Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor Read online

  Baylor gathered his men in a circle, then drew his sword. “Remember who you serve, Knights of the Prince.”

  The other men drew their swords and brought them together in the center of their circle.

  “Swords of Valor for Him,” the men said in unison.

  The Swords of Valor were in position before breakfast the next day. Quinlan settled into his place just on the north side of the stone wall, near a spot where the stones had partially fallen. He could see Baylor on a knoll east of the haven and would easily be able to relay any flag signals the commander gave. He could also see Kessler across the outer yard and one street into the city. Kessler was dressed as a commoner, browsing shops. Drake was nearby but not visible to Quinlan.

  The hours wore on. Quinlan struggled to keep his attention keen, reminding himself that Shadow Warriors could arrive at any moment. The clang of swords wielded by knights and trainees just inside the wall helped with the boredom. In the afternoon, Quinlan heard the distant sure voice of a young man teaching others, though the words were too faint for Quinlan to discern any content. He assumed the voice belonged to Worthington.

  Later, Quinlan heard a different voice much closer—just on the other side of the wall, in fact. It was a female voice with an unusual accent that enticed him to listen closely to every word. “The sword is the embodiment of the Code, our primary weapon to defend the weak and protect the innocent. It is our greatest defense against the forces of evil.”

  The voice was confident and yet lovely. Quinlan was grateful he couldn’t see the speaker, for he imagined she would be as charming as she sounded, and that would send him into his typical awkward state. Still, hearing her instruct trainees for the rest of the afternoon provided a delightful distraction from Quinlan’s tedious lookout duties.

  The day ended as uneventfully as it had started, much to Quinlan’s relief. After Purcell shared more information he had gathered about the haven and Worthington himself, the valor knights retreated to their night watches.

  The next day passed much as the previous one had. By late afternoon, the meetings were wrapping up. Quinlan looked toward Baylor—all clear. Then he looked toward Kessler and passed on the signal. He could hear the final bout of sword training just over the wall and wondered how many trainees were taking the exercises seriously.

  “Been standing here long?”

  Quinlan jumped at the voice behind him. He reached for his sword as he turned.

  “Whoa, sir. I’m a friend.” The man offered his hand. “Worthington of Berwick, in Cameria.”

  Quinlan relaxed and grasped the man’s hand. “It’s an honor, sir.”

  Worthington tilted his head slightly, then smiled. Wavy brown hair flowed back from a handsome face, and his weary gray eyes held a down-to-earth friendliness. If he was supposed to be someone great, he didn’t seem to know it.

  “Are you from Arimil?” The man spoke with the same intriguing accent as the young female knight. Quinlan suspected they were both from the same region—perhaps husband and wife.

  “No, I’m not from here.” Quinlan wondered how important it was to keep his identity a secret from Worthington. They were both Knights of the Prince, after all, fighting for the same cause.

  “So what are you doing here?” Worthington asked.

  At that instant, over Worthington’s shoulder, Quinlan spotted Baylor’s signal—three Shadow Warriors approaching from the north! His heart began to race. He glanced north but saw nothing; then he turned and saw Kessler drawing his sword. Kessler signaled that two warriors were approaching from the south, then disappeared before Quinlan could pass Baylor’s message on.

  Five Shadow Warriors! Quinlan wasn’t sure what to do. Where was Purcell?

  “You seem concerned,” Worthington said. “Is there something I can help you—”

  Quinlan drew his sword and Worthington backed away, his hand to the hilt of his own weapon. “What’s the meaning of this?” he asked sternly.

  “Sir Worthington, I am a fellow Knight of the Prince,” Quinlan said quickly. “Shadow Warriors are coming this way. We need to get you back into the haven.”

  At first Worthington looked as if he thought Quinlan was crazy. Then his eyes opened wide, and he drew his sword. “Watch out!” he screamed.

  Quinlan turned just in time to see a Shadow Warrior lunging toward them from behind a group of trees. Another warrior was behind him, closing in quickly. The closest warrior slammed his sword into Quinlan’s and sent him stumbling to the side, then immediately attacked Worthington, the obvious target.

  Quinlan recovered to one knee and prepared to face the second charging warrior, hoping that Worthington could hold his own until Baylor arrived. Just then, he saw Purcell leap through the broken-down section of the stone wall to face the second warrior. His knife was drawn before his feet hit the ground.

  Quinlan turned to help Worthington, who appeared to be in dire trouble. The young knight watched in horror as the first warrior finished a crosscut, followed by a thrust toward Worthington’s heart. But then Quinlan caught a glimpse of steel pass just above his right shoulder. Purcell’s perfectly thrown knife sank into the Shadow Warrior’s side, causing him to pull back on his deadly thrust.

  The warrior screamed and turned on Quinlan in fury. Fear washed over Quinlan as he readied himself to face his first real enemy.

  He caught a vertical cut and tried to counter, but the warrior quickly blocked it and advanced with another slice. Just then Quinlan heard Worthington shout behind him and engage with what Quinlan realized had to be the third warrior Baylor had seen. The clash of steel from the three fights meshed with the sound of training just on the other side of the haven wall.

  In spite of his wound, the warrior Quinlan was facing made cuts and slices so powerful that Quinlan found himself in constant retreat. After two more advances, however, the injured warrior began to falter, and Quinlan risked an advance. The warrior deflected two of his cuts, then backed away, stumbled, and disappeared into the trees.

  Thankful that the fight was over and that he had survived it, Quinlan turned to help Worthington. But Worthington’s opponent had maneuvered him away from Quinlan and Purcell, toward the end of the stone wall, and looked to be one slice shy of overpowering the man. Quinlan started toward them, knowing there was no way he could reach them in time. Just then Sir Baylor appeared on horseback from around the end of the wall and charged the warrior, bringing him off of Worthington. Behind him appeared the young female knight, sword drawn and ready.

  Relieved, Quinlan turned back to help Purcell. Once Purcell’s Shadow Warrior saw another knight coming, he too backed out of the fight and disappeared into the trees.

  “Kessler signaled two more in the city,” Quinlan said.

  “Come.” Purcell took off in that direction. Quinlan followed, looking over his shoulder to see that the warrior attacking Worthington had abandoned his fight as well. The young woman stared in Quinlan’s direction as other knights from Worthington’s unit began appearing from behind the wall. Worthington would be well protected now.

  Quinlan and Purcell ran to the street where Kessler had last been seen.

  “He went south,” Quinlan reported.

  They ran past three shops and then saw both Drake and Kessler walking toward them from an alleyway. Bright red blood spilled from a cut on Drake’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice it.

  “They attacked from the south,” Kessler said, “but we were able to hold them off—quite easily, for some reason.”

  “It was a diversion,” Purcell said. “Three more attacked from the north at the same time.”

  Kessler’s eyes widened. “Worthington?”

  “Safe,” Purcell replied. “But it was close—a third-stage event. Baylor showed up at the last moment.”

  Drake shook his head. “Five warriors, split attack, single target—that’s a first.”

  The four men stood in silence for a moment.

  “They’re on to us,” Purcell sai
d gravely, “and adjusting.”

  “Yes, feels a bit like a game of chess with high stakes, doesn’t it?” Kessler said, then smiled broadly. “Are we knights or are we pawns, gentlemen?”

  “Must you be so cheerful about everything?” Purcell grumbled, turning back toward the haven. Drake and Kessler laughed and followed behind. Quinlan joined them, but not in the laughter, for he was feeling quite like a pawn.

  A NEW KIND OF ENEMY

  After Arimil, Quinlan continued his training each night with Sir Baylor. He was slowly improving, but it was not enough—at least not enough for Purcell and Drake to think him a worthy member of the unit.

  Quinlan had to agree with them. He still felt like a child among men.

  The next mission for the Swords of Valor began four weeks later. They arrived near the northern haven of Garriston early in the morning. According to Kessler, they had been there numerous times before and had thus far been able to spoil all attempts by the Shadow Warriors to destroy or seriously disrupt the haven. Missions to Garriston had almost become routine, though Baylor cautioned the knights to be vigilant just the same. His ability to identify the warriors early should still provide significant advantage, but their experience at Arimil had indicated the Shadow Warriors were adopting new tactics.

  The Swords of Valor gathered in a circle while Baylor briefed them on what was to happen and what to do if events went awry. Then he drew his sword and held it before him. The other knights did the same.

  “Remember who you serve, Knights of the Prince.”

  The five swords came together in the center of their circle.

  “Swords of Valor for Him!” the men voiced in unity. Then they sheathed their swords, mounted up, and headed for their lookouts.

  Soon the men were positioned in a semicircle around the haven, all within view of the commander. Quinlan was stationed nearest Baylor. As instructed, he tethered Kobalt to a tree a short distance away so as not to give his lookout position away.

  Quinlan heard music in the distance. In an effort to reach more people in the surrounding region, the haven was hosting a festival. Quinlan wished he could partake of the festivities, but Baylor had insisted that their presence remain a secret. Only in the Kingdom Across the Sea would many of the men and women of the haven know what was accomplished for them by the valor knights.

  Baylor had predicted that four Shadow Warriors would attack from the southeast, which meant that Kessler and Drake would face them first. They would have to hold them off until Baylor confirmed that his tactical information was correct, for he couldn’t take a chance and let warriors slip through from another direction.

  “Stay sharp and alert, men,” the commander had ordered. “No mission against Lucius is routine.”

  It was a good reminder to the other men, but Quinlan didn’t really need it. For him, no mission was routine. His heart pounded a hundred beats a minute as he constantly scanned the area, settling his eyes back on Sir Baylor after each sweep. The hours melted away slowly, and fatigue settled in. Had the assault been called off?

  He scanned once more and suddenly saw the commander signal. The enemy was approaching. Quinlan’s stomach rose to his throat as he drew his sword. He scanned his assigned region more quickly, not wanting to miss any of the commander’s signals.

  Next came the direction—southeast, as predicted. Kessler and Drake would be ready. Quinlan couldn’t help but breathe a little easier.

  Another scan, another signal. Three Shadow Warriors were coming—one less than expected. This also made Quinlan feel better … until he realized it could mean trouble elsewhere.

  He looked once more toward Baylor for the signal to relocate, but it did not come. Instead, Baylor motioned for Purcell to join Kessler and Drake.

  Quinlan was confused. This was not the rehearsed sequence. He made one more scan and looked back to Baylor, but he was too late to catch the last signal. Then the commander disappeared.

  Quinlan watched as Kessler, Drake, and Purcell disappeared from their posts, preparing for the fight. He looked for Baylor to give the signal again, but there was no sign of him.

  What had Quinlan missed? What was he supposed to do? If he stayed where he was but had been called to join the others, they might be outnumbered. If he left his post but had been signaled to stay, warriors might slip through into the haven. He began to pace, trying to decide which course of action would result in the least disastrous ramification.

  Finally he could wait no more. He ran toward Kessler and Drake’s last known position. Halfway there, he heard the clash of an intense duel. Quinlan gripped his sword tighter and quickened his pace, hoping he had judged correctly. He was nearly to the fight when he heard another clash of steel behind him.

  Quinlan stopped in his tracks. Through the sparse woods he saw Kessler, Drake, and Purcell locked in deadly battle against three massive Shadow Warriors. Dread filled his heart as he realized Sir Baylor was probably also engaged. He ran the last few paces and came upon Purcell’s fight first.

  “What are you doing?” Purcell screamed at Quinlan in between blows. “Baylor ordered you to stay at your post!”

  Quinlan spun on his heels and raced back to where he had been. The sound of a desperate fight filled the air, and Quinlan hoped against hope that he was not too late to help. He climbed a small rise and looked down the other side to see Sir Baylor engaged with two warriors. One more was just joining the fray.

  Quinlan froze as he realized the hopelessness of the situation. Baylor was seriously outnumbered, and Quinlan could not possibly cover the ground between them in time to help. Quinlan screamed and began to run as a Shadow Warrior plunged his sword deep into Sir Baylor’s side and the other two added their swords to the dreadful act.

  Baylor’s sword fell to the ground. The Shadow Warriors withdrew their swords. Baylor collapsed to his knees, then fell face forward.

  Rage boiled up in Quinlan’s heart as he closed in with sword raised, not caring for his own life. One of the Shadow Warriors bent over Sir Baylor while the other two turned toward Quinlan. It was then that he noted their bizarre black and green painted faces and the thin bands of black cloth across their eyes. They raised their swords toward Quinlan, but before he could engage them he heard the pounding of horses’ hoofs behind him.

  Kessler, Drake, and Purcell thundered past Quinlan. The Shadow Warriors retreated, and the knights pursued them. Quinlan fell to his knees beside Sir Baylor and turned him onto his back.

  Baylor winced and gasped, blood trickling down from his mouth to his chin.

  “I’m sorry, Commander, I didn’t—”

  “Quinlan,” Baylor rasped urgently, “Take this …” He reached for the disk that hung about his neck, snapped the silver chain, and pressed the coin-shaped object into Quinlan’s hand.

  Quinlan shook his head, fighting back tears.

  “Take it … I didn’t”—Baylor coughed, and his eyes grew wide in pain—“choose you … you were …”

  It was too much. The evil of Lucius had done its work, and Baylor closed his eyes in death.

  “No … no … no!” Quinlan buried his head in his hands and leaned forward against Baylor’s chest. He screamed against the reality of his error and would have died to change it. Time refused to go on as Quinlan wallowed in the agony of the moment. But gradually, between his own moans he became aware of cries and screams in the distance.

  Quinlan lifted his head and listened. The haven of Garriston and the people there were under attack, while Kessler, Drake, and Purcell were pursuing Baylor’s killers in the opposite direction.

  Quinlan jumped to his feet and ran to Kobalt. Not waiting for his fellow knights, he galloped toward Garriston. He arrived to find the chaos of a full assault on the knights, men, women, and children of the haven. The camp buildings and barns were ablaze, and more than twenty dark warriors on horseback were raining death upon anyone who was accessible. The few haven knights who remained on their feet were engaged in the fight of t
heir lives.

  Quinlan galloped to join the fight, aching for vengeance against those who had been responsible for his commander’s death. He engaged the first warrior he met and noticed immediately that something was different about him and his comrades. They wore the same ghostly black and green face paint Quinlan had seen on two of the warriors who killed Baylor. They were smaller than the Shadow Warriors the valor knights had fought at Arimil and wore more tightly fitting armor. Quinlan wondered if these were the Vincero Knights he had heard about—Arrethtraens who fought for Lucius—but their markings clearly identified them as Shadow Warriors.

  Quinlan crosscut and thrust, then parried and countered. The warrior fought without expression, neither cursing nor shouting.

  Quinlan caught a vertical cut, countered and thrust. This time his sword found its mark, and it penetrated deep into his enemy’s side.

  He hesitated just a moment for the invasion of his blade to take its effect, but that was a mistake. The warrior’s face did not change, and his blade returned toward Quinlan with the speed and force of a whole man.

  Quinlan could not recover in time. He withdrew his sword and raised his left arm, catching the edge of the warrior’s sword with the vambrace on his forearm. The force of the blow carried on through to his shoulder and knocked him off Kobalt.

  He hit the ground with a thud. By the time he regained his feet, his opponent had launched his steed toward an unsuspecting woman. The evil warrior struck her down, then turned and looked at Quinlan once more. There was no smile, no sneer, no curse—just the face of undeterred evil that could never be satisfied.

  The Shadow Warrior turned and attacked him once more. Quinlan was now at an extreme disadvantage, for his enemy was mounted and he was not. He prepared himself to take the blow from above, then realized the warrior’s intention was simply to trample him under the massive steed he rode.

  Quinlan dove to his left, narrowly missing the animal’s deadly hoofs. The warrior wheeled and charged again, this time swinging his sword for a final deathblow. Quinlan feigned another dive, but instead thrust his sword up through the belly of the warrior’s horse. He lost his grip on his sword as the animal reared, screamed, and collapsed to the ground, sending its rider tumbling.