Sir Aldric Brightblade's Arc

Chapter 2 of 5

Aldric drove his dragon hard down the road, but the bandit's lead held. The man knew every fork and deer trail. Each turn he took vanished into brush Aldric could not read. The fat man rode a muddy shortcut and gained ground. Soon he would reach the canyon fort, and the relic would sink deeper behind its walls. A second rider cut from the trees ahead. Sunlight flashed on scuffed silver armor, a sun stitched bright across his chest. Sir Rowen Sunshine. Aldric knew him from the capital barracks, an honest sword in a hall full of flatterers. Rowen reined in beside him, grinning like the chase was a gift. "You ride like a man who's lost his quarry," Rowen called. "He knows trails I don't," Aldric said. "He'll warn the fort." Rowen pulled a folded square from his saddlebag. A smuggler's map, lines inked in faded colors, coded marks crawling across worn paper. "Bought it from a runner who turned on his crew. Every secret path they use." He tapped a thin line that looped around a ridge. "He's taking the long cut. We take this." Aldric studied the sketch. The marked path climbed the ridge and dropped ahead of the bandit's route. If the map told true, they could reach the narrow trail before him. If it lied, they lost the man for good. "Trust it?" Aldric asked. "I trust that he does," Rowen said, nodding at the brush where the bandit had fled. They took the ridge path. Loose stone slid under the dragon's claws. Branches raked Aldric's arms. Rowen rode ahead, calling each turn from the map before it came. The paper held. The trail dropped them onto the hard-packed route below, just as the fat man thundered around the bend. He saw them and hauled his reins. Too late. Aldric's dragon slammed into his mount's flank. The bandit hit the dirt, rolled, and came up with a knife. Aldric was already down, blade drawn. The holy sword caught the light, its engravings bright along the steel. The man looked at it and dropped his knife. "Spare me," he gasped. "I'll talk." Rowen bound his wrists. The bandit talked fast, trading his neck for words. The fort held more than the relic, he said. The gang kept a captive priest in the cells, a Father Matthias Cole, dragged from the cathedral with the altar's treasure. The lord planned to ransom him, or worse. Aldric's grip tightened on the hilt. He had stopped the warning. The fort still slept, its walls unmanned, the relic unmoved. But now a living man waited behind that stone, counting his last days. "Then we don't just take back a relic," Aldric said. He looked past the bound bandit toward the canyon ahead. "We break open a prison."