Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  ‘Yes,’ said Kairos gravely. ‘I give you my oath.’

  Mr. Dubose nodded. ‘Then it’s settled.’ He went to the corner, grabbed the broom, and handed it to Kairos. ‘Now, boy,’ he said, pointing to the scattered fragments on the floor. ‘Start sweeping.’

  Kairos took a deep breath and began to sweep half-heartedly.

  ‘Wait.’ Mr. Dubose stopped him immediately. ‘What are you doing with that broom?’

  ‘What does it look like I’m doing,’ Kairos said in an exasperated voice. ‘I’m sweeping.’

  ‘No, that is not sweeping.’

  ‘Everyone has a different method of doing things,’ the boy answered. ‘This is my method of sweeping.’

  The dwarf raised an eyebrow. ‘Different method? No, there’s only one method, and then there’s horseshit. Guess which one you’re doing.’

  Kairos groaned, briefly wondering if he would have been better off dying at the hands of the elves.

  * * *

  For Mad Mavos’s rundown, leaking hut, Kairos would have left the workshop, his new apprenticeship, and his vision of becoming a Mana Knight. He had spent the first night – or what he assumed was night since Dwarfside was underground – in his new home staring into the darkness, listening to the echoing sounds of incessant hammering and speculating on his options. Living with dwarves was unbearable.

  Kairos had swept up the shattered corzite, which made him curious about the strange shiny stone. It gave off a blue glow, and Mr. Dubose mentioned that it helped channel mana. It proved as resilient as steel, once tempered, which the dwarf had been about to do prior to dropping it. After he dumped the broken stone into a bin, Mr. Dubose had taken Kairos to view his sleeping quarters.

  His bed was more luxurious than his campsites with Gulliver. It was not comfortable, but it was an improvement over leaves or hay spread around on the cold earth. His feet stuck out over the edge of the bed, though, an inconvenience he remedied by placing a chair at the end of it.

  ‘Everyone needs a blacksmith,’ Mr. Dubose had told his new apprentice before bed. ‘You can go to any town, anywhere in the world, and find work. And if you’re a warrior or a knight, you can save yourself some money by doing your own repairs.’

  Though he was beyond tired, Kairos could not sleep. Mr. Dubose snored so loudly that Kairos could feel his bones rattle. He wondered if the neighbours could hear, as well, but no one came to complain.

  Near midnight, he had resolved to leave the next day. He would return to the Avenal Manor and ask Galen for help. Althea had mentioned having the guestroom, and the thought of being around her set his blood afire… No, Stella would not allow it – of course, it was a dwarf who thwarted his good fortune. But, where else could he go? He would never survive in a place like Gersholm, and the city of Vadost was so large that he did not even know where to start a life here. He was at a disadvantage until he could study the magic that these Ordonians used.

  Kairos tossed and turned in his short bed. Lying there, he realised suddenly that the dull ache in his heart had diminished. He had felt homesick and lost before he had arrived in Vadost, like he wanted to die. The mental anguish of losing his brother, the Einar, and Farina pushed against his mind, like a tightening vice.

  He pondered this. Is the dwarf’s work actually distracting me from my sadness? he wondered. Since he had arrived, he had performed a constant barrage of chores, and even though the work was gruelling, his mind was at ease. Perhaps it was because he was not dwelling on himself.

  In the early morning hours, Kairos decided to stay. At least he might be able to learn some blacksmithing skills from Mr. Dubose; he conceded it was a useful skill to have. Also, Einars were not quitters. He vowed to see this mission through, no matter what the dwarf threw at him. Decision made, he fell asleep to the dwarf’s thunderous snoring and the clanging of hammers in the night.

  That morning, Mr. Dubose cooked breakfast, which consisted of fire potato hash browns with goat blood sausage. ‘Eat, boy. It’ll put hair on your tongue and a fire in your eye.’

  The fire potato scorched Kairos’s mouth as soon as he tasted it, and he began to cough. ‘I can’t eat this,’ he complained as soon as he caught his breath again. ‘Do you have something else? This is spicy!’

  ‘Excuse me? You’re skipping around molten lava, boy,’ Mr. Dubose barked, looking up from his plate. ‘This is my home and my cooking. You and I are not equals. Here’s me,’ he said, putting his hand high above his head, ‘and here’s you.’ He stomped his foot onto the floor. ‘If I want to serve you only fire potatoes till the gods return, you will sit there every day and eat them like you’ve received Thelos’s holiest of blessings and ask for more!’

  ‘Why would I ask for more if they’re rubbish?’

  Mr. Dubose told Kairos to leave the table and wash the plates and clean up around the forge. Or at least that’s what the boy assumed, because the dwarf was screaming with a mouth full of goat blood sausages, the juices dribbling down into his beard.

  Kairos performed the chores around the workshop, while Mr. Dubose finished his meal in fuming silence. He did not mind the cleaning, as it took him away from the dwarf and brought him near the assortment of weapons hanging on the wall. He was impressed by their craftsmanship, especially the sword. None of the blacksmiths on Logres could produce weapons of such quality. He wondered if the dwarf made them all, or was able to use them.

  Kairos discovered his answer the next moment when the dwarf appeared at his elbow.

  ‘Admiring my collection, I see,’ Mr. Dubose said. ‘I bought most of them from a friend at a bargain. His wife made him get rid of them because she didn’t want weapons in the house. What a nag. Anyhow, I thought they’d look good on the wall, but I tire of cleaning them.’

  ‘Why do you keep them, then?’ Kairos did little to mask the frustration in his voice. Look good on the wall! These weapons were a treasure hoard even his father, the most powerful man on Logres, would envy, and this dwarf was treating them as mere furniture.

  Mr. Dubose flashed his teeth. ‘Sell ’em for a profit, I guess.’ Removing the sword that resembled Thylar’s from the wall, he waved it around disrespectfully. ‘I reckon I could get a gold coin or two for this one. That’s more than I paid for the whole lot. A good investment, if I say so myself.’

  Kairos stared, aghast. His hands yearned to pry that sword away from Mr. Dubose, to rescue it from such maltreatment.

  ‘Well, enough of this,’ Mr. Dubose said, carelessly hanging the sword back on the wall. ‘It’s time to begin your blacksmith training. You need to earn your keep around here.’

  Kairos nodded, expecting to learn how to make a sword. Maybe he would have something that rivalled Thylar’s weapon. Excitement tingled throughout his body.

  ‘Now the first step is to light the forge fire.’ After a brief demonstration, Mr. Dubose handed Kairos the bellows. ‘Oh, and put on a leather apron before you burn yourself.’

  The boy pumped the bellows into the forge as the dwarf had shown him, a wave of heat washing over him with each heave. He was pleased to see the satisfying glow from deep within the mound of charcoal.

  ‘Now watch closely,’ Mr. Dubose said, and placed a metal rod into the charcoal for several moments. When he took it out, it was glowing a bright orange. He hammered the rod, and sparks flew. He turned it using the tongs in his left hand and beat it again. ‘And we continue doing this until it’s straightened.’ After several more hammer blows, he regarded the sharp point with a scrutinising eye, nodded in satisfaction, and plunged it into a bucket of water. The rod, now a sharp spike, hissed briefly as a tuft of steam rose from the bucket.

  ‘What’s that supposed to be,’ Kairos said. ‘It looks too puny to be a spear point.’

  ‘A nail,’ Mr. Dubose answered. ‘And you’re going to make hundreds of them.’

  ‘A nail?’ Kairos repeated, unable to hide the disappointment in his tone.

  ‘That’s right,’ the dwarf said cheerfully.
‘You can never have enough nails, no matter if you’re a human, dwarf, or elf – everyone needs nails. Always. Someone, somewhere, is always building or fixing something. Believe it or not, these make me the most money.’

  ‘But I thought we were making swords–’

  ‘Ho, that’s rich!’ Mr. Dubose chortled. ‘Who will I sell a sword to? Maybe the rare Mana Knight or City Watchman who can actually use a sword. Most of them prefer to twirl their fancy spells and poke at things with their mana lances. That leaves the dwarves as the sole customer base, and Dwarfside isn’t at war with anyone.’ Mr. Dubose picked up a rod and shoved it into Kairos’s chest. ‘Besides, forging a sword is complicated work. You’re starting with the basics – the nail.’

  Grimly, Kairos repeated the process the dwarf had shown him. He pulled out the glowing metal rod and began hammering away with his left hand. Mr. Dubose watched quietly as Kairos used the tongs with his right hand to rotate the nail. He finished the nail and plunged it into the bucket, reaching for another metal rod.

  ‘Stop right there,’ Mr. Dubose said.

  ‘What is it this time?’ Kairos asked, his irritation rising with the continuous criticism. ‘Are you trying to make me quit? Because I won’t. I’ll show you that I’m better than a dwarf.’

  Mr. Dubose just gazed at Kairos with a speculative eye. ‘You’re left-handed,’ he observed.

  ‘Is that wrong?’ Kairos asked, feeling the need to be defensive.

  ‘Not at all. That’s a good thing, especially when it comes to fighting, but we’ll get to that later. Now try use the hammer with your other hand.’

  ‘Why?’

  The dwarf glowered in response.

  Kairos saw the look and expected an incoming blow. That was what his father did if he questioned him. He braced himself, but nothing came. To his surprise, the dwarf chuckled.

  ‘It’s training,’ he said with a grin. ‘To train both arms equally. We’ll do the same with weapons, but for now, alternate using the hammer with each hand. I can’t have an apprentice with one arm the size of a tree trunk and the other the size of a twig. Now we need to build you up some more. That means switching arms…Can you read and write?’ the dwarf added.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Kairos thought of Mad Mavos. The crazed and shunned Einar of the Azel clan had taught him the basics with the few precious books lying around. Most Einar considered reading and writing a waste of time, especially when that time could be better used for gathering food or training for battle. They preferred passing down stories in poems and songs. But Mad Mavos had told Kairos that these poems and songs would change through the generations, while the words in a book remained the same. While Kairos liked reading, he had never found a use for it until now.

  ‘Good, because I’ll leave you a written list of chores every morning before I go out,’ the dwarf said. ‘You can have a quick lunch after you complete two dozen more nails. I don’t need you passing out on me in the middle of work.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Kairos said. ‘Let’s make that three dozen.’

  The dwarf nodded approvingly. ‘That’s more like it, boy.’

  ‘I do have a name, you know, sir,’ Kairos said modestly, pausing after delivering a series of hammer blows on a glowing nail.

  ‘We all do, boy,’ said Mr. Dubose, slapping him on the back. ‘Now hurry up and finish that nail before it cools off. I have loads more work for you after lunch.’

  * * *

  ‘You may enter,’ said Malus from behind a desk cluttered with parchments, maps, and books.

  He had barely left his quarters at Kinclaven Citadel during the last few weeks. The sudden turn of events throughout the world required his attention, so he had an endless amount of letters to write, orders to give, and military commanders to meet – not to mention those pesky ambassadors from various countries who came to negotiate terms for peace, often bringing a payment of gold so he would not attack. Sometimes he took the gold and attacked anyway. Humans were stupid.

  All except the one who now entered the room.

  A tall figure in hooded grey robes, he stood in the doorway, approached the desk and bowed.

  ‘Greetings, General,’ Malus said, returning the bow, which was more of a slight dip of his head. Those who knew the dark elf, however, would recognise the gesture of respect.

  ‘Greetings, Dark Lord,’ the hooded figure replied.

  ‘Don’t call me that,’ Malus said. ‘You know how much I hate that title. Please be seated.’

  The General bowed again and lowered himself into a velvet-cushioned chair. ‘My apologies. I’ve been away a while.’

  The dark elf opened a book and traced a glyph, causing the pages to glow. ‘What’s the news from Vadost?’

  The General began his report. As he spoke, his words appeared on the pages of Malus’s book, traced in a brief orange glow. ‘The atmosphere is tense,’ he said. ‘The Ordonians are anxious about your army’s movements, and word has spread throughout the kingdom of the attacks on Milbrooke and Cape Caipora. Even the Vadost Oracle reported these events. The guards at the gates require passes from all travellers now, which is not so much of a problem for me. Also, one of our spies was discovered and imprisoned, though not necessarily for espionage.’

  ‘What a fool,’ said Malus, pouring his guest a glass of the exceedingly rare and valuable Vantarian wine, chilled to the perfect temperature. He poured himself a glass and took a sip, relishing the taste. ‘What was his name again? Dunghill?’

  ‘Dunhill, milord,’ the hooded figure corrected. ‘And you could say that he asked for it. He could report more on a woman’s curves than the Mana Knights. He was spending most of his time in the taverns, harassing the barmaids every night. One night he followed a barmaid home from the Pinch & Tickle and tried to assault her within her house. Fortunately for her, he was so drunk that he only managed to vomit on her and pass out. She screamed for the City Watch, and they came and took him away.’

  ‘This is why you cannot trust humans,’ Malus said with disdain, then looked up at his guest and added, ‘present company excluded, of course… But you hate humans more than I do.’

  ‘Of course, milord.’ The hooded man nodded and sipped his wine.

  ‘This is precisely the reason why spies should simply observe and report, only acting when necessary. I understand some spies get a little bored and like to indulge. But committing such transgressions draws unwanted attention. So what happened to him?’

  ‘The City Watch imprisoned him, milord,’ the man said dryly. ‘On that very night, I stopped by – undetected, mind you – and magicked his food so that it would choke him. We didn’t need him talking before his trial. The jailor found him dead the next morning, and no one assumes foul play, nor do they care.’

  ‘Good work, General,’ Malus said in a warm tone. Despite his personal grudge against humanity, he had taken a liking to this human and had promoted him to the highest rank, much to the astonishment and puzzlement of the rest of his army. Many elves expressed their disgruntled jealousy in the taverns, but they were mindful to keep their opinions to themselves around their superiors. But even the whispers of rumours would reach Malus’s ears, though he turned a deaf ear to them – for now. He didn’t care what the others thought. This general proved reliable. ‘What about the Knighthood? How goes the situation at Valour Keep?’

  ‘You will be pleased to know that enlistment is at an all-time low,’ the General said. ‘This year, the retirees will far outnumber the squire enlistments. Furthermore, the number of errant missions has been on the rise. Beasts and bandits harass the countryside, and the knights have their hands full dealing with these. The recent appearance of our armies has added a burden to them. Therefore, they have become less selective in their recruitment process. And speaking of recruits, I have some information that may interest you.’ The General paused, looking questioningly at his leader.

  ‘Go on,’ said Malus.

  ‘It appears that Lord Galen Avenal has enlisted two recru
its, using his own name as a personal recommendation. I understand that one of the recruits is, naturally, his daughter. The name of the second recruit has piqued the curiosity of those at the Academy. It’s a boy, though Lord Avenal does not have any sons.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Malus edged forward in his chair excitedly. ‘Does he live at the Avenal Manor?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ the General said in earnest. ‘I haven’t bothered to check. I also cannot approach the manor too closely without raising suspicion, so my information at the moment is limited. Would you like me to investigate the home further?’

  Malus shook his head. ‘No need. It appears that the boy will come to you. Don’t those knights have some sort of aptitude test before the Academy? He should show up for that.’

  ‘True,’ the hooded man said. ‘Is there a reason to investigate him beyond his mere association with Lord Avenal?’

  ‘Yes.’ The dark elf made a page-long note in his book with a quick spell. ‘You’ve been in Vadost a while, so I’ll give you a brief summary. It seems that blithering jester, Captain Hargonnas, supposedly captured one of the Cursed Ones, and allowed him to escape into the hands of Lord Avenal, who took him to Vadost.’

  The hood twitched slightly. ‘I see. Is the Pariah aware of this?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Malus admitted, frowning at the mention of the Pariah. ‘We can only hope otherwise. I don’t know if Lord Avenal realised what he had. We also lost sight of the boy once he entered the city… My spies within the city have reported sightings of Lord Avenal, but the boy is never with him. Therefore if this new enlistee is the boy, then this truly is good tidings.’