The Guild of Warriors

by Martin Swinford

  It had been the last fight of the day and Luan was the first boy through to the third round. The benches were cleared away and the boys had broken up into groups of two or three. An excited hum filled the room as they discussed their fights, congratulating and commiserating, and looking forward to the next day. Luan, filled with a sudden weariness as the adrenaline seeped out of him, sat on the floor against the wall and leaned his head back. He closed his eyes and the fight replayed in his head in silent slow motion.

  "Well done!" Brenn congratulated him.

  "Yeah," added Fin. "I thought he had you a couple of times."

  "Me too," admitted Luan. "Although I almost knew what to expect."

  "I saw that!" Brenn said excitedly. "It was as if you read his mind."

  Fin looked suspiciously at Luan. "You didn't, did you?"

  "No!" Luan opened his eyes and sat up, shocked by the suggestion.

  "Well you can do other weird stuff," said Fin defensively.

  Luan gave him a look. "Well you're first up tomorrow. Are you ready?"

  "Of course!" Fin rolled his eyes. "I can handle that long streak of piss, no problem."

  THAT NIGHT LUAN DREAMT again of Cy Malg. He walked up the path in the twilight and next to him paced a white wolf.

  "This is how it will be" the wolf looked at him with eyes silver like the moon and when it spoke the voice was that of Zand.

  They reached the ruins by the pillar and Luan picked his way around the blocks of stone that tumbled across the path as if strewn by the careless hand of an outsized child. The pillar curved above him like a beckoning skeletal finger and as Luan stepped past he felt the now familiar dizziness. The scene was suddenly bathed in red as the setting sun peeped through a cleft in the hills and threw her rays through the thickening air. Luan stepped forward onto the bridge that leapt across the deep ravine between the hillside and the citadel. At the apex the bridge was shattered leaving a gap about four feet across. Luan stood on the brink and looked down into the deep. Far below him the darkness swirled and a wave of malevolence forced him into an involuntary step back. As if sensing his feelings the wolf sprang lightly over the gap and then turned to face him.

  "Have courage leantor-cosan, it is but a small gap"

  Luan swallowed, nodded and then backed up a few steps. A quick dash and a jump and he was over, his boots thumping down onto solid ground. He looked up. Ahead the path vanished into the shadows, swallowed by the gaping mouth of the city gate. Luan reached over his shoulder and drew his sword, the solid weight in his hands giving him strength. The white wolf slid his velvet tongue over sharp white teeth and licked his nose.

  "I know," Luan said. "This is how it will be!" He stepped forward.

  It was no more than thirty paces from the bridge to the gate, but to Luan it felt so much further. With every step he felt fear grow within him. By the time he reached the entrance every sense he had was screaming at him to stop, to go back, but he forced himself on. Inside had once been a wide hall but whole sections of wall had collapsed leaving a much more open space. Gaping holes in the ceiling let in what remained of the sun rendering the inside a patchwork of light and shadow. The floor was dusty beneath his feet and rubble lay everywhere. Luan warily made his way inward. It was hard to see but ahead he could just make out the shape of a broad flight of stairs. Suddenly a raucous screech split the silence as something hurtled out of the shadows. As Luan turned to strike he got the impression of beak, claws and red eyes, but then his sword hit home, there was a moment of resistance and the creature dissolved into a swirl of smoke. A handful of feathers drifted down before they too evaporated into black tendrils of mist. Another screech and Luan spun towards the sound behind him, just as the wolf’s teeth closed on the neck of the creature. The animal shook its head, snapping the creature’s neck and it too dissolved into blackness.

  "Nedlehain." The wolf's eyes glinted in the shadow. "The ghost crows. They are the harbingers of the Selgir Orduin."

  Luan felt the hair stand up in the back of his neck. "Can they hurt me?"

  "They wish to feast upon your soul."

  Luan stared at the wolf. "A simple 'yes' would have been enough!" he replied.

  They continued through the ruin, the boy and the wolf together. At the foot of the stairs they stopped. Luan looked up into the darkness. The stairway climbed to a small landing then turned back on itself to disappear above him. Gingerly he set foot on the first step and started to climb. Just as he reached the landing something dropped from the ceiling above. Luan found himself wrapped in darkness. He struggled, but the more he tried to free himself the tighter his bonds became. He thrashed and twisted, desperately crying out as his sense of suffocation grew.

  "Luan! Luan! It's alright!"

  He opened his eyes and sucked in a welcome breath of fresh air as Fin pulled the covers from him.

  "The Selgir Orduin!" Luan sat up and flailed his arms, reaching desperately for the sword that wasn't there.

  "Whoa!" Fin grabbed his arms. "It's ok! Just a nightmare!"

  Luan looked around him. Already the dream was receding. The tension and fear seeped away as he realised where he was.

  "I dreamt I was fighting," he said to Fin. "The night hunter had me in its grasp!"

  "It was just your blankets," replied Fin as he surveyed the wreckage of Luan’s bed. "And if it is any consolation you've given them a right pasting!"

  Twelve – Making Plans

  Maintain the element of surprise. A cut that can be seen coming is not only a waste, but a surrendering of your initiative to your opponent.

  THE BOY SO UNFLATTERINGLY described by Fin was called Callum. Tall, with dark skin and curly hair as black as his mood, he was a natural pessimist who found fault in just about everything. In spite of this he got on reasonably well with the other boys, who at least knew where they stood with him.

  "It's not like he's always bad tempered," Brenn had once observed, "sometimes he's asleep!" And it certainly seemed to be the case that there was always something for him to be cross about.

  "He's actually pretty good you know." Brenn watched Callum as he executed an accomplished series of cuts and strikes. The tall boy moved with an unconscious grace, strong yet light on his feet. "It won't be an easy win."

  "I'm not worried." Fin pulled his rough woollen jerkin over his head and then rolled the sleeves of his linen shirt above his elbows. The muscles on his arms bunched under the tight skin, life on a farm had prepared him well for his training.

  "Why so confident?" Luan asked. "I would say you're pretty evenly matched."

  "Except," replied Fin, "he's got a temper."

  "So have you!" Luan pointed out.

  "I have not!"

  "You started a fight with three boys! Three!" Brenn held up three fingers to make his point. "Just because they made fun of your father!"

  "You leave my Da out of it! Or I'll ..." Fin suddenly stopped. "Alright, maybe I do lose it a bit..."

  "A bit?" repeated Luan.

  "...but I can keep my cool in a fight! I don't think he can. Come on!"

  Fin picked up the practice sword and walked out into the space between the benches.

  "Come on then!" he shouted to his opponent. "Let's get this over with."

  The benches quickly filled as the boys of the cadre grabbed their places, jostling to get the seats nearest to the action. Callum frowned and walked out to stand opposite Fin.

  "What do you mean?" His voice sounded suspicious.

  "Well it's just that I'm a bit disappointed," Fin replied. "I was hoping for someone better."

  "What?"

  "You know, more of a challenge." Fin leered at his opponent. "No offence!"

  Callum pulled himself up and stared at Fin. "You prattle like a little girl!" He announced haughtily.

  "At least I don't fight like one!" Fin riposted cheekily. The boys of the cadre were starting to laugh.

  Callum's face darkened and his frown deepened "Do you think this is a joke?" h
e asked angrily.

  "I think your fighting is a joke!"

  At this the boys on the benches started to call out and some began to clap their hands. Callum could contain himself no longer. Forgetting the traditional start to the fight, he leapt across the open space to launch a furious attack on Fin. To his friends’ amazement, Fin didn't parry or strike back. Instead he lightly skipped out of the way and allowed Callum to go past him.

  "Missed!" he called out as the tall boy spun angrily to face him. Callum threw himself forward striking downwards two handed, the notorious Strike of Wrath designed to split a man's skull. Fin ducked and rolled, coming to his feet in time to plant a painful and humiliating blow on Callum's backside as the taller boy stumbled past. At this Callum lost all control. He attacked ferociously with no attempt at style or strategy and more importantly no thought of self-defence. Now Fin parried, coolly standing his ground and deflecting all his opponent’s attacks. Callum was shouting now, eyes bulging, and flecks of spittle on his lips. Fin took his chance. His next parry whipped Callum's sword down and away and his shoulder crashed into the other boy's chest sending him reeling. Fin's next strike was straight down between Callum's arms, a blow that with a real sword would sever a hand. As it was, Callum's right hand was thrown off the hilt leaving the practice sword in his weaker left hand. He desperately tried to parry the next blow but it was useless, Fin's Crooked Strike hit home to thump solidly into Callum's stomach. A second later Fin kicked his legs out and Callum was on the floor. All the boys were cheering now as Fin kicked his opponent’s sword away. Callum began to get up but stopped short as Fin's sword poked his chest.

  "Do you yield?" Now Fin's voice was steady with no sign of its earlier bantering tone. Callum swept the sword aside and scrambled away.

  "I'll get you for this farmer boy!" he shouted as he pushed his way through the cheering boys of the cadre.

  Fin stood breathing heavily as Brenn and Luan rushed to congratulate him.

  "Nicely done!" Luan clapped him on the back.

  "Risky though," Brenn added.

  Fin smiled ruefully. "I don’t think I'd have beaten him otherwise."

  Brenn looked surprised. "But you were so confident!"

  "All part of the act," Fin replied.

  "Well that's two of us through," said Luan. "Just you now Brenn"

  Brenn smiled nervously but said nothing. He was up against Drustan.

  THEY WERE HEADING FOR the canteen when Cail caught up with them.

  "Luan! I need to speak with you."

  Luan stopped. "You two go on," he said to Fin and Brenn. "I'll catch up." Luan turned and studied the tall figure walking towards him. His short cut dark hair and spontaneous smile gave Cail the impression of youth but Luan guessed he must be at least thirty years old. He was a veteran certainly; the red trim of his cloak marking him as a man who had served at least ten years as a Klaideem. Like many tall men, Cail had the habit of looking down as he walked, seeming to study the ground as if searching for something he had lost.

  "Hello Luan," he said, his smile flashing across his face. "I hear you won your first two fights. Well done!"

  "Thank you," Luan replied. "I've been very lucky."

  "Well, luck is a good thing to have." Cail smiled again. "But I suspect there was a fair bit of skill as well, hey?"

  Luan wasn't sure how to respond to thus. He still felt slightly in awe and just smiled back. After a moment Cail continued.

  "Come on, the Captean wants to see you."

  "Am I in trouble?" Luan asked anxiously.

  "I don't think so," Cail replied, "but I wouldn't keep him waiting if I were you. Come on!"

  The office was just as it had been before but with one welcome addition.

  "Mack!" Luan greeted his old friend joyfully. Mack was looking good, not quite the dandy troubadour they had seen in the Inn but still a step up from the well-worn farm hand that Luan had first encountered. In a fine grey doublet and knee length boots he looked more like a prosperous merchant than anything else.

  "Good to see you boy!" he said grasping Luan firmly by the hand. "I hear you've been winning some fights! Although," he said with a glare at the Captean. "I have to say that if they hadn't taken your sword in the first place you could have been saved a whole heap of bother!"

  Luan smiled. "They do what they have to," he replied. He glanced at the Captean who nodded.

  "This was the only way," he said. "We have to keep Luan safe, and that means keeping things secret. To simply give him his sword would be to announce to our enemy that we are onto him."

  "And what if he gets hurt?" asked Mack

  "I won't," interrupted Luan. "It's fine. Now, what brings you here?"

  "Ah!" Mack held up his forefinger in dramatic fashion. "I bring a letter!" And with a flourish he produced a scroll from under his coat.

  "A letter?" asked Luan. "Who from?"

  "I believe the usual practice is to read it!" the Captean growled. He seemed decidedly unamused by Mack's theatrics. Feeling slightly foolish, Luan opened the scroll and found that actually there were three separate pieces. The first was short and hand written:

  Luan

  I hope this letter finds you well. We have searched our archives for anything that refers to Cy Malg or the Selgir Orduin but whilst there is much story and legend it has been difficult to glean any reliable facts. What follows is a summary that I hope you find helpful:

  Cy Malg was once the chief city of the Empire of Malgon, which flourished and withered long before Amhar the Strong united the clans of your land. It stretched from the tribal lands to the east of the Kingdom all the way south and east to the shores of the Sea of Gant where the waters are warm and free of salt. The Empire was overrun by tribes from the East, the same whose descendants swore allegiance to the Kingdom and live on our eastern borders to this day. To us they are a primitive people, noble in their own way, but they live a nomadic life building no houses while the great cities of the Malgon fall into ruin. The fact that so much of Cy Malg still stands is a tribute to the skill of the artisans of the Empire, as well as the fact that the tribesmen avoid the old places. Their stories tell of the Malgonians as a race of sorcerers whose ghosts haunt the ruins of Cy Malg and as such I would expect the fortress to be unoccupied. We have prepared two maps for you which we hope are fairly reliable, they should be at least good enough to get you close. You may have to seek local knowledge after that.

  Luan broke off from reading and examined the maps. One was large scale and covered a vast area of land, much of which was unfamiliar to Luan. The other was more detailed and marked Cy Malg on the edge of a range of mountains. Luan nodded to himself, that part at least seemed correct. He turned back to the letter.

  The Selgir Orduin is a creature of legend that dwells in the shadows between this world and the spirit realm. Known commonly as the night hunter it is one of a group of dark spirits that are said to prey on the lost and foolish who stray out of the light. It is said to be most dangerous in the dark of the moon and that walking through the shadow of a standing stone will mark you as its victim. Crows flying in the night are its eyes and ears and the only an iron weapon can do it harm.

  Finally, a word about Zand who you have now encountered twice. His name appears in stories over a long period of time and he is described variously as a wizard, a sorcerer or a hunter. He usually appears as a benign figure but also cunning and unpredictable. My advice is to be careful, he may well be your ally, but that does not make him your friend!

  I hope that this information is helpful and I wish you well in the test to come. Be brave. When we first met I named you leantor-cosan, which is sword path follower. Keep to your path with courage and you will prevail!

  Conn

  Luan handed the letter to Mack and the maps to the Captean.

  "Here," he said. "This is where I have to go."

  The Captean studied the maps carefully.

  "It is too far!" he said finally. "No Klaideem has travelled th
ere in living memory."

  "I have no choice in this." Luan was surprised at himself. He never thought he would have the confidence to speak so to the man he had been so in awe of. "I have to go, and I have to be there by the last day of spring."

  For a moment the Captean's single eye studied the boy.

  "Very well!" he said. "The guild father has ordered me to give you all the assistance you need and I have been a soldier for a long time. I am not going to start disobeying orders now." He paused and then added, "no matter how foolish they seem!"

  Luan ignored the comment. "How long will it take us?"

  "Hard to say." The Captean looked again at the maps. "If you wish to be there by the last day of spring then I would leave by the end of next week, no later."

  "That soon?" Luan felt a sudden sense of loss. Setting an actual date brought an air of certainty to his plans and Luan realised there had still been a part of him that hoped it would never happen.

  "Who will you take with you?" Mack asked.

  "I don't want to put anyone in danger, I think I should go alone."

  "Now wait a minute..." Mack began but he was cut off by the authoritarian voice of the Captean.

  "Out of the question!"

  Luan spun to face him.

  "But..."

  "I said, out of the question!" The Captean leaned forward on his elbows. "This is where I step in. I will decide the make-up of the patrol and see that it is properly manned and equipped. It must seem as close to a normal patrol that would make up part of your training, anything else would be to give ourselves away."

  "I suppose," replied Luan reluctantly.

  "No suppose about it! We will also need an experienced man to lead it and we could do with a guide, someone who knows the tribes' customs and languages."