by A L Hardy
Tristan rolled away from the half-breed’s downward strike, and jumped back to his feet between the Lythrain and the half-breed.
“I will not back down so easily again!” Tristan barked.
The half-Lythrain raised his hand, preparing another blast of Drashyre.
“You will risk hitting her when I dodge again.” Tristan warned, “Her death would be on your hands.”
“I lost her once,” the half-breed finally spoke, “I will not lose her again!”
Tristan released his flaming blade and held his hands up before himself, “I am not asking you to.”
*
17 years ago
Ilays sat on alone on a log with one of her mother's scimitars across her knees. She had received a Messenger from the Master of the Training Grounds in Narud - her father had not reported to work. When they sent a pair of guards to check on him, they found that he had committed suicide. Ilays knew that her father would have taken her actions hard, but she had not expected this reaction.
There was no reason to return the scimitars now, but carrying them herself just didn't feel right; they were her mothers. Footsteps behind her announced the approach of someone that wanted their presence to be known. Ilays turned to see Ramier and Trel, both clad back in standard issue Rangers' leathers. Trel Focused and began casting wards around the clearing, while Ramier just sat next to Ilays on the log.
"Word going around camp is that you're to be commended, Ilays," Ramier said, "Almost all of the Rangers you freed arrived back at camp safely and the Faelhart army has broken their advance and started to withdraw. You're being credited with ending the threat to Reth."
"Rumor has it that the King himself is coming to offer you a post in his personal guard!" Trel added as he completed his wards and came to join Ramier and Ilays.
"Father killed himself, Ramier." Ilays muttered.
"Yes..." Ramier replied, "I heard."
"It's my fault..." Ilays concluded, "If I hadn't taken mother's weapons and armor and ran away..."
"Then I, Trel, and a hundred other Rangers would be dead and the Faelhart army would still be pressing relentlessly forward."
Ramier interrupted, "You cannot blame yourself for father's suicide. He has been descending deeper and deeper into that dark abyss ever since mother died. Deny it with all that you are able, you know mother would have wanted you to have those scimitars; father had no right to keep them from you. Now enough talk about father; you’re a hero! You single-handedly rescued a hundred prisoners right out from under Xardan Ta'Caran's nose!"
"I didn't do it single-handedly." Ilays argued.
"You didn't?" Trel asked, "Who helped you?"
"Xardan Ta'Caran."
It was a simple reply, but the words hung in the air with a weight that nearly crushed the small Lythrain girl. She nearly couldn't bring herself to continue, "He showed up with two guards in tow as I was cutting open the prison tents. As I was preparing to fight him, he killed his own men and cut the remainder of the tents open. He requested that I meet with him at the Silvergem house; I'm not sure why."
"Why on Khesyc would he want to let us all go? He captured my patrol himself. Ilays, you can't go..." Ramier cautioned, "This could be a trap. He could have commanded the retreat as a ploy to make you feel more comfortable so that you would agree to meet with him in the open."
"It would also be treason Ilays," Trel added, "All the honor and commendations that you won by freeing us would be lost just by talking with him."
"Until earlier today, Xardan had no idea who I was. There's no reason for him to have commanded a full retreat for me and me alone. I have to meet with him Ramier," Ilays insisted, "We'd both be dead if it weren't for him."
"When are you going?" Trel asked.
"Now," Ilays said, "I was just composing myself before I left."
"Let us cover for you then." Ramier suggested, "If you insist on going, allow Trel and I to guard your retreat."
"I know the Silvergem house rather well," Trel mentioned, "I can travel us directly into the house, just in case there's a trap waiting outside. Plus, that will allow for us to go to the meeting in secret. If Xardan really did help, I don’t think you should lose your honor for simply meeting with him.”
Ilays nodded, accepting Ramier and Trel's suggestions, and rose from her log. The three ensured their weapons were within easy reach and loose in their scabbards, then Trel rested a hand on each of their shoulders and Traveled the trio to the Silvergem house.
The three arrived in the Traveling room and began to make their way through the house. It was far more elaborate and elegant than the small home that Ilays and Ramier had grown up in, but the beauty of the place had been ruined by the Faelhart soldiers when they finally overcame the defenses. All three walked with arrows set to bow strings, and at every sound one of the trio would draw their bowstring and take aim. As they entered the Grand Hall, the Shadows around the trio shifted slightly. Ilays snapped up her bow, drawing full on the bowstring and searching for a threat to take aim at. Beside her, Ramier and Trel both appeared to be made of Shadows with panicked looks on their faces. She could see their mouths moving, but she could not hear the words.
"I wasn't sure if you would come."
Ilays spun at the sound of the voice, bow still raised, and found Xardan standing squarely in the center of the Grand Hall with his back to her.
"Reth is such a beautiful place," he said, looking out the open door into the blue and purple trees of Reth, "I am glad that I have been able to avoid the King's command to burn it."
"Where are we?" Ilays asked.
"I don't know." Xardan replied simply, "I discovered it shortly after finding that I truly had a gift in my Knighthood power. It is a safe place. We can see the shadows of the world around us, but they cannot see or hear us. It's convenient when I need to have a private conversation, but very demanding to maintain it for long."
"Why did you want me to come?"
"I am not a tool of King Tennlka."
"I never said that you were, though your own actions tell of your allegiance far more than whatever paltry words you offer."
Xardan nodded slowly, "I suppose your ridicule is warranted. Your Rangers were not the first that I have helped to escape from Tennlka's grasp. As much as possible, I have been trying to help Lythrain and wizards alike escape before my army; your appearance yesterday inspired me to try something new. Instead of risking getting caught doing these things myself, there could be an elusive foe, always striking without warning and vanishing before we can react. This foe could free hundreds more Rangers again before the army breaks free of Reth and I could avoid suspicion of my men and King Tennlka. Even after I helped you get those men out, I wasn't sure you were the right person for the job. What convinced me that you are was the moment you dispatched three Knights with very little effort. I have yet to see someone among the Lythrain that is capable of such an act."
Confused, Ilays lowered her bow and considered Xardan in a new light.
"How would this elusive foe know when and where to strike?"
"They would need incredible intelligence... possibly someone with access to the maps and patrol schedules leaving messages for them..."
"And how would they know that one of these strikes is not a trap?"
"To some extent, I suppose they can't know for sure. They would need to trust that what happened yesterday is a depiction of the man I really am." Xardan admitted, "But in the end, it's their decision to decide if they trust me."
*
Several long, silent moments passed as Jurod assessed the Knight before him. His hands flexed on the Drashyre blade.
“You will not have your way with her!” Jurod announced with renewed vigor.
“It was never my intention,” the Knight answered.
“Then step away from her.” Jurod growled.
“I am Tristan Turgeel,” the Knight replied as he stepped slowly away from Ilays, “Once the Knight of the Summer Flame. Who ar
e you?”
Jurod ignored the question again and posed one of his own.
“Once?” Jurod repeated, “What happened?”
“I grew weary of senseless killing.”
“So you came to Strolm where the only law is ‘kill or be killed’?”
As he spoke, Jurod quickly reached out to Ilays’ mind with his mental Drashyre and burned away the spell that bound her mind and kept her from thinking clearly. He would have to trust that she could recover quickly and help him.
Tristan’s answer came in a voice as calm as an echo of death itself, “Do not judge me.”
“You don’t have to agree with the King.” Jurod argued, “There are plenty of people fighting against the King that could utilize your skills and benefit from your knowledge!”
“I tried fighting,” Tristan whispered, “I honored my oaths and fought for the King. I ran my blade through countless victims whose only crimes were an ability that they wouldn’t have chosen if they could have avoided it.
“I saw the errors of the war first hand!” Tristan continued, now red-faced and angry, “I turned against the King, and fought for the rebellions; but in every soldier I slew I saw nothing more than a man trying to honor his oath to his king!
“I came to Strolm because there is no ‘right’ side in Faelhart’s foolhardy war! I came to Strolm because at least the fighting here is not the mass slaughter of innocents!”
“I am fighting against the King.” Jurod proudly stated, “I know his soldiers are not to blame for the war, but every one of them has had ample opportunity to make the same decision you did and abandon their oaths. They have chosen not to, and are therefore supporting that mindless slaughter being ordered by their King. And in removing yourself from the fight, you have chosen to simply ignore your oaths in place of fully abandoning them as you once did. You are supporting the King just as his own soldiers are; you’re simply less devout.”
“So you would have me travel with you?” Tristan asked sarcastically, “Join in some honorable quest to stop the King?”
“I won’t object if you’d like to,” Jurod answered, “but ours is not the only effort against the King.”
“He’s right Tristan,” came a quiet voice from the bed, “There are dozens of rebellions across the country; each trying to lead themselves.”
Wanting to let out all of his frustration on this so called “Knight,” Jurod continued vehemently, “They need a leader that can unite them Tristan. If someone could bring them together, build a fortress, and force what’s left of the King’s army to face them at a disadvantage, it might just end this war!”
“A good speech,” Tristan admitted, “But it falls upon the wrong ears. I care little for your war, but I am not opposed to helping you accomplish your goals. I have something that may help you along your way.”
Tristan turned away from Jurod and stalked across the tent to a trunk, and Jurod took the opportunity to lunge forward to Ilays’s side.
“Are you alright?” Jurod whispered.
Ilays stirred slightly, nodded and whispered “I’ll just need a few minutes to compose myself.”
Behind the pair, Tristan drew their attention with a rough grinding of metal against metal.
Jurod jumped at the sound, summoning his Drashyre blade and spinning back to the errant Knight.
Tristan held a sheathed blade loosely, offering the hilt to Jurod. Once he realized what was going on, Jurod shrunk his Drashyre blade to a miniscule size, sent it to a lantern at the edge of the tent, and reached for the hilt. The black leather wrapping felt rough under Jurod’s palm as he drew the weapon.
The sword was light; far lighter than any Jurod had ever held and it responded to the slightest movement with exact precision. The pommel, cross guard and blade were all bright, but pitted with orange and brown patches of rust. It had clearly once been an elegant, elaborate weapon. Jurod lightly brushed his fingers across the dark, red ruby encased in the center of the cross guard, remembering the similar black diamond encased in Xardan’s blade.
The realization didn’t hit Jurod for several moments.
“A Knighthood blade!?” Jurod exclaimed.
“I stopped using the blade when I left Faelhart,” Tristan explained, “It only served to remind me of the Knighthood and their foolhardy war. I disregarded the blade, and neglected it; but I could never bring myself to throw it away.
“I want you to take it.” Tristan continued, “I will have no use for it until I feel like the Knighthood represents what it was meant to; and a Knight should have a Knight’s blade.”
“I am…” Jurod stuttered, “At a loss for words.”
“It needs the rust removed,” Tristan said, “I bought a bottle of cream when I first noticed the rust, but I could not bring myself to care enough to spend the time on it. I’ll give you that bottle and allow you the use of that sword. Restore its honor. I ask for only one thing in return.”
Skeptical of what he would ask for, Jurod sheathed the blade and said “And why should I honor the request of a disgraced Knight?”
“Because the only thing I request of you is your name. You have still refused to give it to me and I’d like to know who it is that so vehemently opposes the King.”
“I am Jurod Silvergem.”
A look of momentary surprise crossed Tristan’s face, but it was so short lived that Jurod wasn’t sure it had been there in the first place. Tristan offered the sword once more and said “You should be going soon. What’s left of my men will soon assume I’ve killed you and come wandering back. I’d like them to think something of the sort. As I said, I wish to help the two of you. Meet me outside as soon as you can. I’ll have everything you need for your journey, including your weapons and armor.”
Jurod nodded his understanding as Tristan left to prepare their horses and supplies.
As Tristan worked, Jurod helped lift Ilays to her feet and don her armor and scimitars. By the time he helped her into her boots and strapped her scimitars to her back, she was almost fully recovered.
Deciding that he would replace all of his own armor farther down the road in favor of leaving sooner, Jurod mounted the horse that had been prepared for him by Tristan as Ilays mounted hers. They bade the errant Knight farewell, and left.
*
Only five of Tristan's two dozen men had survived the encounter against the half-breed Knight. Fortunately, three of the five survivors were cowards who had fled at the first sign of trouble and the other two were men who had been loyal to Tristan for many years. They had seen Jurod's power and assumed it as a Knighthood; they followed Tristan's protocol for an attack by a Knight and had gone to hide a short distance away until Tristan blew the "all clear" signal. Because of this, none of them had seen Tristan release the two prisoners.
Without the larger part of their numbers, it took the better part of a day just to pack down the large camp that was meant for so many. Tristan spent a great deal of this time contemplating what he was going to say to his men. When everything was packed onto the remaining horses, the survivors humbly approached their leader.
“Master Tristan,” one of the cowards stuttered, “What will we do now? Without the wizard, and with our numbers so few, where can we go that we won't be destroyed by a larger clan?”
Tristan thought for one last moment as he finished tying his bedroll to his saddlebags.
“Illyria.” Tristan answered simply.
His men looked at each other in confusion before the first continued talking, “And what, my Lord, are we to do in Illyria? The city is in ruins!”
Tristan threw open the sides of his cloak as he talked, allowing the fighters to see the Knight's plate armor that he had not worn since joining the small clan. The reaction it garnered was as he had hoped. Awe shone on the faces of the three cowards, while hope showed through the faces of his two loyal companions.
“In ruins, yes.” Tristan stated, “But still defensible. It is time I was honest with you men that remain. You know
I am a Knight. You all may not know this, but I left the cause because of the foolhardy war and the needless deaths it brings. I've decided that I'm no longer going to sit on the sidelines and allow these deaths to continue without doing something about it. I will ride to Illyria right away to begin making repairs; you five are to ride under banners of truce to Strolm, Ebenhart, Riverguard, Laketown, and Learth. Announce to anyone willing to listen that Sir Tristan Turgeel, Knight of the Summer Flame, is recruiting any willing and able bodied men, Knights, and wizards to join in his cause against the false King of Faelhart!"
All five men stared with open mouths at Tristan before he turned to them with fierce determination burning in his eyes.
“Meet me back in Illyria with any recruits that you have been able to gather by harvest! I trust that I will see the five of you soon."
Tristan mounted easily in one swift movement and turned to salute his men, “May the Great Dragons watch over you, and see you safely to Illyria!”
Without waiting for a response, Tristan spurred his horse forward into a gallop.
*
The cream Tristan had provided removed the rust easily, but the patches on the blade were large and deep. As such, Jurod did not finish the project until the day after he and Ilays had crossed the Illyrian River. Jurod was just finishing his watch and sliding the old blade into its scabbard as Ilays woke and they started packing up their gear.
Ilays pulled Xardan's drop from her belt and felt its pull.
“Xardan must be moving quickly.” Ilays announced, “The drop was pulling toward Riverguard in the south last night, and now it's pulling hard to the north east!”
Jurod thought for a moment before responding quizzically, “What's to the north east?”
“Nothing until Darkshire, and that's days away. But with the strength of the pull, I would think that we could catch up to him by early afternoon if we leave now and he travels slowly.”
“The likeliness that Xardan will be moving slowly is incredibly low, so we’d better get moving.”
The pair rode directly after the pull of the drop for half the morning before Ilays reined in and dismounted.