Knight of Strolm

by A L Hardy

  “Well, maybe the spell book and the sorcerer is a story. Something to help magic users learn that everyone has their limitations and nobody can be all-powerful. After all, they’d have no reason to keep a spell book secret if it’s impossible to Focus here on the grounds. You wouldn’t be able to use the book even if you found it.”

  Lewk looked skeptically at Jurod for a moment before shaking his head and turning away.

  “The chances of the anti-magic fields existing, and that everything else is just a tale is too much of a coincidence. The book is here somewhere.”

  Silence fell about them again and Jurod found himself wondering when Lewk quit trusting the monks and when he had done all of the research to figure this out. Jurod had never even heard of Laglan Darkshire. Not to mention some spell book and a story about a sorcerer trapped within an anti-magic field.

  “I think it’s time I ask the Father for a mission to Faelhart.” Lewk continued.

  “But you came here to stay away from Faelhart. Why would you want to go on a mission there?”

  “I’m... homesick.” Lewk’s pause betrayed his lie, but he shoved past Jurod and was gone down the hall before the half-Lythrain could ask him any more questions.

  The next day dawned bright like any other summer day. A cool breeze was blowing in from the north as Jurod made his way to breakfast. Upon walking into the large dining area, Jurod noticed that the bulk of the monks seemed to be absent. He turned to one of the senior monks that was still here and asked where the rest had gone.

  “We’ve been running low on supplies for a week or so and one of the groups we sent earlier still hasn’t returned with what we need. Father Nikolas instructed all but six of his men to go get what we need so they don’t have to worry about brigands on the way and, hopefully, they can find the first group,” he responded quietly.

  Seeing that Lewk wasn’t one of the six chosen to stay, Jurod decided to head to the courtyard and practice his knife throwing skills.

  He had become more proficient than almost any man at the monastery with the small knives they kept on a rack next to the targets. At 25 paces, he could put one in the center ring almost every throw. On the other hand, the knives he kept at his belt he could place inside a squirrel’s eye every time at the same distance. They had been a gift from Lewk several years earlier on one of his few trips into a local Penshalt village. They were of excellent Penshalt craftsmanship, well made and well balanced.

  Jurod chose not to use these knives today as he was not in the mood to clean and sharpen them when he was done. So, he threw and retrieved the monk’s knives over and over again. As he did so, morning wore away into the early afternoon and a noise brought him out of his routine.

  “HELP!” an unfamiliar voice shouted, “WE NEED HELP!”

  Jurod rushed out to the gate ahead of the first group of monks and saw the four soldiers before two of the monks moved in to obstruct his view. All four were similar in height and build, and wore traditional mail and tabards of the Faelhart soldiers that came through every few weeks. Three had an assortment of wounds from a recent fight and the fourth was tied to his horse and didn’t seem to be moving.

  “I am High Captain Justyn of the Fifth Regiment.” The speaker was the same man that had shouted before, “My men and I were bringing our comrade here for his fever and we were ambushed. We need treatment right away!”

  The few monks that stood in the courtyard immediately started leading the horses towards the stable when Father Nikolas’s voice rang over the courtyard. “Take the three wounded to the chapel and treat them there! Take the fevered one to a bed and find out what is plaguing him.”

  Jurod moved to help one of the soldiers dismount. He carried a flanged mace at either hip, which had obviously not protected his back from whatever attacker had landed a blow there. The cuts on the man were clean and concise and were obviously made by a sharp blade. From the wounds he had seen in the past, Jurod thought it looked to be the work of a long sword or something of similar design. Two monks followed the wounded into the chapel and within minutes the three soldiers were bandaged with ointments and stitches.

  The most senior of the monks turned to Jurod. “Stay here with the men while we go attend to the fourth soldier. We’ll be down the hall on one of the sick beds if you need us.”

  When the monks left, the High Captain turned on Jurod with a long knife in his hand.

  “What do you know of a Faelhart soldier that brought his child here some years ago?” he spat.

  “Do you mean Lewk?” Jurod asked.

  “Yes, that was the child’s name.” Justyn replied.

  “What could you possibly want with him? He only just became a monk less than two months ago.”

  The soldier with the maces held one loosely in each hand now and the third had pulled an axe from its harness on his back. Hatred twisted their faces as they surrounded Jurod.

  “His time is up.” Justyn stated.

  *

  Xardan rode through the gate of the monastery and into the large, main courtyard; a short bald monk garbed in brown robes and a long brown cloak met him immediately.

  “Good day Sir. Welcome to our humble monastery.” The monk said.

  Xardan smiled down at the monk. “There is nothing ‘humble’ about your monastery, Mage. I need to see Father Nikolas right away.”

  The monk was visibly taken aback by the accusation but still instinctively waved an apprentice forward to take Xardan’s horse. Once the horse was heading towards the stable with the apprentice, the monk began to lead the Knight down into the monastery. Xardan followed quietly, letting the monk mutter to himself as they made their way down the familiar halls. At one turn however they found themselves confronted by a large monk standing over a bed that Xardan’s guide pushed by without slowing. Father Nikolas was on the other side of the bed bent over a still form, his black hood pulled over his head as his hands moved over the body in odd motions. He straightened and pushed his hood back, revealing a strained face framed by long white hair. He was shorter than Xardan and his frame was lighter, but Xardan knew he would be hard pressed to survive if the Father thought him a threat to his monastery.

  “I need to research in my library to find what is plaguing him, but he is alive.” Father Nikolas announced, “I’ll return shortly.”

  Without Father Nikolas bent over him, Xardan got a clear view of the man on the bed and before the Father could move Xardan was talking.

  “Did he arrive with anyone else?” Xardan asked aloud.

  “Who… Sir Xardan!?” Father Nikolas exclaimed, “What crude magic brings you to my door again?” The Father embraced Xardan as an old friend before the Knight pushed him gently away.

  “Did that soldier arrive with anyone else?” Xardan repeated.

  “Yes,” the Father replied, “Do you know them?”

  “His plague is my doing. Might I borrow some robes? When he wakes from this, I don’t want him knowing I’m here.”

  “I can allow that. He should be fine, but stay here and inform us if there is any change. I’m taking Master Ta’Caran to the closet to properly outfit him.” the Father said to the other monk. He and Xardan turned to leave the hall and, once out of earshot, Father Nikolas continued. “You must explain what is going on Xardan. Why are there four Faelhart soldiers here and one plagued by shadow poison? You are the only person I know who could successfully poison someone this well while keeping the identity of the poison secret.”

  “Some years ago, Prince Tennlka of Faelhart sent a boy named Lewk to join you and learn what he could of Laglan’s spell book.”

  “Lewk has only recently been named a monk; he hasn’t learned anything of the spell book yet.” Father Nikolas stated as he and Xardan reached the closet they needed.

  Xardan grabbed one of the right size and pulled the brown robe over his black traveling leathers and tunic. “His time is up now; Tennlka is tired of waiting. The King sent these soldiers and me to come and find Lewk. We’re
supposed to get the spell book from him if he has it and kill him if he doesn’t. If he doesn’t have the spell book, we have orders to kill you all and destroy the monastery until we find it, or information about it.

  “On our way here however, I found written orders from the King to the High Captain to assassinate me once the job was done. I moved first and attacked them, but they each had some sort of amulet that protected them from my magic. I managed to destroy the amulets but they still managed to get away.”

  “Well Xardan, you always were good at bringing me trouble,” Nikolas said as they walked back to the room where the soldier lay.

  They reached the bed quickly. The monk they left seemed to be inspecting the soldier, trying to detect the poison. Knowing he would not be able to find it, Xardan stepped forward. Before he could even start the spell necessary to cure the poison, Father Nikolas tapped him on the shoulder.

  “Need I remind you where you are? Even a Knight’s power won’t work here old friend. You’ll have to let me cure him.”

  Father Nikolas stepped forward next to Xardan, and, with a simple wave of his hand, the man on the bed began to wriggle momentarily. After only a moment or two, he shot upwards, looking completely healthy.

  “Where am I?” he asked.

  Xardan shifted slightly, ensuring that his hood blocked his face, and let the Father address the soldier.

  “You are in the Monastery of Ealthen; your comrades brought you here for healing. Fortunately for you I was familiar enough with shadow magic to recognize and heal Shadow Poison. I would ask where you had acquired such a poison with the rarity of it, but I have learned in my years dealing with Faelhart soldiers that most of your missions are far too secretive for an old man such as myself. I am Father Nikolas, leader of the Monastery.”

  “Thank you, Father. Yes, this mission is secret; where are my comrades now?”

  “Last I saw them they were down in the chapel, would you like us to send for them?”

  “Yes please, I must see them at once.”

  The Father turned to Xardan and put a hand on his shoulder, “Brother, would you please?”

  Xardan nodded his head and stepped quickly out of the room, his former guide stepping out just before him. They hurried down to the chapel, and found themselves facing two armed soldiers guarding the door from the inside.

  Aside from the two facing them, High Captain Justyn held a knife to the throat of a red faced half-Lythrain only a short distance from the door. The look of conviction on Justyn’s face made it clear what his intentions were before he began to speak.

  “Take one more step and the half-blood dies!” Justyn barked.

  *

  Lewk had heard the commotion outside begin when the four soldiers came to the gates, but he didn’t know why they hadn’t come looking for him immediately. He had been warned that a small contingency of Faelhart soldiers was on their way to collect the book, or his head.

  As soon as they had arrived, he had bolted for Father Nikolas’ office. He had searched it before, but not to the extent that he intended this time. After several minutes of looking through drawers and papers as before, he became desperate. Lewk walked around the Father’s office tearing books off the shelves and ripping through pages on the desk. At a sound in the hall, he snapped his head up and found himself faced by Father Nikolas and two cloaked monks.

  Before any of the three at the door could react, Lewk pulled two knives from within the folds of his robes and threw them with blinding accuracy and speed, burying them hilt deep in the faces of the two men with the Father.

  “Where is the spell book?” Lewk demanded.

  “Which spell book? You seem to have torn the pages out of many of my personal collection.” the Father commented. As he did so, Lewk noticed the Father’s eyes glaze purple. Knowing that Nikolas was about to cast a spell that would likely end his life, Lewk pulled a knife quickly and threw it with the same speed, striking the Father square on the temple with the hilt.

  The effect was noticed immediately. The purple sheen coating Nikolas’ eyes disappeared immediately as the old man fell back into the doorframe behind him. He stood there, recomposing himself and coming to his senses for a minute or two. Lewk waited patiently at first, but quickly remembered the urgency of what he had to do. Irritated, Lewk pulled another two knives out and held one in each hand threateningly, “Don’t play innocent with me. Now that we know that I can break your Focus with or without my own power, I highly suggest you start getting very cooperative very quickly.”

  “You swore an oath, Lewk.” Father Nikolas stated, “I’m sure you will find it harder to break than you think.”

  “I think not! You may be able to control my Focus when it suits you Father, but my hands can move of their own accord, as I proved but a moment ago. A simple change in the flick of my wrist could have killed you just now. Where is the spell book of Laglan Darkshire?” Lewk insisted as he pulled his arm back, ready to throw another knife.

  “If you want the spell book, you’ll have to allow me to Focus, boy. The only way to get the spell book is by using magic in the anti-magic field.”

  Nodding his understanding, Lewk pressed his blade firmly against Father Nikolas' throat so that a small bead of blood began to form on the blade. "You know how sharp I keep these blades. In order to kill me without the shift in my blade slitting your throat, you'd have to be one of the most powerful sorcerers in the world. We both have seen that your age has taken its toll on your ability to Focus and cast quickly. I don't recommend that you try anything that would get you killed."

  Father Nikolas slowly shook his head very slightly and Lewk felt him Focus. As he waved his arm across the room, the walls shimmered and shifted as a complicated spell composed mostly of confusion and deceit encompassed the entire office; Lewk found himself in a stone, featureless room. A lone pedestal sat in the middle of the room with a large book in the center of it.

  “Is this the spell book you’re looking for?” Father Nikolas asked.

  Lewk quickly moved out from behind the Father, sheathed one of his knives, and took the book from the pedestal, noting the golden inscription across the leather bound cover as he snapped the book shut. The characters weren’t any language that Lewk recognized and he didn’t waste time trying uselessly to interpret them. Holding the book under one arm, he turned back to Father Nikolas.

  “How did you do that?” Lewk asked.

  Father Nikolas looked innocently back at Lewk. “Do what?” he asked.

  “I’ve never seen a spell that complicated. What kind of Traveling spell have you cast and where did you take us?”

  Innocence melted off the Father’s face as confidence took its place.

  “Take us somewhere, no my boy. We’re in the same office we were in before. I simply changed it.” Father Nikolas stated.

  Lewk took a single breath wrapped in the fear of the moment as he realized that Father Nickolas’ knowledge of magic surpassed what he had even dreamed it encompassed; not to mention the ability it took to cast a spell like that. Lewk was surprised the Father hadn’t killed him instead, but didn’t have time to consider the reasons why Nikolas hadn’t done so.

  Taking in the room quickly, Lewk noticed the architecture of the room was indeed the same as Father Nikolas’ office. He moved over to the door, glancing out into the hallway beyond; it was the same hallway outside the Father’s office. He quickly grabbed a fistful of the Father’s robes and put the knife still clutched in his right hand against Nikolas’ throat.

  “I assure you of one thing. You may be the leader of this monastery and a powerful mage, but I’ve spent a great deal of my own time studying and learning how to counter the techniques you teach your monks. If you even dare to raise a blade to me, I will kill you without hesitation. As for your magic, if I see you try to Focus again, I will hit you harder than the first time.”

  A small flicker of fear seemed to cross the Father’s eyes at this statement, and Lewk took advantage of it.
He grabbed Father Nikolas and threw him down the hallway at a run, following closely behind with his blade drawn.

  After trotting down several hallways and staircases, they came upon the chapel. As they burst through the door, Lewk noticed three Faelhart soldiers who each stood with assorted weapons drawn; one held a knife to Jurod’s throat and the other two faced a pair of monks. Lewk quickly recognized the Captain’s stripes on the soldier with the knife.

  “What’s going on here?” Father Nikolas asked as he straightened his robes.

  Lewk threw two knives quickly, but their intended targets blocked both. One had used his bare hand and ended up with a nasty gash across his palm, but the other raised his wrist, and blocked the knife with his metal bracer. It was only then that Lewk noticed the black leather beneath the monk’s robes.

  Lewk had not been away from Faelhart and the Knights long enough to forget Xardan Ta’Caran, Knight of the Black Era. Xardan was a terribly powerful Knight of shadow magic, an exemplary swordsman, and a man who was frighteningly adept at killing magic wielders; a skill he had employed ceaselessly since the King declared war on arcane magic.

  “Run!” the Captain shouted.

  Pulling and tossing almost his entire arsenal of knives hidden within his robes as quickly as he could and with a fistful of Father Nikolas’s robes, Lewk followed the Captain out the chapel door and across the courtyard of the monastery. Knives and crossbow bolts filled the air as they ran, dropping two of the soldiers in their small band. Once beyond the anti-magic wards, Lewk felt the magic that he could employ return to him. He quickly guarded Nikolas from his own Focus then turned to the gates as he summoned his magic.

  *

  Slightly confused, Jurod watched the Knight pull off the now slashed and tattered monks robe and throw it aside. He was a tall, powerfully built man; his white hair was pulled back into a small ponytail at the nape of his neck. He was garbed in a black wool tunic with worn leather chaps and metal bracers; none of which had a single scratch to show for the beating they had just taken from Lewk’s knives. Without a word, the Knight ran out of the chapel and after the group Lewk had gone with. Jurod’s anger at Justyn and his men quickly turned to anger at Lewk’s betrayal. Lewk was in league with the men who just threatened his life and the lives of all the monks at the monastery. With this thought racing through his mind, he ran after the Knight.