Tales Of Grimea

by Andrew Mowere

  “I can’t be rightfully sure,” he answered finally. “Young Glint Stryger is rather talented, and I’m almost certain he’s trained with someone at least on par with higher rankers of the second circle, one on one at that. I’m good with my head, but I don’t know if I’m that good.” At that Glint shuddered, for he hadn’t told anyone very much about Azrael. The only one in Quicksilver who knew that the man hid far more than he let on was Quicksilver’s Lord Alfjötr, and even he didn’t know that Azrael was an unchained. However, it didn’t seem like the thoughtful old man had figured that one out, and so Glint let his ever present curiosity get the better of him. “How would you try it?” he asked, and a smile appeared on the old man’s face. Too late, Glint realized that a bit of aggression had entered his voice and kicked himself mentally.

  “Ah, youth,” said Serk, showing Glint his balding head. “What I’d do to start over and come here instead of Wraith’s Face. Wasted years trying to become a psion and they never gave me my money back, you know. I might have been teaching you now if it weren’t for that.” The warrior thought the prospect of Serk teaching them was entirely pleasant, but knew the coal eyed man counted the mental strength he’d gained in his old guild as an integral part of him. He probably hadn’t even asked for his money. The unassuming blue wrapped around his ring finger shone bright. “I can’t say what my method would have been,” the man reasoned, “but I’m sure at some point it will have to be displayed. It’s only luck that’s stood between us two sparring before.”

  As they went towards their dorm, Glint thought to himself that the first rankers around him retained much of their fight, although he was lauded as the top of his peers. Despite his shy nature, the youth burned with the desire to fight, and knew he wasn’t going to spend much time with them. Perhaps it was some stroke of luck that had him join Quicksilver a year before the first circle’s ascension exam to the second. Perhaps that luck was by design, orchestrated by a raven haired man.

  There was one hallway that lead to the inner court from Quicksilver’s first circle dorms, and one that lead away towards the second building, where most of the actual work happened. Glint thought about these as he put his green tapard on, for members were instructed to keep the expensive fabric out of harm’s way and so removed it when training. “Sung,” Glint said. “Quicksilver is pretty focused on teaching new members, huh?”

  The thinner warrior thought about it for a second as they stepped atop expensive carpeting lined with golden colored borders. The ground beneath it, peeking for a few feet off the walls from each side, was of planks polished a deep brown. These particular walls were of wood themselves, a lighter shade of brown, and Glint knew the opposing hall after the inner court would be the same, snaking all the way towards the master’s office. Glint snickered, for he’d remembered Alfjoetr Christon looking comical sitting at a table with a quill barely larger than his thumb the one time Glint had been taken to him shortly after arriving at the guild. Sung gave him a confused look, then said, “Yeah, I suppose it is. What’s got your brain there and not on Felicia Lekk?” Glint, startled, looked on ahead where, sure enough, Felicia was working hard on a strut, keeping a confidant gaze straight ahead whilst swinging her hips back and forth seductively. Glint shuddered, then gave Sung a look that must have said a thousand words, for his friend laughed. “Alright, alright, I just felt sorry for the girl. You know how hard she tries.”

  “She thinks her body and face are all she needs in this world. I wouldn’t touch her with a stick.” In fact, He’d told Marie about Felicia’s attention seeking fascination with him on his last visit, and his mother may as well have been a fury, the way the gingery haired woman exploded. For a second he thought she was going to strike him, but he’d assured his Normal mother that he didn’t want anything to do with the lass, but also that he wouldn’t be hurtful.

  Thus Glint felt doubly bad when Sung winced, whispering, “Ouch! I mean, I agree with you, but that would hurt to hear. Every life’s a road, and people are shoes, so I’m sure there’s a road she fits on perfectly. Let’s just say we hope she finds someone who appreciates the way she is or a better yet, a change of heart.”

  “You’re right,” relented Glint, seeing Felicia walk off with her perfect ponytail, nice clothes, make up on a face that could have been sculpted and a body right out of someone’s fantasy. He hoped she’d give up soon, at least before he ended up having a sparring match against the dark headed girl with armor in her studded earrings. He appreciated Sung’s eccentric accommodation for everybody else, for it was the opposite of Emilia. Who isn’t really my type, but is probably a better person now than Felicia would ever be. She’d probably set her in her place. “Anyways. I was thinking about how they put our building out front. Obviously, it makes sense to put the important things in the back in case someone attacks, but it’s also so that the young ones get to fight next to the older guild members, right? They should get ready at about the same time.”

  “Huh, yeah, that’s true,” said Sung, but then looked towards Flait and Serk. The older man said nothing, gesturing towards his companion with the bird’s nest for hair. For a while he said nothing, then ventured with, “Symbol?”

  “Rather good. I’m sure the founders wanted to make sure that the forefront of our guild lies in youth,” The man chuckled at that, “But I heard they also wanted to show a symbol of strength. You haven’t seen yet because we’re often training when it happens, but delegates from other guilds, councils and nobles come here often enough. They have to make their way through our hallowed corridors, lined with armors and likenesses of honored members. Then they witness our training in the court as they go through lavish surroundings before heading in and meeting Lords Aje, Luke, or the titan himself. It’s a symbol for us not to forget the young, true, but the founders’ choice serves as intimidation too.”

  For a while everyone within earshot admired the walls, floor, trophies and massive chandeliers with new eyes. Then Sung joked, “Like Flait said, symbol.” They all laughed at that. Then suddenly a bell tolled, and everyone froze, tense. The corridor they stood in was filled with guild members, and all of them stood in attention, one and all. Lord Luke, second in command of the guild, stood there as well, although he started to smile. The man had long ears, almost pointy in their nature, as well as blonde hair with fringes that framed delicate features. Far up high the bell tolled, having been fashioned from the armor of Dresula Stormweilder, a founder of the guild who had been called a boulder of a woman. It almost sang, once of warning and another of victory, struck as it was with the hammer of Dresula’s sister, Ursula, whom many said was a beauty to be envied. When the bell was struck thrice, everyone’s breath stopped… then so did the tolling, and all the members moved at once. The students, of course, ran towards the Iron Door. There was a crowd already waiting, for three tolls announced the return of Quicksilver’s master, Alfjoetr Christon. Glint didn’t move towards the front of the crowd.

  Alfjoetr was a behemoth of a man. Wearing Greybear fur as a vest, trousers cut at the knee, many would think he were insane when considering the cold of mount Ash. However, the man shrugged it off, and it seemed every step he took shook the ground beneath him. “Is that him?” asked a young boy next to Glint, and the warrior answered, “Yeah, that’s the titan alright,” with a mixture of pride and distate. He didn’t enjoy seeing the giant with the bead sprouting shaggy hair very much, for a drunken Alfjoetr had beaten him quite severely almost three years ago. Even the mark Glint had left when pulling out a handful off the man’s beard was perfectly healed.

  Alfjoetr was surrounded by guild members faster than one could sneeze, all asking about his trip and offering to take things for him. “Bahahaha,” came his mountain slide of a laugh, “No gifts this time. Here, boy, carry this bag. And you take this!” despite being able to carry enormous weight, the man had apparently split his pack into many smaller bags, which he began handing to volunteers before cackling with delight and gazing up at the bell.
“Greet ye, Dresula!” he shouted, and those around needed to cover his ears. Glint wondered that the man didn’t rip his throat with his own voice. “Now, before I go to rest, let’s get the rituals over with. Who here seeks to clasp arms?”

  At once, guild members all about made way, forcing everyone backwards so that a square arena was formed. This was the moment Glint had waited for, and his heart beat fast. Suddenly he breathed, and it settled. This was a time for a fight, and there was no need for shyness. The sky above, cloudy and grim as it was, seemed to approve, for the sun sent a beam towards the warrior as his hand was raised. He’d fought Alfjoetr once before, and wanted to see how he’d improved. Glint’s bracers sent thunder into his heart, and he felt ready. All around, guild members in red and blue and green tapards stood solemn as four hands shot up. He was the only one of the first circle. Besides him, the others were Maester Seymore Jambe, another Maester Glint didn’t recognize, and lord Luke. The titan’s laugh rumbled across the front courtyard again, and he walked, the ring moving, until one wall was just before the steps leading to Quicksilver’s castle door. This was to his left, and Glint was part of the crowd directly before the man. Alfjoetr grinned. “Four! And one brave soul from the first. I applaud ye, child. What be yo- oh,” the man interrupted himself with a snort a boar would have been proud of. “It’s you. Very well, child. Get your armor ready.”

  Naturally, those that hadn’t seen Glint raise his arm now gasped. It was borderline blasphemy for one in the first circle to fight their guild master. It simply wasn’t done, and in many other guilds a similar match up would never be allowed. Booes began to resound, and Glint’s determination wavered. This wasn’t what he’d bargained for. However, there was no other chance to fight Alfjoetr again, and there was no better test to see how far he’d come. Glint stayed in place, knowing that he needed to climb ranks as fast as possible for his own goals and those of Azrael, and knowing that he was willing to accept punishment if it came to that. The sound climbed in volume until they were almost chanting at him, and Glint could feel their negativity keenly on his very skin.

  “Silence!” The bellow came from Alfjoetr, and almost brought Glint to one knee with an almost physical force. The only time he’d ever heard louder was when a magical tree brought down the crystalline caves almost atop his own head, east in Krava. Then Glint noticed that the dissenters, those who booed him, were all first rankers like him. He understood that they envied him the chance, and cursed their own trembling arms. Those who knew him cheered, but Alfjoetr silenced them in turn with another painful cry. “Let the boy try,” he said in a lower tone. “Get your armor on. We’ll start with the youngest. Does anyone mind?” the two maesters and Lord Luke, who stood behind the man, shook their heads. All around there was a light atmosphere and people joked, as if Alfjoetr was going to play with a puppy. Glint almost shouted at them to go away, but knew what they wanted. He could feel their need for a spectacle.

  “I… what about you?” Glint asked, walking forwards and free of the crowd until the man was directly before him, if a bit away. Alfjoetr’s eyebrow shot up as the booing began in earnest. Now even the second rankers were annoyed, and Lord Luke laughed.

  “Shut yer trap,” Alfjoetr told him before turning his attention to the warrior. “I thought ye knew, boy. Can’t get the damn thing to work. First guild leader in history who can’t.” Glint was shocked, but remembered their last fight. He hadn’t used his armor then, although his snarling wolf medallion had felt off. Now Glint knew that the man’s necklace would glow when the time came, summoning that monstrous power beneath him. “Nod when yer ready.”

  Glint let lightning course through him. All around, people fell silent, shocked at the speed his armor took over. A longsowrd and shield formed on his arms, and Glint took them, ready for anything. Last time he had lasted a couple of minutes at most, but he was a different man now. Strength filled him and the wind howled in the silence of men about to see a spectacle they were unprepared for. If he fought equally here, he’d be made a lord. Alfjoetr stood a distance away, and Glint knew he could reach him in a few seconds. Although the giant looked bored, he stood with few openings and the medallion around his neck emitted a soft light. Glint nodded, ready to pounce.

  Then brown fur filled his vision. The last thing he heard that day was a thud.

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