First Quest: The Mentalists series Book One

by E. Molloy

  Henry approached him in his shining armor, and the young student prepared himself for the worst. “You’ll be training with me,” the Knight Commander said, a refreshingly gentle smile forming beneath his greying mustache.

  Staring at him a bit dumbfounded, Daveth could only nod in response.

  “What experience do you have with a weapon, aside from the sad display I’ve already seen?” Henry asked. Though his words were harsh, his tone was more playful than anything.

  Daveth wasn’t even about to argue that it was sad. He knew what he’d done and how he’d been ridiculed, and he knew that he deserved it. “I …” he paused, considering embellishing the truth if only to save his own pride. He couldn’t very well admit that the extent of his experience in combat was a well-fought battle against a wooden pole with two arm-length sticks, and scaring off coyotes with a pitchfork.

  “I haven’t any,” he said, evading the truth and yet somehow feeling that that was the more honest response.

  “Good, then you’re a blank slate,” Sir Henry said, drawing his own wooden sword. The weapon looked silly on the otherwise regally-coated Knight, but it was certainly preferable to him carrying his regular weaponry against Daveth’s wooden set.

  “Blank slate?” Daveth asked, wondering how that could possibly be a good thing.

  Henry gave another lighthearted chuckle before taking a combative stance, positioning his feet and arms as though ready to attack or defend at any moment. “It means you don’t have any bad habits that we have to get rid of,” he said, suddenly swinging his wooden sword at the young trainee’s head.

  Daveth instinctively twisted his body, letting the sword slice through the area that he had been standing, only inches in front of his face. His breath was caught in his chest as he stared at his attacker with surprise and irritation.

  “Lesson one,” Henry said, stepping back into his position. “Deflection. While simply avoiding being hit is fine, you must be prepared to take every opportunity. You gain nothing in combat by evading.” He nodded toward the shield in Daveth’s hand, which hung at his side like a useless piece of wood. “Though every Knight goes into a fight by himself, your shield is your brother and fights alongside you.”

  Daveth noticed the queue, and raised the shield up in front of him, but Henry shook his head. “No, slightly to the side. Your shield is a weapon, not a portable wall. Again, you should never keep yourself from taking damage without also giving it in return. The momentum of every attack can be used against their attacker.”

  After the young man adjusted his shield to mirror the position that his teacher held, another attack was thrown. This time, Daveth lifted the shield over his head to block the attack. So focused was he on that simple move that, when Henry put his shield horizontally and slid it under the melee, the force to Daveth’s stomach sent him falling back to the ground. The young man stared up at the sun, struggling for a moment to get the wind back in him. He could hear dry chuckles from several of the other combatants, and Henry’s voice saying, “Get back to your training or you all forfeit supper tomorrow.”

  As the chuckles ceased, Henry stood over Daveth and offered him a hand up. The young man declined it, pushing himself to his feet and again mirroring the stance that his teacher had taken.

  “Lesson Two,” Henry started, “Protection. Your shield is your greatest ally. As protectors of these lands, we first have to learn how to protect ourselves. Never leave any part of yourself vulnerable to attack. By blocking instead of deflecting, you left yourself more unguarded than the first time.

  “Okay, again,” Daveth said, determined and a bit frustrated. He was learning, but the shield itself felt so unnatural to him.

  Henry steeled himself then, stepping back and taking the same stance as before, but this time all the humor in his face was gone. He paused a moment before attacking again in the same downward slice for Daveth’s head. This time, the young man blocked his middle with the shield, stepping slightly to the side as he lifted his own sword above him. His teacher’s sword slammed into his as he tried to redirect the blow to the side and simultaneously stepped out of it. Henry’s shield slammed against Daveth’s vertically, and the force sent the young man falling backward again.

  The student scrambled to his feet, anger creasing his young features as he glared at his teacher. “I did everything you told me to that time,” Daveth snapped, too angry to regret talking to his commander that way.

  Henry nodded with a solemn look on his face. “Lesson Three. Force.” The older man took a deep breath, shaking his head. “No amount of training can overcome a gap in strength. The weaker and smaller that you are, the less effective your attacks and defenses will be.”

  “I’ll get stronger,” Daveth said between gritted teeth, understanding that he was basically being called useless in the nicest way possible given the circumstances.

  Henry forced a friendly smile, but it was clear that it poorly masked his disappointment. “Every man has his calling and his limitations. If this is what you really want, boy, we owe you at least enough to try. But…”

  Shaking his head, the young man raised his weapons toward his teacher again. He wouldn’t leave that easily, and at least he was being given a chance. “Again,” Daveth said sternly, determined to do whatever it took to prove his worth.

  Every day for the next six months went the same. Each morning, he woke up exhausted, bruised, and just as determined to get better. The Knights and other trainees remained derisive of him. In the Training Yard, all of the men had earned a mock-suit of armor, made of a similar material to the training armor yet donning the Knight’s colors of white and gold. Their weapons had been upgraded to real weapons, and it became the norm for people to incur actual injuries in training. Daveth was surprised to find that the combat portion took such a fast track, but Leroy had explained it to him that it was a timeframe leftover from during times of war. The Knights expected all of their trainees to be combat ready, and to represent their forces visually as well as violently. The Order upheld this timeframe for all of these years, since it was an effective way to quickly weed out those who were too weak, and to instill confidence in the combatants.

  Daveth was lucky to have made it as far as he had, and he knew that. Daily, he found himself wondering if the only reason he had survived training for this long was because of the dark figure from the Arena. While he hadn’t seen any sign of it since that night, it was only a few weeks into his time at the fortress that he had started to feel like he was being watched. Of course, he was being observed during training and school, and was likely being mocked during mealtimes and free times, but the times when he was alone at night, exhausted and trying to fall asleep, were the times he felt it the most. He still hadn’t told anyone the truth about the Arena, and it was becoming more and more likely that he never would.

  Despite his knowledge and speed in combat, he had found his teacher’s words to be true more often than not. Once the young man had been fitted (albeit poorly) for a suit of armor, it became more apparent how necessary brute strength would be. Between the weight of his armor and the weight of his shield, he quickly noticed a decline in his speed, making most of what he had learned almost useless in the face of an actual opponent. Still, somehow he was able to win most of his fights, and a lot of the Knights had begun to rumor about his somehow cheating. Of course, Henry never bought into it, and remained the only person on the grounds aside from Leroy who held any faith in Daveth.

  In contrast to his lack of martial talent, Daveth had excelled in his schooling. While he had expected this to eventually cause Father Aaron to be pleased with him, it instead only made the lanky man dislike him more. He had no doubt that Aaron wanted him to fail here, and the Father made sure that he instilled that concept into the young man daily. A few times, his hopes broke, but Daveth always found a way to bounce back. While his confidence in combat was waning by the day, he was proud to at least know that, when he could catch up physically, his knowledge
of magic and creatures and the history of the Knights would already be exemplary.

  Of course, in order to actually become a Knight, one had to excel in both categories. A Knight needed both to succeed where others would surely fail, and most of what they did anymore was fight what few magical creatures and people still threatened the lands. What every knight dreamed of, though, were dragons. It wasn't uncommon for people or things of value to be snatched up by the flying lizards (especially the red ones). Such events were one of the main reasons the Order existed originally, and the White Knights were the first called to action in those cases. Of course, there would be other tasks to undertake, but any job that called for a Knight was far above the heads of your standard guards and run-of-the-mill heroes. While they were treated as peacekeepers in the world, it became clear to Daveth that the peace had for the most part kept itself since the Alffa Treaty. Simply by knowing that the Knights could be called in was enough of a deterrent against wrongdoing, it seemed.

  White Knights, unlike all other soldiers, fought alone. They were not an army, but many armies of one. Each man was expected to hold the weight of a task too large even for a king to bear. Though operating under their own code separate from the armies of each country, the White Knights outranked every soldier save for a King. So long as they were not breaking laws, guards and armies alike would follow their lead if a Knight stepped onto a battlefield unless their King said otherwise. Some leaders were eager to relinquish control to a Knight in combat, while others were not so quick to accept. Power struggles in this fashion were not uncommon.

  In exchange for their services, a knight was granted fame, glory, sometimes incredible power, money, and, often times, the hearts of women fair. None of these things appealed to Daveth so much, though, as the chance to set things right in the world. His would be a hand of righteousness, felling evildoers and saving princesses from terrible fates. This was, after all, the dream he had looked forward to for all of his life, and he never let the truth of his situation make the final image seem any less glorious and splendid.

  In his free time after classes, Daveth had taken to leaving the compound. Though nearly everyone stayed within the walls unless they had a task outside of them, the young soldier found he could focus better when he was completely alone. The feeling that he was being watched within the walls grew stronger each day, and each day he spent more and more time on the plains where he could fight the good fight against trees and rocks and anything that he could pretend was an enemy. As an added bonus, he didn’t have the disadvantage of mocking words from onlookers as he tried his best to better himself and get used to the shield.

  Metal and rock clanged as they clashed, Daveth letting out a belabored cry as he struck fear into the heart of inanimate objects around him. He lifted his shield to block an attack from an invisible foe. Lifting the shield even higher after the imaginary attack struck, he slipped his sword under it at the same time, making a fatal stab into the tree to his left. The young man panted as he held the blade there, then with one last shout of victory kicked the tree as if to push it off of his blade. The tree didn't budge, and Daveth was sent stumbling back a few steps. When he righted himself, he lifted the visor on his helmet. Sweat dripped down his brow from the hard task of moving around in armor that was just a little too big on him and a lot too heavy. He had never really gotten used to its weight, but his determination kept him on his feet. If he was going to kill a dragon one day, he couldn't be defeated by something as petty as heavy armor. The armor he wore was less detailed than that of the actual knights. He wouldn't be granted a suit with a proper emblem until he had truly proven his worth and gained a title. Until then, he was stuck in the training armor which was less white than the official gear, more hastily put together, and barely suitable for actual combat.

  He stared at the tree as a sound reached his ears, a rhythmic thumping that seemed to be coming from inside of it. Looking past the tree at the plains that stretched beyond, he saw a rider approach on a horse. Daveth sheathed held his sword tight and waited for the mystery rider to reach him. When the rider got to him, he could see tiny scratches on his face that had gone untreated. He was clean-shaven, everything from his cheeks to the top of his head, and leapt from the steed nearly as soon as it had stopped moving. Even this man, who seemed nothing more than a courier by his fine yet simple garb, was taller than Daveth by a few inches. The man quickly produced a rolled paper, sealed with red wax and tied with a ribbon.

  Concerned for the man's injuries and purpose alike, the Knight-in-training asked, "What happened to you?"

  "A dragon," the man said, his eyes wild with panic. Daveth realized then that his hands were shaking. "The royal carriage was attacked by a dragon."

  Chapter 5

  News of a dragon, and an active one at that, was definitely news for the Knights. Daveth's brow creased with stark determination, masking the bits of fear that threatened to show on his features. "Are you the only survivor?"

  The man nodded frantically. "It...It’s taken the princess," he said, shoving the scroll toward Daveth and pressing his hands on it repeatedly as if to emphasize his request. "Please, you must save her. The King is…" The man shook his head frantically, redirecting his sentence. “Navarr needs her.”

  "Where has it taken her?"

  The man pointed a shaking hand to the north, "North, m’lord. Scouts believe it has gone to the cursed tower there."

  Daveth's gaze followed the direction before he lowered his visor dramatically, his voice slightly muffled beneath the grated mask as he said, "Return to your King, and tell him that the Order will return his daughter safely to him.”

  The man thanked him as he climbed atop his horse, watching the skies as he did. It was clear that he was traumatized, and Daveth wondered why the King would have sent the injured man to run the errand. It seemed unlikely that there weren’t others who could have done the task for him.

  Daveth whistled, and from behind one of the trees that he had been fighting walked a grey horse. Each man had earned one with his armor, since a loyal steed was necessary for learning mounted combat. Traditionally, Knights trained with their warhorses, though in Daveth’s case the creature had been far more useful for carrying him to and from the plains than in combat. Father Aaron had been responsible for assigning the creatures to their riders, and Daveth had gotten stuck with the laziest and most cowardly of them all. He had lost track of how many times the beast had run away in training, carrying his rider from combat and making them both look foolish. The only upside to his horse was that it seemed smarter than the others, and oftentimes Daveth felt as though he were talking to a person. Still, having a horse that didn’t want to fight was pointless, and no amount of social skills on the beast’s part was going to make up for that.

  As the courier hurried back toward the city, a journey that would likely take him days, Daveth mounted his yawning horse.

  “Yeah I know you’re tired, but we have work to do. So, let’s go,” he urged the creature, climbing atop it. His shield hung on a small hook at the horse’s behind. The creature shook its head and whined, stomping its feet a few times before finally breaking into a gallop toward the fortress.

  When Daveth arrived, he hurried toward Sir Henry’s office to deliver the letter. The matter was too urgent to wait until morning, and at the very least he hoped to earn a few good points for being the messenger. Instead, he found Henry and Father Aaron as he was crossing the Training Grounds. The two were discussing something very intensely, and both seemed angry. Dismounting his horse, Daveth approached the pair. They were so heated in their discussion that neither seemed to notice him nearing them.

  “If what you say is true, then there could be more of them,” the Father said in harsh whispers.

  Shaking his head slowly, Henry replied with an agitated tone, “You think I don’t know that? What defense would we have if they decided to retake their lands?”

  “That is not the issue. If the Elves do still live,
and have been hiding for all of these years, why would one of them surface now? Surely we should at least bring it up to the Collective.”

  Henry lowered his eyes to the ground. “We have more pressing matters at the moment,” he said, hesitance in his words.

  Crossing his arms over his chest, the Father retorted more calmly. “The King has requested we wait until he sends word. I have already appointed a man for the task.”

  The armored man shook his head. “I am not comfortable with any of this,” he stated firmly.

  “Your comfort isn’t my problem. It has already been decided, and the so-called-Champion must…” At that moment, the lanky man noticed Daveth’s eavesdropping. Aaron’s already-stern features curled even farther into distaste as he looked at Daveth standing nearby. “Your timing is impeccable, for once,” the man snapped, and both of them turned to face him.

  Daveth lifted off his helmet, resisting the urge to insist on an explanation. The part most relevant to him, the unfinished sentence, was all he could focus on as he tried to judge the intentions of the two he stood in front of. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but I didn’t want to interrupt,” he lied, moving towards the pair.

  The Father waved a dismissive hand, “It doesn’t matter anymore. Your final test is prepared.”

  Instinctively looking to Henry for an explanation, the young trainee asked, "Already? But, I haven't passed all of my physical-"

  "I am aware. It has been decided," Henry said insistently, seeming displeased to be having this conversation at all. "It has been decided that you operate best under pressure, and thus should be tested on a mission, instead of in training. We have,” he paused, closing his eyes a moment as his jaw tightened. “We have been training you as a Knight, when it was evident from the start that you are something else. Your win in the Arena won you entry here, but it is not enough to secure your place. Your first fight brought the death of your foe, and some feel it would be best to see if that strength is still in you. Perhaps you are...holding back, for fear of hurting your comrades."