Squire of War

by M. H. Johnson

  “Imagine it, shieldsister. Just as the artifacts adventurers have successfully brought back over time suggest, who is to say that the magical manifestation of that event; the memory of it that those Delvers experienced in the Realm of Dreams, is any less real than the actual event, long since past? This path of magic just might be the key to unlocking these lost realms of Regio!”

  Malek’s expression was one of exhilaration as he shared the wonder of his discovery with her, and Jess hugged her friend fiercely, buoyed by his enthusiasm and vicariously relishing his excitement.

  “That is a fantastic idea, Malek. I love it!” Jess declared. “You might be on the path to discovering a new branch of magic. Truly, if you could one day discover arts sufficient to create gates to lost realms of Regio, you’d become a legend in arcane circles.” Jess sighed happily for her friend.

  Malek shrugged. “I know I’ll never be Alex’s equal in terms of mastering the elements, but I feel like I might just have some talent for phantasms. And perhaps the bridge between phantasms and Regio is not as great as some might think.”

  Jess grinned. "Mayhap you're right, Malek. Even if you're not the strongest elementalist to be found, your knacks might be perfect for a Delver's life."

  Malek winked. "There's an interesting thought. Now if only my lover felt the same." He shook his head. “For all his airs, my dear Jacob is a bit of a brooder. He fears the danger, should we actually manage to find a path into the Realm of Dreams, and now tells me he regrets even bringing it up. Honestly, if he and his father were not constantly at odds, I know he’d be all too happy to return to his family's apartments in the capital and live a life of casual indulgence while pretending to manage the income streams generated from his family's various properties, which pretty much look after themselves, really.”

  Jess nodded solemnly. “You and Jacob share a powerful bond, but the cry for adventure and true freedom sings stronger in your veins than it does his own. Maybe it’s a remnant of serving General Eloquin for so long this endless summer, embracing the High Hunt, savoring magics none of us really understand. If we can’t fight by our master’s side, all we have left is the bittersweet joy of utter freedom. And a Delver’s life is nothing but freedom. For those who are able to experience echoes of the world’s most glorious past not only get to live lives of wonder and adventure, they get to live it fully on their own terms, beholden to no one.”

  Malek smiled. “For all that you alone see strands of magic, Jess, most of us sense that something has changed, those of us willing to blacken our daggers, at least.”

  Jess shivered and nodded. “I’m certain you’re right, Malek. Though I can’t put my finger on exactly what is different about us. Only that we are more than what we once were.”

  “And soon we will both be Squires no longer,” Malek said. “For I will cast off my uniform and walk beside you, the moment they dare to boot you from this school.”

  Jess shook her head, as if to deny the silly claim, but couldn’t hide the tears from her eyes.

  Malek chuckled. “So sensitive is my sister-in-arms. Come, sister. Three tomes here to choose from.” Malek smiled and splayed his hand. “Three tomes, my dear Jess. None have I read before. All are filled with bardic accounts of previous expeditions into those overlapping layers of Regio, portals leading to realms of living dream. Let’s savor the tales before us, and see if we can find anything interesting.”

  Jess nodded and began her reading. Despite her natural disinclination to read anything save military treatises, she found the accounts recorded by scribes and various bards fascinating. Mystical castles sailing on clouds of ether, mysterious realms of floating doors and staircases that defied all laws of gravity, ancient lost cities filled with the voices of people going about their daily lives, yet utterly devoid of even a single soul. And sure to please even the most avaricious of readers, tales of lost crystals brimming with forgotten power beside tomes of ancient lore found in eldritch libraries long lost to the flow of time.

  Jess read tales of brave Delvers slipping into massive chambers full of eerie looking tubes and copper wiring, stealthily grabbing mystic tomes covered with glowing runes but feet away from hideous abominations reeking of death and whispering awful incantations as unseen souls screamed in the darkness. Moments later the Delver would breathe a great sigh of relief upon successfully sneaking back out of that ancient tower, only to look back and see nothing but broken tables and dusty ruins, for all that the arcane prize held in trembling hands appeared as pristine and new as if it had been written that very day.

  Jess sighed and rubbed her eyes, gazing Malek’s way. “It seems that the wonders to be found in these strange places is matched only by the terrible peril to be faced. Some of these realms appear to actually have sentience, or to be controlled by someone who does.”

  Malek nodded. "And some of the stories really do read like a faerie tale. Such wondrous adventures await the hero who is bold enough to embrace living dream."

  He then passed to her the tome he had focused so much time on, bookmark highlighting the chapter that had caught his interest. It spoke of an adventurer named Maximillion. A raider in his youth, he had accepted near any challenge, and one old seer had dared him and his companions to enter an old keep on the crest of the great hill, this virgin land upon which no settlements had ever been discovered save their own, and spend the entirety of a night within its ancient halls.

  Without a moment's hesitation Maximillion accepted the dare, he and his companions making their way to that ancient fortification soon after. For Max, he could see it standing proud in all its majesty in the moonlight, yet his companions saw nothing but a bare rocky hilltop overlooking the gently rolling sea. Gamely though, all proceeded up the hill, and Max wondered at who claimed the keep, keeping it in such excellent repair, expecting a fine feast to his warm greetings. His friends, however, hung back. For all they could see was the barest of ruins. Burned great logs and shattered stone where once a great structure had stood.

  Before long, his friends cried out in panic, saying he was turning to shadow. Yet to Max, it appeared that his friends had left him. Unafraid and never one to be called coward, he boldly knocked on the great gate before him and had been given admittance by a steward dressed in flowing white robes, with the head of a great hawk. Oddly, Max had not thought this strange at the time. He merely presented himself as a guest and hoped to earn the right to sup with the masters of the hold, showing his own silver totem animal as he did so, his totem being none other than the hawk itself.

  The creature nodded approvingly and bade Max enter where he was made welcome. While there, he did indeed feast in a great dining hall filled with roasting meats of all sorts of animals of the hoof, though none of the wing. He was tended to by pigeons scurrying to and fro even as they served the great family of hawks who were the obvious lords of the manor.

  Once he was made comfortable, his hosts confessed that they had long been bound to the keep; that to their eyes, the world beyond was nothing but an endless forest with but a single hill upon which their great fortress rested. And how did Maximillion make his way to the keep at all, his hosts politely queried. Max confided that he had come on a dare, having stayed the night before at a settlement only recently established by his people as they strove to spearhead the taming of this new land. He said it was great fortune to have met them, they who so closely resembled the totem guardian of his people.

  The hawks plied him with tasty venison, boar meat, and much mead, and bade him speak of his adventures, which he did in no small detail. All present nodded approvingly at his stories of conquest, the largest of their number declaring it just and right that Maximillion use his greater skills to slay the weak and force his dominion upon the lesser, for he was aligned to the birds of prey, and were they not of higher station in life than the birds that foraged upon the ground, or animals that had no wings at all?

  They then asked him to name a boon and they would grant it, so long as it
was not so great that he offended them and they strike him down, roasting him on the spit beside the pigs, or so trivial as to earn their ire, in which case they would strike him down and strip his flesh from his bones.

  Maximillion had chuckled, raising his mead in approval of the challenge before him. “For you have already given me the greatest gift a warrior of the hawk clan could ask for. The chance to share the meat of the kill with those of the wing, even as we shared stories of life’s battles and triumphs. All I could ask for is the gift of remembrance, so our tales this evening do not disappear like the remnants of a ghostly dream, so I can always pull out and savor the memory of this, the greatest feast of my life with you all, the best companions a man could ever wish to feast beside!”

  The hawks cried their approval of this request, and Maximillion awoke the next morning amongst the ruins of the keep, his companions shouting in alarm at his sudden appearance, and unlike almost all other tall tales of adventure within strange realms he had survived, his memories of that feast did not fade like figments of a dream.

  Yet with this journey, not only did Maximillion remember his adventure as clearly the brightest memories sparkling in his mind, much as he had hoped, he found that he had been granted other blessings as well. The hidden meanings of birdsong were revealed in full to him. He found himself gifted with the ability to seek the counsel of any bird of prey, and to command obedience from any bird of berry or grain.

  Reading further, Jess found that Max had gone on to have many other interesting adventures, to have amassed a great fortune, and had apparently been adventuring, hale and hearty, two centuries after his life altering feast with the noble clan of hawks, should the stories be believed.

  Jess whistled appreciatively. “Imagine it, Malek. Blessed with the ability to converse with and control the beasts of air, and perhaps even discover the secret of eternal youth! Those are prizes worthy of great risk, and a wonderful tale to have told in one’s honor.”

  Malek nodded. “From his carefully worded request and the author’s note on Maximillion’s band of followers serving as his de facto bards, it appears that Delving and the necessity of hurriedly transcribing or memorizing the adventurer's exploits before they all faded from memory had been known of, even then. You noted, of course, that his adventures do go on, and he appears forever a man in the prime of his life, for all that the tomes in his honor contain a record of some two centuries worth of Delving, at which point all collected stories regarding him abruptly disappear.”

  Jess nodded. “Even the bravest and most skilled of adventures must accept that he who lives by the blade must eventually fall to the blade in turn, especially over a span of centuries.”

  Malek shrugged. “Perhaps he retired and finally succumbed to old age. Perhaps he died eventually in one of the Shadowrealms he discovered. Perhaps he is alive and with us to this day. There is no way for us to know. But if you’ll read other accounts, you’ll see other talents and power manifesting themselves among the lucky few. And you’ll note as well, all of these adventurers appear to be in the prime of their lives, even when the tales are apparently about the same people told over a span of decades or longer. The obvious conclusion, though we have so little to base it on, is that adventuring, if one survives it, resonates in such a fashion as to recharge one’s life clock, so one does not fall prey to old age and decrepitude. At least not during the years one actively Delves.”

  Jess quirked a smile. “Life clock?”

  Malek shrugged. “Sands of time. The mortal coil. Whatever analogy you prefer. The point is, adventurers do not seem to age and die at the rate most of us do. Perhaps, Jess, there is something to all these tales.” He pinned her with his gentle gaze. "And let's be honest, Jess, we could well have been dipping our toes in such magical waters all summer long. However long that has been. The truth is, we just don't know."

  Jess swallowed and dipped her head. “You could well be right, Malek. So, the only question that remains to my mind is whether or not we have what it takes to become adventurers. Not just sink our feet in the warm shores of summer, but truly immerse ourselves in all the terror and wonder that is living dream. What do you think, shieldbrother?”

  Malek chuckled. “I certainly hope so, Jess. I was praying you'd share my enthusiasm, for there’s no one else I’d rather have at my side than you.”

  “Thank you," Jess said, touched by her shieldbrother's words.

  Malek grinned. “After all, you are the only member of the circle as skilled as I with the longsword. You can hold trouble off while I make a quick exit.”

  “You’re terrible!” Jess smiled. “So, I take it we are both of similar mind?”

  Malek gazed intently at Jess. “Tomorrow, while everyone else is enjoying a break from class, we will go down to see Rens, and see if he has any interest in a couple of prospective adventurers joining his ritual.”

  Jess nodded, feeling better than she had in days. “I know the odds are that we will see nothing, but if that tower does manifest, we will stand ready.”

  Malek clinked his mead filled mug with her own. “To adventure, sister,” he said softly, kissing Jess’s cheek before departing, shutting the door softly behind him.

  34

  A gentle rap on her door and Jess jolted awake, relieved to sense that only Malek waited beyond her door, happily grabbing the meat pastries and jug of fresh spring water he had brought, wolfing down her fare and donning her robe in the time it took Malek to make himself comfortable. “Someone’s in a good mood today,” Malek teased.

  Jess winked. “The taste of freedom, brother. It’s nice to have a day without classes where dozens are heckling me, the teacher’s every comment making it clear how deeply I’ve already failed them. Maybe they won’t hate me on sight in the wizard’s wing, and if they do? I can always come back. Besides, you know I enjoy my free days more than most.”

  Malek laughed. “Not to mention the fact that this mad little gambit might just provide us with a path to worlds of wonder and unfathomable wealth.”

  “Or a hideous death, with no memory even of our passing. Come, Malek. You’re far more a wizard that I will ever be, so you get to lead the way.”

  Malek chuckled, leading her down byzantine corridors Jess was only passingly familiar with, and for all that Jess received more than a few hostile glares and mocking smiles, her shieldbrother’s clenched fist and hard stride right into whoever dared to mock her kept the derision to a bare minimum. Cheerful mood of moments before chilled by the cold disdain, Jess felt her footsteps slow before turning down an impressive main hall Jess had, in her heart of hearts, always been too shamed to enter.

  She bowed her head and sighed, Malek’s discerning eyes seeming to read her perfectly. “Ah, Jess. If only you saw what was right in front of you even half so well as you can see strands of magic, as invisible to most of us as common sense is to you.”

  Jess flashed a bitter smile. “And the one time I confessed that knack I was laughed at, and all but called a deluded fool by the professor. And when it turned out I couldn’t cast even the slightest cantrip, bemusement turned to outright derision. I couldn’t bear that professor’s class a moment longer, so I left.”

  Malek sighed, giving her shoulder’s a squeeze. “That professor was a right bastard, sure enough, and a fair number of those mocking jackals have already left Highrock, not having what it takes to become any wizard of significance.”

  Jess shrugged, making peace as best she could with memories that still haunted her from time to time. Only when she had been chosen as one of Eloquin’s band, had she finally come into her own.

  And she had managed to lose even that.

  She furiously wiped eyes hot with tears, bracing herself for the jeering this would normally inspire, blinking in surprise when it didn’t come.

  She turned to her shieldbrother. “Malek? I… this is strange.”

  “What’s that, Jess?”

  Jess turned her gaze to a pair of students passing by
, blinking in surprise before giving Jess the smallest of nods.

  “Well, it’s strange. No one is mocking me. They aren’t being overly warm, but by the gods, just the courtesy of a friendly nod is heaven sent, after enduring this week.”

  Malek flashed an enigmatic smile. “That’s because this wing isn’t comprised of fools, Jess.” His intent gaze made her blush. “No matter that Eloquin no doubt swore them to silence, the fact remains that we risked our necks saving a dozen of their own from the most hideous of deaths, and now you are paying a bitter price for your virtue. Even the most preoccupied of their number has to know that there is far more to the story than your robe of penitence.”

  Malek sighed. “Certainly, your impulsive charge was a fool’s gambit, and I a willing fool, charging right beside you. It’s like Neal said. Whatever your flaws as a commander, you make a damn fine hero.”

  Jess blinked. “He really said that?”

  Malek grinned. “He did indeed, the most ruthless among us, and loud enough for Eloquin to hear.”

  Jess whistled at that.

  Malek patted her shoulder. “And Eloquin just smiled, not saying a word one way or another. I think in his own way he’s trying to redeem you. Not break you.”

  Jess flushed, oddly touched. “So, this is what you lads do all day in the Wizards Wing, hmm?" Jess quipped as a young boy ran shrieking down the hallway, several of his peers following him with hoots and jeers. Not such a rare sight, for better or worse, save that the lad being chased was a deep shade of blue, with the tail and ears of a jackass. "I do hope that’s not permanent."

  Malek laughed. “Hardly. The college does take in a number of younger lads who’ve shown a strong flare, specifying their training strictly to scholarly arts, not martial. Angels above, they’d get butchered in the training rings! But yes, leave a dozen precocious children open access to laboratories full of potentiated alchemical ingredients and poorly understood spell tomes and, well, interesting things tend to happen.”