Very much like Tagor. WHAT WILL HAPPEN TO YOU?
*****
SCREAMS. CLANGING STEEL. THE SOUNDS OF BATTLE.
THE CRY OF HIS YOUNGER BROTHER.
“I’M COMING, TAGOR!” MARAKION SHOUTED FROM
MARISSA’S DESTROYED BEDROOM.
THE YELL HAD SOUNDED FROM DOWN THE HALL.
MARAKION PROPELLED HIMSELF TOWARD IT. THE LIBRARY!
TAGOR WAS TRAPPED IN THE LIBRARY.
MARAKION SLAMMED THROUGH THE DOOR WITH THE
FORCE OF A BATTERING RAM. HE KNOCKED ONE OF THE
INVADERS TO THE FLOOR. HIS SWORD TOOK OUT ANOTHER.
FIVE MORE WAITED. TAGOR STOOD ON TOP OF A TABLE
IN THE COMER, FIGHTING OFF THE MEN WHO WERE
HARASSING HIM. THE TEASING GRINS THEY WORE TURNED
TO SCOWLS WHEN MARAKION ENTERED.
“THE KNIGHT! KEEP HIM THERE!” A THICK-BEARDED
MAN YELLED. “I’LL FINISH THIS YOUNG ONE OFF.”
MARAKION SHOVED HIS FALLEN FOE AWAY AND
SLAMMED INTO THE NEXT, TRYING DESPERATELY TO COME
TO THE AID OF HIS YOUNGER BROTHER, BUT HIS NEW
OPPONENT WAS A SKILLED SWORDSMAN, NOT A BRAWLER.
MARAKION SLASHED INSANELY AT THE MAN’S GUARD,
TRYING AT THE SAME TIME TO SEE TAGOR.
PERCHED ON THE STUDYING TABLE, WIELDING THEIR
FATHER’S SWORD, TAGOR DELIVERED A WICKED SLASH TO
THE BEARDED MAN, OPENING UP HIS FOREHEAD. HE WAS
HOLDING HIS OWN MOMENTARILY, BUT THAT WOULDN’T
LAST LONG. ALTHOUGH TAGOR WAS A FINE SWORDSMAN
FOR FIFTEEN, HE WAS NO MATCH FOR THE BRIGANDS’
STRENGTH, OR THEIR NUMBERS.
MARAKION LET OUT A ROAR. “BASTARDS! LEAVE HIM
ALONE! FIGHT ME!”
TAGOR TWISTED SIDEWAYS, SCREAMED. A SWORD
SLASHED THROUGH HIS LEG. HE STUMBLED TO THE EDGE
OF THE TABLE AND LOST HIS FOOTING, CRASHED TO THE
FLOOR BELOW.
MARAKION BASHED THROUGH THE SWORDSMAN’S
GUARD, SENT THE MAN’S HAND SPINNING FROM HIS WRIST
IN A TRAIL OF BLOOD.
MARAKION RAN FORWARD. THERE WERE THREE LEFT.
TWO CHARGED HIM AND KEPT HIM FROM HIS BROTHER.
THE THIRD . . . THE THIRD WAS CLUBBING . . . CLUBBING A
BODY ON THE FLOOR.
“TAGOR!”
*****
Marakion started, beat the vision down into the recesses
of his memory. Breathing hard, he closed his eyes. Think of
NOW, only of NOW. Forget Tagor. Forget all of it.
He sat still for long moments, trying to forget, holding
his breath with gritted teeth, but the pent up air hissed out
slowly in a shudder. Marakion crumpled and sobbed. “Tagor …”
*****
MARAKION BEAT HIS WAY THROUGH THOSE THREE
MARAUDERS, KILLED THEM ALL. HE KNELT AT TAGOR’S SIDE.
“THEY CAME . . . FROM THE NORTH. . . . THEY TOOK
MARISSA. THEY CALLED THEMSELVES THE KNIGHTSBANE,
MARAKION. . . . THE KNIGHTS – KNIGHTSBANE. WHY,
MARAKION? . . . WHY?”
IT WAS HIS LAST WORD, THEN HE DIED.
*****
Marakion’s cheeks were wet with tears. He turned and
gazed down at another brave youth.
Yes, why?
“I hope you get your answer, kid. I really do. There’s
quite a few questions I’d like to ask Paladine myself.”
Marakion turned his face heavenward and focused on the
constellation of the platinum dragon, high above. “At least a
few.”
*****
Marakion came out of a reverie that had slipped into a
doze. The fire was dwindling. Blinking his eyes, he picked
up a couple of sticks and tossed them on, poking at the
embers to stir the flames up again. After he’d tended the fire
and stoked it for the night, he turned to adjust his bedding
for sleep when he heard Gylar give a low moan. Marakion
hurried to the young boy’s side.
Gylar shuddered a little, his eyes moving under shut lids,
as he huddled deeper into his blanket. He shivered again,
turned over, pulled the covers closer about him. Marakion
pulled his cloak off and draped it over the boy.
Beneath the double cover, Gylar still quaked. Marakion
moved his hand to the boy’s forehead.
It was as hot as fire to the touch.
Marakion closed his eyes. “What will happen to you?”
He repeated his thought of earlier in the evening. “Yeah,
that’s what, same as everyone else. It doesn’t matter what
you’ve already suffered. It’s not enough yet, is it? It’s never
enough.”
Marakion lay awake, staring silently at the cave’s
ceiling, for a long, long time. He could not sleep with the
anger that burned through him as hotly as the fever now