Dark One Rising(92)

The next morning before breakfast Melenthia watched as the messenger rode out of the gates of the keep and onto the road toward the north. She hoped that Kevaan would get the message, that Dain was right and they had some time. She swallowed back her fear that Fallon would take down the castle, and her father and Kevaan would be overtaken as well. Her father was weak, and she didn’t know how much sicker he had become since her departure. If he was pushed too far it could kill him. Kevaan was much stronger and his head for strategy was superior, but even he could lose against Fallon if his army had grown too large for her father’s to overtake.

The man’s figure grew small in the distance, and when she could no longer see him or the dust that his galloping mount kicked up, she went back inside to have some breakfast.



***



The horseman rode hard down the main roads toward the north. It was imperative that he reach Lachlan Castle as soon as possible in order to make sure the prince got the message from King Dainard. Travel was not as easy as it used to be, especially in the northern part of the kingdom where snows and raw cold still gripped the land. He was dressed lighter for the moment, but the closer to the border he got, the heavier his clothes would need to become. He would make it as far as he could in the daylight, then hole up in the woods if possible, away from prying eyes.

His travel was uneventful for three days, but when he reached the town of Lakendra, not too far this side of the Triple Cities, unbeknownst to him, there was someone watching. He checked himself into an inn in the seedier part of town, ate dinner and retired for the night, the dispatch safely tucked away in his cloak pocket.

He awoke in the morning, put on heavier clothes for the next leg of his ride, and ate breakfast. He retrieved his horse from the stables, paid the stable hand and mounted to ride on. He rode through the small city, the merchants and sellers in the square paying him no mind. He exited out the main gate, passing several wagons and single riders coming in, and headed out onto the road again. When he passed by a small copse of trees, a horse and rider emerged from them, reining the horse in front of him. The stranger was large, wearing black leather breeches and tabard over mail, typical warrior attire, nothing extraordinary. His colors were what made the messenger cringe, however. The tabard was black with a green gryphon embroidered on the front and silver piping down the edges. He knew these were the colors of Rommel house. There was only one rider at the moment, but, as if in answer, seven other knights came out of the trees and made a semi-circle around him. He drew his sword, preparing to cut his way through. He didn’t think he could fight off that many by himself, but he would fight to the death.

The lead knight drew his sword as well, nodding his head to the others to do the same.

“What business do you have with me? State it and be on your way,” the messenger said.

The leader smiled and laughed derisively at the useless pride this lone rider held. He would never awake to see another sunrise.

“Where are you off to in such haste?”

“I have been on the road long, and I wish nothing more than to reach my destination quickly. I am weary.”

“Your burden is heavy and weighs you down. Why not give it to me and make your horse lighter on its feet.”

“What burden do you speak of?”

The leader looked over his shoulder at his men, who laughed at something they found amusing. “The message you carry in your cloak. We’ve been following you for two cities now and know who you are and where you’re headed. Why not give me the message and be on your way again.”

“I won’t. The message stays with me til death.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say.”

He knew they’d make their move, so he reared his horse and kicked him into gallop, knowing he wouldn’t make it far, but refused to stand still and die without a fight.

“For the rightful kings of Aelethia: King Dainard and King Randor. I die loyal to righteous rulers and country!” He plunged through the throng of guards, cutting down three as he went, and made it almost all the way. As he emerged from the other side, he felt a stabbing pain rip through his side and felt something warm run down his tunic. No longer able to hold his weapon he dropped the sword to the ground and grabbed at his side. He pulled his hand away, red with blood, steam curling up from it into the cold morning air. A knight approached from behind and swung down and across, severing the messengers’ head from his torso. The headless body slumped sideways in the saddle and fell to the ground with a sickening thump. The horse, now spooked from the commotion, galloped off into the woods. The leader dismounted and kicked over the body so that he could get into the inner pocket of the cloak. He removed the dispatch from the leather pouch and unfolded it to read. He looked up at the knight beside him. “Get the body out of the road. Hide it in the trees. By the time someone notices him he’ll have already been a meal for the carrions.”