by Chuck Black
Up ahead was a crowd of people buying produce at an open market. Quinlan dodged quickly between the people, trying desperately to put some distance between himself and his pursuer. He looked over his shoulder again and could see that the man was frustrated by the crowd and the need to be somewhat discreet.
Quinlan ducked into a shoemaker’s shop and found a full shelf of shoes to hide behind. He peered through the shoes toward the street and watched as the Shadow Warrior passed by, continuing his search farther down the street.
Quinlan pulled the crystal coin from his pocket and looked at it once more. “Where did Baylor get you?” he murmured.
“Wanting a fine pair of shoes?” a voice behind him asked.
“Just looking today.” Quinlan told the shoemaker. He walked to the door and stepped out carefully, looking in the direction he’d seen the Shadow Warrior travel. Turning back toward the inn, he found himself face to face with the man who had been sitting across from the Shadow Warrior.
“I think my associate wants to speak with you.” The man leered and tilted his head to the side as if to look over Quinlan’s shoulder. Quinlan turned his head and saw the Shadow Warrior standing just behind him. A large hand gripped his shoulder, and he felt the tip of a dagger at his back. “Come with me,” the dark voice said close to his ear.
Quinlan wanted to call for help, but even in this crowd of people he knew there was no one who could stand against a Shadow Warrior. Why would they even try? No one here knew Quinlan.
The warrior pushed Quinlan down the street and into a deserted alley, never relinquishing his grip. With every step, Quinlan fully expected the dagger to make its plunge into his back. He had to try something, even if it was a pointless and desperate action. With the next step, he twisted his body and fell away from the dagger while reaching for his sword. With a quick somersault, he recovered to one knee and held his sword before him.
Quinlan was pleased the move had worked but fully expected the Shadow Warrior’s blade to plummet toward his head. What he saw instead was the warrior just standing before him in silence. Quinlan pushed to his feet as the warrior sheathed the dagger and then lifted the hood from his head and let it fall to his back.
Quinlan gaped at what he saw. The warrior’s face was grotesquely scarred, as was a large section of his skull on the left side where no hair grew.
“Give me the kasilite medallion.” The warrior’s voice was deep and dark.
Another voice spoke. “Can I have his money and sword?” Quinlan glanced to the side and saw the other man from the inn.
“Shut up, Victor!” The warrior scolded, then held out his hand. “The medallion.”
Quinlan gripped his sword tightly. “I don’t know what you mean.”
The warrior slowly lifted the left portion of his cloak back over his shoulder and drew his sword. “I can either kill you and take it, or you can give it to me and I may not kill you. Either way, I will have it.”
Quinlan gulped but held fast to the sword, sending up a silent plea for help. Somewhere inside he found the courage to speak the words that he had been taught would summon Silent Warriors to his aid: “The King reigns … and His Son!”
The warrior cringed at the words and glanced from side to side, then sneered and raised his sword.
“Looks like you will die alone.” He pulled back to strike but hesitated. Quinlan heard hoofbeats coming up the alley behind him. Had the Silent Warriors heard him? He wanted to look but dared not take his eyes from the warrior in front of him.
“Ah, Gravicus, what have you found here?”
Quinlan took a couple of steps back from the scarred warrior and turned to see who had come to his aid. Two large warriors dismounted and strode toward them. Quinlan’s relief turned to confusion as the scarred warrior replied, “Go away, Yin, and leave him to me. There’s nothing here for you.”
“What’s he after, Victor?” the warrior named Yin asked the man behind Gravicus. Victor’s nervous mannerisms had returned. He looked anxiously at the two newcomers and slowly retreated backward up the alley.
“Victor, we know where to find you.” Yin said. “What is Gravicus after?”
“Tell them, and you’re a dead man,” Gravicus growled.
Yin drew his sword. “Victor, I can be so much more painful.”
“The kasilite medallion,” the nervous man blurted, then turned and bolted up the alley.
Quinlan was becoming aware that his peril was far from over. He stood between one Shadow Warrior and two other warriors who seemed just as dark, though he wasn’t yet sure.
“The kasilite medallion?” the warrior said with delight. At that, his accomplice drew his sword. “That would certainly give us an advantage, now wouldn’t it?”
“I found it, and I will take it to Lucius,” said Gravicus. “It will restore me to his service!”
The other warrior laughed. “Nothing will restore you, Gravicus. You have failed him too many times. Now look at you, scuttling about with worthless scum like Victor. You are desperate, aren’t you?”
Quinlan now realized fully what was happening. The crystal coin was precious indeed, apparently as much to the Shadow Warriors as to anyone else. It was a window into the world of warriors—a tool to expose the secrecy of those dark foes who came from the Kingdom Across the Sea after the rebellion against the King. He considered throwing the crystal coin, or medallion, and making a run for it, but the Shadow Warrior named Yin had said it would give them an advantage.
Could it also identify Silent Warriors? Quinlan wondered. If so, giving up the medallion would be a cowardly and costly action, another event to regret forever. But how could he avoid giving it? He was trapped.
Quinlan glanced from left to right, trying to keep out of sword’s reach of all three warriors. The situation seemed hopeless. He readied his sword and slowly backed up toward one side of the alley, where the brick wall of a candle maker’s shop offered at least one angle of protection.
“How about this?” Yin offered. “Whoever kills him first gets the medallion.”
Both warriors looked at Quinlan with bloodlust in their eyes.
“I have a better idea,” a deep voice boomed from across the alleyway.
A narrow passageway between two shops had given access to another warrior. Everyone’s attention turned to the newcomer. The tall, muscular figure stood with his hands at his sides, poised and ready for action. Two swords were suspended across his back, crisscrossed so that the hilts were easily accessible.
“Why don’t you”—the new warrior pointed to Gravicus—“and you”—he pointed to Yin and his accomplice—“slowly back away from him, and you may live to fight another day … or you can die now.”
“You!” Yin spewed. He and his accomplice abandoned their advance on Quinlan and rushed upon the newcomer.
In an instant the warrior had drawn both swords and engaged both Shadow Warriors in a blur of steel. Quinlan had never seen anything like it before. The warrior’s mastery was incomprehensible, but Quinlan quickly realized he had a fight of his own. Gravicus had used the distraction of the newcomer’s fight with Yin and his companion to attack Quinlan, obviously hoping to win the kasilite medallion for himself. Within three ferocious strokes he had pinned Quinlan up against the brick wall and was recoiling for a final thrust.
“Fight for the Prince, not for yourself!” the newcomer yelled as he parried a thrust and brought a powerful cut across Yin’s left shoulder.
Quinlan found strength and hope in his words, for he now realized he was fighting alongside one of the King’s own Silent Warriors.
The tip of Gravicus’s blade plunged toward his abdomen. Quinlan brought his sword down and across to deflect it at the final moment, and the blade only grazed Quinlan’s right thigh. Quinlan’s quick backward diagonal cut up sliced across the Shadow Warrior’s face, adding one more mark to his plethora of scars. The warrior screamed and pulled back. Fury raged in his eyes as he covered the gash with his left hand.
Quinl
an heard another yell as he watched the Silent Warrior withdraw his blade from the chest of Yin’s accomplice. The warrior collapsed, and Yin lost heart for the fight. He slowly backed away from his double-bladed opponent and reached for the reins of his horse. When Gravicus saw he would have to face Quinlan and the Silent Warrior alone, he too backed away to a safe distance before turning to run. Yin mounted, rode to the end of the alleyway, and disappeared.
Quinlan leaned against the brick wall, gasping for breath. The Silent Warrior took a moment to scan all directions, then swirled his swords and sheathed both into their scabbards at the same time.
He walked toward Quinlan with large, powerful steps. He was a chiseled weapon of war, and Quinlan imagined he was one of the best. Dark brown hair hung to his neck and framed a clean, handsome face with unnaturally pale gray eyes that compelled Quinlan to look at them.
The warrior glanced down at Quinlan’s bleeding thigh, then held out his hand. “Give me the medallion,” he commanded.
Quinlan reached into his doublet pocket and withdrew the medallion. He lifted the clear crystal to his eyes and looked through it at the Silent Warrior. Brilliant violet light emanated from the warrior as if his skin were a brightly lit lantern.
Quinlan slowly put the piece over the warrior’s hand to drop it there, but stopped. He looked at the medallion and the broad muscular hand that waited for it, and he pulled back his hand without releasing the crystal coin.
He looked up at the warrior without lifting his head. “How do I know you serve the King?”
The warrior glared at Quinlan as if he might tear him apart and take it anyway. “I fought to save you. Isn’t that enough?”
“Those three Shadow Warriors would have done the same if it would get them the medallion.”
The warrior took in a great breath, as if willing himself to be patient. “What color did you just see?”
“Violet.”
“And when you saw the Shadow Warrior?”
“Green.”
“There’s your proof,” the warrior said. “Now give it to me.”
Quinlan still hesitated. The warrior drew himself to full height and crossed his arms across his chest.
“If the medallion falls into the hands of Lucius, his ability to thwart our missions would increase greatly. It would give our enemy a great tactical advantage in this war. Therefore it must be carried by someone who has the skills to protect it.”
Quinlan fingered the medallion and ran his thumb over the center crystal. He looked squarely up into the warrior’s eyes.
“Can you train me so that I might one day carry it?” he asked.
“No,” the warrior replied bluntly.
Quinlan lowered his gaze to the ground.
“I cannot train someone who insists on wallowing in self-pity,” the warrior added.
Those words of truth hit Quinlan like a hammer. He realized his pain over the loss of Baylor had indeed moved beyond grief and into self-pity. It was why he stayed so long in Burkfield and why he was now rambling through the kingdom without purpose. He looked back into the gray eyes that had seen a hundred battles.
“Forgive me.”
“That is not something I have the power to do,” the Silent Warrior said. “Only the Prince can do that.”
Quinlan slowly nodded.
“When you are ready, I may come for you.” The warrior turned and began to walk away.
Hopelessness pressed in on Quinlan as he watched the warrior go. Part of him wanted to disappear once more into anonymity, but something told him that if he let this moment go, he would forever be a prisoner of his unfulfilled life. He would never escape from being Twitch.
“I am ready now.” He took two steps to follow the warrior. “Train me … please.”
The warrior stopped and looked over his shoulder.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“Perhaps. But I can’t live like this, denying what I know to live in a kingdom that’s destroying itself. I think I would rather die.”
The warrior turned. The ferocity of his countenance diminished, though his eyes still burned.
“And die you may,” he said softly. “The training I begin is impossible to stop. If you follow me, there is no turning back.”
Quinlan considered his words, realizing that Silent Warriors did not have the luxury of exaggeration. He lifted his head, set his shoulders straight, and met the warrior’s gaze.
Without a word exchanged, the warrior accepted Quinlan’s vow.
“So shall it be. Follow me.”
“What is your name, sir?” Quinlan asked as they made their way to the end of the alley.
“My name is Taras.”
So this was Baylor’s contact. Was his appearance a coincidence? Quinlan followed Taras through the back ways of the city until they reached the countryside.
“But what of my horse and pack?” Quinlan asked.
“They will be recovered. Your steed will be trained as well.” Taras picked up the pace. “We will travel on foot to our destination.”
“It’s not far then?” Quinlan asked.
Taras shook his head. “Chesney Isle lies due west of the Wasteland.”
Quinlan stopped in his tracks. The warrior neither stopped nor slowed to wait for him. Quinlan shook himself and sprinted until he was once again traveling beside Taras.
“That’s a two-week ride … with a horse!” Quinlan said, breathing hard.
“Mastery of any skill is not to be hurried,” Taras replied. “And you have many skills to master. I will take you as far as the Tara Hills. You must make the rest of the journey on your own.”
“I have no pack or supplies, only my sword and dagger. How will I—”
“The training begins now, with what you have—nothing more,” Taras said a little sharply.
Quinlan had no answer to that. He tried to settle into a rhythm to keep up, but just staying close to Taras required every bit of energy he had. After an hour, Taras stopped to give Quinlan a chance to catch his breath. Quinlan found a tree to lean against.
“How does …,” Quinlan asked between gasps, “the kasilite … crystal work?”
Taras seemed hesitant to answer at first. “All of the King’s warriors, including the Shadow Warriors before the rebellion, partook of the Life Spice in the Kingdom Across the Sea for many years. Kasilite is an extremely rare crystal that grows only along the shores of the crystal sea near the King’s palace. It allows one to see the radiation of the Life Spice emanating from the bodies of those who have ingested it. Shadow Warriors have been without the Life Spice for so long that it is fading within them, causing the light to shift from violet to green and eventually to black.”
“Are there other kasilite medallions?” Quinlan asked.
“Not that I’m aware of,” Taras replied. “The one you have is unique, crafted by the Prince himself specifically for the Swords of Valor. We thought the Shadow Warriors had taken it from Sir Baylor. It is a great relief to know Lucius does not have it.”
Quinlan now understood why Baylor had been so intent on making sure the crystal didn’t fall into Shadow Warrior hands. He reached for the medallion and gazed at it, at last fully appreciating the beauty and the power that it represented.
He held it out for Taras to take. “It was meant for the commander of the Swords of Valor … not for me.”
Taras reached out and took it from him. “Lesson one—know who you are.”
Quinlan took another deep breath and felt like he was almost ready to move on. “What’s lesson two?”
Taras looked at him. “Know who you want to become.”
BECOMING
Quinlan traveled with Taras for many days. They skirted the Vale of the Dragons and crossed the western edge of the Banteen Desert into the region of Nyland. They crossed the western portion of the Red Canyon where its river spills into the Great Sea, then traveled north across the great plains until they reached the foothills of the Tara Hills mou
ntain range.
Throughout the long journey, Taras was careful to avoid all contact with civilization. Quinlan had been raised to hunt and fish, so living off the land was easy for him, but Taras was teaching much more than mere survival. He began instructing Quinlan in the ways of the Silent Warriors, honed over many centuries—how to hide, discover, attack, and disappear, and how to strengthen the body by tearing it down, then building it back up.
In the first two weeks, Quinlan wondered if he could physically endure the grueling regimen Taras set for him, but he did not complain. He forced himself to rise each day despite the screaming protests of his mind and muscles. At night, Taras taught him the lessons of weaponry—especially of the sword—and Quinlan was awestruck by his tutor’s mastery.
By the fourth week, Quinlan had begun to feel the benefits of the extreme physical conditioning, and his skill with the sword had improved drastically. Then Taras took him to the next level and pushed him further. Quinlan focused on the fruit of his earlier pain to find the encouragement to keep going. His body grew stronger every day, and though his physique would never match that of Drake or Kessler, Quinlan reveled in his new sense of mastery.
One early morning after six weeks of travel and training, Quinlan stood on a knoll beside Taras, gazing up at the western face of the majestic Tara Hills. This close to the massive towers of rock, soil, and trees, they would not see the sun for several hours.
Taras scrutinized the mountain range and seemed deep in thought.
“What is it, Taras?” Quinlan asked. “What is on your mind?”
In spite of spending every moment of the last six weeks with this Silent Warrior, Quinlan could not say that he knew Taras well. The warrior was guarded in his ways and not given to explanation.
Taras dropped his gaze from the mountains. “Now your training begins.”
Quinlan smiled, but Taras did not.
“Begins?” Quinlan asked.
“Yes. These past weeks you have been transitioning into the world of warriors. Without the preparatory conditioning and training you would die within the first day of living here. Now you are ready to learn. If you survive your time in these hills and are able to reenter the world of men, you will know how to help them as a knight and as a warrior.”