“I hear my son owes you his life,” said Grentz.
“I didn’t do much, really,” Tiberius said.
“I always thought that whip of yours was a little silly,” the Sword Master said. “Today you proved me wrong and I’m not too proud to say it. Thank you.”
“It was nothing,” Tiberius said. “Rafe would have done the same for me.”
“As he should, that’s his job,” Grentz said. “You showed true courage and nobility, rushing to his aid. You put your life in danger to save his. I won’t soon forget that.”
“Thank you, sir,” Tiberius said.
The crowd was raucous and excited. No one had ever slain two Graypees from the same pack before. It was rare to see them at all, much less find them close enough to hunt from the city walls. No one had ever fought them on the ground and the soldiers were so excited by the entire ordeal that it took Tiberius nearly an hour to break away. All that time he held his arm close to his body, feeling it swell. By the time he got back to his room, he was covered in sweat from the pain. He had to be careful getting his shirt off and then he pulled the book of magic from under his bed.
Every little chore seemed like agony. When he finally got the book of magic from the hidden chest under his bed, and laid the ancient fragment on his little table, he had to sit down and catch his breath. The pain in his arm was getting worse, and all he could think about was stopping the pain. Yet, he didn’t want to do something foolish and he knew the healing magic that he’d conjured to help Rafe had been a raging torrent of power that had almost swept him away. He didn’t care if he died, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of doing something that would hurt his family or the people of Avondale.
He reread the entire chapter on Sana Magus, desperately looking for something about self-healing, but there was nothing to be found. The book talked about practicing on fruit, and even on butchered animals, then eventually working with sick, but there was nothing about a wizard casting a spell on himself. Tiberius didn’t even know if it would work, but eventually he cleared his mind. The pain made it difficult to concentrate. He felt nauseous, his head was pounding, and his body was soaked in sweat. His arm was on fire and it was excruciating to move or touch. It had swollen to almost twice its normal size, and the skin was a sickly shade of red.
He did his best to focus on the magic before he ever uttered a word. He could feel the elusive power starting to stir and he knew he needed to hone it with his mind the way a swordsman sharpened his blades before battle. The words of the spell stood out in his mind, and finally, when he had pushed the pain down and calmed his breathing, he began to chant.
“Acies Intrinsecus Accipio Ceptum Sarcio Adiflictus Ossis,” he said.
Immediately the magical power erupted around him. It was like being in the center of a terrible storm. Tiberius could feel that the magic was good, it pulsed with life-affirming energy, but it was a tempest and he had to control it. He focused on the movement of the magical power. He knew he was too weak to force it to his will; instead he needed to put himself in the path of the magic’s flow, so that directing it to heal his arm would be natural and he hoped easier.
He took his time, fighting the urge to do anything that would make the pain stop. As his mind focused on his broken arm, the pain he felt doubled, and for one long moment he almost passed out. Then, with a mighty force of will, he pushed his mind further than he thought possible. The magic was like an inferno, his pain roared like a blacksmith’s forge, but somehow he rose above it all. Slowly the pain in his arm took shape. The bone in his upper arm, between the elbow and the shoulder, was broken. Both ends of the break were splintered. There were bone fragments stabbing into the muscle, like awful splinters digging into his flesh. Blood and other bodily fluids had filled the area around the break causing it to swell; the blood was infusing the tissue causing it to bruise.
Slowly, Tiberius channeled the magic into his arm. It was difficult work, like trying to hold a massive serpent that was writhing angrily, but he managed it. Slowly the pain began to ebb away. He sensed the bone coming back together, every tiny shard fit neatly into place and at last the thick bone fused together seamlessly.
The relief he felt when his bone healed made him giddy, and only the raging magic kept him from relaxing completely. He stayed focused on his arm, even as the magic returned to its swirling squall. He felt the fluids in his arm being flushed away. It was a slow process as his body began to reabsorb the blood, but once he was certain that his body would heal naturally, he ended the spell and sagged back into the hard, wooden chair.
It was hours later when a pounding knock on his door woke him.
“Master Tiberius,” said a frantic voice. “Your father has summoned you. Master Tiberius?”
“Just a moment,” Ti said, scurrying to his feet.
His arm was still bruised, and painful. The swelling had receded a little, and he could use his arm, even though moving it felt strange. He hurried to hide the book of magic and then went to the door.
“Are you hurt, my lord?” Robere asked as he swept into the room and examined Tiberius.
“No, not really,” Tiberius said. “Just some bumps and bruises.”
“Your arm looks swollen,” the servant said. “And you smell.”
“I did just fight a pack of Graypees,” Tiberius said with a touch of pride.
“That was hours ago,” Robere said. “We have to get you cleaned up and dressed to see the Earl.”
Tiberius was tired, his body ached from sliding down the rope and fighting the Graypees, but his arm was so much better that he didn’t mind. Every bruise and scrape felt like a badge of honor. He had killed a Graypee, a feat only a few of the bravest men in Avondale had accomplished. And Tiberius had done it before his brothers. He knew they would be jealous, but he didn’t care at all. His whole life, he’d dreamed of killing a Graypee, although he’d never imagined it happening on the far side of the city wall. He could only imagine how proud his father would be. He couldn’t remember a time when his father had shown pride in him; in fact, he always felt like excess baggage that his father would rather be rid of. Leonosis was the only child Tiberius’ father seemed to care about. Even Tiberius’ mother had favored their firstborn. Tiberius loved his family, but he couldn’t say that his affection was returned or even noticed by them. It was what made the thought of leaving to pursue magic bearable. He would disappoint them, but deep down they would be relieved. The third son of an Earl had only one duty, and that was to fade away quietly without distracting from the nobility of the firstborn.
Robere poured water over Tiberius’ head. The water was warm and the older servant scrubbed Tiberius with practiced efficiency. Tiberius wondered how Robere could stomach the base tasks required of him. Tiberius was more than capable of taking a bath on his own, but Robere wouldn’t hear of it. The servant had shown Tiberius more love and affection than Ti’s own family.
As Robere pulled clothes from the large wardrobe, Tiberius stretched his aching muscles. He was dressed quickly, pulling tall black boots on over the cuffs of his breeches. He looked at himself in the long mirror and nodded.
“I’m ready,” he said.
“I’ll escort you,” Robere said.
As they walked quickly through the long hallways, Tiberius spoke in hushed tones.
“I guess you heard about what happened today,” he said.
Robere nodded his head.
“I kind of surprised myself,” Tiberius admitted. “Everything happened so fast.”
Robere didn’t respond.
“We killed two Graypees, that’s never been done before,” Ti went on. “And from the far side of the wall. I’ll bet the whole city is talking.”
Robere nodded again, his face pinched with concern.
“It’s okay, I’m fine, really. Just some bumps and bruises is all. Don’t worry.”
“Yes, Master Tiberius,” Robere said stopping outside of the Earl’s study. “I know I shouldn’t worry
about you, but I do. Don’t lose yourself in there.”
Tiberius smiled. He would miss Robere. The older man truly cared for him.
“Thank you Robere,” he said.
The servant bowed and Tiberius went into his father’s opulent study. The room was large, with towering bookshelves and thick carpets. There was a large fireplace with a Graypee skull hanging above the mantel. A massive desk occupied one side of the room, and a group of comfortable chairs were clustered together on the other side. Tiberius’ father, Earl Aegus stood by the crackling fire. He was an older man, his thick hair was completely silver, and in recent years he had let his beard grow long. He had once been a large, well-built man, but his muscle had gone to fat and of late he was loosing weight, looking more and more frail. He had turned over most of his responsibilities to Leonosis, but there were some things he still managed himself. It was the first time Tiberius had been alone with his father in years.
“Tiberius,” the Earl said, “are you well?”
“Yes, father,” Tiberius said.
“Good, it is almost time for your commission as a Paladin. We are proud of you.”
“Thank you,” Ti said.
“Now, about this business on the wall, I’ve given it a lot of thought and it simply won’t do for you to have slain a Graypee before your brothers. So, I’ve let it be known that it was Leonosis who killed the Graypee and rescued Grentz’s son.”
“What?” Tiberius asked. He was so surprised that he could barely draw a breath to speak.
“Your brother will be Earl soon,” Aegus said calmly, ignoring Tiberius’ astonishment. “His reputation is very important, while your order in the Temple of Addonai condemns pride. Surely you can see that it is better if the city recognizes that it was your brother who risked his life and killed two Graypees in the process.”
“But that isn’t what happened,” Tiberius said, his voice rising angrily.
“Do not forget who you are speaking to,” Earl Aegus snapped, suddenly furious. “I am your father, and Earl of this city. Do not raise your voice to me, boy.”
“But I killed the Graypee, not Leonosis.”
“You will never speak of it,” the Earl demanded. “Am I making myself understood?”
Tiberius was so angry he wanted to hurt his father. He had always been scorned by his family, always seen as somehow less important. The pain had always made him want to flee their sphere of influence, to somehow just escape their constant judgmental attitudes, but now he wanted more. He was being robbed of his greatest accomplishment and he wanted someone to pay.
“No, father,” Tiberius said. “I won’t do it.”
“It’s too late,” Leonosis said, stepping out of the shadows. “It’s already done. Word has been spread around the city. No one would believe you now.”
“That’s not true,” Tiberius said. “You didn’t do this, Leo, I did. Rafe won’t let you steal this from me.”
“Rafe will do as he’s told, as you should.”
“Tiberius,” Aegus said, his deep voice meant to be soothing, but to Tiberius it sounded condescending. “You know this is what is best for your brother and for Avondale. Do not embarrass yourself or our family with delusions of your own grandeur.”
“I’m not deluded,” Tiberius said, tears filling his eyes. He was so angry his voice shook. “I despise you. Where is your honor, father?”
The blow came from his brother, who had moved silently up beside Tiberius. The punch landed squarely on Tiberius’ jaw and sent him reeling across the room.
“How dare you speak to the Earl in such a fashion,” Leonosis thundered. “You should be scourged and held in stocks for the entire city to see your shame.”
“My only shame,” Tiberius said angrily, “is being part of this family.”
“Tiberius,” Aegus said. “Control yourself.”
“He should be sent to the temple,” Leonosis said. “Let them pledge him to silence for his insolence.”
“You want to take credit for my kill,” Tiberius said. “Go ahead. I don’t care. You’re nothing but a hypocrite and a coward.”
“And you are nothing at all, just a waste of space,” Leonosis said lazily. “One day I shall see your head hanging from the city walls.”
“Boys!” Aegus snapped. “That is enough. The matter is settled and I will hear no more of it. Tiberius, you will return to your rooms. Do not show your face until you can support your brother completely.”
“Good-bye then father,” Tiberius said.
He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, but not before hearing his brother laughing behind him.
Chapter 13
Rafe
It had been an hour since he’d helped the soldiers hoist the bodies of the two Graypees he’d killed with Tiberius up onto the wall. The creatures had been immediately taken to the Earl’s tannery where they could be skinned, the exotic hide tanned, and the bones crushed or mounted. Rafe planned to use most of his hide as dress armor—the tough reptilian skin would be stretched over grieves, bracers, and body armor. His father’s dress armor was made with Graypee hide, and it would be Rafe’s badge of honor among the Earl’s war band.
He had plans to save some of the hide as a special gift for Olyva. He wasn’t sure what she would like the most, but he would give her whatever she wanted. His brush with death had solidified his feelings for her and convinced him that denying his feelings was the wrong course of action. He would have to explain his feelings to the Earl and plead his case, but after killing his first Graypee, he had no doubt that he could convince the royal family to let him marry Lady Olyva.
There was only one cloud of doubt about the entire experience. He couldn’t be certain, but he was convinced that Tiberius, his oldest friend, had somehow used magic to heal him. It might be possible, he thought, that he wasn’t hurt as badly as he had thought and had just recovered naturally, but he doubted it. He had been hurt before. Wounds and injuries among soldiers training for combat wasn’t uncommon, but his fall had been different. It was more than just a minor injury, certainly more than something he would have recovered from so quickly. And he wasn’t just okay, in fact he should have been sore and bruised at the very least. Yet he felt better than he could ever remember feeling in his life. He felt strong, and unexplainably happy, almost euphoric. Sure, he had killed a Graypee, something he had dreamed of his whole life, but it was more than that. He felt like he’d been given a second chance at life, and it felt so good he couldn’t stop smiling.
He had several visits to make, the first was to his father’s quarters in the Earl’s palace. His father had been on the wall, Rafe had seen him looking down with what appeared to be relief, but when Rafe had ascended the wall, his father was gone. He had been enveloped with soldiers and even other officers, all congratulating him on his kill. It had been a festive time and Rafe had enjoyed every moment of it. Now, he needed to see his father, to hear his father’s praise. His whole life he had lived in the shadow of his father, trying desperately to live up to everyone’s expectations of him. He was a warrior, trained from a very young age to be the best swordsman in Avondale, yet there had never been a test like the one he had just passed. He had slain a Graypee, but not with a spear from the high wall. He had slain the beast face to face, with only his sword. He was sure it was a feat that would be remembered all his life and perhaps even beyond.
The palace was a busy place, both foreign and familiar. He had run the length and breadth of the Earl’s majestic home as a child, but he was always an outsider. He had been taught to show respect for the Earl’s family and guests. Of the entire royal family, only Tiberius had ever treated Rafe like an equal, but now he walked through the marble tiled halls proudly, with a spring in his step.
Grentz was the Sword Master of Avondale, and the Earl’s Champion. He held the unofficial title of Commander of the Earl’s war band, both of which were far from adequate in describing both the Earl’s military force and Grentz’s duty. When Avondal
e had been little more than a band of refugees struggling to survive the cataclysm, they had formed a war band made up of all the able-bodied men. Now, the Earl had over two hundred highly trained professional soldiers, and another thousand men in reserve who were trained to man the walls in case of an attack.
Rafe’s father was more than just a commander, since he oversaw all the Earl’s military forces, including recruiting and training the best men. He was the greatest warrior in the city, perhaps in all of the Nine Cities of Valana, yet he would never be given an official title. Rafe’s father had been content with that and so would Rafe. He didn’t need titles or medals, not even from the Earl, but he longed to see pride in his father’s eyes. It was the one thing he had never been quite able to obtain no matter how hard he tried. Still, now that Rafe had killed a Graypee, there was simply no way that his father could deny that his son was a champion, just like his father.
The door to his father’s small suite of rooms was open. Two officers were sipping wine and talking in hushed tones with Grentz. Normally, Rafe would have waited outside for his father to summon him, but this time he walked boldly into his father’s quarters.
“Have you heard the news?” Rafe asked excitedly, interrupting his father’s conversation.
“We shall finish in a few moments,” Grentz said tiredly. “Let me have some privacy with my son.”
“Yes, Commander,” both officers said smartly, snapping to attention and quickly leaving the room.
“Close the door Rafe,” Grentz said.
“Father, did you hear about the Graypees?”
“Close the door,” Grentz said, his voice low but forceful.
Rafe looked confused for a moment and then turned and closed the door.
“Yes, I heard what happened on the wall,” Grentz said. “You’re lucky to be alive. Are you hurt?”
“Not at all,” Rafe said happily. “Nothing could hurt me today.”
“Don’t say that,” Grentz replied. “Never say that.”
“It’s true father. I killed a Graypee on the far side of the wall. It was terrifying and thrilling at the same time.”
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