Kanjar - Ch. 2

(If you haven't already, don't miss "Kanjar - Ch. 1"  which sets the stage for this chapter)

The ancient mountains rose far above, a pale sickly grey mixed with the unmistakable silver streaks of the ancient energies which flourished throughout their very existence. The powerful radiance of majesty lingered throughout the range as well as the surrounding countryside.

As Shalandra drew the party near the mountains, pain became clear upon her face. The strain of holding together even a simple spell under these conditions, would have crushed any wizard. Many Sorcerers would quickly have collapsed. But Shalandra, she would not give in, not to any witch, wizard, or sorcerer, not even to the vast power of ancient times. Not without a fight.

"Terminate the spell!" The cry was sharp and quick. A voice which demanded obedience, yet even the High Sorcerer would have found his command unheard. It would seem, this was to be Shalandra's time to try herself versus one of the greatest battles of her career. If she lost, the entire expedition could plummet into destruction.

The light of the ancient way, its brilliance burning into the very soul of those who challenged it. The pain of a thousand hooks drew into each inch of the body increasing with each instant. Flames dancing throughout her body. The gaunt figures of the dead, rising from the ground to claim her soul. The terrors of pain and the horrors of the darkest imaginations, these become the reality before her. A distant voice calls, "Shalandra! Terminate the spell!" This time, the voice carried a great logic.

With a screeching gasp, Shalandra crumpled over. The forces of ancient powers overwhelming her. The pain rippled throughout her body. Totally unbridled by her submission. The gaunt figures faded from her mind, the flames dwindled, the hooks quickly deteriorated. All had been suffered only in her mind and soul. The others knew nothing of what she saw. They must never know what she faces. If they were to know, they would appreciate more the value of magic, but then they would never let it be used for its cost would be too great.

Shalandra struck the ground, her strength faded. All became quickly dark. Long thereafter, perhaps most of the night had expired, Shalandra finally saw the dark sky overhead. The pain thrashed within her skull. The figures near her, one keeping watch, Aleric, another watching over her, most certainly Gallard.

"Where?" she struggled with just the one word, the conflict having been much worse than she'd anticipated. She may not recover for days. This she now realized.

"Hush," Aleric whispered. "You need much rest. Randalin will return by dawn, or I am to follow."

"You ... let." Shalandra's voice decayed. It was so painful, but important to try.

"Hush!" Snapped Aleric, "You are in need of considerable rest. Randalin commanded that we stay here to watch over you. If he does not return by dawn, I must seek the Oracle myself. He's been gone almost two days. His oath to the Princess must be fulfilled, even should he die. To fail in this, would make his death without honor. A fate we all know should not be his. Now lie still, I know not the challenge you faced, but you've been near death for most of two days. Which tells me the strain was great. You remember, I've been with you a long time. I know that when this happens, you've not recovered when first your senses return. We'll let nothing happen to you. This I swore long ago to you, and we gave Randalin our word. Now rest."

In the mountains, Randalin struggled to keep his mind free of distractions. This whole place reeked of death. If the legends hold true at all, it is in that the mind which wanders, is destroyed by its wanderings. He who dreams in the mountains, dies in the mountains.

His hand gripped a sharp stone as he heaved himself atop the ledge. He caught a motion in the shadows. Without hesitation, his blade whisked forth from its scabbard and whistled through the night air. It struck nothing as Randalin slipped from the ledge. Nothing remained on his thoughts, save his one arm which clutched at the ledge, suspending him some sixty feet above the nearest surface below him.

Warmth eased over his hand as blood soaked his sleeve. The same rock which had supported him in his ascent, now dug into his arm, preventing his fall. Pain did not yet come about. His sword lay before him, upon the ledge. Slowly, he clambered over the ledge, his chest bursting in his need for air. He rolled onto his back, heaving for breath.

His wounded arm streaked suddenly grabbing the hilt of his sword. The sword clashed less than an inch from his face against a huge axe, borne in a massive clawed hand. Randalin sprang to his feet, spinning to face this opponent. As he brought his sword to bear, the foe was nowhere in sight.

After minutes slowly passed, Randalin knew his adversary was gone. It had been but a test, to see if he was a challenge. Had he been dead, he was no challenge. He would cross this other's paths again, soon.

His blade rasped slightly as it slipped into its sheath. Randalin felt the wall of the mountain. Nothing was present to indicate any hidden passage, but something with claws such as those, could easily scale such a surface. But so silently and swiftly?

Seeing little choice, his trek up the Mountainside resumed. After another hour of climbing, he came to a cave, the first place that offered a defensible position and shelter from the bone-chilling winds. Fortunate, he thought, perhaps too fortunate. Randalin entered, hearing something skitter across the floor after his foot brushed it.

Without light, he had little hope of seeing anything. His wounded hand pulled forth a small lump of flint, his left hand pulling forth a dagger of steel. As he struck them together, he glanced about the cavern. After several strikes, be was convinced that there was little immediate danger. A scroll lay nearby, with a half used candle beside it.
Reluctantly, he decided to light the candle. For there was little else to provide light. More than a dozen strikes were taken before the candle lit. By its dim light, Randalin read the scroll. Its message was brief.

         You have done well. You've earned a night's rest.
         You shall be undisturbed. In only a short time, you
         will reach the shelter of the Oracle, but to enter,
         you must pass me. I am Zalyxar, Master of Solitude.

Sleep came quickly the first night, the pulsing heat within his arm faded as he drifted into a deep sleep, deeper than he'd ever slept before. Not a single dream approached in his long slumber. A sound came, which aroused Randalin from this restful sleep. A sound so faint, only the trained ears of a Knight trained by the Weapon-masters would have heard it.

Randalin sprang to his feet, unsheathing his sword with astounding speed. There was nothing to be seen, as the pale dawn's light broke through the morning mists. Still, there had to have been something.

As Randalin began to leave, he smiled, the candle, which he'd left burning the night before, was unused. The sound he'd heard, was whoever had replaced it. This Zalyxar was true to his word, a man of honor it would seem.

The morning air was quite fresh, Randalin's arm had taken well to the rest. Today, the climb continues. Sheathing his sword, once again Randalin began his ascent. Slower today, but still covering notable distances. There were more places to grip here, as if the going was to be easier. This slowed Randalin more, for something was not right. After a long and grueling climb, a ledge was reached, it seemed quite able to support the weight he possessed. Unlike the last one, this ledge was much larger.

Not a ledge, but a outcropping of a cavern floor. But if the caverns were placed here by ancient magic, then there must be a reason. What was this one's reason? It couldn't be that he'd made the whole climb expected of the day so quickly.

A voice echoed forth from the cave, a hollow and cracked voice. "Enter, Randalin. You've come far."

With slight hesitation, Randalin did as the voice bid. A strange flickering iridescence ebbed forth from the walls and the floor, unseen until he entered. The beauty was awe inspiring. A large figure, sat nearby, it beckoned with a powerful talonid hand, "Come closer," its voice flowed smoothly.

"What do you wish of me?" Randalin kept his distance as he inquired. His hand fell upon his sword, as he prepared in case of battle.

"I am Zalyxar, I bid you welcome. Rest yourself, you must be weary after the morning's climb. I've been watching you, never have I seen your equal. Who was your master?" The figure's voice was smooth as silk, yet could cut like ice-cold steel.

"I was trained by Aldarin, Son of Aertim and Knight of Kanjar. Why do you ask of him?"

"A Knight of Kanjar. That would explain it. I've met only one other of Kanjar. He was the first to ever meet me in stalemate. I've yet to be defeated in over seven hundred years. More than two thousand have fallen before me. Only one has survived. His name was Kaliran, of the Third House of Varad; a Knight of Kanjar. You come from a proud heritage. Of what house are you, Randalin?" Zalyxar's intent was apparent.

He had obviously sworn some oath, which bound him to fight. But still he sought to give his opponent a chance to recover, before the battle would ensue. Indeed a being of honor, and to spend all these years in the solitude of these mountains, it is no wonder he seeks to speak.

"I am of the House of the Crown. I serve the Crown in life, and if such is called for, in my death." Randalin was quick in his answer, but was unsure if this would affect Zalyxar's decision at all.

"A Knight of the House of the Crown! I am indeed honored this day! I've never met a Knight of the Crown Circle before. Won't you come closer?" As he inquired, he unfastened his belt as he rose to bow. A huge axe and a powerful ornate broadsword both slowly lowered on the belt to the floor. "I know as a Knight of the Crown, you will not strike an opponent who has lowered his weapons in truce. But I likewise, will not strike at an opponent who is unready. The strike at you last night, was only an illusion, which was meant to warn off those who would have come unprepared. You dealt well with the illusion, I congratulate you." Zalyxar bowed gently in respect.

So easy. So easy would it be to defeat him now. One of honor, must be met with honor. Anything else would make me nothing more than a barbarian. Randalin removed his hand from the hilt at his side, and returned the bow. He stepped somewhat closer to Zalyxar, as he did so, he could see the face was not human, but that instead he had powerful jaws like those of a bear, and hands which ended in clawed fingers. Zalyxar is not human, he is Thryndar. "I thought the Thryndar extinct." Randalin muttered.

"Indeed you are a Knight of the Crown Circle! No other would study so well the legends of the Kanjar Scrolls. My people are now few, but far from extinct. We serve to protect the Oracle, and to serve as the challenger to those who seek to find the Oracle. This oath was sworn by my master, Quaryn. The ways of the Thryndar differ from yours, we do not permit the vows of those before us, to follow them to the grave." A note of emotion flared in Zalyxar's voice.

"I swore an oath to Aldarin, and when he died, that oath was given to the one he served. His oath became my oath. For this is the way it should be. If you refuse to believe me, so be it. I need no respect from Thee!" Randalin rebuked.

"If you wish to do battle now, that is your choice, but I offer you the chance to turn back, or to rest that you may be ready. Do you refuse these offers?"

"Aye, that I must do. Arm yourself. Though I believe if things were different, we could have been friends, your oath prevents this, as does mine. For our oaths oppose each other." Randalin calmly replied.

"So shall it be, Honorable Knight" Zalyxar muttered as he raised his belt, fastening the weapons back upon his side. "I regret that which I am sworn now to do."

The two stepped back, now each confronting an opponent he knew would prove a challenge. The walls lost their glow, and the floor took on a grave amber glow illuminating the cavern. Randalin waited for almost two minutes before drawing his sword. His nerve had broken first, the Thryndar had won the battle of wills. Randalin's blade whisked through the air, hurtling with lightning speed toward the unmoving Thryndar.

With reflexes of blinding speed, Zalyxar's Broadsword leapt forth, intercepting the powerful stroke Randalin delivered. The sound of steel versus steel resounded throughout the cavern. With each stroke Randalin was forced back, finally a stroke caught his wounded arm.

Randalin returned suddenly with a powerful onslaught moving him away from the near wall, forcing Zalyxar instead to back away. Zalyxar's blade swiftly parried and blocked every stroke Randalin threw. When suddenly from out of nowhere Randalin felt a deep impact on his leg. Warm blood spilled forth, rushing down his leg.

Zalyxar was using his sword with only one hand. The axe!
Randalin quickly remembered the axe which had been on Zalyxar's belt. The huge axe which would take Randalin both hands to wield. The Broadsword was in Zalyxar's left hand, the axe in his right. The battle had again turned against Randalin. He swept wide defensive movements as he backed toward the wall behind him.

How could he hope to defeat one of such power? It's impossible! No human has that kind of power. It's hopeless! Randalin's strokes became more frenzied as he felt his blood continue to flow. Each swing blocking one weapon or futilely attempting to strike Zalyxar. Without success the knight continued to wonder if this was the end.

Suddenly a voice came to him. "Randalin! Let not your mind wander. If it does, your death is assured. Then your friends would try to complete this task. They could not be victorious for you know you are the most disciplined of them!"

That voice. . . Zalyxar! Even in battle he was offering advice, offering help.

"If not for yourself, then for Shalandra. If not for her, then for Laurinda!" Zalyxar continued as his next stroke of his broadsword bit deeply into Randalin's shoulder. The shoulder of his good arm.

Randalin snapped his mind back into the fight, focussed upon nothing except stopping Zalyxar. He found a single chance, and threw himself at it. He sprang forward feeling the broadsword bite deeply into his chest, but his own sword, found its mark, striking Zalyxar in the neck.

Zalyxar staggered back, his axe crushing into the stone as it fell, "You fight well, Knight of Kanjar. . . Forgive me, for it was my oath which bound me to fight you, not my choice." Zalyxar fell back striking the stone floor, as its glow became red. Zalyxar lay before Randalin, having both tried to kill and save him.

A deep hollow voice called, "Come Randalin, you've done well. You've faced the trials of the Mountains, and thus you may approach the Oracle."

Randalin, with pain wrenching his body, blood flowing from his wounds stepped in the direction of the voice. There was a sudden sound behind him, much like a sudden fire. He turned, and Zalyxar was gone. Randalin, tears in his eyes, returned to the direction of the Oracle, "Goodbye," he muttered filled with sorrow, "Goodbye, my friend."

As the passageway opened into another chamber, Randalin saw nothing, save a large deep well. Where is the Oracle? Is this some other trick?

"Randalin," the voice resumed, "not all things of knowledge and vision are those of flesh. Come closer that you may ask what you will."

Randalin hesitated, then complied, "I seek the Dark Brotherhood, and the assassins they employ."

The Well hollowly responded. "What offering do you make for this information? What will you give to the Oracle of the Sword, in exchange?"

"What type of offering do you wish, Oracle?" Randalin responded hesitantly.

The well was quiet. Not even the water moved. It began to radiate a dull crimson light which brought an eerie feeling to the chamber.

Though the chamber began to take on many discomforting attributes, Randalin stood his ground. "Oracle, I offer blood and what little wealth I have for this information."

A truly awe inspiring deep laughter echoed through the caverns. "You offer wealth to the Oracle of the Sword? Lower your blade into my waters. Let your offering of blood be enough."

As his blade lowered slowly, the water began to swirl. The blade's tip touched the surface, and Randalin saw the blood of his fallen adversary rush from the blade into the water. Meanwhile the water began to flow up the blade and engulf Randalin's hand. Within seconds, his entire body was held fast within the fluids of the well. The blood from his wounds mixing with the Oracle's waters. A strong stinging sensation flowed throughout Randalin's body.

The water, carrying his blood returned to the well, where it began to glow a deep crimson. The voice came clearer now, much stronger and more definite. "Randalin," it began, "You are now one of mine. A Knight of the Crown, and a Knight of the Sword's Oracle. I grant free passage to you and those you accompany, anywhere in the reaches of The Mountains of Solitude. My Thryndar Guardian known as Zalyxar, will accompany you in this quest. The Brotherhood may be found two days journey by Shalandra's magic toward the South, in Bryndar Keep. They have seized total dominion over the Keep. None there may be trusted. The Assassins they employ are of the Gojhin Guild. They will be found only upon their next attempt upon her life. That attempt will be eight days hence. Now Go, Knight. Your duty here is done."

As Randalin began to raise his sword to sheath it, it glowed a deep green, like an emerald in the full light of the sun. The glow subsided but numerous runes had been etched intricately upon the blade. As the sword found its sheath, Randalin saw his blank shield becoming etched as the light of the well faded into nothing. The faint light from the walls in the first chamber guided Randalin back. As he entered, a portal blazed to life before him. A brilliant red sparked throughout its deep green framework. Within, a figure moved, a powerful figure. A Thryndar obviously.

Without a thought, Randalin found himself stepping into the portal. Suddenly he found himself standing between Zalyxar who stood ready to defend himself, opposing him were Gallard and Aleric.

Gallard opened the fight quickly with a hardy thrust at Zalyxar's chest, this stroke was easily thwarted by the ancient Thryndar's skill. Aleric swept a deep low strike toward their opponent's knee, hoping to cripple him quickly. This attack, met a far more impressive counter. From nowhere, a sword ripped through the air with a faint whistle. In a instant Aleric's sword laid upon the ground, the sword which struck it down turned quickly to intercept a stroke of Zalyxar's axe as it nearly severed Gallard's neck.

Now this sword had the attention of the trio, more importantly, it's wielder had gained their full attention. As the dawn broke, its light unmasked Randalin as the one who stopped the strokes they'd offered. Something had changed, but Aleric and Gallard could not identify it.

Zalyxar suddenly embedded both his weapons in the ground as he knelt before Randalin. "My Lord, my most humble apologies. I was unaware these, my assailants had your protection. I beg you pardon me this misjudgment. My orders are to follow the requests of you, Oracle Champion."

"I seek no servitude of you. If you are to accompany me upon my quest, it is to be as my equal. Not as my servant." Randalin replied. His voice was smooth as the flow of water from a gentle brook. "How is Shalandra? Has there been any change?" Randalin's voice showed more than a hint of concern. In fact, his voice cracked only halfway through the sentence into almost a whine.
"She has recovered a portion of her strength, but is not yet ready to provide travel. It would seem that we will be afoot for possibly many days, Randalin." Aleric's voice was filled with dismay. Though Randalin knew this was more of concern for the mission than for Shalandra.