by R J Hanson
“Engiyadu is the one I ran from,” Roland said, unintentionally lowering his head a bit. “There was some sort of fallen champion with him. I was losing ground quickly and had to flee. I told you in my letter I fled from battle. He is the one I ran from.”
Roland waited for the rebuke and was glad at least Claire was not here to see it. Velryk was silent for several moments when Eldryn spoke into that oppressive quiet.
“And Kyhn?” Eldryn asked.
Tindrakin stirred from his sleep and lay awake listening to the conversation. It took him several minutes to realize he was not dead.
“He too was in our academy, a fellow student,” Velryk said, not letting on he too was glad of the change of direction this conversation had taken. “He was never very imaginative but he was always solid and uncommonly strong.”
“’Our academy?’” Roland asked.
“Mine and…” Velryk’s voice trailed off. “Well, mine. I know I never told you boys much about my past. Eldryn, I met your father during my service in the King’s army after the academy. We were both knights then. I, among a few others, was in training to be a Silver Helm. That was before I left the academy for early service to the King. Ingshburn was making a major push then and the King needed all the warriors he could recruit. I was anxious and when they offered us the chance to join the King’s army, instead of remaining there to finish our training, I jumped at the chance. In retrospect, it was a foolish thing I did. I was rash and impatient. However, one’s vision is always clearer when looking back on a decision.”
“Do you know anything of the tattoos those men wore?” Eldryn asked.
“The Black Fly? Yes, I know of them. It is a guild of assassins. One of the larger ones. None of them the caliber of a Shadow Blade but still very dangerous.”
“Shadow Blade?” Tindrakin asked, making his first contribution to the conversation. “I thought they were a myth. Just a horrible story parents told to their children to scare them into behaving.”
“I assure you, young man, Shadow Blades are very real,” Lord Velryk confirmed.
“I take it you are Lord Velryk?” Tindrakin asked.
Velryk simply nodded.
“I am very honored to meet you, sir,” Tindrakin said. “Your conquests are legends amongst some of the older soldiers.”
“Conquests that I am sure are much exaggerated,” Velryk said.
“What are these Shadow Blades, father?” Roland wanted to get back to the topic at hand while Velryk was in a rare mood to share information.
“They are like assassins,” Velryk began. “They are skilled in the ways of the assassin. However, they are also skilled at certain magics. Magics that, if used properly, are very dangerous. They are typically not very formidable face to face on the battlefield however, they don’t do their fighting on the battlefield. Their warfare is fought in the quiet bedroom, or the dark alley. Their weapons are the poisoned drink, or the silent dagger.”
“How many Shadow Blades are there?” Eldryn asked.
“There are never more than twelve,” Velryk replied. “Very little is known about them, and that is the way they like it. It is my understanding they are trained one on one. A master and an apprentice. Once the apprentice is ready, he must kill one of the other twelve to become a full-fledged Shadow Blade.”
“That is ruthless,” Tindrakin said.
“That is how they remain elite,” Velryk replied. “Their group is small in number but each of them is more dangerous alone than any twenty assassins.”
Roland’s mind went to Ashcliff. Could he really be one of these Shadow Blades? If so, does that in and of itself make him an evil man? Roland thought of his means for testing many things in his life. Ashcliff had only ever been a friend to them. He had fought bravely and his help had been invaluable. Roland resolved to believe Ash was his friend until something happened to prove otherwise.
“Father, there is something else I need to ask you.”
“There will be time for that talk later,” Velryk said. “Rest now and await the priest. You are injured worse than you would like to admit. A warrior must, at times, fight through pain and persevere, but it is a fool that ignores a serious wound once the fighting is over.”
Velryk returned to the kitchen for a few moments and was then returned with Kodii walking groggily behind him. The marks of ropes could easily be seen on his wrists, ankles, and neck. His eyes met Roland’s and he hung his head.
The three injured men lay on the bed, their bandages tinting red with their own blood. Velryk began to gather wood and started a fire in the stone fireplace. Once the fire was going, he began boiling water. He added a few strips of beef jerky to the water and made a broth for the three injured warriors.
Each drank a bit of the broth and rested.
“Blood loss will make a man thirsty,” Velryk said. “Water and broth are the best ways to regain your strength.”
An hour slide past before Clairenese returned with three of Prince Ralston’s personal guard and a priest of Bolvii, Father Gadriel. The ranking officer of the guard entered and spoke quietly with Velryk while the priest looked over the three men. The officer then exited the room taking his two men with him.
“They are going to check the outer areas of your home,” Velryk said to Clairenese. “I’m sure no one is still around, however, one can never underestimate how stupid his opponent might be.”
“Claire, what was that thing?” Roland asked as Father Gadriel began to pray over the wounds of the injured.
“What thing, dear?” Claire asked as innocently as she could manage.
“The Teplis Guradas,” Roland said. “That is what Kyhn called it.”
“There is a Teplis Guradas protecting you?” Lord Velryk asked. “If that is the case then you have a powerful friend somewhere.”
“Claire,” Roland said as he steadied his gaze on her.
“Alright,” Claire said. “It was father’s idea. When you made your run after the artifacts of Mandergane father sent it to you while I aided you through your dreams. It is a champion the priests of old summoned to protect their Templars on the battlefield. They are also quite useful against assassins. Father knew it would be a rough trip and thought you might need the help. I hope you’re not too angry with me. After the run was over, I saw no reason to dismiss it. You do lead a dangerous life and I was worried about the man I love.”
Roland’s quick temper lit and his mouth twitched with a reply. However, his father cut him short.
“You have a good woman here,” Velryk said. “It is a wise man that not only accepts needed help when it is offered, but also appreciates it.”
Roland looked from his father to the woman who would be his bride. They would likely all be lying dead if it were not for Lynneare’s Teplis Guradas. Roland decided he would be better off resting than trying to talk to both his father and his soon to be wife at the same time. He did look over to inspect the scorch marks on the floor of the room and noted only Unholy symbols were burned there.
“Could it have survived?” Roland asked.
“If it did, then I’m sure it has returned to its home to heal,” Claire said. “I see no marks from its death.”
Father Gadriel, who had been praying steadily up to this moment, cleared his throat.
“They expend a great deal of energy, or so the texts say,” Father Gadriel said. “They return to their respective deity to rest frequently. Some tales, told by fools, say that Templis Guradas are erratic in that they will protect their charge one moment and fail to do so in another. The fact is, they cannot remain at anyone’s side for very long but are quite intuitive as to when they should be available.”
“Very insightful, Father,” Claire said. “Thank you, and thank you again for coming so quickly.”
“Sir Roland has earned the favor of the Prince,” Father Gadriel said. “More importantly, however, he has bolstered the faith of the men and has never been silent on his faith and trust in Bolvii.”
&n
bsp; Roland laid back onto the bed and, with Father Gadriel’s help, tried to ease his knee in a position that didn’t scream with pain. Finally, sleep came for him.
The next morning Roland awoke to find Kodii standing at the window of his room looking out over the land. The others had been moved to their own rooms, stalls in the barn that had served as their quarters up ‘til now, to rest and Claire slept in a chair nearby.
“Are you well?” Roland asked quietly, hoping not to disturb Claire.
Kodii turned from the window and nodded.
“What happened?”
Kodii passed his hand over his face and closed his eyes as his hand passed.
“Magic sleep,” Kodii said. “Demon sleep.”
“I assumed it must be something like that,” Roland said.
Kodii nodded again and returned his gaze to the window.
“There’s no need to stand in here and watch over me,” Roland said. “You are best in the open. Do what you must and rest if you’re tired.”
Kodii simply nodded again and walked from the room.
Chapter II
Faith
Weeks had gone by with Roland, Eldryn, and Tindrakin remaining near the house and resting their wounds. Kodii, as usual, made his patrols nearby and returned every other day with fresh meat, either fish from the river or venison from the forest. Roland spent hours throwing daggers at a pole target in the yard, Eldryn worked with Lance Chaser and Road Pounder teaching them tricks, and Tindrakin had taken to making daily trips to the river to fish. Velryk had spent much time in Skult visiting with other knights of Lawrec and Lethanor. It seemed he and Sir Brutis had served in Tarborat together at some point. Clairenese had moved the wedding plans ahead due to Velryk’s arrival and the event had been scheduled for the end of the following month. Invitations had been sent, some by magical means, to a few select friends and family, and Clairenese had made arrangements for King Vigorr and his guard to make the journey.
Roland and the others had begun their work again as their wounds permitted and construction on the barn continued. The date of the ceremony approached.
Roland was walking in the woods one day carefully selecting trees to be used for logs and firewood for the coming winter. Velryk had taught him well and he took great care to take the trees sparingly so that the remaining trees would have more room to grow. He also kept Eldryn’s patterns of lanes and cover for the livestock in mind. Roland heard other footsteps in the breeze. Footsteps that stalked through the woods rather than walked.
Roland controlled his breathing and continued his path, allowing no notable change. He marked a thick tree with his eye. A tree thick enough to conceal even his large frame. Roland made his way to the tree and pretended to examine it. As he rounded the tree, he turned with an axe held in his left hand and a dagger ready to throw in his right. Roland waited. The hairs on the back of his neck stood out and he felt the presence behind him. Roland whirled with his dagger ready to throw.
“Your skills have improved,” Velryk said.
Roland blew out his held breath and relaxed his muscles.
“You name carries a great weight among the soldiers in Skult,” Velryk said.
“Most of those stories are ale spawned tales,” Roland replied.
Velryk laughed. It was one of the few times Roland had heard his father’s laughter. He decided he liked the sound.
“Fools will always tell their tales,” Velryk said. “However, lucky or not, you did take a Shrou Demon in single combat. That is a fact not to be ignored. I can guarantee you your enemies will not ignore it. They will consider you dangerous. You would do well to remember that.”
“Yes, father.”
“A notable name can work for a warrior, though,” Lord Velryk said. “Battles can be won or lost by something as simple as morale. If the men have a hero, a legend that they follow, then they will fight wholeheartedly. However, if they follow a man they do not know or do not trust, they will fail. Your victory against that fallen champion was not only a personal victory for you. It was a victory for them, the soldiers of this land. It was a victory they needed.”
“You started on your path sooner than I would have liked,” Velryk continued. “However, what is done is done. And you have now taken a vow and intend another. You must be prepared for what your actions will bring you. You have responsibilities now that go beyond hearth and home. You have a responsibility to the soldiers that fight because you have given them hope. It is a heavy yoke.”
Velryk’s deep blue eyes looked to the leaves and branches around them. Pain was visible on his weather worn face.
“That responsibility has weighed lesser men down,” Velryk said. “You must stand up to it. You must remember men look up to you now. If you fear, then they will fear. If you cower, then so will they. However, if you charge, they will charge. If you are strong enough to go beyond defeat then you will find worthy men behind you willing to follow you to victory.”
“What is it, father?” Roland asked. “What pains you so?”
“When a man swears knighthood, or enlists in an army, and also becomes a husband, and later a father, he takes on two masters,” Lord Velryk said thinking of his two sons and the choices he had made. “As you have learned from me and from your reading, a man cannot serve two masters. There will be a day when you have to choose between the two. Living with that decision will not be easy. It takes a strong man to be a soldier and a father at the same time. There will, however, come a time when you will not be able to be both. Remember, a man dreams, a good man dreams big, a great man plans. A boy tries to make his father proud. A man discerns what must be done for the good of his family and his country. Then he acts without concern for the pride or opinions of others.”
In his time Velryk had chosen the road of the soldier, and later the role of a father. Both choices seemed to have hurt his sons in different ways and still troubled his soul.
A few weeks after Lord Kyhn’s attack on Roland’s household, Roland made a trip into Skult. He rode alone that day needing the quiet time for thought. The feel of the sun on his face and the smell of the various flowers in full bloom put him at ease. It was as though even the land was enjoying the peace, however short, that had come to Lawrec.
He dismounted at a stable in the city Eldryn seemed to favor. They fed the horses well. Not too much and not too little. Every mount was stripped of the saddle and bridle, given a good rub down, and was the audience of the rather unusual stable boy there. He was young, no older than eleven or twelve years, and a bit thin with sandy brown hair and eyes to match. The boy loved talking to each horse that was brought in, asking of its adventures or how the hay or grain smelled to them that day. The boy was simple but his love of the animals was genuine and deep.
“How are you today?” the boy asked in clear and cheerful voice.
“I’m well,” Roland said.
The boy, shocked, took a step back. He lowered his head and stammered a bit.
“Sssorry, sssire,” the boy said. “I, I, I, I.”
The boy put a hand to his forehead and was silent for a moment.
“What’s your name?” Roland asked.
“Kkkullen, Kullen sir,” Kullen said.
Kullen closed his eyes for a moment and rubbed at his forehead fiercely.
“Sorry, sire,” Kullen finally said after composing himself. “I was talking to Road Pounder.”
“My mistake,” Roland jovially. “He will appreciate having someone around who is a better conversationalist than myself.”
Roland placed a silver coin in Kullen’s hand and passed over the reins. He accepted both with a nervous smile and a nod. As Roland walked toward the church, he could hear the boy, Kullen, continue his ‘conversation’ with Road Pounder.
“I hope I didn’t make him mad,” Kullen was saying. “Big knights like to be called ‘sir.’ They get mad sometimes when you don’t.”
Pause.
“Really?” the boy continued. “Well, that must
be quite nice for you. How is Lance Chaser?”
Pause.
“I’m so glad to hear that,” Kullen said. “I heard folks saying a priest was sent to your house and I was worried about you both.”
Roland smiled as he walked beyond the reach of the stable boy’s voice. Such a good heart in that lad. A lad who had every right to be angry at the world and those in it. A lad who, only two years prior, had been orphaned by Daeriv’s forces when they attacked his family’s farm.
This was a land filling up with orphans.
Roland pulled his thoughts from that subject. He knew it would only distract him and darken his mood. He was here for another purpose, and must have his wits about him.
Roland walked to the rather simple stone building that served as a church to Bolvii in Skult. He was surprised at the utilitarian design of the structure. The few churches he’d seen were possessed of tall spirals and stained glass. As he entered, a rather thin woman dressed in the garb of a Servant of the Altar approached him.
“Sir Roland, is it?” she asked.
“Yes, Ma’am,” Roland said. “I was hoping to speak with Father Gadriel, if he has the time.”
“I will let him know,” she said as she turned away.
Then she stopped short. She turned and looked at him over her shoulder. Standing like that, she looked him over for a moment as if she were trying to decide something.
“By all accounts you seem a good man and have professed a faith in Bolvii,” she said. “I’m curious, if I may ask, why we haven’t seen you at worship?”
“I have read, and continue to read, Bolvii’s Holy book,” Roland said. “His edicts were taught to me by my father and I do put my faith in Him. We didn’t attend any regular worship when I was a child, though. I suppose it just never occurred to me.”
“I see,” the Servant of the Altar said. “Perhaps now it will occur to you.”
She walked away saying nothing more. Roland looked over the main gathering hall and noticed the stains of blood on the floor here and there. This building had served as a hospital in times, and shelter for refugees in others.
