David clutched one of Alexander's shirts and drew it to his chest. He choked up and tears began to pour from his eyes. Lying on the sweat-stained pallet, he wept in the darkness. All of his family crossed his mind, his father, mother, even his nanny Jolina. Every last one of them was gone forever. Even the Branvolds were gone, except Liam. Had the Bishop gotten the children away, as his father believed? David could only hope and pray that they did.
Prayer… he couldn't bring himself to speak to God, not after all that happened. His emotions wreaked havoc with him, as he was torn in half by the consuming void left by the death of his family and the unbearable guilt that he had survived. His inner voice told him he should have died with his father and brother.
'Why did I survive? What kind of son was I? I could have warned him! Why couldn't I scream!' He played out scenarios in his mind of what might have been. Warning his father of Sagaroth and the three of them defeating him. Plunging his sword into Sagaroth's groin. Dying on the floor next to his brother. Nothing he could imagine would ease his screaming inner voice or still his weeping.
David jumped as he was startled by footsteps on the stairs above his tiny room. The slight sensation of movement told him the ship had left the docks. They would be in New Portsmouth by midmorning tomorrow.
This was the first time since it happened that David had not gone to sleep drunk. Although it was still early, he hoped he would sleep straight through the journey. After double checking that his father's dagger was still in his right boot, David fell into an uneasy sleep.
* * * * * *
Gabriel’s eyes shot open as the three-toned bells of the Cathedral filled the small room. Four times they rang, indicating it was four hours after sunrise. He had had another nightmare, making at least one each night for the last four nights. He tried to focus on it to and force it to make sense, but it slipped away from his grasp as sand through his fingers.
Gabriel stretched on his bed, taking in a deep breath of the cool morning air. Pushing his blanket aside, he sat up and placed his feet upon the cold stone of his initiate’s room. Since his window faced west, the morning sun was not a problem. He had not been sleeping well lately, which was probably why he had overslept by three hours. He had missed the morning meal, and the empty feeling in his stomach painfully reminded him of that fact. It was two hours before high noon. Tobias would be deep in his test of knowledge now, trying his best to prove his worthiness to become knighted, and thus a full brother.
This was the first time in as long as he could remember that he had been able to sleep late. Usually he was awakened by a taskmaster before the first bell, being ordered to do some sort of manual labor before the morning meal. He had learned a long time ago to stay out of trouble in general, or he would find himself collecting and cleaning the priests’ and nuns’ chamber pots, scrubbing the lavatories, or hauling the rotten food from behind the kitchen to the middens. Young initiates were often rudely awakened to the realities of the order’s training, it being nothing like what they expected. On good days, he would haul and chop wood for the kitchens, polish armor and weapons, wax the floors in the Defender’s Hall or the Cathedral, or read to the old, retired, bed-ridden knights and clergy who no longer had use of their eyes.
But now that he was a mentor, those days were behind him. Within a few weeks, he would be assigned initiates of his own, sons of nobles and merchants from all of the surrounding countries. Although the war waged on between Elgannan and the Caledonia / Gylinia alliance, once a young man decided to join the Order, he gave up all claims to family and country. Tobias, his mentor, was a prime example, who it turns out had given up the chance to be King of Aragil. When Gabriel had asked him about whether he regretted his decision to join the Holy Defenders, Tobias thought for a moment, then confidently answered that it was well worth all he had given up, and more.
Gabriel decided to try and find Eleenia. It was two days until the Sabbath, and he remembered that his sister didn't have classes today. He hoped she was making her rounds at the infirmary, although given the time, she may have already completed them. Gabriel decided to check her room first, then the infirmary. If she were not there… His stomach tied itself in knots as he realized where else she could possibly be.
Dressing quickly and wetting down and straightening his midnight black hair, Gabriel rushed to his sister's room.
* * * * * *
The staff swung down towards Eleenia's shoulder with stalwart force. She raised her own staff just in time to block it. The wooden clack of the staff echoed in the small empty room. Glancing downward at her opponent's knees, she attempted a counterstrike. Her attack was easily deflected and her opponent touched her lightly on her thigh, then again quickly on her upper arm.
"El! How many times do I have to tell you? Keep eye contact at all times! You are practically shouting what you are going to do next!" The girl shook her head and smiled.
Eleenia leaned on her staff, panting for breath. "I'm sorry, Janelle. I'll try to remember." Eleenia inhaled deeply to steady her breath.
"It's okay. Felix was ready to pull his hair out after telling me the same thing time and time again."
El continued the sparring match. Over the last three months, she and Janelle had become very good friends, along with Holle MacLeod, the Caledonian girl. In addition to her lessons three times a week, El was teaching Janelle how to read and write. Two months ago, she had bought Janelle a writing kit and a blank journal to practice her writing, and she was impressed by how quickly she had picked up a basic reading proficiency. Janelle was by no means dim witted, she just completely lacked an education.
It was cute to watch in a way, El thought as she deflected one of Janelle’s thrusts. Janelle was so swelled with pride when she didn’t need the Pigeon Post delivery boy to read her a message from her brother Felix.
Sensing Eleenia was starting to become lost in thought, Janelle bypassed El’s defenses and gave her a light swat on the arm.
“Come on, El, focus!” Janelle lightly tapped Eleenia's staff. "Come at me again. To truly learn to heal injury, you must first learn how to cause it,” Janelle said with a mischievous grin.
Eleenia looked at her dubiously. "Oh, thank you for that bit of wisdom."
Janelle laughed and swung her staff in an overly-exaggerated arc, giving Eleenia time to ready herself and deflect the blow. The two exchanged strikes, parries, and counterstrikes for several minutes. But once again, as it always seemed, Eleenia began to tire. Janelle took a step forward, forcing Eleenia back. Stepping on the hem of her dress, Eleenia stumbled, dropped her staff, and began to fall backwards. Janelle skillfully stopped herself in mid-swing. She quickly grabbed on to Eleenia's arm and steadied her.
Eleenia grabbed Janelle’s arm, regaining her balance. “Thank you,” she panted.
"It must have been a man who invented dresses," Janelle said, shaking her head. “Those things are useless, designed by someone who hated women and wanted us to be uncomfortable.”
Eleenia was still in the midst of catching her breath. “I see… you don’t let… it bother you…” she said, motioning at Janelle’s doe skin britches. “Some men would… find that… indecent.”
Janelle shook her head in disgust. “Only pig-headed fools like your brother and the rest of those over-fed sycophants in that damned University.” She threw her staff to the ground with a clatter. “What do they know? They sit on their high and mighty roosts looking down their noses at any that actually have to work for a living, or step even slightly outside of their view of what the world should be!” She spat in disgust on the wooden floor.
“And who’s side with they fight on? Would they ask the Caledonian or Gylinian Holy Defenders to attack their own people?” Eleenia lowered her gaze and shook her head, sighing in frustration. “You know what? Forget i
t. I won’t have this same argument with you again.”
“Because you know I am right!”
Eleenia sighed. “The worst thing about ignorance is its insistence,” she said under her breath.
Janelle gasped at the last comment. “Ignorance? Let me tell you something! If these damn ‘holy’ defenders would get off of their collective duffs and do something, this war could be over within a matter of months. How many people have died because of their inaction? How many thousands? How many widows and orphans has this war made?” Janelle flopped down and crossed her legs, leaning against the wall. She put her head in her hands. “How long before I see my father or Felix?”
Eleenia suddenly regretted what she had said. Setting her staff aside, she sat down next to Janelle and put her arm around her.
“I’m sorry,” she said. The muscles along Janelle’s back were tensed, but she was not crying.
“El, you’re nobility. You can’t understand what it is like. You just can’t! You grew up in a castle with servants. You have gold, and you know where your next meal is coming from. I’m sure not everyone in the church is self-serving, but I’ve heard terrible stories of what goes on.”
El hugged her tightly. “Oh, come on. The judicial board was fair to you that time you and Holle were brought before them. You two didn’t seem to have any problem receiving the restitution.”
“Had I known that I was going to be hounded day and night by that weasel-like bean-counting scribe about ‘not tithing and giving the church its due’, I would have thrown it back in their faces. Besides, if it weren’t for you, I would have probably been flogged or hanging from the gallows… or worse.”
“If it weren’t for me, you wouldn’t have gotten yourself into that mess in the first place.”
Janelle chuckled. “And after all that happened, your brother still has a problem with you learning how to defend yourself.”
Eleenia arched an eyebrow and glanced at Janelle. “Oh, now he’s ‘your brother’ and not ‘your pig-headed brother?’ Starting to have feelings for him?” She giggled as she nudged Janelle in the ribs.
“Please, don’t make me laugh. I have enough of a stomach ache,” Janelle said in a deadpan voice. “If it makes you feel better, then your pig-headed brother still has a problem with you learning how to fight?”
Eleenia shrugged, still chuckling. “He is learning to live with it and starting to realize that he won’t always be there to protect me. Especially if I decide return to home in a few years. Or four if I choose to pursue becoming a master healer.”
“He should already realize it. Even with you still being here, he hasn’t always been able to protect you.”
“That’s why God sent me you,” Eleenia said smiling.
Janelle rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. You know, the next time he protests, just remind him about what happened at The Scholar’s Inn King’s Table tournament.”
“I always do. And speaking of that little incident, let’s have a look at your arm.”
Janelle sighed and rolled up her tunic sleeve. El ran her finger lightly across the scar that ran from her wrist to her inner elbow.
“Have you been putting the vorkus-root ointment on it?”
“Yes,” Janelle said tiredly.
“Hm. Looks like this scar just isn’t going to fade.”
Janelle shrugged as she pulled down her sleeve. “So I have a scar. I don’t care. You should see how many my father has.”
“Well, you’re not exactly a mercenary captain.”
“Not yet,” Janelle said, smiling. “Not yet.” She rose to her feet and retrieved her staff. “Well, if we keep sitting around chatting, you’ll not get your three silvers’ worth today. Defend yourself! And remember your eye contact!”
El used her staff to push herself up. Janelle immediately set upon her, and the sparing lesson resumed.
* * * * * *
The bells of the University struck for the sixth time as the trapdoor opened. Brother Philip, the portly deacon, wearing brown robes and sandals, covered wicker basket in tow, climbed through the opening onto the circular platform. Standing straight up, he took a deep breath of the clean, windy air that blew above the filth-ridden streets of the city below. The University’s watchtower platform was circular, four legs across at any point, with a stone wall one leg high built around the edge, presumably to protect the occupants from the fifty legs drop to the courtyard below. Empty cages lined the west side of the wall and a wooden canopy protected the occupants from the sun and any rain that may fall.
Three pigeons were already sitting, cooing on the ledge. Brother Philip put down his wicker basket and collected the first pigeon. The bird made no effort to escape from the stout deacon’s hands. Gingerly, he removed the bone tube that had been tied to the bird’s leg and placed it in his robe pocket. He then put the bird in one of the empty cages and set it aside.
The second bird had no message on it. “Hm, a little escapee, eh?” he said. The bird tried to fly away before he could catch it, but the small deacon caught it by the wing and placed it in its own cage.
The third bird was much more agreeable. Brother Philip removed the bone tube from its leg and the bird practically jumped into the cage itself.
Settling his ample behind down on the wooden floor, Brother Philip opened his wicker basket, removing a bottle of wine and a large loaf of steaming bread. Breaking off a small piece of the loaf, he placed a small portion in each of the birds’ cages, all of which pecked at it happily.
For the last ten years, Brother Philip’s life had been one of relative ease. Every day, except the Sabbath, he would climb the University watchtower and gather the birds that landed upon the stone wall. From noon until the evening meal, he would sit under the canopy with his books, scrolls, and picnic basket. Usually during the day, one or two birds would land, but his days were mostly uneventful, which is how he liked it. After his shift, he would hand the birds that arrived down to the lad that raised and took care of them, one floor below. He would then make his way to Bishop Sentius’ quarters and hand deliver the messages, after thoroughly reading them himself.
A cold shudder ran across his skin, causing the hairs on his arm to stand on end. Brother Philip opened the bottle of wine and took a large drink, then wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his robe. The cool liquid hit his stomach and a wave of warmth slowly began to flow through his veins.
Another pigeon, hauling a small wooden tube, landed on the ledge as he took a bite of the warm bread. He sighed, and pushed himself up to retrieve the bird. He removed the wooden tube and put the bird in an empty cage.
“No bread for you. Interrupting my meal…” The Brother continued grumbling as he stuffed another section of bread into his mouth. He quickly settled back down to his shady spot next to his basket.
Reaching into his pocket, he removed one of the bone tubes. He flicked the wax sealing off and retrieved the parchment inside. The first line of the letter read My Darling Lionel. A love letter, Brother Philip thought, as he scanned the light-handed script. A female had obviously written the letter.
“Lionel,” he said to one of the caged pigeons. “Isn’t he one of the Holy Defender initiates? Hmm… It seems he was a bit misleading about his claims of celibacy.” Brother Philip continued to read the note carefully, making sure he didn’t miss any of the details.
‘Knowledge is power,’ Bishop Sentius would say. Brother Philip had never forgotten those words.
He laughed as he rolled the paper up and placed it back in the tube. It would be quite amusing to see how Initiate Lionel would get himself out of this one. Watching him trying to resolve how one could be a Holy Defender when he was the father of twins would prove most interesting. Brother Philip couldn’t picture Initiate Lionel in his mind’s eye. No matter, he thought. Lionel was most likely headed to the auxiliary, a unit to where disgr
aced defenders were remanded.
He replaced the bone tube into his pocket and retrieved the other. Upon examination of the tube, Brother Philip realized that there was no wax seal on the message, as if it were sent in great haste.
He pulled the letter from the tube and unraveled it. Holding it in his left hand, Brother Philip grabbed the neck of his wine bottle and drank three more large gulps.
Arch Bishop Leonis or recipient,
Lystra in chaos. Lord Ki Kalendeen, Lord Branvold, families, servants, and wedding guests killed. Work of living dead. Forces of Aragil invading. Crossed Elgannan border. Alert the King. Send help and pray for us.
-Herodimus Drake
Head of Household
House of Ki Kalendeen
Lystra
Blood stained the letter in several places. Brother Philip set down his wine inattentively. The bottle tipped and sent its contents spilling across the small platform. The stout deacon stared at the letter in disbelief. Suddenly he sprang to his feet, knocked the trap door aside, and hurried down the ladder.
“Bishop Sentius!” he yelled, screaming at the top of his lungs as he ran down the stairs. “Bishop Sentius!!!”
* * * * * *
A hard knock on the door awakened David from a nightmare his mind wouldn't allow him to remember. The shouts and clambering heard on deck told him that they had arrived in New Portsmouth.
“Finally,” David said to himself as he gathered his belongings into his brother’s pack. He opened the door to let a little bit of light in, but winced as the morning poured into the tiny cabin.
David felt around the pallet one last time to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind, and gave a sigh of relief when he found his father’s dagger. It had fallen out of his boot during the night. David unsheathed it and held the reflective blade up to the light. The swooping eagle could be seen, carved into the blade and hilt, over top of a cross. The detail was magnificent, and David could make out each of the eagle’s extended talons. He quickly sheathed the dagger and replaced it in his right boot.
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