Knight of Strolm

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Knight of Strolm Page 11

by A L Hardy


  Justyn swung his blade in multiple attacks, each meeting a protective shield or ward of some sort that was never followed by a magical counter attack. Understanding flooded into Lewk’s mind as Justyn roared in frustration at Nikolas, “Why not kill us, monk? Why bother protecting yourself endlessly and not strike back!?”

  “He can’t,” Lewk explained, “The oaths I took allow him to control my spells and Focus, but only to protect. If he had access to his Focus he could fight back, but while using other’s Foci, he’s incapable of causing harm.”

  “So I can’t kill him without killing you first?” Justyn asked.

  Without waiting for a response, Justyn spun away from Nikolas and slashed at Lewk’s neck. Nikolas cast a fast Shield to stop the strike and Lewk threw a strike of air that sent Justyn sprawling across the room.

  “I said that he was restricted,” Lewk said, “Not me!”

  Justyn rose and retrieved his blade again, “What is holding you to your oaths?”

  “It would seem a magical bond between Father Nikolas and me. Likely formed at an early age before I knew it existed and before I could’ve detected it. I’ve felt that connection for years, but never put any stock in it because it had always been there. I always assumed it was just from being his pupil.” Lewk answered, “Tomorrow I should be able to find a mage with enough power and skill to break the bond.”

  “I see no reason for us to continue as a ‘we,’” Justyn began coldly “I think I’ll move along alone at first light. You can deal with the old man yourself.”

  “Unfortunately Justyn, I did not fully remove the spell locking that book shut. If the King wants it usable, you have to bring me along as I’m the only one that will be able to unlock it for him,” Lewk’s voice was just as cold as Justyn’s. “I’ll not reveal the spell to another and, unfortunately for you, I get the feeling that even Father Nikolas won’t allow you to feed me a truth serum.”

  “Well then, it seems that we will be companions a while longer. Unfortunately, we have to keep moving tomorrow,” Justyn admitted, “If the Knight of the Black Era isn’t here already he will arrive tomorrow morning. We will have to take Nikolas with us to the next city.”

  “The only mage I’ve heard of that might be able to break the bond is in Riverguard.” Lewk told Justyn.

  “Unfortunate.” Justyn resigned, “But apparently necessary.”

  *

  Jurod paced restlessly around the room in Xardan’s manor, unable to keep his mind off the events of the night. Endless hours seemed to pass from when Xardan released them from dinner to the moment that a small knock sounded from his door.

  Without waiting for a response, the door opened and Ilays stepped into the room. She wore a gold trimmed, purple tunic and trousers under gold, Lythrain-style armor. The hilts of her swords protruded over each shoulder, and each hip carried a long, vicious dagger. Her silver hair was pulled tight off her neck and shoulders onto the back of her head, with multiple darts acting as pins to keep the silver locks from interfering with battle.

  “Anxious?” Ilays asked.

  Jurod continued pacing angrily but he was obviously trying to make himself stop, “I should be helping, not locked in a guarded room. I can’t learn to fight staying behind.”

  “And you’re no use dead either.” Ilays retorted, “Come sit down.”

  Ilays took Jurod’s hand and pulled him onto the edge of the bed. The purple glaze of Focusing blossomed across her eyes as her fingers moved in small patterns on the backs of Jurod’s hands. Jurod’s anxiety lessened as he felt impressions of various complex emotions emanating from Ilays and wrapping their way up his arms and across his body.

  As the spell completed its course, a wave of warmth added to Jurod’s newfound comfort. Every line faded as the purple glaze in Ilays’s eyes retreated into her irises.

  “Thank you.” Jurod said.

  Ilays smiled lightly in response, but said nothing.

  “What were those emotions that I felt from you?” Jurod asked into the silence.

  “The pieces of the magic that make up the spell; all spells are made by weaving emotions in various combinations and patterns.” Ilays’s voice sounded drawn and exhausted as she forced through the explanation.

  Jurod noted the change in Ilays and asked in legitimate concern, “Are you well, Ilays?”

  “I will be. The spell I used on you is useful, but I underestimated your anxiety and the spell’s toll was not minimal.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?” Jurod quarried.

  “No, I will be fine. Let us practice your magic; you said you want to be of help tonight?”

  “Yes!” Jurod exclaimed, “How?”

  “You will replace my ward with your own. Focus, and feel the emotions flowing within the magic.”

  Jurod followed Ilays’s instructions, pausing momentarily to grit his teeth against the usual pain of holding the Focus.

  Fighting to hold the pain in check, Jurod attempted to open his mind to feel the emotions Ilays had mentioned. Every attempt, however, Jurod was assaulted with a new wave of agony that left him unable to feel them. Frustration at the hours of writhing against the pain of the Focus across days of training and traveling with Xardan and Ilays was compounding on itself until Jurod was overwhelmed with the despair that he was little more than a child in Xardan’s eyes. However, refusing to surrender, Jurod pushed the pain into the far recesses of his mind, convincing himself that the searing pain belonged to someone else. In that moment, he was astonished to realize that the guise had worked. It required a great deal of concentration, but it was as if his mind were split into two equal pieces with the pain on one side and his consciousness on the other.

  Without the pain occupying his mind, the flow of emotions became easy to identify. Jurod felt the spell Ilays had placed around the manor and duplicated every inch of the complicated, weaving patterns that it was composed of. When he connected the two ends together, Jurod felt the spell complete itself and remove from his Focus.

  Jurod released his Focus and the pain with it, though he still felt a slow drain on himself. Realization swept over Jurod in a dreadful rush; he had cast his own spell, and would forever feel the drain on his energy and strength.

  Ilays smiled at the apparent panic on his face. “The drain only lasts until you dispel the ward.”

  The purple glaze spread from her irises, across her eyes, and back again. Ilays smiled with vivid relief and sagged into the pillows on the bed. Jurod smiled at his accomplishment as Ilays drifted into sleep.

  “I take it that I’m on watch now?” Jurod asked, seeing that Ilays was far more tired than she had let on.

  Ilays’s head nodded slowly on the bed before her eyes finally closed.

  Jurod moved over to the chair by the window and sat looking out into the dark night. A single ball of Drashyre burst into life above Jurod's hand and the half-breed analyzed the power he had summoned.

  Fuel and air. Jurod thought, so if I Focus and move all the air away from the flame would it extinguish?

  Jurod pushed the pain of the Focus back into the recesses of his mind again as he attempted to identify which emotion would allow him to shape the air around him. Instinctively, Jurod chose calm from the array of emotions within the magic and gave all of his attention to casting his spell. Waves of calm flashed out of Jurod’s fingers and wove in an easy braid, moving air away from the Drashyre flame in a ring, but only causing the breeze to move around the ring and back at the flame as fast as his magic could move it away.

  Jurod shifted the weave to stop air from passing toward the flame, and a sharp jab entered his mind and broke his Focus. In a panic, Jurod shrank the flame and placed it atop a candle. Jurod felt a surge of satisfaction as the flame caught on the candle and disconnected with his power.

  Jurod Focused again and repeated the Ward that Ilays had shown him earlier in a tighter perimeter around the room and down to the ends of the halls. With the added security that he would kn
ow when the room itself was approached, Jurod moved over to the side of the bed where Ilays had laid and gently shook her shoulder.

  “Ilays!” Jurod said, “Someone is here!”

  Ilays stirred slightly, but otherwise did not react.

  “Ilays!” Jurod urged, more insistently, “Ilays, wake up! I need your help!”

  Another jab in his mind told Jurod that the intruders had entered the hall, and he prepared to fight them off himself – questioning his earlier insistence that he be included in the night’s dangers. A ball of Drashyre erupted in both hands as the latch lifted and the door began to crack open.

  Grunts sounded outside the doors as Jurod’s Drashyre crashed into the intruders in the hall. Jurod summoned a Drashyre blade, preparing to charge into the hall and attack the disoriented intruders. Shadows slammed into him as he rushed into the hall, forcing him back into the room. Jurod swept his blade in front of him, severing the shadows and renewing his assault. Shadows continued to strike at Jurod and he danced through them with Lythrain grace, striking with his Drashyre blade at any that got too close to wrapping around him.

  Jurod struck at one shadowy tendril as he twisted away from another and stepped into the hall. Only one black-clad intruder stood before him, striking before Jurod could react and leaving him sprawled on the ground. Jurod lay on the hallway floor, stunned, and felt the heat of his blade extinguish.

  “Where’s Ilays!?” a voice asked, heavy with concern.

  Jurod rose slowly, considering for the first time who the intruder was that had set off his Wards.

  “Xardan?” Jurod ventured hesitantly.

  “Who did you think it was?” Xardan snapped, “Where is Ilays?”

  “She’s in the room,” Jurod replied.

  Without another word, Xardan stepped over Jurod and into the room, leaving the half-breed to rise on his own and follow.

  “What ails her?”

  “She’s… sleeping.” Jurod hesitantly replied.

  Xardan turned with a shake of his head, “I left her to stand guard in case one of the assassins got past, not to take a nap while you stood guard.”

  Chapter 7

  The Fey were divided in this, and some left their ancestral homeland, calling themselves the Lythrain.

  *

  Justyn, Lewk and Nicholas rode slowly into the small village across the Illyrian river from the city of Riverguard. It was a small village, with few houses and fewer shops. Multiple inns crowded the road along the river docks and countless ferry lines were moored to the wharf. The village had one purpose; running ferries to Riverguard. It was their ill fate that brought Justyn into the tenth ferry shop that day.

  “Welcome.” The ferry keeper greeted as he shifted his books without looking up from them, “How can I help you?”

  Justyn wore combat mails and leathers and his assortment of blades and weapons with every tabard and crest he owned announcing his position in Faelhart’s army.

  “I need to get across the river.” Justyn announced, “As soon as possible.”

  “My ferry is entirely booked for the next three days.” The ferry keeper replied, finally looking up from his books and taking in Justyn’s tabard and stripes of rank, “Even for a High Captain of Faelhart’s army.”

  “I do not have time to wait for you to have an opening on your boat!” Justyn shouted, pounding his gauntleted hand into the ferry keeper’s desk as he spoke. “Every ferry in this rotten town is booked for the next week and the men chasing me will be here before then! I simply don’t have time to wait!”

  The ferry keeper glared up at Justyn over his books. “Calm yourself, Captain. I understand you’re in a hurry but I have a business to run. Unfortunately for you, Faelhart has never deemed our little town as worth of a military-only ferry like many other towns have. If you want to expedite things, you should build one out here. Fortunately for you, I can help you at least a little bit. I happen to know that my ferry is the least booked right now. If you want to get across the river before your friends catch up to you, then you’ll have to pay well, and lay low in the town until the day after tomorrow at least.”

  Justyn glowered past the books at the ferry keeper. “How much?” he asked.

  “Three drops for you, an extra drop if you have a horse,” the ferry keeper answered, “That’s all the space I have on the next ferry.”

  “I will have to discuss this with my companions.” Justyn resigned, “When will you have enough space on your ferry for three men and three horses?”

  “Four days,” the ferry keeper answered easily, “If you think that you can evade your pursuers that long.”

  “I’ll be back. Hold the next three slots for me and my companions” Justyn finished as he dropped a single gold drop into the ferry keeper’s money bowl and turned to leave the building.

  Outside, Lewk and Nikolas both wore Faelhart soldier’s garbs to keep them from standing out as they waited on the docks. When Justyn returned out of the building, both looked up to him for the verdict.

  “We’re going to have to lay low here. The first ferry with any space will be ready to leave the day after tomorrow. I will take that ferry with Laglan’s spell book and you two will follow two days after when the ferry makes its next pass.”

  Lewk immediately toned in, “And what gives you the delusion that I will allow you to walk onto a ferry with Laglan’s spell book while I stay on the shore and watch? Not a chance. You’re going to have me with you.”

  “We don’t have the liberty of waiting here with the spell book.” Justyn stated, “The Knight of the Black Era is less than a day behind us. If we’re lucky, the assassins I hired will hold him off for a day or so, but even the Shadow Hands aren’t likely to stop him. If we’re lucky, we have three days; we can’t keep the spell book here for four!”

  “Then you will have to let me take it across and wait for you on the other side.” Lewk countered.

  “As tempting as it is to give myself an opportunity to kill the old monk without him interfering with your Focus and ability, I would never allow you out of my sight just so you can run ahead and inform the king that you did everything on your own.” Justyn said while closing his eyes and rubbing his temples, “My orders are very clear and specific. I will have possession of that book until I hand it to him myself.”

  “Then it seems we’re at an impasse, Captain.”

  Justyn opened his eyes and looked around the street and held his gauntleted hand up to silence Lewk’s next remark. “Where’s the old man?” he asked.

  Lewk spun around to where Nikolas had been standing near the horses, and found that the old Father had in fact snuck away from the pair whilst they were arguing. As Lewk stood staring, stunned that Nikolas had evaded them, Justyn pushed hastily past him and tore through the saddlebags. “He’s taken the book.”

  *

  Nikolas clutched the spell book tight to his chest as he ducked around the first corner he came to and out of sight of Lewk and Justyn. He trotted down the small alleyway and stopped at the end to shed the tabard that Justyn had insisted he and Lewk wear. Nikolas checked the straps and belts on the combat gear Justyn had dressed him in and gave silent thanks for the fighting training he remembered from his life before magic.

  Focusing a small amount of Demonic Magic through his own soul, Nikolas shattered the Guard spell Lewk had left in place and Focused Pure Magic anew through the gemmed amulet in his belt pouch.

  Casting quickly, Nikolas used a Changing spell to grow his hair and beard and colored them both a vibrant red. Another Changing spell enlarged his muscles to an almost barbarian size. Picking up the spell book, Nikolas cursed that it repelled enchantments and was unable to be disguised.

  Picking up his discarded tabard, he wrapped the spell book in the cloth and cast a Disguise spell on the cloth so that it would appear to be an ordinary wood box.

  With his physical appearance changed and the spell book disguised, Nikolas turned back to the main road. The small village ha
d few carts and people on the road to hide among and therefore shortly after stepping out of the alley he found Justyn.

  The High Captain was alone in the middle of the road, a short sword held in either hand. A quick look behind Justyn showed Lewk walking the other direction looking down alleyways. Justyn was obviously scanning the passerby looking for containers the proper size to contain Laglan’s spell book. He stopped one man as he passed, glanced in the bag on the man’s shoulder, and sent him away. Unable to blend in with a crowd, Nikolas decided to pass by Justyn directly in hopes that he would be looking for people avoiding him. The soldier calmly approached Nikolas with the blades held in a loose grip.

  “Excuse me, sir,” Justyn announced, “We are checking all packages and bags for a stolen book. May I please search your box?”

  Without a word, Nikolas threw a pair of spells at Justyn to silence and petrify him. Another quick check behind showed Lewk oblivious to what he had done and still walking the other direction. Nikolas calmly approached Justyn and laid his free hand on the soldier’s shoulder.

  “I would prefer that you didn’t.” Nikolas stated.

  The old monk moved calmly back to the horses and put the spell book in the saddlebag on Justyn’s tall warhorse. Mounting easily, Nikolas turned the horse back toward the main road to Strolm and urged the steed into a gallop.

  *

  Jurod was thankful for the respite from the days of hard riding, but couldn’t fathom how an unarmed barbaric red haired man had taken the spell book from Lewk and Justyn. The trio had intercepted the man riding fast on horseback in the opposite direction begging for help as they passed. Xardan was hesitant until he conjured Laglan’s spell book from his saddlebag and told the trio that he had stolen it.

  Ilays was running a patrol around the area now while Xardan talked alone with the red haired man. Jurod could see the pair talking from where he sat aback his horse and watched over the other three mounts.

  It had been a long meeting already, and Jurod worried when Justyn and Lewk would pursue the book. Rustling grasses to his left alerted Jurod that something was approaching. He raised his hand, throwing knife at the ready to kill the intruder until a raccoon strolled out of the grasses and onto the road. Jurod lowered the knife with a sigh of relief as the raccoon ran off alone.

 

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