Knight of Strolm

by A L Hardy

  Ilays walked smoothly over to Jurod as she stated proudly, “Correct.”

  “Therefore if someone can Focus strong enough, could they break a Guard?”

  “You are a fast learner.” Ilays complimented, “Guarding someone that is not Focusing is a novice technique that only requires placing a Guard weave around them. Guarding someone that is already Focusing is a small adjustment in the way the spell is built, and includes adding a significant amount of power; it is extremely dangerous. The adjustment to the Guard spell makes it almost identical to a Severing spell and using too much power in the Guard spell can cause the two spells to have the same effect. I could have forced the Guard around you, but I didn’t want to Sever you.”

  Ilays continued as she crouched next to Jurod, “As for breaking a Guard, only the most skilled and powerful spell weavers can break a Guard once it has been placed. It isn’t a matter of Focusing through the Guard weave, but rather using your mind to unravel it.”

  “A Severing spell would be a permanent guard correct,” Jurod asked. “I think I remember the monks talking about someone having to be Severed so they couldn’t hurt themselves or others.”

  “That is exactly right. Some people have to be Severed because they’ve become too addicted to the power. Once you’re addicted, you can pull too much or for too long and die from that overexposure. Some of the recorded cases even list how the magic did unexpected things when it overwhelmed the one Focusing it. There is an old Lythrain tail of a man who decided to never be separated from his Focus. He was able to hold it for eighteen days before the magic enveloped him, causing a minor explosion and killing three others. Because of situations like that, the practice of Severing began to be used for anyone who is considered a danger.”

  Ilays stood from where she had crouched next to Jurod and turned toward where Xardan had left earlier.

  “That is enough for one night,” Ilays said, “You need to salvage what rest you can after Xardan’s swordplay and my magic. Xardan’s watch is over and I need to take his place.”

  Ilays moved silently out of the clearing as Jurod lay exhausted, sore and tired on his bedroll. He could feel every rock and pebble through the padded mat as they dug against his back. Despite his discomfort, Jurod was asleep before Xardan could stomp loudly into the camp and collapse onto his own bedroll.

  Jurod woke to a soft shake on his shoulder as Ilays returned from her watch.

  “It’s your turn.” She softly murmured before turning away.

  Jurod rolled out of bed, grabbed his cloak and weapons, and checked his throwing knives at his belt before walking out of the clearing and leaning against a tree. The sun was already cresting the horizon and Jurod knew she had allowed him far more rest than he should have been allotted. Jurod cupped his hands before him and summoned a blue ball of Drashyre. The flame flickered bright and warm in the morning air as Jurod contemplated its rules.

  Drashyre needs air and fuel, Jurod thought, and without both it will extinguish. I cannot cut off its air supply like Xardan can, but what if I could cut off its fuel supply?

  Jurod worked ceaselessly at extinguishing the flame, but to no avail. His companions rose as the sun climbed into the sky and had saddled and packed the horses before Xardan wrapped shadows around Jurod’s flame. Surprised, Jurod turned to his companions as they approached with the horses.

  “Obviously you are not a very experienced watchman.” Xardan noted, “Need I worry that an assassin was coming to slit my throat tonight?”

  “I had wards Xardan,” Ilays announced, “I knew Jurod was tired and so I placed wards around the camp to wake me if they were crossed. But I must say that keeping his Knighthood secret from me could have proved very dangerous. Especially since he’s the only Knight I’ve ever met who can Focus too. You should keep me informed on these types of issues if we’re going to be travelling companions again.”

  “The last thing we needed was someone overhearing that conversation. I was not intentionally hiding the fact from you, but I wasn’t about to go talking about it in the middle of town. I do apologize for not informing you once we were alone. It slipped my mind entirely.”

  “Shouldn’t we be headed after Justyn and Father Nikolas?” Jurod asked quietly.

  Xardan handed Jurod the reins of the charger before speaking as he mounted and rode back to the street. “Right you are my boy. Let’s get some headway before it gets too hot.”

  Ilays took Jurod’s hand in her own and squeezed it comfortingly before mounting her palfrey and chasing the Knight, leaving Jurod in a rush to climb atop the charger and follow.

  *

  22 years ago

  With Romieth's demand that they no longer train with the soldiers, Ramier and Ilays had been left to seek their own training. It worked well, at first, as Ramier and Ilays would train together; until Ramier came of age. The night before his birthday there was an argument that ended when Ramier stormed out the door without looking back; that was several months ago and Ilays still hadn't seen or heard from Ramier until today. It was unexpected, after Romieth left for the training grounds, a bird made of soft white light landed on her windowsill. It was a Messenger; a type of magical construct used to carry messages that would only be delivered to the intended recipient. The Messenger opened its beak, and Ilays heard Ramier's voice.

  "Come down to the market," the messenger said, "I've got a surprise for you."

  Ilays jumped with joy and pulled boots onto her feet. She considered a cloak, but decided the day was warm enough without one. She grabbed her quiver, bow, and training scimitars and rushed out the door. Her feet had never covered the ground to the market so quickly, and when she arrived another Messenger landed on her shoulder.

  "Down the street," it spoke in Ramier's voice, "to the stables."

  Ilays rushed through the crowded market, knocking over two guards, five shoppers, and a rack of oranges in her haste to find her brother at the stables. When she arrived, Ramier was there, dressed in standard issue Ranger's leathers with a quiver at his hip and a gladius over his shoulder. They ran toward each other and embraced.

  "I'm so glad you came." Ramier said.

  "I'm so glad you came back!" Ilays exclaimed.

  Ramier stopped, looking concerned, "Ilays, I'm not back. I'm passing through on assignment and that's it, I'm due back at camp already. Some of my friends from my squad agreed to cover for me just long enough to come meet you."

  "Oh..." Ilays muttered, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice.

  "But I've got a surprise for you!" Ramier said, pulling a long case from his bag and presenting it to her. In her haste, she hadn't even noticed the bag sitting on the floor.

  Ilays opened the case, and inside was the most beautiful bow she had ever laid eyes on.

  "It's a composite of dragon horn and rosewood, inlaid with mithril filigree. I know your archery is far better than your swordsmanship..."

  "Ramier..." Ilays stuttered, shocked at the gift, "This... this is too much! You can't afford this!"

  "The craftsmanship alone cost three weeks wages," Ramier admitted, "I was living on little more than bread and water... but the materials weren't too bad. My patrol slew a dragon on one of my first assignments and the Sergeant had us all draw lots for the horns; I won one. The rosewood and mithril I had to pay for though. And to be honest, a few of my comrades helped with food while I was doing this for you. Once they saw what I was doing and knew who I was doing it for, they all wanted to help. I insisted on paying for this myself though. I wanted it to be a gift from me."

  "I can't take this Ramier... this has got to be the best bow in the village!"

  "The best bow all the way to Reth I'd imagine... but you have to take it! I had it crafted for you, the draw weight is too light for me."

  "Ramier..." Ilays cried, slow tears crawling down her cheeks, "Don't leave again..."

  "I have to Ilays," Ramier said, "but I'll come back again when I can. Watch for my Messengers!"

&nb
sp; Ramier rose with a wink, wiped the tears for Ilays's eyes, and left.

  *

  22 years ago

  Ilays wandered through the woods around Narud, looking for somewhere open enough to shoot her new bow while collecting fallen branches to craft into new arrow shafts. Confident that she knew the woods around her home well enough not to get lost, she didn't realize that she had wandered beyond the patrol range of the Narud guards. Deciding to take the risk and not turn back, she knocked an arrow to her bowstring and continued on following the sound of a stream.

  The sound took her to a large stream, barely small enough to jump over, running out of the ruins of an old building from the time before the Lythrain lived in Reth. The chamber had been long, with a raised dais at one end that now sat cracked at an angle to the rest of the room. The crack had exposed an underground river running under the ruins that now pooled atop the dais before running across the room and out into the forest. The roof of the ruins had collapsed in ages ago, and plants and wildlife had moved into the ruins long before Ilays was ever born. Drawing back on her bowstring in case of a predatory animal, Ilays ventured into the ruins.

  Within the ruins, Ilays found a statue of an owl atop the shoulder of a statue of a Lythrain from ages ago. It was strange though because the color of the stone of the owl didn't match the color of the stone it was perched upon, as though it had been added to the sculpture after the fact. Deciding that the owl would make a good target for her first shot with the bow, she positioned herself across the ruins and drew back fully on the bowstring. The draw weight was almost too much for her, but she was able to hold it long enough to take aim and release. The arrow flew true directly toward the owl; but stopped a few feet shy of hitting its target.

  With the arrow hovering in midair, Ilays Focused through the amulet about her neck and began casting Shields of Anticipation and Fear.

  "There is no need for that, child." said an elderly voice, "I mean you no harm; I just didn't want you killing my dear friend here."

  "Who's there!?" Ilays called as she shifted her Shields and tried to sense the source of the magic holding her arrow.

  Ahead, near the dais, and old man in simple, ragged clothes stepped out of an antechamber that Ilays hadn't noticed before.

  "I am Malenmar," he introduced himself, "and this is Owl."

  He held out his arm and the Owl flew from the statue to Malenmar.

  "Your owl is named Owl?" Ilays asked incredulously. She was still trying to process that it was living and was trying to decide whether it was some kind of magical construct.

  "Not at all," Malenmar corrected, "He insists that he has no name, he is just Owl."

  Ilays decided then that Malenmar was no more than a lunatic that had been left in isolation so as not to harm anyone. Likely he had a caretaker that visited him often to ensure that he had what he needed to survive and this "Owl" was their way of keeping a close eye on the man.

  Ilays lowered her shields and slung her bow over her shoulder, but she held her Focus through the amulet.

  "How long have you been out here?" she asked.

  Malenmar thought deeply about the question before replying, "I took up residence here after the coronation of King Thandion the Bold."

  Ilays nearly laughed aloud at the old lunatic's claim; her grandfather had been born during the reign of King Thandion the Bold, who was crowned as king after his father died fighting alongside Faelhart against his brother when the Kin founded their Kingdoms to the north. Malenmar was boasting to be at least twice his age.

  "You expect me to believe that you're three thousand years old?" Ilays asked incredulously, barely able to keep the laughter from her voice.

  A knowing glint flashed through Malenmar's eyes, and somehow Ilays knew that he was completely serious as he said, "I never claimed to be so young; I said that I took up residence here at that time, but a dragon lived here before then and I was forced to live in the foothills to the west since the Shattering."

  "The Shattering..." Ilays repeated, shocked by what the suddenly lucid man was saying, "Who are you?"

  "I am just an old sage and hermit from a time before mortals ruled the world."

  "I've heard the term 'Sage' before, but only in an old tail about the five Sages of the Titans who failed in their goal to kill a simple man and were punished for eternity by the pretenders themselves. My parents used to tell me that was the reason the Titans left the world; to perform unspeakable horrors on the Sages for their failure."

  With a slight chuckle, Malenmar responded "It would make sense that the Lythrain would use the tail of me and my comrades to teach their children about the dangers of seeking too much power through magic, but alas, the story is slightly flawed. Only my four comrades were punished and, contrary to what you have just told me, they were not punished by Gods or Titans. They were punished by an old man named 'It' who has been a bit of a thorn in my side, but who also spared my life in that age so long ago; and let me assure you that 'simple' is just about the worst way to describe him..."

  Seeing Malenmar beginning to turn to his own thoughts and not wanting to miss an opportunity such as this, Ilays began to speak again, somewhat disbelievingly. "You mean to tell me that YOU are one of the five Sages?! If that be the case, then you would have an incredible amount of power and knowledge at your disposal. I have been seeking a teacher to train me further in swordplay. Can you teach me?"

  Upon asking the question and still not believing that he was who he claimed to be, Ilays pulled out her practice swords, wielding one and tossing the other at Malenmar's feet.

  "Unfortunately child, I have never had any talent for the study of the melee arts," Malenmar paused momentarily while Ilays began moving toward her practice sword, obviously planning to take it and leave the grove. Before she could reach her sword though, Malenmar began to speak again: "However, though I cannot teach you, I can help you learn..."

  *

  King Tennlka of Faelhart was the second son of the late King Blale, and as such should have been nothing more than a privileged, arrogant Knight. Fate had frowned upon him however, and he became the first male child of the First King's line that did not carry the gift. By Faelhart's laws, Tennlka should have been outcast from the Kingdom; but Blale was weak, and wasn't able to outcast his own son.

  A rift began forming as Blale changed the law in order to keep his son. Dozens of Knights that Blale had forced to outcast their own sons were screaming for justice to be served, while the younger Knights saw their loyalties to the King to be absolute, no matter his flaws.

  A downward spiral ensued, which Tennlka ensured led to his ascension to the throne. War was declared, and magic was outlawed; and as the war continued, the pockets of resistance grew smaller, but stronger.

  "We've captured one, my Lord." the captain reported, "The twelfth regiment returned with him less than an hour ago!"

  King Tennlka looked up from the pile of reports on his desk to meet the gaze of the young Captain, who was still shy his twenty fifth year.

  "Is the drug still in effect?" Tennlka asked.

  "The last of it is burning out of his system as we speak, My Lord." the captain replied, "Time is of the essence."

  Tennlka calmly dipped his quill into the vial of ink and casually signed a report he had barely read, some nonsense about permission to build a church, before pushing the stack to the side and retrieving the fist-sized scepter from his drawer. Rising slowly from his chair, Tennlka straightened his robes and walked leisurely after the Captain.

  The Captain's patrol waited just around the corner and formed up around Tennlka in a defensive ring as they walked. Tennlka took a mental note that despite the Captain's age, his troops were well trained. Civilians and servants alike jumped out of the King's way before they fell to their knees, groveling before their liege.

  Tennlka turned the scepter over in his hand as they walked, admiring its construction and marveling at its power as he pondered how to enjoy this latest victim. The
scepter was small, barely large enough to be considered a scepter at all, made from a shaft of heavy onyx, carved to look like stems, with a bundle of rubies at the head, acting the part of the roses. Black leather was wrapped around the "bouquet", providing a handle to wield the artifact. Lost in thought, Tennlka faintly heard the jingling of the keys and the click of the lock on the cell door, but as the rusted hinges groaned at their second use in countless centuries, Tennlka was brought back to the matter at hand.

  The wizard in the cell was scrawny and frail, obviously having spent his life in libraries and offices rather than swinging blades on a battlefield. His arms were tied at his wrists and elbows, and dangled from a chain and hook hanging from the ceiling. His robes must have been fine once, but now they were dingy and threadbare from years of constant wear. His shoulder length hair was light gray, turning white with age, as was the stubble of a beard he grew whilst Tennlka's soldiers dragged him back to Faelhart.

  Tennlka approached slowly, lightly brushing the wizard's hair out of his face, revealing the wrinkled visage beneath. Slowly, the wizard's eyelids lifted enough for his emerald green eyes to take in the King, but there was still enough of the drug in his veins that realization didn't register at all. Tennlka shrugged off his mantle, letting a soldier behind him catch it before it fell to the dusty floor, and pulled his robes over his head and handed them back as well. Grabbing the nearest soldier, Tennlka softly instructed, "Return to my chambers, and fetch me a clean shirt and trousers, and a new pair of boots."

  In just his shirt and trousers, Tennlka stepped forward to the wizard before him and lifted the man's chin with his left hand, while gripping the scepter with his right.

  "I know your face," Tennlka admitted to the silence, "You were an advisor to that foolish Earl Delgund that actually thought to betray me."

  The wizard stirred slightly, trying to keep Tennlka in his line of sight as the King moved around him.

  "He couldn't have been too far from you." Tennlka concluded, "He always needed you too much. Tell me, where is he hiding?"