by Garon Whited
“Yes?”
“How long must we continue?”
“Until I say otherwise,” I replied, still going up and down.
All he said was “Yes, Majesty,” and kept at it.
Between my exercises, I ran around to the possible slackers—that is, the ones who were sitting or lying down. If they had the breath to answer me, they were slackers, and I gave them the option of going hard at it or going home. Most of them got busy. Some took the other option and wound up sitting out of the way to watch.
During a crawling race—forearm over forearm, dragging the legs, that’s the technique—the man next to me was in armor and wearing a sword, along with a red sash. As we clanked along, he took the opportunity to complain.
“This is stupid,” he said. “A knight doesn’t crawl!”
“On your feet!” I ordered, and sprang up, myself. He climbed to his feet with difficulty; each of the crawlers had a length of rope binding ankles together.
I snatched his sword from its scabbard, cut my rope, and kicked him in the side of a knee. It popped, and he cried out as he went down. I ran across the exercise field, stuck the blade in the ground, and ran back, knocked him down again, kicked him in the opposite hip, and tied his ankles back together.
“There’s the battlefield,” I told him, holding him up by the back rim of his breastplate and pointing at the activity around us. “People running around all over the place. You’re dismounted, wounded, and disarmed. It sure would be nice if you could find your sword in all this chaos, instead of lying there like a useless lump. But a knight doesn’t crawl, right? Good thing you’re not a knight, isn’t it?”
His face set in a grim, determined expression and he started crawling. I flopped over next to him and crawled with him.
“Come on!” I encouraged him. “A pair of trolls are coming this way! When they spot us, they’re going to eat us! Faster! We need that sword! Faster!” And we went faster. Suddenly, crawling didn’t seem so humbling.
No one laughed at him. No one. Maybe they just didn’t have the breath.
I noticed a dark-haired woman by the juncture of the canal and Mochara’s northern wall. She used a stylus on a flat board covered with a layer of wax. She was writing, possibly, or drawing. I took note of a slung instrument—it wasn’t a lute, and it wasn’t a mandolin, but sort of stuck in between the two, if that makes any sense. So, a minstrel, perhaps, or an artist. I wondered if she was a descendant of Linnaeus, and, if so, if I was about to be the subject of another epic poem.
She wasn’t the only observer. Washouts—that is, people who gave up—sat at the edge of the canal and watched. Other people came and went through the town gates; most stopped for at least a little while. A few places along the wall, heads peeped over the top. Nothing like watching a lot of people doing pointless exercise, apparently. Maybe they were watching me; I am the king, after all. I tried to ignore that and keep focused on keeping everybody in motion.
I was proud of my three, each for various reasons. Torvil was out to prove something, I think; he was always pushing himself to go faster, hit harder, last longer. Kammen seemed to just take immense pleasure in doing everything; he’s one of those people that have a disgustingly good attitude. Seldar was slugging along, trying his best; he wasn’t up to the same level as his friends, but he kept his war face on and forced himself to keep up.
Four hours later, I wasn’t all that tired, but we were down to maybe a little over two hundred people who were damned determined to be knights. Strangely, everyone who presumed to already be a knight stuck with it, although there were piles of armor where sweat had dripped all over their pretensions.
Hmm. Armor is heavy stuff. I don’t notice it so much, for two main reasons. First, I’m not a human being; I have a muscle density comparable to steel cable. Second, I wear the stuff constantly, because I don’t have anything else to wear; I’m as used to it as a pig farmer is to rubber boots.
Everyone else, on the other hand, could probably use something lighter. I’m sure we could come up with an alloy—titanium, maybe, if I can get it, or even aluminum. What about something like high-strength plastic? Kevlar? Carbon fiber? Even rigid fiberglass?
If I can get the gold for it, could I go home and buy some high-tech armor? The Church of Light didn’t import much from my homeworld—at least, not that I know of—but they had access to all of it. Their agents used guns, rocket launchers, all the big toys. Did they not bring over these things? If not, why not? Were they stockpiling them for a religious crusade later? Or did their god forbid it? Or did they just think it would be a bad move?
If I had Tobias handy, I wouldn’t ask him. I’d just rip him into pieces. But if I had any of the other high-ranking officials from the Church of Light or the Hand, maybe.
Shortly after noon, I called a halt, taught them to form a height-line, and then how to form ranks.
“Congratulations!” I told them, standing on the tallest of the balance-course logs. “You’ve successfully passed your morning of testing!”
There was a ragged, exhausted cheer.
“Those of you with healing spells, get to work. You have an hour, then we start your afternoon of testing! You and you, the twins,” I said, pointing out two of the current candidates, “come with me. The rest of you, get busy!”
They got busy treating themselves and each other for sprains, strains, abrasions, and contusions. The two I pointed at came to me and went to a knee.
“On your feet. Follow me.” They jogged with me northward for a bit, until I felt we were far enough away to be private.
“Okay, sit.” They sat down, back to back, and leaned on each other. It had been that kind of day.
I looked them over. Both were medium-skinny, probably about fourteen, and, in my opinion, overdressed for a hearty workout. They had their reasons for the extra clothes, though.
“Got anything to say for yourselves?” I asked. They looked at me without answering.
“All right. Did you think I wouldn’t notice?” I asked. They continued to stare at me in silence.
“I don’t object,” I told them. “The dama of Zirafel were the bodyguards to the Imperial Family. Initially, they were chosen for their martial prowess, but they were also bred for the post, which required both men and women in the dama. So, there’s a precedent, at least to me; I’m not sure anyone else remembers it. What you two need to do is keep up. I know you’re having a hard time with the strength requirements—I saw both of you struggling with the wrist exercise. I’ll cut you some slack for your exceptional balance and endurance, but if you can’t use a heavy sword effectively…”
“You enchant swords,” one of them said. “Could we not have such blades?”
“Which one are you?”
“I am Malana; this is Malena.”
“Well, Malana, it’s possible, but you can’t rely on always having a magical blade. You need to… hmm.”
Maybe, if the weight of a broadsword was an issue, a different style of swordsmanship was in order. Elf-made blades are lighter and ideal for use with the sword-style of the dama. If they went for speed and accuracy instead of striking power, they wouldn’t be helpless against an armored target and they would be hell on wheels against any soft-skinned target.
“All right, I have an idea. Get back in there and keep working.”
“What do we do if someone else discovers…?” the other one asked. “Will you—will Your Majesty take care of it?”
“Do you need to be rescued?” I countered. “Princesses need rescuing. Maidens need rescuing. What are you? Damsels in distress? Or warriors?”
They looked at the ground, then at each other.
“Warriors, if Your Majesty will allow it,” Malana said.
“You don’t need my permission to be warriors. You just have to prove that you are.”
“How about knights?” Malena asked.
“I’ll allow it if you earn it, just like everyone else. While I’ve got you here, any b
umps or bruises that need work? You don’t want anyone else being your healer, I know.” There were a few minor injuries, so I just enhanced their natural healing to speed things along. I might have cheated in their favor with my prototype spell to encourage muscles, but if I did, I’m not going to admit it. I sometimes have a soft spot for the underdog. They also reminded me of Caeron and Caedwyl. I miss them, too.
“No, don’t thank me. Just get going.”
They got going. I wondered just what the reaction would be when someone else figured it out, and how I should handle it.
Interestingly, Rethvan culture said that twins were one soul in two bodies; they were considered halves of the same person. It had peculiar ramifications for legal issues, marriage, and paternity. A twin couldn’t sign a contract, for example, without the other one also signing it. Both of them would have to qualify for knighting, of course. And as for marriage…
Meanwhile, I headed back to see if anyone was dying and, if so, what I could do about it. Perhaps just as important, I did my best to make sure people felt like they were dying.
Nobody asked about lunch. Nobody asked about dinner. They had all the water they could drink; the canal was right there. But I skipped lunch and dinner, so they did, too. If anyone complained, it was to each other and well away from my hearing.
About an hour before sunset, tired and aching a little, I called a halt to our work and told them to form up in front of my speaker’s log again. I climbed up to address them.
“I see we lost a few more during the afternoon,” I started. “It’s a tough course to follow. Trust me; I know. I’m tired and hungry, too. But I’m going to be right back out here tomorrow. If you’re here, I’ll do everything I can to make you all stronger, faster, and tougher. If you’re not, I understand; this isn’t going to get easier! Just lasting out today proves you’ve got guts, strength, and determination. And you’ll need all of it if you expect to stay! Salute!”
They saluted, closed fists of their right hands pressed over their left chest. Those of them with swords drew them and saluted with them in hand, points vertical. I hopped down and walked among the ranks, correcting the hand position for the few who didn’t have it quite right. Several of them were visibly trembling with fatigue. Back on my log, I drew, saluted in return, and resheathed my weapon.
“Dismissed!”
There were groans. A few people who were running low on willpower and determination, possibly worn down to sheer stubbornness, sat down on the spot.
I sat down on my log and took note of who simply plodded back into the town, who checked on the fallen, and so on. I almost threw one guy out on the spot; he kicked one of the exhausted recruits while he was down. I didn’t dismiss him, though, because he followed it up with, “That’s no place for a knight. Come on! Up! You can do it. Just as far as the water.”
And the guy got up, staggered over to the canal without leaning on anybody, and collapsed there, instead. I made a note of him, too.
Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar formed a line in front of me. They looked somewhere between haggard and exhausted. They had the advantages of youth and a day of magically-enhanced preparation.
“This close enough to private?” Kammen asked. They didn’t quite need to lean on each other.
“Sure.”
“Can we go home tonight?”
“Home?”
“To our families.”
“Ah. Your fathers were out here, today?”
“Yes.”
“And my brother,” Torvil added. I nodded. I remembered seeing him and noticing the resemblance.
“Did they all make it?” I asked. Everyone nodded. “Okay. Hold it,” I added, as they started to go. I worked with the spell I put on them the day before, maintaining it and putting some more power into it. The terrible exertions of today should be recovered by tomorrow, with a corresponding improvement. Are they getting results at twice the normal rate? Or at ten times? Or somewhere in between? I suppose I can compare their progress to everyone else and see.
“Okay, now you can go. But remember this: you are the only three people in all of Mochara who are officially knights. Don’t let anyone give you crap about it. If anyone disagrees, send them to me.”
Kammen looked thoughtful.
“If we’re really knights, do we gotta be tested? I’m gonna be here,” he added, hastily, “but it’s only required for everyone else, right? Sire.”
“Technically true,” I agreed. “Of course, I’ll be here. But if you feel you don’t need to be here, you have my permission to skip it.”
“We’ll be here!” Torvil assured me while stepping on Kammen’s toes.
“Good. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t. Dismissed.”
Torvil and Kammen started to turn away, paused when Seldar did not.
“Seldar?” I asked.
“Your Majesty. May I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want us to find out what is thought of you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Do you wish us to listen to the opinions of others about the truth of your kingship?” Torvil and Kammen nodded, realizing that it might be a good idea.
“Oh, that,” I said. I thought about it for a minute. “No.”
“No?” All three of them looked surprised.
“I don’t care what they think,” I told him. “I am who I am. If they can’t figure that out on their own, they don’t need to be knights. As for everyone else, they can make up their own minds. I’m not much interested in people who can’t figure it out.
“However,” I added, “you might mention to people that anyone who thinks he’s a knight and didn’t show up today better show up tomorrow, prepared to hand over his sword. Anything else?”
That covered it, as far as they were concerned. They walked away, much more slowly and carefully than usual. I didn’t blame them a bit. I didn’t really feel like getting up and walking, either, now that I was seated and resting.
Bronze nosed me in the back. My mind was wandering. Time to get up and get indoors.
I roused myself enough to make the long climb up on her back; she was kind enough to cock one foreleg for use as a step. I sat up straight, though, and did my best to look as though I didn’t ache. Despite being a supernatural creature, during the day I can get tired; it just takes more effort. As far as anyone else is concerned, I suspect I’m a goal to live up to. We’ll see whether it motivates people or makes them give up.
Maybe people should train in regular, or even extra-heavy armor, and the good stuff gets reserved for when we actually expect a fight? I still don’t know what to make the good stuff out of…
Focus. Sit up straight. Got it.
On the plus side, the guard at the gate saluted as I rode in, so there’s that. In town, people cleared the street for me, standing to the sides and either bowing, going to a knee, or saluting. Apparently, word did get around. I suspect that just being on Bronze was enough to convince a lot of people about my identity. She’s kind of an authority on the subject, after all.
Night fell, and every minor ache or bit of stiffness vanished into the red-hot-insect-swarm-crawling sensation of sunset. I needed another bath, but that was a small price to pay for instant relief from all the little aftereffects of a hard day’s labor. Note that little tidbit as a big plus when totaling up the good and bad of being semi- (hemi?) dead. I also checked my internal gauges and was relieved to find the day’s exertions hadn’t made me hungry. Apparently, a whole herd of dazhu will stick to my undead ribs. Thank goodness it doesn’t also put hair on my chest; I’d be as fuzzy as an electrified cat.
What was really weird was the way I felt as though I knew what I was doing. Maybe it’s the professor in my blood—so to speak—with a class to teach. Admittedly, it’s more “coach” than “professor,” but nonetheless a class. Maybe it’s all the martial prowess of Zirafel.
Having all that Zirafel stuff sitting in my head and hands without me knowing w
hat it is bothers me. Dammit, I’m not a king; I’m an empire, or at least a city. I really hate not knowing if a great idea is my great idea, or the leftover experience from hundreds of thousands of people. It gets on my nerves.
Remember, kids: chew your food!
While I was sorting out my hygiene issues, the maid knocked on the bedroom door. I opened it.
“Majesty,” she said to the floor, “there is a man at the door who begs audience. He says he has an apology to give.”
I didn’t recall anything that required an apology, unless, perhaps, it was one of the guys who gained a broken arm not so long ago. I thanked her and she disappeared as quickly as she could. I trudged downstairs and found the man in question.
He was about seventeen, I think, and skinny as an anorexic toothpick. Give him a pointed helmet and he might do well as a javelin. He was maybe five-seven and had an air of exhaustion about him. That, at least, I understood; I’d seen him lagging behind everyone in every exercise. He was one of the few who made it around the whole initial run, albeit late, if not last.
When I walked into the entryway, he went to one knee, fist on the floor, and bowed his head.
“Get up,” I told him. “What’s on your mind?”
“Majesty,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. It looked painful. I know it was painful to watch. “I’ve come to apologize.”
“So I heard. How have you wronged me?” I asked. He winced.
“I have presumed to become a knight, Majesty.”
“So have a lot of other people. It’s not a crime. Go on.”
“I don’t… I can’t, Majesty. I was wrong to try.”
“Really?” Now I was interested. “Why do you think that?”
“I’m just not strong enough.” He paused. “Or fast enough. And I’m clumsy. I can’t do anything right.”
“I see. But you kept going after a lot of other people quit.”
“I guess I’m just stupid, too,” he said, shrugging. His eyes were brimming, but no tears escaped.