The Legend of the Kestrel

by Peter Wacht

  “Your instincts were right to escape my charge,” said the spearman. “But never drop your spear. In my country, doing something like that in battle brands you a coward, and you are banished forever from the empire. Never drop your spear. Coward or no, you will always have need of a weapon.”

  Slowly, Thomas got to his feet and picked up the spear, not bothering to wipe the dirt from his clothes. He had a feeling things were just beginning.

  “Good,” said the spearman, pleased that Thomas now had his spear. The spearman gathered from the look on the boy’s face that the only way Thomas was going to let go again was if it was pulled from his dead fingers. Even then, the spearman wasn’t too sure. He had been less than pleased when Rynlin had woken him from his slumber. Yet, the boy showed promise. Besides, it was good to do something that he enjoyed. Thousands of years before he had spent his time teaching the young men in his homeland how to fight. He had missed that more than anything since he had died. Perhaps Rynlin had done him a favor, rather than cursed him as he had first thought. “I am Antonin, First Spear of the Carthanians. I will teach you to use the spear. You will do as I say, when I say.”

  Thomas nodded his agreement, seeing life behind those dead eyes for the first time.

  “Who stands before me?” asked Antonin, shouting the words. He already knew, but he wanted to see how the boy would respond.

  “I am Thomas,” he replied in a quiet voice.

  “Bah,” said the spearman, waving his hand in disgust. “That is not how you respond to a question like that. You are marked on the forearm, so you are a warrior, and as a warrior you must be confident in your abilities. Otherwise, the men you are fighting with, the men you are leading, will have no confidence in you. Many men are arrogant and like to brag of their supposed abilities, but the only thing that matters are your actions. Do not confuse arrogance for confidence. Arrogance will kill you. Confidence will keep you alive. In my country, we say who we are when that question is asked in such a way. Now, who stands before me?”

  “I am Thomas,” he shouted, after glancing at his right forearm. The raptor. A hunter. It was time to become one himself.

  “Better,” said Antonin. “But not good enough. This will be your final chance. Who stands before me?” The shout echoed through the mountains of the small island.

  Thomas didn’t want to find out what would happen if he failed this time. “I am Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands!” His shout wasn’t as loud as Antonin’s, but he thought he could hear a faint echo in the mountains as well. It brought a smile to Antonin’s face, again giving him a lifelike quality.

  “That is the way it is done, Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands. Do not be afraid of who you are. Use it to your advantage. When you fight, you will use everything you can to win. The ground you are standing on; if it is dry, you can fling the dirt into your opponent’s eyes. If you see your opponent is slow to protect a certain part of his body, you attack there. If the sun is in your eyes, get around your opponent so he has the sun in his eyes. Is that understood Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good,” said Antonin. Seeing an eager pupil before him warmed his cold heart. “There are some who say that you must follow rules during a combat. But there is only one rule: If you don’t kill your opponent, your opponent will kill you.”

  Thomas nodded soberly. He understood that all too well.

  “You will do whatever is necessary to survive,” said Antonin, “and what I am about to show you will help you do that. We will begin with the correct way to hold the spear.”

  Antonin stepped forward and moved Thomas’ hands on the weapon, so his right hand was about a third of the way down the shaft of the spear from the blade, and his left hand a third of the way below his right hand.

  “This is what we call the turtle — the primary defensive posture. It is also how you hold the spear if you wish to attack with the haft. For example, if you want to capture your opponent by disarming him.” Antonin moved Thomas into a position where his feet were spread apart for balance with the spear parallel to the ground and level with his chest. From that point on, the day passed in a blur as Antonin walked Thomas through the basics of using the spear — how to hold it when defending, when attacking, even when traveling so you can make the best possible speed. Then came more defensive postures, and then more offensive postures.

  After practicing everything he had learned — Antonin believed that repetition made fighting instinctual rather than thoughtful — Thomas matched himself against the Spearmaster. He thought that he would never stand a chance against someone of Antonin’s size because of his shortcoming in that respect. But he didn’t give up hope, learning that if you were better trained than your opponent, if you worked harder, you could win.

  Thomas knew he had a long way to go before he would even come close to beating Antonin. The man’s spear was a blur. During the end of the session, when the sun was beginning to set, rather than actually seeing where Antonin’s spear was going, Thomas had to guess because it was moving so fast. He hoped this wasn’t the way it was always going to be. Thomas came away with a large bruise over one eye and sore ribs. He would have to talk to Rynlin about that. Thomas’ spear had passed right through Antonin when the tall spearman had first appeared in the glade. How was it possible that Antonin’s spear could be real now? Antonin had let Thomas attack for a while, turning away his thrusts and jabs with ease. But soon he grew bored and began his attack. It was all Thomas could do just to survive. Whenever Antonin slipped his spear through Thomas’ defenses, the spearman gave him a hard whack on the ribs. Each time he did, Antonin would say, “Remember that. Remember that.” Thomas knew that he would. It was a hard thing to forget.

  As the sun slowly sank behind the mountains to the west, Antonin again stood in front of Thomas, looking down at his pupil with cold, dead eyes. Yet, this time, Thomas thought he saw a small spark of life somewhere deep within those black depths.

  “You have done well for your first lesson,” said Antonin. Thomas smiled at the compliment. “But this is just the beginning Thomas Kestrel, Lord of the Highlands. I promise you that in the future I will not be as lenient as I was today.”

  Thomas gulped. If this was Antonin’s idea of an easy lesson, he was in for a lot more aches and bruises.

  “In my country, there is something that is said by those who have tested their abilities against each other. The saying ends the combat, whether for training or a more serious purpose.” Antonin stepped backwards.

  “You may leave the ring,” said Antonin, bowing his head slightly toward Thomas.

  “You may leave the ring,” repeated Thomas, bowing his head in return. With that, Antonin disappeared, going back to what had served as his home for more than a thousand years. He already longed to return for another lesson with Thomas. It was good to feel alive again.

  Turning toward the cottage, Thomas saw Rynlin sitting comfortably on a large root, leaning back against one of the heart trees and finishing what looked to have once been a juicy apple. It made Thomas’ stomach growl plaintively. The lesson had taken a lot out of him, and his desire for some food was now his main concern. When the Spearmaster disappeared, so did the spear.

  Rynlin jumped down from the root, tossing the apple core into the trees. “A good fight there at the end.” He handed Thomas his sword.

  “How did you do that?” asked Thomas as he walked with his grandfather through the Shadowwood. He hoped Rya had already started to make dinner. He was starving.

  “Do what?”

  “Where did Antonin come from, exactly?”

  “Well, Thomas,” he began, searching for the right words, “there are some people who say that when you die, when your body dies, there is nothing left. I don’t agree with that. Yes, when you die the body dies too, but you,” motioning to Thomas, and pointing to his chest, “what you are on the inside, what some would call the spirit, doesn’t die. It simply returns to nature, fr
om whence it came.”

  “So you brought back Antonin’s spirit?”

  “That’s the best way to describe it, I guess. If I tried to explain it to you exactly, we’d be here all night.”

  “Oh,” he said, taking a moment to think. “Is that something that I can do?”

  Rynlin looked down at his grandson, seeing the desire to learn, to know everything. Thomas had a craving for knowledge, whether it concerned history or the Talent or anything else, like learning to fight with a spear. He tried to be the best he could be in everything. That could be a dangerous thing, but as long as Thomas realized he wasn’t perfect, he’d be fine. Otherwise he might drive himself, and those around him, crazy. Rynlin could understand Thomas’ desire, though. He thought he knew the source of his intensity.

  “In time, yes, you will be able to do that. But pulling someone out of the spirit world is not something to be taken lightly. If you don’t do it correctly, you may free the spirit completely and be forced to take its place. You definitely don’t want to do that.”

  “I can see why,” said Thomas. “Antonin’s a good teacher. Who was he? I remember reading about Carthania a little bit in one of the history books Rya gave me. It was to the west and was one of the two empires that shared the continent long before the different kingdoms took shape.”

  “I’m glad to see that Rya and I aren’t wasting our efforts.”

  “Very funny, Rynlin. I try to ask a simple question, and I get a—”

  “All right, all right,” said Rynlin. “Enough.” Thomas smiled to himself. He had found that setting Rynlin off was a very easy thing to accomplish, and could actually be a lot of fun, as long as you didn’t push too far.

  “Antonin, First Spear of the Carthanians, was perhaps the greatest warrior of his time. He was also known as Antonin the Blade. I’m sure after today you can understand why. At that time, the two empires were battling one another for dominance.

  “From what I remember, serving as First Spear was very much like being a country’s champion,” he continued. “Battles between armies were commonplace, but smaller disputes that led to bloodshed as well were more so. So the two empires, rather than wasting their armies on petty differences, used champions to settle these disputes. That way, only one man would die, rather than thousands. All in all, it was rather civilized.”

  “How long was he the First Spear?” asked Thomas, caught up in Rynlin’s story.

  “For a quarter century,” said Rynlin in admiration. Thomas was impressed. Rynlin normally didn’t speak so highly of warriors. “I think he was only a few years older than you when he was named First Spear, having earned that distinction by besting the man who was First Spear before him. Anyway, from that point forward, he fought for Carthania.”

  “How many men did he defeat?”

  “Defeat isn’t the proper term, at least not in his eyes,” said Rynlin, the respect evident in his voice.

  “What do you mean?” asked Thomas, a little confused. It was now full dark, but Thomas didn’t have a problem walking though the forest. He easily avoided the roots that tried to trip him thanks to his sharp eyesight.

  “At that time, when champions met in the Ring, there could only be one result. It was called a kill. During those twenty-five years Antonin earned more than two thousand kills.”

  The magnitude of that number settled in the pit of Thomas’ stomach. Two thousand kills. Two thousand people killed. He wasn’t very hungry any more. How could anyone kill two thousand people? Thomas felt sick to his stomach. Rynlin saw how Thomas had processed what he had just told him. He was actually glad for the result. He didn’t want his grandson to enjoy killing. It was often necessary, but never to be done for sport.

  “Antonin had much the same reaction as you’re having right now when he thought about his life during his twenty-fifth year of service to the Carthanian Empire. Abruptly he resigned his title and left the Empire, taking ship toward the North Sea and up the coast. Some said he fled his past, others that he was a coward. But they were wrong. He became human again. At that time, the Empire was a very harsh place to live and was spartan in terms of its social arrangements. All the women, along with the men, were trained to fight. Babes were given knives in the crib in the place of rattles. Consequently, I would imagine that in a situation like that, you would lose some part of your humanity. I think Antonin found his again. No one saw him, at least in his homeland, ever again.”

  Thomas contemplated what Rynlin had just told him. He wondered what it would be like to live in a society like that, when there is nothing but fighting. It made life simpler in a way, and in another more complex. There has to be more to life than that in order to really live. Doesn’t there?

  “Why was he naked?”

  Rynlin chuckled. “I was waiting for that question. The spearmen of Carthania believed that the human body invoked a magical protection against death.”

  “Did it?”

  “No, it didn’t. Eventually they started to wear clothes like everyone else.”

  “Why did they do that? I would think that your opponent might be at a disadvantage.”

  “Yes, I guess he would be,” agreed Rynlin. “I imagine it was quite a startling sight to see thousands of naked men and women charging toward you.”

  “Then why did they change?”

  “I’m not really sure, Thomas. I guess they saw their friends dying, and fighting naked really didn’t give them any protection. They must have decided that if they were going to die, they might as well do it with their pants on.”

  Leave it to his grandfather to make a joke out of something like that.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  Useful Encounters

  “Thank you for meeting with me. I hope the arrangements that were made weren’t a bother.”

  “Not at all,” lied Norin Dinnegan, still irritated by the strict guidelines he had been forced to follow in order to gain this audience. He had left his home three days before, traveling on what had to be the foulest-smelling ship in all the kingdoms. Still, he was where he wanted to be.

  He looked around the plush room he had just entered. A thick carpet covered the floor and magnificent tapestries hung from the ceiling. Gold and silver keepsakes and statues shined brightly in the sunlight that streamed through the many portholes lining the cabin walls. Very impressive. Very impressive indeed. Such an open display of wealth normally did not have much of an effect on a man such as Norin Dinnegan, if in part because he was the richest man in all the Kingdoms. But it seemed to fit the High King’s personality perfectly. Norin had done quite a bit of research before meeting with Rodric Tessaril, learning the man’s strengths — and many weaknesses. Judging from the appearance of the room, his information was correct.

  Norin stretched out his long frame in the chair offered to him by Rodric, memorizing every line in the High King’s face. Vanity showed there. As did arrogance. Yet there was something else as well. Something darker, almost sinister. He would have to watch his step carefully with this one.

  When one of his agents had broached the possibility to the High King of working together to achieve their mutual goals, Norin had not expected such a quick response. Less than a week had gone by before he had received instructions to meet with Rodric aboard his flagship, the Throne, which was now anchored a few leagues from the eastern shore of Heartland Lake. Rodric had demanded the utmost secrecy, which Norin also preferred under the circumstances. It wasn’t often that a man in his position chose to follow a course of action that could lead to the loss of his life — and his fortune. Yet, it was the only way to gain what he truly wanted.

  “Your offer was intriguing,” began Rodric, pouring a cool glass of wine for himself and his guest. Although it was a fall day, the warm sun beat down on the ship. Without the breeze that wafted through the cabin, the chamber would have been stiflingly hot. “I had not considered that a man such as you would go to such lengths to achieve something like this.” He took a sip from the wine, then p
laced the glass on a table, instantly forgotten. Rodric stared at Dinnegan shrewdly, judging the man’s mettle and trying to determine the validity of his intentions. “Why risk so much for a thing such as this? Outside of Fal Carrach, you wield more power than he does?”

  Norin drank deeply from the wine. It was not a vintage that he would serve to even his lowest guest, but then again, he and the High King obviously had different tastes. “But that is the point, Rodric.” The High King’s brow tensed slightly, irritation flashing across his face at being addressed in such a familiar manner. He let it pass. There was too much at stake for him as well. “I do not have Fal Carrach, even though it is my home.”

  Rodric chuckled softly, amazed by the man’s greed. To have so much in the world, yet to want even more. Then again, he was much the same. “And if I agree to support you in this endeavor, when will those funds be made available?”

  “Immediately. The ship I took to meet you here contains a million gold pieces. It’s yours within the hour, with more to come as is required.” Norin watched the High King’s eyes light up at the mention of such a vast sum. He knew in that instant that his plan would work.

  “Then you have a deal, Dinnegan. I will have my chamberlain draw it up within the hour.”

  Norin frowned. “Are you sure that’s wise, Rodric. Having such an agreement in writing—”

  “Not to worry, Dinnegan. Not to worry. The agreement won’t see the light of day. It is simply for my sake, to ensure my peace of mind, if you wish. Without it, we have no deal.”

  Dinnegan considered quickly, despite his misgivings. “As you wish.”

  “Good,” said Rodric. “Very good.”

  “And how soon before the plan is set in motion?”

  “Soon, Dinnegan. It will be taken care of very soon.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE