Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  ‘Thank you,’ Kairos replied, his eyes reflecting sincere gratitude. ‘It’s a very different world to this place. My homeland is harsh. I’ll tell you more about it one day.’

  ‘I would like that.’ Althea cast a sideways glance at the water in the fountain. ‘I’ve spent my entire life in here. I’ve never been outside of Vadost, unless you count Valour Keep. My father, on the other hand, has seen much of the world. That’s one reason I want to become a Mana Knight – to see the world. And follow in his footsteps.’

  ‘Your father made that very suggestion to me,’ Kairos said. ‘I’d like to become a Mana Knight, as well.’

  Althea looked up at him. ‘That’d be wonderful. Perhaps we could be in the Knight Academy together.’

  The pair locked eyes. As they sat in close proximity, a delightful pain shot through Althea’s heart. The look in the grey eyes was intense, more intense than the other ardent youth of Vadost. She saw the fierce determination, the sadness. Some part of her saw a cloud of darkness lurking beneath, too. Yet on top of the darkness, a flicker of a smile flashed in his eyes, if not on his face.

  Kairos opened his mouth, thinking of what to say, but before he could say anything, a mocking voice interrupted them. ‘You in the Knight Academy, Avenal? That’s a laugh! Your fire spell can’t even light oil afire.’

  Althea sighed. She knew that voice anywhere. It was Vaughn. She slowly turned and saw that Claudius was with him. They regarded her with amused disdain.

  ‘Who’s your new friend?’ enquired Claudius, the shorter of the two. He was lanky and had a gaunt, aquiline face, which reminded Althea of an angry falcon. ‘And where did he come from? I ain’t ever seen him before.’

  ‘Yes, he’s my friend,’ Althea answered. ‘And he has a name, you know.’

  ‘Oh, he does, does he?’ sneered Vaughn, the taller, heavyset boy. ‘He doesn’t look like much. Just another worthless git.’

  Althea cast a sidelong glance at Kairos, whose face reddened. With clenched fists, he took a step towards Vaughn and Claudius, causing both boys to stiffen. Did she just see him reach for something in the rucksack he carried? She feared the worst.

  Before anyone could make a move, a tall figure approached them from the side. ‘There you are! I’ve circled the fountain twice looking for you two. What took you so long, Thea? You didn’t stop at every shop along the way, did you?’ It was Galen, much to Althea’s relief. He flashed his quick smile at the two boys, measuring the situation immediately.

  ‘Be easy on this lad. He’s new in the city and not quite settled in yet!’

  The taller, stockier boy laughed. The other one smiled in return to Galen’s amused grin. All the tension vanished.

  ‘Thea, come along. We’re running late and need to hurry. Mr. Dubose will be quite cross with me if we show up during his evening meal.’ Galen put his arm around Althea and Kairos’s shoulders and led them away from Lazio Fountain.

  When they were out of earshot of Vaughn and Claudius, Galen muttered to Kairos, ‘You need to curb your quick temper. When I first saw you, you were making a suicide attack against well-armed elves. Then when you met Stella, the first thing you did was provoke her, one of the scariest and most violent women I’ve ever encountered. And now you’ve been out with Althea for less than a day and you’re almost fighting with Vaughn Akkitos and his friend Claudius, right in the middle of Lazio Plaza! I admit, you have some courage, but you won’t live long if you carry on like this.’

  ‘He’s right, Kairos,’ said Althea, as they left the city square, her heart still pounding in her chest at the threat of violence. ‘Vaughn is clearly a buffoon, but he has an extraordinary mana level for his age, and he’s the son of Lady Naiya Akkitos, who is a Griffon Knight.’

  Kairos nodded, but said nothing. Althea saw that his hands were shaking and he was taking deep breaths, but she pretended not to notice. She was not used to being around someone who was so confrontational, and it took half an hour’s walk for her nerves to settle. They were almost to Dwarfside, where Mr. Dubose lived, and she hoped that Kairos would not antagonise him or anyone else for the remainder of the day. There was one thought she kept to herself, however. The fact that Kairos easily stood up for her brought a sensation of warmth and joy to her soul.

  Chapter Five

  Dwarfside

  A dwarven residential district, or rather a small subterranean town, appeared in Vadost approximately two centuries ago when a dwarven miner, quite by accident, discovered a large deposit of hematite inside a cavern nearby the city. Subsequently, word spread and many dwarves, seeking a new life or escaping an old one, migrated to Dwarfside from their home kingdom of Dvergar.

  Autumn Greene, Vadost Oracle reporter

  W

  elcome to Dwarfside,’ Galen announced.

  Kairos had never seen anything like it. He expected a tunnel, but instead found himself walking into a large open cavern that could house a small, bustling town. Street lamps illuminated the darkness, casting its ambient orange-red glow on the streets and buildings. That was another oddity – dwarves didn't have homes or houses, they had workshops that they just happened to live in. Dwarven priorities, Kairos assumed.

  The limestone streets bustled with activity. The sound of hammers pounded away from workshops, echoing along the streets in a cacophony of chaos. Dwarves stood about in groups, laughing and talking. Some of them cast curious glances at Kairos, Galen, and Althea as they passed, others rudely stared, and a few muttered comments. Apparently, humans did not pass through here often. Kairos clutched his rucksack closer, his hand instinctively reaching for his dagger. ‘What’s going on up ahead?’ he asked.

  ‘Ah, that is a very popular dwarven sport,’ said Galen.

  A large group of dwarves were gathered outside a tavern, which was also a workshop that happened to sell ale, making a commotion that rivalled the constant hammering. Kairos peeled away from Galen and Althea for a closer inspection, and saw pair of dwarves engaging each other in an arm wrestling competition. Their muscles, thick as tree trunks, bulged with the strain. Small braziers of glowing embers sat on each side of the table, inviting the back of the loser's hand. Both dwarves turned red as blood vessels popped out of their foreheads and arms like tree branches. A crowd of dwarves clustered around to cheer and jeer. Kairos stopped to watch, content he was able to see over the heads of the crowd.

  Althea sighed. ‘I don't understand the dwarves’ fascination with this dull sport.’

  ‘I like it,’ Kairos said.

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? That's quite odd.’

  Galen paused too. ‘Is arm wrestling popular where you're from?’

  ‘Yes, but we don't use the burning coals. We use broken glass.’

  Althea looked down and noticed a few scars on the back of Kairos's hand.

  Both dwarves appeared on the verge of exploding from the exertion. Finally one of them began losing ground, and the other seized upon the opportunity and wrangled his opponent's arm down in a shower of sparks for the victory. The defeated dwarf howled in pain and clutched his hand. A few cheers sounded, but a lot more curses rang out, followed by grumbling. Apparently, most of the crowd had placed their bets on the loser.

  ‘Let's go,’ Galen said solemnly, ‘before a fight breaks out and we get caught in the middle of it.’

  They left hurriedly, and not long thereafter, angry shouts, followed by the sound of glass breaking, came from behind them. A pair of armoured dwarves ran past them towards the melee.

  The trio continued on until they reached the farthest corner of Dwarfside, where a lone workshop stood away from the street and the rest of the buildings. It was made of stone like the other shops; unlike the other shops, however, it was taller and wider. A placard above the doorway, which was level with Kairos’s nose, read, ‘Foreman Dubose.’ Halting, Galen gave a booming knock. There came a clatter from inside, as of something shattering.

  ‘You whoreson!’ yelled an irritated voice. ‘You’ve ma
de me drop my bucket of corzite! What on Alban do you want?’

  Galen grinned, winked at Kairos. ‘I have your new apprentice, sir. The one I mentioned in the letter.’

  ‘I’m through with apprentices,’ the voice shouted. ‘Send him away… Wait. Don’t. He can clean up this mess.’ There came the sound of footsteps and a door bolt lifting. The heavy oak door swung open with a creak.

  ‘Meet the master blacksmith, Jace Dubose,’ said Galen.

  Upon hearing the word ‘blacksmith,’ Kairos expected an old man, or at least an older dwarf. Back in Logres, the Einar became blacksmiths when they could no longer fight effectively in a shield wall and keep up with the younger men in battle. Then they picked up the hammer and fired up the forge to make themselves useful for their clan. At the sight of the blacksmith standing in the doorway, glaring up at him, Kairos’s impression of blacksmiths changed quite drastically.

  The dwarf was, of course, short, but he came to Kairos’s shoulder and was almost Althea’s height. What he lacked in height, he made up for in muscular bulk; his rippling arms made the arm wrestling dwarves at the tavern seem like amateurs. He was relatively young, appearing in his thirties in human terms, given that there was not a single grey hair on his head or in his beard – though that said little about the dwarf’s true age. He was broad-shouldered with ham-fisted hands, which explained why he dropped the bucket. He had a swarthy complexion, with eyes whose darkness was emphasised by the menacing scowl on his face.

  But it was not his fierce and mighty looks that caused Kairos to stiffen. The blacksmith was a dwarf. Galen never mentioned that Mr. Dubose was a dwarf. Now that Kairos thought of his current location, though, what else did he expect? A human living in Dwarfside seemed very unlikely, but he was too enraptured by his surroundings and too absorbed in his own dilemma to have given his future much thought. One thing was certain though: Kairos could have no respect for this dwarf.

  He was subsequently surprised and irritated to see his own contempt reflected right back at him.

  ‘Ugh, by Thelos’s hammer, I should’ve known it was you, Galen,’ Mr. Dubose growled. ‘And you’ve brought me a damn human. A boy at that.’

  The words frustrated Kairos, but not enough to miss the lack of respect towards Galen in the dwarf’s tone. Ever since he’d met the knight, he’d heard everyone address Galen as ‘Lord Avenal,’ or ‘milord.’ This dwarf dropped the fancy titles.

  ‘Well, what can you do, boy?’ The dwarf’s frown seemed to droop even more with the beard.

  Kairos glowered in response. He would not answer such disrespect.

  ‘Probably not much of anything, judging by those spindly arms.’ Mr. Dubose answered his own question. ‘Most of you humans rely on your piddling magic to start a fire or lift a boulder.’ Turning to Galen, the dwarf said, ‘Why’d you bring him here? He can’t be an apprentice. The recent bloke couldn’t last three days, and he was a dwarf and three times this kid’s size. What makes you think this boy will last?’

  ‘He has no choice for now,’ Galen admitted. ‘A victim of Malus’s armies. He has no family and no home. I’ll try to enlist him into the Knighthood with Althea, but he needs work, and a place to stay for now. Please consider it as a favour for me.’

  The dwarf bridled, looking indignant. ‘Do I look like a charity? How about you take him in if you want to help him so much!’

  Althea’s face brightened at the prospect. ‘Of course,’ she said. ‘That’s a splendid idea. We have that extra guestroom and–’

  ‘Stella has already forbidden it,’ Galen interrupted. ‘She says that ‘it’s improper.’ She also suggested that Mr. Dubose is the right candidate.’

  Mr. Dubose’s features softened for a moment. ‘Stella said that?’

  ‘He has nowhere else to go, Mr. Dubose,’ Galen said. ‘Please consider it?’

  ‘All right!’ the dwarf thundered. ‘I’ll do it! You don’t have to beg me. Now if you’ll excuse us, this boy has some work to do.’

  ‘Yes, sir, Mr. Dubose.’ Galen bowed and turned. ‘Come on, Thea. Let’s go.’

  The young girl lingered behind. ‘Shall we meet again?’ she asked Kairos.

  Kairos’s voice faltered. He turned to look at her, trying to see whether she was in earnest. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed. He swallowed hard. ‘Yes. I’ll come by your house when I can.’

  ‘Do you remember how to get there?’ she asked, looking worried.

  ‘Thea, let’s go,’ Galen commanded, though there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, and the girl reluctantly walked away with her father, but not before turning back to hear Kairos’s answer.

  But before he could respond, Mr. Dubose grabbed hold of his arm, yanked him through the doorway with a jerk that caused him to bump his head on the wooden frame, and slammed the door shut behind him. Kairos rubbed the new bump on his head, the pain overtaking any angry retort he had in mind. When the pain subsided, he looked around at his surroundings in apprehension. The house was a dark and shadowy workshop, illuminated by the glowing embers of the forge. Various weapons hung on the wall: bludgeons, hammers, maces, spears, a sword that strongly resembled Thylar’s, and some other weapons Kairos did not recognise. At the opposite end of the room, a doorway led to another dimly-lit room containing bookshelves filled with books.

  Mr. Dubose let go of Kairos and regarded him as if he were appraising a vegetable at a grocer’s stall. He obviously found what he saw lacking.

  Kairos began to seethe with rage beneath the offensive scrutiny.

  The dwarf took a step towards Kairos, and leant forward, the dark beard and glowering dark eyes giving him a menacing, wild look.

  ‘I am Jace Dubose. That’s Mister Dubose to you, boy.’

  ‘My name is–’ Kairos began in a chipped tone.

  Mr. Dubose waved a dismissing hand. ‘I don’t care what your name is, boy. I don’t want to know. The last apprentice I had only lasted three days, and I didn’t know his name, either. You little bastards run off after a few days, so it’s a waste of time getting to know you.’ The dwarf’s eyes moved away from Kairos. ‘Now what’s in the bag?’ he said, snatching it with startling speed.

  Kairos was too impressed and shocked to object to the dwarf rummaging through the contents of the rucksack.

  ‘I see you brought a dagger.’ The dwarf pulled the blade out. He held it up to his face, squinting as he peered at the etchings. With a meaty hand that seemed far too large for the handle, he held the dagger and made a few slashes in the air, almost slicing Kairos in the face.

  Mr. Dubose returned the dagger to the rucksack, which he tossed aside on the floor. ‘A fair dagger, but not well-cared for. See how tarnished it is?’

  ‘I found it,’ Kairos said, seeming to feel the need for explanation. ‘In a caipora den.’

  ‘Damn right, you found it,’ Mr. Dubose barked. ‘That’s a dwarven-made dagger. And a caipora den? That’s a drab lie if I ever heard one. Are you sure you didn’t steal it? These things don’t run cheap, and it’s illegal for humans to carry blades out in Vadost, except for the knights and the City Watch. And I doubt either of those two are enlisting little runts like you. I suppose you don’t know how to use it properly, do you, boy?’

  Kairos was too appalled to reply. Steal it? His explanation dismissed as a ‘drab lie!’ True, he hadn’t trained with daggers back in Logres, but he knew some basics–

  ‘Yeah, I thought so,’ said Mr. Dubose. He turned away, walked over to a stone table and sat in an iron-framed chair. He placed his large finger on a blueprint that lay on the table. ‘A day’s work all gone. I suppose I’ll have to get more corzite and start over again.’ Mr. Dubose motioned to a tin tray surrounded by shattered fragments of a blue-coloured stone. ‘Clean up that mess, boy. There's a broom in the corner.’

  Kairos had had enough, his anger exploded. ‘No!’ he shouted, stamping his foot to emphasise his wrath. ‘I will not clean up your mess, you bloody dwarf. I am not your servant,
or your slave, to be at your beck and call. I refuse to take orders from you, or any damned dwarf, for the matter. You lot, along with your elven leader, Malus, can all rot–’

  Mr. Dubose could move very quickly for a stocky, musclebound dwarf. One moment he was seated on the chair, the next he appeared right in front of Kairos like a serpent bursting out of the Dark Sea.

  ‘Listen to me, boy,’ Mr. Dubose said, jabbing his thick finger into Kairos’s face. ‘First, you do not tell me what to do. I tell you what to do. If I tell you to lick shit off the floor, then you lick it clean and savour the taste. Second, you will refer to me as Mr. Dubose, or Mister, or sir. Third, don’t you ever lump me together with Malus’s army. Anyone who serves his army is my enemy. I’ve fought against Malus with Galen many years ago, and would do so again if that dark elf so much as thrust his ugly head into Vadost.’

  He moved the finger from Kairos’s face to his own neck, tilting his head so Kairos could see the scar. ‘One of his elites shot a spell through my neck like an arrow.’ Mr. Dubose took a step, leant forward so that his neck was nearly touching Kairos’s chest. ‘Missed my spine, throat and artery. Galen’s magic patched me up. I have fought against Malus’s army. Fought against fellow dwarves. I lost my wife to them.’ The dwarf took another step and glared up at Kairos with unflinching intensity.

  ‘I have also fought against Malus’s army,’ said Kairos coolly, standing his ground, ‘and I have lost everything to them, including my brother and father, and…’ He almost uttered Farina’s name, but realised he was sharing too much with this… this dwarf.

  Stillness as tense as a heatwave radiated between them. They stared at each other, perhaps sharing the same thoughts.

  ‘Have you truly fought against Malus’s army?’ Mr. Dubose asked. ‘You would swear an oath to this?’

  Kairos hesitated. He detested this dwarf and silently cursed Galen for abandoning him here. The promise of a small hovel would have lured him out of that workshop in an instant. And now the dwarf was asking him to swear an oath. For the Einar, an oath was one’s sacred word of binding. All Einar believed in standing by an oath, to break it was to dishonour one’s own name and reputation forever, and Kairos assumed that the dwarf viewed oaths in the same way, judging by the gravity of his tone. In that last question, Kairos detected a subtle change in the dwarf’s tone – a shared experience, a shared pain. A kindred spirit. He didn’t quite understand it, but somehow deep down, he knew that he and the dwarf were alike in many ways. But he still hated the bastard.