Sir Dalton and the Shadow Heart Page 8

  As Mister Sejus walked toward him, Dalton noticed that he seemed less encumbered in his walk this morning. Perhaps his joints are affected by the weather. Dalton had heard other old people say that. Mister Sejus sat down on the stool next to the cot.

  “I’m not sure how you knew, but you were right.” Dalton put his hand to his head. “But how do I get a heart for something I already want?”

  “Now you are asking the right questions, young knight.” Mister Sejus smiled and stood. “But first it is time for you to eat.”

  He supported Dalton and helped him stand, then guided him to the table.

  Mister Sejus fed Dalton a sumptuous breakfast of eggs, sweet corn muffins, stewed pork, and fresh fruit. He encouraged him to drink much water as he ate. Dalton finally wiped his mouth, feeling energized by the meal.

  “Come, Dalton,” Mister Sejus stood at the cave entrance.

  Dalton stood carefully, with a hand across his stomach, and joined the old man at the entrance of the cave. Dalton squinted at the brightness of the day, for the sky was full of blue and sun.

  The hermit’s cave was elevated enough to offer a spectacular view for a great expanse in all directions. Off to the right, a majestic mountain range stretched far into the distance. In front of them, the land dropped away to forest and then gave way to a lush green plain, with a river that wound its way out of view. The terrain to the left was more rugged but just as enchanting.

  “What do you see?” Mister Sejus asked as he gazed into the distance.

  Dalton was now leery of answering the man’s questions too quickly. When he hesitated, the old man looked at him with inquisitive eyes.

  “An accident or a plan?” Mister Sejus continued.

  “You are a strange fellow, Mister Sejus. Where do you come from?”

  The old man smiled again and seemed a little disappointed. But he answered the question. “Nowhere…and everywhere. My business of collecting takes me to many places in the kingdom.” He turned again to look at the morning scenery.

  Dalton gazed at the man, amazed. At first he had thought him a crazy hermit, then a meddling old man, but now…

  “How are you feeling?” Mister Sejus said without looking at him.

  Dalton put his hand to his stomach again. “Quite well, actually.” He was surprised to realize how true that was. “I think I should be on my way within a day or two.”

  Mister Sejus just nodded. “Very well. In the meantime, you can earn your keep by helping me.”

  He brought Dalton to his bench and set a stool next to him. Dalton sat down as the old man went to his huge pile of rusted trinkets. He scrounged around a bit and finally pulled something from beneath the pile.

  “Ah, here it is. I knew it was in there somewhere.”

  Mister Sejus held a crusty old sword that looked like it had been weathered in the elements for a hundred years. He placed it on the table before Dalton.

  “You must polish this for me. If you do a fair job, perhaps it will help me recover my costs for treating you.”

  Dalton looked at the sword with dismay. The double-edged blade was dull, with streaks of rust down its length. The handle and guard were so dirty and tarnished that Dalton could not make out the markings. Cleaning the weapon looked like a hopeless task. But he knew he was indebted to the old man, so he determined to do his best.

  The hermit taught Dalton how to work the polishing tools, and he settled into the task, starting with the blade. When he tired, he rested on the cot for a bit before returning to the chore, pushing himself to concentrate on his seemingly impossible assignment. He was glad, though, when Mister Sejus called him to the table and afterward suggested an early night.

  Over the next few days, Dalton’s strength returned. As they worked at the bench together, Mister Sejus found many opportunities to ask more probing questions which Dalton found uncomfortable to answer. There was something about the man that drew Dalton to him, and yet he wanted to be done with the nagging questions about purpose, vision, and knighthood. He had never worked so hard to answer questions before. In fact, all of Sir Dornan’s training seemed simple and trivial compared to this.

  Dalton wasn’t much more thrilled about his task of cleaning the sword. The work was tedious, and the old hermit would take nothing but perfection.

  “You must polish in the direction of the grain of the steel,” he said to Dalton during one of his inspections. “The blade was forged and folded in that fashion and must be worked according to the designs of its swordsmith.”

  At the end of the fourth day, Dalton had completed only one side of the blade, but his feelings about the work were beginning to change. He was amazed at the beauty that was slowly being revealed by his labor and by the guidance of Mister Sejus. Part of him almost wished he would be there to finish the task, but he was feeling much better and anxious to be on his way.

  The next morning, he stood just inside the cave with the knapsack full of provisions Mister Sejus had given him. “I want to thank you for all you have done,” he said to his elderly host, “perhaps even risking your life to save me. I’m sorry I didn’t finish the sword for you, but it is time for me to be on my way back home. My family will be worried.”

  Mister Sejus nodded and held Dalton’s gaze for some time…until Dalton turned to look out the entrance.

  “Your family…and your Lady Brynn.” Mister Sejus stated, as if he knew Dalton’s thoughts.

  “Yes, but I still don’t know where I am and which direction to travel.”

  “That is a truth for certain,” Mister Sejus said. “Are you sure you’re ready to leave?”

  Dalton looked back at the hermit, a bit exasperated. “I am ready.”

  Mister Sejus slowly nodded. “I see. And what of Lord Drox? Are you ready for him?”

  Dalton hadn’t thought of that evil warrior for many days. Once again, this old hermit had slapped him in the face with the simple truth of the obvious. Dalton felt a rush of fear rise up in him. Drox was surely nearby.

  “If you leave now, he will find you and imprison you or kill you.”

  The old man spoke the words so poignantly that Dalton stumbled in his heart.

  “Why do you think he sought you out and pierced you through?” Mister Sejus added.

  Dalton was quiet. “Because I lack,” Dalton said softly. “When I was first taken prisoner by Drox, a friend and fellow knight searched for me.” He thought back to that stormy night. “This mighty warrior hid from my friend as though he were afraid of him.”

  “What was different between you and your friend?” Mister Sejus asked.

  Dalton looked away, into the kingdom. “Koen rides as a knight with authority…as though he knows it is all true.”

  “Ah…he knows it is true.”

  Dalton turned to look at the hermit again. “Is it that simple?”

  “The only way to have a complete heart for the Prince is to know it is true. A man who doesn’t is like a wave of the sea being tossed by the wind. Eventually, Drox will find that man and imprison him…or pierce him through.”

  “So what do I do?” Dalton voiced the question but not necessarily directed toward the old man. He didn’t expect him to be able to give him an answer.

  Mister Sejus looked warmly at Dalton. “Travel with me today young knight, and I will show you the answer to one of your questions.”

  “One of my questions?” Dalton asked.

  “Yes…one of many that keep you from having the heart of a Knight of the Prince. You must face all of them, Dalton. The King and His Son are not afraid of questions.”

  Mister Sejus went into the cave and retrieved his own pack, already prepared. He lifted it to his shoulder.

  “I thought you wanted to be rid of me,” Dalton said with a smile.

  “Yes, well, I’m afraid you’re just not ready, and I must be patient. What’s an old man to do?”

  At first, Dalton wondered if the pace of the hermit would be too slow for him to bear, but he quickly discove
red this was not the case. It was Dalton who struggled to keep pace with Mister Sejus. Dalton himself needed frequent rests, for his strength was still greatly diminished. They traveled east along the base of the mountain range for most of the morning.

  “Now I recognize these mountains,” Dalton said with satisfaction. “These are the Northern Mountains. I was so close to them that I could not see them for what they are.”

  “’Tis often true in life, young one,” the old hermit said without skipping a step.

  At one point, they climbed a ridge. Mister Sejus stopped for a moment, and Dalton was grateful. The old man seemed tireless. They looked south to a thick forest.

  “This is Wolf Ridge,” Mister Sejus said and pointed to an area not far away. “There was a great battle there long ago.”

  “Here in the Northern Mountains?” Dalton asked between ragged breaths. “I’ve not heard of it.”

  “You wouldn’t have, but the kingdom hung in the balance. The people are often unaware,” Mister Sejus said. “There are many who don’t even believe there is a King.”

  “Yes, I know,” Dalton said. “Those are the ones most difficult to tell about the Prince.”

  Mister Sejus shook his head. “Without a King, there is no kingdom. The King established Arrethtrae long ago. Those who live here and deny His existence live a life of contradiction, for the kingdom itself testifies to His reign.”

  By early afternoon, they came to an area that seemed forgotten by time itself. It was a scene of ancient beauty, and Mister Sejus slowed to enjoy it. A sparkling river flowed nearby, tumbling gently over shallow waterfalls. Mister Sejus told Dalton it was the Tisgri. The trees seemed larger than usual and widely spaced, and the ground between them was padded with thick grass and soft mats of forest moss. Green vines and brightly colored flowers provided a garden atmosphere, and a delightful canopy of leaves and pine branches filtered the sunlight into golden spires. Dalton looked around in awe at the magnificence of it all.

  They walked quietly through the trees until they came to the ruins of a forgotten estate. The outer walls had crumbled, and the rusted iron gates had fallen from their hinges. They walked through the gate and stood in the outer court of what once must have been a majestic palace.

  “What is this place?” Dalton asked in wonderment.

  Mister Sejus breathed deeply. “This is the place of beginnings… This is Nedehaven.”

  They stood before the blackened ruins of a great and ancient palace. The trees and vines had nearly swallowed the structure, and it looked as though it was trying to return to nature, but its residual magnificence was unmistakable.

  “I thought this story was just a fabricated legend,” Dalton said, still gawking at the ruins. “I never would have believed such a place existed.”

  Mister Sejus turned to Dalton. “That is why we are here.”

  Dalton looked at the old man, who seemed to have become stronger by their day’s hike rather than weaker. The young knight followed him up the overgrown stairway to the veranda of the great hall. Dalton brushed the dirt away from a broken piece of marble that had fallen from its place above the entrance. He traced his finger in the engraving: Nedehaven.

  “This truly was it,” he whispered.

  Dalton followed Mister Sejus through the ruins to a back courtyard, where the remnants of a stone walkway wound its way through an abandoned garden. Mister Sejus stopped and knelt down. He placed his hand on the stones, now nearly overgrown with moss.

  Dalton knelt beside him.

  “The King walked with Peyton and Dinan here,” Mister Sejus said quietly.

  Dalton looked once more at the ruins and realized that this truly was the place of beginnings—the place where the King first established his perfect kingdom under the rule of Sir Peyton and Lady Dinan. He looked at the charred remains of the palace and imagined it burning as Lucius and his Shadow Warriors brought the terror of their battle to Arrethtrae. He was kneeling in the heart of the kingdom… and of the King himself

  “I doubted that such a place existed.” Dalton hung his head, ashamed. “It seemed too far-fetched to be truth, and yet…”

  Mister Sejus turned his head and looked at Dalton. “The Prince came to Arrethtrae because of the failure here long ago. Through Peyton’s failure, all people of Arrethtrae were doomed. Without the resounding truth of this place, this story, there is no foundation for the truth of the Prince, or even the King, for that matter.”

  Mister Sejus looked deep into Dalton’s eyes. “If you don’t believe in the beginning, you can’t believe in the Prince or in his mission to rescue the people of Arrethtrae from the clutches of the Dark Knight.”

  Dalton was crushed by the force of the man’s words.

  “I’m such a fool. Why did I doubt so?” Dalton said, fighting back his emotions.

  “It is such with so many,” Mister Sejus said sadly as he looked at the ruins of the palace. His sadness seemed to come from deep within his heart.

  Dalton put a hand on the old man’s shoulder. What had unnerved him about the man before now sparked a desire to know more.

  “How do you know such things, Mister Sejus?” he asked, slowly shaking his head. “How?”

  Mister Sejus looked at Dalton again. “Come back with me and work on my sword, and I shall tell you more.”

  Dalton nodded. He thought about how his perception of this old hermit had changed over the past week, and with it his perception of the kingdom… of everything.

  DIVIDING THE CODE

  The journey to Nedehaven had proved a strain for Dalton, and he needed a few days to regain his strength. But Mister Sejus was true to his charge and helped Dalton fully recover. Dalton was now feeling nearly whole again. When Mister Sejus removed the bandage one evening, Dalton was shocked to see that there was hardly a scar to show for the steely invasion just three weeks earlier.

  “It seems impossible!” Dalton exclaimed as he felt his stomach and his back at the same time.

  Mister Sejus peered closely at the wound site. “Your healing is not yet complete, so you must not strain too much.”

  Dalton nodded as he donned his torn and bloodstained tunic. “You are a remarkable old man.”

  Mister Sejus ignored the comment. “Let’s see how your sword is coming.”

  The blade was now completely polished, and it reflected the light of the nearby lamp with a spectacular sheen. The edges still needed work, and the guard and handle were clean but not polished yet. Still, Dalton was pleased, and so was Mister Sejus.

  Dalton picked up the sword and moved into a hanging guard stance. It felt good in his hand. The balance was perfect.

  “Set your feet here and here,” the hermit said as he tapped the floor with his toe. “And you must turn your wrist a bit more.”

  Dalton furrowed his brow and opened his mouth to shoot out a barbed comment. After all, he had been trained at the haven in Salisburg and in the advanced training class at Brimwick Downs. Who was this old man to tell him anything about sword fighting? Then he realized that whenever he said such a thing in the presence of this peculiar man, he usually ended up embarrassed and humbled. So he shut his mouth, listened, and obeyed.

  Over the next two hours, Mister Sejus instructed Dalton on the fine points of swordsman’s stances. Slowly Dalton’s mind opened to the fact that this old hermit was well versed in the techniques of advanced sword fighting.

  When they stopped, Dalton lowered his sword and stared at Mister Sejus. He was certain this was not the same man who had nursed him back from the dead, for the man seemed twice his former self in mind, stature, and strength.

  “Once again you have surprised me, Mister Sejus,” Dalton said as he laid the sword back on the workbench. “You have shown me forms that not even my instructors knew. How much more do you know?”

  Mister Sejus lifted the sword and wiped it with a rag as he inspected the handle. “When you have finished polishing the handle, I can show you one or two more things,” he said with a qu
ick grin. “Tell me, young Dalton, what directs the thoughts and actions of a Knight of the Prince such as yourself?”

  “I suppose it is the training we receive from our instructors.”

  “I see,” Mister Sejus said as he returned the sword to the workbench. “And what if an instructor is incompetent or misdirected himself? What then happens to his students?”

  Dalton had no answer.

  “Would it be safe to assume that his students might become incompetent or misdirected?”

  “I suppose so,” Dalton replied, once again uncomfortable.

  “Men are flawed, Dalton. What has the King given us to guard against such a thing?” Mister Sejus asked. “What should direct the thoughts and actions of a Knight of the Prince?”

  Dalton knew this answer from his training. “The Code and the life of the Prince.”

  Mister Sejus penetrated Dalton’s soul with his eyes once again. “Your words are true, but do you believe them, Dalton?”

  Dalton wanted to say yes just to stop this dialogue, but this confounded hermit seemed to read his heart like an open book. He would take nothing short of a truthful answer.

  “I was taught that the Code is an archaic document that our kingdom has outgrown—a relic from the past that is only a rough guide.” Dalton bent over, put his elbows on the workbench, and rested his fingers on the sword. “Some even said that it was not given by the King but written by the hands of mere men. Deep inside I know it is more than that, but most of the kingdom has rejected it—including many men of great learning.” Dalton turned his head and looked at his peculiar mentor. “So how does one truly know what to believe or follow?”

  Mister Sejus looked on Dalton as a father would, patiently teaching a son through his years of experience.

  “The Code is timeless, Dalton. It was not given to one man in secret for a particular time, but to all people openly for all time. It is not a parchment in the inner chambers of the palace of Chessington, but a living creed written on the fleshly tablets of the hearts of men and women who serve and love the King. The Prince is the personification of the Code. By Him the kingdom lives or dies. Do not let the vain teachings of wayward instructors cause you to wander from the resilient truth of the Code and the Prince! Test it, Dalton, and see if it is not true.”