Miktan awoke the next morning to a knock on his door, “Enter,” he said groggily as he sat up in the large bed. Jonson poked his head into the room, “I assume breakfast must be nearly ready?”
“Indeed sir, would you like to wake Master Matthew?” Jonson quietly and politely asked, trying not to disturb Miktan’s morning, as he always did.
Miktan nodded to him in reply as he swung his legs out from under the light covering he had used during the warm night. He let his legs fall over the edge of the bed. He stretched, joints popping and muscles stretching the sleep from his body. He rubbed at his eyes, remembering when he was younger and was able to be up and out of bed, ready for the day mere moments after waking. He envied young men like Matthew, they still had so much of their lives before them. Miktan hoped that he would be able to travel somewhere at least once more in what remained of his time.
He stood from the bed, stretching out his legs before moving to the wardrobe. He through open the carved maple doors and scanned through his outfits before finally finding one that appealed to him. He slid his arms through the sleeves of the white, silk undershirt, his fingers deftly doing up the buttons down the front with agility that belied his age. He stepped into the black slacks, tucking the shirt in before doing up the belt. He glanced to the mirror, assuring himself everything was in place before finally removing the jacket from the wardrobe. He traced his finger along the golden embroidery that ran the length of the arm, around the color, and down the front, standing out against the dark green material that made up the majority of the light coat. He slid his arms in before shrugging his shoulders, setting the coat comfortably into place. He buttoned a few of the buttons, leaving the top and bottom buttons open, before heading out the door.
Miktan took the back stairwell that ran past the kitchen and straight into the dining room. Matthew was already seated, the coat from his House Danar serving uniform from the night before draped over the back of the chair. He began to stand before Miktan motioned him to remain seated. He took a chair on the opposite side of the table from the young man.
“How did you sleep?” Miktan asked with a smile.
Matthew returned the smile, “When you are use to sleeping on the floor, or a makeshift hammock, a bed is a welcome change of pace. How about you?”
“As well as an old man can.” Miktan replied.
The boy sat wearing a clean white shirt, and Miktan assumed the black pants with the gray stripe that went with the serving uniform. I should take him to get some new clothes, Miktan thought to himself, though I doubt he’d use them, at least he would have them.
It still shocked Miktan how much Matthew looked like his father. His face was nearly identical, except a little thinner from the boys irregular eating habits Miktan assumed. He had the same body shape and height of Braas. The difference was in the eyes and hair. The black hair and dark green eyes were distinctly Helen.
Miktan poured himself a glass over water and began to drink, the cool liquid sliding down his throat, when Matthew spoke, “Miktan, is there anything else you can tell me about Gabriel?”
Miktan was confused for a moment before remembering the night before. He placed the glass down, taking the time to think things out, “Gabriel was a great man and an even better thief. Though, he hated being called a thief. He had a policy when it came to who he would rob. He would only steal from those that wouldn’t miss what he had taken, or people that wronged people, people that needed protection. That is what he truly saw himself as, a protector of the weak, not a thief. The world lost a great man the day he was killed.”
Matthew’s face was one of solemn reverence before a smile split it, “I hope that one day people can say the same about me.”
Miktan laughed, “I’m sure that one day they will boy,” and he took another drink. He had worried that his story the night before had depressed the boy, but he saw that it had only strengthened him, focusing him towards what kind of man he wanted to become.
Soon two of the kitchen staff entered the dining room, each one carrying a platter. Matthew’s eye widened at the food that was set before him. To one that lived as he did, stealing what he could to survive, the meal probably looked like a feast. Two more platters were brought in. One held various fruits, another with breads and pastries, the final two held meats prepared in different ways, most of it pork, but some beef and poultry was there also.
Matthew wasted no time getting into the food, piling his plate with food from the platters. One of the kitchen staff came out and poured each of them a glass of fruit juice before once again retreating to the kitchens to begin cleaning. Miktan began to place food on his plate also, focusing most on the fruit, but also taking a few pastries and some of the meats. The two remained relatively silent, making casual conversation as they ate.
The two moved to the library after they had finished their meal, not wanting to be in the way of the staff as they continued their cleaning. Almost as soon as they’d settled, Jonson entered the room holding a letter sealed with yellow wax. He handed it to Miktan who read his name, written in flowing script before turning it to examine the seal. He quickly recognized the hawk with wing flared and talons outstretched as that of House Kensly.
Breaking the seal, Miktan opened the letter.
Miktan Lonstrat,
It is my great honor to invite you to the Kensly Manor, two nights from today, to join me and my family in celebrating my son, Jaron’s coming of age. We hope that you will grace us with your presence.
Lord Jaron Kensly of House Kensly
“What is it?” Matthew asked, adjusting himself in his chair in an attempt to see the invitation.
“It seems that Lord Kensly has invited me to his next party, celebrating the coming of age of his son, Jaron,” Miktan explained.
“Sounds fun,” the boy said with a hint of sarcasm in his voice, “will you go?”
“Of course,” Miktan said plainly, “it would be rude of me not to. Lord Kensly has been nothing but kind to me, as well as the inhabitants of Garlin." A thought struck Miktan, which he pondered a moment before speaking, “You know, you could accompany me.”
Matthew’s eyes shot open, eyebrows rising higher on his face, mouth hanging open. He collected himself before speaking, a look of shock still lingering, “I… I couldn’t. I’m a street-thief, I don’t belong as a Lord’s party,” he paused a moment before continuing, “at least not as an invited guest.”
Miktan gave a pleasant smile, “Nonsense, you would simply be seen as my young protege. No one would know who you truly were and none would bother to ask. It may be beneficial for you to better understand how the other side lives.”
Matthew gave a suspicious, questioning look, “Now why would I need to know that? I think I got a pretty good idea last night serving most of them.”
“Last night you saw things from the point of view of a servant, this,” Miktan saw, waving the invitation, “would give you a look from the inside, seeing how they truly act and behave. How they interact with one another.”
“And how would that help me at all on the streets?” Matthew asked, apprehension was beginning to take its hold on the boy.
“You never know where your life might lead Matthew. The skills you would learn, the information gleaned, could come in handy down the road. You say you are a street-thief, but last night you managed to do something that Gabriel himself failed at, it takes more than a simple street-thief to rob Lord Danar without his knowledge,” Miktan gave another charming smile as he fed the boy’s ego.
Matthew shook his head in defeat, “You aren’t going to let this go, are you?”
“Of course not, though we’ll have to get you some new clothes before the party,” Miktan said, examining him. Matthew looked down at himself, looking back up with a frown, “For now, what your wearing will do fine, just leave the jacket, it makes the outfit too easily recognizable as a Danar servant’s uniform, we’ll visit my tailor today and get you something more suitable.”
“Vansen will be curious where I’m at,” Matthew said. Miktan figured the boy thought he had possibly found an escape.
“I will be sure he knows, I intended on sending Jonson to see him later today about his payment anyway,” Miktan smiled as he saw the last bit of resistance melt away from the boy. Miktan was glad he didn’t have to manipulate the boy’s mind with magic. It was an accomplishment to rationalize everything out to one such as Matthew.
Miktan motioned to Jonson, asking him to have the carriage prepared for them before looking back at Matthew who sat dejected in the chair.
—————
Matthew groaned as the rotund man took another measurement of his arm, holding the string against it before clicking to himself and writing something down. He stood on a short platform in the middle of the hexagonal room. Four of the walls were lined with mirrors, while plush chairs sat against one and the door leading out of the room occupied the other. Miktan sat in one of the plush chairs, a large grin on his face as he watching Matthew squirm on the platform. He felt as if he had been standing up there for near an eternity, though he knew it had only been a few minutes at most.
The tailor stood in front of him now, right hand on his chin, left waving through the air as if envisioning something as he mumbled to himself. Miktan swore that this was the best tailor in town, but Matthew just thought he was mad. The tailor had nearly attacked Matthew when Miktan told him that they needed an outfit for the event at the Kensly Manor two days from now.
“He is not large enough for any of the Rhodaron styles, they require a larger upper body, though he is too tall to fit any of the typical Garlin styles well,” the man stood pondering for a moment, hand waving before he seemed to have an epiphany, “I know, there is a style from Ugana that is taking hold in Beldin, with some slight modifications of course. It will be magnificent!” The man spun on his heels and rushed out the door.
Matthew looked at Miktan, his face showing only his annoyance, “Miktan, none of this is necessary, you don’t have to take me to this thing.”
Matthew had been trying to talk his way out of going to the event all morning. Every excuse he came up with, every counter argument Miktan met with rationality. Matthew had sense given up on logical arguments and was hoping to annoy the old man until he decided it was a horrible idea and canceled his offer.
“You are through the worst of it already, now it is just a matter of choosing the materials, patterns and cut,” Miktan explain with a calm tone.
Matthew was beginning to dread the fact that he and Vansen had ever stolen that flute from Miktan. The day was beginning to drag on. The carriage ride to the tailor took nearly three times as long as it should have as groups of soldiers made their way through the streets, seemingly keeping patrol just as the guards did, but in larger groups. Miktan gave no explanation for their presence when Matthew asked. He seemed to be just as confused as everyone else was. Now he was standing on this platform, having every fault and asset pointed out by a man a head shorter than he was and three times as wide. He felt as if the man had violated him, all in the name of fashion.
As if the thought had summoned him, the tailor darted back into the small room holding an already finished red coat. He handed the garment up to Matthew.
“Now, that will be a little large I think, but it should give us a good idea how the style looks on you,” the man said, barely breathing as the words flew from his mouth.
Matthew looked at the coat, then to Miktan, then to the tailor who was looking at him expectantly. He reluctantly slid his arms into the sleeves, pulling the coat up onto his shoulders and let it settle into place. The tailor was right, the coat was a little loose in some areas, but it was comfortable. He looked at himself in the mirror before him. Unlike most of the coats he had seen the nobles wearing the night before, which ended at their waist or just below, this coat hung to his mid-thigh. He liked the look, examining himself in the mirror. The coat split in the back near his waist, traveling the rest of the length to the bottom hem, allowing for freedom of movement of his legs and the material of the coat was lightweight and breathed well, which was good considering Garlin’s warm weather.
“Well?” Miktan asked, a tone of expectation present.
Matthew cringed at the thought of what he was about to say, “I… like it.”
“Oh excellent, I do believe that the cut fits you very well. Of course, it will fit that much better when it is tailored to your measurements. Now, I do suppose you will be wanting to see some materials won’t you?” Words fell from the tailor’s mouth in an continual stream and before either of them could respond he was out the door again.
Matthew raised an eyebrow as he looked towards Miktan before removing the coat, “Can I get off this thing now, I feel like a buffoon.”
“Yes, you can come down,” Miktan said with a laugh.
Matthew hopped off the platform, setting the red coat down on it before taking up one of the other plush chair against the wall.
It was a few more minutes before the man hurried back through the door, followed by three of his apprentices, each one carrying different swatches of cloth. Immediately the man was presenting materials of different colors and textures. Matthew rejected most of them, the colors two bright or gaudy for him. Many of the neutral and dark colors went into a pile for later consideration.
After was seemed like forever to Matthew they had gone through all of the different swatches and the man sat on the platform across from Matthew and Miktan, dismissing his apprentices.
“Now, with your darker hair,” the tailor began, “I would suggest darker tones for the cloth, with brighter threads for the accenting embroidery. Something similar to Master Miktan’s coat,” the man motioned to Miktan.
Matthew examined Miktan’s coat carefully, beginning to understand what the man meant. Matthew picked up a dark material, not quite black, but very close, “How about this for the material,” he pointed at a silver thread on the spools that the man had brought in with the cloth, “and then that for the embroidery?”
The tailor looked at the materials Matthew had suggested carefully, as if weighing them, “I do believe that would work well, an excellent choice Master Matthew, and excellent choice indeed,” the man took the material and made a mark with some chalk before setting it aside.
Finally, we’re done, Matthew thought.
“That will make an excellent combination for the first coat,” the tailor said, looking back to Matthew.
“First coat?” Matthew said shocked. The words came out harsher and louder than he may have intended, but he had been caught off guard.
“I thought that it might be a good idea to have a few outfits made,” Miktan said, looking at him with a grin, “so I’ve commissioned three outfits, though we only need one for tomorrow night,” the last part was meant for the tailor, Matthew was sure.
The tailor nodded knowingly to Miktan. You had this planned all along, Matthew thought, glaring at the old man who continued to grin at him.
“Now,” the tailor said, Matthew turning back to look at him, “what if we were to try this green material,” the swatch he held was similar in color to Miktan’s coat, though there was a slight pattern to it, almost not visible unless you focused on it, “I believe the color would match your eyes well, and with this earthy feel, we could do a bronze or maybe a gold embroidery.”
“Bronze, gold would be too much,” Matthew said plainly, anger still ever so slightly present in his voice.
“Very good, and what would you say to this red material,” the tailor said as he lifted the coat he had brought in before, “with perhaps the same silver thread as the first coat?”
“That sounds fine,” Matthew was beginning to grow weary of the overly energetic man. He reminded Matthew of Tavira in some ways, though more abrasive.
“For the material, is there anything you would prefer?” The tailor asked as he brought up new swatches.
“I’d want something that breathes well, is lightweight and I can move around in freely,” Matthew said almost cutting the man off from continuing.
The tailor pondered for a moment, looking through his swatches before pulling two out and handing one to Matthew, “This material is used by many nobles for their dueling coats, it is quite nice in my opinion.”
Matthew felt the material and tugged on it before handing it back to the man, saying, “Use that.”
The tailor paused for a moment as if he was still going to hand the second sample to Matthew. He finally set both samples down, setting the one Matthew had chosen with the others that were set apart.
“Now this style of suit,” the tailor started up again in his quick speech, “is often worn with a vest, the color matching the embroidery, and a white silk shirt. For the slacks, I believe a flat black for all of them, with matching embroidery of course.”
“Would it be too much trouble,” Matthew began, both Miktan’s and the tailor’s heads focusing on him, “for the shirt of the first suit to be black, or a gray maybe, instead of white?”
Both of them stared at him, Miktan with an astonished look and the tailor with a curious look. Finally the tailor began to speak, slowly at first, “Yes. Yes indeed, I do believe that would look marvelous,” his speech began to pick up as he went, “The darker shirt would accent the silver vest. Yes, that would look quite marvelous. I dare say that it would be something entirely new, unique to you, at first at least, until some other noble saw it and ordered it for himself. Yes, we will use black silk for the first shirt,” the tailor made it sound as if that were his idea in the end.
Miktan finally broke his stare and turned to the tailor, “If there is nothing else you need from us, I believe we will head home now.”
“Yes, of course, that should be everything. You said you need the first suit two days from now? And would you like that delivered to your residence Master Miktan?” The tailor asked.
“That will be fine. I thank you for your help in this, and your haste,” Miktan stood, taking the tailor’s hand as he rose.
Matthew followed suit, shaking the tailor’s hand and giving thanks before they turned to leave the man to his work. The tailor followed the two out of the small room and immediately began giving orders to those he had working for him as Miktan and Matthew left the building.
Matthew took a deep breath, glad to be out of the shop, “Well, that took longer than I’d hoped. I can’t help but feel that you are trying to change me Miktan, make me into something I’m not.”
“Nonsense boy, I’m simply trying to make you into something more. You never stop being that which makes you who you are, you only become something more. Do you honestly believe that I, the man that commissioned you and your friends for the job last night, am any different than the man who did those same things when I was your age?” Miktan raised an eyebrow and grinned at Matthew, “In the same way, do you want to live the rest of your life as a street-thief, barely surviving? Or do you want to become something? Become someone that can shape this world into something better?”
Matthew thought for a moment as the two climbed into the carriage, “I suppose not,” he said as the two took their seats.
“Good, now, Jonson and I are going to have to drill you for the next two days in hopes that we can pass you off as a respectable member of society.”
Matthew groaned, “I do know that I don’t want to become a noble, it’s far too much work.”
Miktan gave a hearty laugh, “Boy, you don’t know the half of it yet!”
Monday, March 8, 2010
Thursday, March 4, 2010
Chapter 6 - Tales of the Past
Miktan woke to the sound of the heavy knocker striking on the door. He shifted in the high-backed chair he used for reading. Miktan looked up to see Jonson standing in the doorway to the library. Miktan nodded to him and he started off towards the front entrance. Miktan rubbed sleep from his eyes. He wished that Jonson took more initiative instead of waiting for Miktan to tell him what he already knew what he needed to do. Jonson was a good manservant, perhaps too good at times.
Miktan looked around at his library and it’s collection of books. It was nothing spectacular, especially when compared with the libraries of some of the nobles in Garlin, but it was more than enough for him. Miktan had managed to read most of the books. There were some that held no interest for him however. The books had come with the house, which he’d bought from a blacksmith who had become quite wealthy during the war with Actaron. The man had collected the various books because that is what he thought people with wealth did. When his business had slowed after the war, the blacksmith realized he could no longer afford the house and sold it as it was to Miktan at a reasonable price.
Miktan still enjoyed reading stories, though he could recite most of them just as he had during his time as a bard. There was something about the epic tales of the heroes of old that intrigued him. It was a life he wished he had lived, not that his life had been boring. Far from it, he had been part of a crew of thieves that had pulled some of the greatest heists in recent history. Miktan had heard his share of tales taken from the exploits of the old gang, though they were embellished far beyond anything they had ever done. He supposed that was true of any tale told over time.
Miktan had spent a fair share of his time in inns and taverns throughout the kingdoms sharing the tales of their exploits, changing any details that would tie the caper to himself or his companions. It wouldn’t do to tell a tall of Braas the Shadow-Walker and Miktan, not at all.
Miktan smiled as Jonson escorted a young boy, almost a man, into the library. The boy stood, cradling a canvas tube. He wore the black and gray of House Danar’s staff and had his shoulder length black hair pulled back. Miktan looked the boy over, marveling at how much he looked like his father, with hiw mother’s coloring in the eyes and hair.
Matthew had no clue who his parents were; had no idea that they were Braas and Helen, two members of the old gang. Two of the best thieves and con-artists the world had ever seen. It wasn’t long after Matthew was born that Braas approached Miktan, wanting to pull one more job. One job to end it all, vaulting them to full-fledged legends and more importantly to set his new family up to live comfortably the rest of their lives. A pang of guilt stung at Miktan at the memory.
Matthew stepped forward, handing the canvas tube to Miktan. He took the tube and slid the flute from it. Every detail was just as he remembered. A smile crept across his lips as he held it once again. Miktan held the flute to his mouth and played a few notes; they came, crisp and clear. After all those years it still held it’s tuning.
“Lovely,” Miktan said, looking up to Matthew as he lowered the instrument to his lap, “thank you for retrieving it for me. You have no idea what it means to me.”
Matthew returned the smile, “It was nothing,” he said nonchalantly, just as his father would have.
Miktan motioned to one of the chairs in the room for Matthew to sit. Matthew shifted something on his belt as he sat.
“What have you got there boy?” Miktan asked, trying to catch a glimpse.
“Just something else I found in the vault,” he replied as he pulled a black dagger from his belt, “I’m not sure why, but they seemed familiar to me.”
Miktan held back a gasp as he saw the blade. He recognized it as another item from his past.
“One of a pair, is it not?” Miktan asked carefully.
Matthew nodded and pulled the second blade from his belt. There was no mistaking it now. The two identical daggers could only be Braas’ shadow-blades. That was what he had always called them. They had always seemed like more of a good luck charm to the man rather than weapons, though he was more than capable with them.
“Do you know anything about them?” Matthew asked, looking up to Miktan with curious eyes.
So much like your father, Miktan thought before he spoke, “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like to hear a tale?” Matthew’s eyes gleamed as he nodded, “Very well. Some years ago, well before you were born, I was a member of a group of people who were notorious for pulling some of the greatest heists in all the world. At least, that was what we liked to believe. Those blades belonged to one of the members of that group.”
Miktan paused for a moment, thinking things over before continuing before, “He was a great thief that went by the name of Gabriel,” Miktan was sure that Matthew didn’t know his parent’s names, however, if he recognized the blades at all, Miktan didn’t want to take too many chances, “He was a great thief. Fast hands and a sharp wit. He could manage to get in and out of places that other thieves wouldn’t have dared even dream of trying. His feats garnished him the name of Shadow-Walker and those daggers were his Shadow-Blades and Gabriel took them on every heist, claiming they brought him luck. They saw him through thick and thin,” Matthew looked down at the blades he held in a new light.
“I remember the night that Gabriel died very clearly. It was the night that I lost this flute,” Miktan said, motioning to the instrument in his lap, “it was suppose to be our last job. We were going to rob High Lord Danar, though his house was not one of the high houses at the time. Lord Danar was cheating the people that worked for him, paying them enough to live, but not enough to move on. We planned the heist to take place during a banquet Danar was holding. Lord Danar sent out an open invitation for bards to play and entertain the guests that evening. We used that as our cover. During the evening, Gabriel and his wife broke into the vault to take all they could, but something went horribly wrong. The vault was empty except for a large number of guards. Gabriel and his wife tried to flee but were no match for the men.”
Miktan’s eyes began to well up with tears, but took a few deep breaths, forcing the pain away, “I was in the dining hall when the two were brought in before Lord Danar. He brought them forward and announced what they were found doing and sentenced them then and there. The Lord then asked if there was anything they wished to say. To this day, Gabriel’s words are clear in my ears,” Miktan closed his eyes as he recited the words, “You all may believe that we are the thieves, yet I tell you it is you nobles that cheat your workers that are the true thieves,” Miktan looked up at Matthew before he continued, “I watched in horror as they were executed. It was when Lord Danar’s eyes fell on me that I knew I had to escape. I ran like I had never run before, leaving my flute behind. I barely escaped that evening. I disappeared from Garlin for a time before finally returning.”
Matthew stared, eyes wide, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry Miktan,” he looked down at the daggers before holding them out towards the older man, “take them, you deserve them more than I do.”
Miktan laughed weakly, “What would I do with such things boy. No, I think you should keep them, I’m sure Gabriel would rather have it that way.”
It pained Miktan to hide things from Matthew, but he wasn’t sure the boy would be able to handle the truth at that moment, especially having just heard that story. Miktan stretched out towards Matthew’s mind, ever so slightly manipulating it. He brought on a touch of weariness, adding to what was already there. Miktan had not woven a thread in a long while. Bringing on weariness was a simple matter, not like manipulating emotions.
Miktan had done well to hide that he was a Mind-Weaver in the past, not wanting the Weaver’s Guild to get their fingers into him. They were better now than they had been during the war, recruiting anyone and everyone that had access to one of the threads of power, training them to fight against Actaron.
Matthew yawned and started to rise, “I’d better get back to the warehouse and get some sleep.”
“Why don’t you stay here tonight Matthew. It’s late, and I’d hate to hear that something happened to you on your way to the warehouse.” Miktan was ready to brush away any hesitance that the boy might have, but there was none.
“If it all right with you, than sure. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my eyes open the whole way to the warehouse anyway.”
Miktan hadn’t been entirely aware of how tired the boy was before he had added to it. He motioned to Jonson who had stood quietly beside the door of the library while the two had conversed. He stepped forward and began helping Matthew to the guest room. Matthew gratefully accepted the help and the two slowly exited the room.
Miktan stood, smiling, “You must be proud of the boy Braas,” Miktan walked to the fireplace and set the flute on the stand that sat on the mantle, “so very proud.”
Miktan looked around at his library and it’s collection of books. It was nothing spectacular, especially when compared with the libraries of some of the nobles in Garlin, but it was more than enough for him. Miktan had managed to read most of the books. There were some that held no interest for him however. The books had come with the house, which he’d bought from a blacksmith who had become quite wealthy during the war with Actaron. The man had collected the various books because that is what he thought people with wealth did. When his business had slowed after the war, the blacksmith realized he could no longer afford the house and sold it as it was to Miktan at a reasonable price.
Miktan still enjoyed reading stories, though he could recite most of them just as he had during his time as a bard. There was something about the epic tales of the heroes of old that intrigued him. It was a life he wished he had lived, not that his life had been boring. Far from it, he had been part of a crew of thieves that had pulled some of the greatest heists in recent history. Miktan had heard his share of tales taken from the exploits of the old gang, though they were embellished far beyond anything they had ever done. He supposed that was true of any tale told over time.
Miktan had spent a fair share of his time in inns and taverns throughout the kingdoms sharing the tales of their exploits, changing any details that would tie the caper to himself or his companions. It wouldn’t do to tell a tall of Braas the Shadow-Walker and Miktan, not at all.
Miktan smiled as Jonson escorted a young boy, almost a man, into the library. The boy stood, cradling a canvas tube. He wore the black and gray of House Danar’s staff and had his shoulder length black hair pulled back. Miktan looked the boy over, marveling at how much he looked like his father, with hiw mother’s coloring in the eyes and hair.
Matthew had no clue who his parents were; had no idea that they were Braas and Helen, two members of the old gang. Two of the best thieves and con-artists the world had ever seen. It wasn’t long after Matthew was born that Braas approached Miktan, wanting to pull one more job. One job to end it all, vaulting them to full-fledged legends and more importantly to set his new family up to live comfortably the rest of their lives. A pang of guilt stung at Miktan at the memory.
Matthew stepped forward, handing the canvas tube to Miktan. He took the tube and slid the flute from it. Every detail was just as he remembered. A smile crept across his lips as he held it once again. Miktan held the flute to his mouth and played a few notes; they came, crisp and clear. After all those years it still held it’s tuning.
“Lovely,” Miktan said, looking up to Matthew as he lowered the instrument to his lap, “thank you for retrieving it for me. You have no idea what it means to me.”
Matthew returned the smile, “It was nothing,” he said nonchalantly, just as his father would have.
Miktan motioned to one of the chairs in the room for Matthew to sit. Matthew shifted something on his belt as he sat.
“What have you got there boy?” Miktan asked, trying to catch a glimpse.
“Just something else I found in the vault,” he replied as he pulled a black dagger from his belt, “I’m not sure why, but they seemed familiar to me.”
Miktan held back a gasp as he saw the blade. He recognized it as another item from his past.
“One of a pair, is it not?” Miktan asked carefully.
Matthew nodded and pulled the second blade from his belt. There was no mistaking it now. The two identical daggers could only be Braas’ shadow-blades. That was what he had always called them. They had always seemed like more of a good luck charm to the man rather than weapons, though he was more than capable with them.
“Do you know anything about them?” Matthew asked, looking up to Miktan with curious eyes.
So much like your father, Miktan thought before he spoke, “As a matter of fact, I do. Would you like to hear a tale?” Matthew’s eyes gleamed as he nodded, “Very well. Some years ago, well before you were born, I was a member of a group of people who were notorious for pulling some of the greatest heists in all the world. At least, that was what we liked to believe. Those blades belonged to one of the members of that group.”
Miktan paused for a moment, thinking things over before continuing before, “He was a great thief that went by the name of Gabriel,” Miktan was sure that Matthew didn’t know his parent’s names, however, if he recognized the blades at all, Miktan didn’t want to take too many chances, “He was a great thief. Fast hands and a sharp wit. He could manage to get in and out of places that other thieves wouldn’t have dared even dream of trying. His feats garnished him the name of Shadow-Walker and those daggers were his Shadow-Blades and Gabriel took them on every heist, claiming they brought him luck. They saw him through thick and thin,” Matthew looked down at the blades he held in a new light.
“I remember the night that Gabriel died very clearly. It was the night that I lost this flute,” Miktan said, motioning to the instrument in his lap, “it was suppose to be our last job. We were going to rob High Lord Danar, though his house was not one of the high houses at the time. Lord Danar was cheating the people that worked for him, paying them enough to live, but not enough to move on. We planned the heist to take place during a banquet Danar was holding. Lord Danar sent out an open invitation for bards to play and entertain the guests that evening. We used that as our cover. During the evening, Gabriel and his wife broke into the vault to take all they could, but something went horribly wrong. The vault was empty except for a large number of guards. Gabriel and his wife tried to flee but were no match for the men.”
Miktan’s eyes began to well up with tears, but took a few deep breaths, forcing the pain away, “I was in the dining hall when the two were brought in before Lord Danar. He brought them forward and announced what they were found doing and sentenced them then and there. The Lord then asked if there was anything they wished to say. To this day, Gabriel’s words are clear in my ears,” Miktan closed his eyes as he recited the words, “You all may believe that we are the thieves, yet I tell you it is you nobles that cheat your workers that are the true thieves,” Miktan looked up at Matthew before he continued, “I watched in horror as they were executed. It was when Lord Danar’s eyes fell on me that I knew I had to escape. I ran like I had never run before, leaving my flute behind. I barely escaped that evening. I disappeared from Garlin for a time before finally returning.”
Matthew stared, eyes wide, tears in his eyes, “I am so sorry Miktan,” he looked down at the daggers before holding them out towards the older man, “take them, you deserve them more than I do.”
Miktan laughed weakly, “What would I do with such things boy. No, I think you should keep them, I’m sure Gabriel would rather have it that way.”
It pained Miktan to hide things from Matthew, but he wasn’t sure the boy would be able to handle the truth at that moment, especially having just heard that story. Miktan stretched out towards Matthew’s mind, ever so slightly manipulating it. He brought on a touch of weariness, adding to what was already there. Miktan had not woven a thread in a long while. Bringing on weariness was a simple matter, not like manipulating emotions.
Miktan had done well to hide that he was a Mind-Weaver in the past, not wanting the Weaver’s Guild to get their fingers into him. They were better now than they had been during the war, recruiting anyone and everyone that had access to one of the threads of power, training them to fight against Actaron.
Matthew yawned and started to rise, “I’d better get back to the warehouse and get some sleep.”
“Why don’t you stay here tonight Matthew. It’s late, and I’d hate to hear that something happened to you on your way to the warehouse.” Miktan was ready to brush away any hesitance that the boy might have, but there was none.
“If it all right with you, than sure. I’m not sure I’d be able to keep my eyes open the whole way to the warehouse anyway.”
Miktan hadn’t been entirely aware of how tired the boy was before he had added to it. He motioned to Jonson who had stood quietly beside the door of the library while the two had conversed. He stepped forward and began helping Matthew to the guest room. Matthew gratefully accepted the help and the two slowly exited the room.
Miktan stood, smiling, “You must be proud of the boy Braas,” Miktan walked to the fireplace and set the flute on the stand that sat on the mantle, “so very proud.”
Monday, March 1, 2010
Chapter 5 - A Flute and Daggers
Matthew stood looking himself over. He still wasn’t sure how Vansen had managed to get ahold of two House Danar serving uniforms, let alone uniforms that fit them both. Even though the uniform was that of a servant, the clothes were still of a better quality than Matthew had ever worn. The slacks and jacket were completely black with a gray stripe that ran the length of the leg and arm. Underneath the jacket Matthew wore a pure white shirt. It had taken Matthew a few tries to get the buttons done up correctly, he wasn’t use to dealing with them, but he though he at least looked the part of a servant.
Vansen had told him that he needed to wash his hair and get as much of the grease that had collected in it out. Matthew had sense pulled his shoulder length, black hair back into a low ponytail in order give him a cleaner appearance, or so he thought. Matthew wasn’t sure if any of the crew, if they walked past him at that moment, would recognize him. Matthew knew that when Vansen had finally approached him, having cleaned and groomed himself also, Matthew had to look twice to be sure it was him.
“So, you remember the plan?” Vansen asked, looking Matthew over and nodding in approval.
Matthew nodded. They had planned out as much as they could with the knowledge they had. They knew that most of the servants that would be serving the meal would be arriving at the manor just before the guests began arriving. They would be using the servant’s entrance on the west wall of the keep. Once in, Matthew and Vansen would continue to play the role of servants until after the dinner course was served. That was when they would have the most amount of time to get away and all the guests would be focused on their meal. It was then that they would make their way for the vault.
“Good, let’s get moving, we don’t want to miss our chance to get in,” Vansen said as he motioned towards the door.
The two had used an abandoned tailor’s shop to get ready. It was nearby the keep, as near as they could manage, and it had access to the alleyway behind the building. They exited the door and made their way down the alley to the street. Vansen scouted the street before heading out. Matthew followed.
They kept a quick pace. Anyone that saw them would simply see two servants hurrying in the direction of Keep Danar. As they approached the keep, Matthew’s jaw dropped at it’s size. He quickly composed himself and continued on. He knew that House Danar was one of the more powerful high houses, and he’d seen the keep before, but never from so close. The craftsmanship was extraordinary and it was enormous.
Matthew saw a group of people wearing the same clothes he and Vansen wore and pointed them out. Vansen nodded in agreement as they cut towards them. They joined in with the group and continued on towards the keep.
The conversation in the group was light, mostly concerns about pleasing the right nobles and such. That was until one of the servants looked at Vansen and Matthew, “I don’t recognize you two,” the young man said with a questioning look on his face.
Matthew’s throat clenched and his eyes darted to Vansen who looked back at him before looking back to the servant that had pointed them out. One of the other servant’s chimed in, “They are probably just two of the new hires for the banquet, I’m sure there will be plenty of faces you don’t recognize tonight.”
“Yeah, we were just hired for the night, though we’re hoping to please the right people and find something more permanent,” Vansen said with a slight laugh. Matthew released a held breath and nervously chuckled.
“Well,” the first servant started up, “there are a few things you should keep in mind. Do not speak to any of the Danar family unless they address you directly. Keep your heads down and mouths shut and do everything the mistress of servants tells you without missing a beat and you should make it out tonight with a few coins in your pockets at least.”
“Thank you,” Matthew replied, “the help is appreciated.”
“It’s no problem,” the second servant said, “we were all new once. We’ve got to look out for each other. Without us, the noble houses would fall to the ground. They think with all their money and power everything is possible, but we’re the ones that actually make it so.”
The group laughed as they approached the servant’s gate. The guards herded them all in without a second look, all they saw was the uniform and that was enough for them. Inside the small gate was a well kept garden with paths criss-crossing through it. Matthew saw plants that he’d never seen before and bushes cut to look like animals or men. He was relieved when he noticed Vansen’s eyes wandering over everything too.
Soon the group entered the keep proper and began to weave their way knowingly along the servant’s corridors. Matthew felt that he knew the passages as well. One of the other items that Vansen managed to get ahold of was a map of the corridors of the keep. He and Matthew had poured over the map the day before, each one memorizing groups of passages. Between the two of them they knew every corridor between the west servant’s gate and the vault, as well as the passages between the servant’s chambers, where they would wait until they were summoned, and the great hall.
They had come up with multiple paths to get to the vault, as well as to get out of the keep in their planning. Matthew felt good at the preparation they had put into the job, though now that everything was in action, he questioned whether or not they would be able to pull it off.
Soon they stood in a large, poorly lit room. At one end was a platform with two braziers lighting it up, marking it apart from the rest of the room. Inside the room stood servants. Matthew was surprised at the large number of people that he stood among, all wearing the black and gray of House Danar. The men wore identical suits to Matthew and Vansen, and the women wore long dresses with a gray stripe traveling the back of the skirt and the same stripes on the arms as the men’s suits. It was as if they were a part of an army, all wearing the same thing.
Everyone milled about until a larger woman, wearing the same dress as the other women, except marked with silver instead of gray, stood on the platform at the far end of the room. Suddenly the room was silent.
“Very good,” the woman said with a smile. Her voice carried clearly throughout the room, reverberating off the walls, “I am Mistress Katherine, the mistress of servants for House Danar. Many of you are permanent servants here at the keep, however for those of you that were hired for this evenings event, I will explain how things work. First, my word is law to you, only overruled by the nobles you will be serving. If you do not do as I say, you will be removed from the keep and sent on your way, your name will be added to the list of names which have been barred from serving in this keep. If your actions are as such to deserve it, your name will be passed among the other houses, barring you from working for any of them.
“If one of Lord Danar’s guests this evening have in issue, you will bow and scrape, giving assurances that it will be dealt with immediately. As soon as you are released from their attention you will find either myself or one of my overseers,” the woman motioned to a group of men and women standing to either side of her, each one marked by the silver stripe, “we will deal with the problem. You will do nothing to disrupt this evenings festivities.
“When serving the guests, you will not speak unless you are addressed and then you will keep your words to as little as possible. Everyone will be addressed as either my lord or my lady with no exception except for Lord Danar and his family. Should you be honored enough to be spoken to by any of the family, they are to be addressed as high lord or lady. Now, we have a busy night, relax for now, you will be summoned when you are needed. There is water and bread here in this room for you all. Drink just enough water to keep you hydrated and eat just enough bread to give you the energy to last the night.”
Then the woman and her overseers stepped off the platform and hurried out a side door. The servants all seemed to release a collective sigh after the door shut behind them and the conversations picked up again. Vansen and Matthew made their way to the table with water and bread, each one taking a small glass and piece of bread before finding a corner.
“All right, we have to make it through the serving of wine, salad and dinner,” Vansen said quietly, reciting the plan to Matthew, “then we have to break away from the other servants and make our way to the vault. We will only be able to take the servant’s corridors so far, there are none that go directly to the vault.”
“I know Vansen, you don’t have any reason to worry yet,” Matthew said, his own nerves causing gooseflesh to run up and down his arms and back.
Vansen smiled, “Let’s hope you can keep that cool head of yours.”
——————-
Matthew was breathing hard as he exited the great hall and entered the serving room. He set the pitcher of wine he had been carrying on the great wooden table. It felt as if his arms would fall off. The pace of the servants was ridiculous. There were some that seemed as winded as he was, though others grinned knowingly, other laughing outright.
He quickly scanned the room, glancing at the doors and tables, hoping to spot Vansen. A hand slapped him on the back and Matthew spun. It was Vansen. He seemed to be breathing hard too.
“It’s time,” he said, taking the opportunity to collect his breath, “we’ve got to get away.”
Matthew nodded and they started back towards one of the doors that led into a servant’s hallway that they would usually be taking back to the large, cavernous room that they’d started in. The ducked into the low hall and made their way through the poorly lit passageway.
Matthew was ahead, counting branching passageways. “This one,” he said as he quickly turned down a new corridor.
Vansen looked behind them before ducking in behind Matthew. The continued their journey, snaking their way through the dark halls. They continued down, Vansen sometimes pointing out turns they needed to take that Matthew had missed. Finally they came to a dead end, or so it appeared until Vansen felt for the small handle. He pushed and the wall swung open. He poked his head into the hall beyond and looked down each direction before pushed the door the rest of the way open and darted out. Matthew followed, taking the door and pushing it back closed. If not for the slight cutout from the panel, it would have fit seamlessly into the wall. He supposed the noble’s paid the appearance no mind if it kept servants out of sight.
Vansen led down the hallway. Matthew was glad to be able to stand upright after so long in the servant’s passages. At every corner Vansen stopped, looking around to be sure the way was clear, before continuing on. The two eventually came upon a stairwell leading down to a lower level.
They started down the stairs. Before long they reached a platform with a heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron straps. Vansen pulled out a small device from one of his pockets, Matthew did the same.
“There should only be two guards,” Vansen explained, “I’ll go in first, you come in when you think it is clear.”
Matthew nodded and pressed himself up against the wall. Vansen opened the door and stepped in. The door closed and Matthew hurriedly pressed an ear to it. He could hear unfamiliar voices, then Vansen’s voice. Matthew listened for a few more moments before pulling open the door to peek in. Matthew saw two large men. One stood with his back to the door and the other stood facing Vansen, the two boxing him against the wall and blocking him from the door. Matthew started in, seeing Vansen’s eyes quickly dart to him before returning to the large men.
Vansen moved like a snake. His arm snapped out, slamming the small device into a guards neck. The guard with his back to the door began to draw his sword. It wasn’t fast enough. Matthew dashed up behind him and pressed his device against his exposed neck. There was a small click as the spring released and drove the poison-coated needle through the man’s skin.
The two men buckled before falling to the floor. Vansen grabbed a key from one of the guards and smiled to Matthew has he dangled it before him. The two hurried to the next door. This was appeared to be completely made of iron. Vansen used the key on the heavy lock, removing it and pulling at the heavy door. It slid open about a hand’s width and the two of them grabbed the side, wrestling it the rest of the way open.
Vansen grabbed a torch and headed into the next room. He lit two brazier beside the door that illuminated the vault before them. Matthew’s jaw fell open at the wealth before him. Chests he imagined had to be full of gold and jewels were stacked against one wall. One the other hung ornate tapestries and other wall decorations made of various precious medals and stones.
On the other side of the room were pedestals, “What we’re after will be over there,” Vansen said as he began walking the length of the room.
Matthew followed, staring at the wealth that surrounded him. When they reached the pedestals, Matthew’s awe increased.
“So, what is it we’re looking for?” Matthew asked, realizing he still didn’t know.
“A flute of gold and silver,” Vansen said plainly.
“A flute?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah, Miktan said that at some point in the past his flute was taken by Lord Danar. I’m not sure what the story is, but that’s what we’re here to get back, you look over here,” Vansen pointed to his left, “I’ll check the other side.”
Matthew wove his way through the pedestals, looking over each one. His eyes fell upon one particular. Upon it sat not the flute, but two daggers setting in a leather harness of sorts. He carefully pulled the blades from their sheathes. Each one seemed to be made of one piece of metal with worn leather wrapping the grip of each. Only one edge was sharpened, the light dancing off the slight curve of what looked like a razor sharp edge. What seemed to hold Matthew’s attention was that they were black. The light glinted off them, almost seeming to dance.
Matthew looked over his shoulder at Vansen who was still looking over the pedestals looking for the flute. He looked back at the daggers and couldn’t resist. He quickly returned the daggers to the harness and after removing his coat, he slid his arms into the loops. The harness was made so that he dagger sat in the small of his back. He put his coat back on hurriedly and turned to look at Vansen just as he turned to look back at him. The other shook his head and Matthew did the same in response. Matthew was glad he had not been seen. He was not sure what he would do with such weapons, but having them felt right.
He continued to go over the pedestals until he heard Vansen behind him, “I’ve got it,” he said, holding up an ornate flute. He produced a canvas tube and carefully slid the instrument into it before looking back at Matthew, “All right, let’s go.”
The two turned back to the door and hurried out, pushing the heavy iron door back closed and replacing the lock. The two then rushed back out the room and up the stairs. They found their way back to the servant’s corridor they had used to make their way in and ducked in. They wove through the passageways, avoiding the ones that led to the serving room and the large room with the rest of the servants. The found the exit to the garden. They ran down the path, slowing and catching their breath before they would enter the view of the guards that would watching the servant’s gate.
As they approached the gate hurriedly, one of the guards held up and arm. The two stopped, “Shouldn’t you two be in there?” He asked, pointing back to the keep.
“It seems that Lord Tyaldurn was displeased with High Lord Danar’s choice in wine this evening. When he voiced his opinion, High Lord Danar challenged him to provide a better wine. We have been ordered to Keep Tyaldurn to fetch it,” Vansen’s voice was steady throughout the lie.
“It takes two of you to fetch a bottle of wine?” The second guard asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A bottle of wine, no, but you don’t expect me to carry a cask of the stuff by myself, do you?” Vansen replied with an amused look.
The two guards looked at each other for a moment before looking back at Vansen. Matthew felt himself tighten. The whole job had gone so smoothly thus far, Matthew hoped that the pattern kept up.
“Fine,” the first guard said as he pulled open the gate, “be quick about it. It sounds like the High Lord is in one of his moods and I’d rather not add to it.”
The two nodded and hurried out the gate. They ran for all they had getting away from the keep, hoping that they weren’t discovered.
They eventually stopped in the middle of an intersection, breathing heavily. Vansen pulled the canvas tube that held the flute out of his coat where he had hidden it.
“Here,” he said, handing the flute towards Matthew, “take it to Miktan.”
“Me,” Matthew asked, confused at Vansen’s actions, “I thought you would take it to Miktan.”
“I would, except that guard managed to stick me a bit with a dagger before the drug took effect,” Vansen pulled back his coat to reveal blood staining most of the right side of his white shirt.
“Are you okay?” Matthew asked, concern heavy in his voice.
“I’ll be fine, I just need to get back to the warehouse and get this looked at. You,” he said emphatically, “need to get that to Miktan, now go, I’ll see you when you get back to the warehouse.”
“Okay,” Matthew agreed, “you’re sure you’ll be all right.”
“I’ll be fine,” Vansen said, a tone of command in his voice, “now go.”
Matthew nodded and took off one of the streets. He looked back when he reached a turn and saw that Vansen was already gone.
Vansen had told him that he needed to wash his hair and get as much of the grease that had collected in it out. Matthew had sense pulled his shoulder length, black hair back into a low ponytail in order give him a cleaner appearance, or so he thought. Matthew wasn’t sure if any of the crew, if they walked past him at that moment, would recognize him. Matthew knew that when Vansen had finally approached him, having cleaned and groomed himself also, Matthew had to look twice to be sure it was him.
“So, you remember the plan?” Vansen asked, looking Matthew over and nodding in approval.
Matthew nodded. They had planned out as much as they could with the knowledge they had. They knew that most of the servants that would be serving the meal would be arriving at the manor just before the guests began arriving. They would be using the servant’s entrance on the west wall of the keep. Once in, Matthew and Vansen would continue to play the role of servants until after the dinner course was served. That was when they would have the most amount of time to get away and all the guests would be focused on their meal. It was then that they would make their way for the vault.
“Good, let’s get moving, we don’t want to miss our chance to get in,” Vansen said as he motioned towards the door.
The two had used an abandoned tailor’s shop to get ready. It was nearby the keep, as near as they could manage, and it had access to the alleyway behind the building. They exited the door and made their way down the alley to the street. Vansen scouted the street before heading out. Matthew followed.
They kept a quick pace. Anyone that saw them would simply see two servants hurrying in the direction of Keep Danar. As they approached the keep, Matthew’s jaw dropped at it’s size. He quickly composed himself and continued on. He knew that House Danar was one of the more powerful high houses, and he’d seen the keep before, but never from so close. The craftsmanship was extraordinary and it was enormous.
Matthew saw a group of people wearing the same clothes he and Vansen wore and pointed them out. Vansen nodded in agreement as they cut towards them. They joined in with the group and continued on towards the keep.
The conversation in the group was light, mostly concerns about pleasing the right nobles and such. That was until one of the servants looked at Vansen and Matthew, “I don’t recognize you two,” the young man said with a questioning look on his face.
Matthew’s throat clenched and his eyes darted to Vansen who looked back at him before looking back to the servant that had pointed them out. One of the other servant’s chimed in, “They are probably just two of the new hires for the banquet, I’m sure there will be plenty of faces you don’t recognize tonight.”
“Yeah, we were just hired for the night, though we’re hoping to please the right people and find something more permanent,” Vansen said with a slight laugh. Matthew released a held breath and nervously chuckled.
“Well,” the first servant started up, “there are a few things you should keep in mind. Do not speak to any of the Danar family unless they address you directly. Keep your heads down and mouths shut and do everything the mistress of servants tells you without missing a beat and you should make it out tonight with a few coins in your pockets at least.”
“Thank you,” Matthew replied, “the help is appreciated.”
“It’s no problem,” the second servant said, “we were all new once. We’ve got to look out for each other. Without us, the noble houses would fall to the ground. They think with all their money and power everything is possible, but we’re the ones that actually make it so.”
The group laughed as they approached the servant’s gate. The guards herded them all in without a second look, all they saw was the uniform and that was enough for them. Inside the small gate was a well kept garden with paths criss-crossing through it. Matthew saw plants that he’d never seen before and bushes cut to look like animals or men. He was relieved when he noticed Vansen’s eyes wandering over everything too.
Soon the group entered the keep proper and began to weave their way knowingly along the servant’s corridors. Matthew felt that he knew the passages as well. One of the other items that Vansen managed to get ahold of was a map of the corridors of the keep. He and Matthew had poured over the map the day before, each one memorizing groups of passages. Between the two of them they knew every corridor between the west servant’s gate and the vault, as well as the passages between the servant’s chambers, where they would wait until they were summoned, and the great hall.
They had come up with multiple paths to get to the vault, as well as to get out of the keep in their planning. Matthew felt good at the preparation they had put into the job, though now that everything was in action, he questioned whether or not they would be able to pull it off.
Soon they stood in a large, poorly lit room. At one end was a platform with two braziers lighting it up, marking it apart from the rest of the room. Inside the room stood servants. Matthew was surprised at the large number of people that he stood among, all wearing the black and gray of House Danar. The men wore identical suits to Matthew and Vansen, and the women wore long dresses with a gray stripe traveling the back of the skirt and the same stripes on the arms as the men’s suits. It was as if they were a part of an army, all wearing the same thing.
Everyone milled about until a larger woman, wearing the same dress as the other women, except marked with silver instead of gray, stood on the platform at the far end of the room. Suddenly the room was silent.
“Very good,” the woman said with a smile. Her voice carried clearly throughout the room, reverberating off the walls, “I am Mistress Katherine, the mistress of servants for House Danar. Many of you are permanent servants here at the keep, however for those of you that were hired for this evenings event, I will explain how things work. First, my word is law to you, only overruled by the nobles you will be serving. If you do not do as I say, you will be removed from the keep and sent on your way, your name will be added to the list of names which have been barred from serving in this keep. If your actions are as such to deserve it, your name will be passed among the other houses, barring you from working for any of them.
“If one of Lord Danar’s guests this evening have in issue, you will bow and scrape, giving assurances that it will be dealt with immediately. As soon as you are released from their attention you will find either myself or one of my overseers,” the woman motioned to a group of men and women standing to either side of her, each one marked by the silver stripe, “we will deal with the problem. You will do nothing to disrupt this evenings festivities.
“When serving the guests, you will not speak unless you are addressed and then you will keep your words to as little as possible. Everyone will be addressed as either my lord or my lady with no exception except for Lord Danar and his family. Should you be honored enough to be spoken to by any of the family, they are to be addressed as high lord or lady. Now, we have a busy night, relax for now, you will be summoned when you are needed. There is water and bread here in this room for you all. Drink just enough water to keep you hydrated and eat just enough bread to give you the energy to last the night.”
Then the woman and her overseers stepped off the platform and hurried out a side door. The servants all seemed to release a collective sigh after the door shut behind them and the conversations picked up again. Vansen and Matthew made their way to the table with water and bread, each one taking a small glass and piece of bread before finding a corner.
“All right, we have to make it through the serving of wine, salad and dinner,” Vansen said quietly, reciting the plan to Matthew, “then we have to break away from the other servants and make our way to the vault. We will only be able to take the servant’s corridors so far, there are none that go directly to the vault.”
“I know Vansen, you don’t have any reason to worry yet,” Matthew said, his own nerves causing gooseflesh to run up and down his arms and back.
Vansen smiled, “Let’s hope you can keep that cool head of yours.”
——————-
Matthew was breathing hard as he exited the great hall and entered the serving room. He set the pitcher of wine he had been carrying on the great wooden table. It felt as if his arms would fall off. The pace of the servants was ridiculous. There were some that seemed as winded as he was, though others grinned knowingly, other laughing outright.
He quickly scanned the room, glancing at the doors and tables, hoping to spot Vansen. A hand slapped him on the back and Matthew spun. It was Vansen. He seemed to be breathing hard too.
“It’s time,” he said, taking the opportunity to collect his breath, “we’ve got to get away.”
Matthew nodded and they started back towards one of the doors that led into a servant’s hallway that they would usually be taking back to the large, cavernous room that they’d started in. The ducked into the low hall and made their way through the poorly lit passageway.
Matthew was ahead, counting branching passageways. “This one,” he said as he quickly turned down a new corridor.
Vansen looked behind them before ducking in behind Matthew. The continued their journey, snaking their way through the dark halls. They continued down, Vansen sometimes pointing out turns they needed to take that Matthew had missed. Finally they came to a dead end, or so it appeared until Vansen felt for the small handle. He pushed and the wall swung open. He poked his head into the hall beyond and looked down each direction before pushed the door the rest of the way open and darted out. Matthew followed, taking the door and pushing it back closed. If not for the slight cutout from the panel, it would have fit seamlessly into the wall. He supposed the noble’s paid the appearance no mind if it kept servants out of sight.
Vansen led down the hallway. Matthew was glad to be able to stand upright after so long in the servant’s passages. At every corner Vansen stopped, looking around to be sure the way was clear, before continuing on. The two eventually came upon a stairwell leading down to a lower level.
They started down the stairs. Before long they reached a platform with a heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron straps. Vansen pulled out a small device from one of his pockets, Matthew did the same.
“There should only be two guards,” Vansen explained, “I’ll go in first, you come in when you think it is clear.”
Matthew nodded and pressed himself up against the wall. Vansen opened the door and stepped in. The door closed and Matthew hurriedly pressed an ear to it. He could hear unfamiliar voices, then Vansen’s voice. Matthew listened for a few more moments before pulling open the door to peek in. Matthew saw two large men. One stood with his back to the door and the other stood facing Vansen, the two boxing him against the wall and blocking him from the door. Matthew started in, seeing Vansen’s eyes quickly dart to him before returning to the large men.
Vansen moved like a snake. His arm snapped out, slamming the small device into a guards neck. The guard with his back to the door began to draw his sword. It wasn’t fast enough. Matthew dashed up behind him and pressed his device against his exposed neck. There was a small click as the spring released and drove the poison-coated needle through the man’s skin.
The two men buckled before falling to the floor. Vansen grabbed a key from one of the guards and smiled to Matthew has he dangled it before him. The two hurried to the next door. This was appeared to be completely made of iron. Vansen used the key on the heavy lock, removing it and pulling at the heavy door. It slid open about a hand’s width and the two of them grabbed the side, wrestling it the rest of the way open.
Vansen grabbed a torch and headed into the next room. He lit two brazier beside the door that illuminated the vault before them. Matthew’s jaw fell open at the wealth before him. Chests he imagined had to be full of gold and jewels were stacked against one wall. One the other hung ornate tapestries and other wall decorations made of various precious medals and stones.
On the other side of the room were pedestals, “What we’re after will be over there,” Vansen said as he began walking the length of the room.
Matthew followed, staring at the wealth that surrounded him. When they reached the pedestals, Matthew’s awe increased.
“So, what is it we’re looking for?” Matthew asked, realizing he still didn’t know.
“A flute of gold and silver,” Vansen said plainly.
“A flute?” Matthew asked.
“Yeah, Miktan said that at some point in the past his flute was taken by Lord Danar. I’m not sure what the story is, but that’s what we’re here to get back, you look over here,” Vansen pointed to his left, “I’ll check the other side.”
Matthew wove his way through the pedestals, looking over each one. His eyes fell upon one particular. Upon it sat not the flute, but two daggers setting in a leather harness of sorts. He carefully pulled the blades from their sheathes. Each one seemed to be made of one piece of metal with worn leather wrapping the grip of each. Only one edge was sharpened, the light dancing off the slight curve of what looked like a razor sharp edge. What seemed to hold Matthew’s attention was that they were black. The light glinted off them, almost seeming to dance.
Matthew looked over his shoulder at Vansen who was still looking over the pedestals looking for the flute. He looked back at the daggers and couldn’t resist. He quickly returned the daggers to the harness and after removing his coat, he slid his arms into the loops. The harness was made so that he dagger sat in the small of his back. He put his coat back on hurriedly and turned to look at Vansen just as he turned to look back at him. The other shook his head and Matthew did the same in response. Matthew was glad he had not been seen. He was not sure what he would do with such weapons, but having them felt right.
He continued to go over the pedestals until he heard Vansen behind him, “I’ve got it,” he said, holding up an ornate flute. He produced a canvas tube and carefully slid the instrument into it before looking back at Matthew, “All right, let’s go.”
The two turned back to the door and hurried out, pushing the heavy iron door back closed and replacing the lock. The two then rushed back out the room and up the stairs. They found their way back to the servant’s corridor they had used to make their way in and ducked in. They wove through the passageways, avoiding the ones that led to the serving room and the large room with the rest of the servants. The found the exit to the garden. They ran down the path, slowing and catching their breath before they would enter the view of the guards that would watching the servant’s gate.
As they approached the gate hurriedly, one of the guards held up and arm. The two stopped, “Shouldn’t you two be in there?” He asked, pointing back to the keep.
“It seems that Lord Tyaldurn was displeased with High Lord Danar’s choice in wine this evening. When he voiced his opinion, High Lord Danar challenged him to provide a better wine. We have been ordered to Keep Tyaldurn to fetch it,” Vansen’s voice was steady throughout the lie.
“It takes two of you to fetch a bottle of wine?” The second guard asked, raising an eyebrow.
“A bottle of wine, no, but you don’t expect me to carry a cask of the stuff by myself, do you?” Vansen replied with an amused look.
The two guards looked at each other for a moment before looking back at Vansen. Matthew felt himself tighten. The whole job had gone so smoothly thus far, Matthew hoped that the pattern kept up.
“Fine,” the first guard said as he pulled open the gate, “be quick about it. It sounds like the High Lord is in one of his moods and I’d rather not add to it.”
The two nodded and hurried out the gate. They ran for all they had getting away from the keep, hoping that they weren’t discovered.
They eventually stopped in the middle of an intersection, breathing heavily. Vansen pulled the canvas tube that held the flute out of his coat where he had hidden it.
“Here,” he said, handing the flute towards Matthew, “take it to Miktan.”
“Me,” Matthew asked, confused at Vansen’s actions, “I thought you would take it to Miktan.”
“I would, except that guard managed to stick me a bit with a dagger before the drug took effect,” Vansen pulled back his coat to reveal blood staining most of the right side of his white shirt.
“Are you okay?” Matthew asked, concern heavy in his voice.
“I’ll be fine, I just need to get back to the warehouse and get this looked at. You,” he said emphatically, “need to get that to Miktan, now go, I’ll see you when you get back to the warehouse.”
“Okay,” Matthew agreed, “you’re sure you’ll be all right.”
“I’ll be fine,” Vansen said, a tone of command in his voice, “now go.”
Matthew nodded and took off one of the streets. He looked back when he reached a turn and saw that Vansen was already gone.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Chapter 4 - Lessons with the Sword
Jaron stared out the window of his sitting room at the outer gardens below. He daydreamed about what life outside the walls that contained the gardens would be like, life as a regular citizen and not the son of a high nobleman. He found his life to be dreary. His daydreams usually consisted of what it would be like to be the son of a farmer, or a blacksmith. He knew that their lives were no source of adventure, but they had something he didn’t; freedom. They had the freedom to leave whenever they wanted; the freedom to take risks and chances. Almost anything had to be better than sitting stuck in a manor all day taking various lessons on subjects his father and mother thought would be important for him to have when he took control of the family estate.
Jaron wanted something more, something that filled his life with the unexpected. His days were monotonous. What he wouldn’t give for some variety. He knew what was going to come before it actually happened. Within minutes there would be a knock at the door and a servant would look in the room at his acknowledgement. The servant would inform him that it was time for his swordplay lesson to begin.
Jaron loathed his swordplay lessons. Of everything he had to endure, his training with the sword was when he felt as if he were treated like the weakest child. His trainer was Cedric Eddes, the Captain of his family’s personal guard. Jaron had seen the large man training and working with the other guards and when he worked with Jaron, it seemed as if he were holding back.
When the guards practiced, they were fierce, giving their opponent no mercy. When Cedric sparred with Jaron, there was no fierceness, no danger. Instead there seemed to be a fear of sorts, the fear that if Jaron were injured that Cedric would face the wrath of his father, or worse yet, his mother.
What use were lessons with the sword if after three years of training he was still ineffective with a blade? The knock came at the door, followed by the servant entering after Jaron acknowledged him and the servant told Jaron that it was time for his swordplay lesson. It was all as Jaron had predicted, all as it was every time.
Jaron left his sitting room and walked through the busy halls of the manner. Servants were bustling about; cleaning, redecorating and whatever else needed to be finished before the banquet. The manor had been that way for nearly three days now, as if it would never be done.
Jaron walked out into the inner courtyard, squinting in the bright light. He saw Cedric standing in the center of the clearing holding two wooden practice swords.
“Ready for today’s lesson lad?” the man’s thick accent marked him as originally being from the Rhodaron province to the south, as did his thick blonde head of hair and his beard, though both were marked with some gray and his deeply tanned skin. The man wore a sleeveless tunic which revealed his massive arms, and a pair of loose leather pants.
Jaron removed his jacket, placing it to rest over the rail the seperated the walkway from the gardens and clearing. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, setting it beside the jacket. He stood before the large man wearing only his slacks. The sun felt warm on his bare skin.
“I’m ready Cedric,” Jaron said as he held his hand out for one of the swords. Cedric tossed one of the practice blades to him. He swung the well-worked piece of wood a couple times, getting a feel for the balance and weight before finally letting his arm drop to his side.
Cedric watched a few paces away and readied himself when he saw that Jaron was finished. Cedric never attacked first, letting Jaron make the first move. Usually the first strike was deflected followed by instruction on what Jaron had done wrong.
This time, Jaron intended to catch the man off guard. Jaron charged without warning, darting towards his much larger opponent. As he moved in, Cedric shifted his stance, widening his feet and brining his blade up before him. Jaron tightened his grip on the practice blade in his right hand, feeling the grain of the wood in his palm and fingers. The craftsmanship was good, the grip of the wood was just smooth enough to be comfortable, but rough enough to maintain a solid hold.
Jaron began to move to the left. As he did so the large man began to shift his weight to his left foot, ready to parry the blow he expected to come in from his right side. Once Jaron saw the move begin, he quickly moved to his right and leapt into the air. Cedric’s eyes began to widen as he realized he wouldn’t be able to shift his significant weight in time to block the blow. Jaron swung down as he fell back to the earth.
Rather than attempt to block the blow, Cedric continued his motion already started towards the left and moved out of the way of the strike. The attack whistled through the air that Cedric had just been. Jaron quickly recovered, spinning to meet the strike that Cedric threw. There was a loud crack as the two pieces of wood struck each other.
Jaron wasted no time recovering, there was no time to waste. If he was going to force Cedric into fighting him, truly fighting, he would have to maintain the offensive. Jaron delivered blow after blow at the Rhodaron. Cedric deftly blocked each blow, however he was beginning to move back.
Finally Jaron found his opening. He began an overhead swing, bringing his sword straight down towards the older man’s head. Cedric blocked just as he had expected, but rather than continuing the strike Jaron began to spin, purposefully directing his blow to miss the man and his blocking sword. He dropped to one knee as he spun and struck out with the piece of wood.
Cedric cursed as the practice sword connected with his knee. He limped away from Jaron, holding a hand out to ensure that Jaron stopped his assault, “Damn lad, well done,” Cedric said through gritted teeth as be bent down to rub at his knee.
“You know, it’s your own fault Cedric,” a voice said from behind Jaron. He spun to find the source.
Leaning against one of the pillars of the walkway rail was a man. He wore a soldier’s uniform, from its make and cut, Jaron thought it was an officer’s coat. The man was taller than both Jaron and Cedric both, and well built from what Jaron could tell by the way he held himself. The man pushed himself off the pillar and walked over to Cedric.
“Quiet boy, don’t you think I know it’s my own fault? I trained the boy, I should have know he’d be crafty,” Cedric stood, stretching his leg and working his knee, using the man as a support as he did so.
Jaron used the moment to further inspect the man. From his red hair and lighter skin, Jaron marked him as a native of Garlin, or at least the area. Though the people of Garlin were varied in their appearance, there were not many from elsewhere in the world that would have that hair. Jaron quickly noted that there was a single star embroidered on his lapel and shoulder. A lieutenant, Jaron thought to himself, trying to piece together the relationship between the two men.
“So, this is the young lord you were telling me about?” the man asked as he looked Jaron over.
“Yes, yes. This is Jaron Kensly, Lord Kensly’s son.” Cedric said as he motioned towards Jaron.
“I see, not a bad swordsman from what I saw. It is an honor to meet you Jaron. I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit of the Beldinian Army,” the man gave a salute and a slight bow before offering his hand.
“And it is an honor to meet you,” Jaron said as he inclined his head and took the man’s hand, giving it a firm shake before releasing it.
“Now Cedric,” Alexander said as he turned to look at the man that seemed to be moving around better than he had a moment ago, “how is it you think you are training this boy. He had you back into a corner, and he struck you no less. Are you afraid that you’ll break him?”
Jaron was shocked. Cedric was an intimidating man when he wanted to be, and to see the taller, yet noticeably smaller man approach him in such a way was strange.
“I’ll teach the boy as I see fit Alexander, or would you rather that I broke the poor lad.”
“I seem to remember you giving me more than my fair share of bruises when you trained me, and a broken arm or two if I remember correctly,” the soldier said frankly.
Jaron’s eyes widened slightly at the statement. Though the statement placed another piece into the puzzle that was the connection between the two men.
“Aye, I did, and your mother had my head for every one. The only reason you ever got hurt was because you were reckless and stupid,” Cedric said in defense of himself.
The two men stood staring at one another. It looked as if they might come to blows. The two suddenly burst into laughter. Jaron stood dumbstruck, having no idea what had just happened. The two settled themselves after a few more moments and Alexander turned to look at Jaron with a smile.
“Perhaps you’d like a different opponent while Cedric recovers from that strike. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent spar and I could use the exercise. I’ve spent the last month on a horse getting here and my muscles are a little tight,” Alexander didn’t even seem to wait for a response before he was standing by the rail removing his officer’s coat and gray tunic.
Jaron began to worry. With the coat on, the man looked well built, but no more so than Jaron was. Looking at his back, Jaron knew that he was wrong. The man’s back was a tight knot of well toned muscle. The man turned and Jaron had to keep his jaw from dropping open, his arms and chest were no different from his back. Alexander stretched his arms and back and Jaron almost tried to think of a way out of what he was sure would be a lot of pain.
This is what you wanted, Jaron thought, an opponent that would challenge you, that wouldn’t be concerned so much with who or what you are.
Cedric held the practice sword away from Alexander when he came to grab it, “Don’t hurt him too bad, please, it’s my job to protect the boy and it’ll be my hide if anything happens.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Alexander said as he snatched the sword, “I’ll be sure that any bruising will heal within a few days. And besides, I’m sure you know a good healer here in Garlin that could look to him.”
Jaron moved towards the center of the clearing, waiting for Alexander. Cedric stood, arms crossed and jaw clenched, watching. It looked as if every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to jump in if things got out of hand.
Alexander stepped into Jaron’s line of vision, “Ready?” he asked matter-of-factly.
Jaron nodded, readying his stance. Alexander dropped into a low stance and immediately charged. Jaron was stunned, he wasn’t use to going on the defensive. Almost instinctively he brought up his sword to block the blow. Wood met wood with a loud crack. Jaron leapt back, increasing the gap between the two men. Alexander did not waste a moment, he lunged back in, swinging the practice sword at Jaron’s head. Jaron ducked and rolled to his left, away from the blow.
Jaron jumped back up to his feet. Alexander was on top of him. Jaron brought up his sword, barely blocking blow after blow. His ears began to ring as the sound of the two pieces of wood connecting drummed inside his ears. His hand began to pound. The force with which Alexander struck jarred the practice sword in his hand, but he refused to let go, if he let go, there would be nothing to protect him.
You’re the one that wanted a real fight, and now you have one, do something! Jaron screamed at himself.
He leapt backwards and immediately charged in, going on the offensive. Alexander easily deflected the blow and let Jaron’s momentum carry him past. Pain shot across Jaron’s back as Alexander struck him with the flat of the blade. Jaron was stunned. Cedric had hit him before with the sword, but he usually pulled back on the blow so that the pain was minor.
Jaron spun around just in time to see Alexander charging back in. Jaron feigned a block and rolled to his right, striking Alexander in the back as he had just done. He barely seemed to notice it. Jaron took the opportunity while Alexander’s back was still to him to strike. He swung his practice blade and was stunned when it stopped short with a loud crack.
Alexander’s back was still to Jaron, but his sword was held over his left shoulder, blocking the entire length of his back. Alexander flicked his wrist and threw Jaron off balance and stumbling backwards. Alexander then spun, swinging his sword and dropping to a knee, just as Jaron had done to Cedric.
Jaron jumped. He watched as Alexander’s strike flowed through where he had just been. He managed to right himself in mid-air and jumped back two more times creating a distance of nearly fifteen paces between himself and the other man. Jaron panted for air, sweat streaming down his face. He had never worked this hard before. Jaron looked at Alexander as he stood straight, sweat beaded on his forehead but stuck. His breathing was even and calm, no sign of laboring at all.
Alexander charged. Jaron decided that evasiveness wouldn’t help, the other man was just as agile, if not more, than he was. He took a wide stance, readying himself to take the charge head on. As Alexander got in range Jaron stabbed at him. Alexander shifted himself to the right. He grabbed Jaron’s wrist with his left and and twisted.
Time seemed to slow, every detail becoming clear. Jaron watched as the practice sword slid from his own hand, tumbling to the ground. He felt his knee fold as Alexander kicked it out. He watched as the grass below him became sky above him while be spun, falling to the ground. Then the fear came as he watched Alexander spin his practice sword in his hand, reversing the grip. Jaron tried to move but Alexander held him fast to the ground with his left arm. The blade began it’s descent. Jaron squeezed his eyes closed as he prepared for the pain that was about to come.
The pain never came. The pressure was released from Jaron’s chest. He opened his eyes to find Alexander holding his practice sword a sliver’s width fro his throat. He other man stood up straight and offered his hand.
“Not bad at all,” Alexander said as he pulled Jaron to his feet, “you’ll make a fine swordsman, as long as Cedric trains you properly.”
Jaron gasped for air and doubled over. It seemed impossible to breathe. A strong hand pulled him up straight and lifted his hands behind his head.
“Stand up straight and keep your arms up, give yourself room to expand and breathe.” Alexander said as he demonstrated, filling his chest with air.
Cedric still stood by the railing, arms still crossed, though a shaky smile marked his face now.
“You… you’re bare… barely even breathing hard.” Jaron said, gasping for air.
Alexander smiled knowingly, “You need to learn to control your breathing better, breathe in as you prepare for a strike and breathe out as your deliver it. There is a rhythm to combat. Find that, and match your breathing to it. It’ll take some practice, but you’ll get it.”
Cedric approached the two finally, giving a slight chuckle, “Well, that was impressive,” he said, markedly less worried than before the sparring match, “but that thing there at the end, where’d you learn that, I sure didn’t teach it to you?”
Alexander spun the piece of wood he still held, demonstrating the reversed grip, “This? A couple years back I was sent to Sumadur with a small contingent of my men. There was a group of Quel’dan that were said to be causing some trouble for a local lumber mill. We were sent to mediate a solution. However, as we approached we were attack be a group of the Quel’dan. Their leader fought entirely with this style. It was quite impressive to see. Once we calmed everyone down and mediated a solution, I asked if he might teach me some of it.”
Jaron lowered his arms, breath finally coming easier to him. He looked past the two men towards one of the entrances to the courtyard. He saw his father standing just outside the door along with his retainer, Waltence. When his father saw that he had been noticed he approached the small group.
Cedric stiffened as he saw the approaching men. Alexander noticed the reaction and looked towards the two that approached. His demeanor didn’t seem to change at all.
“Cedric, have you decided to bring another in to teach my son the ways of the sword?” Jaron’s father asked calmed, though his voice still held a tone of command, as it always did.
“Oh, uh, of course not Lord Kensly, this is merely an old friend,” Cedric replied worriedly, motioning towards Alexander and giving a deep bow.
“Is that so?” Jaron’s father asked as he looked to Alexander.
“I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross of the Sixth Cavalry Unit Lord Kensly,” he gave a salute and bowed, “It is an honor to meet you. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds, I merely asked your son if he would like a change in sparring partners. I apologize if…”
Jaron’s father cut Alexander off with a raise of his hand, “Nonsense Lieutenant, quite the contrary. I believe that it was good to experience something different, something closer to a real fight,” Cedric released a breath he had apparently been holding.
“Your son is quite the swordsman, a little rough in some areas, but those will smooth out with a few more months training. He is more than capable even now, what he lacks is more than made up for in his determination and his courage.” Jaron thought he could feel his cheeks redden at the compliments, though he hoped the others took it as exhaustion.
“I believe it was good for the boy to experience some fear in combat. It hardens a man and prepares him for any conflict he may face in the future, physical or not,” Alexander nodded in agreement to Jaron’s father’s statement, “Lieutenant, later this week my family and I are holding a banquet to celebrate Jaron’s coming-of-age. I would be honored if you would attend.” The inflection in the man’s voice was more that of an order than a question.
“I would be glad to attend. I would have to clear it with Captain Edbar when he arrives, though the break from soldiering would be appreciated.”
“Excellent, I will have invitations sent for you and Captain Edbar, it wouldn’t be appropriate for a higher ranking officer to not be invited to an event of this caliber that his subordinate was.”
“Lord Kensly,” Waltence interrupted the conversation, “I’m afraid that you still need to prepare for Lord Danar’s ball for this evening.”
“Indeed, the duties of a nobleman, sometimes what I wouldn’t give to be in your place Lieutenant. Well, I look forward to seeing you again, and may the Great Weaver keep you safe,” Jaron’s father gave a nod as he turned and headed back towards the manor. Cedric and Alexander gave bows, though no one was watching.
“Well Cedric, I should probably get back to the barracks before Captain Edbar arrives, wouldn’t want to give him any more reason than he already does to hate me,” Alexander said with a chuckle.
“Sounds good boy, if you get the chance to see your parents give them my wishes, and feel free to stop in and chat if you get the chance,” Cedric said, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Jaron, again it was a pleasure meeting you. A few words of advice, keep your sword arm up and you body turned away ever so slightly. It makes it more difficult to read your moves before you make them.” Alexander gave a bow before turning and collecting his things, pulling his tunic over his head and replacing his jacket and exiting the courtyard.
“Well boy,” Cedric said as he collected the two practice swords and tossed one to Jaron, “I don’t believe your lesson is over yet and I think I’m in good enough shape to spar yet.”
Arm up and body turned, Jaron thought as he readied himself.
Jaron wanted something more, something that filled his life with the unexpected. His days were monotonous. What he wouldn’t give for some variety. He knew what was going to come before it actually happened. Within minutes there would be a knock at the door and a servant would look in the room at his acknowledgement. The servant would inform him that it was time for his swordplay lesson to begin.
Jaron loathed his swordplay lessons. Of everything he had to endure, his training with the sword was when he felt as if he were treated like the weakest child. His trainer was Cedric Eddes, the Captain of his family’s personal guard. Jaron had seen the large man training and working with the other guards and when he worked with Jaron, it seemed as if he were holding back.
When the guards practiced, they were fierce, giving their opponent no mercy. When Cedric sparred with Jaron, there was no fierceness, no danger. Instead there seemed to be a fear of sorts, the fear that if Jaron were injured that Cedric would face the wrath of his father, or worse yet, his mother.
What use were lessons with the sword if after three years of training he was still ineffective with a blade? The knock came at the door, followed by the servant entering after Jaron acknowledged him and the servant told Jaron that it was time for his swordplay lesson. It was all as Jaron had predicted, all as it was every time.
Jaron left his sitting room and walked through the busy halls of the manner. Servants were bustling about; cleaning, redecorating and whatever else needed to be finished before the banquet. The manor had been that way for nearly three days now, as if it would never be done.
Jaron walked out into the inner courtyard, squinting in the bright light. He saw Cedric standing in the center of the clearing holding two wooden practice swords.
“Ready for today’s lesson lad?” the man’s thick accent marked him as originally being from the Rhodaron province to the south, as did his thick blonde head of hair and his beard, though both were marked with some gray and his deeply tanned skin. The man wore a sleeveless tunic which revealed his massive arms, and a pair of loose leather pants.
Jaron removed his jacket, placing it to rest over the rail the seperated the walkway from the gardens and clearing. He unbuttoned his shirt and removed it, setting it beside the jacket. He stood before the large man wearing only his slacks. The sun felt warm on his bare skin.
“I’m ready Cedric,” Jaron said as he held his hand out for one of the swords. Cedric tossed one of the practice blades to him. He swung the well-worked piece of wood a couple times, getting a feel for the balance and weight before finally letting his arm drop to his side.
Cedric watched a few paces away and readied himself when he saw that Jaron was finished. Cedric never attacked first, letting Jaron make the first move. Usually the first strike was deflected followed by instruction on what Jaron had done wrong.
This time, Jaron intended to catch the man off guard. Jaron charged without warning, darting towards his much larger opponent. As he moved in, Cedric shifted his stance, widening his feet and brining his blade up before him. Jaron tightened his grip on the practice blade in his right hand, feeling the grain of the wood in his palm and fingers. The craftsmanship was good, the grip of the wood was just smooth enough to be comfortable, but rough enough to maintain a solid hold.
Jaron began to move to the left. As he did so the large man began to shift his weight to his left foot, ready to parry the blow he expected to come in from his right side. Once Jaron saw the move begin, he quickly moved to his right and leapt into the air. Cedric’s eyes began to widen as he realized he wouldn’t be able to shift his significant weight in time to block the blow. Jaron swung down as he fell back to the earth.
Rather than attempt to block the blow, Cedric continued his motion already started towards the left and moved out of the way of the strike. The attack whistled through the air that Cedric had just been. Jaron quickly recovered, spinning to meet the strike that Cedric threw. There was a loud crack as the two pieces of wood struck each other.
Jaron wasted no time recovering, there was no time to waste. If he was going to force Cedric into fighting him, truly fighting, he would have to maintain the offensive. Jaron delivered blow after blow at the Rhodaron. Cedric deftly blocked each blow, however he was beginning to move back.
Finally Jaron found his opening. He began an overhead swing, bringing his sword straight down towards the older man’s head. Cedric blocked just as he had expected, but rather than continuing the strike Jaron began to spin, purposefully directing his blow to miss the man and his blocking sword. He dropped to one knee as he spun and struck out with the piece of wood.
Cedric cursed as the practice sword connected with his knee. He limped away from Jaron, holding a hand out to ensure that Jaron stopped his assault, “Damn lad, well done,” Cedric said through gritted teeth as be bent down to rub at his knee.
“You know, it’s your own fault Cedric,” a voice said from behind Jaron. He spun to find the source.
Leaning against one of the pillars of the walkway rail was a man. He wore a soldier’s uniform, from its make and cut, Jaron thought it was an officer’s coat. The man was taller than both Jaron and Cedric both, and well built from what Jaron could tell by the way he held himself. The man pushed himself off the pillar and walked over to Cedric.
“Quiet boy, don’t you think I know it’s my own fault? I trained the boy, I should have know he’d be crafty,” Cedric stood, stretching his leg and working his knee, using the man as a support as he did so.
Jaron used the moment to further inspect the man. From his red hair and lighter skin, Jaron marked him as a native of Garlin, or at least the area. Though the people of Garlin were varied in their appearance, there were not many from elsewhere in the world that would have that hair. Jaron quickly noted that there was a single star embroidered on his lapel and shoulder. A lieutenant, Jaron thought to himself, trying to piece together the relationship between the two men.
“So, this is the young lord you were telling me about?” the man asked as he looked Jaron over.
“Yes, yes. This is Jaron Kensly, Lord Kensly’s son.” Cedric said as he motioned towards Jaron.
“I see, not a bad swordsman from what I saw. It is an honor to meet you Jaron. I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit of the Beldinian Army,” the man gave a salute and a slight bow before offering his hand.
“And it is an honor to meet you,” Jaron said as he inclined his head and took the man’s hand, giving it a firm shake before releasing it.
“Now Cedric,” Alexander said as he turned to look at the man that seemed to be moving around better than he had a moment ago, “how is it you think you are training this boy. He had you back into a corner, and he struck you no less. Are you afraid that you’ll break him?”
Jaron was shocked. Cedric was an intimidating man when he wanted to be, and to see the taller, yet noticeably smaller man approach him in such a way was strange.
“I’ll teach the boy as I see fit Alexander, or would you rather that I broke the poor lad.”
“I seem to remember you giving me more than my fair share of bruises when you trained me, and a broken arm or two if I remember correctly,” the soldier said frankly.
Jaron’s eyes widened slightly at the statement. Though the statement placed another piece into the puzzle that was the connection between the two men.
“Aye, I did, and your mother had my head for every one. The only reason you ever got hurt was because you were reckless and stupid,” Cedric said in defense of himself.
The two men stood staring at one another. It looked as if they might come to blows. The two suddenly burst into laughter. Jaron stood dumbstruck, having no idea what had just happened. The two settled themselves after a few more moments and Alexander turned to look at Jaron with a smile.
“Perhaps you’d like a different opponent while Cedric recovers from that strike. It’s been a while since I’ve had a decent spar and I could use the exercise. I’ve spent the last month on a horse getting here and my muscles are a little tight,” Alexander didn’t even seem to wait for a response before he was standing by the rail removing his officer’s coat and gray tunic.
Jaron began to worry. With the coat on, the man looked well built, but no more so than Jaron was. Looking at his back, Jaron knew that he was wrong. The man’s back was a tight knot of well toned muscle. The man turned and Jaron had to keep his jaw from dropping open, his arms and chest were no different from his back. Alexander stretched his arms and back and Jaron almost tried to think of a way out of what he was sure would be a lot of pain.
This is what you wanted, Jaron thought, an opponent that would challenge you, that wouldn’t be concerned so much with who or what you are.
Cedric held the practice sword away from Alexander when he came to grab it, “Don’t hurt him too bad, please, it’s my job to protect the boy and it’ll be my hide if anything happens.”
“Don’t worry so much,” Alexander said as he snatched the sword, “I’ll be sure that any bruising will heal within a few days. And besides, I’m sure you know a good healer here in Garlin that could look to him.”
Jaron moved towards the center of the clearing, waiting for Alexander. Cedric stood, arms crossed and jaw clenched, watching. It looked as if every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to jump in if things got out of hand.
Alexander stepped into Jaron’s line of vision, “Ready?” he asked matter-of-factly.
Jaron nodded, readying his stance. Alexander dropped into a low stance and immediately charged. Jaron was stunned, he wasn’t use to going on the defensive. Almost instinctively he brought up his sword to block the blow. Wood met wood with a loud crack. Jaron leapt back, increasing the gap between the two men. Alexander did not waste a moment, he lunged back in, swinging the practice sword at Jaron’s head. Jaron ducked and rolled to his left, away from the blow.
Jaron jumped back up to his feet. Alexander was on top of him. Jaron brought up his sword, barely blocking blow after blow. His ears began to ring as the sound of the two pieces of wood connecting drummed inside his ears. His hand began to pound. The force with which Alexander struck jarred the practice sword in his hand, but he refused to let go, if he let go, there would be nothing to protect him.
You’re the one that wanted a real fight, and now you have one, do something! Jaron screamed at himself.
He leapt backwards and immediately charged in, going on the offensive. Alexander easily deflected the blow and let Jaron’s momentum carry him past. Pain shot across Jaron’s back as Alexander struck him with the flat of the blade. Jaron was stunned. Cedric had hit him before with the sword, but he usually pulled back on the blow so that the pain was minor.
Jaron spun around just in time to see Alexander charging back in. Jaron feigned a block and rolled to his right, striking Alexander in the back as he had just done. He barely seemed to notice it. Jaron took the opportunity while Alexander’s back was still to him to strike. He swung his practice blade and was stunned when it stopped short with a loud crack.
Alexander’s back was still to Jaron, but his sword was held over his left shoulder, blocking the entire length of his back. Alexander flicked his wrist and threw Jaron off balance and stumbling backwards. Alexander then spun, swinging his sword and dropping to a knee, just as Jaron had done to Cedric.
Jaron jumped. He watched as Alexander’s strike flowed through where he had just been. He managed to right himself in mid-air and jumped back two more times creating a distance of nearly fifteen paces between himself and the other man. Jaron panted for air, sweat streaming down his face. He had never worked this hard before. Jaron looked at Alexander as he stood straight, sweat beaded on his forehead but stuck. His breathing was even and calm, no sign of laboring at all.
Alexander charged. Jaron decided that evasiveness wouldn’t help, the other man was just as agile, if not more, than he was. He took a wide stance, readying himself to take the charge head on. As Alexander got in range Jaron stabbed at him. Alexander shifted himself to the right. He grabbed Jaron’s wrist with his left and and twisted.
Time seemed to slow, every detail becoming clear. Jaron watched as the practice sword slid from his own hand, tumbling to the ground. He felt his knee fold as Alexander kicked it out. He watched as the grass below him became sky above him while be spun, falling to the ground. Then the fear came as he watched Alexander spin his practice sword in his hand, reversing the grip. Jaron tried to move but Alexander held him fast to the ground with his left arm. The blade began it’s descent. Jaron squeezed his eyes closed as he prepared for the pain that was about to come.
The pain never came. The pressure was released from Jaron’s chest. He opened his eyes to find Alexander holding his practice sword a sliver’s width fro his throat. He other man stood up straight and offered his hand.
“Not bad at all,” Alexander said as he pulled Jaron to his feet, “you’ll make a fine swordsman, as long as Cedric trains you properly.”
Jaron gasped for air and doubled over. It seemed impossible to breathe. A strong hand pulled him up straight and lifted his hands behind his head.
“Stand up straight and keep your arms up, give yourself room to expand and breathe.” Alexander said as he demonstrated, filling his chest with air.
Cedric still stood by the railing, arms still crossed, though a shaky smile marked his face now.
“You… you’re bare… barely even breathing hard.” Jaron said, gasping for air.
Alexander smiled knowingly, “You need to learn to control your breathing better, breathe in as you prepare for a strike and breathe out as your deliver it. There is a rhythm to combat. Find that, and match your breathing to it. It’ll take some practice, but you’ll get it.”
Cedric approached the two finally, giving a slight chuckle, “Well, that was impressive,” he said, markedly less worried than before the sparring match, “but that thing there at the end, where’d you learn that, I sure didn’t teach it to you?”
Alexander spun the piece of wood he still held, demonstrating the reversed grip, “This? A couple years back I was sent to Sumadur with a small contingent of my men. There was a group of Quel’dan that were said to be causing some trouble for a local lumber mill. We were sent to mediate a solution. However, as we approached we were attack be a group of the Quel’dan. Their leader fought entirely with this style. It was quite impressive to see. Once we calmed everyone down and mediated a solution, I asked if he might teach me some of it.”
Jaron lowered his arms, breath finally coming easier to him. He looked past the two men towards one of the entrances to the courtyard. He saw his father standing just outside the door along with his retainer, Waltence. When his father saw that he had been noticed he approached the small group.
Cedric stiffened as he saw the approaching men. Alexander noticed the reaction and looked towards the two that approached. His demeanor didn’t seem to change at all.
“Cedric, have you decided to bring another in to teach my son the ways of the sword?” Jaron’s father asked calmed, though his voice still held a tone of command, as it always did.
“Oh, uh, of course not Lord Kensly, this is merely an old friend,” Cedric replied worriedly, motioning towards Alexander and giving a deep bow.
“Is that so?” Jaron’s father asked as he looked to Alexander.
“I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross of the Sixth Cavalry Unit Lord Kensly,” he gave a salute and bowed, “It is an honor to meet you. I hope I haven’t overstepped my bounds, I merely asked your son if he would like a change in sparring partners. I apologize if…”
Jaron’s father cut Alexander off with a raise of his hand, “Nonsense Lieutenant, quite the contrary. I believe that it was good to experience something different, something closer to a real fight,” Cedric released a breath he had apparently been holding.
“Your son is quite the swordsman, a little rough in some areas, but those will smooth out with a few more months training. He is more than capable even now, what he lacks is more than made up for in his determination and his courage.” Jaron thought he could feel his cheeks redden at the compliments, though he hoped the others took it as exhaustion.
“I believe it was good for the boy to experience some fear in combat. It hardens a man and prepares him for any conflict he may face in the future, physical or not,” Alexander nodded in agreement to Jaron’s father’s statement, “Lieutenant, later this week my family and I are holding a banquet to celebrate Jaron’s coming-of-age. I would be honored if you would attend.” The inflection in the man’s voice was more that of an order than a question.
“I would be glad to attend. I would have to clear it with Captain Edbar when he arrives, though the break from soldiering would be appreciated.”
“Excellent, I will have invitations sent for you and Captain Edbar, it wouldn’t be appropriate for a higher ranking officer to not be invited to an event of this caliber that his subordinate was.”
“Lord Kensly,” Waltence interrupted the conversation, “I’m afraid that you still need to prepare for Lord Danar’s ball for this evening.”
“Indeed, the duties of a nobleman, sometimes what I wouldn’t give to be in your place Lieutenant. Well, I look forward to seeing you again, and may the Great Weaver keep you safe,” Jaron’s father gave a nod as he turned and headed back towards the manor. Cedric and Alexander gave bows, though no one was watching.
“Well Cedric, I should probably get back to the barracks before Captain Edbar arrives, wouldn’t want to give him any more reason than he already does to hate me,” Alexander said with a chuckle.
“Sounds good boy, if you get the chance to see your parents give them my wishes, and feel free to stop in and chat if you get the chance,” Cedric said, shaking the other man’s hand.
“Jaron, again it was a pleasure meeting you. A few words of advice, keep your sword arm up and you body turned away ever so slightly. It makes it more difficult to read your moves before you make them.” Alexander gave a bow before turning and collecting his things, pulling his tunic over his head and replacing his jacket and exiting the courtyard.
“Well boy,” Cedric said as he collected the two practice swords and tossed one to Jaron, “I don’t believe your lesson is over yet and I think I’m in good enough shape to spar yet.”
Arm up and body turned, Jaron thought as he readied himself.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Chapter 3 - Old Friends and New Enemies
Alexander pulled the reins, bringing his gray gelding to a stop. Alexander had rode his men hard to make it to Garlin early in the day. He looked out before him at the walls of the city, the sun barely broke over them. History told that those walls had stopped numerous attacks before Beldin managed to gain control of the city. He knew the walls well. He had grown up only a couple days ride from Garlin.
Thinking of home brought a pang of guilt up in Alexander. His parents hadn’t been happy with his decision to leave and join the army. He still did what he could to help them, sending money regularly to help with the maintenance and the higher of hands to make sure crops and animals were taken care of. His mother often wrote back, thanking him for his help. He was sure his father complained every time the writ for a withdrawal came in, but the money was always taken from his accounts.
Perhaps I’ll ask for a couple days leave and visit home, Alexander thought. He had not been home in nearly ten years, and the last time was only a couple hours on his way through the area. He missed his home, the days toiling in the fields, the evening meals and tales told by his father. He even missed his older brother, who had his own family now, though he no doubt still worked his father’s farm.
Alexander recognized the sound of the horse’s canter coming up from behind him, he was not surprised when Jogan spoke, “Lieutenant, Bosber has returned, the city guard has been informed of our approach and are preparing for our arrival.”
Alexander nodded, not even looking at the man, thoughts still focused on home, “Good, signal the approach, look casual, we don’t want people to think we’re there to attack. Only swords, any other weapons should be put in saddle bags or secured in some other way. Anyone still wearing their leather should take it off now. Anyone found not following the order will find themselves in more trouble than they’d like.”
“Very good Lieutenant, I’ll spread the word.” Jogan wheeled his horse around and road back to the unit leaders. Riders spread out from the small group of men and word was spread throughout the unit.
Alexander smiled at the organization of his men. When he had been given the command of the Sixth Cavalry, they were a good unit. Alexander brought in a new chain of command, much to the displeasure of some of the senior riders, but it had formed a much more proficient chain of communication. Now, if he gave an order, he knew that within ten minutes, every man in the unit would know the command almost as if they’d heard it directly from Alexander’s lips. Alexander chirped to his gelding and started of towards Garlin at a casual walk.
The ride to the city was easy, and he could tell that the guard was anxious, but not worried as they approached the Western Gate. There was a group of five men standing a few paces outside the gate. Alexander soon recognized the uniforms of Garlin’s High Guard.
Alexander saluted as he pulled his gelding to a stop before the men. They returned the salute and Alexander dismounted. He walked forward, standing before who he assumed was the Captain of the Guard.
“May the sun grace your fields and your family thrive,” Alexander started in the formal greeting of Garlin.
“And the rain waters come and go, bringing only life,” the Captain finished, “It is good to meet a soldier that knows the ways of this city,” the man said, offering his hand.
“I grew up on a farm not far from here, this is home for me, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross charged with the command of the Sixth Cavalry Unit,” Alexander replied as he took the man’s hand.
“I am Jefell Russent, Captain of the Guard here in Garlin. So, to what honor are we graced by you and your men?” the Captain said as he eyed Alexander’s riders.
“We have been sent here by General Therad. My men and I were sent ahead by Captain Vanles Edbar to prepare for the arrival of him and the rest of our men.” Alexander explained.
“Very well, how many men should we prepare for?” Jefell asked.
“With me I have one hundred fifty men, and as many horses. The Captain will be leading 1,150 men, with about two hundred more horses.”
Jefell’s eyes betrayed a look of shock, though he quickly covered it, “I see, I will send word immediately to ready the barracks and stables for you.”
Alexander could see the question on Jefell’s face. He wanted to know why so many men were being brought to Garlin. Of course, Alexander’s mind held the same question.
“If you will follow me and my men Lieutenant, we will lead you to the barracks.” Jefell turned and started back into the city.
Alexander mounted his horse and signaled his men before following the Captain of the Guard into the city. The looks on the faces of the people on the street were those of shock, anger, and awe as Alexander led his riders through the town. The men formed three perfect columns as their procession made its way down the street. A hush fell over the crowds as they watched. The ride through the city to the barracks seemed to take forever.
Finally, Jefell turned and looked to Alexander, “Here are the barracks. There should be men arriving soon to take your horses to the stables.”
Alexander dismounted as Jogan signaled for the rest of the men to do the same, “I thank you Captain Russent.”
Alexander squinted in the sunlight as he watched a carriage pull up to the barracks. The driver hopped down and quickly moved to the door, opening it and bowing a man through. The man was of decent age, silver marking his temples. He was well groomed and well dressed, obviously one of the nobles of the city. He wore a dark green suit of typical Garlin cut and carried an ornate dueling cane fitted with a large sapphire.
Jefell noticed Alexander’s sudden interest and turned to see what he was looking at. He started when he noticed who it was, “Ah, High Lord Bething, to what do we owe the honor?”
“Nothing to worry about Captain, I merely heard that there was a group of soldiers that had entered the city and came to see what the commotion was about.” The man’s tone was demanding and clear.
“Lord Bething,” Alexander said as he stepped forward, giving a salute and small bow, “I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit of the Beldinian Army. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Lieutenant, I am Lord Juston Bething of House Bething. If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you and your men into our fair city?” Bething’s voice seemed to hold a tone of displeasure.
Alexander suddenly remembered the name. House Bething was one of the few noble houses that survived the capture of Garlin. They fought to maintain self-sufficiency in Garlin to keep a degree of separation from Beldin. Most of all, the family hated any the military in any respect.
“I’m afraid I have nothing to share with you. You will have to wait for Captain Vales Edbar to arrive with the rest of our men later this day, though I do not believe that it will be until sometime this evening.” Alexander explained while trying to maintain a level of formality.
“The rest of your men?” The Lord started, “Just how many do you bring to our city?”
“Thirteen hundred total Lord Bething, on the orders of General Lofric Therad.” Alexander said frankly.
Lord Bething’s eyebrows rose in what appeared to be shock and anger, “You will inform your Captain Edbar that I will be visiting him at my earliest convenience.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course Lord Bething,” Alexander said with a bow.
As Alexander straightened, Lord Bething was already started back to his carriage, “My apologies Lieutenant Varross,” Jefell began.
Alexander cut him off, “It is no trouble Captain Russent, I assumed that we would be met with some anger when I first heard we were coming here. Now, if you would see to my men and their horses, there is an old friend I would like to visit.”
“Of course,” the Captain said as he turned to give orders.
Alexander turned to Jogan, handing him the reins to his horse, “Would you look to Cloud for me Jogan?”
“Of course Lieutenant,” he said as he took the reins.
“I’ll be back soon, there’s just an old friend here in the city I would like to see. You are in command until I return. The men are not to move from the barracks or the stables until I get back. Is that understood?”
“Yes Lieutenant,” Jogan nodded.
Alexander saluted before he turned and started down the street. It had been a long time since he had been to Garlin last, but he was certain that he could find what he was looking for.
Alexander made his way through the streets, stopping on Merchant’s street to buy a kabob of roasted meat and vegetables. While he was there he asked for directions to insure that he still knew where he was going. Many people gave him a wide girth, recognizing his uniform. There was little doubt that the news of soldiers in the city had been spreading like an uncontrolled fire throughout it’s inhabitants.
Finally Alexander found himself in front of the gates to manor estate of House Kensly. The gate guard eyed him carefully as he approached.
“Can I help you?” The large man asked, a hand resting on his sword-breaker.
“Yes, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross and would like to visit with Cedric Eddes if that is possible.” Alexander noticed as the guard stiffened at the mention of the name.
Cedric Eddes had been a friend to Alexander for as long as he could remember. The man was a good twenty years older than Alexander, but had helped his father on the farm while Alexander was a child. He had taught Alexander the sword and so much more.
The gate guard waved down one of his fellow guards and gave an order. The second man hurried off in the direction of the manor house. Alexander waited patiently, standing outside the gate.
After a few minutes, the guard returned, giving a nod to the man at the gate, “All right, looks like you can see Captain Cedric. He should be in the courtyard this time of the day, I’ll have this man here lead you in.”
The guard opened the gate and Alexander walked through. He followed the second guard through the outer courtyard and into one of the entrances to the manor. Servants bustled through the halls; replacing flowers, cleaning tables, straightening tapestries and making any other changes to make the appearance of the manor that much better.
“Is it always this busy?” Alexander asked the guard.
“Wha… oh, no, not usually at least. Lord Kensly has a banquet coming up soon, so the whole house is busy in preparation.
Alexander nodded in understanding, remaining quiet until the guard stopped in front of a door, “The Captain is through here.”
“Thank you,” Alexander said. The guard turned and left. Alexander pulled open the door and stepping out into the inner courtyard. It was modest, at least as far as Alexander could tell. He assumed that most nobles had extravagant manors and gardens, yet from what Alexander had seen of the Kensly Manor so far, it seemed rather contained.
In the middle of the courtyard stood Cedric working through forms with a wooden practice sword. The man was just as Alexander remembered, if maybe a little larger in the middle. His skin was deeply tanned and though it held some gray, his hair and beard still held on to more of the blonde that Alexander now recognized as wholly Rhodaron.
Alexander walked into the courtyard and waited to be noticed. Cedric kept working through the forms until he turned and noticed Alexander standing there. The man grinned.
“One of my men told me that there was some soldier wantin’ to see me,” he said with a chuckle.
“Indeed, how are you old man?” Alexander started his way to his old mentor.
“I’m doin’ all right, I see that you’ve made lieutenant,” Cedric stated as the two men shook hands.
Alexander smiled, “I have, though I can’t say as it has been the joy I always thought it would be. Now I find myself here, two days ride from home, following orders I don’t understand and answering to Captain Vanles Edbar who I think would rather see me discharged than follow his orders as he gives them.”
“Welcome to the life of an officer,” Cedric said as he balked a laugh.
“And what of you?” Alexander asked, “Mother’s letter said that you had left the farm to join the guard here, not command it.”
“Ah, she doesn’t know the second part. When I left workin’ for your father to join the guard here, it was just with the intention of being just that, a guard. However, when Lord Kensly saw my skill with the blade, and how I worked with the men, he made me captain, just as soon as the previous captain retired,” Cedric explained.
“So, you went from working for my father to living in this?” Alexander said as he motioned around him.
“Trust me, it’s not always what it’s made out to be. Speaking of your family, you goin’ to visit them while your here?” Cedric had a knack for jumping into the area of your life that you wanted to talk about the least.
“I don’t know, I was thinking about it, but my father and I didn’t exactly part ways on the best of terms. I’m not too sure how much he’d appreciate a visit.”
“Don’t worried ‘bout none of that. He’s your da, if’n he gives you can trouble, let me know and I’ll be sure to stop by and knock some sense into him,” Cedric said with a laugh.
“So, what is it you do around here?” Alexander asked, trying to change the subject.
“Too much of what I’d rather not be doin’ and not enough of what I’d like to, quite a bit like you I’d imagine,” Cedric laughed again, “however, here in a little bit, I’ll be givin’ a lesson to the young lord. He’s decent with the blade, nothing like you were, but capable.”
“I see, perhaps I should be on my way then.” Alexander said, not wanting to get in the way.
“Nonsense, just be sure to stay out of the way and keep quiet, I don’t need you going and confusing the boy,” Cedric said sarcastically.
Alexander shared a laugh with his old friend. At least I know that I’m welcome here, Alexander thought as he continued his conversation with his old friend.
Thinking of home brought a pang of guilt up in Alexander. His parents hadn’t been happy with his decision to leave and join the army. He still did what he could to help them, sending money regularly to help with the maintenance and the higher of hands to make sure crops and animals were taken care of. His mother often wrote back, thanking him for his help. He was sure his father complained every time the writ for a withdrawal came in, but the money was always taken from his accounts.
Perhaps I’ll ask for a couple days leave and visit home, Alexander thought. He had not been home in nearly ten years, and the last time was only a couple hours on his way through the area. He missed his home, the days toiling in the fields, the evening meals and tales told by his father. He even missed his older brother, who had his own family now, though he no doubt still worked his father’s farm.
Alexander recognized the sound of the horse’s canter coming up from behind him, he was not surprised when Jogan spoke, “Lieutenant, Bosber has returned, the city guard has been informed of our approach and are preparing for our arrival.”
Alexander nodded, not even looking at the man, thoughts still focused on home, “Good, signal the approach, look casual, we don’t want people to think we’re there to attack. Only swords, any other weapons should be put in saddle bags or secured in some other way. Anyone still wearing their leather should take it off now. Anyone found not following the order will find themselves in more trouble than they’d like.”
“Very good Lieutenant, I’ll spread the word.” Jogan wheeled his horse around and road back to the unit leaders. Riders spread out from the small group of men and word was spread throughout the unit.
Alexander smiled at the organization of his men. When he had been given the command of the Sixth Cavalry, they were a good unit. Alexander brought in a new chain of command, much to the displeasure of some of the senior riders, but it had formed a much more proficient chain of communication. Now, if he gave an order, he knew that within ten minutes, every man in the unit would know the command almost as if they’d heard it directly from Alexander’s lips. Alexander chirped to his gelding and started of towards Garlin at a casual walk.
The ride to the city was easy, and he could tell that the guard was anxious, but not worried as they approached the Western Gate. There was a group of five men standing a few paces outside the gate. Alexander soon recognized the uniforms of Garlin’s High Guard.
Alexander saluted as he pulled his gelding to a stop before the men. They returned the salute and Alexander dismounted. He walked forward, standing before who he assumed was the Captain of the Guard.
“May the sun grace your fields and your family thrive,” Alexander started in the formal greeting of Garlin.
“And the rain waters come and go, bringing only life,” the Captain finished, “It is good to meet a soldier that knows the ways of this city,” the man said, offering his hand.
“I grew up on a farm not far from here, this is home for me, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross charged with the command of the Sixth Cavalry Unit,” Alexander replied as he took the man’s hand.
“I am Jefell Russent, Captain of the Guard here in Garlin. So, to what honor are we graced by you and your men?” the Captain said as he eyed Alexander’s riders.
“We have been sent here by General Therad. My men and I were sent ahead by Captain Vanles Edbar to prepare for the arrival of him and the rest of our men.” Alexander explained.
“Very well, how many men should we prepare for?” Jefell asked.
“With me I have one hundred fifty men, and as many horses. The Captain will be leading 1,150 men, with about two hundred more horses.”
Jefell’s eyes betrayed a look of shock, though he quickly covered it, “I see, I will send word immediately to ready the barracks and stables for you.”
Alexander could see the question on Jefell’s face. He wanted to know why so many men were being brought to Garlin. Of course, Alexander’s mind held the same question.
“If you will follow me and my men Lieutenant, we will lead you to the barracks.” Jefell turned and started back into the city.
Alexander mounted his horse and signaled his men before following the Captain of the Guard into the city. The looks on the faces of the people on the street were those of shock, anger, and awe as Alexander led his riders through the town. The men formed three perfect columns as their procession made its way down the street. A hush fell over the crowds as they watched. The ride through the city to the barracks seemed to take forever.
Finally, Jefell turned and looked to Alexander, “Here are the barracks. There should be men arriving soon to take your horses to the stables.”
Alexander dismounted as Jogan signaled for the rest of the men to do the same, “I thank you Captain Russent.”
Alexander squinted in the sunlight as he watched a carriage pull up to the barracks. The driver hopped down and quickly moved to the door, opening it and bowing a man through. The man was of decent age, silver marking his temples. He was well groomed and well dressed, obviously one of the nobles of the city. He wore a dark green suit of typical Garlin cut and carried an ornate dueling cane fitted with a large sapphire.
Jefell noticed Alexander’s sudden interest and turned to see what he was looking at. He started when he noticed who it was, “Ah, High Lord Bething, to what do we owe the honor?”
“Nothing to worry about Captain, I merely heard that there was a group of soldiers that had entered the city and came to see what the commotion was about.” The man’s tone was demanding and clear.
“Lord Bething,” Alexander said as he stepped forward, giving a salute and small bow, “I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross, commander of the Sixth Cavalry Unit of the Beldinian Army. It is a pleasure to meet you.”
“Lieutenant, I am Lord Juston Bething of House Bething. If you don’t mind my asking, what brings you and your men into our fair city?” Bething’s voice seemed to hold a tone of displeasure.
Alexander suddenly remembered the name. House Bething was one of the few noble houses that survived the capture of Garlin. They fought to maintain self-sufficiency in Garlin to keep a degree of separation from Beldin. Most of all, the family hated any the military in any respect.
“I’m afraid I have nothing to share with you. You will have to wait for Captain Vales Edbar to arrive with the rest of our men later this day, though I do not believe that it will be until sometime this evening.” Alexander explained while trying to maintain a level of formality.
“The rest of your men?” The Lord started, “Just how many do you bring to our city?”
“Thirteen hundred total Lord Bething, on the orders of General Lofric Therad.” Alexander said frankly.
Lord Bething’s eyebrows rose in what appeared to be shock and anger, “You will inform your Captain Edbar that I will be visiting him at my earliest convenience.” It wasn’t a question.
“Of course Lord Bething,” Alexander said with a bow.
As Alexander straightened, Lord Bething was already started back to his carriage, “My apologies Lieutenant Varross,” Jefell began.
Alexander cut him off, “It is no trouble Captain Russent, I assumed that we would be met with some anger when I first heard we were coming here. Now, if you would see to my men and their horses, there is an old friend I would like to visit.”
“Of course,” the Captain said as he turned to give orders.
Alexander turned to Jogan, handing him the reins to his horse, “Would you look to Cloud for me Jogan?”
“Of course Lieutenant,” he said as he took the reins.
“I’ll be back soon, there’s just an old friend here in the city I would like to see. You are in command until I return. The men are not to move from the barracks or the stables until I get back. Is that understood?”
“Yes Lieutenant,” Jogan nodded.
Alexander saluted before he turned and started down the street. It had been a long time since he had been to Garlin last, but he was certain that he could find what he was looking for.
Alexander made his way through the streets, stopping on Merchant’s street to buy a kabob of roasted meat and vegetables. While he was there he asked for directions to insure that he still knew where he was going. Many people gave him a wide girth, recognizing his uniform. There was little doubt that the news of soldiers in the city had been spreading like an uncontrolled fire throughout it’s inhabitants.
Finally Alexander found himself in front of the gates to manor estate of House Kensly. The gate guard eyed him carefully as he approached.
“Can I help you?” The large man asked, a hand resting on his sword-breaker.
“Yes, I am Lieutenant Alexander Varross and would like to visit with Cedric Eddes if that is possible.” Alexander noticed as the guard stiffened at the mention of the name.
Cedric Eddes had been a friend to Alexander for as long as he could remember. The man was a good twenty years older than Alexander, but had helped his father on the farm while Alexander was a child. He had taught Alexander the sword and so much more.
The gate guard waved down one of his fellow guards and gave an order. The second man hurried off in the direction of the manor house. Alexander waited patiently, standing outside the gate.
After a few minutes, the guard returned, giving a nod to the man at the gate, “All right, looks like you can see Captain Cedric. He should be in the courtyard this time of the day, I’ll have this man here lead you in.”
The guard opened the gate and Alexander walked through. He followed the second guard through the outer courtyard and into one of the entrances to the manor. Servants bustled through the halls; replacing flowers, cleaning tables, straightening tapestries and making any other changes to make the appearance of the manor that much better.
“Is it always this busy?” Alexander asked the guard.
“Wha… oh, no, not usually at least. Lord Kensly has a banquet coming up soon, so the whole house is busy in preparation.
Alexander nodded in understanding, remaining quiet until the guard stopped in front of a door, “The Captain is through here.”
“Thank you,” Alexander said. The guard turned and left. Alexander pulled open the door and stepping out into the inner courtyard. It was modest, at least as far as Alexander could tell. He assumed that most nobles had extravagant manors and gardens, yet from what Alexander had seen of the Kensly Manor so far, it seemed rather contained.
In the middle of the courtyard stood Cedric working through forms with a wooden practice sword. The man was just as Alexander remembered, if maybe a little larger in the middle. His skin was deeply tanned and though it held some gray, his hair and beard still held on to more of the blonde that Alexander now recognized as wholly Rhodaron.
Alexander walked into the courtyard and waited to be noticed. Cedric kept working through the forms until he turned and noticed Alexander standing there. The man grinned.
“One of my men told me that there was some soldier wantin’ to see me,” he said with a chuckle.
“Indeed, how are you old man?” Alexander started his way to his old mentor.
“I’m doin’ all right, I see that you’ve made lieutenant,” Cedric stated as the two men shook hands.
Alexander smiled, “I have, though I can’t say as it has been the joy I always thought it would be. Now I find myself here, two days ride from home, following orders I don’t understand and answering to Captain Vanles Edbar who I think would rather see me discharged than follow his orders as he gives them.”
“Welcome to the life of an officer,” Cedric said as he balked a laugh.
“And what of you?” Alexander asked, “Mother’s letter said that you had left the farm to join the guard here, not command it.”
“Ah, she doesn’t know the second part. When I left workin’ for your father to join the guard here, it was just with the intention of being just that, a guard. However, when Lord Kensly saw my skill with the blade, and how I worked with the men, he made me captain, just as soon as the previous captain retired,” Cedric explained.
“So, you went from working for my father to living in this?” Alexander said as he motioned around him.
“Trust me, it’s not always what it’s made out to be. Speaking of your family, you goin’ to visit them while your here?” Cedric had a knack for jumping into the area of your life that you wanted to talk about the least.
“I don’t know, I was thinking about it, but my father and I didn’t exactly part ways on the best of terms. I’m not too sure how much he’d appreciate a visit.”
“Don’t worried ‘bout none of that. He’s your da, if’n he gives you can trouble, let me know and I’ll be sure to stop by and knock some sense into him,” Cedric said with a laugh.
“So, what is it you do around here?” Alexander asked, trying to change the subject.
“Too much of what I’d rather not be doin’ and not enough of what I’d like to, quite a bit like you I’d imagine,” Cedric laughed again, “however, here in a little bit, I’ll be givin’ a lesson to the young lord. He’s decent with the blade, nothing like you were, but capable.”
“I see, perhaps I should be on my way then.” Alexander said, not wanting to get in the way.
“Nonsense, just be sure to stay out of the way and keep quiet, I don’t need you going and confusing the boy,” Cedric said sarcastically.
Alexander shared a laugh with his old friend. At least I know that I’m welcome here, Alexander thought as he continued his conversation with his old friend.
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