Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  ‘You bringing about the destruction of civilisation?’ Mr. Dubose asked, his voice full of mirth. ‘Boy, you almost cut your own foot off when you picked up the sword the other day! I doubt you’re much of a threat to civilisation. More like a threat to the civilisation of my kitchen, judging from the way you eat. Now what other silly nonsense did this human tell you?’

  ‘He told me that I shouldn’t tell anyone else–’

  ‘Yes, you said that already!’ the dwarf interrupted.

  ‘Let me finish.’ Kairos was chagrined at being interrupted. ‘He said that I should keep this a secret for now because telling others would only lead to dire re…’ the boy struggled over the word. ‘Re… repair cushions.’

  ‘Repercussions,’ corrected the dwarf. ‘And I have to agree with him on this one. Telling others about this, especially humans, would open you up to bullying and ridicule. Even some dwarves would find this a bad omen.’

  They were nearing the great gated entrance to Dwarfside. It was almost dark and behind them, many colourful lights flickered throughout the city of Vadost.

  ‘What shall I do then?’ asked Kairos in despair. ‘The Knighthood will expect me to cast a spell some time during the Academy.’

  ‘I think I have a solution,’ said Mr. Dubose, tugging on his beard. ‘You see, I wanted to be a knight once, myself, so I’ve worked on a few things. Of course the Knighthood never accepted me, but they’ll take you.’

  Kairos’s miserable expression faded somewhat. Hope flickered into his eyes. ‘You have? What is it?’

  ‘You’ll see.’ The dwarf grinned. ‘But for now, we need to prepare a feast to celebrate your passing of the Badger’s Trial!’

  ‘To celebrate my passing of the Badger’s Trial?’ Kairos said in surprise. ‘But that’s not even a trial! I passed without effort.’

  ‘They failed me!’ Mr. Dubose laughed, slapping the boy on the back again. ‘But they fail all dwarves. Still, a celebration is in order, even though you didn’t really do shit. It’s also a good opportunity to gather the others in Dwarfside to talk about preparations for the upcoming Hammerfall Festival. Althea might be there, ya know.’

  If Kairos had any lingering doubts, they were washed away at the mention of Lord Avenal’s daughter. Mr. Dubose saw his face shine; he had learnt not to make fun of Kairos and his interest in the girl, but he couldn’t help chuckling to himself.

  As they entered Dwarfside, Mr. Dubose slowed his step. Kairos noticed and stopped and turned.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘There is one thing that bothers me about all of this,’ said Mr. Dubose. ‘Why is this professor being so damned nice to you?’

  Kairos shrugged. ‘He likes me, I suppose? Maybe he’s just nice.’

  ‘Bah!’ Mr. Dubose snorted again. ‘Didn’t you listen to me earlier? No one is ever nice to you for no reason. Are you daft, boy?’

  ‘So why are you nice then?’ answered Kairos with a glib expression.

  Mr. Dubose was too embarrassed to provide an answer, so he glared at the boy in return and fumed in silence. Kairos laughed and began walking again. When the dwarf was certain that no one was watching him, he muttered a prayer to Thelos to watch over the boy.

  He hoped that his misgivings were wrong.

  * * *

  Dwarfside was in chaos, preparing for the Hammerfall Festival.

  By now, Kairos recognised most of the faces of the dwarves in the residential district, if not their names. Though Mr. Dubose criticised and berated him daily, he knew that the gruff dwarf praised him behind his back. It was evident from the way the citizens of Dwarfside treated him. They gave him small gifts, usually new clothes or food since the boy was known to ‘eat like a growing dwarf.’ When he wasn’t working, many of the younger dwarves invited him to their games of arm wrestling, throwing axes, or smashing ore.

  Kairos’s erstwhile hatred of the dwarves had blossomed into a newfound camaraderie. He preferred their company over those of his fellow humans, and found that they resembled the Einar in many ways – minus the plundering, pillaging, and ravaging. They expressed themselves in a straightforward manner, compared to the ‘passive aggressive’ behaviour (as Mr. Dubose termed it) of the Ordonians. Kairos enjoyed the contests of strength, the dwarven humour, and most of the cooking. The extremely spicy fire potato, a favourite of the dwarves, had grown on him since his arrival.

  There was one dwarf that Kairos did not like.

  His name was Togram. He arrived on the day of Kairos’s Badger’s Trial. He dressed and acted differently to the other dwarves, even the ones that came from their homeland, Dvergar. He shuffled into Dwarfside, entering the restaurant where Kairos and Mr. Dubose were celebrating. He bowed respectfully to Mr. Dubose, and greeted everyone with perfunctory courtesy, but did little to engage anyone in conversation, nor did he drink any ale or mead – an oddity for a dwarf.

  Togram reminded Kairos of a viper in the grass, the look on his face calculating and menacing, slightly diffused by the abnormally large ears that stuck outward from his head like the handles on a jug. The dwarf’s mannerisms brought back memories of Uncle Vinh, and Kairos felt a sense of discomfort as he watched Togram introduce himself to Jace Dubose.

  ‘My name is Togram,’ he said, ‘and I am seeking to work in Dwarfside. I heard you were a foreman.’

  ‘Why Dwarfside?’ Mr. Dubose asked, frowning. ‘Why not Dvergarberg, or the outlying areas where a dwarf can really prosper?’

  ‘My father died and left me with a large debt, sir, so I had to sell the family business and even that wasn’t enough to preserve our reputation.’

  ‘Who was your father?’

  ‘Alberich, sir.’

  ‘Which Alberich?’ Mr. Dubose asked. (Kairos had learnt that ‘Alberich’ was a common dwarven name, and knew of three residing in Dwarfside).

  ‘Alberich, son of Gimli, who is the son of Gloin.’

  ‘Where was he from?’ Mr. Dubose asked, cutting a slab of meat for everyone at his table, and passing a plate to Kairos.

  ‘Fogvale, sir.’

  ‘Never heard of it,’ Mr. Dubose said. ‘A mining town?’

  ‘No, sir, we worked in carpentry and also raised horses.’

  ‘So why come to Dwarfside, in human lands of all places?’

  Togram shrugged. ‘I’ve heard you were a great foreman to work for, but if you don’t want me, I shall try my luck elsewhere.’

  ‘Can you tend to the horses, Togram?’

  ‘As well as a Dvergar whore can work her lips, sir.’

  ‘You must be pretty good, then.’ Mr. Dubose chuckled at the jest. He offered Togram a position as an ostler at the stables in Dwarfside and invited him to the feast. When Kairos said he did not like Togram, Mr. Dubose shrugged and said that dwarves took care of their own. They were sitting at the largest table in the restaurant, surrounded by Jace’s colleagues. ‘There is nothing worse, lad,’ Mr. Dubose said, ‘than a dwarf without a profession, a purpose in life.’

  ‘I don’t trust him,’ Kairos said. ‘He looks like he is running from the hangman’s noose.’

  ‘He probably is,’ Mr. Dubose acknowledged, ‘but Dwarfside doesn’t discriminate against hardworking souls as long as they follow the rules here.’

  Kairos soon forgot about Togram, and the devastating news of having no mana, in the midst of the upcoming preparations of the Hammerfall Festival. As the other dwarves scrambled to assemble the harvest and animals that would provide the food for the feast, Jace Dubose decided to teach Kairos the use of the sword.

  The dwarf showed him several tricks and skilful manoeuvres that he had learnt from a lifetime of fighting. Kairos had gleaned some aspects of combat from the Einar back in Logres, but no one except Thylar ever set aside the time to teach him. His father, Karthok, said it was a ‘bloody waste of time’ teaching runts. However, the dwarf gave him his full attention, drilling him with thrusts, parries, and slashes from morning till dusk – though Kairos still could not tell which it
was in the subterranean district.

  They used wooden swords, which, although not deadly, left the boy covered in welts and bruises, and they continued the training for three weeks until the eve of the festival. Kairos, much to his delight, had added some bulk to his frame from the constant training, as well as the abundance of dwarven cuisine during his several months’ stay. One time, he even managed to best Mr. Dubose during a sparring session. The victory was short lived. ‘Beginner’s luck’ as the dwarf termed it, proceeding to beat Kairos down during the next several sessions to prove a point.

  Despite being sore and battered, Kairos was happy for once in his life. He began to like Dwarfside much more than Logres. Food was plentiful and life was comfortable, and he earned enough to buy himself a new bed – a human-sized bed where his feet didn’t stick out past the edge. Yet, no matter how many happy memories he created in a day, the grief of his recent ordeals lingered in his heart, and the professor’s story of the ‘god-cursed’ infested his feelings further.

  He thought of Farina, Thylar, and the Einar back home, tears welling up in his eyes. He felt the responsibility towards the Einar weighing down on him. He needed to return to his people one day to help them escape from the Blight. Just when, he did not know, and guilt gnawed at him daily – he lived in pleasure while his people at home suffered. He couldn’t do anything about it now, and the fact that he was the only human in Ordonia without mana, frustrated and tormented him. Kairos felt so helpless. He had always felt helpless–

  He was so mired in his misery that he did not see the axe coming from his right.

  ‘What’s bothering you, boy?’ Mr. Dubose asked, after using the blunt part of his wooden axe to bash Kairos into the mud. With a bored air, a nearby cow watched Kairos pick himself up. Today they were sparring on a farm owned by a dwarf named, Hothar, who had decided it was easier to raise cattle above ground in the sunshine and grass. ‘You’re lacking focus today. Had this been a real fight, I would’ve chopped into your groin area, and you would’ve bled out, squawking worse than these bloody hens.’

  ‘I-I’m just not feeling well.’ Kairos looked away. ‘Maybe I’m sick.’

  ‘Sick, huh?’ Mr. Dubose walked up to the mud-coated boy, squinted one eye shut and leant forward, as if examining him for symptoms. ‘Hmm, yes, it appears that you’ve come down with a severe case of horseshit. You’re not sick. What’s the problem here? I’m taking time out of my busy schedule to train you for combat, and you’re whinging like some ninny who forgot her dress at a beauty pageant. Let’s hear it.’

  ‘I was thinking about what that professor said–’

  ‘Look, boy,’ Mr. Dubose began. ‘You’re not cursed by the gods.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure the gods wouldn’t bother with cursing a loiter sack like you.’

  Kairos hadn’t thought about that. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

  ‘Besides, we dwarves don’t use magic and we get along fine. I don’t think of myself as cursed.’

  ‘But I want to become a Mana Knight, and I still keep hearing that people with low mana cannot become knights.’

  Mr. Dubose spat into the mud. ‘That is nonsense. People with more mana, but less resourcefulness than you have become Mana Knights. And I’ve seen people with high levels of mana fail miserably at attaining knighthood. It takes courage and wit to become a good Mana Knight, and you may be a little daft from time to time, but you have some of those good qualities.’

  Kairos gawked at the dwarf in disbelief. Mr. Dubose rarely, if ever, complimented him.

  As if realising his error, Mr. Dubose flushed and coughed. ‘I’m not saying you’re courageous or intelligent, mind you,’ he grunted, ‘You just have a few more of those qualities than the other humans. As for your mana problem, I told you that I have a solution.’

  ‘What’s that?’ Kairos asked, daring to hope.

  ‘I left you a list of chores at the workshop. Finish those and meet me in front of the Grand Forge tonight. Don’t be late.’

  * * *

  Kairos was on his way to see Mr. Dubose, but he was running late. He had completed the chores, taking much longer than he cared for. Mr. Dubose had something to teach him – to help him become a Mana Knight, and to hide that he was cursed by the gods. The dwarf might keep assuring him that there was no such thing but Kairos wasn’t so sure. He knew he had to make it to the Grand Forge in time.

  The streets were easy to navigate; by now he knew his way around the subterranean district like he knew his own home. Several dwarves yelled greetings to him as he ran by. He did not stop, only waved in acknowledgement, even quickening his pace.

  He had a reason for his unease. Somebody was following him.

  The Grand Forge was still a block away. Kairos turned around a few times, but did not see anyone there. Instinct told him there was someone though. He circled the block twice just to be sure. Whatever it was, it stayed close by and out of sight. He quickly veered off the main street and went down an alley that seemed like a shortcut to the Grand Forge.

  By the time he reached the halfway point of the alley, it was too late.

  A silhouette stood at the end of the alleyway blotting out the dim red light from the streetlamps, just waiting for Kairos. It quickly traced a glyph. Kairos had nowhere to go. The glyph flashed as it was completed. With a loud hiss, a small fireball soared down the alley. Kairos had to jump aside, or else be burned.

  The fireball struck the stone pavement behind him, exploding in a shower of sparks. Kairos still had no place to run, no weapon to fight, and his arms and shoulders were tired from the chores. He knew a bad situation when he was in one, and this was very bad. In very bad situations, one had to use very bad tactics so Kairos did the least expected thing. He charged the silhouette.

  The silhouetted figure began casting another spell, but Kairos was fast. He hit the figure, causing the glyph to fade before the spell could be completed. A sixteen-year-old human boy could not do much to an adult dwarf, yet the impact was enough to make the dwarf drop his staff. It clanked against the ground. Besides which, dwarves could not cast spells. Right then Kairos figured out that something was very off…

  ‘All right! I give up!’ Mr. Dubose shouted with a chuckle. ‘I was just showing you how convincing my casting glove can be.’

  The glove was way too small for Mr. Dubose’s hand. He could only fit three fingers into it. Handing it to Kairos, he said, ‘Here, you put it on.’

  It fit Kairos's hand, well, like a glove.

  ‘Now touch your thumb and index finger together while moving your hand about.’

  Kairos did so. An orange line of light followed from where his fingers touched, hanging in the air just like the glyphs he had seen some Ordonians cast. When he opened his fingers, the line winked out.

  ‘If you squeeze your fingers a bit harder, the mana line flashes, like when an Ordonian casts a glyph.’

  ‘Where did you get this?’ Kairos asked.

  ‘Get it? I made that, boy! I didn’t ‘get it’ from anywhere.’

  Kairos didn't realise he had just called into question Mr. Dubose's dwarven craftsmanship, a serious insult, but he did realise he had offended him. ‘Okay! I’m sorry. I didn't mean anything by it. I- I just haven't seen anything so brilliantly made before.’ He hoped that was the right thing to say.

  Jace Dubose beamed. Kairos decided it was.

  ‘Aye! It’s crafted of two layers of supple leather that hide and protect the runes,’ he said, turning Kairos's gloved hand over. ‘The condenser is concealed in the back of the hand. There's a small assemblage integrated into the glove that captures kinetic energy to keep the condenser saturated. Oh, and I reinforced the knuckles – for when things get messy. And a battle always gets messy.’

  Kairos did not understand what the dwarf was saying, but he tried out the glove again. He cast the light glyph he had seen Professor Argent use during the Badger’s Trial. It looked convincing!

  �
��But I see others using one finger.’ He frowned. ‘I have to use two to use the glove.’

  ‘Well, that’s something you'll have to work out. Besides, who's to say that's not your technique from your homeland?’

  ‘Wait. How did you make the fire?’

  ‘Ha! That's where this staff comes in,’ Jace said, reaching down to pick it up. It was an ordinary-looking staff made of brass, but with hand grips at the midway points of both halves. Unlike most staffs, this one had a hole at one end with evidence of soot. Mr. Dubose held the staff out to Kairos. ‘This beauty combines the same dwarven ingenuity found in your glove, with gnome powder to fire a small exploding projectile – like the fireball you’ve just seen. An Ordonian would have figured out that it's gnome powder if a dwarf used it, but a human boy like you is another story.’

  Kairos took the staff and clutched it in wonder. It was no beauty, it would probably win a contest for the ugliest staff in Vadost, but Kairos did not care. This staff would help him become a Mana Knight. Give him an edge in battle. And conceal the fact that he was a Cursed One.

  Mr. Dubose slapped his large hand on Kairos’s back, which sent the boy tumbling forward. ‘All right, boy! Now let's go back before someone gets the wrong idea about us. We have to prepare for the festival, and after that, I'll show you the other interesting ‘magic spells’ that your staff can do.’

  * * *

  The day began full of excitement for Althea, who was eager to display her best dress. She always loved the festival, which was full of fine-crafted dwarven jewellery that the Ordonians loved and cherished. She hoped to find a new necklace or a brooch. Her friend, Cassie, was going as well. She could meet with her and together they could sample the variety of food and exchange the latest gossip. But the thing that excited her most about this year’s festival was the fact that Kairos was going to be there.

  She wasn’t sure what she would do if she met the boy.

  Stella was going, too, guaranteeing to spoil much potential excitement, but Althea had no choice in the matter. The dwarven housekeeper insisted on accompanying her to the festival (despite Althea’s repeated assurances that she wasn’t going to get into trouble – especially as far as boys were concerned). It wasn’t fair, Althea thought. She was fourteen, ready to enter the Academy of the Mana Knights, yet the dwarf treated her as if she were a child!