Trials

by Pedro Urvi

  Without any more thought he threw a ball of fire at the Invincibles, which on impact brought flaming death to all those who were getting ready to attack. But he knew that on the lower level of the tower another group was waiting, and below that another, and below that yet another. They would soon come, and he could not deal with all of them; he did not have enough energy or the certainty that his spells would work when needed. He focused on the Ice Mage and threw another devastating ball of fire at him. It hit the spherical ice barrier and broke it. The Mage was in the open. Straight away he began to raise another shield of ice, but Haradin was ready. He pointed his staff, spoke words of magic, and a projectile of fire, a flaming arrow, shot out of the staff towards the glacial mage at terrible speed.

  The Mage’s eyes stared from their sockets when he realized that he would never manage to raise the shield in time.

  The fiery missile went through the heart of the Ice Mage, who took a step back and fell backwards from the tall siege tower on to the sea of Norghanians below.

  Haradin breathed out hard. He had done it.

  Another group of Invincibles appeared on the extended platform of the tower.

  Haradin conjured another ball of fire, but this time the spell failed him. When he saw this he turned on his heels and ran after the Prince and the Royal Swords.

  “Flee!” he yelled at Gerart.

  “Flee? I don’t understand. Why don’t you scorch them, Haradin?”

  The Mage looked back.

  “It was a miracle I was able to finish off the Ice Mage,” he said. “My magic doesn’t seem to be working as it should. The Healers did an extraordinary job of healing my body and I feel perfectly well physically, but magic is something else. Half the time I can’t manage to cast a spell. I don’t know what’s wrong. It must be because of the time I spent frozen in that damned carbon; I can’t think of any other explanation. We have to flee or else we’ll die.”

  “But we have to fight! Those are the King’s orders!”

  “Look at the wall, my Prince. The eastern section has fallen, the enemy is climbing that siege tower in hundreds. The gate has fallen too, and as soon as they draw back the battering ram the enemy will pour through. We might be able to defend this section a little longer, but we’d die surrounded, with no way of escape. No, we must flee: now, before they cross the gate and take the square. Otherwise we’ll all die, no one will come out alive.”

  “My father ordered me to defend this fortress to the last man, and that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “And so you have done. You are the last man, Prince Gerart, and you must live to keep fighting tomorrow.”

  “I won’t leave my post.”

  “Don’t argue with me, your Highness. Your father sent me to find you; you must return to Rilentor. We’ll regroup there.”

  “Are you fooling me, Haradin? Are those really my father’s orders?”

  “You have my word as Battle Mage of the King, your Highness.”

  “In that case go ahead, let’s retreat.”

  Mage, Prince and Royal Swords ran downstairs, chased by the Norghanians who were pouring from the siege tower onto the wall.

  Lomar was watching the Prince’s retreat from the pile of corpses he had fallen on top of. They were running in his direction. He heaved himself off the pile, then doubled up with the pain of his wounded hip. On his left was the ruined gate into the fortress. The Norghanians had taken away the battering ram and were busy moving aside the huge pieces of wood and iron which were what remained of the door to flood into the fortress like a tide.

  If the Invincibles of the Ice crossed that gate, the Prince and Haradin were lost. They would be intercepted. He saw them approaching at a run from the western side of the wall; they would not have time to retreat, the enemy would catch them. The first Norghanians, twenty or so of them, came through the gate.

  They were inside the fortress.

  And the ground swallowed them, they disappeared.

  They had fallen into the moat trap.

  The Prince, Haradin and their group were less than thirty paces away.

  Lomar limped to the wall and picked up a torch.

  He had to light the fire in the moat at once to prevent the Norghanians from getting out of it.

  Urien had cunningly filled it with hay and sprayed it with oil.

  The Norghanians were placing an enormous piece of wood from the door over the moat so that they could cross it. He had to stop them. He began to walk towards the incendiary trap and stopped. Three Invincible of the Ice, holding short bows, were covering the improvised bridge.

  He looked at them and they looked back at him.

  Behind him he could see the Prince arriving. The Norghanians were beginning to cross the plank over the moat.

  And Lomar made his decision. All for Rogdon! That had always been his destiny and he would fulfill it. He would save Haradin, he would save the Prince, he would save Rogdon, he would save his friend Gerart.

  He took a step forward. The three warriors raised their bows and pointed them at him.

  Lomar looked at them fearlessly, calmly, sure that this was his fate, the fate he had been training for all his life. He breathed in and threw the torch with all his might.

  Three swift arrows pierced his lungs.

  He fell on his knees as he watched the moat burst into flames, swallowing up all the Norghanians who were trying to cross it. The improvised bridge burnt with the Invincibles trapped in the flames, screaming in horror.

  “Lomar! No!” Gerart cried when he saw what he had done.

  The Prince ran to him and knelt beside his friend.

  “Why, Lomar? Why didn’t you flee?” he asked with tears in his eyes.

  “For Rogdon… for you… your Highness…”

  The Prince gathered him in his arms, overwhelmed with sadness.

  “You’re a brave man, a hero, Lomar.”

  “It was my duty. I’m a… Royal Lancer…”

  “And a true friend. An example for all to follow. You’ll never be forgotten, Royal Lancer. Your feats will be remembered in the annals of Rogdon, so that future generations may understand the true meaning of duty, loyalty and friendship.”

  Lomar looked at the Prince and nodded in salute.

  “I go to you, my dear Jasmin… We’ll be together at last, as we dreamed we’d be, in the future.”

  Gerart looked at his friend and understood. The last thought of the brave young man was for his beloved. With one last breath, he died in the Prince’s arms.

  Gerart wept bitterly at the loss of his friend.

  Haradin reached the Prince and urged him:

  “We must leave, your Highness. Your friend has given us vital time to escape. The horses are waiting! Hurry!”

  Gerart rose to his feet, letting his friend fall gently to the ground. With great sorrow he said:

  “You’ll always be remembered, Royal Lancer Lomar. It’s been an honor to know you and serve beside you.” And he ran to the horses.

  The Librarian

  Sonea ran along the endless main corridor of the majestic Library of Bintantium, borne on the wings of her young restless spirit. The library, an architectural wonder, was situated in Erenalia, the capital city of the Kingdom of Erenal, and was home to one of the largest collections of knowledge in the known world. The walls of this monument to the intellect were said to be covered with books from floor to lofty domed ceiling. Sonea, who had lived there for the whole of sheer short life, was witness to this. Thousands of volumes, scrolls and writings of all kinds lived in that Great Library: ordered, inventoried, and delicately cared-for.

  She flew past the hall of arcane studies and had to curb her impetus, she must not disturb her librarian brethren, who were intent on gaining knowledge of the ever-intriguing, unknown and dangerous subject of Magic. The Master Archivist of Arcane Knowledge heard her go by and looked at her in disapproval. Sonea bowed her head and slowed down, sure that she would be reprimanded later. But it’s har
dly my fault, is it, if all the study halls of the huge library are built as open spaces, with the entrance symbolized by a great arch devoid of walls, she thought with a trace of annoyance. Yes, she did know the reason for this, her Masters had explained it to her a thousand times: the halls were open spaces to invite anyone who so desired to cross the threshold beyond which Knowledge could be gained and the soul of Man enriched thereby.

  Sonea sighed and put her hands in the pockets of her long beige robe with its silver borders, the same one all apprentice librarians wore. A wide colored girdle distinguished each school of knowledge, and the Great Eye of Wisdom shone unperturbed on a silver strip that ran from the neck to the slippers. That great eye had frightened her the first time she had donned the robe, as much for its size as for its realism. It looked like a huge human eye which saw everything, unblinking and omnipresent, fixed to her chest. What nonsense, I’m already eighteen! How can this symbol of knowledge still scare me? She shook her head and went on along the corridor, quickening her step once more as she did so. To her left was the historians’ hall, where the Master Archivist of Historical Knowledge was teaching a lesson to his librarian apprentices. This was one of Sonea’s favorite subjects, and she felt a tinge of regret for missing the Master’s lesson, which would surely be very enlightening. But on the other hand, what awaited her was much more exciting, at least for a librarian of knowledge like her. For the rest of the world, doubtless it would be nothing of the kind.

  She passed swiftly by the hall of war, which was definitely her least favorite subject. There, the Master Archivist of the Knowledge of War and his helpers studied weapons, battle strategies and anything related to the art of war- “if you can call war an art…” Sonea said to herself: she abhorred the shedding of blood. This was one of the most important disciplines, and to a large extent it supported the whole Order. It was the favorite subject of King Dasleo, ruler of Erenal and its great benefactor. It was thanks to this discipline that all the rest of the Great Library and the Order of Knowledge were financed. War is an art and we must study it, know it and perfect it until we master its secrets. The Great Master of Knowledge, who ruled the ways of the Order, had told her so.

  But Sonea was not at all interested in war. She understood its importance and above all the part it played in the continued functioning of the Order and the Great Library. It was imperative to keep King Dasleo happy by satisfying his desire to be the most knowledgeable man in the known world, since otherwise the Library would perish, as it had no means of its own. The more than three hundred librarians and archivists who made up the Order were scholars and apprentices of the most varied fields of learning, but they had little to offer to the society of Erenal apart from their intellect and knowledge. Sonea had wondered more than once what would have become of her if it had not been for the Order. In her head was stored specialized knowledge of various decidedly odd subjects - even though to her they were utterly fascinating - but she possessed nothing else that could be of use in the prosperous Kingdom of Erenal.

  She thought about The Thousand Lakes, to the West of the capital, where a fishing fleet toiled day and night to earn their bread and make the kingdom richer. Perhaps she could learn to fish… a fisherman’s life is harsh, but it’s also one of the economic pillars of Erenal she thought. On the other hand, The Thousand Lakes was a territory in dispute, particularly between Erenal and the neighboring Kingdom of Zangria somewhat further to the North, bloodshed was not entirely a thing of the past there. Well, it’s not such a good idea. Zangrians are a tough people with a short temper, a really short one. It’s better to stay where I am, in my beloved Library, surrounded by books: learning, discovering and being thrilled by knowledge, which is what truly fills my soul with joy.

  She arrived at the heptagonal reception hall of the Great Library and slipped past it over the polished marble floor, trying not to make any noise, but brushing all the same against a group of visitors, youths of the kingdom who were on a guided tour of the Library. Jasper, the librarian apprentice who was leading them, saw her pass and greeted her with a broad smile. Sonea knew him well. They were friends and she trusted him to say nothing. In that complex world where intellectual knowledge took precedence, competition among the apprentices, and even the Masters, was high. Sonea only had one friend, someone she could trust and who did not care which of the two of them was the brightest or reached the higher level of knowledge: and that was Jasper.

  When she saw the group of petulant sons of the nobility he had been picked to guide on their visit, she felt sorry for him. They were pestering him with silly questions and endless reproaches. She loathed guiding the nobility on their visits: they treated librarians as if they were no more than servants, and she was definitely nobody’s servant. Unfortunately, the Order drew their future scholars from the higher levels of Erenal’s society, because the Order knew well that the most privileged minds could only be found in the elite… Sonea did not share that view, but unfortunately it was one of the Order’s foundations. Some of those unbearable nobles on that guided visit would become apprentices if the Order saw potential in them.

  Driving the thought out of her mind, she reached the exit and headed for the neighboring building. It was long and rectangular and in comparison with the Library, looked like the poor brother, or worse still, the beggar brother. It housed the librarians’ rooms. The truth was that the Great Library of Bintantium was even bigger and more spectacular than the Cathedral of the Heavens itself in the higher section of the city. It was because King Dasleo had more faith in science than in religion, and his capital Erenalia was proof enough of this: both buildings stood as rivals, one on the high part, close to the heavens, and the other one in the lower part, close to the ground. Extensions and improvements to the Great Library which the King had ordered in the past fifteen years bore witness to his devotion to it. Soon there would be no building in all Tremia to rival his beloved Library, treasure-house of infinite knowledge.

  Sonea ran to the sober hall of the butlers, and had to stop abruptly so as not to bump into the First Butler.

  “Where in the name of knowledge do you think you’re going so fast?” said the head of all the butlers, arms akimbo.

  Sonea looked at the stern, wrinkled face and bowed her head, ashamed. This was the person in charge of the whole enormous complex which comprised the Great Library and the secondary buildings, a well-respected man thanks to the enormous amount of work he did for the good of the Order.

  “I’ve been summoned… something has come from Rilentor…” she panted, unable to hide her enthusiasm.

  “By all the books of wisdom! You can’t even talk!” the butler said, his disapproval evident.

  “I… I’m sorry… First Butler, you see I’ve run all…”

  “I can see that, my young librarian. Oughtn’t you to be ashamed?”

  “It’s just that it’s very important… what’s arrived…”

  “So…?”

  “The Master Archivist of Ethnic Knowledge sent me, it’s important… I swear…” insisted Sonea.

  “I do not doubt its importance but I must remind you, young apprentice, that the Great Library is not a farm. Here you are not allowed to run, still less in such a mad way, as if you were chasing hens in the farmyard.”

  “I know… I’m sorry,” she said, trying to apologize.

  “How long have we known each other, Sonea?” said the First Butler, raising an eyebrow and staring at her inquisitively.

  “My whole life?” she said unsurely.

  “True, very true. Ever since you were abandoned at our door, one cold winter night when you were no more than a babe. It seems like yesterday… but eighteen years have gone by since then. And what do I always tell you?”

  Sonea lowered her head. “That I must not run, skip or shout, and always behave like a librarian…”

  “And do you heed me?”

  “Every time I manage to control myself, I swear I do,” replied Sonea, putting on her best sm
ile. She knew that the old Butler had a heart of gold and a great fondness for her.

  Straight away the First Butler’s face lost all trace of severity. A smile began at his mouth and spread to the rest of his face so that it lit up with warmth.

  “Dear me, what am I going to do with you?” he said with a little laugh. “You never learn, do you?”

  “I can’t help it, honestly. My heart is restless and it runs ahead of me.” she admitted.

  “I know, little one, I know” said the First Butler, shaking his head. “Do not run in the corridors and behave like the Librarian you are or you will be punished again.”

  “Yes, First Butler, you may rely on me.”

  The old man smiled, and Sonea could not help feeling sorry for the man who had warned her so many times and for whom she felt sincere, deep affection. As far as all the apprentices of the Order were concerned, he was the personification of a grandfather, wise and temperate, and he played the role wonderfully well. Even though he was a good man and she held him in respect, he could be very strict, and he had not been joking when he had talked about her needing to restrain herself. Sonea had already been in trouble with the Great Master and the Council of Knowledge, where the five Master Archivists settled disputes, directed the Order and punished the offenses. Just thinking about those severe, strict and unsociable men made the hair at the back of her neck prickle. Every time she had to face them she ended up with a major reprimand and a severe punishment. The reason was always because of the way she behaved, which seemed normal to her, but to the Council seemed deeply humiliating.

  “Butler of the Mail,” the First Butler called to one of his subordinates, “Come here, please.”

  A young man with brown hair hurried to him from behind a desk.

  “Any mail for the Master Archivist of Ethnic Knowledge?” the First Butler asked.

  “Right away,” said the youth, and left at a run.

  Sonea looked at the other butlers as they went about their duties and wondered what their life must be like, always busy here and there, never ceasing in their endless chores. She spent most of her days at her studies, from dawn till well into the evening. It was not an obligation, simply that she loved to learn. It filled her soul with joy and satisfaction. She could not imagine a different fate; the idea of following any other profession was unthinkable to her. If she thought she would have to become a butler, she would go crazy if she had to spend her time on all those tasks, however necessary they might be if the Order were to function efficiently. Most of all she wished to gain the knowledge of which the universe afforded her glimpses, but was still hidden by a veil she must tear away. The only way to do this was by studying relentlessly, putting her whole soul into it. And every day her heart reminded her of how fortunate she was to be in the exact place where knowledge and intellectual enlightenment were the goals to be reached.