Cursed Knight

by Elmon Dean Todd

  Althea knew it was rude to eavesdrop, but it was also rude to interrupt another’s conversation. She should have turned around and headed back to the barracks. There was always tomorrow, she reasoned to herself. But she did not leave. Curiosity and intrigue overpowered the desire for politeness. Who was Argent talking to? He sounded so strange. Dangerous even. She put her ear against the door.

  ‘So have I!’ the other man responded. ‘And I’ve been living in a shit pot this entire time, too. At least you have these quarters where it’s nice and quiet. I’m tired of hearing whores, drunks, and street urchins during all hours of the night.’

  ‘You can always look for another place,’ Argent replied complacently. ‘No one has bothered you, yet.’

  Althea held perfectly still, not even breathing. She wanted to know what was going on. She realised that she, along with everyone else in class, knew very little about Professor Argent. The man she was hearing now sounded very different to the man who stood at the front of the classroom making her cast rudimentary battle spells.

  ‘I’m almost at the end of my patience,’ the other voice growled. ‘I’ll deal with him soon enough on my own, and then I can leave this bloody cesspool of filth.’

  ‘I have my own methods regarding the god-cursed one,’ Argent returned coolly. ‘Do not interfere. You will do your job and– Wait! What was that?’

  Althea had adjusted her position against the door to relieve her quivering legs. The day had been a long one of training, and her muscles were beginning to cramp. She tried to shift her weight, ever so slightly and silently. Unfortunately, the wooden door on which she leant upon creaked loudly when she moved.

  The door flung open inwardly, almost causing Althea to fall inside.

  ‘A spy!’ Argent’s companion said in a harsh voice.

  A colourful cloak fluttered, and a strong hand reached out, gripping Althea’s cloak. The mana on her fingertips evaporated in the heat of terror. The man dragged Althea inside and shut the door, his pale blue eyes full of blood lust.

  Althea’s eyes widened in surprise. The words for mercy died on her lips. She stared, not at a vicious brute like she had imagined, but at Stephon who immediately released her and smoothed the wrinkles on her cloak. The elf’s expression showed that he was just as surprised to see her.

  ‘Why Althea! Fancy seeing you. What brings you here at such a late hour, milady?’ The tone sounded friendly and inviting, but Althea thought she could detect a trace of venom lying underneath the honeyed words.

  ‘I might ask you the same!’ Althea countered, still in shock. There was something wrong with the elf, but she was so flustered that her thoughts jumbled around in a hurry.

  ‘How long have you been there?’ Argent demanded, sitting behind an oak desk, looking irritated, as if disturbed from something important. ‘And what are you doing skulking around my door in the evening when you should be back at the barracks?’

  Althea tried to look stupid, copying Shah’s blank stare and dumbfounded expression. ‘Not long,’ she answered. ‘I came here to ask you a few questions about class. I had just got to the door when I realised you had company. I wasn’t waiting long.’

  ‘My dear,’ Stephon began, ‘it’s a terrible thing to lie. You have been snooping, haven’t you?’

  ‘N-no, I have not, Stephon.’ Althea replied hastily, fear churning her insides. ‘I had just finished my classes and training for the day, and I came to see Professor Argent.’

  ‘That’s quite enough,’ said Argent. ‘Stephon and I were just discussing business.’

  Althea glanced from Stephon to Argent in puzzlement. ‘Do you two know each other?’

  The elf turned and his gaze met Argent’s, as if an unsaid message passed between the two. He suddenly raised both open hands as if warding off an attack. ‘Oh heavens, no! It's nothing like that. He's definitely not my type! Too human for my tastes, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Stephon was taking a custom order for a new robe.’ Argent did not look amused. ‘He’s not pleased about living in Ordonia, so this may be my last chance to have him make something. Stephon, if you have no further business with me, I shall see Squire Avenal now.’

  ‘Yes.’ Stephon sighed and gave a wan smile. ‘I wanted to keep my leaving a secret, but I suppose it’s best that you know, Althea. You have always been one of my best customers. It was a pleasure! By your leave, milord, milady.’

  The elf bowed to Argent, then to Althea. He seemed tired and dishevelled, not groomed to his usual standards. His cheerful voice sounded strained. He left through the front door, his cloak swirling around him. Althea watched him leave, not knowing quite what to make of the elf. She had never seen this side of him before. She tried to think, but couldn’t grasp a coherent thought. Maybe he hated living in Vadost. Most elves did. She didn’t ponder on the matter for long, because she felt like she was going to be in trouble with Argent.

  After the elf shut the door, Argent gestured to the lone chair across from him. ‘Have a seat, Squire Avenal,’ he said. The desk was tidy except for a quill, ink jar, parchment, and an acorn carved of stone. Argent picked up the quill and began scrawling notes on the parchment in front of him. ‘What brings you here? You’re performing sufficiently enough in my class.’

  Althea averted her eyes and shifted her feet. She had almost forgotten why she’d come. The words of the professor’s conversation with Stephon still burned fresh on her mind, but the professor didn’t seem about to punish her for peeping in on his conversation. She forced herself to relax. ‘Well, I wanted to talk with you about something.’

  Argent continued writing without looking up. ‘Go on and say it then. Let’s not tarry on the matter.’

  ‘Sir, I have a problem,’ Althea began, struggling with the words. ‘It’s my mana…’

  ‘What about it?’ The quill continued its strokes across the parchment.

  ‘No matter how much I study or train, I barely seem to improve.’ Althea opened up her bottled up feelings. The words poured freely now. ‘I’ve always had low mana, you see. Ever since I was little. I know the glyphs and their combinations, but whenever I try to draw upon the magic to cast the spell, I feel as if the well is almost empty.’

  Argent paused briefly, then continued writing. ‘And what makes you think that I can help?’

  ‘Because you’re powerful,’ said Althea.

  The quill stopped. Pale, piercing eyes looked at her, appraisingly. ‘What gives you that idea?’

  Althea shrugged. ‘I’ve been around my father my whole life, and he’s powerful in magic. You give off a similar aura.’

  The professor regarded her with an approving eye, evidently impressed. ‘You flatter me, Squire Avenal. My abilities are not that remarkable. Your father is much more powerful.’

  ‘But surely you have some advice for me!’ Althea said stubbornly.

  Argent put the quill into the ink jar. Whatever he was writing was going to wait.

  ‘Please, professor,’ Althea pleaded.

  ‘You mentioned your father,’ Argent said suddenly. ‘What about your mother? Magical abilities lie in lineage.’

  Althea looked at the floor and swallowed. Talking about her mother was painful, and she rarely ever brought her up. ‘I don’t know much,’ Althea admitted. ‘My mother died when I was young. Father hardly ever talks about her, and I don’t know the extent of her abilities. I was too young to remember, and I never asked father.’

  ‘I see,’ Argent said. ‘And now you lack the mana to cast intermediate spells, and the spells you can cast seem weak, correct?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I can theorise what your problem is,’ Argent replied.

  Althea brightened, sitting up in her excitement. ‘You have a solution?!’

  ‘I did not say that,’ he snapped. ‘I’m merely theorising here. Your problem may lie within yourself. Negative emotions and stress. A lack of self-confidence can constrict the flow of mana throughout your body, l
imiting your spell-casting abilities.’

  Althea sat up straight. ‘I don’t understand. I know the glyphs and I feel confident casting them.’

  The professor pursed his lips. ‘That’s not what I meant. When you cast a spell, you memorise the glyph, channel your mana into it, and expect the result, correct?’ Without waiting for an answer, the professor continued, ‘Well, spellcasting is like solving math equations – but it’s not. You have to know your glyphs and how much mana to funnel into the spell, but sometimes your emotions get involved.’

  ‘My emotions?’

  ‘You get flustered easily, Squire Avenal,’ Argent said. ‘And that’s not a good thing when you’re casting spells.’ He added, ‘It’s just my personal observation. You could have a low mana pool, too. Some people are born unlucky.’

  Althea leant back in the chair and contemplated the professor’s words. She had always assumed she lacked a significant degree of mana. Emotional distractions were a new concept.

  ‘Self-doubt hinders your abilities greatly,’ the professor continued. ‘Focus on removing that, first. I know it’s easier said than done, but know this: when you cast a spell, you have to envision that the end result will be powerful, and then you train to attain that level of power.’

  ‘I’ve tried that.’ Althea’s shoulders slumped in defeat. ‘Believe me, I’ve tried!’

  ‘Is that so?’ Argent raised his head to glance at Althea. ‘Well, then.’

  ‘Please, sir,’ Althea pleaded again. ‘I don’t want to be useless. I’ve been useless my whole life. The other kids have always picked on me. I feel like a burden. For once, I would like to be of some use.’ A tear flowed down Althea’s cheek. ‘Please. Surely you know some training method or exercise I could do. A spell I could practise.’

  The professor’s face regarded her like a mask of stone.

  Althea felt humiliated. She had been plagued by self-doubt ever since she came through the door, had been on the verge of admitting she was mistaken in coming here. Professor Argent seemed like the right person to ask, but his indifferent responses hinted otherwise. Althea was going to look a fool, especially in front of a professor whose respect she wanted to earn. She was about to excuse herself from his quarters and retreat back to the barracks with what little dignity she had remaining, when she noticed the professor’s eyes flicker.

  Or was it her imagination? Ever since their first meeting, the professor had never displayed any emotion. He wasn’t going to start now.

  ‘I’ll just take my leave then,’ Althea mumbled, rising from her seat. ‘Please pardon my intrusion.’

  ‘Stay seated,’ Argent said, rising. He ambled over to a bookshelf tucked into the corner of the room, and reached up to grasp a worn, leather-bound book from the topmost shelf. ‘I think I may have a partial solution to your problem.’

  This was a surprise.

  Althea clamped her teeth over her lips to keep her excitement from bursting out. Spellbooks were a valuable commodity, and few owners passed them around casually due to the possibility of them falling into the wrong hands. Althea had to join the Mana Knight Academy to study the classroom spellbooks that were sanctioned and approved by the Knighthood, and those spells were not allowed to be used outside of the Knighthood. Spellbooks dealing with other professions such as farming required an apprenticeship before one could simply peruse the pages. She knew that this book was not sanctioned or approved by the Knighthood, and Argent could face dire consequences for merely showing her its contents.

  She teetered on the edge of her seat.

  He set the spellbook down upon his desk and spent a moment opening it and examining the pages as if he found it all uninteresting. Althea gazed at the book as well, but with a ravenous curiosity to see what wonders it might contain. She had already suspected that the book was illegal, and the notion made her heart pound rapidly against her chest.

  Argent confirmed her suspicions by closing the book and showing her the angular lines of the elven alphabet. Other than that, the book looked rather ordinary, which was common for spellbooks. No owner in their right mind would want a gaudy book that brought unwanted attention to itself. ‘Just so you know, this book deals with spells of healing and necromancy. It was written long ago, before necromancy was outlawed by all the nations of Alban.’

  The book was indeed old. The brown leather of its binding was frayed and showed heavy signs of wear. A small part of her mind told her to be wary when Argent mentioned ‘necromancy’, but the prospects of power drowned that caution with a tidal wave of excitement. Althea reached forward.

  Argent placed his hand over the book, halting her movements. ‘This book is very difficult to comprehend, and it’s written in the language of the dark elves. This magic focuses more on drawing the mana from the nature around you, and less on the mana inside of you. However, there are consequences of its misuse.’

  ‘Such as?’ Althea whispered, scarcely daring to breathe as she clung to Argent’s every word.

  ‘You must be careful how you draw the mana for these spells, even the simple ones, because if you force it, then you devolve into the art of necromancy.’ Argent cast Althea a stern gaze. ‘And you know the consequences of that.’

  Althea nodded. She knew that all nations captured practitioners of necromancy and sentenced them to death. Few users of the forbidden art had the temerity to boldly cast their magic out in the open, most conducting their evil acts in caves or abandoned structures, away from prying eyes. Even healers such as Sir Flain had to earn approval under strict supervision for the use of his healing abilities. Thus there were very few paladins and healers in the Knighthood.

  ‘Keep this book hidden from others,’ Argent said, ‘Do not tell anyone about this book or where you got it from, and keep a low profile on these spells. Use only the healing spells when necessary. Understood?’

  ‘I understand,’ Althea said reverently. And she meant it, though a small sliver of her conscience told her that her actions were wrong. The Knighthood wouldn’t condone such an act: concealing a forbidden power. That sliver of reasoning was weak, however, and she countered that she was using this power for good. She would benefit the Knighthood with it, rather than burden it with a lack of power.

  ‘Good,’ Argent said. ‘Now I suppose you should be on your way.’

  ‘I’ll return this to you when I’m finished with it,’ Althea said.

  ‘Keep it.’

  Althea was about to stand to leave, but paused. ‘Why are you doing this, professor?’

  The professor’s usual impassive face flickered with bemusement for a brief moment. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Why are you giving this to me?’ she asked. ‘You’re risking your position and your well-being by entrusting me with this book.’

  Argent gave a slight, half smile – the only time Althea had ever seen him coming close to smiling. ‘You remind me of a child I once knew.’ His hand reached out and touched the stone carving of the acorn on the desk, and his eyes glazed over, as if seeing something far away. ‘Only I couldn’t provide her help at the time… And she was unable to defend herself when danger came.’

  Several silent seconds passed. Althea did not respond. It was very brief, so brief that Althea had almost missed it, but she saw a look of infinite sadness on the professor’s face. The look vanished instantly.

  ‘Sorry,’ Argent said in a stiff voice, nodding off a memory and focusing back on the present. ‘Let me return to my work.’ The professor picked up his quill and began writing again. ‘Is that all?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She stood up.

  ‘Good,’ he said, not looking at her. ‘I’ll see you in tomorrow’s class.’

  Althea walked towards the door, but stopped again. There was one other thing that had been bothering her, tugging at her mind lately.

  ‘D-do you believe that someone can be god-cursed?’

  The quill fell onto the parchment, splattering ink in a few tiny droplets that seeped into the page.
Argent stared at Althea in long silence, causing her to wither before its intensity. ‘What do you mean?’ he finally said.

  Althea did not expect such a serious response to what she deemed a flippant question. The severity of Argent’s sudden expression frightened her. ‘I-I mean that someone who has no trace of mana whatsoever…’

  ‘So you did eavesdrop on my conversation with Stephon,’ Argent said coldly.

  ‘No, I haven’t, sir.’ Althea replied in a conciliatory tone. ‘I just came to the door and heard mention of a god-cursed one, so I stopped to listen. I couldn’t help myself. I have read stories about the god-cursed ones before, and I have always found them fascinating.’

  ‘They are interesting stories,’ Argent agreed. ‘Do you believe them?’

  The question took Althea by surprise. She did not expect this, either. The stories about the god-cursed people were just that. Stories. No one had ever seen the god-cursed. But here was Argent, asking her in earnest. ‘I-I just thought they were legends,’ she stammered.

  ‘I see,’ he said, picking up the quill and tossing the ruined parchment aside. ‘As much as I would love to talk, you should run along back to the barracks. It’s getting late, squire. Focus more on your new spellbook and less on stories. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

  Althea bowed. Muscles stiff and aching, she exited Argent’s quarters and made her way back to the barracks. Hearing sounds of footsteps, fearing that someone was following her, she glanced back.

  It was just a pair of Mana Knights patrolling the keep.

  She mulled over the conversation between Stephon and Argent, trying to ferret out its meaning, but her mind was too dulled with fatigue to make any sense of it. The introduction of the spellbook had left her body and mind drained, from the excitement. She forced herself back to the barracks in a daze, placing one foot in front of the other, only seeing the recent events swim around over and over in her mind.

  Her instincts told her that something was off. She would think more about it later, when she had had sufficient rest.

  * * *

  This is it. He knows. I’m done.