The Lone Apprentice

by I K Spencer

  Too excited and focused to notice the chill, his piercing blue eyes sized up the small target, located one hundred paces back against a stand of small trees. The intensity in those eyes transformed his visage dramatically. In them one could see his great depth and sensitivity and the boyish image instantly dissolved. Men could see silent power, his quiet self-confidence. The depth of his gaze translated to a very different effect in most women. To women, he had lover's eyes, sometimes called bedroom eyes by more than one infatuated whore, the only women he’d spent any time with since coming of age. More than one whore had told him with those eyes he could bed any maiden but that mattered little since he’d never met one. Guardsmen populated the entire staff of the academy so the only women he ever encountered were those solicited to relieve his needs in exchange for gold. Other than vague memories of his mother, he had no other experiences with which to relate to the gentler sex.

  His target was one of several, but he alone occupied the practice range on this chilly April morning. He had learned early that hard work and perseverance were the keys to mastering any skill. He came from a peasant family in the country and watched his father work from dawn until dark as a laborer in a small gristmill. Anthen, although separated from his family very young, embodied that example. He had also demonstrated extreme intelligence and sensitivity at an early age and these were the traits that secured his selection for the academy but from the beginning he had to work especially hard on the physical side of being a guardsman, which never came easy for him. In fact, until around five years earlier, he was deemed average at best and had just barely made the grade a few times because of his struggles with physical combat and weapons mastery. At around fifteen though, all his hard work, coupled with a growth spurt, paid off. Years of diligent strength training began to show its effects and countless hours of practice at hand-to-hand, the sword, and the crossbow, moved him to the top of his class even though he possessed very little natural proficiency for these skills.

  Anthen held his breath and smoothly squeezed the crossbow trigger. He felt that familiar rush of anticipation and waited for the bolt to hit. Momentarily it struck the target, dead center. He smiled, knowing his new design was now perfectly adjusted for accuracy. Then, in a blur of hand motion, he rapid-fired the next three arrows, which formed a tight triangle about the first one. Sighing with satisfaction, he gazed at the weapon in his hands as if it were made of gold. This bow looked very much like his earlier design but it possessed important improvements. It had the same revolver to hold four quarrels but, unlike the earlier version, this revolver rotated automatically when the lever was pulled to arm the bow. Thus, he could fire the four arrows much faster.

  As he walked to the target to retrieve the bolts, he surveyed his familiar surroundings and was reminded that very soon he would be leaving this sheltered environment, possibly forever. The idea of leaving the only home he’d known seemed so strange to him. He possessed hazy memories of his family's dwelling but he had been here for nearly fifteen years, since entering the academy as a small boy. Now everything so familiar to him felt new and different somehow. He was beginning to appreciate the things and people he had taken for granted for so many years. Many times in the course of a day lately, he would stop and stare at someone or something because it occurred to him that it might be his last opportunity. He’d become an elite soldier, highly skilled in countless areas, but leaving was new to Anthen.

  Something triggered his senses and broke his reverie. He looked up and saw Rampas standing by his target. Rampas raised a hand in greeting and he waved in reply. As he approached the target, his teacher pulled back his cowl and examined Anthen's marksmanship. Gray curls framed the older man’s swarthy face.

  "I see you have perfected the latest design," Rampas complimented, nodding toward the target.

  Rampas was wiry and tall, a bit taller than Anthen, who measured over six feet in height. As a rule guardsmen were tall but with two distinct body types. About half were wiry like he and Rampas while the rest were stocky figures with brutish strength. Anthen had wondered on occasion if it were so by design.

  Anthen nodded. "Yes, it is ready. Would you care to try?"

  The elder man smiled and shook his head. "I was never that good with the bow and I certainly don't want to shoot after you." He gestured toward the target with its small cluster of quarrels in the center. His dark eyes were bright with excitement. "I saw you fire the last three arrows. I never would have thought it was possible to arm and fire a crossbow so quickly!"

  "It is a formidable weapon," replied Anthen.

  "It is indeed, however, I am referring to your speed as well. I have never seen hands move so fast!"

  "Practice," countered Anthen, while pulling the bolts from the target.

  Rampas looked across the empty field, soggy from the steady rain, before answering. "Yes, well, practice is also a skill."

  Anthen frowned and started to argue, then understood his teacher's meaning—that dedication to practice was a masterable skill as well. It was just this type of astute observation that made Rampas his favorite teacher at the academy. The elder man talked little but when chose to speak, his words usually made Anthen think. He finished packing up his equipment and the pair walked side-by-side from the field.

  "Rampas, please tell me about your field experiences?" Anthen asked awkwardly, not used to requesting assistance.

  "There isn't much to them I'm afraid," responded the older man as they walked. "I spent most of my field time in a Dolonarian slave camp."

  Anthen knew the basic story of Rampas's short-lived field career. He had graduated during the last war and had been thrust into a very difficult situation. After only six months on the front, Rampas was severely wounded and captured by the enemy. He did not receive proper medical treatment and his broken leg did not mend well. He endured over three years in the labor camps until, near the end of the war, he led a successful escape attempt, which barely preceded the mass execution of those remaining in the camp. His deformed leg made it impossible for him to continue in the field but after his ordeal, such activities held little interest anyway. Matured well beyond his years through hardship, the relatively young man returned to the academy. To Anthen, Rampas was the most heroic figure at the training facility.

  "Field life depends so much on the type of assignment," continued the solemn tutor. "The thing I do know is that your training will continue and will be a major part of your activity for the next year or two. Unless circumstances become extreme, you probably won't be placed in any dangerous situations until you near the end of your apprenticeship. Even then it's unlikely. I think what guardsmen do most, during normal times, is observe. Depending on where you are doing the observing from, there will be more or less danger. Do you know where you will be sent to apprentice?"

  "I am to report to Cidrl in Gates," replied Anthen, noting a brief pained expression on the teacher's face at the mention of the Dolonarian border town.

  "I thought as much. Cidrl seems to be the popular choice for apprenticeships over the last several years."

  "Do you know him?"

  "I remember him from the academy," replied Rampas, squinting as if he were trying to see the youthful Cidrl in his mind's eye. "He was a few years older than I. I was about twelve or thirteen years old during his final year here and still very much a boy so he seemed like a god to me."

  Anthen knew his teacher's meaning. To an awkward thirteen-year-old yet to mature into a man physically, becoming a guardsman seemed a distant dream. Those skilled young men near to graduating seemed like gods for they were so much better than the younger cadets. Anthen could picture a few such heroes from his own past.

  "Cidrl was above average," continued Rampas, "but not exceptional in most areas, considering those I've seen during my many years here. One area where he did stand out was as an orator. I don’t know as I’ve ever met a more eloquent speaker and, perhaps because of that, a cadet more skilled at getting his way. He was very
popular. One of our teachers used to joke that Cidrl could charm a draug into the daylight. Perhaps that is why he has been chosen for so many apprenticeships. He must be a very good teacher."

  Anthen nodded. Diplomacy was an important skill for a guardsman, especially during times of peace but in many situations a guardsman needed to use his voice more than his sword. Anthen had struggled with this aspect of guardsmanship as well so he looked forward to improving his eloquence from a master like Cidrl.

  Rampas changed the subject. "Are you looking forward to your dinner with Orneson?"

  Anthen did not hide his scowl. Social events were not among his favorite pastimes, especially this event since he found the guardsman leader to be somewhat peculiar. However, it was customary for all graduating cadets to dine with their future commander.

  The elder man chuckled. "Anthen, social skills are very important to a guardsman. Social events are a useful means for gathering information. It will be good practice."

  Anthen knew it was true and made a mental note to improve his attitude.

  "Will Isaencarl’s crossbow corps be benefiting from your latest bow design?" Rampas asked, eyeing the weapon more closely.

  The cadet shook his head. "I have not discussed this version with anyone yet. I want to give it more tests. The revolver works well if you are not moving around much. If you have to run between shots, however, the assembly tends to come out of alignment and you have to make sure its set before firing again."

  "You don't have much time remaining for tests," offered Rampas.

  Anthen sighed at the latest reminder that his life would soon change drastically. Regarding the bow, he would pass on the new automatic revolver details before he left for Gates. Even in its present untested state, it offered a significant improvement over the manual revolver design.

  He recalled the experiences he had endured while trying to get the king's generals to consider the weapon in the first place. He had designed the manual revolver three years ago at sixteen, as a way to quickly load multiple arrows on his crossbow. He had always been frustrated at the time it took to reload the weapon, considerably longer than that of a longbow. He had used the bow nearly two years without much thought that others might want it when a teacher happened upon him one day practicing with the strange-looking weapon. The teacher, a man named Saldor, had come running over to Anthen after witnessing the bow's effectiveness and excitedly asked the cadet where he had obtained the unusual weapon. Upon learning that Anthen had constructed the bow, the teacher had been insistent that the design be shared with the military.

  Saldor had sought an audience with the king's military advisors, who were, needless to say, quite skeptical. A demonstration was agreed to, with Anthen pitted against two of the king's finest bowmen, one with a normal crossbow and the other an archer. Even with the handicap of being hooded to protect his identity, Anthen had shot his four arrows before the longbow marksman could fire three and before the crossbow archer could get his second bolt away. Adding insult to injury, the young cadet had out-shot two of the king's finest in accuracy as well. Needless to say, the generals' skepticism had vanished and they ordered him to build another copy as soon as possible.

  The pair reached the edge of the practice field and after bidding one another farewell under the cold drizzle, went in separate directions. Anthen thought of Rampas's short and disastrous field career and wondered how his own field experiences would compare. When would he be tested and how would he respond under fire? He had spent his entire childhood learning to be a guardsman and very soon he would start that life.

  He walked quickly along the familiar path that led from the practice field to his quarters. It rained harder and he saw few along the path. The other cadets he passed stopped and saluted as he went by, a customary honor for graduating cadets. He returned the salutes and smiled. As he walked by one set of barracks, he noticed two young boys playing in the puddles and mud brought about by the rain. The boys, no more than seven or eight, were so engrossed that they had remained oblivious to his presence. The rigorous guardsman training regimen did not allow such frivolity, however, so if caught they would be reprimanded.

  Anthen enjoyed their antics and tried to remember the last time he had played so freely. He could not recall a time and felt envious. After a time though, one of the boys saw him and the show abruptly ended. The boy stood at attention and kicked his partner, who was still on the ground playing in the mud. The second boy scrambled to his feet and stood stiffly by the first. Both sets of eyes were wide with fright. The second boy recognized Anthen and gasped as he attempted an awkward salute, which prompted his comrade to repeat the gesture.

  Anthen returned the salute and smiled as he walked toward the mud-covered pair. He must fulfill his duty and chastise the pair but it would be a gentle reprimand. He reached them and squatted down to meet their gaze at eye level. The youngsters seemed mere babies to him, with large, innocent eyes and baby fat. It was hard to believe they were on the same path as he, although just beginning the journey instead of nearly at the end.

  "What wrongs have you committed?" he asked firmly but not harshly. It was customary at the academy to let wrongdoers elicit their mistakes. This helped the cadets learn and encouraged honesty. A brief pause ensued as each waited for the other to speak.

  "We played in the mud and got our uniforms dirty," the taller of the two offered, taking charge. The other nodded in agreement.

  "Continue," ordered Anthen, signaling to the boys that they had broken further rules.

  They both frowned as each tried to come up with the answer. A lengthy pause followed, then each looked at the other, shaking his head. When they turned to face him, he noted that fear had returned to their grimy faces.

  "A guardsman must always be ..." he prompted.

  "On guard," the taller boy answered guiltily.

  "That is right. We must always be vigilant. Danger is everywhere. I observed you for several moments before you noticed me, which could cost you your life someday. Do you understand?"

  Both heads bobbed up and down.

  "What is a suitable punishment?" Anthen asked.

  "Off to bed with no supper?" offered the smaller one.

  Anthen shook his head but couldn’t keep from smiling. "I think some extra bow practice is in order. Meet me tomorrow after supper at the field. Now run along and get cleaned up and wash those dirty uniforms."

  "Yes, sir!" bellowed the pair in unison, then raced off.

  After they were out of sight, Anthen could hear their laughter and shouts of joy. A practice session with a graduating cadet would make them the envy of their mates. He knew it was not much of a punishment but at least it might make them better bowmen someday.

  He finished the walk to his barracks and entered his room. He shook out his cloak and arranged it carefully on a post fixed to the back of his door. The extraordinary garment was yet another reminder of his pending departure. Every graduating cadet received one, though they varied in color and style so as not to be a giveaway. The special cloaks were warm in the cold yet not overly heavy. The surface repelled all moisture yet the garment never felt suffocating in warm weather. Most importantly, the cloak's special material also provided an armor-like protection to some degree. Many a guardsman's life had been spared by the garment, which could turn fatal arrow and spear shots into flesh wounds and stop glancing strikes completely. The cloth was rumored to be of elven origin but the cadets had only been told that their fabrication was a closely held secret

  Another important aspect of the cloak was in the way Anthen had been taught to use it to vary his appearance. Worn over the shoulder, the garment disguised his warrior build and when combined with a slouch, he could vary his perceived height, like most guardsmen well above average. The collar could be worn low or high, the latter suggesting greater power and responsibility, which was useful when posing as an authority figure. The hood could be used to keep his face hidden and an unusually tall, hooded figure could be a f
earful sight. In battle the garment could be pushed back over his shoulders, held only by the neck clasp. His strong arms and torso, along with the billowing cape, would instill fear in enemies and courage in allies.

  He reached into the cloak’s inner pocket and removed a small object, which he grasped by the handle. Two miniature bows were mounted vertically on either side of the handle and affixed to each bow was an arrow no greater than the spread of his hand. He turned the bow in his hand, admiring for the countless time, his handiwork. This idea he’d kept secret so that it would be a surprise to whoever was unlucky enough to face it. One problem with the crossbow was that he didn’t have it with him all the time. He’d wanted a surprise weapon that could be hidden inside a cloak and fired quickly. He had naturally thought of a miniature bow but knew that finding the material strong and flexible enough for a weapon that small would be the main challenge. After much searching and experimentation, he found a certain type of sapling that worked best. The weapon was only good at up to about ten paces but even with such a limited range he knew the weapon could come in very handy in many situations.

  The cadet raised the weapon and used his thumb to disengage a locking device for protection against inadvertent firing. He aimed the weapon at a bound bundle of rags across the room and fired one bolt, which hit the bundle and sent the rag ball skittering across the floor. He squeezed the second trigger and hit the moving bundle again. Through countless hours of such practice, he’d become deadly accurate with the new weapon.

  He took off his clothes and bathed with tepid water in preparation for dinner with the guardsman leader. He then dressed in his one good set of clothes, used for any formal event. The cadets did not have a uniform but were given one set of clothes appropriate for formal occasions. Anthen's gray tunic and breeches were typical, finely made but plain enough to draw little attention.

  Anthen wondered what he would talk about with the older man. Certainly they would touch on his apprenticeship, and he guessed that Orneson would have some advice for him. It would also be proper for him to ask the elder to recount his adventures from old field assignments. He knew they probably would have plenty to discuss but still could not shake the uneasiness he felt, beyond the normal butterflies that accompanied any social engagement for him. He’d experienced the same feeling when he first met the guardsman chief, shortly after learning of his impending graduation. Something about Orneson bothered him and he had felt distrust and a slight loathing for the man immediately. This reaction troubled him a great deal, since the guardsman leader was very powerful and above suspicion.