His mouth full of sweet goodness, Aidan continued exploring the platter with his free hand. Under the next lid was a roasted leg of something—Aidan didn’t want to know what—but it was huge, bigger by itself than a whole Thanksgiving turkey. The giant leg-thing was garnished with purple flowers and literally surrounded by a bed of light blue flakes of various sizes.
Aidan thought about covering it back up, but Gwenne was watching him. Finicky eater that he was, he couldn’t turn up his nose with Gwenne there. Using a small knife and a two-tined fork, Aidan carved a piece of meat off the gigantic drumstick and plopped it into his mouth. He chewed slowly at first, trying to determine the flavor. He found it salty and savory, very much to his liking and somewhat familiar.
“Mmmm . . . ,” he said. “Tastes like chicken!”
In another dish, he found what appeared to be blue and white diamonds. When he touched the gleaming jewels, however, they were not rigid and hard like the stones they resembled. Instead, they were soft and pliable like taffy.
Aidan had no idea what they would taste like, but he was too hungry to care. He picked a blue one out of the bowl and had it just inches from his mouth when Gwenne grabbed his hand.
“A solid druble in your belly would make you most unhappy,” she said. Then, she dropped the jewel into a glass of clear water and placed an unusual three-spouted lid on top. Instantly, the jewel began to fizz. Bubbles of every color of the rainbow began to shoot out from all sides of it, and the glass swirled with a tornado of color.
“Now,” Gwenne announced. “Put your mouth on the long spout and your fingers in the two little ones.”
Aidan reluctantly did as he was told and then looked up at Gwenne as if to say, “Now what?” “Slowly, take one finger out of one of the spouts.” Aidan knew something was going to happen. He could see and hear the liquid fizzing away furiously in the glass. But when he took one finger out of a spout, his eyes went wide in total surprise. The glass became warm in his hand, and the heated beverage shot into his mouth. But unlike a normal drink, which you swish around in your mouth before swallowing, little droplets of this stuff bounced and ricocheted around until every last taste bud was in flavor paradise! Aidan liked it so much that he took his other finger out of the other spout to increase the flow.
“No, Aidan, not ye—” Gwenne cautioned . . . too late!
The sweet drink roared into Aidan with such pressure that he had to pull the spout out of his mouth to keep his cheeks from exploding.
The liquid had nothing holding it back, so it shot like a geyser out the window behind Aidan.
Someone on the street below yelled, and Aidan could only imagine what must have occurred.
The tall Glimpse, the one Gwenne had called Galorin, howled with laughter. Gwenne looked as if she was struggling mightily to hold back. All Aidan could do was turn fifteen shades of red and watch the glass empty.
As the last of the drink shot out of the spouted glass, Aidan laughed nervously and shrugged. “Sorry,” he muttered.
Gwenne nodded and smiled at Aidan, and then glared at Galorin, who quickly contained himself. Aidan felt as foolish as he’d ever felt, but he was still extremely hungry. Shrugging again, he turned back to his meal.
While Aidan noisily gobbled up the unusual meal, Sir Galorin updated Gwenne on matters concerning the Kingdom.
“I am afraid we may be preparing too late, m’lady. The Knights of Paragory are massing even as we speak. Our dragons have counted at least four different Paragor messengers leaving the Gate of Despair. The Prince, it would seem, has a great interest in the loyalties of Mithegard.”
“And why should he not?” asked Gwenne bitterly. “There are only tens of thousands of undecided Glimpses there for his misguiding.”
“Agreed,” said Galorin, gritting his teeth.
“When will the twelve be ready for the journey to Mithegard?” asked Gwenne.
“Eleven are ready now, but we are waiting for the King to choose the Twelfth Knight.”
At that, Gwenne turned slightly to Aidan, who was sloppily gobbling down a dessert that looked more or less like a hot dog made of chocolate and whipped cream.
“Sir Galorin, the King has chosen the Twelfth Knight,” Gwenne began, gesturing toward Aidan. “It is the lad you see here before us.”
Aidan stared at Gwenne, and his dessert slipped from his fingers and hit the table with a splat.
The lad whose face was covered with cream would be the Twelfth Knight.
13
ARMED AND
TERRIFIED
Gwenne led Aidan down a long spiral flight of stairs in one of the castle’s main towers. “If we are to make an Alleb Knight out of you,” she said, “we must have you dressed for the occasion.”
“How am I supposed to be a knight?” he asked. His voice bounced with each footfall. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here!”
“I already told you. You were called to Alleble by the King.”
“But, Gwenne!” Aidan complained. “This can’t be right! Maybe, maybe the King called me by mistake.”
Gwenne stopped abruptly. “King Eliam does not make mistakes,” she said.
Aidan sat down hard on the stairs. He buried his head in his hands. “I’m not a Glimpse. I don’t really belong here, do I?”
Gwenne sat next to Aidan and put a pale hand on his shoulder. “Be of good courage, Aidan. You belong here just as I belong. The Scrolls you received are but a small part of the history of our Kingdom. It is also your history now.”
Aidan looked up, eyes red around the lids, blinking.
“But how did the history of Alleble end up in Colorado or even the United States, for that matter?” Aidan asked. “It’s even in the bookstores!”
“The history of Alleble is indeed well known to many where you come from, though not enough. You see, long ago in an age before time, our worlds were one and the same. But not long after, there was a great disturbance, The Schism, we call it, and our realms divided. The history of Alleble survived because over the centuries it was passed down through generations. Many people believed and became a part of Alleble once again. New scrolls were written and sent by the King to the faithful. But as time passed in your realm, Aidan, men grew wise in their own minds. Science, reason, and . . . what do you call it? . . . Psychology? These things beguiled the hearts of generations of people. Fewer and fewer chose to believe. The Betrayer is yet powerful and does all that he can to blind and deceive, so that no one will believe. Perhaps that is why so many have The Story of Alleble but deem it as nothing more than . . . a fairy tale.”
Fairy tale hung in the air ominously. Aidan stared at the steps. He remembered his father using those exact words to describe the scrolls.
“I am truly thankful to the King,” Gwenne continued, “that you accepted and trusted the promises within The Scrolls of Alleble. It was a step of faith to enter The Door Within, believing a story that most in your world would deem foolishness.”
“When I believed,” Aidan said, “I didn’t know that . . . that I’d end up so involved.”
“Aidan, that is how it goes with us all. King Eliam often chooses the brokenhearted, the lonely, and the cast aside. He will make something great of you. I know he will.”
Gwenne said that with such unshakeable confidence that Aidan felt his burden lifted. “I still have questions,” he said.
“Questions are permissible—encouraged, actually—for in time, all questions will have answers. But come, let us go to the armory, for you need battle gear.”
“Battle gear?” Aidan exclaimed. “What are we going to do, start a war?”
“A war has already begun, Aidan, and the King has called you to be an important part of a battle that must be won.”
“What can I do?” Aidan pleaded. “I can’t fight. I even had a middle schooler beat me up once!”
“When Captain Valithor is finished with you, I should think you would have little trouble with a whole legion of middle schoole
rs!” She laughed. “Besides, the battle we shall fight will be better fought with truth and not swords.”
“I don’t even know who we’re fighting—or what for!” Aidan complained, beginning to feel that he was in this up to his ears, whether he liked it or not. Gwenne stood and motioned for Aidan to do likewise.
Her golden brow furrowed. She seemed hesitant to tell Aidan something or was searching for the right words. “You read the Scroll of The Great Betrayal?”
Aidan nodded. “But my Scroll ended after King Eliam died.”
“There is much to tell from that point, but my heart is too weak to speak of what happened next. And I am not the one who can best recount the events that followed. But what you should know is that Paragal was exiled, he and all who followed him, banished to the westernmost regions of The Realm. And, as the King declared, Paragal’s name was changed to Paragor, which means ‘pure light, stained forever dark.’
“The land where Paragor dwells now is a ruinous place. He pretends it is his own kingdom and calls it Paragory. He even built his own jagged black stronghold in mockery of the castle in which we now stand. He has raised an immense army that grows malignantly in the dungeons and catacombs beneath his dark lair. It is a realm of blood, Aidan, and Paragor’s strength grows daily. Bloody conquest after bloody conquest. But in spite of all this, Paragor festers upon his black throne. Ever he yearns to be King, but even his own followers will not call him by that title. A power greater than his will not permit it. So, instead, they call him Prince.”
Aidan swallowed. He remembered the poor souls being dragged through the dark gates. And he had been so close to joining them.
Gwenne began descending the stairs again. Aidan followed.
“So are we supposed to attack Paragor?”
“Not exactly, though our forces clash regularly. Our battle is of a different sort. You see, from the time of his exile, the Prince and his Paragor Knights have sought to gain the allegiance of all the other kingdoms of this world. Many Glimpses have accepted his cunning offers of wealth and power, turning away from the only true King. There is even now a kingdom the Prince eyes to be a new jewel in his crown of slavery. It is a land called Mithegard. Once your training is complete, we will travel to Mithegard to reach their Glimpses for the King.”
“I still don’t see what good I’ll do.” Aidan sighed audibly.
“Aidan, I have already told you, the King does not make mistakes. It may be that there is value within you that he can see—even when you cannot. So it is with all whom he has called.”
Aidan smiled. The idea of someone believing in him made him feel a few inches taller, though still there were many doubts.
“Back home, I have this friend, Robby. Now, he’s the kinda guy you want for this kind of thing. He lives for adventure. I . . . I don’t think he’s afraid of anything.”
Gwenne frowned at Aidan. “I do not doubt that your friend is considered brave in your world, Aidan. But there are things here in Alleble that might give him a start.”
Aidan smirked. He knew Robby better. He imagined what Robby might say. “Me afraid? Ri-ight!”
“Besides,” Gwenne continued, “it is easy to be fearless when one has not yet learned what he has to lose.”
As they traveled through the castle, from stairway to corridor, from corridor to keep, Aidan pondered the meaning of all that Gwenne had told him. It was mysterious and frightening. What had Gwenne meant by learning what he had to lose? And being in a war? What good would a short, cowardly teenager be in the midst of a huge war?
But there was also a sense of excitement. Gwenne had said that he was to become the Twelfth Knight. A real knight, with a real sword, on a very real adventure. His thoughts were interrupted as they passed through the massive stone fortress Gwenne had called the main keep and entered a great domed hall: They were in the Armory of Alleble.
The room was alive with light, for beams from the glass dome above found many polished objects on which to sparkle. Racks and crates of helmets, breastplates, and shields gleamed all around. Some of the shields were emblazoned with vivid designs. Aidan remembered from social studies class that medieval knights often decorated their shields with objects and colors symbolizing their kingdom or family. A lion on a shield might indicate the courage of the knight. Or a galloping horse might mean speed. Aidan spied shields illustrated with dragons, trees, unicorns—one even had a butterfly on it. What a butterfly symbolized, Aidan could not guess. He just hoped that wasn’t the shield they gave to rookie knights! He imagined the laughter that might be directed at a knight charging into battle bearing upon his shield the fierce butterfly!
There appeared to be enough pieces of armor stockpiled in the huge room to equip several armies. Of course, there were weapons as well. Swords, daggers, axes, maces, hammers, bows, and some other spear-axe-looking things Gwenne called halberds. Many weapons stood in barrels or lay across vast tables and counters in the room. Others required more prominence.
On one wall, in a large glass case inlaid with lush red velvet, hung seven mighty broadswords. Aidan’s eyes widened with delight, bouncing from one blade to another. Each sword fanned the passion in Aidan’s heart.
Then, it was as if the lights in the room dimmed and a spotlight illuminated one sword in particular. Aidan stared, drinking in the weapon’s every detail. Its silver blade was over three feet long, double-edged, and honed to razor-sharpness. It glinted iridescent blue when Aidan turned his head just slightly.
Cords, dark and ribbed, wound like a pair of black snakes down the two-fisted grip and disappeared into the silver pommel at the bottom. At the top of the grip was a crossguard of the same silver as the pommel. On the middle of this crossguard was an intricate engraving of a rising sun blazing out from behind the silhouette of two mountains—the very same design Aidan had seen on the tapestries in the castle halls. But engraved with such skill in silver, it took on special brilliance. It was a work of art within a work of art, and Aidan longed for such a mighty weapon of his own.
“Indeed, that lad ’as an eye for a blade!” proclaimed a stout Glimpse who appeared from an anteroom at the front of the armory. He waddled out toward Aidan, lifted an arm in a sweeping gesture, and bowed low. “Kindle, master of all things sharp or dangerous, at your service,” he announced.
Aidan bowed in return. “Uh, Aidan. Aidan Thomas,” he replied. Aidan didn’t think of himself as a master of anything, so he left it at his name.
Kindle, who seemed to have one eyebrow permanently arched higher than the other, smiled wryly and scratched his stubbly beard. He was just a little taller than Aidan but built like an anvil. And though he was certainly quite heavy, it was his broad cannonball shoulders and massive bare arms that gave him the squared appearance. The chain-mail shirt he wore draped over his chest and ample stomach made him look as if he had no legs at all.
“That is an incredible sword!” Aidan exclaimed, nearly drooling. Gwenne joined them in front of the broadsword display.
“That blade, m’lad, is a broadsword fashioned by none other than Naysmithe himself!” said Kindle.
“Nay who?” asked Aidan, perplexed.
Gwenne smiled as if remembering a glad time from long ago.
Kindle cocked an eyebrow and explained. “Naysmithe is the chief metalworker of Alleble. If it can be fashioned from iron, silver, or gold, then Naysmithe can make it. Truly, I say to you, it was Naysmithe who forged Charrend, the sword of our King. It is known as the blade that cleaves darkness.”
“Do all swords have names?” asked Aidan.
“Nay, lad, not all swords—only those made by gifted craftsmen and proven in battle. The blade you’ve set your eyes upon is called Fury—so named by a knight who wielded it against Paragory in the Cold River Battles long ago. Naysmithe finished repairing the blade only recently.”
“Come, Aidan,” interrupted Gwenne. “We need to get your armor and dagger.”
“Dagger?” Aidan blurted out, looking sadly back
to the sword Fury. “But, can’t I use . . . that one?”
Gwenne smiled apologetically and looked to Kindle.
“Sorry, lad,” he began. “That blade does already ’ave an owner, and methinks it will be in use shortly. Besides, a blade that size would no doubt weigh you down exceedingly. When you’re ready, you’ll get a weapon that’ll be just right for you. For now, a dagger. Perhaps, a short sword.”
Aidan’s shoulders drooped. He really wanted Fury. But, of course, it belonged to someone else. Still . . . the sword seemed to call to him, every feature of the blade imprinted in his heart. No dagger would replace it, and a short sword sounded small like Aidan felt among the Knights of Alleble.
The armory keeper looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his chin as if considering some highly questionable course of action. Then, he shook his head, deciding “No” was the answer to the unspoken dilemma. With a brief embarrassed smile, he scuttled off behind a tall counter. He emerged a moment later carrying a bundle wrapped in flannel cloth.
“Your armor, lad. Wear it well, and may it turn the arrows of any Paragor rat who dares to fire upon a servant of the King!”
Feeling a little queasy with the thought of creatures firing arrows in his direction, Aidan walked into the changing room to put on his armor.
Kindle waited a long time before he decided he’d best enter Aidan’s changing room. Kindle took one look at Aidan and chuckled deeply. Aidan was struggling mightily, attempting to dress himself in chain mail and iron plates.
“That piece of iron you’ve got on yer head,” he said, “it’s made to fit yer elbow, Aidan!”
Aidan blushed and swiftly took the piece (called a couter, he learned) off his head. “Don’t feel low, m’lad,” Kindle said with a wink. “Most of this requires another set of ’ands to put on—usually the duty of a squire. So today, allow Kindle to be your humble squire.”
With yet another chuckle, the armory keeper went at once to work arming the embarrassed knight-to-be. It was not a complete suit of armor, Aidan was told, just a training suit for light fencing. Off came Aidan’s favorite pair of Nikes and his well-worn blue jeans to be replaced with a pair of dark brown pants. They were thick and durable but were somewhat elastic and clung to Aidan’s skin. Next, Aidan tugged on a pair of knee-high leather boots and laced them up. Off went Aidan’s half-shredded T-shirt. Kindle then draped a thick overshirt called an arming doublet. This was topped off with a long-sleeved shirt of chain mail. The tiny linked iron rings could perhaps turn an arrow or cause a light sword blow to do a little less damage—not a very comforting thought to Aidan! Then, on top of the doublet, the keeper slung and buckled a gleaming breastplate and shoulder harness that reminded Aidan of Robby’s football pads—only these were metal!
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