by Vaiya Books
Only the itching of his nose postponed his further assault. “Are you aware of anything, Ferinor? Do you think this academy is a place for just anyone? Do you think that a common road can just turn into the king’s highway? that a burned ember can grow into a tree?”
“No, of course not,” he replied, culture shock slapping him heavy across the chin. “I know--”
“You know the bottom of a barrel,” cut in Zenari, his hands poised as if to strike. “If it weren’t for the promise I’d given your mother, I’d personally escort you into the netherlands.”
With that mysterious threat, Zenari then reached into his cloak and pulled out a rather large tan burlap sack, its top tied in an elaborate knot, holding it out in front of Jimmy. His eyes darkened. “Here I offer you a choice, Ferinor. Take the money and leave, or stay here another day and,” his eyes grew gnarled, “forfeit every fen should your performance be unsatisfactory again.”
The name of his dad, Fenn, reverberating through his mind, Jimmy stood there blindly, discomfited as an inexperienced salesman taking on new customers. The last thing he wanted to do was take someone else’s money. Impersonation was bad enough.
But his silence caused Zenari’s lips to curve into a deep-seated scowl, as he broke the silence with a question thrown out like a grenade. “Why do you want to be here, Eldred?”
Pausing tentatively, but not nearly long enough to collect his scattered thoughts, he replied spontaneously, “So I can learn how to repel magic … and learn how to use it.” Instantly, the master’s hand flew to strike him, but this time Jimmy was prepared and caught his wrist instead. This, however, only made Master Zenari angrier, and he furiously flung away Jimmy’s hand as if he’d committed blasphemy.
“Get out, you vile sorcerer!” He brutally shoved Jimmy onto the floor. “And take your wizardry with you!” Muttering in guttural tones, he thrust his staff into Jimmy’s chest, causing him to shout in pain. “And take your cursed silvers too, every tormented piece!” He tossed the bag of coins at Jimmy’s feet and then added in fierce scorn, “We don’t teach magic here, you fool!”
Jolting himself off the ground, Jimmy clutched the bag like a thief, as he hobbled from the room, right as the master flung out more hostility: “I don’t ever want to see you again, Ferinor, unless you’re hanging from a noose!”
Spider-like with terror, Jimmy weaved down several staircases, and hurried through various corridors, while students slandered him with menacing glowers and hateful “I knew he was different” glares, before finally reaching the front door.
Jerking on the door, he fumbled with it; but nothing happened. Desperate, he pulled down a lever near the door and sighed in relief as the door finally popped open.
In a dead sprint he fled the academy, his shoes pounding against the gravel road where ruinous stone outposts from a bygone era, jagged white rocks resembling giants’ teeth, and imposing solitaire trees warped and molded into grotesque spectacles, towered above him on both sides, blowing an arctic wind of fear into his already frozen soul, making him relive all of Zenari’s ominous words.
This was much worse than just an expulsion; it felt far closer to an exorcism. His guilt over how he’d ruined Ferinor’s life was a gossamer thread compared to the powerful emotions of fear that assaulted him. It felt like he was stuck in Shelob’s web about to become supper.
Hurrying down the stone road, dust clouds forming behind him, Jimmy failed to notice a heavily armored man who had marched up to him and blocked his path, until he had nearly run into him. Seeing him, Jimmy halted abruptly, embarrassment adding itself to his chaotic emotional mix, and then backtracked quickly, apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
Yet the swordsman’s semi-jubilant expression remained unchanged. “Ralin’s strength to you, foreigner.”
“Strength to you too,” murmured Jimmy, giving him a weird look, as his heart continued to race.
His greeting fell on annoyed ears, his shiny black helmet reflecting the rays of the warm sunlight. “You haven’t studied up on our culture, have you?”
“No, I haven’t.” Jimmy’s confused expression made the swordsman grin.
“Well, there’s time to learn and plenty of it.” His face cheering up, the man switched the topic. “The barrack’s master has been anxiously awaiting the arrival of the men from the isles up north, of which you are the first.” He smiled. “I was told it’d be another week before you came, but I never believed it. You northerners don’t loiter around.”
“But, how do you know I’m even from the--?”
“Come, young man.” The armored man pointed with his chin towards a large wooden structure. “Save your questions for the toads. We’d better get you trained fast--the king’s impatient for the war to start, and he needs experienced men.”
The swordsman had not even allowed him to speak, but had automatically assumed that he, who looked as guilty as a thief running down a road to get back to his burrow, was going to be joining the war, and that he was from the isles up north. This was eerily similar to how he was treated by Zenari when he was readily accepted as Ferinor. Was this culture just naive or plain foolish?
“The elves think they can divine our numbers,” began the swordsman, unaware of Jimmy’s inward critique of his country, “but they underestimate the many southern men who will soon join our rank.” He smiled sinisterly before adding, “And they undervalue our alliances.”
The swordsman’s smile gave Jimmy a queasy feeling. He’d heard mentions of this war earlier on while at the Chardin Academy, and it had made him mad every time. Why would anyone want to fight the elves? He’d always imagined them to be kind, peaceful, and good-natured. Perhaps these weren’t like the ones from Lord of the Rings, but still--”
“By the trees! You don’t know about the war, do you?” The soldier’s face looked exactly like his sudden outburst, both excited and startled. “If you did you’d never side with the elves; they’re treacherous nature dwellers who’ll do anything to lock away a human. They hate us, you know.”
Jimmy gasped inwardly. How could the guard so easily discern his thoughts? He’d have to be more careful about displaying his emotions. “I’ve heard about the war,” replied Jimmy cautiously, not letting his disgust over the man’s words show on his face.
“And do you know how it started?” asked the guard, eagerness in his voice as if he couldn’t wait to share.
Jimmy just shook his head, which brought out a rather unexpected outburst.
“I don’t care what you think,” said the swordsman, his eyes glaring wildly, yet not threateningly. “You’ve clearly been softened by all the elven propaganda that cycles like trash through the northern cities.” He swallowed briefly before continuing. “It’s time to clear away the bramble from your mind. The elves are not peace lovers, and share a common aversion towards humans.”
Before Jimmy could even blink, the man went on:
“About three weeks ago, our Beloved Ralin Taverak decided to make an alliance with the elves so he sent an ambassador ship over to Amalon. Before the ship had even made it halfway, though, a royal elven warship came and sank it, killing all forty humans on board.” He watched Jimmy’s face grow skeptical before adding, “Lest you doubt this account, this heinous act was witnessed by a fleet of deep sea fishing boats. Everyone has the same story.”
Jimmy’s heart plummeted. What kind of elves were these? They sounded barbaric, traitorous, hostile--a far cry from the helpful, innocent elves from Lord of the Rings.
But the swordsman didn’t give him a chance to finish organizing his thoughts. “Now that we’ve got that settled,” he began, not sympathizing with Jimmy’s torn heart, “I welcome you to the ranks of the Sarithian army. I trust your heart will be with us now.”
As Jimmy stood there, subconsciously swinging his arm back and forth, the coin sack in his hands made a clinking sound, attracting the man’s attention.
He crossed his arms and held them in front of his body.
“I don’t mean to intrude, but why are you carrying a sack of money? You never have to pay for admission.”
“I got kicked out of Master Zenari’s mansion,” he replied, biting down the hard feelings these words conjured in his mind, as images of unholy dark elves with bloody knives and scraggly hair threatened to destroy his old concept of gentle, healing elves who only fought against that which was evil.
The man cringed in unexpected sympathy. “That must have hurt. I’ve never heard him use such brute force before. What’d you do to enrage him so much?”
“I’d rather not talk about it,” he muttered, annoyed that his American expression didn’t register with the man, while at the same time wondering why the man so easily believed his story when in all appearances, he could’ve very well been a robber who’d simply had a productive day.
“Understandable. I’m sure you wouldn’t want any rumors to start.” Laughing, he smacked Jimmy hard on the back with his iron gauntlets, causing him to flinch in pain. “That wouldn’t help your reputation with the ladies any.”
“No, it sure wouldn’t,” he murmured, his mind inadvertently drifting back to Shadowcrest Manor.
Likely, the girls had already boxed him up, putting him in a category of shy guys who were obsessed with fantasy and stayed up all night playing RPGs, drinking caffeinated beverages to stay awake. To think that they would have any good opinion of him after his sudden lame departure would be too much to hope for. They probably hated him. Not that he’d ever see them again, though. If he could take a guess, he’d likely be making this his new home.
As the thought about never seeing his family or his friends again struck him for the first time, a tear came to his eye, which, fortunately, the swordsman who led him never saw.
As they entered the barracks quietly, Jimmy immediately grew dazzled by all the elegant swords, rapiers, crossbows, axes, arrows, spears, and other weapons that were organized neatly on shelves and hooks in the gigantic room, which branched off into many corridors.
Normally, this sight would have scoured away all of his despondency, but he wasn’t such a live-by-the-moment person that he could forget all that had occurred today. He turned to the swordsman with a faded smile. “So, what do I do now?”
“Talk to Commander Gavar, the barrack’s master,” the swordsman said. “He’ll show you the path.” He pointed with his chin to a six-foot tall muscular man in the back of the large weapons room dressed in iron battle armor detailed with gold and silver markings with a heavy sword clinging to his side.
Taking the cue, Jimmy left the swordsman’s side and approached the large man cautiously. It didn’t take long before the man’s charismatic fern-colored eyes alighted on him.
“King Ralin’s strength to you, Northerner.” Gavar chuckled, as he folded his arms across his chest, and studied Jimmy’s clothes and the heavy burlap sack in his right hand.
“And King Ralin’s might to you as well,” Jimmy replied back enthusiastically, feeling extremely weird for saying it.
But Gavar just smiled warmly at his words, as he continued gazing at his clothing. “Let’s get you changed into your training garb.”
But Jimmy barely heard him. All he could think about was why the man kept staring at his clothes. Was something wrong with them? Bowing to the man without even thinking, he asked, his voice shaky, “Is there a problem, Commander?”
Gavar broke out of his dreaming spell, a sharp look in his eyes. He laughed. “Even for a northerner, I didn’t expect your garments to be so strange.”
“Strange?” asked Jimmy, putting his hand up to his chin, his mouth halfway open. “I’m not the one wearing a curved purple hat and wrapping black cloth around my neck.”
“Ah.” His face lit up as he tilted his head upwards toward the ceiling. “That’s what all foreigners say, but you’ll adjust.” Looking at Jimmy again, the man added with a lively tone, “Though I must say, you’ve a lot more muscle on you than I expected from a northerner. Most spend their lives as scribes or medicinal healers, but you seem to have taken a more vigorous path.”
Jimmy’s eyes lit up at being thought of as brawny. Sure, he wasn’t the weakest guy in school by any means, but he’d never viewed himself as muscular. Feeling puffed up, he decided to make himself appear even better in the man’s eyes. “Actually, Commander,” he said humorously, “I consider myself a scribe too.”
He smiled with determination. When he wasn’t sword-fighting, practicing archery, or reading his books, he wrote … a lot. And now appeared to be the perfect time to tell the commander of this particular talent. Just like in a job interview, first impressions were the most important, and it seemed best to lay out some of his better cards on the table right at the start.
His boasting seemed to pay off. Gavar gave him a curious look. “What type of writing do you specialize in?”
“Mostly fantasy novels, though I’m good at mysteries as well.” Pausing, a proud smile on his face, he decided to add one more to his repertoire, a genre that he’d never told anybody he’d liked and that nobody would ever guess he’d be writing, as it didn’t seem to fit his personality. Yet, all the same, he had a definite interest in it, and he somehow wasn’t afraid to share it with this man: “Recently though,” he added cunningly, “I even started composing a romance one.”
Only the last one caught the man’s attention, which had wandered. “My friend’s in need of someone to compose letters to his lady love.”
Heart pounding faster, Jimmy blushed, wishing he’d stopped with mysteries. Bragging always got him into trouble. “I couldn’t--”
“I know you have a different script, being from the north, so you would dictate your words to him.”
“But I’m young--”
“All the better,” said Gavar brazenly, as he gave Jimmy his best fatherly smile. “The young always seem to have more open hearts and flowery tongues.”
He had to try again; this situation was quickly spiraling out of control. “But I don’t know your culture very well.”
Gavar’s eyebrows lowering, his smile never fading, he countered with, “I’ve heard women tire of the same trite expressions.” He paused. “So, have you decided to help then?” His tone making it sound more like a command than an option.
Jimmy’s face flushed. It took him only a second to make up his mind--he’d never do it. Since he didn’t want to lie, though, he answered rather discreetly, “I’ll think about it, Commander.”
“I’m sure you will,” said Gavar, seeming to fully believe him. Looking at Jimmy’s large burlap sack and seeming to infer that Jimmy was a stingy miser, he smiled with a twinkle in his eyes, adding, “My friend pays quite handsomely.” Returning to his military posture, he strode towards one of the shorter corridors. “Let’s get you changed now.”
Fifteen minutes later, after trying on many types and sizes of clothing, Jimmy eventually fitted himself into a thin sleeveless sky blue shirt that fit him rather tightly and was laced together in the middle with feathery strings in five places from top to bottom, a rough bluish leathery garment that looked like a kilt from Scotland and came down to his kneecaps, a stiff white cotton cloth that fit rather firmly over his neck and seemed to serve no purpose other than to stifle his breathing, and a pair of firm dark brown goatskin sandals.
Finding the commander in the weapon’s room, feeling very awkward and uncomfortable in such strange attire, Jimmy met him with a sheepish stare as he consciously noted that his tight-fitting shirt seemed ready to tear at the seams in the middle. “I’m ready now.”
The barrack’s master looked pleased with his clothing selection and seemed to think nothing of its peculiarity. “Let’s get you armed now, boy,” he said, warm enthusiasm in his voice. Motioning with his hand to the weapons on the shelf, Commander Gavar listed off the names of each one.
Intrigued by all the fascinating weapons, Jimmy’s eyes somehow fixated on a sharp light-purple steel sword, the same type that the guards at the gate to the Chardin�
�s Academy and the two swordsmen had held. Grabbing it without thinking, he said, “I’ll take this one, Commander Gavar.” A valiant warrior’s glint in his eye, which seemed to please the man, he felt the smooth edges of the sword.
“Excellent choice, soldier. You’ve a keen eye; that dwarven sword’s been forged from pure vasyl gemstone.” He paused, admiration in his eyes, then got back on track, pulling a crooked charcoal writing-like utensil and a small new-looking leathery book from somewhere in his resplendent velvet cloak, looking ready to scribble down something on it. “Before we begin the training, though, for the purpose of knowing all the enlistments, I need your name.”
This formality didn’t frighten him at all. “It’s Jimmy Ivans, sir,” he said, nearly feverish with excitement, spelling out his name for the man, while holding the sword tightly in his hands and imagining all the strokes he could employ with it. The fact that the dwarves had forged it made it all the better; it was so cool. He felt like he was in the Hobbit ready to fight against the goblins.
“Jimmy Ivans,” mused the man, as if he were trying to solve a murder mystery, scribbling his name down in the book. “That sounds like a name from a forgotten legend.” He smiled at him, quickly shoving his book and writing utensil into his cloak. “It’s never rung in my ears before.”
“Well, there’s a first time for everything.” He chuckled in a lighthearted manner.
The commander looked at Jimmy as if he’d said something truly profound and then nodded his head. “Yes, yes there is.” Pausing, he recollected his thoughts, sweeping his right hand out in front of him. “Follow me to the armory, my boy.”
Hurrying after him, as the man took heavy strides, Jimmy nearly bumped into some of the other soldiers, who just laughed at him mockingly, making insulting jokes about northerners.