Warrior Baptism Chapter 1

by Jonathan Techlin

  He couldn’t bring himself near to it, so intense was the heat. His armor protected his body, but his face was still exposed. He knelt down and faced away, using his left hand to put the blade of his sword into the fire. He put the tip against Battle Hymn then shoved her off, hearing the metal clank against the floor on the other side.

  By now the heat and smoke were suffocating. He could hardly breathe. He could hardly see. He had to hold his gloved hand over his face and mouth to get any semblance of fresh air into his lungs. The conditions were worse higher up, so Theel tried to stay closer to the ground, crouching as he managed his way around the bar. There, he expected to find Battle Hymn lying on the floor. But he also found a man in the final stages of burning to death.

  It was Raveling Kile, the Royal Witchfinder.

  He was a human torch, completely engulfed in flames, rolling on the floor and screaming in agony. Theel could have waited and watched, and allowed the fire to do its work, but he chose not to. Instead, he looked at the casks Guarn had behind the bar, chose the largest one, and smashed the spigot with his sword.

  Brown liquid burst out by the gallon, drenching the Witchfinder’s body. It was cider, and wasn’t potent enough to add to the flames. Instead, it fought them. Raveling continued shrieking and rolling around, and the flames fought on for a while, but there was too much cider pouring out onto everything. After a few moments of this, the flames were completely doused and Theel was crouching over a heap of smoking flesh.

  Raveling no longer smelled of lilac.

  The Royal Witchfinder was badly burned, but he was still recognizable by the gilded breastplate he wore, bearing a silver lily. Now that the fire was out, Raveling seemed to lose the ability to move. He lay on his back, rasping, two bloodshot eyes staring out of the slab of burnt meat that used to be his face. His skin was bubbled and blistered. He was mostly hairless, and his clothes were burned off. Even though Theel had managed to save him from the flames, the damage was done. Raveling wouldn’t live for long.

  Theel saw Raveling’s eyes focus on him, registering a faint glint of hope.

  “No, Raveling. I am not going to carry you out of here,” Theel shouted over the roar of the flames. “I’m not going to help you at all. I won’t even kill you out of mercy. You see, I’m going to let you burn. And this is why.”

  He thrust his glove in the Witchfinder’s face, showing him the intricate embroidery on the back.

  “That is the King’s Cross, you vermin!” Theel yelled. “That means I do not serve the Church of Aeo. In fact, I hate the Church of Aeo. And I hate you!”

  Then Theel pulled his glove off, revealing a tattoo on the back of his left hand.

  “I know you recognize this tattoo,” Theel screamed into the nobleman’s face. “I am a squire of the King’s Cross, and this is the sigil of my masterknight. Yes, Raveling, I am the squire your men are searching for. I am the son of your most hated enemy. And I was sitting only feet away while you threatened my uncle. I am not in the Trader’s Cave. I am not running away from you. I am right here, watching you die!”

  He looked and saw Battle Hymn lying on the ground nearby. He was shocked to see the scabbard hadn’t burned off. In fact, it didn’t appear damaged at all. He reached out and touched it with his hand. It wasn’t even warm. Then he wrapped his fingers around Battle Hymn’s hilt. It felt cool to the touch. Theel couldn’t understand this, but didn’t have the time to wonder about it.

  He turned around, once again looking Raveling in the face.

  “It gives me no pleasure to see another man suffer,” he shouted. “But I am glad to know the Royal Witchfinder will never hurt anyone again. Die, Raveling Kile!”

  Theel crawled away from the dying nobleman, heading for the back exit. He could hear Raveling coughing and wheezing, unable to do anything to help himself. Then he heard more coughing, and saw someone lying on the floor. It was one of Guarn’s customers, the older man who was knocked unconscious by the Kile soldiers. This was the bar patron Theel had tripped over in his fight with Bestol. The old man was untouched by the flames, but they would reach him soon if he didn’t move.

  Theel crawled over, buckled Battle Hymn around his waist, then grabbed a fistful of the old man’s shirt, trying to drag him. He could no longer see anything. Black smoke hovered only a few feet above the floor. But he knew the general direction of the back door, so he stood up and threw the man over his shoulder. He knew speed was his only ally, so he covered his mouth, closed his eyes, and ran.

  He blindly smashed his shoulder against one of the barroom’s support beams, then tripped over a chair. But he managed not to fall, and kept the old man on his shoulder. Then he crashed into the back door and burst out into the alleyway, smoke streaming from his nose and mouth. He was finally out of that giant oven, but the heat was no less out in the alley, searing every inch of his exposed skin.

  He walked as far as he needed to make the heat bearable, then dropped to his knees and lay the man down. Then he turned and watched Three Mugs and a Bowl burn. It was a terrible sight. Everything his uncle owned was vanishing as he looked on.

  Each of the tavern’s windows glowed orange, spilling upside down waterfalls of black smoke. The fire had already made its way to the roof, sparks rising high, then raining down bits of smoking debris. Theel could hear bells ringing nearby in the Six Corners, raising the alarm, but even if people were able to muster with buckets of water, there was no saving the Three Mugs and a Bowl. It would take maximum effort just to keep the fire from spreading to the nearby buildings. Theel felt the urge to stay and help, but knew he couldn’t.

  “Nephew!”

  Theel looked and saw Uncle Guarn, standing near a mule cart. The cart appeared to contain some of his last possessions, casks and bottles mostly, but also some clothes. Theel saw his uncle holding more things, and expected to see him throw them into the cart, but realized his uncle was carrying a familiar-looking burlap sack.

  “Theel!” Guarn shouted, his wrinkled face frantic. “You have to go!”

  He looked fearfully up the alley, toward the sound of the ringing bells. He knew people would be flocking to the sound of those bells, gathering in crowds with buckets ready to fight the fire. There would be representatives of the Angel’s Spire among them, officers of the city guard, and perhaps even more Kile soldiers. They would be filling the alleyway very soon.

  “Quickly, nephew!” Guarn insisted.

  Theel carried the old man to the cart, laying him down among the casks. As soon as his hands were free, Guarn shoved the burlap sack into his chest.

  “Take this,” the old tavernkeep insisted. “Take this and go. Now!”

  “I can’t leave you like this,” Theel said.

  “You can’t stay!”

  Once again, Guarn shoved the burlap sack at his nephew.

  “Remember what I told you,” the old man said. “Use the map to find the boat. Follow the instructions carefully.”

  “What will you do?”

  “I’ll manage.” Guarn smiled, one eye appearing amused, the other wide and staring. “I always do.”

  Theel heard hoofbeats, followed by the whinny of a horse. He turned and saw Yenia riding toward him atop a white charger caparisoned in black, with a chanfron bearing the white lily of House Kile. It was a magnificent steed, the mount of a nobleman.

  “Get on!” Yenia yelled as she reined the horse to a stop.

  “You stole Raveling’s mount?” Theel asked as he climbed onto the horse’s back.

  “He won’t need it anymore,” Yenia explained.

  She turned the animal around so the siblings faced their uncle. They could see over Guarn’s shoulder, more Kile soldiers running into the alleyway. One of them looked at them and pointed, yelling.

  “Go!” Guarn shouted. “Now!”

  “Come with us,” Theel implored.

  “I can’t,” Guarn answered.

  “You must!”

  Theel held his hand out, but his uncle didn’t tak
e it.

  Instead, Guarn repeated himself. “I can’t.”

  Yenia kicked the horse into motion and the animal quickly accelerated to a full gallop. Theel looked back and saw his uncle watching them.

  “I’m sorry!” Theel yelled.

  Guarn said something, mouthing words Theel couldn’t hear. But he could see. And what he saw was his uncle standing in the alleyway, doing nothing to fight the fire or attempt to flee as the Kile soldiers converged on him. Uncle Guarn standing beside his burning tavern was among the saddest things Theel ever saw.

  It scarred his heart. And it would haunt him for the rest of his days.

  To be continued in

  Warrior Baptism

  Chapter 2

  Theel and his sister Yenia flee into the Trader’s Cave, but their troubles quickly follow. Violence and bloodshed ensue. Yenia sacrifices herself for her brother.

  A preview of Chapter 2…

  Fight!

  There were three of them traveling together, three small canoes full of men, paddling their way through the Trader’s Cave. The canoes were small, built for speed, not capacity, and carried no freight, nothing but their crews. Each vessel contained four men who plied their oars as fast as they could, behaving as if they were in a race for their lives. The three canoes did not travel single file, as boats commonly did in the Trader’s Cave. They moved down the river side by side, with torches mounted on bow and stern, combining firelight to illuminate as much of the cave as possible. They were searching for something. Or someone.

  Theel ducked down low within the shadows of the crates and looked back. Those men were traveling fast, four pairs of arms and four strong backs propelling each canoe. Their torchlight filled the cavern, illuminating the darkness, lighting the rock walls and rippling on the surface of the water. It also illuminated the black surcoats each man wore, as well as the symbols on their chests: the white lily, sigil of House Kile.

  “Soldiers!” Theel hissed. “They are Kile swords, and they are following us!”

  There was no doubt in Theel’s mind why these men were in the Trader’s Cave. The Kiles would not have sent so many to harass thieves and smugglers. Theel could see sword handles resting against the sides of their boats, spears on their backs, bows and quivers of arrows. These men were ready for a fight.

  There was nothing to do but paddle for his life and hope that he and Yenia might outrace them. For a moment, Theel wanted to laugh. This would be remembered as the most futile attempt at a knight’s quest in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. He would be the first squire ever to fail at achieving Warrior Baptism before even leaving the city.

  An arrow zipped by, a wide shot, but close enough to cause discomfort. That arrow meant there would be no peaceful resolution to this. The Kile men didn’t attempt to talk to him. They didn’t ask him or order him to stop his boat. Instead they spoke with violence, giving him treatment only a wanted killer could expect. It was now undeniable why those soldiers traveled on this river. They were in search of the murderer of Raveling Kile. And they now believed they’d found the man they were searching for.

  That was fine, Theel decided. If those men wanted a fight, they would get one. The chase was on.

  “Give me the torch, sister,” he said.

  Yenia pulled the torch from its mount on the bow of the boat. “Here, take it.”

  Theel stood up and immediately regretted it, almost falling over trying to stand in the wobbly boat.

  “What are you doing?” Yenia asked in alarm.

  “Just keep paddling,” Theel said, reaching over the crates to take the torch.

  With only Yenia’s paddle moving them forward, the boat slowed down, but Theel intended to slow the Kile soldiers even further. He found his father’s knife and used it to pry the lid off the topmost crate, finding folds of rich fabrics inside.

  Another arrow zipped by, reminding him to move fast. He pushed the flaming torch into the crate, igniting its contents, then picked it up and threw it into the water. The boat rocked crazily and he almost fell out, but he held on, and managed to get the next crate open. More cloth, and that too went up in flames. As he lifted the crate, an arrow thunked into its side, inches from his hand. It was close, but close wasn’t good enough. He ignored the arrow and threw the crate into the water.

  Soon the river behind them was filled with flaming boxes. They didn’t remain afloat for long, as they weren’t watertight. One by one, the boxes began to sink, but before they did, they slowed the canoes of the Kile soldiers and did much to help the siblings increase their lead. Theel threw the crates into the river, leaving only the one containing his possessions, then he extinguished his torch. When the Kile men made their way through the flaming obstacles left in their path, their fire-burned eyes were met with nothing but darkness.

  Theel sat down and again joined his sister in paddling. Now they were working together, moving a boat made lighter by its lack of cargo. There was no light but the torches of the soldiers behind them and a single beacon far ahead in the distance. The siblings could not see where they were going, but they paddled as if they could, working hard to propel themselves as fast as possible into a big, black unknown.

  There was no way Theel would be captured without a fight. He would row until his arms fell off. Then he would row some more, with his teeth if necessary.

  More arrows zinged by to splash in the water, aimless shots directed at an unseen target. The Kile men were desperate to catch their prey, so much so that they were loosing arrows blindly. The flaming crates slowed them somewhat, increasing the siblings’ lead and purchasing them some time, but not enough. The canoes of the soldiers moved faster than Guarn’s boat ever could. The Kile men would overcome them. It would happen sooner, or it would happen later, but it was inevitable.

  Theel was determined it would happen later—much later. Now he found himself grateful for the merciless fitness training he’d endured at the hands of his father. No one must outlast a squire, Theel was reminded daily, not in strength of will, nor in physical endurance. There was no shame in failure if all effort is spent, no shame in being bested or losing to another of greater skill. There is always someone smarter, stronger, faster, better. But there was great shame if that failure was a result of a lack of physical or mental conditioning. They might outwit you. They might outfight you. But they must never, ever, outlast you.

  Yenia grew up under the same philosophy, was subjected to the same rhetoric on a daily basis. Theel might have had more strength, but his little sister was tireless. The children of the famous knight complemented each other, making a magnificent team. In a contest of endurance, Theel would bet on himself and Yenia against any other tandem with no lack of confidence. It would be very hard to catch them if they didn’t want to be caught. And right now, they didn’t want to be caught.

  “Let us see how quickly the average Kile soldier grows tired, shall we?” Theel said loudly.

  “Yes, brother,” Yenia responded. “Let us see!”

  The sleek canoes of the soldiers cut the water with efficiency, gliding smoothly across the surface of the river. Guarn’s oddly-shaped boat glided nowhere and cut nothing, only pushed its way through the water with the elegance of a slug, exhausting the arms of its crew with every stroke of the paddle. The Kile men had better equipment and more men—twice as many in each vessel. So the siblings had to row twice as hard.

  The arrows stopped flying. With nothing but darkness in front of them and no visible targets, the archers dropped their bows and took up oars. Just as Theel expected, the Kile men gradually gained ground. The siblings were able to make up for much of their boat’s inadequacy with supreme effort, but it was not quite enough.

  One flaming beacon glided by in the darkness, then a second, then a third. Theel looked back, and still the soldiers were there, paddling relentlessly. They traveled miles, passed three more beacons, and still the soldiers were there, closer this time.

  Theel hoped they could stay ahead of the
ir pursuers long enough to reach the famous island of stone called Candle Rock. It was a place where the Trader’s Cave split into two branches, two separate caves, with the Candle Rock sitting in the middle. The way to the left, the eastern route, was a safe and slow descent upon calm waters to the Toden River Valley. The way to the right, the western route, was an unsafe, terrifying descent down twisting rapids and eventually, a waterfall. It was unlit, it was in pure darkness, and it was suicide.

  Candle Rock was also the home of the hermit Two Times, a person rarely seen, but whose presence was made known by the hundreds of candles he lit and placed upon the rock between the two caves. The tiny flames of these candles combined to make a beacon to travelers on the river, a crude underground lighthouse to direct them safely down the eastern passage and away from the waterfall.

  Theel decided Candle Rock might be a good place for this chase to reach its conclusion. If a fight must occur, he’d rather it happened on dry ground, within the light of the candles. There were too many Kile men for him to face in the best of conditions, but if he and Yenia worked together and fought smartly, they’d have a chance. And with any luck, perhaps one or two of their pursuers, or even an entire canoe filled with them, could be sent down the wrong passage toward the waterfall.

  Another beacon glided by. Theel looked back and saw the soldiers still there, now so close he could see the determined looks on their faces, even the sweat glistening on their foreheads. By the time they reached the next beacon, the current of the river had picked up, giving aid to the forward momentum of all boats, but also giving Theel hope they were finally descending toward Candle Rock. Then he looked back and his heart sank. The soldiers were now only feet behind. They would never make it.

  The light of the beacon briefly made the siblings visible and their pursuers took advantage. One of the men in the lead canoe knelt on the prow, swinging a small anchor at the end of a rope. Another threw a torch, which landed in the center of Theel’s boat behind Yenia, threatening to burn her.