The Forgotten

Lynden left the wolf in a state of awe, not really sure what to make of the encounter. Though he was pleased nonetheless that the great beast will help. Or at least he believed she would.

He still had one more task to complete before going back to the watchtower to gather aid from the troops there. Hopefully, they would have returned from where they went.

He rode west on the road, knowing it would take the rest of the day and an early start in the morning to get back to town by the afternoon. It was well-walked, a dirt track big enough for a cart to travel down with no issue. However, he thought that it would no doubt be littered with groups of bandits threatening or robbing traders before they reached the town. He wondered how the kingdom survived and why merchants still made the journey.

Luckily enough for him, the roads seemed to be empty. He passed over small streams with little current to speak of, fields of wheat and trees scattered amongst a large amount of stumps left behind. A logging project underway it seems. With the number of fresh-cut trees he had to wonder what they were all going to be used for.

He rode till the sun had dropped below the horizon when he then set up camp for the night. He laid a roll of cloth on the floor and used another bag from the horse’s back as a pillow. The stallion’s saddle and reins were removed, allowing it to roam and graze on the surrounding grass. It was never a worry for Lynden that the horse would run off. They were companions for a long time, always having one another’s back, not to mention that it would be a waste of good rope as the horse would just snap it.

He lit a small fire from some kindling he found in the area, rubbing two pieces of flint he carried with him for such occasions.

He sat staring into the darkness that slowly claimed the area, eating an apple with dried fruit and nuts. Never one to spend long eating, he lent back on a tree contemplating the trials to come, and after an hour he finally fell into a deep slumber.

Lynden awoke in the morning to the Sun’s rays cutting through the trees. Everything was wet, it had been a cold night. Luckily the cloth he put on the floor acted as a blanket, so rather than being wet he was just covered in dirt that he brushed off as he stood.

Whistling for his companion who was lying next to a tree, the horse rose from its perch and trotted over to him with a bristle. Lynden stroked the horse and brushed him for a few minutes before putting the bags, straddle and reins back on the horse.

“Did you sleep well old man?”

The horse let out a deep breath and stomped his hoof on the floor. Clearly, the horse took some offence to being called old.

“Well, let’s face it, we are both past our prime.”

With little response from the warhorse, it didn’t take them long before they were back on the road.

Making good progress the day before, it wasn’t much further down the road until they turned off the path taking a route directly through years of grown grass and bushes. Lynden knew that unless you knew what to look for, no one would ever find the path.

Following the debarked trees, Lynden had to dismount his steed allowing it to follow behind him.

Hacking through some sections, he reached his destination a little while later to find an old abandoned manor with a small watchtower either side of the house, all of which had clearly seen better days. Parts of it seemingly looked as if they’d fall off from a small gust of wind. Lynden looked at the sight in disdain although he knew it was a result of his negligence and no others.

Once, it had been an outpost for the Knights of Valok, an order created hundred of years ago after rival kings and nobles would wage on each other at the cost of thousands of lives. Records don’t tell of who originally created the order, but men flocked to it after word spread that they would stand against corruption and the unneeded death of many. Lynden hoped that the order would live on, yet many saw them as a threat that was not beholden to any kingdom.

Originally it was said people tried to manipulate the order by claiming they were attacked or provoked although history proved that this didn’t work. The Knights of Valok held no allegiance to any side and were rumoured to only kill the leaders and those that fought back. Most armies, after a time, would begin to surrender after seeing them. Their warhorses, armour and skill put fear in mens’ hearts.

As time wore on, wars stopped being waged and people left the order to retire to raise families or to just leave the death that surrounded their life. As it happened many people of power in kingdoms joined forces to crush the men who lived by no law nor swore no allegiance to anyone.

They hired mercenaries and whoever was looking to get a big purse for their work and to hunt all those who were or still are members. As they were picked off in small numbers, the order went into hiding until it fell into disrepair. Lynden was still a member with his friend Arthur. They had joined before serving the last king, having both been named part of the command as members of the thirteen. They were the generals and the council. Lynden didn’t know how many still remained but his plan was to show the world they would not be cowed into line and hiding anymore.

He walked through the old, abandoned house that seemed as if it had been claimed back by nature. Green leaves vines nearly cover the house with only the front doorway and windows giving it any semblance of what it once was. It was a single-story were half of the thatched roof had gone missing, no doubt from storms and being unattended for so long he thought. At the door it still seemed to be in good condition, the varnished oak door with a heavy steel handle standing the test of time.

Lynden walked into the house, which looked relatively untouched. It was a plainly furnished house with a table in the centre of the room with stalls all around it. A shelf with pots and dusty books lined the outside of the room with two doors to either side of him. To Lynden’s left, the room had the remains of the fallen roof. It mostly covered the beds that spread out across the room, six in total. The room to his right was an office with a dirty desk with a spattering of leaves cover it. A simple chair was tucked under with a large chest sitting behind.

Wandering into the room seeing the bookshelf that he filled with histories, accounts and stories that he loved to read. He lead his unit by example, always developing the mind as well as the body. Lynden, once a commander in the order and the best swordsman they and the king’s army had seen, always believed that he owed his skills to his trained mind.

Making his way around the desk to the chest just behind, seeing it was still locked with the iron bolt he had put on. Age had rusted it.

He took off the rope necklace he always kept around him, with a key dangling from it. Many had questioned him over the years what it was for. Lynden dodged the question or lied so no one could suspect where his loyalties really lay.

He placed the key in the lock and turned it with a loud clunk. Placing the lock and key on the floor next to him, he gazed into the chest. It stored a gleaming set of armour. Untarnished by age, it was made of ebony, a rare metal that was harder and thicker than steel but much lighter. It was brown in colour and shone in the light with an outline of silver all around the edges. It was the uniform of one of the thirteen generals of the order. Its regular troops wore plated steel made from the finest craftsmen.

Removing his heavy silver armour he had been wearing from the reign of the last king, he placed it on the desk. Then donning the ebony, he was surprised that it still sat well on his body. It felt like it had only been made yesterday.

He walked over to a floorboard that was next to the doorway. Looking at it, there was no difference to any other but as he drew closer, he pulled a knife from his old belt and pried open the panel with little effort, the knife having done the work.

Inside there were three bundles of brown cloth all different sizes. Inside the first was a small straight knife. It was little different to the one Lynden had just used, the silver hilt with a brown leather wrap though the blade was sharp and well oiled. Attaching it to his belt, he then took out the next bundle. In this one was a standard sword that looked much the same as the knife, just bigger. Both of these weapons were standard issue for Knights of Valok. The only key advantage was that the metal never dulled its edge nor rusted, having the silver ingots mixed with the rare ebony.

The last bundle he took out was the largest of the three. Lynden carefully unwrapped it to reveal a black blade with a brown hilt, encrusted with three deep red rubies placed at the three edges. It was handed down through generations of generals in the order. Once there were thirteen, but he only knew of one more which was Arthur’s. The rest were lost to the ages.

The origin of what they were made from is unknown. Lynden’s research into the weapon took up many hours each week in his time commanding, trying to find out more though never getting closer.

The blade was as sharp and as hard of the best forged weapons, capable of breaking any steel with a strong enough swing.

Lynden ran his hand down the flat surface of the blade, having missed its touch. Studying the blade for long moments, he put it in his regular plain-brown sheath and attached it to his back towards his left shoulder.

Leaving the room and the Knights of Valok’s outpost, he made his way towards his mount who had seemed to find the old stables. In the horse’s own stall the beast rhythmically stomped hooves on the wooden floor beneath. Smiling at himself Lynden looked at the sturdy oak floor beneath. Grabbing a shovel from the doorway Lynden cleaned all the mess that had built up over time in the stall.

A short while later the area was cleared to reveal a trapdoor below, only noticeable by the slightly different shades of woods that he stood upon. The hatch was two meters in diameter and with a might tug Lynden pulled the door back, having to strain himself a little in order to get it budging at first.

In the darkness below a cloth covering hid the old armour his horse wore when they were both serving in the order. Ruffling the fur on the horses head, Lynden bent over and unwrapped the cloth to see the silver armour was lined with the brown ebony, a direct opposite to the pattern of Lynden’s own.

He grinned before saying, “Well my friend, let’s prepare you for war.”

Having taken nearly an hour to don the horse’s armour, they both stood ready. The horse bowed his head to Lynden before he got atop his friend, taking one look at the outpost he commanded.

Muttering to himself, Lynden said, “While us few still stand, the order goes on.”

The mighty warhorse sensing the arrival of war broke into a gallop from the outpost having cleared a path while walking through the brush. They travelled through the night stopping for no one or nothing, determined they would save their friends.