John was just barely hanging on. Compared to an ordinary man his talents would be exceptional but the Roh’Darharim’s standards were much higher. He excelled in the more scholarly aspects. He could recite heraldic symbols and court etiquette while writing treatises for the priests of Beshra. He proved again and again that he was the smartest of the four but that was where his expertise ended. He could survive in the wilderness but had a tough time following tracks that were only a few days old. John worked every day at sparring but seemed to take the first hour to grasp concepts he had mastered the day before. His failures began to take their toll on his spirits and his temper was on a short leash.
Arlif struggled in more personal ways. He had gotten over the stigma he had against Lawt and went out of his way to correct new trainees about the finer points of Lawt’s qualities, most of the time in a violent fashion. When Rovan had informed them that the White Charger was calling on Erik and Lawt, Arlif took it as a personal insult. He had spent most of the day away from the barracks.
In honor of the occasion they had all been given the day off. So much for John relaxing. He had not been seen since daybreak and his weapons were missing. He would not be cut for lack of effort.
Erik smiled as Lawt made another mad dash out of the barracks. The man had been running outside since breakfast. It was time for Erik to get prepared for his final trial.
Rovan walked into the room just as Erik clasped his belt around his waist. His stately, quiet pace told Erik he was not here for a routine inspection. Could he make this more torturous?
“Erik of Armeston, foal of Istan Tal’Griovahi, your sire has arrived to escort you to the White Charger.”
“Thank you, Herdmaster. I am ready to be presented,” Erik replied, following ceremony.
Erik followed Rovan out of the barracks. In the middle of the quad Istan stood waiting for him with an entire congregation of watchers lining the large square. Erik had joined in on these congregations before. There was not much too it from an observer’s perspective, a trainee walking out of the barracks towards their sire, then out of the quad. It was more the acknowledgment than the anticipation and watching a recruit fulfilling his journey was their show of respect.
“Erik of Armeston, regardless of what transpires this afternoon, you should know that I am proud of you,” Istan said. “You take the final trial of your journey into the Roh’Darharim. I will walk with you to show you the way but you must talk with the White Charger alone. Understand, you must do all that he asks of you.”
“Yes, sir.”
Erik followed Istan out of the square. They walked up the path that led past the giant stables and across the main training arenas. The small trail led them to the base of the mountain that overlooked most of the training grounds. Erik could see the stream of smoke drifting into the sky from the small secluded house on the mountain side.
“That is the Hall of the White Charger,” Istan said with a smile.
“That?” Erik did not mean for the shock he felt to come tumbling out of his mouth. “I thought the old man who lived there was a servant of the school. I have seen him walking around during wilderness training. He does not carry himself the way a great man like the White Charger should carry himself. Is this part of the test? See if I am still such a bumpkin that I will believe anything?”
“No.” Istan took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair before looking Erik in the eyes. “That is the Hall. The Charger is usually a very humble man. In all your chores, were you ever told to clean a massive hall with a giant throne? “
Istan made a good point there. Erik and Lawt had cleaned every room on the compound hundreds of times. “So what do I do now?”
“Follow the trail up to his house. When you get there, knocking on the door would probably let him know that you have arrived. Remember to do everything asked of you.”
Erik entered the tree line at the base of the mountain and walked up alone with his thoughts. The journey took longer than anticipated but the walking helped calm his nerves. When he reached the tiny house he looked around. A large pile of wood was the source of the constant stream of smoke visible down in the training grounds. Erik turned around to look back the way he came. The valley lay below him with the buildings of the training grounds displayed like a constellation, a beautiful sight in its simplicity. A self-contained village snuggled softly by this hidden valley.
Erik approached the door slowly as his stomach took a lurching heave to the left. His jitters came back with a vengeance. He wiped his forehead and knocked with purpose. Nobody answered. Did the old man forget his appointment? Erik jumped excitedly on his toes a few times to work out his increasing anxiety and knocked again.
The door opened a crack. “What is it that you want?” an old voice demanded in the shadows of the small hut.
“Please, sir, I have been sent to present myself this day before the White Charger for admittance into the brotherhood of Roh’Darharim.”
The door opened fully and the old man Erik had seen so many times in the woods and in the compound stood in front of him. This was the first time Erik had seen him this close. The man’s face was mapped with careworn wrinkles, all of which seemed to connect to each other and met at his bright eyes. His thinning white hair on top matched his long white beard, neatly ending near the middle of his chest. His presence belied his small stature. He came up to Erik’s chest but he stood like a man who knew the power he held. When Erik had seen him before he had worn a plain tan tunic and pants, occasionally adding a cloak in the colder seasons. Today he gleamed in a long white robe trimmed in gold with a red belt catching the middle.
“You look nervous, boy,” The old man said.
“I am, sir.”
“Very formal of you, very formal. Do you think all this formality befits men like us?”
“Sir, it would be a dishonor to you if I did not defer to your standing in regards to the Roh’Darharim. You are to be held to the highest esteem.”
“Eh… Very well. I suppose if we must, we must. I am no different than any man. We all have strengths. We all have flaws.”
“No other man is the White Charger, sir,” Erik replied.
“You are very polite and I have forgotten my manners. Come in and enjoy my fire.”
Erik was still a little warm from his hike up the mountain but stepped in without hesitation. The small fireplace in the hearth made the room uncomfortably warm. On the opposite wall of the fire a wool blanket was strewn over a small bed. Except for the corner hidden from Erik’s view by a purple curtain every other inch of wall was lined with shelves. These shelves were crammed with books and scrolls and random bits of paper. The ceiling was covered with different sized maps of various cities, baronies, earldoms, dukedoms, and countries. Scroll cases were piled in corners and small stacks of paper could be found in random places on the floor. In the middle of the room was a table with clean tea cups and framed with two chairs. That curtain kept Erik’s attention. It was meant to hide something and he wanted to know what it was.
“Welcome to my home, Erik,” The old man said closing the door.
“You certainly have a lot of books, sir. Have you read them all?”
“Most of them. There are a few that were gifts from people who thought they were important. Their memoirs, I guess. Those I usually keep on upper shelves I can’t reach, a convenient excuse not to read them. We should have some tea while we talk. Would you mind making some? Everything you need is next to the fire.”
Erik walked over to the fire place and scrounged up the materials. A coal popped as he placed the kettle on to boil. It would take a while for the water to heat up so Erik prepared the cups and tea strainers with the aromatic herbs set aside for him. When the water was ready he placed the strainers in the cups and poured the steaming water over the metal baskets. The smell of that first hint of steam beckoned his mouth to enjoy the coming treat. Erik carried the tea over The White Charger for his consideration.
�
��Now I am supposed to ask you all kinds of questions to ensure you’re ready for the duties of a Roh’Darharim. This is a very tedious part. I only really have one. Are you ready to give up everything to complete the Roh’Darharim’s first priority?” the White Charger asked taking a sip. The wrinkles in the old man’s face betrayed the enjoyment of the beverage while his countenance remained solemn.
“A Roh’Darharim’s first priority is to protect all people. No one is worth more or less protection because of their standing. We must guard against arrogance in determining what is best for anyone. While there is a hierarchy of nobility which practice laws to protect belongings and organize people for the betterment of civilization, we must remain neutral in political skirmishes, unless it is determined beyond doubt that tyranny is the rule of law. All people must choose what is best for themselves,” Erik recited.
“You memorized that nicely, but what does it mean to you?”
Erik never had truly thought about the words. He had them drilled into his head since the first few days being here. He had spoken them almost every day at every lesson. “It means I have to understand that my own biases and opinions are nothing. I do not use my abilities for what I deem is right. My biases and opinions may blind me to what is best in the long run. I have to be aware that it is not my job to be judge and executioner. My job is to act only when I am certain my actions are right.”
“That is correct, Erik, but it is a double edged sword. No one is above their actions, not even us. However, the more followers a person has the more carefully we must tread. If we act rashly innocents might suffer. If we act too slowly innocents will definitely suffer. Case in point, there is an incident in the woods of Tredale. You find a man stabbed in the back with a dagger. You know the man who owns the dagger and the man has confessed to the crime. You do not know if the man is a good or evil person. You do know that he cares for an elderly woman and three little children. Justice demands the man’s life be forfeit but if you kill him those four other innocents will suffer or die.”
This was a ridiculous question. In what kind of circumstance would Erik find himself presiding over a confessed murderer that was so needed? The light flickered in Erik’s mind. This was a leading question. “If I find the man who killed my mother I may harm innocents if I avenge her. That is, if I am Roh’Darharim. If others could be injured for my personal quest for vengeance I am also wrong.”
Compassion melted onto the old man’s face. “You asked to be trained to fulfill this one goal. Would you give up the one item that drives you in order to be Roh’Darharim?”
Erik did not answer the question immediately. “You want me to give up my life in service to others, and give in to this as well.”
“You do not have to be Roh’Darharim,” The old man said. “You have finished all your training. You will be trusted to leave the training grounds. You could have any life you want out there. Ghost would have to stay of course, but we would take care of him until he dies of old age, and you will know when it is about to happen. You can make the proper emotional and mental preparations when that time comes.”
Erik sighed. The last five years had dulled the pain and Erik had grown since the day he rang the bell for admittance. “I will be Roh’Darharim, White Charger.”
The old man’s smile cracked, showing teeth as he raised his teacup from his saucer. “Oh bother, my tea has gone cold.” The man put down his cup looking at Erik. The pools of his eyes engulfed Erik and he heard the next words boom into his mind. “Get me a coal from the fire, Roh’Darharim.”
The title jolted Erik from his seat. He needed that coal. He walked to the fire and reached for the tongs.
“Not with those, with your hand.”
Erik swept up a coal into his hand. The pain shocked him and the muscles in his hands quivered trying to drop the coal. Erik forced himself to cross the room and deposited the coal onto the old man’s saucer.
The White Charger stood up. “Erik of Armeston, from this day forward you will be recorded in the records of the Roh’Darharim as Erik Tal’Sorvae, The Protector of Sorrows.”
“May I ask something, sir?”
“You may ask anything you want at the moment.”
“Why make me do that? Why force me to grab that coal?”
“The voice I use only compels, it cannot force. That is not what the Roh’Darharim stands for. Every man has choices they must make on their own. And asking you to do things is my job.”
“I meant is it really necessary, everybody who passes leaves injured.”
“I know what you meant, Erik.” The old man took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The final test is the most important of all. I send out orders every day to all my Roh’Darharim. There is rarely an order I give that does not put you directly in harm’s way. I have to know that my orders will be followed without question. In the heat of battle there is rarely time for questions.”
“And had I questioned the order at the time, sir?” Erik was not sure he wanted the answer to the question. The butterflies that had quieted down in his stomach flew into a deep hole. Lawt was deathly afraid of fire. He would have to say goodbye to his friend.
“Had you questioned the order I would have told you my tea was not really that cold. We all have our own personal challenges, Erik.” The man apparently knew a lot about his trainees. The White Charger knew about Lawt as well.
The old man walked across the room and exposed the corner behind the curtain. A uniform of red and a gold cloak lay on a small table in the corner.
Erik walked down the mountain in his red and gold, his heart bursting from his chest each time the cloak snapped in the wind. At the base of the mountain sat Istan. “Congratulations, brother. What name is to be recorded in the books of the Roh’Darharim?”
“Erik Tal’Sorvae, Protector of Sorrows,” Erik said. “I know all of us have the same type of name but I did not know they were like titles. I don’t understand what mine means? Sorrows? How does one protect such a thing, and who would want it protected?”
“You may never find out. It may help to let you know that I don’t know why I have my title. Tal’Griovahi means Protector of the Naïve. Kind of silly if you ask me. Sorrows is a little dark though, but they all have to mean something, right?”
The rest of the afternoon was a blur. Erik remembered being congratulated by Lawt, Gavin, and Phayden. The skinny surgeon stood out among the throng of people. He was close to Gavin and Istan so, in a way, he was kind of like family.
Time passed and he watched Gavin in the center of the quad, waiting for Lawt to present himself. There was no formal announcement that anything was happening. Everyone who passed would see Gavin waiting for his foal, and they in turn would wait curiously at the edges of the square for the ceremony to begin. Finally Lawt came out of the barracks. The green color in his face was gone, replaced with a look of pain.
When Lawt and Gavin finished their ceremonial introductions and left toward the mountain path, Erik followed far behind. He did not want to interrupt the ritual or the bond that was shared between sire and foal. He just wanted to be at the bottom of the path to greet Lawt when he finished his ordeal.
Erik waited away from Gavin. Gavin needed to be the first that met with Lawt. For the first hour Erik paced. He did not recall being in there this long. Of course, Erik had forgotten about the travel time. It was just passed noon when Erik had left for his meeting. It was early evening now. Erik fidgeted another hour away. His friend had to be doing well. There was no reason to be taking so long otherwise. Erik began to walk toward Gavin when a monstrous scream echoed down the mountain. It was Lawt and he was in agony.
In a blur four blue cloaks galloped up the mountain. Before Lawt’s screams had died off the blue cloaks disappeared in the darkness toward the White Charger’s house. Erik waited impatiently as the minutes dragged on. The urge to help, and the knowledge of him getting in the way, played tug of war with his mind.
Gavin, still sitting on a
rock, reached into his tunic and pulled out a pipe. He began rummaging around his belt pouches for the fill.
“What are you doing?” Erik asked.
“I’m waiting.” His tone was quiet. The man used his flint and steel to ignite a frayed end of hemp rope and began to apply the flame to his pipe bowl.
“You don’t even care?”
“What do you want me to do?” Gavin asked letting out a large puff of smoke. “Run around agitated and annoy everyone in the vicinity with worry. By the way, that happens to be you. There is not much we can do but wait.”
Gavin was right of course. Erik took a few deep breaths to calm himself. The pipe smoke filled the air with a sweet and reassuring aroma. “You wouldn’t happen to have a spare pipe on you?”
Gavin smiled. “I always keep a spare. Never know when a friend would like to sit and relax with you.” Gavin fumbled around in his tunic again pulling out another pipe. He filled the bowl before handing it to Erik.
The two men sat there at the bottom of the mountain waiting for word of their friend. The time helped to calm Erik down but his concern for his friend did not diminish. Finally the four surgeons appeared on foot carrying a stretcher. The surgeons were sweating and grunting under Lawt’s large frame. Erik ran toward his friend, the smell of burning flesh grew stronger as he approached.
“What happened?” Erik asked.
“He passed the final test.” One of the surgeons told him. “I hope it was worth it to him.”
“What do you mean?” Gavin said, walking up behind Erik.
“It seemed that when the White Charger asked for the piece of coal the man panicked. He did not pick up one coal, he reached into the fire and grabbed a whole handful and would not let go. He still has them in his hand, or what is left of his hand. Had the charger not acted quickly it could have been a lot worse. Still it is going to have to be amputated.”
Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) Page 15