The Cavalier

Five

Finarth



The remaining four days to Finarth went by quickly and without mishap. The caravan followed the Sithgarin River for several days before they started to meander through various farming settlements. Landon directed the caravan southwest when they reached the smaller Ungard River. The road was well traveled and there were many small homesteads nestled in the Finarthian hills.

As they neared Finarth, on the fourth day, Lanz, one of the caravan scouts, rode to Landon’s wagon where Jonas and Fil sat leading the oxen.

“Tell Master Landon that riders are approaching on the main road,” the scout said, pulling his lathered horse next to them.

“Tell him yourself. What do you see my friend?” asked Landon, poking his head through the canvas flap on the covered wagon.

“How are you feeling sir?” asked Lanz.

“I’m well. The wound is itching a bit, but other than that I feel fine.”

“That is good, sir, means it’s healing.”

“What of the riders?” Landon asked again.

“I believe they are Finarthian Knights.”

“Good. Have Cyn and Allindrian ride next to me when the knights arrive,” Landon ordered.

“Yes, sir,” responded the scout as he rode off.

It wasn’t long before Jonas and Fil made out the long lances sparkling in the midday sun as the knights rode towards them.

“Do we have anything to fear from them, sir?” asked Fil cautiously.

“Oh no, I am well known in these parts and I am a friend of the king. I imagine they will escort us to Finarth,” replied Landon reassuringly.

Jonas gazed in awe at the knights as they drew near. There were probably fifty of them, all riding magnificent war horses. They wore sparkling plate armor embossed with the king’s standard, a fist within a shining sun. Their billowing blue capes were lined with gold thread and their helms were of the finest quality. Every knight carried a long lance with a wicked silver point. Jonas noticed that they also had shields and swords strapped to the sides of their horses. Their horses also wore protective plates covering their noses and their muscular chests. A blanket of chain mail draped the warhorses to protect their flanks and tough leather saddles were perched like a king’s throne on their backs. That’s what Jonas thought anyway, looking at the magnificent riders. He had never seen anything like them. They slowed as they neared Landon’s caravan.

“Halt the wagon, son,” Landon said.

Jonas pulled back on the reins and they stopped about forty paces from the knights. The knights slowly rode forward, their lances held high as the dust from the road finally settled. The lead knight lifted his visor, handed his lance off to another warrior, and rode forward. He looked like all the rest except that he wore a purple cape while the others were blue.

As the man neared, Jonas could make out his features. His dark hair was streaked with gray, and he wore a dark mustache and beard that made his ice blue eyes stand out. He smiled seeing Landon but it did nothing to erase the hard weathered features of his face.

“Third lance, Lathrin, how are you? How long has it been?” Landon asked smiling broadly.

“Too long, my friend. It is good to see you,” greeted the knight. The dark haired knight noticed Landon’s leg, his smile changing to a look of concern. “What happened to you, Landon, you are injured?”

“Yes, we were attacked by boargs on the road.” Landon’s expression became more serious.

“Boargs? You must be mistaken. I have not heard of boarg attacks for many years. Where did this happen?” asked Lathrin.

“On the road from Tarsis, no more than three days ride from Finarth’s gate. We have some more troubling news that cannot wait. I must see the king.”

“Of course, we will talk more of this when we get you to a healer and a nice comfortable bed. I will escort you personally.” Lathrin, seeing Allindrian, smiled warmly. “Blade Singer,” he said, nodding his head in greeting. “It is an honor to see you again.” Allindrian returned the greeting with a subtle tilt of her head and a gentle smile.

The captain returned his gaze to Landon, continuing to address the injured merchant. “Now, let’s get you to a warm bath and a nice soft bed. I’m sure you deserve both.”

They rode for half a day before the city came into view. Fil and Jonas were very excited after seeing the splendid knights and they harassed the tired merchant with endless questions.

“Sir, why did you call that knight, third lance?” asked Fil.

“The Finarthian Knights are organized independently from the Finarthian Legion. The knight’s leaders are signified by a ranking title and a particular color,” Landon explained.

“So the number of lances in their title signifies their rank,” Jonas reasoned.

“Yes. Lathrin is a third lance, which means he is in charge of two modrigs, called a ludus,” Landon continued. “And that rank is marked by a purple cape.”

“A modrig? Ludus? What are they?” Jonas asked, his eyes sparkling with interest.

Landon laughed softly. “Son, let me explain before you sling more questions.”

“Very well, I’m sorry, sir, I’m just so…”

“I know,” Landon interrupted, “I remember the excitement of youth. As I was saying, a modrig is two hundred and fifty men, while a ludus is five hundred.”

“So a second and first lance must be in charge of all of them,” Fil reasoned.

“Yes, there are two second lance knights and they each are in charge of an akron, which is a thousand, while the first lance is in charge of all two thousand.”

“I see, so Lathrin is a strong warrior?” Jonas asked.

“He is, but it is not always the strongest warriors who make higher rank. They must also be sound thinkers and men of intellect,” Landon informed them. “Battles are won for many reasons, just one of them being the ability to fight. There are many other characteristics of a successful army. If things go well here you will both likely learn what I am talking about.”

“I can’t wait,” Fil said exitedly.

Jonas smiled, gazing at the column of knights marching ahead of them.

Fil and Jonas sat in the wagon with mouths and eyes open in wonder. Finarth was huge, and neither of them could imagine a community this large. The lands surrounding the city were blanketed with homes where farmers and herders lived. Landon explained that the land outside the city was cheaper with lower taxes. Inside the city lived the artisans, merchant elite, and the noble families who occupied most government positions.

They received a few looks from the many people along the road, but for the most part the citizens acted as if they were accustomed to seeing merchant caravans and armed knights.

Fil and Jonas looked on, noticing that these people didn’t seem much different from the hardy mountain folk they knew. No one was idle and everyone, from children to the elderly, was doing something of use.

As they drew near to the city gates Jonas was amazed at the immensity of Finarth. An outer wall twenty paces high surrounded the city. It was made from thick cut stone, each the size of a wagon. As far as Jonas could see the wall was lined with battlements and armed men walked it with vigilance. But what really amazed Jonas was that he could see an even larger wall behind it. It looked to be over forty paces high, standing like a cliff, impenetrable and indestructible. Jonas, peering ahead of the column, saw that the gate was open and the knights were already moving inside.

“This is incredible,” Fil muttered.

“Wait until you see inside those gates,” Landon said. “This is just the outer wall.”

As they neared the gate Jonas noticed the huge gate house. It looked like it had the strength of a small mountain. The gate itself was built from cut timbers each the size of a large man and laced together with solid bands of black steel. It was so immense that Jonas wondered how it was opened and closed.

But it was the scene beyond the gate that really caught the boys’ attention. Landon had not exaggerated. There was an expanse of flat completely empty land well over a hundred paces wide. At the edge of that was a small stone wall about waist high that formed a perimeter around a moat that stretched all the way flush to the inner wall. The stone path they were on led to a tremendous bridge made of stone spanning fifty paces across the expanse of water before merging into an open landing twice as big as the first.

Jonas swept his eyes over the impressive site and for the first time on his travels he was speechless.

“Amazing, isn’t it?” Landon said, smiling at the astonished boys. “That there,” he said, pointing to the empty land separating the first wall from the moat, “is the killing ground. Anyone that manages to make it over the wall or through the gate, will bunch up here before the moat or bridge where they will face the onslaught of spearmen and archers.”

The boys, still speechless, slowly looked around not wanting to miss a thing.

The moat was filled with gently flowing dark water and was easily fifty paces wide. Jonas stood up, craning to look over the side of the bridge to the water below, but it was too dark and deep. The bridge itself was over twenty paces wide and the large column of knights and Landon’s merchant caravan easily fit across it.

The wagon came to a halt as the knights were funneling into the large inner gate. Jonas was able to briefly view the face of the gate as it swung open, allowing the knights to continue into the heart of the city. The front of the inner gate was covered in sheets of black steel and in the very center was the Finarthian symbol, the fist in front of the shining sun, made from a silvery metal that sparkled in the sun. The symbol was breathtakingly beautiful and obviously made by a master craftsman. And it was giant, as big around as a frost giant’s shield.

“How did they get all this water in here?” Fil asked.

“Master engineers diverted the Talem River. It flows in from the north side and makes a U shaped path around the city where it is then channeled back to its normal course,” Landon explained.

“But how,” Jonas began.

“Magic,” Landon interjected. “It was the court wizard’s father who created the moat eighty years ago,” Landon continued. “I do not know specifically how it was done, as engineering and magic are not included in my talents.”

“What is a court wizard?” Jonas asked.

“The skill of magic is very rare and most do not have the time, tenacity, nor the gold to master the studies needed to wield magic. Most kings can provide the funding and time that wizards require. It is a mutually beneficial relationship, for a king’s power increases with a loyal wizard at his side. Usually, as it is here in Finarth, the court wizard is a lord who passes on his skill to his sons so that the connection with the royal family continues. They swear loyalty to their kings and their relationship is a bond of trust. King Kromm of Tarsis also has a court wizard.”

“I see,” Jonas replied, eagerly taking in Landon’s words.

Once they entered the city Jonas was assaulted with so much activity and noise that he couldn’t focus on any one spot. His head buzzed with the sounds and smells of the bustling city. People were everywhere, walking the cobble stone roads, buying and selling goods in the markets that seemed to line every street. The buildings were made of stone and wood and some were so magnificent that they had potted plants and flowering roses and other plants that Jonas had never seen. And the massive structures weren’t just one level, they climbed as high as trees and many had small balconies and various statues and carvings adorning them.

Continuing on through the main street they arrived at the king’s castle deep within the city. The inner castle was made of a white stone, and the thick timber gate was edged and bound in black iron. They entered through the gate into a huge courtyard paved with flat stones. Servants bustled forward, attending to the horses of the knights who had dismounted and were heading towards their barracks. It was routine for them, but for Jonas and Fil everything they saw was a new experience beyond their imagination. Slack jawed, they stared in awe at all the people, the massive buildings and walls surrounding them in an almost suffocating embrace.

The servant boys took the horses to the stables where Landon explained they would be cleaned and fed. Landon told the boys that the inner castle was so big that it had four courtyards all the size of the one they had entered. The king had over two thousand troops living within these walls. These were the Finarthian Knights, the elite of King Gavinsteal’s forces. He had another ten thousand troops living within the city walls and he could call on an additional twenty thousand soldiers that were on leave to work their farms and fields throughout the expanse of the Finarthian lands.

Lathrin walked up to Landon’s wagon followed by several servants. “My men will provide barracks and food for your mercenaries. Let me take you to a healer and to your room where you can get cleaned up for your audience with the king. I will have a room prepared for Allindrian as well,” announced the third lance.

“That is most gracious, my friend. I would like these two boys to come with me. This is Fil Tanrey and Jonas Kanrene.”

Lathrin’s ice blue eyes gave them a quick wondering look. “Well met. I am Lathrin, third lance of the Finarthian Knights. Tumas here will lead you to your rooms and make sure that you have everything that you need.”

A young man, about the same age as Fil and Jonas, stepped forward, smiling and nodding his head in greeting. Tumas was tall and wiry thin and carried himself with confidence. His face was angular but youthful with slightly curly brown hair cut short and immaculately trimmed.

“Very good, Tumas, lead away,” said Landon.

Tumas and several other servants guided them and carried their bags to their quarters. Two of the boys helped Landon to the healer while Tumas took Jonas and Fil to Landon’s room.

After following Tumas up several flights of stairs and down a couple long hallways, they passed through a strong oak door into a magnificent suite. The day’s astonishments continued as they looked upon the most wonderful room they had ever seen. The floors were covered with a shiny smooth rock and the furniture was polished, intricately carved, and of the finest quality. Two glass doors framed in polished wood led out onto a balcony facing the bustling city. Crimson silk drapes covered the windows and billowed gently as the warm spring breeze drifted through the openings. Jonas sniffed deeply, recognizing the smell of jasmine as the warm air wafted around the room.

Tumas set their packs on the floor and smiled at their astonished faces. “It is magnificent isn’t it? It is one of the rooms that the royal family uses to entertain other royalty or close friends. I assume you are Master Landon’s servants?”

“No, not really, we are his traveling companions. We met on the road from Tarsis no more than three weeks ago,” replied Fil.

“I see,” Tumas replied skeptically. “I will be here in the castle for most of the evening if you should need anything. I am preoccupied during the day as I am training to become a knight, but there will be other servants here to help you with anything that you need.”

“A knight? What is it like? Can anyone train to become a Finarthian Knight?” asked Fil excitedly.

“It is hard work and many long hours of study, but I love it; it’s all I’ve ever wanted. I will have two years of training as an apprentice. Then, when I’m eighteen, I must serve in the regular army for two years. After that, if I’ve done well, I can continue my training to be a knight. That can take several years. Not everyone can do it. You must be highborn or get a sponsor to apply.” Tumas turned to leave.

“Are you highborn?” asked Jonas.

Tumas turned back to face them. “I am. My father is a merchant and landowner. What about you?” asked Tumas.

“No, we are just woodsmen from a small town deep in the Tundren Mountains,” replied Fil sadly

“Well you would have to get a sponsor then,” Tumas said nonchalantly.

“How do you do that?” asked Fil eagerly.

“You need to find someone of importance, a noble or great warrior to vouch for you, and your character. There are also training fees that need to be paid for the probationary period. If you make it that far, then your training is free. I must be going now. There is a bath already drawn for you in the room to your left. I suggest you get cleaned up. I will have servants bring up some new clothes for you.” Tumas opened the door to leave.

“Thank you, Tumas. It was nice to meet you,” Jonas said sincerely.

“And you woodsmen. Enjoy your time in Finarth,” Tumas said with a smile as he shut the heavy door.

Jonas and Fil looked at each and began smiling until their faces were beaming walls of teeth. They began running around the room, exploring their quarters and investigating the magnificence of the décor. All the furniture was polished wood graced with hand carvings, and everywhere they looked they saw glittering items, like a silver mirror, a set of bronze candle holders flanking the fireplace, and even a set of crossed swords behind a giant silver shield with the Finarthian symbol cast in the middle.

Jonas ran into the bathing quarters first where he saw a huge depression built of the same shiny stone that covered the floor. It was filled with steaming water perfumed with the fragrance of rose petals. There was a big table and drawers next to a magnificent full size mirror. The mirror’s frame was built from huge pieces of dark wood. Detailed carvings of vines wrapped around the piece and at closer inspection Jonas could even make out clusters of grapes expertly depicted within the wood.

“Fil, look at this!” Jonas yelled, turning his attention to the bath. He sat on the edge and tested the water. It was warm and inviting, making Jonas realize how dirty and smelly he was. He quickly took off his clothes and leaped into the water, splashing some over the edge.

Fil ran in, his eyes bulging even more. “Is that hot water?” Fil asked incredulously, seeing the steam rise from the gently sloshing water.

“It is,” Jonas said with pure joy.

“How did they get it all in here?”

“I don’t know. Look at that hole in the ceiling, maybe the water comes from there.”

Fil followed Jonas’s gaze up to a round hole about the size of a fist. It was positioned directly over the basin.

“I don’t know, but this feels amazing,” continued Jonas, dunking his head in the water.

Fil picked up a sticky bar from the side of the tub and smelled it. The fragrance of rosemary filled his nose.

“Is that soap?” asked Jonas.

“I think so. Here, give it a try.”

Fil threw the bar at Jonas who caught it out of the air. He used it on his wet skin and it began to lather immediately. “It must be. It smells great and it’s lathering like soap. It sure smells better than the soap we used at Manson.”

“These quarters are amazing,” Fil exclaimed, his eyes continuing to inspect the wondrous place.

“The entire city is amazing. I never imagined there could be so many people in one spot or so many buildings, huge buildings,” Jonas said, washing his hair with the soap.

“Hurry up, I want to get in.”

They both got cleaned up and put on the clothes the servants brought them. They were simple breeches and tunics with a leather belt, but the cloth was a finer weave and not thick and itchy like the wool clothes they wore. It felt so soft on their newly scrubbed skin. They had to continue to wear their leather hunting boots, though, so they scrubbed them clean with one of the towels to make them look decent. They were pretty worn, but they looked presentable once all the dirt and grime was scrubbed from them.

It wasn’t long before the door opened and Landon stepped in, no longer limping. Jonas and Fil were sitting in comfortable leather chairs eating a platter of smoked meats, cheeses, and breads that a servant had brought in.

“Ahh, my friends, I can see that you found the bath and food,” Landon said, smiling, as he went to the table to grab a cut of meat.

“Yes, sir. I hope that was okay,” Jonas said.

“Of course, please, enjoy your surroundings.” Landon stood up, rolling his pant leg up to expose his thigh. “Look at this,” he said, amazement on his face. “Magic is sure incredible. I’ve never been healed by a priest before. He put his hands on my leg and chanted. First, a blue light appeared around his hands. I could feel a warm energy that spread from his hands to my wound and my whole leg. I saw the wound slowly close and the skin mend over it. The pain was gone and only a slight tingling remained. There’s just a little scar now.”

Sure enough, the boys saw that his leg had totally healed, the only evidence of his wound being a faint pink scar about as long as a hand.

“I would have liked to have seen that,” Jonas said, examining the scar in wonder. Landon unrolled his pant leg and sat down with the boys.

“Sir, why didn’t you have Allindrian heal you?” Fil asked.

“We had other injured men, Fil, men that needed it more than I. Her power is limited and I wanted it directed to my men. Remember boys,” Landon said, using the teacher voice the boys had come to love, “when you have power, be it in the form of money, strength, or rank, you must use it with honor if you want to earn respect. Those men saw me suffer through my pain even after I used my own resources to help their comrades. That kind of respect will go a long way.”

The boys were nodding their heads, agreeing with what Landon said.

“Sir, you must be really rich or be really good friends with the king to get a room like this. We want to thank you again for letting us travel with you. This place is incredible,” Jonas said.

“Yes, I am rich, and I am good friends with the king,” Landon laughed. “I have made a fortune trading dwarven weapons and armor from Dwarf Mount down to Finarth and Annure. They cannot produce the prized weapons here so I can command a royal sum for them. King Gavinsteal supplies only the best for his knights.”

“I see,” said Fil thoughtfully.

“I must change quickly. We have an audience with the king in a few moments,” said Landon, standing up and grabbing his bags.

“We?” asked Jonas.

“Yes. I need you to tell your story to the king. Don’t worry,” Landon continued as he saw Fil and Jonas’s apprehensive looks, “I will be there with you. Besides, King Gavensteal is a good and honorable man. I think you will like him. His two sons will be present as well as several priests to analyze your mark. Allindrian will be present as well. No need to fear,” Landon continued reassuringly.



It was not long before they heard a knock at the door. Landon opened the sturdy door revealing a man-at-arms who informed him that the king was ready to see them. The soldier escorted them through several hallways and down some stairs until they entered a large anteroom. The room was lined with suits of armor holding magnificent lances, and the walls were covered with intricate tapestries. The tapestries were made from a thick cloth the color of a ripe plum. Gold thread was woven into the fabrics forming symbols and designs of various sorts. Jonas recognized one as the symbol of Finarth, a blazing sun with a fist in the middle. He did not know the others but enjoyed the beauty of the graceful lines and intricate scroll work.

At the far end of the room was a large door covered in a detailed carving. Jonas looked at the carving carefully and it seemed to be of some great battle; men and monsters alike were fighting on a great battlefield. The detail was exquisite and Jonas could even see some of the warrior’s expressions as they fought for their lives.

Two guards stood on each side of the door, unmoving as they approached. Jonas wished he could have examined the carving further but the soldier leading them grabbed the solid metal ring on the door, opening it smoothly. For a door so large and heavy, it swung open easily.

“Follow me please,” the warrior commanded as he entered the audience chamber. They walked into a large room flanked by huge stone pillars. Stained glass windows lined the walls sending an array of color throughout the room. Intricate stone work covered every base that held up the massive columns. Huge tapestries hung from the walls and placed between each was a polished suit of plate mail, complete with spear and shield. It was beautiful, and Jonas’s eager eyes took it all in.

On the far end of the room were steps leading to a great throne made of carved wood and hammered steel. Jonas stared openly at the incredible craftsmanship. The throne was carved into the shape of a huge tree trunk reaching up more than three paces, and all from one piece of wood. Shiny steel covered the arm rests and various other pieces of glittering metal were expertly placed into the carving. In some areas steel was inlaid to form beautiful designs that to Jonas looked like leafy vines. It was strong, powerful, and graceful all at the same time, a fitting spot for a king to rule such a wondrous kingdom.

At the base of the steps was a thick oak table, lined with heavy wood chairs that faced the impressive throne. Each chair was put together with hand carved wood, polished with oil and shining with splendor. Jonas had never seen furniture so beautiful. Everything was sublime and of the highest quality, but it was all very functional and not overly flamboyant.

The one thing that really caught Jonas’s eye was the massive painting behind the throne. It was easily fifteen paces wide and ten paces high, covering the entire back wall. It was an impressive painting depicting an armored warrior on a battlefield facing another warrior who wore all black plate armor. They rode huge, muscle bound horses, and carried glowing swords clashing together in combat. It looked so real that Jonas couldn’t take his eyes off it as he walked down the short hallway to the conference table.

At the front end of the table sat King Gavinsteal. He was an enormous man, built like an oak tree, his barrel chest and thick shoulders giving him a formidable look. His long hair fell to his shoulders and at the top it was pulled back and tied behind his head. His dark beard was trimmed perfectly. The king’s hair was streaked with the silver of age but to Jonas he still looked like a warrior in his prime. He wore a blue tunic embroidered in silver thread with the glittering symbol of the fist in front of a sun. His belt was thick and well worn, carrying a jeweled broad sword swinging gently as he stood to greet his guests. His tanned face was worn and looked like old leather, but his smile was welcoming.

“Ah, Landon, my friend, it is good to see you,” the king said in a booming voice. King Gavinsteal stepped around the table to shake hands with the merchant.

Jonas noticed that the others stood at their arrival. He saw two men that were obviously soldiers for they carried themselves as such, wearing swords and bright chain mail shirts under their tunics. One man was middle-aged, with long dark hair and a thick massive frame like the king’s. He wore a green tunic over his chain mail shirt that was embroidered with the same symbol. Jonas learned that this was Prince Baylin, the eldest of King Gavinsteal’s sons and first in line for the throne. He looked just like his father.

The younger warrior was Prince Nelstrom, the king’s youngest son. He was taller and thinner, but still laced with muscle. His strong shoulders and chest held up a black tunic that also had the Finarthian mark. He crossed his muscled forearms and Jonas saw the Finarthian symbol clearly on his right hand. This was the master swordsman that Cyn had mentioned. The man looked hard, like carved stone, and he did not smile, glancing at Fil and Jonas with undisguised disdain.

The other two men were high priests. They wore long robes of fine quality. Each one was made from soft fabric lined with silver thread that flowed around their bodies when they stood up in greeting. Androg was the eldest priest. He had gray hair and skin that hung loosely from his thin face. He wore a silver chain around his neck that carried the four pointed symbol of the High One. Manlin was younger, but his dark hair was still peppered heavily with gray and his weathered face showed signs of aging. What caught Jonas’s attention, however, was the silver chain he wore around his neck. It carried a blue and silver symbol that looked almost exactly like the one on his chest. This man must be a priest of Shyann.

Jonas unconsciously rubbed his chest as they approached the king nervously.

“It is good to see you, King Gavinsteal. I thank you for your hospitality, and for the healing.” Landon and the king shook hands like old friends.

“Anytime my friend,” replied the king glancing at Fil and Jonas. “So these are the two reasons for this meeting? Welcome to Finarth, I am King Uthrayne Gavinsteal.”

Fil and Jonas both bowed awkwardly, not sure what else to do.

“It is a great pleasure to meet you. My name is Jonas Kanrene,” Jonas said, his voice breaking slightly.

“My name is Fil Tanrey and I thank you for your hospitality, King Gavinsteal.” Smiling, the king introduced the others at the table who nodded their heads in greeting. “Come, have a seat at the table and let’s hear this important news,” the king commanded, moving to the head of the table.

They all sat down and Jonas continued to stare at the huge painting on the wall in front of them. He had to look back and forth to take in the colossal piece of art.

“You like my painting, young Jonas?” the king asked.

“Yes, Your Highness. It is magnificent. I have never seen anything like it.”

“I should hope not,” the king said, turning to glance at the painting himself. He looked back at Jonas. “Do you know what that picture represents?”

“No, sir, I do not. It looks like a battle.”

“Indeed it is, but not just any battle. That painting represents the great battle at the Shadow Plains over a thousand years ago. The two warriors that you see are Malbeck, the Dark One himself, and my great ancestor, King Ullis, who slew him in combat. The battle against the evil that was fought on that day destroyed the battlefield forever. Even today nothing grows there, hence the name Shadow Plains. No one really knows why, but some suggest that when my ancestor killed the Dark One his evil was released, staining the ground and killing it forever. This sword that I carry is a replica of the very weapon that killed him.”

Standing, the king drew the dazzling weapon holding it so Jonas could see. It was a huge broadsword, beautifully crafted and each end of the cross piece was gold carved into eagle claws. Each claw was holding a sparkling round stone polished milky white. The hilt was wrapped in silver and the end piece was carved into a fist in front of the sun. The long silver blade bore no mars or imperfections and it looked like it had never been used. The king held the long heavy weapon with ease. “This weapon was forged by the dwarves and imbued with magic by the priests of Ulren. It is not the same blade of course, but it is very powerful.”

“It is beautiful, Your Highness,” Fil said, eyes wide with wonder.

“What happened to the actual sword that killed the Dark One?” Jonas asked.

“No one knows exactly. Legend says that when King Ullis defeated the Dark One, there was a huge explosion that killed many men, including my great ancestor. The sword and armor were nowhere to be found.”

“Come, Father, let us get to business. I have pressing matters to attend to,” Prince Nelstrom interrupted curtly.

The king eyed his son, and Jonas did not miss the animosity between the two. “Very well,” the king said, sheathing his sword. “Landon, my friend, please tell us this urgent news.”

The far door opened again and everyone turned to see a soldier escort Allindrian into the room. Her long forest green tunic flowed at her sides as she walked confidently to the table. She sat down and greeted everyone with a smile.

“It is good to see you, King Gavinsteal. I’m sorry I am late.” Allindrian gave a slight bow as she addressed the king.

The king returned the gesture with a warm smile. “Blade Singer, you are always welcome at my table, both for your skill and for your beauty.”

Allindrian smiled unabashedly at the king, enjoying his praise.

“You know my sons, Prince Baylin and Prince Nelstrom. This is Androg, high priest to Ulren and this is Manlin, high priest to Shyann.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you both and good to see you again, Prince Baylin,” Allindrian smiled warmly at the burly man who returned her smile. “And you, Prince Nelstrom, I’m glad you are well,” Allindrian added, her smile disappearing along with her warmth.

“Landon, if you will,” urged the king.

“I have dire news. It is reported by these two young men that Airos the cavalier was slain by a Banthra,” Landon said bluntly.

The room fell quiet as the sobering news hit home.

“That cannot be!” exclaimed Androg with dismay. “He was a first rank cavalier! The best there was! How can this be?”

“Jonas, show them the blade,” urged Landon with a nod.

Jonas took out the knife from under his tunic, unsheathed the silver blade, and laid it on the table.

“Where did you get that?” stormed Androg.

“Androg, calm down,” Prince Baylin admonished. “These two boys are not thieves or they never would have come here.” He turned to Jonas. “Go ahead, son, tell us where you obtained the weapon, for that is most definitely Airos’s blade.” The prince had an aura of power and confidence, combined with a sense of dignity and honor. Jonas liked him immediately.

Jonas looked around the room and hesitantly began his tale. “Our village was attacked by boargs over three months ago. The force was led by a Banthra,” Jonas said, choking on the word.

“A Banthra?” Manlin interrupted. “I don’t believe it. They were all destroyed a thousand years ago.”

Jonas ignored the comment and continued. “Airos came the night before the attack to help us. He battled the Banthra and killed it, but he died in the process. Their bodies were both burned and fused together in death. I found Airos’s knife next to the remains.”

Fil interjected. “It is true, your highness. I fought with my family and friends and saw it with my own eyes. Everyone was killed except for Jonas and me.”

“I am sorry for your loss. This is indeed grave news. If a Banthra is back then the rumors we’ve heard of Malbeck’s return may indeed be true,” the king said thoughtfully.

“How is it that your entire village was killed but two young boys survived?” asked Prince Nelstrom, his tone hard and without compassion.

“Nelstrom, they have suffered greatly and they do not need your accusing comments,” Prince Baylin said to his brother. Nelstrom narrowed his eyes at his older brother but said nothing.

“That is not all. There is other news that Jonas must tell. Go ahead, tell them the rest,” Allindrian urged.

Jonas, looking at Allindrian, took a deep breath, and told them the rest of the story. He told them everything just as he had disclosed to Landon’s men that night after the fight with the boargs.

Everyone at the table listened intently and when he explained the part about his dream and his God Mark their eyes widened with fascination and disbelief. He ended his story with the last battle with the boargs and the destruction of the cleric of Naz-reen.

“That is quite a story, young man. Can you show me this mark?” asked the king. Jonas looked at Allindrian and Landon, both of them nodding their heads urging him to proceed. He stood up, lifting his tunic over his head. Everyone gasped and the two priests stood up in astonishment.

“I can’t believe it!” said Manlin, moving closer to Jonas to inspect the mark. “Unbelievable. That is indeed a God Mark and Shyann’s symbol.”

Androg was looking at the mark closely. “I agree. It is incredible. It is indeed her mark,” he said.

Jonas felt strange standing there, his chest bare to all, being inspected by the others.

“I have never heard of anyone being God Marked unless they were a cavalier,” the King said in wonder.

“Nor have I,” added Manlin. “Shyann has marked this young man, but for what reason?”

“To become a cavalier I should think. She has expressed her interest in this young man and even warned him of danger twice, saving the lives of Landon’s men. He must go to Annure to train,” Prince Baylin announced.

“He is too young. They will not accept a candidate unless they are eighteen years of age,” argued Androg. “Besides, he may not even pass the acceptance tests.”

“Shyann has accepted him already, why would he not pass?” Alindrian said bluntly. “Jonas, tell the priests what Airos told you.”

“You spoke to Airos?” asked Manlin.

“Yes, I was walking home and I slipped. I could not walk very well and I used a crutch and he helped me up and we talked briefly”.

“What did he say to you?” Manlin asked.

“He said that my soul was pure, and that I should be very proud because that was so rare. I don’t know what he meant but he said he could see into the hearts of men.”

“He said that to you? Those words exactly?” asked Androg.

“Yes. I am sure.”

“As you can see by his story, he has the character to be a cavalier,” stated Allindrian smoothly. “He has fought and killed boargs, an ogre, and a cleric of Naz-reen. I believe he has shown that he has the courage to be a great warrior, the skills will come later. I suggest, good king, that you allow these two men to join your army so that you can train them and keep an eye on Jonas. When Jonas turns eighteen he should go to Annure and train to become a cavalier.”

“Watch him? What do you mean by that?” asked Prince Nelstrom.

“If Shyann has expressed an interest in this young man, then that will also draw the attention of Gould, including Naz-reen and Dykreel,” replied Allindrian. “A pure soul is like a beacon to the Forsworn, it will bring them to him like flies on a corpse. I’m afraid he will need protection.”

The men at the table crossed their chests at the mention of the Forsworn. Jonas processed her words for the first time. She was right. The thought of being hunted by the evil ones was more frightening than he could imagine. His heart began to beat faster as he contemplated the danger he was in as well as the danger he could bring to others.

“You are quite right, Blade Singer. I hadn’t thought of that,” the king said, standing and walking up the stairs to his throne. He sat down in thought.

Fil looked at Jonas, unsure of what to do. Jonas put his tunic back on and sat down in nervous silence.

“Young men, what are your thoughts on this matter? We are talking about your welfare and yet we have not asked you your own desires.” The king’s strong voice resonated throughout the hall.

Without hesitating Fil stood up, addressing the king. “I have nothing left your highness. My friends and family are all dead. I would very much like to join your army, and become a Finarthian Knight. I know I can’t right away, but some…”

“Young man,” interrupted Prince Nelstrom. “A common peasant boy cannot join the elite knights unless you have a sponsor.”

“And he does,” stated Landon. “I will sponsor them both.”

“As will I,” added Allindrian.

The young prince eyed them both, unable to completely mask his look of disdain, but he did not press the issue.

“Your Majesty, I do not know what to do,” Jonas replied. “My life has changed so much that my mind is whirling with uncertainty. I was a poor cripple my whole life and now I sit in a king’s chamber with a God Mark on my chest. It is overwhelming. I have nothing left except for my friend, Fil. I have thought of nothing else other than to do something good with the gifts that Shyann has given me.” Jonas looked around the group, making eye contact with them all, even Prince Nelstrom, whose veiled hostility was becoming increasingly apparent to Jonas. He returned his gaze to the king on his throne. “I think that I would like to join your knights, where I can gain the skills to protect the weak and battle the darkness that is spreading. Then when I’m eighteen, with your leave, I will go to Annure to see if my destiny lies there.”

Everyone stared at Jonas, most with approval, a few with uncertainty, and one with disdain. For whatever reason, Jonas thought, it seemed Prince Nelstrom would become a problem for him.

“Well spoken, young man. If you are both serious, then approach the throne and swear your allegiance to me,” the king commanded.

Fil and Jonas looked at each other and stood, approaching the throne. They stopped on the top stair below the throne.

“Kneel and repeat after me,” the king ordered.

Jonas and Fil knelt at the base of the throne.

“I, Fil Tanrey and Jonas Kanrene, of the Tundrens, swear allegiance to the crown of Finarth. I will protect the throne and the people with my honor and blood, unto death.”

Fil and Jonas repeated the words.

“And I, King Gavinsteal of Finarth,” the king continued, “will protect you both as my vassals. My honor shall be yours through times of peace and war, unto death. Now stand, young men, you are now knight apprentices.” Fil and Jonas stood proudly, looking at each other, trying unsuccessfully to hide their growing smiles.

***

The apprentice knights slept in one large barracks by the north wall. There were around fifty young men between sixteen and eighteen years of age organized into five different training groups. These groups were each given a different color, each with a name. Jonas and Fil were assigned to the blue group, which they later found was the group where most of the commoners were placed. It created fewer problems because many of the highborn apprentices didn’t relate well with the commoners.

The barracks were simple but spacious. Bunk beds lined both walls. At the foot of each bed were two small trunks for their belongings. Each bed had a tapestry on the wall above it representing the group to which they belonged. They were all embroidered in their group’s colors and insignia.

Fil and Jonas stood at the base of their bed looking up at a blue tapestry. It was edged in red silk and lined with silver thread. In the center was a silver embroidered insignia of a massive set of deer antlers. The horns were spread wide and tall in a protective stance. The other groups were the Eagles, Dragons, Lions, and Boars.

“We’re the Stags,” said Fil, staring up at it. “I like it.”

“Seems fitting, I think Shyann would approve,” responded Jonas, looking up at the tapestry in thought. A stag was one of the symbols that represented Shyann, and living in a mountain town their entire lives gave them a deep respect for the wildlife that helped sustain them, particularly the noble stag.

They put their meager belongings into their trunk and took a look around. The barracks were empty now; the apprentices were at the training field. The king had a servant direct them to the barracks immediately after the king and Landon had talked a bit longer. Jonas was obliged to give Airos’s blade back to Androg who had insisted that it belonged in the temple of the High One now that the cavalier was dead. Jonas hated to see the weapon go, but he knew that Androg was right.

Jonas sat on his bed, looking around in wonder. Lying on the bed were two blue tunics, each marked with the silver stag horns. He grabbed one, throwing it up to Fil who had climbed to the upper bunk.

“Here you go, Fil.”

“Thanks. Should we put them on?” he asked.

“I guess so,” Jonas said, taking off his tunic and putting on his new uniform. There was also a plain black belt that he used to cinch up the tunic, and attached to the belt was a small simple knife in a leather sheath.

Jonas put his other shirt into the trunk, adjusted his uniform, and explored his new surroundings. The beds were all perfectly made and the barrack was immaculate. The entire area was simple and clean.

“Can you believe this, Jonas? We’re going to be Finarthian Knights,” Fil said, staring at the vaulted ceiling from his bed. Jonas noticed that all the beds were arranged in groups according to their training team. Each team had a designated area in the barrack, but there were no lines or walls separating them. The blankets on the beds all matched the color of the team, so you could easily tell which groups of beds were assigned to each team.

“I can almost believe anything now, with all that’s happened. It looks like they keep the groups together as much as they can. I wonder what group Tumas is with.” Jonas mused.

“I don’t know, but I imagine we’ll find out soon enough.”

Suddenly the far door bolted open and a short stocky warrior stepped into the barrack. He was wearing the gold and silver tunic of the Finarthian guard. The soldier was young, maybe twenty, but he carried himself with confidence, and moved with military precision. He wore a shiny chain mail shirt under his tunic that went to his knees and he carried a short sword and dagger at his belt. Leather greaves studded and lined with metal covered his muscular legs. The young man’s cape danced around as he approached the two new recruits. His face was cleanly shaven and his long blond hair was tied back behind his ears with a leather thong.

“Are you Fil Tanrey and Jonas Kanrene?” asked the warrior.

Fil jumped down from the bunk to stand next to Jonas.

“Yes, sir,” replied Jonas.

“Good. I am Sal. I was asked by the king to show you around and explain how things work and how your training will progress. If you will please follow me,” the warrior said, spinning on his heels and walking away, not looking to see whether or not they were following. Fil and Jonas glanced at each other, quickly running to keep up with the soldier’s brisk pace.

As they walked, Sal continued. “As you were told, the apprentices are separated into smaller training units. You will usually train with your unit only, which, by your uniforms, is obviously the Stag team. During the daylight hours you will perform a variety of tasks, from physical training and educational pursuits, to serving the knights that live in the inner castle. You will clean and maintain their horses, clean and care for their armor and weapons, and learn all the other skills needed to someday become a knight yourself,” Sal explained, taking them east to a long row of stables. “These are the stables that your team takes care of. Your team leader will organize your work. Do you have any questions so far?”

Sal stopped in the middle of the stables as the two boys shook their heads, indicating that they understood. They were both still busy taking in all the new information and looking around their surroundings. This was to be their new home for the next couple of years and they savored the thought.

The stables were impressive. There were probably at least a hundred horses housed within their walls. Several servants scurried around cleaning stalls, carrying hay, and brushing the horses, work that Jonas knew they would get their fair share of.

A thin older man walked up to them, setting down a bag a grain. He was balding and his face and body showed signs of a lifetime of manual labor. “Good evening, Sal, what do we have here, new recruits?” asked the man.

“Yes, Lars, this is Jonas and Fil, they will be joining the blue team.”

“Nice to meet you both. As you heard, my name is Lars and these are my beauties,” Lars said proudly, using his hands in a gesture that included the entire stable. “I run this stable and I expect it to be maintained to the highest of standards. Do you know what hard work is?” asked Lars.

“Yes, sir,” replied Fil. “We both come from the mountain town of Manson and hard work kept us alive.”

“Manson…never heard of it,” said Lars.

“It is far to the north, sir, almost a month’s travel,” replied Jonas.

“What brings you here to Finarth? Oh, never mind, a story for another time. I see that you are busy. I need to get back to work anyway. Good day, Sal. Boys, I will see you tomorrow.” Lars picked up his bag of grain and made his way to the feeding bins.

Sal brought them out of the stables, taking them around the outer wall. He explained to them that the inner castle had two walls. Behind the outer wall, the knights lived, trained, and kept their horses. The inner wall surrounded the king’s palace and housed the royal family, servants, and guests. Sal explained that the inner castle was huge with large dining halls and many spacious rooms. Fil and Jonas didn’t tell him that they had already seen several of those rooms.

Sal brought them to another barrack, this one much larger and more elegant than theirs. Vines of bright green with purple flowers climbed ornate pergolas that lined the outside courtyard.

In the clearing outside the barracks was a group of warriors, wearing only leggings and boots, their bare skin wet with perspiration. As they neared the group they noticed that two men were circling each other, while a handful watched and cheered. The sweat on their muscular bodies glistened in the sun. Each combatant bore several cuts and dirt streaked their bodies where the dust had mingled with their sweat.

“This is third lance Lathrin’s barracks. He has five hundred knights under his command and they are spread out over three different buildings,” explained Sal.

“What are these men doing?” asked Fil.

“They are training in hand-to-hand combat,” Sal replied matter of factly.

Fil and Jonas stared at the bruises and cuts on the faces of the two warriors as their blood was dripping down their bodies, mingling with their sweat. One man was tall and lean and moved like a dancer. The other man was also tall, but much thicker, and looked like a gigantic walking oak tree. Jonas had never seen a man so large, and he was amazed at how quick he could move for a man so thick of muscle.

The burly man moved in quickly trying to grab the smaller man in a powerful bear hug, but the other man, just as quickly, struck him twice with two lighting quick jabs to the face.

The huge man faltered but did not stop. He, too, swung his large right hand towards his opponent, hoping to land a glancing blow at least. The thinner man, sidestepping the punch, grabbed his arm, and using the big man’s momentum, he threw him through the air. The man landed hard on his back, forcing the air from his lungs.

“That is enough, Graggis. Let us both get some water,” said the tall wiry man, wiping the sweat from his face.

Graggis slowly got up, brushing off the dirt from his sweat covered body. “I hate that throw,” Graggis growled.

“You would think you’d see it coming by now,” the man laughed good naturedly.

“Who are they?” asked Fil, mesmerized by the warriors.

“That is Graggis, a man you do not want as an enemy.”

“But he was defeated by that other man,” said Jonas.

“He was not defeated, young apprentice, merely thrown. It would take much more than that to defeat Graggis. The throw angered Graggis and I suspect that is why Dagrinal ended the fight,” Sal said, smiling for the first time. “And when Graggis has his axe in hand and he is fighting for his life, it is something to behold. It is like he is possessed.”

“The other man is Dagrinal?” asked Fil.

“Yes, fourth lance of Lathrin’s ludas,” Sal said, looking at them both. In seeing their expressions he added, “A ludas is what we call a group of five hundred men. Dagrinal and another fourth lance split the ludas with Lathrin as their commander. He is working for his sword mark, and he is almost there. He is amazing with a long sword, almost as good as Prince Nelstrom.”

Jonas remembered his conversation earlier with Landon and he quickly worked out the numbers in his head. “So, Dagrinal leads his own modrig.”

“That is correct, apprentice. He leads two hundred and fifty men,” replied Sal.

They spent the better part of the next several hours exploring the castle’s inner grounds. Finally they neared the training field, which was located on the northeast section, between the outer and inner walls. It wasn’t really a field, noted Jonas, but more like a small circular road. Grass grew in the middle of the dirt road where many apprentices practiced with wooden swords.

A team of eight boys wearing black tunics embroidered with the silver symbol of the dragon were running around the track. Two other teams, the gold team wearing the black marks of the boar, and the white team wearing the mark of the lion, practiced with wooden swords on the grass. The space was large and Jonas doubted he could throw a rock across the field.

Jonas could see one boy, taller than the rest, sprinting far ahead of his other teammates on the track. His strides were long and fluid and he slowly pulled away from his panting teammates. The runner seemed very relaxed and his movements were effortless. Jonas then turned his attention to the rest of the training grounds.

“This is the practice field,” Sal continued. “There will usually be two to three teams here at a time practicing sword work, hand-to-hand combat, and endurance training. A large part of your training will be conditioning, both for your lungs and your muscles.” Sal walked them across the dusty track.

“Allindrian said that it was important to train your body first if you want to be a great swordsman,” replied Jonas.

“The Blade Singer? You talked with her?” Sal asked, stopping and looking at him curiously.

“Well, yes, we traveled with her and Master Landon’s caravan. We met with them on the road from Tarsis, that is how we ended up here,” Jonas said, unsure if he should say more.

Sal, looking at the boys, obviously wanted to ask more. “Sometime I would like to hear this story. Did you get a chance to see her fight?” he asked, continuing to move forward.

“We did. Our caravan was attacked by boargs,” Jonas added.

Sal stopped again, looking at Jonas incredulously. Fil and Jonas looked at each other wondering if they had told too much. “Boargs, you say?” Sal continued skeptically.

“Yes, boargs. Our entire town was destroyed by the beasts. We left to come here,” Fil replied, a hint of anger in his voice as the memory of the carnage crept back into his mind.

“I’m sorry to hear that. I did not mean to bring up ill thoughts. Did either of you get a chance to bring justice to their killers?”

“We both fought,” replied Jonas lamely, not sure of what else to say.

“But we still seek justice, which is why we are here,” interjected Fil.

“I see,” said Sal, “I hope that someday you get that chance. What was the Blade Singer like?” Sal asked, unable to hide his excitement.

“Incredible. She was so fast, moving from one boarg to another, her blade spinning in a blur. And it really makes a singing noise when she fights. It was the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen,” Jonas replied with equal enthusiasm, thinking back to that night in the field.

“Count yourselves lucky, apprentices. There are not many who can say they met a Blade Singer let alone fought next to one. They are very rare and unmatched in swordsmanship. I hope that someday I may have the chance to witness one in combat,” Sal said as he moved to the training field.

The boys on the field were paired off, practicing various strikes, poses, and ripostes, some of which Jonas recognized from what Allindrian had taught them. These boys were more advanced however, which made sense to Jonas considering that they had been training for many months.

A man wearing a light blue tunic and gray breeches faced them as they neared. He carried a long wooden sword and smiled as they approached. The man was lean and strong and his unshaven face was hard, like granite, with one long scar across his cheek.

“Sal, how’s that bruise I gave you?” the man asked.

Sal laughed heartily, shaking hands with the man in the warrior’s grip. “Not bad, Master Morgan, but I’ve been practicing the counter and you won’t bait me again.”

“We shall have to test your confidence soon,” he replied, still smiling. Then he looked at Jonas and Fil and his smile disappeared. “Two new recruits I see. My name is Master Morgan and I will be your weapons instructor for the next two years. At that point, if you have shown promise, then you may be moved up to the advanced classes taught by Master Borum.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sir. My name is Fil Tanrey.”

“And I am Jonas Kanrene. We are very glad to be here.”

“Very good. Now I have work to do. I will see you both with your group tomorrow.” He moved away to correct an improper strike from one of the apprentices, leaving the boys and Sal watching the training.

“Master Morgan is the best weapons expert we have, next to Master Borum, who I have not seen beaten, even by Prince Nelstrom.”

“Does Master Borum bear the expert swordsman mark?” asked Jonas.

“He does. The same as Prince Nelstrom. Let us go now; it won’t be long before your group will be at the mess hall. You both must be hungry and you need to meet your group members,” he said, leading the boys off the training field.

***

The first year in Finarth was very exciting, but difficult as well. Their long days were split with early morning runs, work in the stables, training, more work, and then more training. They trained with sword, bow and spear. They learned how to ride and take care of a warhorse. They were taught the basics in formation fighting, shield work, and fighting from horseback, which is what the Finarthian Knights were known for. At night they would also perform chores in the castle, cleaning and serving the knights and royalty. Even Jonas hated that work as most of the cleaning revolved around scrubbing the kitchens, including the hundreds of pots and dishes used every day. Three nights a week each team also took classes on writing, reading, and history, the latter being Jonas’s favorite.

It was exhausting work, but Jonas and Fil both thrived on it. For Fil hard work was a part of his life and for Jonas it was something that he had never been able to do, so they both took to it easily, quickly gaining the respect of the trainers and teachers.

Jonas excelled even further. He couldn’t get enough work. His body did not want to rest. It was as if he were trying to make up for the many years that he couldn’t use his crippled form.

At night, he would sneak out and run around the track until he was exhausted and he could barely move. That was the only way he could fall asleep. He was constantly hounded by nightmares and his mind didn’t seem to want to rest. He would wake up from restless nights and practice the various sword forms that he had been taught, slowly going over each movement until he had mastered it perfectly. Then he would practice them faster and faster until he didn’t have to think about them.

He started to look like a man; his body grew tall and his adolescent frame started to take the shape of a seasoned warrior. The constant running and training strengthened his muscles and gave them that taut look, like a tightly strung bow. His face grew more angular as he lost his boy-like softness. But his shaggy brown hair and his gentle smile tempered the harder edges of his appearance.

Fil changed as well. He grew several inches and bulked up with muscle, becoming stockier than Jonas, and more powerful. Jonas had moved forward in the direction of skill and endurance, while Fil and excelled in strength and power. Like all knights, he trained with a blade, but his weapon of choice was the spear. He learned to use it like a staff and his powerful arms and shoulders could throw the weapon great distances and with immense power. His strong stocky arms enabled him to excel at formation fighting where he used a shield and short infantry blade. It was grueling work to maintain proper shield position while using the heavy cutting blades designed for formation fighting. Strong arms and backs were necessary and Fil took to the skill naturally.

They became very close with the members of their team. They knew that the blue team of the Stag was where most of the lowborn applicants were put. There weren’t as many members in their team since it was often difficult for a peasant to get a sponsor. There were eight boys in their group. Calden, a likeable young man just under eighteen winters, was their leader.

Calden was the son of a beautiful herbalist who had befriended a rich lord. Everyone knew that there was a romantic liaison between the two, but Calden’s friends said nothing about it to him as it was a sore spot for the young apprentice. Calden’s mother was the lord’s mistress and it was something that Calden was not proud of. He was not overly skilled in weapons or running, but he was very bright and his personality made him a natural leader. He was tall with red curly hair like his mother. His father was a common soldier who had died in battle when he was born.

Fil and Jonas were saddened to hear that Tumas, the boy they met on their first day in Finarth, was part of the black team, the Dragons. The Dragons were the upper echelon, the sons of the most powerful men in Finarth. They both liked Tumas and they were hoping that they would be on the same team, but he was highborn, and hence were separated

Tumas’s group was led by Torgan, a mean, vindictive boy who despised commoners. He was the son of Prince Nelstrom, which put him high on the list for advancement. He was the same boy that Jonas saw running around the track on the first day. He was athletic and handsome and the girls swooned over him.

Jonas and Torgan became enemies early on, for Torgan soon recognized Jonas was his only competition with a blade. Jonas tried to befriend him but it was useless. Torgan viewed Jonas as lowly and not deserving the right to become a knight, and nothing Jonas did could persuade him otherwise.

***

Their second summer of training was exceptionally hot, making the days on the track more grueling than normal. On one of these hot days they were sparring with swords, and the hard work and heat exhaustion had everyone’s nerves strung tight.

The blue team and the black team were working hard on their sword forms. Jonas was paired with Titus, the son of a rich lord who was close to the king. Titus was decent enough with the sword and was kind to Jonas. He was one of the few from the Dragon team, other than Tumas, who did not look down on the Stag team.

Jonas had already touched Titus twice with his wooden sword, both killing blows to the chest. Titus was tiring, and sweating profusely, the salty wetness was dripping into his deep set eyes. Jonas was sweating as well, but his muscles still had life, and he danced lightly on the tips of his toes.

Titus came in hard with a powerful downward stroke. Jonas, batting the sword aside, side stepped, smacking him lightly on the leg.

“Good strike, Jonas,” Master Morgan said as he walked by. “Titus, go spar with Mulick and bring Torgan here.” Master Morgan turned to Jonas who was standing lightly with his wooden sword at his side. “Jonas, you’ve progressed well. Soon you will have to fight me to get a workout,” he said with a sly smile.

“Thank you, Master Morgan,” Jonas said, happy with the praise, although doubting he would last more than a few heartbeats with Master Morgan. The man was astonishingly quick and he didn’t seem to tire.

Torgan came running up to Morgan, his long powerful legs covering the distance easily. He was wearing the short sleeved Dragon tunic with light charcoal breeches. His jet black hair was trimmed in the usual fashion for royalty his age, short in the back and edges with bangs that were cut straight across the forehead.

“Torgan, I want you to spar with, Jonas. Jonas has improved quickly and he needs a better opponent,” ordered Master Morgan.

“Yes sir, Master Morgan,” replied Torgan eagerly.

Morgan pivoted, turning to instruct the others.

“Hey dung eater, you ready to feel a sting?” sneered Torgan as soon as Master Morgan was out of ear shot.

“Torgan, I don’t know what I ever did to you, but I hold no animosity toward you,” replied Jonas.

“It’s not what you did, but what you are. You have no right to be here. You are a peasant coward, not worthy to train as a knight.”

“If the king sees fit to have us, then that should be good enough for you,” countered Jonas.

“Well it’s not. Now get that sword up,” ordered Torgan, lunging at Jonas. Jonas stumbled back quickly just getting his wooden sword up in time to take the first strike. But Torgan was fast and his sword lightly brushed Jonas’s thigh with his second stroke.

“First hit!” Torgan yelled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

And your last, thought Jonas, regaining his composure. They danced around for several minutes, neither opponent scoring a hit. They were both strong and fast and their blades made a rhythmic striking sound, like an axe chopping wood, every time they connected. Jonas had never fought against Torgan before so he was just going through the basic moves, analyzing his technique. Torgan was matching his skill smoothly and was utterly confident in his abilities. But he hadn’t fought Jonas yet, either. Nor had he snuck out at night to work on strengthening exercises and to go through the forms until they were second nature. But Jonas had, and this relentless practice for over a year had honed his muscles, his mind, and his sword work. Torgan believed he couldn’t be beaten, but Jonas believed otherwise.

Slowly Jonas began to pick up the pace, moving his feet and his wooden sword faster and faster. Torgan matched his speed, but Jonas recognized the slow rise of fear on his face. They were both sweating profusely and Torgan was beginning to tire. Jonas’s powerful lungs and muscles, strengthened from constant training, kept him moving lightly on his feet.

Jonas remembered Allindrian’s words about fighting a warrior who was stronger and in better shape… swordsmen must first master their strength, not their blade. A strong back, stomach, and arms will mean faster and more powerful strokes and those muscles are also needed to maintain balance. Your lungs must be strong in order to fight long drawn out battles

Her advice rang in his head as he picked up the pace. Torgan lunged at him, slightly off balance, and Jonas thought he had him. He smacked his blade down hard but simultaneously he realized it was just a clever feint. Torgan, spinning his blade under Jonas’s strike, went to hit his exposed left thigh.

Torgan would have had him if Jonas hadn’t reacted on instinct alone. He remembered the move Allindrian had taught him, flipping his wooden sword to his left hand and pivoting his left leg away from Torgan’s strike. Jonas was ambidextrous and he could use his left arm as well as his right.

Torgan’s blade found only air as Jonas’s wooden sword struck him hard in the side. Torgan stumbled forward, but regained his balance quickly, glaring at Jonas with hatred. He launched a ferocious attack, swinging his wooden sword with all his strength. He was angry, which gave Jonas the advantage. He was able to calmly apply basic defensive moves to counter the ferocious attacks.

Jonas waited for Torgan to tire before striking offensively again. Torgan lunged with his sword right at Jonas’s abdomen. He was tired and his strike was clumsy. Jonas sidestepped the blade, using his left leg to trip Torgan, who was already off balance, while simultaneously bringing his wooden sword down hard on Torgan’s back. Torgan, stumbling, hit the ground with a thud.

Torgan slowly stood, glaring at Jonas with insurmountable fury. Jonas barely had time to react as Torgan, dropping his sword, tackled him. Torgan’s body barreled into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him as they both landed on the ground. Jonas got his hands up to his face to protect it from the strikes that he was sure were coming.

Torgan’s fists beat down on him repeatedly, but they could not break through Jonas’s defenses. Jonas had learned from Master Morgan that if you get into a hand to hand fight, and end up on the ground, that you want to reduce the distance between you and your opponent. It will minimize the damage that they can do to you.

So Jonas, in a brief lull between Torgan’s strikes at his face, quickly reached up, wrapped his arms around Torgan’s neck, and pulled his head down hard towards him, forcing their bodies together and making Torgan’s fists useless. Then Jonas pivoted, arched his neck, and used the ground as leverage to twist their bodies so he was now on top of Torgan. Immediately Jonas let go, leaping away from the enraged boy. By this time a crowd of apprentices had formed and Master Morgan had just made his way toward them.

“You dirty peasant! You don’t even deserve to have the chance to fight me!” Torgan screamed, charging a second time.

Master Morgan moved in a blur, striking Torgan hard in the shins with his wooden practice sword. Torgan, bellowing in pain, tripped face first onto the grass, holding his bruised and bleeding shins.

“What are you doing, Torgan?” Morgan raged. “You are acting beneath your station. You are all apprentices to be knights of Finarth!” Morgan raised his voice as he addressed the group. “Someday you may be fighting next to each other, your swords protecting one another! How can you trust each other if you behave like this?”

“I’m sorry, Master Morgan, I did not mean for it to happen. It will not happen again,” replied Jonas calmly.

Torgan got up slowly, his anger still apparent as he glared at Jonas with open hatred.

“What happened?” demanded Master Morgan.

“It was both our faults, sir. He scored the first hit and then I scored the last. Our competitive spirit and equal skill fueled our anger and we lost control. I will try to control my anger next time, sir. I apologize,” Jonas said in an attempt to cover for Torgan, hoping that that kindness might reduce Torgan’s animosity towards him.

“Is this correct, Torgan?” asked Master Morgan.

Torgan eyed Jonas with barely concealed malice. “Yes, sir, that is correct. I am sorry, Master Morgan, for letting my anger control me.”

“Good,” Mater Morgan said as he turned to the entire group. “Now since you all seem to have so much energy, give me twenty circuits around the track.”

Nobody complained or said a word. They dropped their sticks and began jogging to the track, the hot midday sun baking their sweaty bodies as they ran.

Jonas stayed back behind Torgan not wanting to be anywhere near the angry apprentice. He could sense the volatile emotions flow from him like giant waves in an ocean’s storm.

Calden, his team leader, jogged up next to him. “It is not wise to make an enemy of the most powerful apprentice here, and heir to the Finarthian throne”.

Jonas let out a frustrated sigh. “I did nothing but fight back, and I even covered for him,” Jonas said, exasperated.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have fought so well,” Calden reasoned as they continued around the track.

“Let him win!” Jonas exclaimed in a tone that could not hide his disgust.

Calden raised an eyebrow. “Maybe…I worry for you, Jonas. You do not want an enemy in the likes of him.”

“I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“You’re right, but sometimes that is not enough,” Calden replied.

Jonas, shaking his head in frustration, continued around the track in silence.