First Quest: The Mentalists series Book One

by E. Molloy

  The announcer leaned down and spoke quietly to him, "I am sure we all appreciate your bravery, kid, but you're just going to get yourself killed."

  On the other side of him, the man in black roared out a laugh, and a few people in the crowd did the same.

  "The stable boy? I would sooner fight a stallion than the boy who cleans its shit!" The laughter in the crowd rose, despite the gravity of the situation. "He doesn't even have a weapon!" the man taunted, soliciting more response from the crowd.

  Daveth looked at the knight who had most recently fallen, his sword and shield still hanging from each hand as he lay in the sand lifelessly. The young man stifled a gag at the close-up sight of the corpse as he rushed to its side, grabbing for the shield. When he went to lift it, it was almost too much for him, and he had to use both hands to get it in front of him. The fighter had been a whole foot taller than the young man who now sought to avenge him, and the shield looked gigantic against the thin body of the stable-boy. The crowd, of course, only laughed more at this, but Daveth's gaze went next to the sword. He wouldn't be able to have both, and he couldn't very well win a fight with just a shield. He dropped the shield, immune to the laughter of the crowd, and raised the long sword. It took both of his hands to raise it steadily and he turned to face the announcer and the man he intended to defeat in the knights' honor.

  The announcer was already looking up to the judges, and the crowd taunted Daveth from the stands. "Did you ask your mommy first?" "Get back in your pen, pony, before you poke your own eye out." Daveth ignored the crowd, turning his eyes to the judges as they discussed. One of them stood, and shouted out over the field, "If the boy is that eager to die, let him fight. Try not to kill him too fast, though. We would all like one good show before the night's end." The crowd laughed, and just like that Daveth had turned what should have been an intense death-battle into some kind of comedy show for them. They saw him as a jester, but Daveth was deadly serious. The Knights couldn't lose their title. He seemed to be the only one who remembered that in this moment. They had sacrificed everything for their Order, and for the protection of this world and maintaining peace, but nobody seemed to care about that, now. Even more so, though, he had come to realize that he was the only one who had seen the dark figure in its cheating. If anyone else had come into the sands to fight, they would have been taken down just as quickly. Somehow, he was sure that he could notice the figure, kill it, and then somehow try to kill the other man.

  Not entirely disillusioned, Daveth realized this was likely going to be where he died. He was aware that the odds were against him, but it wouldn’t be justice if he just sat in the stable and let things take their course. Chance or no, though, he could not just stand back and let these cheaters be the new protectors of peace in the world. He held the sword in front of him, waiting for his opponent to approach.

  The man shook his head, "Last chance to chicken out and go back to your coop, little bird." Daveth didn't respond as he stared into the man's helmet with icy resolve. The young man awkwardly held the long sword in both of his hands, blade pointing up in the air. He had no idea what he was going to do with it, but his uncertainty didn't show at all in his expression.

  "Suit yourself," the man replied, grabbing up his own long sword in one hand. He left the shield on the ground as an insult as he calmly walked toward the stable-boy. He swung down with the sword at Daveth, who blocked with all of his might the gentle swing. Metal clashed in sparks, and he fell to a knee from the weight of the attack. This was going to be much harder than he had expected. He quickly scrambled back to his feet, backing up a few steps and dragging the sword in the sand with him.

  A woman's voice rang in his head, so subtle that, had it not been female, he may have mistaken it for his own thoughts. Without realizing it, he was saying out loud the words that he had heard whispered to him only moments ago. "How does it feel to know you're going to lose to a stable-boy?" he asked with more confidence than he could have even faked at that point.

  The man laughed in response. "You really think you'll win this?"

  Of his own accord, Daveth replied, "I know something that you don't."

  The man swung at him again, and Daveth just barely lifted the sword in time to deflect the blow. It immediately slammed into the sand again as he continued to back up.

  "Oh?" the man asked calmly, though the irritation was evident in his voice. "Enlighten me, then, oh wise and mighty horse-groomer. What wisdom of the ages will save you today?"

  Daveth dropped the sword, quickly falling to his knees to pick it back up again as his hands fumbled nervously in the sand for the hilt. He stood as his opponent chuckled, and again the voice rang in his head and the words spilled out of his mouth against his will. "There's someone behind you."

  The man scoffed. "Do you really think I'm that-"

  Daveth raised his sword with both hands as quickly as he could manage, pointing it at the man's mid-section. Just as he did, the dark fighter's body lurched forward suddenly as if shoved. He fell onto the sword as Daveth watched in confusion, and the laughter of the crowd turned to gasps. Daveth dropped the sword, stepping back a few paces as he watched his opponent crumple to the ground. In his place stood the dark figure, which Daveth could see now was far smaller than he. Up close, he could see full lips just beneath the top of the cowl that hid the person's face, and it lifted a finger to them again, as if to shush him, before disappearing.

  The announcer rode in, "Victor! Champion of the White Knights, Sir..." He looked down to the young man who was still in shock. "Name, boy, what's your name?" the man snapped hurriedly.

  "Huh? Oh. Daveth. D-Daveth Dwight."

  "Seriously?" the man asked in disbelief, and Daveth simply nodded. The man grabbed the young man's hand and lifted it in the air triumphantly, "Sir Daveth Dwight!"

  The crowd finally cheered his name, and Daveth was so lost in the excitement that he had almost forgotten all of the questions in his head only moments before.

  After what would appear to onlookers as an incredibly lucky win in the arena, Daveth was taken out the gate that the combatants entered the arena from. He was greeted there by scowls and downward glances, raised eyebrows and quiet snickers, but none of this spoiled his spirits. The squire that led him, dressed in white, rambled excitedly about how lucky he was to have fought in the arena at such a young age. "How old are you, anyway?" the boy asked him.

  "23," Daveth replied, star struck with a grin on his face as he waved excitedly to each of the angry faces he passed.

  "Wow," the squire replied, "Same age as me. Maybe I'll be able to-"

  The rest of what he said was lost to Daveth as he found himself suddenly surrounded by men in white armor. His smile faded, replaced with a slack-jawed expression of awe.

  "Daveth Dwight," said one of the many men dressed in the armor of the White Knights. He approached the boy, removing his helmet as he did and holding it at his side. The man was older, probably in his fifties, and it was evidenced in the aged wrinkles of his forehead and the grey strands in his otherwise light-brown hair. He wore his hair combed to the side, with sideburns that reached down to circle his face as they touched the top of his beard. "You have done us a great service today, and a great service for the peace of the world. I would like to offer to train you, so that-"

  "Yes!" Daveth interrupted abruptly. "I mean...I'm sorry...I'm sorry, go on. You were saying."

  The man grinned and cleared his throat. "As I was saying, while I'm sure the work of a stable boy is, in its own way, very rewarding-"

  Daveth shook his head adamantly, but managed to keep his mouth shut this time.

  "-I would like to train you in combat. It will not be an easy life, but you will learn to hone your skills, and, if you succeed, may even be allowed to enter into our ranks. What say you?"

  "Yes," he blurted out again, just barely letting the man finish his sentence this time. "I mean...Yes sir."

  "Wot'r ya brutes daft or somefin?" Daveth's boss
came pushing past the warriors, smaller than all of them with twice as much rage. He walked up to the young man and slapped him on the side of the head. "Boy's useless, won it offa luck ‘n nuffin else. Stupid," he chided, slapping the boy with each hurtful word, "Ugly, Slower 'n a mule." He turned to face the man who had been speaking with Daveth. "Y'dumb too er somefin, y'don't see it?"

  The man placed a hand on the shoulder of the old man and smiled, "But he is braver than any man in the stands today. Maybe the world could use more fools like him." He looked to Daveth, and a devious grin that was admittedly off-putting came across his mustached lips. "Or maybe he's more clever than you realize."

  His boss turned to him with an ugly, mostly-toothless scowl. "Y'quit this work boy 'n ain't no job fer ya when ya lose yer legs t'a dragon er git her eyes popped out by trolls," he threatened.

  Daveth nodded. "That's a risk I'm willing to take."

  With a huff, the man retreated, and the armored fellow laughed a little, reaching a hand out to shake Daveth's. "I am Sir Henry, pleased to have you aboard." Daveth took the man's hand to shake, and held his breath as his hand was nearly crushed by the grip. "Leroy, inform the recruit of all that he needs to know. We leave in one hour, so make sure your other duties are attended to before then." The squire nodded anxiously as Henry left. The Knights followed him out, each taking a disapproving glance at the ex-stable-boy before departing.

  Leroy the squire led Daveth out of the Arena building through a pair of large wooden doors, away from the noise and smell of blood and horses. He spoke the whole way. "You'll have three days to gather your things and make travel to the Order's location in Navarr. You really won't need much, honestly. Training will begin as soon as your feet hit the ground. Do you have a steed?"

  Daveth shook his head. “Everything I own is here right now, actually.”

  "Everything? Really? Why?"

  Only the slightest bit embarrassed at his living situation, Daveth shrugged off the question with a vague answer. “There’s no point in having things if you have no home to put them in. I go where the work is.”

  "Oh, good. Well, not good. But, good that you don't have anywhere to go back to. Keep moving forward, right?"

  Daveth chuckled. "Yeah. Forward," he muttered, still in shock. Something felt wrong about all this, now that his mind was less clouded by shining metal suits and the thrill of combat. Oddly enough, as soon as he had removed himself from the building and their presence, it became obvious that this was, for lack of better term, too convenient. Still, that would not be enough to convince him to pass up the chance of a lifetime, but the feeling was one he couldn’t shake.

  "It'll be great,” Leroy said excitedly, though despite Daveth’s concerns he found nothing disingenuous about the boy’s behavior. “Well, then if you have no way to get there on your own, you can travel with me if you’d like. I accompany the Knights on their travels, so you won’t have to worry about safety on the trip. While we’re traveling, you can tell me how you managed to beat that guy, right?"

  "Sure," Daveth replied, forcing a smile to the excited squire. "Thanks for everything, Leroy," he said. While he wanted to be more grateful, since it was a generous offer, he didn’t look forward to having to tell the story. In fact, he wasn’t exactly sure what to tell. He couldn’t be forward about what he had seen, and how he knew he had won. Nobody would believe him and, even if they did, that could put his position with the Knights at risk.

  The young squire nodded to him and waved, going back inside to finish his tasks before they had to leave. Just before the door closed behind him, Daveth could hear the young man say to himself, "He knows my name."

  Chuckling to himself as he was enjoying the attention for a change, Daveth looked up to the night sky. Self-doubt crept in for but a moment as he finally let the truth of his situation sink in. He had won a fight, unintentionally and by nefarious means. Even though it wasn’t his choice for it to be that way, he had still cheated. A man had lost his life to a weapon that Daveth held, and yet somehow all of that was dwarfed by his excitement over this new opportunity. He had never killed a man before, yet he found himself easily pinning the guilt of that on the shadowy woman instead of himself.

  Daveth had always seen himself as righteous, though his lifestyle and line of work had never really given him much opportunity to show it. Was it truly righteous to take a position of glory off of false-pretenses? Furthermore, was it fair to anyone for him to join the Knights, when he knew too well that someone had sabotaged the most important battles of the age? Though everything had turned out well in the end, that did not erase the fact that he had seen with his own eyes a dark hand reaching out to snuff the Knights from their seat of power, and for some reason coming back to help Daveth reclaim their title for them. What kind of man was he to selfishly remain quiet about that fact solely so that he could live out his fantasy of fighting alongside his heroes? He was, of course, a desperate man. Though that wasn’t a valid excuse for his selfishness, Daveth assured himself that with this new change would come the opportunity to atone for this one sin.

  Chapter 3

  Daveth decided, as he pondered, that he would tell Henry about Arena sabotage when the time was right. Once he had asserted himself and become a valuable asset, he would come clean about the situation. Hopefully the dark figure would stay their hand at least long enough for Daveth to become a Knight, and maybe one day the shadowed figure would fall to his blade. As far-fetched as the hope might seem, it was a fantasy that he was willing to live with until he couldn’t anymore.

  Resolved once again to move forward with his new fate, Daveth went back inside to gather what few possessions he had. One change of clothing, a burlap pack with a few wrapped pieces of bread, and a book of prayers from the Haven he had been raised in. Unlike most laborers, he had learned to read at a young age by the brothers and sisters of the Haven. Education was second only to religion, they had taught, but Daveth hadn’t had much interest in the latter. The book served more as a memento than anything, a reminder of the good of the people who had taken him in, the selflessness of those that had raised him, and the faith that, no matter the struggle, the darkness always had an end.

  Bag in hand, Daveth met with Leroy outside of the grand building once the Knights were ready to leave. The two followed behind the Knights and their steeds on foot, Leroy talking most of the time about what it was like to live amongst the Order. When asked about the battle, Daveth attributed his win partly to luck, and left it at that. While the squire was obviously disappointed at the lack of detail to his story, he didn’t complain.

  Their trip was mostly without incident, as anyone or anything would be foolish to confront any group of armed men, let alone White Knights. The closest thing to a struggle they encountered was a sneezing fit that one of the horses had, which made his rider so uncomfortable that he ended up walking for several miles. The weight of his armor began to takes its toll on him, though, and he eventually mounted again.

  The entire time that they travelled, Daveth could tell that he was not welcome. Despite Leroy’s enthusiasm to have him around and Sir Henry’s apparent interest in his presence, he could tell from the glances of the others that they held contempt for him. While he could understand their disinterest in having a scrawny untrained stranger joining their brigade, what he sensed from them was far more hostile than he thought was warranted. For the protectors of the world, keepers of justice, and all-around-good-guys, they certainly weren’t very friendly.

  Finally, Daveth couldn’t handle the dejection any longer. As Leroy told a story about cleaning the floors of the grand hall with just a rag, he interrupted, “Are they always this cold?” His voice was a little above a whisper, as he really didn’t want the others to hear him. The last thing he needed was to add fuel to their fire.

  Leroy glanced at the Knights and shrugged, looking back to Daveth as they walked. “I wouldn’t know, honestly. Most of the time, they don’t even seem to know I exist. Unless they nee
d something, anyway, then it’s all ‘Squire do this’ and ‘Squire do that’.” He rolled his eyes, and then elbowed Daveth playfully. “I’m sure they’ll warm up to you, though. You’re their Champion, after all.”

  Daveth nodded. “Yeah, I’m sure you’re right. It’s just…they seem like they really hate me.”

  The squire seemed to think on the words for a moment before responding. “Well, you did kind of steal the show,” he chuckled, nudging Daveth playfully.

  “I don’t really see how I stole the show. It was just one fight.”

  “Right, but one fight that you won. I don’t know if you noticed, but they were dying out there before you came onto the field. Literally.”

  The man had a point. He hadn’t considered that, in retrospect, he could have hurt their pride. “Well, I still helped though. You would think they’d be at least a little bit grateful for that.”

  Leroy laughed a little too loudly, and quickly snapped his lips shut as he chuckled through his nose instead. “Yeah, right. These guys are soldiers, and the only people I’ve ever seen them be even remotely grateful toward were their commanding officers. I mean, sure they’re probably great guys underneath that rock hard exterior, but you don’t get to be a White Knight by flashing smiles and kissing babies. They are warriors. And you,” he shrugged. “You’re a stranger. Not to mention, for a while there you were the laughing stock of the Arena,” he held up his hands defensively before Daveth even had a chance to retort. “Not that I am saying you deserved it. But these guys are all man’s men, woven of the finest cloth and cut from the toughest stones, you know? You and me…” Leroy’s voice trailed off as he motioned toward his own figure which was similar to Daveth’s, if not a little shorter.

  Daveth looked on ahead again, his chest puffing up slightly. He wouldn’t lose hope at that kind of talk. In fact, it only made him more certain that he had something to prove to these guys and that, one day, he would have the chance. “Well, then I welcome the challenge,” he said sternly, not entirely confident in his own words.