Paragory had won. The outer walls of Mithegard had been thrown down; every cottage and home had been raided and destroyed; the once proud Glimpses of Mithegard were scattered, killed or captured; and Mithegard Castle was in ruins.
The army of Mithegard, aided by the Knights from Alleble, had fought valiantly, defeating more than half of Paragory’s invading force. But in the end, Paragory had too many soldiers and too much firepower for the tiny resistance to handle.
Led by Lord Rucifel, the enemy’s remaining forces gathered and stored all salvageable weapons and war machines. They also herded together hundreds of captured Mithegardian peasants and soldiers, put them in chains, and began their long journey around the mountains of the Black Crescent back to Paragory.
Aidan, Kaliam, and their mortally wounded Captain were left in the middle of the carnage-filled battlefield. How they had been missed by the scavenging Paragor Knights, Aidan did not know. He was so focused on caring for Captain Valithor that he had no thought of other concerns, including his own survival.
A single red arrow remained deep within Captain Valithor’s chest, close to his shoulder. Such a wound would not ordinarily be life-threatening, for the arrowhead did not pierce the Captain’s heart or any vital artery. But the mortiwraith venom was perilous and swift. That amount of toxin would have killed Aidan in a few agonizing seconds. But so great were the strength and courage of Captain Valithor that even with the venom coursing in his blood, he remained alive for some time—though reduced to a weak shadow of his former self.
“Can’t we take the arrow out?” Aidan asked, blinking away tears.
“Nay, lad,” responded the Captain softly. “That would do more harm than good.”
“Is there nothing we can do? No remedy or medicine?” Kaliam pleaded.
“The poison has already found my heart,” the Captain replied.
“But weep not, Aidan! Soon, I will go and join the King, my wife, my mother and father and, at last, be among those in the Sacred Realm Beyond the Sun.”
“It’s all my fault! I should have gotten free sooner! I tried, but the armor wouldn’t come free.” Aidan groaned. He looked at the glistening blood on his trembling hands. It was not his own blood, but he felt it should have been. “Captain, you shouldn’t have saved me! Alleble needs you . . . more than me.”
For a moment, the Captain returned to his fiery, cantankerous self. He stared Aidan straight in the eye.
“Sir Aidan, thou tottering, beetle-brained lummox! How dare you measure yourself against another! No one who follows the King of Alleble is greater or lesser than the other. We are all equal in the King’s eyes!”
“But, I’m just a kid, and you, you’re a mighty knight, the Captain of Alleble’s armies!” Aidan argued. “You’ve won countless battles for the King!”
“I have lost more battles than I have won, as the King measures victory,” sighed the Captain, putting his hand on Aidan’s shoulder. “And any glory in battle belongs to King Eliam, for it was his might in me that led to every victorious deed. His unyielding strength . . . is within you now as well.”
With a groan the Captain closed his eyes, and it seemed a great effort for him to speak again. “Now, Aidan, Kaliam, listen to me closely . . . I have but little time to remain. You must not despair, for our mission did not fail, and it is . . . not . . . over . . . yet!”
“But, Captain . . . ,” Kaliam objected. “Mithegard is in ruins—”
“Yes, young Kaliam,” the Captain interrupted. “Mithegard the city is destroyed, and yet . . . many of the Mithegardian Glimpses are now allied with the true King, and that is a victory worthy of a new scroll in the great Story of Alleble! Before that chapter is written, however, there is much work to be done. Kaliam, there must be survivors still hiding in Mithegard. Many of the cottages have underground shelters—if memory serves—so stay here and do not rest until every last Glimpse is found. I do not know how many of the twelve survived. I thought Mallik, Farix, and the twins were yet alive. Find whom you can. Then, lead those who are willing to the safety of Alleble.”
“Aye, Sir!” replied Kaliam, standing up. The Captain had given him a new mission to accomplish and with it, a new hope.
“And you, Sir Aidan . . . ,” said the Captain, his voice weak and congested. “You must rescue Gwenne and—”
“Gwenne?!” Aidan interrupted, unexpected hope pulsing in his heart. “She’s alive?”
“Yes, lad, . . . she was captured by Rucifel . . . hundreds of Mithegard’s citizens and soldiers were taken captive as well. Even now they are traveling at speed to the Gates of Despair.”
“Was King Ravelle captured as well?”
“If I know my s—” The Captain’s body shuddered, and he coughed. “I . . . I cannot imagine Ravelle allowing himself to be captured alive, and yet, I did not see him here among the dead . . . I cannot say,” his voice trailed off. His eyes fixed on a point beyond Aidan for a moment, but then he blinked and spoke again.
“In any case, you must hurry! You must catch them when they make their first camp, for once they cross the border into Paragory, all hope for their rescue will be lost!”
“But Captain,” Kaliam spoke, “our dragon steeds, they are all slain.”
“How can I catch up to them?” Aidan protested, feeling more like a pudgy, slowpoke teenager than a battle-tested Alleb Knight. “They have a huge head start, and I don’t have a dragon—or even a unicorn to ride!”
Captain Valithor had closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, struggling against the pain to think.
“. . . And even if I could find a moonrascal’s tunnel heading in the right direction, there’s no guarantee it would come out where I need to go.”
But when Aidan mentioned tunnels, the Captain’s eyes snapped open. “There is a way,” he announced. “Kaliam!”
“Sir?” answered Pathfinder, kneeling again next to the Captain.
“You know the way to Falon’s Stair?”
“Yes . . . but—”
“Show Sir Aidan the way. If my guess is correct, the Army of Paragory will make camp upon the plains of the Black Crescent. If Sir Aidan travels Falon’s Stair and through the underground labyrinth, it will bring him up behind the enemy’s camp!”
“But, Captain,” Kaliam objected, “that’s suicide! No one who enters Falon’s domain ever comes out again!”
“Who is Falon?” Aidan asked.
Captain Valithor, his voice thin and distant, replied, “Falon is a creature, the greatest of all mortiwraiths. She lives in a stone maze beneath the mountain—”
“You mean I need to go where a mortiwraith lives?!” Aidan blurted out. He knew as much as he needed to know about morti-wraiths. He was watching just a touch of its venom slowly draining the Captain of life.
“Falon lives in this maze, but she does not slay those of pure heart for sport. And . . . she owes me a favor. Many years ago, I came across a rank of Paragor Knights who had captured one of Falon’s wraithlings. They were beating the young creature with clubs, trying to kill it so they could harvest its poison. I rescued it and returned it to Falon. She vowed to repay me someday. Today is that day! It is the only hope of getting to Gwenne and the others from Mithegard in time.”
“Let me go instead!” argued Kaliam. “Or at least let us wait until one of our own can go with him.”
“No, Kaliam. Do you see Mallik, Tal . . . anyone?” The Captain gasped, blood trickling from one corner of his mouth. “We have no time to wait. You know what our enemy will do to the prisoners from Mithegard . . . to Gwenne once the Gates of Despair close behind them. And I feel in my heart that this task is meant for Aidan . . . or no one at all. Will you go, Sir Aidan? Will you travel Falon’s Stair?”
An incredible array of thoughts kaleidoscoped in Aidan’s mind. He remembered Gwenne’s description of a mortiwraith: a long, snakelike creature with many sets of clawed feet, and huge jaws filled with flesh-ripping teeth. And Falon was the largest, craftiest mortiwraith to ever live! Aidan could not imagine facing such a creature, but even if he did somehow survive the mortiwraith, what would he do once he came up from underground? It would be Aidan against Lord Rucifel and hundreds— maybe even a thousand—Paragor Knights!
He thought as well about how he had come to such a point— so many pieces had to fall into place to bring him to this exact moment. And none of it was a result of chance.
Aidan thought of Gwenne too. Gwenne had become his best friend. Now she was held captive, destined to be tortured and killed.
“I’ll go,” Aidan declared softly.
Captain Valithor nodded. “Sir Aidan, loyal servant of Alleble, you have truly become a knight on this journey. You will need to become even more as you face the perils that lie ahead of you . . .”
The Captain closed his eyes again and whispered, “When you face Falon, remind her of my name, and . . .” He placed Aidan’s hand on the hilt of the sword called Fury. “Show her this sword. She will be reminded of a favor I once did for her when my beard was more brown than gray. Tell her it is your sword now . . . and the favor must then be repaid to you.”
Aidan looked down at the sword. No blood could mar its shining blue blade, for it gleamed just as brightly as it did the first time Aidan saw it hanging in Alleble’s armory. But he didn’t want the sword. Not this way. He wanted Captain Valithor’s wound to heal.
“Sir Aidan,” Captain Valithor spoke again, barely audible, “though you will face many trials by yourself . . . you are never alone.”
Tears flowed freely down Aidan’s cheeks. Valithor, the noble Captain of the Elder Guard, was gone from his body—gone to live forever with King Eliam in the Sacred Realm Beyond the Sun.
Though Aidan knew that precious seconds were ticking away, he needed a final moment with the fallen hero. Captain Valithor had been tough on Aidan, very tough. But he had trained Aidan well and made a fearful teenager into a confident Knight of Alleble. Then, in a sacrifice Aidan thought he would never understand, the Captain had stepped in front of a deadly shaft meant for Aidan.
Aidan found his own sword, the Son of Fury, and placed it on the Captain’s chest. Aidan gently crossed the Captain’s arms over the short sword.
Then, with both hands, Aidan picked up the mighty blade called Fury and placed it in his own sheath. It was heavy, and the tip of the blade would drag on the ground at times, but he would wear it with honor. Aidan hoped he could accomplish something to justify the gift.
Kaliam gestured to Aidan that it was time to go, but Aidan let his eyes linger on the Captain just a little longer. The fierce expression always worn by the Captain, even the pain from the fatal wound, had faded in death.
He now looked peaceful and relaxed—more like he was sleeping.
In fact, Aidan was reminded of his grandfather when he used to fall sound asleep in his wheelchair. In some ways, Captain Valithor looked much like Grampin. Very much like him indeed . . . Then Aidan realized, from the moment the Captain thundered into Alleble’s courtyard to address the knights, his piercing blue eyes flashing, Aidan had always felt there was something familiar about him. And now he knew. Captain Valithor was the Glimpse of his grandfather.
Aidan felt a heavy weight upon his heart, for he realized what the Captain’s death meant. “Good-bye, Grampin,” Aidan said quietly as he and Kaliam walked away.
