The Broken Key (02) - Hunter of the Horde

by Brian S. Pratt

  Riyan looked up from the letter as Chad stuck his head into the room. The room held eight beds, of which two were assigned to Chad and Riyan. Six other ‘Recruits’ lived in here with them. Each bed had a chest at the end where they could store their belongings.

  Riyan was currently sitting at one of the two tables in the room.

  “You better hurry,” warned Chad. “You don’t want to be late again.” Riyan nodded. “I’ll be just a moment.”

  “See you there,” Chad said as his head disappeared and he hurried down the hallway.

  Riyan returned his attention back to the letter…

  I must go now or face the unpleasant consequences of being late to drills. I’msending some coins, I hope they will help. These will be the last I will be able to send forsome time. I love you and miss you mother.

  Your son,

  Riyan

  He quickly folded the letter and placed it in the small box with the coins he was sending to his mother. Getting up from the table, he moved to the chest at the foot of his bed and placed the box inside. Later that night he would meet the merchant in the Guild’s foyer who said he would deliver it to her for two coppers seeing as he had some business up that way.

  Bart shut the lid of the chest and raced out of the room. He practically flew down the corridor as he hurried to beat the Drillmaster to the courtyard. When he passed through the door and entered the courtyard, he could see the twenty three other Recruits already in position. A quick glance showed him the Drillmaster had yet to make an appearance.

  Chad mouthed ‘hurry up’. Riyan nodded and went to the rack where the swords they used for drills were stored. He pulled the last one from the rack and quickly crossed over to his place next to Chad. The instant after he took his position, the Drillmaster entered the courtyard from the opposite side.

  He glared at Riyan but didn’t say anything. Once the Drillmaster took his place, they began. “Swords at the ready!” he shouted.

  Riyan raised his sword. His arm had to be parallel to the ground from shoulder to elbow. The elbow was to be slightly bent and the sword held at a forty five degree angle.

  Getting the sword into position was second nature by this time, continuing to hold it there took some effort.

  You see, the sword weighed almost three times what a normal sword would. It was dull but balanced well. They were fat, unsightly pieces of iron that the Recruits used during certain of their drills.

  They always began the drill with holding their swords at the ready while reciting back the Code of the Warrior when called upon. And woe to the Recruit who failed to recite the requested code back perfectly.

  “Barin!” their Drillmaster shouted. “Third Code of the Warrior.” Barin, a lad of about sixteen summers whom Chad and Riyan had come to know well, shouted back, “The Third Code of the Warrior states, ‘Fleeing the battle while your comrades remain is the worst form of cowardice.’”

  “And what is the punishment for breaking the Third Code?” the Drillmaster asked.

  “Loss of the right thumb!” Barin shouted back.

  “Very good,” he said. Then he began pacing in front of the recruits. “Chadric! First Code!”

  “The First Code of the Warrior states, ‘Honor above life. To break an oath, whether spoken or otherwise, destroys the warrior.’”

  The Drillmaster paused in his pacing as he turned his gaze to Chad. “And the punishment?”

  “There can be only one punishment for the breaking of the First Code,” he replied.

  “And that is?” asked the Drillmaster.

  “Death.”

  “Always remember that,” said the Drillmaster. “A warrior without honor is nothing.

  A warrior who hurts the helpless is nothing. A warrior who breaks his oath is lower than the belly of a snake. Such must be sought out and destroyed!” The punishments for breaking the various codes were supposed to be carried out by other Guild members whenever they discovered the infraction. Though Riyan doubted if they were enforced all that stringently, rather being a measure through which they could gauge themselves.

  The Drillmaster was a very intimidating looking man. Standing six foot three, his bald head overshadowed all of the Recruits. His body showed dozens of scars received from battles he’s fought and survived.

  They continued holding their swords at the ready for another ten minutes, all the while shouting out various Codes the Drillmaster requested. By this time, the Recruits have the first twenty Codes of the Warrior memorized. That was all that is required of them at this stage.

  After their ten minutes was over, they were broken into various groups that begun working at different drills. They rotated through them at half hour intervals for the rest of the day. While they were working at drills such as striking logs or hitting mock opponents, they used their ugly, fat swords. During the times when they were faced off against an opponent, they used wooden swords that only left bruises.

  Other men came during their drills and assisted the Drillmaster in showing them various techniques used when wielding a sword. One of the first things they were taught was the proper way to grip the sword. Riyan remembered that day well.

  They had lined up in their rows as they do every day when beginning drills. The Drillmaster came and had them get their fat-uglies, which was what they grew to call the ugly swords they trained with.

  It was the first day and Riyan had gone to get his and returned with it to his spot. He had it in hand and was waving it around like he was some fighter. Big mistake. The Drillmaster had seen him and walked straight towards him. When Riyan realized that he was heading in his direction he ceased what he was doing and grew still.

  “Hold your sword like you plan to use it,” the Drillmaster told him.

  Riyan held the sword outward with the point pointed slightly up.

  “Are you ready?” asked the Drillmaster.

  By this time every Recruit had grown quiet and watched the events unfold. Riyan licked his lips and nodded. Before he could even react, the Drillmaster’s sword struck the sword from his hand.

  Around him, Riyan heard other Recruits gasp at the speed with which the attack came. Pain flared in his hand and his thumb was slightly cocked to the side. He thought it was broken.

  “The first thing you will learn,” the Drillmaster said loud enough for all to hear, “is how to hold your sword.” He came forward and took Riyan’s injured hand. After a quick inspection, he gripped the hand firmly in one hand and with the other, twisted the thumb back in place quickly.

  Riyan cried out from the pain the maneuver inflicted, but it went away quickly. He flexed his thumb, amazed that it worked.

  The Drillmaster backed up a step and indicated with a flick of his head for Riyan to retrieve his sword. As he went to do that, the Drillmaster said, “Holding your sword improperly in battle will cause it to be knocked out of your hand.” Then with a glance to Riyan he added, “And possibly dislocate or break your thumb in the process.” After that day, they all knew the proper technique for holding a sword.

  Riyan and Chad often sparred together while one of the swordsmen watched and gave them pointers. Other times, the swordsman would instruct them one on one. Times such as those tended to leave a patchwork of bruises on them.

  Their day was divided between practical instruction in the sword, building up their strength and endurance, and also in what it means to be a member of the Warrior’s Guild.

  It started an hour after sunup and lasted until late afternoon. They learned in part the history of the Guild, some of its more notable members, and of course the Codes. Those were beat into them so many times that for awhile Riyan was actually reciting them in his sleep.

  Lord help them if at some time during their drills they gave less than their all. If the Drillmaster, or any of the other swordsmen that helped thought that they hadn’t, they were privileged to remain behind after the other Recruits had left for an extended, serious workout. Such a workout was anything but fun and once
you experienced it, you never again gave less than your all.

  After the drills were through for the day, their time was their own. They weren’t allowed out of the Guild’s grounds save for one day in ten. At that time they were made to tie the crossguard of their swords with white cloth to tell anyone they came across that they were Recruits and not to be molested. That in effect they were under the protection of the Guild. Anyone violating the White Scabbard would be visited by more experienced guild members to ‘discuss’ the situation as it were.

  This day, when the drills were over, Riyan’s muscles ached all over as they usually did. He hadn’t been kidding when he wrote his mother that she wouldn’t recognize him.

  His body had grown quite muscular over the months since coming here.

  He put his fat-ugly away and then went with Chad back to the barracks they lived in.

  “Have to find Raestin,” he told his friend. “He said he was going to leave on the morrow.” Once back at the chest at the foot of his bed, he retrieved the box containing the letter and half a dozen silver coins he was sending his mother.

  “Want me to come with you?” asked Chad.

  Riyan tossed the box onto his bunk and shook his head. “No,” he replied. Then as he buckled on the plain sword he had acquired shortly after coming to Gilbeth, he added,

  “This won’t take long.” The sword already had the white cloth tied around it.

  One of the rules they had to follow was that they must wear a sword at all times when not coming or going to drills. Supposedly it was to get them better used to having it on.

  They also weren’t allowed to break the white cloth and draw their swords except in a life and death situation. And they better have an eye witness verifying that it was if they did.

  “Alright,” replied Chad. “I’ll meet you in the mess in an hour.”

  “You got it,” agreed Riyan. He picked up the box and left Chad in the barrack. He glanced out a window as he passed by and gauged that the sun still had an hour before it set. Now that fall was here, the days had begun to grow shorter. Raestin had said that he would meet Riyan in the foyer of the Guild.

  The foyer was a large area where members could come and take their ease. It was also where many of the local Recruits could meet family and friends without leaving the grounds. Riyan always liked going to the foyer to see the battle worn fighters that frequented the place.

  When he entered the foyer, he scanned those at the tables and others sitting in the lone chairs spaced about the room. A grin came to him as his eyes settled on Raestin. He was over to one side talking with a man wearing the livery of one of the local nobles.

  Almost all the hired swords, whether it be private or by the city, were members of the Guild. A few didn’t have the social connections or the gold to get accepted into it. Suffice it to say, if you were a fighter and didn’t belong to the Guild, you were looked down on.

  Also, if someone were in need of hiring a fighter for, say a guard’s position, they were more likely to choose a member over a nonmember.

  Raestin noticed his approach and gave him a grin. “Why if it isn’t young Riyan,” he said. Then to the man he was talking to he added, “I’m acting as currier for him.”

  “Ah,” the man nodded.

  When Riyan came to stand before them with the package in hand, Raestin said, “I’d like you to meet Swordmaster Allyn. He’s Captain of Lord Dourin’s guards.” Riyan gave the Swordmaster the bow for one of his rank. Every fighter in the world is named for the rank they have attained. Being a Recruit, Riyan sat on the lowest rung of the Guild’s hierarchy. Swordmasters were four ranks above him.

  Each rank has specific qualifications someone of the rank below must have before they can be ‘promoted’. The further up you go, the more it’s going to take to make the next level. For Riyan, the next level in the Guild’s hierarchy is that of Armsman. All he need do to be promoted to Armsman is to have memorized the first twenty Codes of the Warrior and have his Drillmaster attest that he was sufficiently skilled so as not to bring dishonor or shame onto the Guild. Then he could begin calling himself Armsman Riyan.

  His full name would be ‘Armsman Riyan of the Gilbeth Warriors Guild’, but for practical purposes, it was shortened to simply Armsman Riyan.

  “Nice to meet you Riyan,” the Swordsman replied. To use ‘Recruit’ as part of the name wasn’t normally done.

  “It’s my pleasure Swordmaster,” Riyan said. Now that the proscribed pleasantries between guild members were out of the way, he turned to Raestin. He held out the package to be delivered to his mother. “This is the package.” Raestin took it. “I’ll be there in two days,” he told Riyan. “She will get it then.” Riyan also handed over the coppers he was paying Raestin for the service. “Thank you,” he said.

  “Glad to do it,” said Raestin.

  Then Riyan again bowed to Swordmaster Allyn and turned to leave. He made his way from the foyer, glad that the package with the letter was finally on its way. Now at least his mother won’t be worrying about what had happened to him. He encountered Chad as he was on his way to the mess and joined him.

  “Tomorrow’s our ten-day,” said Chad as they waited in line for their food. Ten-day is what they called the one day in ten when they were free of drills and could leave the Guild. Of course if while they were out on their ten-day they were to get into trouble, the privilege of leaving the Guild would be revoked. Not to mention the other penalties that would go along with it.

  “I was thinking we should go see Kevik and find out how he’s making out,” suggested Riyan.

  Chad nodded. “Sounds like a plan,” he agreed. “Maybe after that we could find a tavern somewhere with a good bard.”

  Riyan thought that was a great idea. As soon as they received their allotment of food, which was almost more than either of them could finish, they took it to one of the many tables in the mess and joined a couple of the other Recruits who were already there.

  Most of the others gave Chad and Riyan a hard time as it was common knowledge they had bought their way into the Guild. All the other Recruits were legacied, meaning that someone in their family was a member so by default they could join.

  But not all were that way. The three Recruits whom they joined at the table were decent enough fellows. There was Chyfe, the ‘ch’ being pronounced as a ‘k’, who was the third son of a local lord. Five foot six, he was a bit on the short side as far as warriors went. But he was fast with his blade and could easily hold his own against the other Recruits.

  The other two at the table were Seth and Soth, identical twins. Their father was one of the guards in the service of a local lord. They were darker skinned than the average citizen of Gilbeth but not by much. Six foot one, they made an imposing pair. Seth was the more congenial of the two while Soth tended to be more reserved.

  “Riyan, Chad,” Chyfe said as they sat down.

  “How is it today?” asked Chad.

  Seth held up his knife with a slice of beef skewered to it. “A bit tough,” he said with a grimace. “I wonder if they give us Recruits the low end of the cow?” Soth chuckled at that and nodded.

  “Wouldn’t be surprised,” replied Riyan. He took up his knife and cut off a slice of the beef on his plate. From the effort it took to saw through the meat, he knew he was going to have fun chewing it.

  When he put it in his mouth, he found out just how tough it was. “I think someone cooked up a mess of old boots,” he commented which elicited a round of laughter from the others.

  As he worked the meat over in his mouth, he looked up at the banners hanging from the ceiling. They hung against the wall and circled the entire hall. Each of the banners depicted a coat of arms of the Guild’s more famous members. On the first day he ate in the hall, he had hoped the coats of arms that he was searching for would be among them, but they weren’t.

  A week into his training, he had asked one of the swordsmen helping out the Drillmaster about coats of arms and when he w
ould be getting one of his own. The man had laughed at him.

  “You don’t,” he replied.

  “I thought every fighter had one,” Riyan said.

  The swordsman shook his head. “You only get one of those if you’re knighted by the king,” he explained. “Or if your house already has one then you are allowed to bear it on your armor and shield.”

  “They really interest me,” Riyan had told him. “Is there a way for me to research them?”

  The swordsman shrugged. “Maybe,” he replied. “You’ll have to ask old Stryntner, he keeps the Guild’s archives.”

  “Thanks,” Riyan had said. “I’ll try that.”

  And later that day after the drills he did attempt to gain access to the Guild’s archives, but was summarily turned away by Stryntner. He was an aged fighter who had lost an eye and two fingers on his left hand. When Riyan had gone to see him after the drills were over for the day, he had been told to go away.

  While at the door making his pitch to enter, he had seen shelves lined with books covering the walls he could see. There were even a few free standing bookshelves placed in the middle of the floor that were stacked with old manuscripts and tomes. This was definitely the place he had to get to in order to find out about the two coats of arms from The Crypt that he and the others believed would lead them to the rest of the key. How, though, remained the question.

  Riyan and Chad made small talk with their fellow Recruits. Mainly about their training, instructors, and their fellow Recruits. Seth and Soth were the first ones to finish their dinner and quickly excused themselves.

  The buzz in the mess hall was mainly about the conflict to the south with the Lands of the Moryn Tribes. The Lands of the Moryn Tribes bordered the southern boundary of the Kingdom of Byrdlon. The dukedoms of Duke Yoric and Duke Knor shared the border with their less than hospitable neighbor.

  There were a dozen tribes of wild men who had banded together long ago. Through the years there had been attempts made to annex their lands to that of Byrdlon, but all had failed. All the effort had done was breed animosity among those living within Moryn towards the Kingdom of Byrdlon.