Asegeirr eyes grew wide, “Affront? Now yer sounding like an elf!” Finnguala hissed at the insult, spinning on her heel she stalked away. Asegeirr stood, watching, until she passed out of sight. Shaking his head, he moved off in the other direction. Sebastian floated along after him.
The world flickered, in the way of dreams, and he found himself in another cavern, lit by that same green glow. It was dimmer here and two dwarves sat at a table outside a wood door set in the stone walls. They showed no alarm at Sebastian’s sudden appearance, it seemed he was not really there. He tried to force his way through the door, but the dream resisted him. Turning back to the dwarves, he found Asegeirr there ordering them to open the door.
Not quite able to make out their words now, the sound of their voices became muddled. Sebastian realized he was waking. Resisting, he fought to stay in the dream. He needed to see behind that door.
Asegeirr was at the door now, unlocking it with a key he had taken from the guards, for guards they were. As if moving through molasses, the door inched its way open. Willing it to open further, Sebastian peered through the haze of wakefulness to see a woman sitting beyond the door, head bowed. She raised her head and looked at him, surprise in her eyes. It was Krystelle.
Seeing her startled him the rest of the way awake. His eyes popped open to find Mistress Valeria leaning over him. “Quietly now, come with me.”
Sebastian pulled a tunic on over his small-clothes and followed Valeria out of the barracks and into the stillness of the deserted corridors. The fortress slumbered and would not rouse for at least another hour. The distant sounds of the scullery preparing the morning meal broke the silence. “Mistress…” he began. She shot him a quick look, gesturing for silence.
They passed like vapor through the halls. She in the lead, striding without a sound. He scurried after to keep up with her long pace, following her into the section of the Dazhberg set aside for dignitaries and command. Too late, he wondered where she was taking him. Without warning, she turned aside and ducked into a chamber, nothing to distinguish it from any other along the hallway. Sebastian stumbled to a halt and followed her into the room.
Looking about, his jaw dropped. Furnished in an explosion of colors and silks, the room seemed more like the inside of a circus tent than what he expected from Valeria. Next to the door was a small seating area consisting of three cushy armchairs in burgundy velvet quartering an ornate serving table. Along the walls stood a row of shelves filled with books and other objects. Silk dividers separated this area from the rear where a large bed with corner posts rising to the ceiling was situated. Pillows piled about and four globes illuminated the interior, casting a warm, yellow light over everything.
“Sit, young man.” Valeria commanded, passing into the rear of the chamber. He obeyed, still taking in the surroundings. Everywhere he looked he found a new detail to amaze him, whether the intricacies of an ivory carving on one shelf, or the whimsical colors of a piece of blown glass.
Valeria emerged a moment later carrying tea service and set it on the table, settling herself into one of the chairs. Pouring the tea, she added a precise measure of milk. Milk! Where had she gotten that? Sebastian had not seen fresh dairy since arriving. She noticed him staring. “Yes, I understand, it’s all a bit much. I do enjoy my comforts. At my age I refuse to live without my treasures if it can be avoided. It was so tedious, traveling here without my things. Now, try this tea.” She gestured toward the cup just in front of him and lifted her own to her mouth, taking a sip. “Can’t have you drifting off again.” Picking up his own cup, it clattered against the saucer from the tremor in his hands. He took a sip, savoring the pleasant cinnamon flavor and set both cup and saucer back on the table.
She sat for a moment, piercing him with those green eyes as if trying to see into his soul. Sebastian squirmed, wondering what this was about. “So young Sebastian, would you like to explain what you were doing just now?”
He blinked in confusion. “Doing? I was sleeping, well dreaming really.”
She raised an eyebrow, “Dreaming? That’s your story?”
He gulped, “Yes, Mistress. I don’t know what else to say.”
She pursed her lips, “Hmmm…whatever the case, I can see you believe what you are saying. We will put that aside for now. Tell me about your dream young Sebastian.”
He pondered for a moment, struggling to put words to everything he had seen. In fits and starts, the story emerged. The cave, the conversation between the two dwarves, the door. Krystelle. Valeria quizzed him on many of the particular details. Had he seen the female dwarf’s face? What color was the lighting? What had Finnguala said? Were those her exact words? How did he feel moving down the corridors? After a time, she sat back, satisfied with his answers. He felt wrung dry. She had drawn out details he had not even been aware he had seen. She sat for a moment, sipping her tea before asking her next question, “Finnguala? You are certain of that name?” He nodded. “And you have never heard that name before now?”
“Never, it was so unusual I would remember. Why do you care so much about my dream?”
“Because I do not believe it was just a dream. I suspect that somehow you traveled in your spirit north to the Dwarven enclave and overheard a real conversation and saw real events. I can see by your expression you do not believe me. How do I know this? You remember details you can not have knowledge of, yet I know them to be true. Just one example, the dwarven woman—Finnguala—that is the true name of the Highest of the Gundarian Council. A name you, by your own admission, have never heard before tonight.”
“Perhaps I overheard it somewhere and don’t remember? Maybe someone mentioned it when they sent Krystelle to the dwarves in the first place.”
“If that were the only thing, I would be inclined to agree with you. It is not. Many more details in your story that align to lore I have of the dwarves. Then there is the fact that I perceived a disturbance which brought me to you. What you were doing was dangerous and I would learn how you managed it.”
“Dangerous! All I was doing was sleeping. How can that be dangerous?”
“You projected your consciousness away from your body and sent it many leagues to the north. How can that not be dangerous? Only the most adept have accomplished such a feat. Even the Arch-mage, with his far-sight never attempted to project in this way. Stray too far and you may become separated from your body, leaving it to die.”
“Die! From a dream?” He stood, spilling his tea across the carpeted floor.
She grabbed his arm, pulling him into his seat. “As I’ve said, this was no ordinary dream. Yet, it may be that the danger for you is lessened. Let me think for a moment.” She stood and glided over to the wall of shelving, perusing the various books and tomes. “Ah, here it is.” She pulled a thin manuscript from an upper shelf and untied the lacing. “This is a record of conversations with Sintarian, the elven mage responsible for the Eligium stones, on the nature of elven magic. There is a passage…if I can just locate it…” she trailed off, paging through the record.
Sebastian waited, eying the manuscript hungrily. If he could get his hands on that, it might show something about his own heritage. Gripping his hands, he tried to be patient as she thumbed through the book. “What does it say?” he blurted out when it became too much for him.
“Much that is unclear to me, it is written in an obscure elvish dialect. Can you read elvish?” he shook his head, crestfallen. “Pity, I should have liked to give this manuscript to you to study if you did. My elvish is rusty, but I understand enough to temper my earlier statement. Elves, it seems, have a natural affinity for projection of this nature. It may not be as dangerous as I would have believed. The dangers apparently lie in areas other than physical peril. I can not be more clear than that. Have you had any other dreams like this one?”
“Like this one? No. Well, not exactly.”
“What do you mean not exactly?”
Sebastian took another sip of his tea, delaying his ans
wer and trying to figure out of a way to avoid telling Valeria about his dragon-dream. He could see no way around it. Taking one more sip, he prepared to launch into his story.
“Valeria?” he never thought he would be glad to hear that distinctive oily voice. Master Breandan poked his head through the entrance. “Ah, I thought I heard voices. Sebastian, fancy finding you here at this hour.” He made his way inside uninvited and sat across from Valeria. Sebastian wondered that the man did not wither under the force of her glare, yet he seemed not to notice. Instead, he set about pouring his own cup of tea.
“Breandan. Was there something you wanted?” Her voice was flat and carried a hint of warning.
He tested the tea, “Mmmm…ahhh. That is good. More spice than I prefer, but then our tastes are not always aligned, are they?”
“Breandan!”
“What is that you have there? An original copy of Sintarian’s Conversations? I would not have thought to find that here. You’re not boring the boy with esoteric elvish mutterings are you?”
Valeria closed the manuscript and set it in her lap. “Breandan, why are you here?”
“Oh my, not one for polite conversation this morning. I’m not sure if you are aware, but someone was projecting from within the camp tonight. I fear we may have a spy among us.”
“Sebastian, you may go. Your squad will assemble shortly. The Challenge begins today.” He ran from the room.
CHAPTER TEN
The Challenge was a long-standing tradition for Gabirel. Before the Dragon Wars, the tournament might have lasted weeks or even a full month. With hundreds of recruits, discerning who was ready for advancement, and who was not, was a serious, long-lasting business. Now, with only a handful of squads, the bulk of the Challenge took place over a single week. Not only for raw recruits, every level of advancement within the Order of Gabirel depended on the Challenge.
At the highest levels, the masters gathered for their war-games; playing out scenarios devised by their peers and the High Council. Lord Marcello, well-known for his shrewd tactics, served as the primary arbiter of the war-games, along with Lord Commander Teoma. For the higher ranks, the Challenge judged mental agility and cunning in planning and executing battle plans. In that context, even losing a war-game did not equate to losing the Challenge.
For the squires, the Challenge tested their abilities across a full range of weaponry and skills, with a focus on tactics rather than strategy. Even still, defeating the enemy in front of you was not enough. Qualities such as teamwork, leadership, and even integrity were judged as part of the challenge. In the middle ranks the Challenge included skirmishes between units, often playing out and testing the strategies put forward in the war-master scenarios. If the tests for the war-masters polished diamonds, then the tests for the recruits strained out dross.
Normally, the squads were not informed that the Challenge was to begin. They would be informed at the morning assembly and immediately move into the tests. Sebastian made it back to the quarters just before muster, all that Mistress Valeria had told him running through his mind. He did not see how he could focus on the Challenge with so little sleep and so much to ponder.
He slipped back into his bunk moments before Jarmo Dale entered the barracks to wake his squad. As Sebastian expected, Dale sent them out to muster instead of morning mess. Around him, Sebastian’s fellow recruits grumbled at the orders even as they prepared to meet the day.
“What d’ya suppose this is all about?” hissed Martino. Sebastian shrugged, not willing to admit what he knew nor ready to talk about the strange turn his own evening had taken.
Martino would not have long to wait. Assembling inside the training grounds, the senior units joined the squadrons of recruits. A podium had appeared overnight along one side of the bailey. From his position in the ranks, Sebastian could see High Councilor Damianus, Lord Marcello, and Lord Commander Teoma atop the platform. Jarmo Dale took up a position in front of the corps of cadets, along with their instructors.
Each unit within the arsenal took up its specified position. Had this been one of the Challenges during the Dragon Wars, the entire tournament would occur on the Fields of Cranarion, due to sheer numbers. Now, even the cavalry assembled inside the walls of the Dazhberg. One of the smallest contingents, the sword-masters took up their position opposite the cadets. Without the military uniformity of the other units, the sword-masters each had their own style of armour and weaponry that suited them personally. Sebastian scanned the twenty or so faces, trying not to be disappointed that Krystelle had not returned.
With the troops assembled, Damianus rose to address them and the units came to attention. “Gabirel! Each year in times of peace we gather to take stock of our collective strength and judge ourselves. Once again that time has come. I exhort each one of you to invest yourselves in the coming week. You have trained and drilled, not for this hour, but for the hour when you must take up arms in defense of the principles Gabirel stands for and the human race. Not long past, you fought against the forces of the Krenon and the Dragon Guard and were defeated. Not by strength of arms, but by trickery and magic. In defeat, we must find new strength and determination to overcome. That must come from each one of you, from your heart on the field of battle. As you enter the Challenge, consider that this may be the last for some time. With Sterling Lex returned, Gabirel goes to war. Where will you stand? How will you fight? This Challenge will answer those questions. I give you Lord Commander Teoma.”
Teoma outlined in broad strokes the order of battle for the week which would alternate between recruit skirmishes and demonstrations from established units. Sword-play was on the agenda for the first day and the various contingents found their places around the edges of the makeshift arena as the sword-masters took the field.
The graceful dance of the sword-masters humbled Sebastian and left him awestruck. He had thought he knew something about the sword, but this display showed him how far he had to go. Of course, that was part of the point of the Challenge. The recruits needed a dose of humility now and again. In the end, a veteran sword-master named Quenden Blaine won the day in a series of spectacular matches. He would command a squad of sword-masters for the coming year and was eligible for elevation to the next rank. That promotion depended, in part, on a match with Swordmaster Raginald scheduled for later in the week, and his participation in the war-games.
Following the sword-masters, Teoma summoned the squires to the field. Drawing lots, each was matched with their opponent while the sword-masters caught their breath in anticipation of the duty to judge the cadets. That pattern would be the way of it throughout the week. The veterans would show their own valor and then stand in judgment of those training to join them.
For a moment, Sebastian feared he would pair with Martino again for the sword challenge. Looking over the chit his friend had drawn, Sebastian breathed a sigh of relief. That relief lasted until he realized he had been matched with Loanan Drest. If Sebastian had a nemesis amongst the squires, it would be Loanan. The third son of a minor lord from the country east of the capital, he had all the arrogance and half the wits of a noble with five times his stature. The one thing you could say was that he was good with a sword. Very good.
Facing off against Loanan, Sebastian saw the look of disdain in his eyes. He had made it well known that he believed commoners, such as Sebastian, beneath him. Swordmaster Raginald gave the command to begin, launching Loanan onto the attack. It was all Sebastian could do to keep Loanan’s practice blade from him. As their fight progressed, Loanan gave up several opportunities to strike.
With a start, Sebastian realized what was happening. Loanan was toying with him and taunting him as he reveled in his own superiority with the blade. A red haze rose in front of Sebastian’s vision and a fire kindled in his breast. He went on the offensive in a fury and a haze reminiscent of his battle with Gerlach Pwyll. Burning with anger he rained blow after blow on Loanan. There was no skill involved, just sheer brute force. The haze lif
ted as he stood over Loanan’s sprawled and broken body, two sword-masters rushing up to him, their own swords drawn.
“Hold Squire!” shouted the closest, causing Sebastian to pull back from a killing blow. “Lower your blade.” Looking around, Sebastian realized that the entire corps of cadets and the full assembly stared at he and Loanan., Sebastian lowered his sword, backing away from Loanan. The sword challenge was over.
Jarmo Dale stalked over to Sebastian as two healers rushed to check on Loanan. Embarrassed, Sebastian readied himself for the coming tongue lash. This was foremost an exhibition of skill—not an actual battle and all were expected to act with restraint and control. The murmuring amongst the assembled host surrounding him echoed in Sebastian's ears. Dale opened his mouth to launch the first volley when a blast of trumpets ringing in the air interrupted him.
All eyes turned toward the east, where an honor guard resplendent in reds and yellows rode into the camp on their white horses, polished armour glinting in the sunlight. The sigil of the king's eagle marked their shields and in their midst rode a grey-haired herald bearing the king’s staff. “Get back to your squad,” hissed Jarmo Dale. “We’ll deal with this later.”
Relieved as he was at the temporary reprieve, Sebastian found himself unable to tear his gaze from the herald as he trotted back to his unit. Something about the man's arrival disturbed Sebastian and he felt a hollowness rising in the pit of his stomach. It was the eyes he decided, they were empty. This was going to be trouble.
The assembly rearranged itself back into military formation as High Councilor Damianus made his way to the herald. Commander Teoma and Lord Marcello flanked him. In keeping with the polite fiction that Gabirel and Uriasz were not close allies; Darden, Valeria, and Breandan were nowhere in sight.
Coming to a halt just in front of the honor guard, the three council members waited as the herald climbed from his horse and stripped the white gloves from his hands. Passing them to a nearby page, along with the reigns of his horse, the man took stock of the assembled forces and whispered something to the head of his honor guard. The herald walked over to where Damianus waited while his guard formed a loose ring around them.
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