The Knight of Darkened Light

by Andrew Legend

Chapter Four

  Rhoin – Elvin Sorcery

  RHOIN - ESPERENTIAL

  Human in kind but Elvin in nature,

  wisdom shines from Rhoin

  at an early age.

  Taken into the sacred Odenshinaro brotherhood,

  he was raised in their ways

  and trained in their skills and magics.

  His life is rumored, amongst the Odenshinaro,

  to be the living of an awaited Elvin legend.

  PEACE OF MIND, clarity of thought, serenity of judgment...

  In a secluded small cabin deep in a quiet wood, a secretive man was performing an Elvin magic technique. He was human, the first human taken into membership of a Wood-Elvin clan and trained in Elvin ways. He was reaching the conclusion of the procedure, the conclusion of total mental alertness, and the expanding radius awareness and control over nearby souls and minds. It was a wide sphere, a high level of ability at the technique, and he was attaining higher levels in short time. His performances would last for longer periods of time, too. This day he had started in the early evening, and it had gone late into the night.

  What was that?

  He sensed trouble, and instinctively leapt to a fighting stance, ceasing his Elvin sorcery. He then sensed that the trouble was not near, but far, and not upon him, and he untensed. But why did it alert him? Why did it endanger him, but at the same time, not? He closed his eyes and concentrated again, and generated once more the Elvin spell, this time, stronger.

  He wasn't in danger. But now he understood who was: it was his brother!

  Familial contacts are always linked souls, Master Odenshinaro once told him. It was a sign of a powerful spirit, if he could sense the mental nature of a family member from far away. It meant great magic potential in the Elvin magic Element of the Spirit—a teaching not in the human field of magic training. It was a sign categorized Esperential, as he was, when he led a human life.

  So he knew it was true: his brother was in danger. Grave danger.

  He opened his eyes, and oriented himself to within his cabin. He was dressed in his traveling clothes; he need not take anything but his single-edged Elvin blade, and his variety of Elvin assassination weaponry. He took several of these items from a short table they were lain upon, and sorted them into his vest. He pulled his hood upon his head, and rushed out of his cabin's hold, into the night, employing his magic ability to sense the direction of his endangered brother, and cut into the night at swift speed.

  He was running through the night-hidden forest, sensing various large beasts’ presences, and granting wide radius to them, to avoid unnecessary trouble. A fast but silent run, a technique from Elvin training.

  Up a hill, a leap across a ravine, over a fallen tree. With keen perceptions, he weaved between trees and brush, through the dark wood, traveling as fast as he was able.

  Paetoric came to with a start and a pounding headache. The pain alone almost drove him back into unconsciousness but he gritted his teeth to stay silent and awake. Were his attackers near?

  Careful not to move, breathing shallowly so as not to have motion, he looked with his open eyes, not pivoting his head. He was still outside, but by a steep, rocky knoll. His whereabouts were nowhere near the trail.

  He could see the light of a fire behind him, illuminating his surroundings, but still not bright enough to penetrate the darkness of the woods. He listened carefully. He couldn't hear anyone, and so he must be alone. He listened in motionless silence for a long moment afterward, and then deciding he was safe, he rolled onto his back to see behind him. It was a tall torch stuck into the ground, where the flame was coming from. His head was pounding hard.

  "Alright, men...he's awake." Paetoric heard a gruff voice say from the direction of the rocky knoll. He attempted to jump up, but when he got to his hands and knees, the throbbing in his head worsened, and he fell back on his stomach, dizzied.

  One of the men let out a quiet, dry laugh, and said, "Don't think your going anywhere, foolish knight..."

  Knight? They thought he was a knight? Paetoric thought to himself, surprised. Why?

  He heard hard leather boots from the shadows, and three shapes emerged. Paetoric made them out to be some kind of soldiers. But did not recognize them soldiers of Windpass Isles. Their armor was completely black, and soundless. They didn't wear chain mail, but he could see dull glints of light off of their body from the torchlight that they were wearing a light form of plate armor. Paetoric could not see the faces past the hoods they wore.

  Paetoric was on his hands and knees, not yet able to stand. He was looking up at the men, trying to discern their features. "How are you sure he has the information we need?” hissed one soldier.

  "He's a knight. Look at that halberd; he has to be a 'Knight of The King'!" The second soldier retorted.

  "Where's his armor?" The third soldier challenged the second soldier. The third soldier, given no answer, walked around to the other side of Paetoric in silence.

  "What is your name, boy?" The soldier asked, threateningly. Paetoric didn't answer. He was confused, and his head was throbbing, and could hardly think.

  He got a sharp pain in his stomach as the soldier kicked him there hard, and Paetoric doubled up on his side, the wind knocked out of him. "Give me your name!” the soldier shouted angrily.

  Paetoric gasped for air, and tried to speak, but only could manage a hoarse whisper, "Pa - Paetoric..."

  "What is your rank?" The soldier demanded. Paetoric became confused, and couldn't think of what to say in reply. He had gained his breath fully, but was still painfully panting.

  "I don't know what - what you are talking about!” he quickly answered, so to avoid another blow.

  "He can't be a knight, knights never act like that...” one of the watching soldiers grunted. "He's just a boy who found that weapon somewhere..."the other watching soldier stated.

  The soldier interrogating Paetoric started to argue, "But he is a kn---", hesitated, and turned back to Paetoric.

  "Where did you get that weapon?” he menaced.

  "F-found it..."

  "Don't lie to me!"

  "I'm not, I - found it, I -"

  He was cut off when a booted foot slammed into his jaw. He rolled over painfully, arms over his face to protect himself from another kick, but none came.

  Paetoric heard the soldier took a slow step away, followed by two hurried steps away, and boots scraping the ground, him stopping suddenly.

  "Where's Matt?" He demanded of the other soldiers. Paetoric saw the other soldiers’ shadowed figures shifted uneasily.

  Then one of them stated stupidly, "I don't know, I haven't seen him for a few moments come to think of it..."

  "Find him!” the interrogating soldier yelled. The other two soldiers disappeared in the shadows out of Paetoric's sight.

  The interrogating soldier slowly walked up to Paetoric. He shoved him onto his back with his booted foot, and placed his boot on Paetoric's throat. "Whether you have our information or not," the soldier began intimidatingly, while gradually increasing the weight of his foot on Paetoric's throat, "we are going to kill you if you don't cooperate." By then, Paetoric could hardly breathe, and was suffocating. He started to weakly struggle with the man's leg, trying to get him off of his throat, trying to breathe.

  "Sir Gerund! Sir Gerund!” Paetoric heard frantic yells calling the man from the distant darkness, hearing the pounding footsteps of the two approaching soldiers. They stepped into the torches light, and Paetoric plainly saw their facial features. They were terrified. "He's dead! Matt is dead!” one of them yelled anxiously.

  The other soldier said as well, "Bled to death! Had his head 'alf cut off his throat was slit so deep!"

  Paetoric felt the weight of The Sir Gerund’s foot lift, and he swallowed air deeply into his lungs, feeling his fogged head start to clear up. His interrogator, Sir Gerund, stepped over Paetoric
to the soldiers. "WHAT?" he roared. Then he stopped walking, and stood still.

  One of his soldiers before him suddenly crumpled to the ground, dead, a long, thin knife was sticking out of his back. Sir Gerund faltered away, bewildered, almost stepping on Paetoric, who crawled out of his path just in time. "We're under attack!” he uttered, futilely. He yanked his sword from its scabbard, and pointed it out in front of him, in defense. An unidentifiable dark-clothed figure sped by, and with a crack, Sir Gerunds weapon hand was twisted, broken; he let out a cry as his sword fell to the ground, and staggered away. He scrambled for Paetoric's halberd, and picked it up in his hand, his mangled right hand he held piteously close his chest. "Get at him, Kawl!” he screamed at the other soldier, who was turning this way and that, peering into the dark, his sword held high and close.

  The dark-clothed attacker, slender with no bulky armor, emerged from the dark into the torch lit clearing. He walked with soundless footsteps, and Paetoric only noticed his presence when one of the soldiers let out a small cry and faced in his direction.

  "Tell me who you are, and what your purpose for being here is.” stated the dark-clothed one clearly and calmly, to the soldiers. Paetoric was lying in the space between him and the two remaining soldiers.

  Sir Gerund and the other soldier looked at the man incredulously, fearfully. "Who we are and why we are here is none of your business!" Growled Sir Gerund, still holding his broken hand to his chest, wielding Paetoric’s halberd awkwardly like a battle-axe. "Leave here or die!"

  The dark-clothed one did not respond. He took slow, silent steps nearer to Paetoric, still looking at his foes. The torchlight revealed that his face was hidden behind a black cloth mask, shrouded by a hood. "I believe it is my business, being that Windpass Isles are my land," he began calmly, coolly, "and not yours." He stood silently above Paetoric, not even showing notice of him. "Now I ask you again,” he said, calmly, but with more force in his voice. "Who are you, and what is your purpose for being here, in Windpass Isles?"

  The second soldier blurted out, "How did you know we are not from Windpass Isles?"

  Apparently this was the wrong thing to say, for Sir Gerund wheeled at him, and glared wide-eyed, malignantly, at the soldier.

  "You...fool!” he forced out through clenched teeth. "We are supposed to be under cover, and you..." at this he looked back toward the place where Paetoric was lying, to find that the assailant was gone from view, and he fell silent. He wheeled about looking in every direction, wielding the halberd in his only operational hand.

  Paetoric saw the black-clothed fighter soar over him in a leap, and running at the halberd-bearing Sir Gerund. Paetoric weakly scrambled back on all fours into a tree, and surveyed the battle before him.

  Sir Gerund wheeled around, facing his opponent, to receive a lightening quick fist in his face, knocking him back. He staggered, and recovered. He grunted and swung the halberd at the black-clothed fighter, who leapt agilely and kicked downward at the halberd, so that it swung into the earth, and with his other leg, delivered a successive hard kick into Sir Gerund’s face. Sir Gerund crumpled to the ground. The second soldier roared, and charged at the black-clothed fighter with his sword held high. The black-clothed fighter stood still, awaiting the charge. Just before the sword connected, he, the black-clothed fighter, in indiscernibly skilled movements, twisted the sword out of the soldier's hands and ran it's broad blade through the attacker's throat. Paetoric, who had scrambled backward out of the battle's path, and was pressing his back against a tree, looked up into the soldier’s face, and saw his eyes were open wide in shocked terror, quivering mouth gaping in a silent cry. The black clothed man stood there, staring into the soldier’s horror-struck face, calmly, holding the hilt of the impaled sword in both hands. Blood flowed down the soldier’s neck, and he fell to the ground, dead hands still grasping the sword's blade protruding from his own throat.

  Paetoric had not realized how much his head hurt, from the shock of current events. His vision was wavering, and he heard the mysterious black-clothed man speak.

  "Paetoric, you are lucky to have me as your brother."

  And then Paetoric blacked out.

  Paetoric awoke in a daze. He quickly sat up alert, mind still on the recent incident. He looked around, and saw that it was early day, and he was beside a low, warm fire, set in the earth. There were no enemies near, he saw, and then he examined himself. He had a thin blanket lain over him, which was now crumpled over his legs as he was sitting up; and he felt a rough bandage bound to his head. His head ached - it must have been a really heavy blow he had received the previous night, to hurt so long, he thought, as he tried to feel his head through the wrappings.

  "How are you feeling?" came a calm voice from his left. Paetoric wheeled around and saw the man he saw the previous night, dressed completely in black. Paetoric gasped and jumped to his feet. But in a second he thought to himself: this man is no enemy. He saved him from bandits! With this in mind, Paetoric calmed.

  "Who are you?” he questioned the man. He remembered what the man told him just before he had blacked out, "and why do you call yourself my brother?"

  The man looked on at Paetoric, and after a thoughtful stare, he smiled. "You don't remember me!" he seemed to conclude. He laughed at the thought, eyes twinkling. Remember? Paetoric recognized the laugh. He remembered someone who used to laugh like that, though he could not remember whom. He peered at the man's now unmasked face, which was masked the night before. The curly, fair hair, the thin face; why did he seem familiar? And who laughed like that?

  Rhoin?

  The thought shocked into his mind. Rhoin? His brother? The one who ran away in youth? Could it be? "Rhoin?” he heard himself say awfully.

  The man smiled back in confirmation. "Very good, Paetoric."

  Paetoric's head was aching, but he now paid it no notice. Here he was, face to face with his brother he knew not to presume whether he was lost or even dead. Rhoin, his brother who mysteriously vanished years ago, now stood before him in outlandish clothing, a demonstrably able fighter. "Rhoin!" Paetoric shouted both amazed and happily. Rhoin gave a laugh again, now a totally familiar laugh to Paetoric. Paetoric stepped closer and closer to Rhoin, taking in his face, his clothing, his stance, his weapons at his waist. "What happened to you? Where have you been? What..."

  "All questions will be answered," Rhoin began, and then smiled with a wink, "over a meal! I'm half starved, up all night running over half an island to save your back. Least you can do is feed me before you barrage me with questions."

  Paetoric broke out into a total gaiety of laughter at Rhoin's jest, and Rhoin laughed with him. They sat together beside the warm fire in the chilled beginning of day.

  As Paetoric and Rhoin ate, Rhoin relayed the events of his life, from when he left home.

  "I saw her one day, in the edge of the forest by our farm. She was hiding in the shadows, trying to hide from my view.

  "One day I did ask her why she liked to watch me," Rhoin smiled slightly, "and she told me that she always wanted to see humans."

  "Wanted to see humans?” Paetoric echoed Rhoin's words, bewildered.

  "She is a wood elf - a nymph.” Rhoin answered. "They live in seclusion, almost in their own world it seems. Their own customs, beliefs, laws, and lifestyle. They practice in different magics than the human magics."

  To Paetoric, the way Rhoin said it, sounded like Rhoin was excluding himself from being human, which he well was.

  "What are the nymph magics?"

  "Mainly the Element of Spirit; of course there are other magic teachings, but in my particular sect, it is only Spirit."

  Paetoric looked at Rhoin thoughtfully. Rhoin continued:

  "To the Odenshinaro sect, the spirit is the way, and is potentially all-powerful. The spirit is the one who decides what to do, who knows what he knows. Doingnesses, the rawer Elements, like Wind, Water, Fire and
Earth Elements, are not the source of power. It is the spirit behind it. This is the primary belief of the Odenshinaro nymphs.

  "This Nymphian girl, her name was Cicilia. She was not like the other Nymphian women; she was adventurous, and didn't follow the humble customs taught to her. She was considered reckless." Rhoin said the last sentence with a reminiscent smile. After a short moment, his smile faded, and he continued further.

  "She saw me one day, and I saw her. She watched me; I watched her. It was as a silent binding, a wordless understanding between each other. Almost like peering from my human world to her world through a portal, the edge of the forest. She left, after a while, and was gone for the rest of the day.

  "I saw her again the next day, watching me. I called to her, and she edged away into her forest cover, and disappeared before I could get near.

  "The third day, she did not run when I approached her. She watched me, and in her eyes I saw curious interest. She was so silent, as I approached her. I could not think of words to say to her. But then she spoke to me.

  "She said, "Come with me." That is all she said. I waited for her to explain, but no explanation came. She looked into my eyes, and came forward and put her arms around me in gentle embrace. Then she turned, and almost floated into the forest with her graceful Nymphian legs, a walk characteristic of her race.

  "I felt an overpowering urge to follow her - it was due to an enchantment she placed on me of Spirit Element, magic which I did not recognize at the time - but resisted it. I would not leave.

  "Though the next day I did go back to where I found her. She wasn't there. I yearned to have followed her the other day, to find what secrets she seemed to have, what mysteries she would put into my life. I left into the forest, not knowing where to go or where I would end up.

  "I traveled for a full day and night. It was unusual - I felt that I was lost, yet I knew where I was going. What it really was, was me sensing the Nymphian presence, their existence, and being lead toward it.

  "Now, normally, when a human, or other race, discovers their society, he has either his mind altered, or erased, or he even is killed.

  "For me, it was different.

  "The master of the Odenshinaro brotherhood is a sagacious nymph of great power and perception: the most powerful Spirit Elemental nymph alive. He sensed me approaching from miles and miles away, and perceived my own Elemental powers.

  "Paetoric, remember that I was classed Esperential?" Paetoric nodded. "That is inaccurate. I am an Elemental. But you must understand that this is an Element not recognized in the human studies of magics. I am born under the Sign of the Spirit. I am Spirit Elemental.

  "The master Odenshinaro saw I had great, great potential in this power, and ordered that I was to be taken into the society, and taught it's ways. I am the first human ever ordained into the Odenshinaro brotherhood."

  By this time, Rhoin and Paetoric had finished eating, and Rhoin lifted his sword from the ground at his side. He slid the sheath off, revealing a long, thin, single-edged blade, with a wave-like pattern forged into it's metal. "I've been trained in the use of wood-Elvin weapons," Rhoin said as he carefully handed the weapon to Paetoric, who examined its hilt and curved blade in interest. Rhoin showed him his other concealed weapons: two short, very sharp, curved daggers which he pulled from the back of his belt; a thin, spiked chain; and what looked to be a short rod, with a deadly spike for a tip. "This one's for piercing armor," Rhoin commented as he in turn handed the rod to Paetoric. In examining the articles, Paetoric was reminded of the battle of last night.

  There were four men. Rhoin only killed three of the men. The realization came to Paetoric's mind. He looked up at Rhoin and asked, "What happened to the man you didn't kill last night?" Rhoin looked at Paetoric. His eyebrows furrowed slightly in contemplation, and he said, "After you passed into unconsciousness, I woke the only living brigand up. I tried to get information out of him; he was very unusual, and looked like he was from a different land. He refused, and tried to fight back at me. As I could not get it out of him, and as he was trying to kill me, he was a liability, so I finished him off.

  "There are some outlanders in Windpass Isles, that is normal: but there were four of them, they were all together, working together, and they all attacked you thinking you were a member of Windpass Isle's military." Paetoric frowned in disbelief at the idea. After all, how could they think he was from the military?

  ...The halberd! "Rhoin," Paetoric began, "they thought I was by the halberd I was carrying." Rhoin nodded. "That's right. Where did you get that weapon?"

  "From the smithy. It was being discarded as the enchantment on it didn't look like it could be removed." Paetoric understood why he had been attacked. He remembered what the Sir Gerund brigand said to him: "whether you have our information or not, we are going to kill you if you don't cooperate."

  "They wanted information from me," Paetoric slowly stated, pondering the words. "They wanted certain information." Paetoric repeated exactly what the brigand said.

  Rhoin slowly nodded, ponderously. "Why are you out here so far from the smithy?” Rhoin asked suddenly.

  Paetoric recalled everything that went on between Father and the official messenger. He told Rhoin the whole story, about how Father was "recalled to castle duty," Father lying about Paetoric not working at the smithy, and Father sending Paetoric to be with Seften. "He has already left, to make the two-day journey to Lord DeKade's castle. The smithy is abandoned."

  Rhoin was frowning since Paetoric told him of Father's mandate. Paetoric waited for Rhoin to speak, but he was only silent, thinking. After a moment he got up, and picked up his weapons from the ground, sliding them into their various hidden spots in his clothing. He picked up Paetoric's halberd from the ground, and handed it to him, to which Paetoric took. Rhoin reached into a pocket and pulled something out, which he tossed to Paetoric. "I found this on them," Rhoin said as Paetoric caught the object. Paetoric looked at the object in his hands, and saw it to be a small bag of gold and silver pieces. "I'm not sure if all of that was yours, but definitely some of it was, and you've earned the rest."

  Paetoric tied the small leather bag to his belt, and he followed Rhoin through the wood, getting back onto the trail. They started their trek up the dirt road, a half-day journey to Seften's farm.

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