The Door Within

by Wayne Thomas Batson

  On each forearm Aidan wore a cylindrical piece of armor called a vambrace, and of course, on his elbows, he wore the couters. On his hands, Aidan wore protective metal gloves called gauntlets. Finishing his outfit was a thick leather belt with a buckler for a sword—or at least a dagger!

  Aidan looked at himself in a long mirror. He had no helmet and no shield, but still he couldn’t get over how knightly he appeared. Sure, the weight of it all made him feel like he could barely move, but at least he looked good.

  Gwenne also approved of Aidan in his new armor. She beamed proudly as he slowly spun around before her. “You shall make a fine Knight of Alleble,” she said, and Aidan glowed. He was once again dazzled by her sparkling blue eyes and pure white skin.

  “Aidan,” Gwenne spoke. Aidan snapped out of the trance. “Let us take our leave of Kindle’s fine armory, for Captain Valithor is waiting.”

  “Captain Valithor?” Kindle exclaimed. His eyes were wide, and he brushed a few dark, oily locks of hair out of his eyes. “Oh, lad, I do not envy you your next few months.”

  “Days,” corrected Gwenne. “Captain Valithor has agreed to accelerate his training regimen so that we might leave for Mithegard within the week.”

  “A week? Sorry for your sake, lad,” Kindle replied. He shook his head and stared at Gwenne with a look that said, “Become a knight in a week under Valithor? It’ll likely kill this one!”

  Aidan swallowed. Being a knight didn’t sound so cool anymore.

  Aidan and Gwenne walked in silence to the enormous training yard adjacent the castle’s main keep. Aidan’s stomach turned over and over as they walked. Aidan felt he was in over his head. And though the sky was cloudless and the sun rained golden rays down on Alleble, Aidan felt he was shrouded by an enormous shadow. A shadow cast by Captain Valithor.

  14

  BASIC TRAINING

  Gwenne and Aidan navigated a labyrinth of high wooden fences called palisades. Gwenne had explained that these rows of tall, extremely pointed stakes were temporary fortifications until stonework could be constructed.

  Aidan made a mental note never to try to climb the palisades. Ouch! he thought.

  Once inside the vast training compound, Gwenne introduced Aidan to an oak of a knight named Kaliam, who was leaning on the pommel of a long broadsword as he avidly watched the combat in the courtyard. His warrior’s armor matched that of the other knights Aidan had seen, but Kaliam’s massive shoulders and rippling arms had no armor except for a pair of black leather vambraces that struggled to contain his forearms.

  “So, you are the Twelfth Knight we have heard so much about?” said the Glimpse Kaliam. “A little short and dull for a Knight of Alleble, eh, Gwenne?”

  “He is scarcely less tall than I,” argued Gwenne, “and I seem to recall besting you in our most recent duel—O tall one of tall pride!”

  Kaliam let out a great, deep bark of laughter. His long ebony hair bounced as he roared, “Well-met, m’lady! A lesson I shall not soon forget. Forgive my rudeness.”

  “I will forgive you, certainly, Sir Knight . . . and I will gladly reteach the lesson since you seem in need of tutoring.”

  “Nay! That will not be necessary, swordmaiden. My pride has been duly reminded of its proper place.”

  Aidan gawked at Gwenne. It wasn’t that he thought of boys as more skilled than girls. After all, a lot of the girls in his school could trounce him in most any sport they played. But to defeat a towering galoot like Kaliam? Aidan gawked some more.

  As she left, swordless and shrouded beautifully in the gossamer lavender dress, Gwenne looked vulnerable and soft. Apparently, she was not.

  Kaliam turned to Aidan. “Come, lad, some of our party are there by the fire. Let us join them.”

  Aidan did as he was told and sheepishly followed Kaliam over to the fire. There was a thick meaty carcass roasting over the flames. A very large Glimpse stood beside it. His back was turned to Aidan, and he gestured vigorously in conversation. But it was not possible to see with whom he was speaking, for he was very wide, draped in rough black fur that made him look part bear. And by his side was an immense hammer.

  Kaliam cleared his throat. “Forgive my intrusion, Sir Mallik. A word?”

  “Prithee, mention it not.” The beastly Glimpse turned to Kaliam.

  Like a frightened pup hiding at his master’s heel, Aidan cringed behind Kaliam.

  Mallik was red-bearded. His chiseled face was besieged by a corona of wild coppery hair. His eyes, black as coal, smoldered beneath thick, wiry brows. And, Aidan noticed, they glinted blue at certain angles like Gwenne’s eyes.

  Mallik wore a permanent sneer, and his long, braided mustache bounced as he spoke.

  “It is a pointless argument—the same one I have endured with Nock and Bolt here for some time now.”

  Aidan could now see two other Glimpses seated on a great log beyond Mallik. They were smaller than most of the other Glimpses, though still greater in size than Aidan. Each had long, straight sandy brown hair drawn back tightly. Each wore a circlet of silver like a thin crown above his uncannily arched brows and restless blue eyes. And though they appeared youthful, their stature was proud and manly. Seated side by side, turned just slightly, the two Glimpses looked like mirror images. They were, in fact, twins.

  “These two, these impetuous upstarts,” Mallik went on. “Though they gang up on me with their wagging tongues, they are simply in the wrong if they claim that a bow—nay, two bows, even—are better in a scrap than my hammer.”

  “With our bows,” the twins protested in stereo, “you need not scrap in the first place. The enemy falls dead ere you draw close enough to be struck.”

  “Mallik, Nock, Bolt . . . a wise Glimpse would not come between two such formidable arguments,” said Kaliam. He raised one hand like a referee. “But weapons may play but a token role on this errand. Diplomacy, my good Glimpses.”

  “Diplomacy!” Mallik snorted and stroked the haft of his hammer. “Those Paragor rats know nothing of diplomacy. Flowering words hiding daggers—that is their craft. Pity him who falls beneath my diplomacy!”

  “Have pity on me, Mallik,” said Kaliam. He smiled and bowed. “And have pity on our Twelfth Knight, for he has patiently endured such bravado, first from me and now from you, hammer-meister!”

  “Twelfth Knight?” Mallik objected. “He is but a lad!”

  Aidan cringed. He felt once again that there must be some mistake. Perhaps now everyone would realize this and send him home.

  “My first thoughts were such,” said Kaliam. “But the King has called him here for such a time as this. Dare any of us question the King’s judgment?”

  No one spoke. The fire crackled. A knot of burning pine popped.

  “And think on this: Were any of us anything before the King called us?”

  The twins nodded to each other. “Well spoken!” they said, and in unison they stood and bowed before Aidan.

  “I am Nock,” said one.

  “I am Bolt,” said the other.

  “We are from the deep forest city of Yewland,” they said together. “Welcome to Alleble—and to our company.”

  Not to be outdone, Mallik turned to Aidan and inclined just slightly. It was the best bow he could manage, for Mallik did not bend.

  “Mallik I am called,” he said. His mustache twitched. “I come from Ludgeon, the chief city of the Blue Mountain Provinces far north of here. So, you too were called by the King of Alleble? I will gladly serve with you, Sir . . .”

  “I’m not really Sir anything, but my name is Aidan.”

  “Aidan, ah?” Mallik stroked his mustache. “I like it. It is a strong name. A sturdy name. My people are sturdy folk—workers of wood, stone, and iron. This hammer was made by my grandsire and thundered in the hand of my father before me.”

  Mallik swept up the heavy weapon and held it on his shoulder like a major-league slugger posing for a baseball card. The haft of the hammer, thick like a bedpost, was carved from black w
ood and etched in silver with images of battle. Long, inlaid bars of iron ran the length of the haft and were welded into the weapon’s massive head. It reminded Aidan of the hammer he’d seen his mom use to pulverize raw meat—only the head on Mallik’s weapon seemed the size of a Volkswagen.

  “Few in Alleble can lift it—much less wield it. When my hammer falls, mountains tremble and foes wilt. What skill do you bring to our company of twelve?”

  Aidan thought for a moment. He was quite good at most video games, and his father had said he had a wicked backhand in tennis. But remarkable as those things were, they seemed useless in this context. “Uh, I don’t have a special skill,” he finally answered.

  Mallik snorted. Nock and Bolt stared at Aidan and betrayed no emotion at all.

  “Come, Aidan,” Kaliam said. “Let us leave Mallik and the twins to debate hammer and bow. We have much to discuss ourselves.”

  Kaliam and Aidan bowed. Nock and Bolt bowed in return. Mallik nodded.

  Kaliam led Aidan to a stone bench away from the fire.

  “Please forgive Mallik,” he said amiably. “He is brash at times. And we do not get many of your kind here . . . though more have been invited of late.”

  “That’s okay,” Aidan said. “Compared to you guys, I am pretty much a mouse.”

  Kaliam laughed. “Compared to Mallik, everyone is a mouse. But even a mouse may frighten a mighty elephant!”

  Aidan grinned.

  Kaliam winked. Aidan stared at the warrior’s eyes. At first, Aidan thought that Kaliam’s eyes were blue, but Aidan saw now that it was not so. His eyes were definitely green. But when Kaliam turned his head just so, his eyes glinted blue. It reminded Aidan of how a cat’s eyes seem to glow at night when struck with a flashlight beam.

  Gwenne, Mallik, Kaliam . . . Aidan wondered if all Glimpses’ eyes were like that.

  “How much do you know of our mission?” Kaliam asked.

  “A little. Though I don’t think I understand much,” Aidan admitted.

  “It is a worthy task,” Kaliam said. “One from which we may not all return.”

  “Now see, that’s what I don’t get,” Aidan complained. “I see hundreds of knights around here. Why take only twelve?”

  “There are untold thousands counted among King Eliam’s army, here in Alleble and in other lands who are allied to us. But for this quest, our strength comes not from number, but from the message we bring,” said Kaliam. He proudly slammed a vambrace against his chest. “The Glimpses of Mithegard will not trust in us because of the size of our army or the ferocity of our swords. Only Paragory seeks allegiance in that way.”

  Aidan shrugged and pulled at the chain mail at his neck. It was heavy and dug into his skin. “I still don’t see how I fit into this mission.”

  “Aidan, I cannot say what part you will play in all of this, but I deem that you are here to learn—to learn so that you may face an even greater battle that awaits you when you return to your realm.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes and shook his head. More riddles. Can’t anyone around here give me a straight answer?

  “Well, what about this Captain Valithor? What’s he like?”

  “Captain Valithor,” Kaliam began. “Well, he is—”

  “ON YOUR FEET!! You beslobbering, beef-witted barnacles!!”

  A Glimpse taller than Kaliam and broader than Mallik stormed into the compound. Like ants scattering from a disturbed anthill, scores of Glimpse knights escaped the courtyard by every conceivable exit. The remaining eight Glimpses, including Mallik and the twins—leapt to their feet, formed into rows of painfully straight lines, and stood in rigid, silent attention. Kaliam yanked Aidan up beside him and whispered, “That . . . is Captain Valithor.”

  The goliath Glimpse wrenched his head abruptly in their direction and then thundered toward them. His great chest heaved, breaths escaping in grunts. He stood directly in front of Kaliam.

  “Kaliam!” he bellowed. “Thou errant, earth-vexing mumbler! Tell me that you had not the nerve to speak before being summoned!” The Captain, who towered at least a foot greater than Kaliam, stared directly down into Kaliam’s eyes. Kaliam swallowed hard twice before answering his commander.

  “S-s-sir,” mumbled Kaliam. “I wish that I could tell you it was not me you heard, but . . . it was.”

  The Captain’s bushy white mustache curled on one side in a half smile. “Puny, lily-livered weasle that you are—at least you had the courage to speak the truth!”

  He turned to face the other wide-eyed Glimpses. “Let that be a lesson to the lot of you! No matter the consequences, the truth is always first!”

  Captain Valithor visited his wrath on each Glimpse in turn. None withstood his penetrating glare or his resonating voice. Even Mallik dropped his gaze when faced by his commander.

  In awe and fear, Aidan stared at the Captain. He was clad in brushed-silver armor and had a vast shield slung on his back. Snow-white hair fell in waves from his head, mustache, beard—even his eyebrows! His forehead was lined with deep furrows, and between his bristling brows and piercing eyes, his nose jutted out like the beak of a hawk. He stood erect when still and leaned forward, stalking, when he advanced. He carried no weapon, but had an ornate sheath at his side. It waited for a blade to match the magnitude of its owner.

  Intimidated as he was by the Captain, Aidan thought that he caught a hint of something vaguely familiar about him.

  He looked like a Viking from the pictures in Aidan’s social-studies textbook, but it wasn’t that. There was something in his intense, pale blue eyes that reminded Aidan of someone, but the identity shied away. The Captain’s eyes glinted brighter blue when he turned, just like the others. Maybe that was it. Aidan wasn’t sure. Before he had time to figure it out, the Captain turned toward him.

  “And thou,” the Captain bent low, close to Aidan’s face, “thou weedy wagtail! It is the King’s request that I make a knight of you in very short order! And so help me, I will . . . even if it KILLS US BOTH!”

  Aidan felt dizzy, and he thought he must look very much like a pale Glimpse now that all of the blood had drained from his face. Fortunately, Captain Valithor turned away from him and went back to roaring at each of the other eight knights. He seemed particularly angry when he came to the Glimpse at the end of the second row.

  “Tell me, Acsriot!” Valithor roared. “How is it that your armor gleams like the sun and yet your blade is stained?!”

  Acsriot had no answer. He stood very still but cringed as if expecting a blow.

  “Thou weepy sack of wraith-clottle! Ten thousand times I have told you: Keep your blade sharp—and clean! The sword is a reflection of the one who carries it, and no Knight of Alleble will keep a weapon so besmirched.”

  Captain Valithor glared at Acsriot, and Acsriot stared back. There seemed some unspoken communication between the two, a silent struggle of wills, but inevitably, Acsriot could not endure. He looked away.

  “Come, Acsriot!” said the Captain in a triumphant tone. “Let us go to the armory and fetch some scrubbing tools. And after you clean up your blade . . . I’m sure Kindle will be happy to supply you with a few hundred more to scour.”

  After he was sure that the Captain had left the courtyard, Aidan asked, “Is he always like that?”

  “Nay, lad. We are fortunate he was in a good mood today!” said Kaliam, shaking his head. “Let not his manner fool you, Aidan, for Captain Valithor appears harsh, but he has the biggest heart in the kingdom—except for the King, of course. Captain Valithor is the Sentinel of this realm and one of the most valiant warriors Alleble has ever known. The King must deem this a mission of critical importance to allow his personal guard to go.”

  Aidan pondered Kaliam’s words. Just what kind of mission is this? And how could I, a teenager, be of any use among these great champions? Surely I’ll mess things up or, worse yet, be killed, leaving my parents to never know what has become of me.

  A great voice shook Aidan from his thoughts.
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  “Rapscallions! Thou ragtag lot of widge-lumps! What madness has relieved all of you of your minds? You should be training, yet you stand on the very terrain on which I left you?!”

  Captain Valithor raged into the compound and stood in front of Aidan, Kaliam, and the seven Glimpse knights who remained.

  “The knight who moves?” Valithor called out to them.

  “His valor he proves!” the Glimpses thundered back.

  “And the knight who stands still?”

  “Is a target to kill!”

  Valithor made his knights repeat the precept a dozen times and then paired them off to train. He sent Kaliam to help Acsriot clean fouled weapons in the armory. Kaliam walked away shaking his head, downcast at losing the opportunity to train, but the Captain called after him, “Kaliam! Never alone!”

  Kaliam turned and smiled grimly. “Never alone!”

  It was the first time Aidan had heard one of the knights say that phrase. It rang with importance, but Aidan didn’t have time to ask about it.

  Captain Valithor stood very still, silently watching Kaliam leave the courtyard. He was so large and grand . . . he looked like a monument of an ancient hero somehow brought to life. Aidan knew nothing of Captain Valithor’s history or his deeds at arms, but it was clear that the Knights of Alleble feared him, revered him, and loved him. Though activity teemed around him—knights grunting, swords clanging, and Mallik’s hammer swooshing through the air—Aidan could not take his eyes off the rugged sentinel. Aidan felt strangely heartened. If anyone could teach him to be a knight, surely Captain Valithor could.