by Callie Kanno
When Piton finally called for a break, Idris was breathing heavily. He was accustomed to physical exertion, but not to such intense concentration. There had been a number of close calls where he had almost lost his balance, but luckily he had not been banished to the sidelines with those who had fallen.
Hildar and Aherin came together naturally, separating themselves from the rest of the recruits. Idris hovered uncertainly between the two groups, not feeling like he belonged in either. He wanted to make friends with the other would-be soldiers, but their expressions when they looked at him were not very welcoming.
“I wish they would give us something more challenging to do,” Hildar complained, not bothering to keep her voice down. “Anyone with half a brain can keep on their feet.”
This earned her several hostile glances.
Aherin spoke more quietly, but his attitude was not much different. “They have to start at the beginning for the peasants who have never done such things before.”
Idris felt his face flush and he turned away from everyone.
At least if he was a regular recruit he would have others like himself who were starting from nothing. However, being trained as a Royal Guard set expectations on him that he felt he could never meet.
He stared at the ground and wished, yet again, that he was back home where he belonged.
Chapter Eleven: After the First
The morning gong sounded, and Idris opened his eyes feeling weary and discouraged. He had been training for a week now, but he didn’t feel like he was making any significant improvement.
He climbed out of bed and began to dress in his uniform.
The regular army trainees were given a half-day off once a week. They were expected to use the time to wash and mend their uniforms, bathe, and catch up on any training that they missed. For Idris and his fellow Royal Guard trainees, such personal tasks had to be fit in during the week. Demas had informed them that their half-day would be spent on training specifically as members of the Royal Guard.
Knowing that, Idris had stayed up late the previous evening to bathe and wash his uniform. He did not want to meet the captain covered in a week’s worth of sweat and dirt.
Demas stood waiting for them in the hall outside of their rooms, something he had not done since their first day of training. In fact, Idris had not seen Demas at all for the last week. Not even at meal times.
Demas gave Idris a warm, friendly smile. “Good morning, Idris. I hope you rested well.”
Idris was spared having to answer, since Aherin and Hildar arrived at that moment. Demas greeted each of them and then gestured for them to follow him. He led them to the meal hall and encouraged them to eat a hearty breakfast.
“You will need your strength,” Demas said with a grin.
Idris was prepared to move through the line without much thought to what he put on his plate, as he had every morning for the past week, but a soft voice stopped him.
“Master?”
It was the serving girl who was usually in charge of plates and utensils. She held out a bowl to Idris, which was filled with a generous helping of hot cereal.
Idris took the bowl, but he was so surprised he didn’t know what to say. He stood and stared at the girl, really looking at her for the first time.
She had long dark hair that she wore in a single braid down her back, and her brown eyes were fixed on the ground. Her skin was not the dark cinnamon tone of that of farmers, but it was not the light complexion of the gentry either. She had a narrow tattoo that ran along her brow, which made it look like she was wearing a circlet of braided vines.
“What is your name?” Idris asked her gently.
“Jui,” she replied, lowering her head even more.
“Thank you, Jui,” he said with sincerity.
She appeared to be startled by his tone, and their eyes met for a brief moment. Idris saw something familiar in Jui’s expression, and it made him feel less homesick.
Idris noticed that Demas was watching the exchange in apparent amusement, and he hurried to move down the table.
“Well,” Demas said lightly, “I wish I had known that we could order our meals. There are days when I have cravings…”
Idris interrupted him. “I did not ask for that.”
Demas seemed even more entertained by his discomfort. “And yet you did not refuse it.”
“Should I have?” Idris was suddenly worried that he had been in the wrong.
Demas’s face became thoughtful. “I do not think there is any harm in a bowl of hot cereal.”
“But?”
Demas smiled. “But, you need to be careful about accepting favors from others. When you are a member of the Royal Guard, there will be those who will try to place you in their debt. That can be a very dangerous position to be in.”
Idris felt troubled as he sat down to eat. His brow furrowed in thought as he wondered why the serving girl had gone to the trouble of making him hot cereal. However, as he ate he was reminded of his home and his family. The familiar taste made him think of the simple days of hard, honest work alongside his father and brothers. It made him recall the loving face of his mother, flushed from the warmth of the cooking fire.
Idris’s chest swelled with gratitude for Jui and her thoughtful gesture. Demas may think of it only as a bowl of hot cereal, but to Idris it was a reminder of why he wanted to work so hard. It was medicine for his lonely heart.
He was in good spirits as he followed Demas and the other Royal Guard trainees to the training yard. Demas led them to a secluded part of the yard, near enough to the western wall that Idris could hear the ocean in the distance.
Farah was there waiting for them, her arms folded across her chest and her eyes fixed on their approaching figures. Her pose gave Idris the distinct impression that she considered all of them late and that she was not pleased to be kept waiting. Idris found himself increasing his pace, and he was not the only one. Demas was the only one who continued with his steady tread.
“Good morning, Farah,” Demas said pleasantly. “I have brought your new students.”
“I can see that,” she replied shortly.
Farah studied each of them intently, and Idris felt beads of sweat forming on his brow under her scrutiny. He stood at attention and did his best not to fidget.
Her eyes were so dark they looked black, and they were set close together, which gave them a pointed look. Her short black hair stood up in spiked sections, and her prominent nose gave her a hawkish appearance. Idris would not have called her beautiful, but there was something attractive in the strength of her expression.
Strapped to Farah’s back was a large axe with an unusually shaped head. Idris was unable to get a good look at it until she turned her back to the waiting students and moved to another position in their training area.
The blade of the axe was plated in gold, and it had the shape of a rearing unicorn. The horn was a jeweled spike protruding out of the top, and the sharp hooves looked menacing. Idris wanted to study the details of the weapon, but Farah turned back to face them and the axe was again hidden from view.
“Your time for training is brief, so we must not waste it,” Farah said with clipped words. “The first and most important step to using a magical weapon is to develop a bond. Your weapon is your partner, and you cannot reach your potential unless you work together.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Idris saw Demas nod in agreement.
Farah squared her shoulders and frowned at the new recruits. “You have had your weapons for several days now. You should be accustomed to speaking with your weapon and should have begun developing a relationship with it.”
Both Hildar and Aherin answered in the affirmative, and Farah gave a curt nod.
“Aherin, report on your progress,” she commanded.
Aherin cleared his throat softly and then spoke with simple confidence. “Liuz seems to be a very amiable weapon. He is eager to begin and assures me that he has much to teach me.”
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Farah raised her eyebrows. “That is good, but you must remember that you are the master of your weapon. It is important to establish your roles from the beginning. Otherwise there could be trouble later. There have been magical items that have consumed their user because they became too powerful and gained too much control.”
Aherin shifted his weight, looking slightly nervous. “Yes, Farah. I will establish boundaries.”
“Good,” she replied. “Hildar?”
Hildar’s brow was furrowed as she spoke. “Savion is rather…stubborn. He speaks to me as though I were a child and is insistent that he knows better than I do.”
Farah didn’t seem surprised. “Savion has a difficult history. He is accustomed to masters who have forced him to bend to their will. You must show him a different way of working together. Otherwise your fate will be the same as those who have gone before you.”
“How?” demanded Hildar.
“You must be gentle and gain his respect,” Farah explained. “He must want to work with you.”
Hildar scowled at the ground. “He does not seem very willing at the moment.”
Idris saw a ghost of a smile on Farah’s lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it was born. “Things are always most difficult at the beginning.”
Idris felt his heart sink into his stomach as Farah turned to face him.
“Idris?”
His throat was so dry he could barely speak at first.
“Yes, Farah?”
“How are things going with Iona?” she asked with a touch of impatience.
Idris felt his cheeks turn hot as he answered. “I, uh… I think she is ignoring me.”
The silence that followed made Idris want to be anywhere else in the world but in that training yard.
“She is ignoring you?” asked Demas in surprise.
Idris stared at his hands, which were clasped in front of him. “She does not speak at all, even if I try to talk to her.”
“When did she last speak to you?” inquired Farah.
“When she told me her name.”
“And before that?” prompted the instructor.
“Just in the Treasury,” Idris answered miserably.
Farah fell silent again for several moments. It seemed like an eternity to Idris.
“You mean to tell me that you have not spoken to your weapon at all since she became yours?”
The young man felt the need to defend himself. “I have tried, but she just…”
“Ignores you,” finished Farah.
He nodded.
Farah came to stand in front of Idris and her voice became softer. “Idris, your role in the future of your weapon is vital. Do you know why?”
He slowly shook his head.
“Because you are her second master,” she explained. “Iona has known only one master, and her loyalty was absolute. I know this because of the extraordinary things they accomplished together. Iona still feels that loyalty and therefore will have trouble accepting a new master.”
Idris had not considered that before. He felt a sudden surge of pity for the magical partisan who had only recently discovered that her only master, Marlais Dragonspear, was long dead.
Farah went on. “You, as her second master, are vital to her future because you must teach her to transfer her loyalty. If she develops a good relationship with you, she will be more willing to accept her future masters. If she cannot let go of her first master and accept you, she will become a dormant magical item and never be used again.”
Idris stared at his instructor. “You mean that her entire future rests on whether I can get her to like me?”
Farah’s smile was without humor. “Essentially, yes.”
A dozen different protests ran through Idris’s mind, but the steely glint in his instructor’s eyes told him they would do no good.
“I will do my best,” he said without any real confidence.
Farah’s head jerked in a single nod. “Good. Go back to your quarters and begin immediately. What I have to teach will be of no use until you and your weapon have agreed to work together.”
Idris could hardly believe what he was hearing. “You are sending me away?”
“Yes.”
Farah turned her back on him and began speaking to Aherin and Hildar as if Idris no longer existed. Idris had never felt so humiliated. He turned to walk back the way that they had come.
Part of him wanted to unbuckle his weapon holder and hurl Iona away. It was clear that she wanted nothing to do with him, so why should he force the association? He wasn’t even sure that he wanted to be a Royal Guard anymore.
His father’s words came back to his mind.
Surely his father wouldn’t refuse to let him come home again if Idris was unable to train as a Royal Guard. After all, it wasn’t Idris’s fault that his weapon was ignoring him.
But even as he tried to rationalize going home, he knew it would be his fault if he gave up without trying.
Idris sighed and kicked a pebble that sat in his path. It skittered forward and came to a halt. Idris kicked it again.
“I did not ask for any of this,” he said resentfully.
He wasn’t sure if he was addressing the partisan on his back or talking to himself. The continued silence made him feel like it didn’t matter either way.
Idris passed through the doors of the administrative building and walked down the stairs that led to the living quarters of the Royal Guards. He pushed open the magical door, which gave way without any resistance. His eyes lingered on each of the creatures imprinted on the doors as he walked past.
He thought about the stories of the age when such creatures actually existed—before they all died out. Idris had loved hearing the stories that his parents told him as a child, and the ones that involved Marlais Dragonspear had been among his favorites.
If he had known as a child that he would be given the opportunity to hold the legendary weapon of Marlais, he would have been speechless with excitement. However, now that he found himself in that very situation, he wished he was back on his father’s farm with a pair of pigs or a cow that he could call his own.
Idris arrived at the door that bore the image of a dragon on it. He let his eyes trace over the image as he thought about the past several weeks.
His thoughts lingered on his family, as they often did. He knew deep down that he could not return to them knowing that he had not tried his hardest to succeed. He had made his decision to come and train with the Royal Guard. He couldn’t let his discouragement change his mind.
Taking a slow breath, Idris pushed on the door that led to his quarters and walked through.
Chapter Twelve: Iona
Idris unbuckled his weapon holder and sat down on the edge of his bed. He held the exquisite partisan in his hands and stared at it for several moments.
He didn’t know what he should say to her. His friendly comments in the past week had been so pointedly ignored that it seemed useless to try again. When he did speak, it was more to himself than to the weapon he held.
“My mother and father used to tell me stories when I was young. They would tell me of the great heroes of the past and of the age when magical creatures still walked the earth. They were such good storytellers. I could close my eyes and see the adventures as they unfolded.”
Idris smiled at the memories.
“The stories of Marlais Dragonspear were my favorite. He was our hero, you see? He was the hero of Calaris. He helped King Lyndham to found this kingdom, and he kept it safe as long as he lived.”
Idris felt a slight change. He could not describe it, even to himself, but it was as if he could feel Iona listening to him. Not the begrudging listening of one who cannot help but hear, but rather the listening of one who is interested in what is being said.
“My father said that Marlais was a giant among men—a full head taller than any other man of that time. He had hair as black as midnight, but eyes as blue as the sky. His body bore the scars of a t
housand battles, and his face was so fierce that he was no longer able to smile.”
He stopped and listened intently, staring at the glittering partisan in his hands. He could have sworn that Iona had snorted softly at this description. Idris continued talking, hoping to get more of a reaction.
“I grew up in Rest Stone Valley. My mother told me that it was the site of the great battle between Marlais Dragonspear and the bloodthirsty giant Drid. The valley used to be a great mountain, and Drid had taken refuge there after destroying the village where Marlais had lived as a boy. With all of his family murdered, Marlais grew wild with fury and swore vengeance on Drid.”
This time the snort from Iona was unmistakable.
Idris smiled and kept going. “Marlais rode up to the base of the mountain and shouted for Drid to face him, but the giant would not meet him in a fair fight. Instead, he waited for Marlais to climb up to the mouth of the cave, where the cowardly giant had laid a trap.”
Idris went on to describe the fight in great detail, as his parents always had when they had told the story to their children. Many improbable things were said to have happened during that fight, which ended with the mountain crushed and flattened in the middle—a valley surrounded by smaller mountains.
Really, this is too ridiculous. How did such stories become so exaggerated? Iona demanded.
Idris couldn’t keep from smiling. “I love that story.”
That is because you are a simple-minded fool who does not appreciate the elegance of real battle. The details must become gaping lies for you to be entertained.
Idris was so happy that Iona was finally talking to him that he didn’t even take offence at her insults.
Dryth was merely an ordinary giant, without the necessary strength to flatten a mountain. Marlais did fight him, but not alone and certainly not out of vengeance.
“Who fought with him?” Idris asked eagerly.
He was one of five companions who were given the duty of protecting this land from those who would wish to harm the innocent. They all bore magical weapons forged from the same source.
