Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor

by Chuck Black

  Quinlan put his hand on the animal’s flank and felt its chest rise and fall with each breath. Then it reached back with one trunk and gently touched his shoulder.

  “You’re not such a horrible monster after all, are you?” Quinlan said, and the animal gently cried out in agreement. He stroked it a couple of times, then went to where the stone fragment had pinned its legs to see if there was anything he could do to help. He felt beneath the animal’s pinned leg and realized why it had been unable to free itself. About six feet below the surface of the surrounding sand was a solid rock floor. As the penthomoth had dug, the stone fragment had apparently settled deeper and deeper, pinning him firmly between the rock fragment and the stone floor.

  Quinlan was at a loss as to what to do. The rock was simply too large to move, and the solid stone beneath made digging deeper impossible.

  He went back to the head of the penthomoth. “You’re in quite a fix, big fella.” He stroked the animal again, and it just looked at him sadly out of the corner of its eyes. Quinlan opened his water bottle and poured a little water into the mouth of the exhausted animal. It lifted its head and lapped up the precious liquid, then moaned and settled back down.

  Quinlan pondered what to do. He couldn’t stay here, but leaving the animal to die of hunger or exposure was unthinkable.

  “I’m sorry, big fella.” Quinlan took out his dagger and set the blade against the penthomoth’s throat. The animal seemed to know what was about to happen, but it stayed perfectly still. Quinlan had hunted animals of this size many times before, often ending their lives in just this way when an arrow had not fully done its job. He put a firm hand on the animal’s cheek, took a deep breath, and readied himself … but for some reason he couldn’t follow through.

  Shaking his head, he returned the knife to its sheath. “Sorry, fella. I guess I’m not much help to you.” The center trunk lifted up and rested across his chest as if to say, “It’s all right.”

  Quinlan climbed out of the sand valley and retraced his steps. As he picked his way through the vegetation at the top of the fallen tower, an idea began forming in his mind.

  He searched among the uprooted trees until he found one about fifteen feet long and as thick as his arm. Using his sword as an ax, he chopped off the flimsy upper portion, then cut away the branches until he had created a sturdy ten-foot pole. He carried it back to where the penthomoth lay and slid back down into the sand valley. After digging down far enough to stand on the stone floor, Quinlan wedged one end of the pole into a small space between the rock and the stone floor next to the penthomoth’s leg. He pushed the pole through a short way and lifted the lever upward. It took all his might and multiple tries, but finally the large rock fragment lifted ever so slightly.

  The penthomoth must have felt the ease in pressure, for it yanked its leg out, then screamed and glared at Quinlan. Quinlan quickly dropped the pole, realizing that being trapped in a sand pit with a hungry, injured wild beast was a precarious situation. He slowly backed away, but the penthomoth came after him, wrapping its trunks around him before he could draw his sword. Quinlan struggled, but the trunks were too strong as they pulled him toward its gaping mouth.

  At the last moment, a long tongue came out and slurped across Quinlan’s face. It felt disgusting, but it was far from deadly. Quinlan started to laugh as the penthomoth finally released him.

  “Who’s going to believe this story?” he said as he stroked the beast a few times.

  The penthomoth made a sound similar to its scream, only softer. It turned and started licking its injured leg.

  “Take care of yourself, big fella.” Quinlan turned and climbed out of the sand valley. The penthomoth tried to climb out after him, but the injured leg hindered its efforts. Quinlan reached down a hand, and two of the trunks wrapped around his forearm. He dug in his heels, and though he slid and sank in the sand, the extra leverage was enough to help the animal out of the valley. It limped a few paces and lay down.

  Quinlan dug his way back out of the sand and walked over to the penthomoth, which lay quietly as Quinlan gently lifted its leg. As far as he could tell, the bone was not broken, though the hide had been scraped and cut and the muscle seemed torn. The injury looked very painful.

  Quinlan shook his head, upset with himself that he had ever come to find out what the ruckus was all about. He needed to be on his way, but he also felt obligated to help this animal, which had attached itself to him in a strange way.

  “Well,” he finally said, “if I’m going to help you, you must have a name. What will it be?”

  The penthomoth looked at him with expressive gold eyes, then took to licking its wound again.

  “I think your name will be Kalil. It means ‘friend.’ ” The penthomoth trumpeted approval, and Quinlan laughed.

  Quinlan drank from his water bottle, then offered another drink to Kalil. He collected some leaves and berries from the shrubs that had fallen with the stone tower and offered them to Kalil, who devoured them immediately. Later Quinlan killed a couple of brown snakes, and Kalil ate them too.

  “Is there anything you won’t eat?” he asked his strange new friend. “Besides me, that is?” In response, Kalil stroked him with his trunks, something Quinlan was slowly getting used to. The animal actually seemed to be an affectionate and intelligent creature.

  Quinlan stayed with Kalil the rest of the day except for when he made a trip to the river a short distance north of them to fill his water bottle. Kalil was sleeping when he returned, and Quinlan was reminded that the animal was not only exhausted but also nocturnal, accustomed to sleeping during the day. Quinlan considered moving on while it slept, but it was already too late to make the sea today, and he wasn’t sure Kalil could survive on his own. So he spent the rest of the day hunting for food, then lay down beside Kalil to sleep.

  The peace of the evening did not last long. Quinlan felt the sand beneath him shift and move, so he jumped up. He dove a few feet to another place in the sand, but that moved too. No matter where he went, the sand seemed to shift all around him. Then trunks just like Kalil’s began to rise up out of the sand.

  “Kalil!” he shouted to his penthomoth friend, but the animal seemed comatose.

  Two penthomoths simultaneously rose up out of the sand, surrounding Quinlan. They growled and bared their teeth in a way he had never heard nor seen Kalil do. In this state, the animals were terrifying. Sinuous trunks moved slowly as if looking for the perfect place to grasp their victim. Muscles rippled in anticipation of the attack. The penthomoths crouched low, preparing to pounce.

  Quinlan reached over and jostled Kalil just as one of the penthomoths lunged for him and grabbed his legs. Another grabbed his arms, and he thought he was about to be torn in half.

  Just then an ear-piercing trumpet blasted, and the penthomoths hesitated. Kalil limped toward Quinlan, growling—but not at him. The penthomoth holding his arms released him just as Kalil wrapped his trunks around his torso. Kalil trumpeted again, and the other penthomoth released his legs. Kalil gently set Quinlan down and turned to face the other animals. After a volley of snarls and growls, they fled to seek easier prey.

  When it was all over, Quinlan breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you, friend,” he said when Kalil returned and nuzzled him.

  Quinlan continued to feed Kalil over the next few days until the animal was able to start using his leg again.

  When Quinlan traveled toward the river and on to the sea, the penthomoth stayed with him.

  Quinlan waited by the sea near the river’s broad mouth for three days, keeping an eye on Chesney Isle a fair distance offshore. While he waited, Kalil grew stronger and was soon hunting and foraging on his own. Quinlan was now certain the animal would survive back in its habitat—a relief because he knew he couldn’t take Kalil on the next leg of his journey.

  On the morning of the fourth day, Quinlan finally spotted a small boat coming from the island. Quinlan saw violet light through the crystal coin and knew the boat
was for him.

  Two Silent Warriors pulled the boat within a few feet of the shore and motioned for Quinlan just as Kalil, who had been foraging in the brush along the river, came trumpeting from the trees.

  “Hurry—get in!” One of the Silent Warriors drew his sword. “These creatures can’t swim.”

  “It’s all right. He’s a friend.” Quinlan walked toward the romping penthomoth, who bounded closer, then leaped into the air.

  “Watch out!” the Silent Warrior yelled, but Kalil landed just in front of Quinlan and ducked low before him, crying in sad tones.

  Quinlan stroked Kalil, and the animal wrapped his trunks around him. Quinlan pointed inland. “Kalil, you can’t come with me. You must return to the dunes.”

  Kalil slowly released him, fell to the ground, and rolled over for Quinlan to stroke his chest. Quinlan obliged, then stood up. “I’ve got to go, Kalil. Go home!”

  Quinlan started wading toward the boat. Kalil turned back on his feet and tried to follow. He trumpeted sadly and splashed in the water as Quinlan climbed into the boat. As the warriors began to row, Kalil actually plunged into the sea and began to paddle toward them.

  “Remarkable,” one of the warriors said.

  When Kalil realized he could not catch them, he turned back to shore, shook himself, and trumpeted a woeful cry.

  Quinlan felt a little woeful himself. He was surprised how quickly Kalil had become attached to him … and he to Kalil.

  A WARRIOR’S WORLD

  The Silent Warriors didn’t row straight to Chesney Isle. They traveled around the northern tip of the island and into a small harbor. Quinlan was surprised to see a gallant three-masted ship waiting there, with sails ready to be set for sea. So Chesney never was the destination, he thought. Anticipation mixed with anxiety as he wondered where his journey would take him next.

  Once aboard the ship, Quinlan briefed the captain on what he had learned from spying on the Shadow Warrior tent back in the Tara Hills. His information was received with the utmost attention, and he was asked to write out a full report of the conversation and his observations on parchment.

  Four slightly seasick days later, Quinlan disembarked at a long dock leading to yet another island. His footsteps echoed on the planks as he followed his guides along the dock and down a path leading to the island’s heart. There Quinlan discovered an entire garrison of Silent Warriors and a training camp the likes of which he had never seen. The camp took up nearly half of the large island. There were fighting arenas, obstacle courses, simulated shops and streets, cliffs, and some places he could not name. He was as deep into the secret world of warriors as he could possibly be.

  Quinlan was amazed at how simply saying yes to the Prince one evening on Mount Resolute had dramatically changed his life. He thought of Burkfield, where Tav still lived in comfortable ignorance, and was thankful to be free from the mundane walk many Knights of the Prince chose.

  Quinlan was brought before a large fellow who looked like he could wrestle a full-grown penthomoth and win. He suspected the warrior’s bronzed skin revealed untold hours of outdoor training at this secret camp in uncharted Great Sea waters.

  “I’m Rafe,” the warrior said tersely. “Taras said you might be coming, although I expected you earlier.”

  “I had a bit of a delay in the Dunes of Mynar,” Quinlan replied.

  “Yes, we saw you enter, and usually a delay there means a person doesn’t come out. You’re fortunate.” Rafe scrutinized Quinlan. “I will oversee your training. You should know that failure to master one aspect of training is failure to master all, and you cannot leave until you master all. The easy preliminary training Taras began I will perfect and complete. In the end, the warrior-spirit test will determine if you are worthy. If you can’t accept this, you must leave immediately.” Rafe squinted at Quinlan. “Choose now.”

  Quinlan did not hesitate. “I traveled from one end of the kingdom to the other to come to this point,” he said. “I’ll not walk away now.”

  “Perhaps.” Rafe turned on his heel. “But you may wish you had. Follow me.”

  Rafe took Quinlan deeper into the camp, to a place where four warriors stood waiting.

  “Gentlemen, this is Sir Quinlan, a recruit from Taras.”

  The veteran warriors all turned and eyed Quinlan. He felt small and insignificant in their presence and almost questioned his resolve, but the momentum of his earlier actions propelled him onward.

  “This is Tarick. He’ll be instructing you on weapons.” The warrior nodded, and Quinlan responded likewise.

  “Zeke is hand combat,” Rafe continued. “Kird is reconnaissance and evasion. Moui is Shadow Warrior tactics, and I’ll be instructing tactical and strategic maneuvers. Training begins at daybreak. You’ll spend three hours with each instructor each day, with meals after every other session.”

  Rafe crossed his arms and glared at Quinlan. “Any questions?”

  “No sir,” Quinlan replied.

  “Very well. We have time for one session today yet. Zeke, you take it.”

  “Yes sir.” The warrior motioned for Quinlan to follow him.

  That evening after Quinlan had eaten, he lay down exhausted, wondering how he would survive five training sessions each day. The hand combat session had reduced him to a sore bag of bones and bruised muscles.

  Rafe was right. Quinlan’s training with Taras had been simple and easy by comparison.

  The days that followed seemed like weeks, and the weeks seemed like days. Quinlan knew he was improving, but he had no idea what standards Rafe was measuring him by.

  Quinlan learned the art of the sword and became a master. Tarick also taught him daggers and knives, multiple polearms and axes, and a sundry of blunt weapons. From Zeke, he learned hand combat, both with and without daggers. He recognized that Lilam had used a style similar to one of the three Zeke was teaching him. Zeke’s training was the most intense and exhausting, for it required great physical stamina and strength and therefore emphasized physical conditioning.

  Reconnaissance and evasion, on the other hand, was more of a mental challenge, and Kird took this training to a whole new level, schooling him extensively in Shadow Warrior tactics and how to counter them. Quinlan discovered he had a mind and a body for this kind of work, and the sessions with Kird quickly became his favorites—along with Rafe’s sessions in tactics and strategy. Though the physical training was a critical part of the process, Quinlan came to believe that the mental prowess of a warrior was his best weapon—and defense.

  The training continued through the rest of the summer and into the fall, and it didn’t stop for the mild island winter. After nine months in the warrior camp, Quinlan had learned much—though compared to his instructors, he felt he was still just beginning. One spring afternoon near the end of his training, Quinlan was heading for the meal tent when he spotted a familiar face.

  “Taras! It is good to see you,” Quinlan said with a broad smile. “It’s been such a long time.”

  Taras smiled. “It is good to see you too, Sir Quinlan. Rafe tells me your training is going well.”

  “Really?” Quinlan asked, genuinely curious. “I really wouldn’t know. I just try to do my best each day and hope that I’m improving.”

  Taras nodded. “It’s our way.” Quinlan laughed and nodded his agreement.

  “It was my intention to be one of your instructors,” Taras told him. “But after our discovery at the Tara Hills—and especially after the courier delivered your report to headquarters—I was called away on a mission. By the way, your discovery at the Shadow Warrior camp was … significant, to say the least.”

  “Thank you,” Quinlan replied.

  “But as of now, I will be overseeing the remainder of your training.”

  “I look forward to it,” Quinlan said, not sure if life was going to get easier or harder.

  “As a matter of fact, I have a training exercise for you right now.” Taras motioned for Quinlan to follow.

/>   “I … ah … the meal—” Quinlan stammered. His stomach was howling in hunger.

  “The best training happens when you simulate real conditions.” Taras spoke over his shoulder. “Do you think you’ll always have a night’s rest and food in your stomach before each mission?”

  Definitely harder, Quinlan told himself as he hurried to catch up to Taras.

  They walked to the outskirts of the training camp, where Taras pointed toward the uninhabited half of the island. Quinlan had never been there, but he knew it covered many miles.

  “I have a warrior somewhere out there.” Taras’s voice had transformed from friend to detached instructor. “I want you to find him, do reconnaissance, and report back to me.”

  Quinlan stared at the tangle of foliage before him, then looked up at Taras. “There are only three hours of light left.”

  “It might take you three hours; it might take you a month. When you’ve found him and reconned, report back.” Taras turned and walked away, but stopped. “By the way, he’s one of our best, so be careful.”

  Quinlan steeled himself, then plunged into the underbrush. He wanted to cover as much ground as possible while the light was still available.

  After about an hour of traveling, he realized that all his training was paying off. His movements were natural and his methods instinctual. With every foot of ground he covered, his eyes scanned effortlessly for signs of a prior passerby.

  After the second hour, he climbed a hill and charted his progress, mapping out a mental grid of the remaining island based on how far he had already come. He shook his head over the task before him. It seemed nearly impossible, given the area he needed to cover.

  Quinlan finally made the mental leap to the reality that he would need to search for days. His first priority was a source of water, then food. The island had enough edible vegetation to allow him to stay on mission without having to hunt. Surviving on grasses and berries wasn’t a pleasant prospect, but the quicker he could find his target, the quicker he would be back to solid meals.