Knights The Hand of Tharnin

chapter 11: Trial by Sword

While Lannon and the others were navigating the mines below Dremlock, to the south in the City of Silvergate, Timlin Woodmaster sat in a tavern in an area of town where theft and murder were normal business affairs. He'd wandered in with some copper coins he'd stolen--enough to buy him a mug of milk but not enough to earn him a meal. As he sat sipping his drink, his stomach was gnawed by hunger. To the left of him, a drunken woman was slumped over the bar. On his right, a muscular, bearded man was drinking ale and trying to get Timlin's attention with a grin that Timlin was trying to ignore.

After leaving Dremlock, Timlin had found nothing but misery. The people in the lands near the kingdom had ignored him, and he'd ended up wandering around stealing food and sneaking into barns to sleep. He'd finally found a merchant willing to give him a ride on a wagon to Silvergate.

During his time at Dremlock, Timlin had forgotten what it was like to be poor and not have his needs tended to. He'd fantasized about striding out of Dremlock and joining the Blood Legion, but he'd ended up in an endless struggle just to find his next meal. It left him with little time for anything else. He suspected the Blood Legion could be found in a major city like Silvergate--but Divine Knights could also be found there, patrolling the city. Some were spies of Dremlock. Fearing they would recognize him, Timlin hid in dark alleys and crept around mostly at night.

Timlin was beginning to grow weary and to believe that betraying Dremlock had been a mistake. His life at the kingdom had been much easier and far more exciting. He'd been a privileged Squire, riding with fully trained Knights into adventure. Now he was just a ragged thief looking for a bit of food. He still hated Dremlock and its Knights as deeply as ever, but there were many things he missed as well.

But now, as he sat there with his stomach feeling painfully empty, he wondered if he was a huge fool for not simply living as a Divine Knight. He kept thinking of the large, delicious meals that Dremlock offered to its servants, of the excellent training and glorious adventures.

"Is that milk fresh, little fellow?" asked the bearded man next to him. "Brelth is my name. I'm a fisherman." He extended his hand.

Timlin ignored the hand. "The milk is fine. Do you know where I can find the Blood Legion?"

Brelth laughed. "I said I fish for living. I'm not a killer. I do like a good brawl now and then, though. What about you?"

"I'm hungry," said Timlin.

The barkeep sat a platter of fried fish in front of Brelth. He chuckled and laid into it. "Sorry to hear that, little fellow," he said, his mouth full of fish. "Life is hard. You ever worked on a fishing boat? I need a skinny man who can move fast and is tireless, for the simple job of killing Storm Eels. You have to be good with a dagger and slice them right in the nets, without cutting the nets! It's very dangerous work. Men die all the time who miss the cut and get stung for their troubles. A sting from a Storm Eel is like getting struck by a lightning bolt. This is a job for someone with a steady hand and a lot of skill."

"I can use a dagger," said Timlin. "But I'm looking for the Blood Legion, as I said. That's the only work I want."

"There is a lot of work around here for thieves and assassins," said Brelth. "But with your small build, you don't look like much of a fighter. You're likely to be ignored. And the Blood Legion? I doubt they would even glance your way. I'm offering you an honest job with good pay. Fish by day, drink ale at night. What more could a man ask for in life?"

Timlin kept glancing at the fried fish. "I don't want to be a thief or an assassin. I want to be a Legion Soldier."

Brelth grinned slyly. "I can see you really want some food--more than anything right now, I'll bet. I'll make you a deal. Come to work on my boat killing eels, and I'll order you your own platter of fish. And another ale along with it."

Timlin considered it. He did need work, at least until he could meet with the Blood Legion, and the job sounded mildly exciting. And he felt like he was starving. "I guess I'll accept that offer. When do I start?"

"I've got to get you prepared," said Brelth. "Meet me by the East Docks this evening, just after the sun goes down. My boat should be in by then, and you can meet my crew. Then, you can begin tomorrow at sunrise."

"I'll be there," said Timlin.

Brelth grinned. "You will have no regrets."

***

The sun had gone down across the water, and many stars were visible in the sky, as Timlin sat on a crate and waited. Several fishing boats had already docked and unloaded, and now the area stood silent and empty save for an occasional splash of some fish or other water creature. The smell of wood smoke drifted to his nostrils, as he shivered in the chill night air.

Timlin wasn't fond of the prospect of working a common job, for that wasn't why he'd left Dremlock. He realized he could get caught up in an endless cycle of working and spending whatever money he earned--until he grew old and feeble and any hope for a better life was gone. Poverty seemed like trap that few could escape, the reality of always having to worry about one's next meal. Timlin possessed fantastic skills, yet he seemed unable to find a use for them beyond petty theft. No one seemed to listen to him when he bragged of his abilities, and when he spoke of his desire to join the Blood Legion, people quickly changed the subject or moved away from him. Finding a good career--even in crime--was very difficult. It seemed a lucky break was required to even get someone to notice you.

This line of thought made Timlin realize how fortunate he'd been to be chosen as a Squire by Dremlock. He'd been given a chance to be a Divine Knight and make his fortune--and had thrown it away, firmly believing he would instantly be taken in by the Blood Legion. He wondered how he could have been so foolish, considering he'd grown up in poverty and knew how difficult it was to escape its hold.

Timlin was lucky to have survived childhood--the long years of torment. In his nightmares, he found himself again facing the cruel whip and endless hours imprisoned beneath the cold ground. The torture and loss he'd endured had left him cynical and bitter toward life. Yet life had tried to redeem itself in his eyes, giving him a chance to ride with the Divine Knights--giving him unique skills to secure his future at Dremlock. But the bitter shadows of the past had managed to tear him down once again. He hated himself more than he hated the Knights of Dremlock--the Knights who had failed miserably to protect him when he was a child. Timlin knew that hating all Knights for the actions of a few was not logical. He'd tried to forgive them and even to become one of them, but somehow his mind and soul had never escaped the dark pit in the ground he'd once called home.

Regardless, Timlin needed a job if he wanted to eat. And so he continued to sit and wait. The area was growing very dark, and still no boat appeared. Timlin began to feel uneasy, wondering if he'd been tricked. It made no sense, considering he had no money. Still, he sat and waited.

Just when he was about to give up, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. He leapt up, hand on his Flayer. A tall figure stood on the dock, concealed by the evening shadows.

"Is that you, Brelth?" said Timlin, chills creeping over his flesh. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show up. Where's your boat?"

A quiet laugh greeted Timlin's ears. "Whoever you were hoping to meet has not come." The man lit a torch, revealing a large figure in dark clothing. A black hood covered his face and he held a gleaming, curved sword. Timlin could tell it was a man by the tone of his voice and the look of his hands.

'What do you want?" said Timlin. "If you're here to rob me, you're wasting your time. I have no money."

"Maybe I just want to kill you," said the stranger.

Rage surged through Timlin, diminishing his fear. "Go ahead and try it. I want you to. You obviously don't know who you're dealing with."

"You want me to attack you?" said the man.

His good sense overcome by anger, Timlin nodded.

"Then defend yourself!" snarled the man. With that, he lunged toward Timlin, swinging his sword at the boy's neck.

Timlin easily evaded the stroke and darted in, slashing the man's face and slicing it open through the hood. The stranger took a step backwards.

"You want to try that again?" said Timlin, trembling with rage. "Next time it will be your throat that gets cut."

"I can't believe you landed a blow!" the stranger muttered, shaking his head. "You're going to pay dearly for that!"

The stranger swung at Timlin again, and Timlin blocked with his Flayer. The curved blades were locked together for a moment, and then the stranger shoved Timlin down. Timlin rolled over smoothly and stood up.

"Well done," said the stranger. "You fight with great skill. But now I must put an end to this." He whistled, and two more large men, wearing hoods, appeared in the torchlight. The three of them charged at Timlin.

Timlin slashed out with his Flayer, but the stroke was deflected by a sword. He struck again and caught one man in the shoulder, ripping it open. But the other two men overpowered him and seized his arms.

The man with the wounded shoulder touched the gash, his hand coming away covered in blood. "I'm impressed. You're quite the dangerous little devil, as you could have cut off my head had I been a bit slower in evading. As it is, I'm feeling the sting from your blade."

"I said I have no money!" Timlin yelled. "So let go of me!"

The man with the hurt shoulder leaned close to Timlin. "Money? Who cares about that? Maybe we like to kill for pleasure."

Timlin spit at him. "You're all cowards for fighting three against one."

"You wanted to find the Blood Legion," said the stranger. "And so you have. Now what?"

Timlin's mouth dropped open. "You're from the Blood Legion?"

The man yanked off his hood, revealing a black beard and scarred face. It was Brelth, the supposed fisherman. He smiled.

"But why did you attack me?" Timlin asked.

"Just a minor test," said Brelth. "We know who you are, but we are still required to test potential recruits. But I must say that we were not expecting you to be that skilled, considering you're a Squire. Your speed is extraordinary, and you could easily have killed one or more of us. And we are very well-trained fighters."

"What should I do now?" said Timlin, his heart pounding with excitement. It seemed his fortune was about to take a huge turn for the better.

"We will guide you to a hideout," said Brelth, "where Legion Soldiers will be waiting. From there, the Legion Masters will decide how your skills will be used and what training you shall receive. But based on what I've seen, you can expect good things in your future." He smiled. "I must say--I'm very excited about finding such a fine prospect."

"Thank you," said Timlin. "I will do my best to serve."

"You will go far," said Brelth. "The dark path will open wide before you, Timlin Woodmaster. You have found your destiny."