and search for the worm eggs. If we find them before they hatch, we can remove the threat.”

“A large task. You would need a force of at least a hundred men, probably. We have no idea how many holy knights still exist, but it can’t be more than a few dozen. They didn’t believe in marriage, and I assume they are all old men, but they have holy paladin magic and may have fortifications. It will not be an easy task,” Rordan mused, looking off into the distance.

“But it seems necessary,” Rory said, “I think it is a good plan. Dean, how quickly can we put together a larger mission.”

Dean stepped forward, his cloak swirling around him. “I need a few weeks at best. We will need to pick out the men and provision. Of course, I want these knights to come with me, especially my daughter, as she has been to the area.”

“Of course, and I want you to go, Dean. We will place your second in command, Bryce Arquette, in command.”

“A good choice,” Rordan nodded. “As the son of one of my oldest friends, the order will be in good hands.”

Susana looked pensive, “Your Majesty, with all due respect, do you think that is wise? Bryce is the son of Marcus Arquette, twin brother of Master Simeon.”

A flush came to Rory’s face. “Susana, it is not your place to challenge my decisions. I respect you, and now you only speak out of concern for the kingdom, but Bryce Arquette is a distinguished member of the order. He does not remember his uncle, Master Simeon.”

“His father, Marcus Arquette, twin brother to Master Simeon, lived for years in exile before I found him and brought him back to serve with me. I trusted Marcus with my life; he was with me when I fought and killed his brother. And when Marcus died, I was at his side. I have no concerns about his son,” Rordan signed firmly.

Susana bowed and said no more, even as her father glared at her for bringing the subject up.

“Now, I’m sure you are all tired from your long trip. Please, rest. You will need all your strength in the coming days.”

Dean saluted, and Lise curtsied. Oliver took Lise’s hand, and they bowed low, then turned to leave. Patrick and Susana were waiting outside, and they led the way down the marble stairs, through the courtyard, and out the front gates.

The night air was cool and fresh, a welcome relief from the stuffy throne room. Lise’s hand was warm in his, and he felt her squeeze it, “You did the right thing, Oliver. I’m proud of you.”

He nodded and leaned over and kissed her cheek. “Thank you, Lise, for everything.”

“You didn’t have to do that,” she said, a blush coming to her cheeks.

“I wanted to,” he said, then stopped, not knowing what else to say. He looked back at the castle, “I hope I don’t regret it.”