The Olvion Reality (The Chronicles of Olvion Book 1)

by Larry Robbins

  At this point several of the seated observers stood to shout agreement. Others slapped their desks with the flats of their hands in a gesture I took it to be their version of applause. Across the floor, Brackus glared.

  I continued.

  “As to the evil of which the good Vice-Monarch warns…I am no expert in this field. But if I have done evil, please make me aware of it. Have any of you seen such a deed? Point to it. Show me, good Lords and Ladies. I confess I am in the dark about this question. I don’t know from where it springs.”

  I paused a moment. I didn’t really know what to expect but I couldn’t think of anything else to say. Ruguer smiled up at me and nodded. He gestured that I should take my seat.

  Brackus stood. The court had erupted into a babble of audible discussion, most of it, I thought, was supportive. Brackus rapped the orb again. The chamber quieted.

  “Are there any who would speak in the defended’s behalf?” he asked.

  Dwan started to rise but Ruguer was faster.

  “Yes, good Vice-Monarch. As to your question about the use of the title of Warrior by Tag-Gar. I spoke to my men who fought with him at the outpost. I was told of how he placed himself in grave danger so that they could execute a plan that saved the lives of those men. This resulted in valuable, even critical information being brought to the kingdom. I also spoke with Warrior Vynn and Healer Dwan about how he won their freedom and prevented our vile enemies from feasting on their bodies. After hearing this I pronounced him Warrior. I am the Sword of the King. Does anyone deny my authority to do so?”

  He turned slowly around to see all in the court seats, daring anyone to challenge that authority. Satisfied, Ruguer cast a barely discernable sneer at the Vice-Monarch and sat. The hall was silent.

  Dwan stood. “I rise to speak for the defended.” She turned slowly around as if seeking out each and every eye in the gathering. “Lords and Ladies. Thirty days or so ago I left with a caravan to take supplies and replacements to the outpost of Mag-Gan and his men. We were attacked and all but four of us were killed. I was bound and taken prisoner with those other three warriors. On our march the Grey Ones would slaughter and eat us when they grew hungry. On the day that I was to die I saw this man walking into the camp of those despicable grey bastards. They were a ten-fold and heavily armed. He was one. No one in this room would have called him coward if he had fled. He did not. He attacked. He waded into their midst and fought them with a fury of which I will never again see the equal. It was brutal and savage and absolutely magnificent.” She looked over at me. “It was the single bravest act I have ever witnessed.”

  She turned to the Vicar in the first row.

  “If we are to accept that there is good and evil in this world then surely the Grey Ones are evil, are they not?”

  The holy man nodded. She turned back to the other attendees.

  “Then what do you call a man that destroys evil?”

  Once again noise erupted in the chamber, about half of the body rose and struck their chest. Others slapped their desks.

  Brackus was not successful in hiding his feelings. Things were definitely not going the way he’d hoped. But he had one more ace up his sleeve. He rapped for order. When the observers quieted he spoke to Dwan who was still standing.

  “Good Healer, I understand your…emotions… in this matter.” He was trying to make her aware that he knew of our romantic situation, perhaps to rattle her. She was not one to be rattled. “But I have one last question. Has he ever told you he was The Legend?”

  There rose a loud babble between the people in the court. The introduction of the mythical hero into the mix was totally unexpected. It put an entirely different spin on the proceedings. Just when my side appeared to be winning the approval of the parliament members it was now suggested that I might instead be a demented loon with delusions of grandeur. Brackus let the mayhem continue as long as he could. When it began to wane he rapped the table more forcefully. The hall quieted. Brackus turned back to Dwan,

  “Good Healer, have you an answer?” he asked.

  Dwan was not shaken by the question.

  “No, Vice-Monarch. He has never claimed to be The Legend. In fact he has claimed no knowledge of that ancient hero. It was I who first asked if, in fact, he was The Legend.”

  “And you, good woman, what is your opinion? Have you ever told anyone, say any of the warriors with whom you have travelled lately, that you feel he is The Legend?”

  Dwan looked over at me and smiled broadly. She had never looked so beautiful. I marveled at her confidence under these circumstances. She faced Brackus again.

  “Vice-Monarch I have studied much in my life. I love to read of our history. I know as much as anyone in this court about The Legend.” She stopped and turned to the assembled crowd. “Yes. I believe that the Warrior Tag-Gar is The Legend. And I believe he is here because he is once again needed.”

  Sheer bedlam erupted around the open court. No amount of rapping by Brackus’ crystal orb got through the din. While we were watching the confusion around us I saw three warriors come through the entrance to the court. I was surprised to see two were carrying my armor and weapons. The third had a large rolled parchment tied with ribbon. King Zander saw them as well. He nudged Ruguer and nodded toward them. Ruguer beckoned for them to approach. My curiosity was definitely peaked.

  Zander then stood. He did not call for quiet or rap on the table. He simply stood. Using nothing but his regal appearance he slowly brought the gathering to silence. When he had everyone’s attention he spoke in his rich baritone.

  “Good Lords and Ladies. We have heard much this morning. Some questions have been answered and some have been raised. I was informed of some of the issues that were to be discussed today and I took it upon myself to provide some answers.”

  He turned to me. “Good Tag-Gar if you would indulge me, I would like to have you don your armor and weapons, please.”

  I was dumbfounded. What possible good could this do? Brackus jumped to his feet.

  “Your Majesty, this body has responsibilities and protocol. A defended is not allowed to be armed when he is among members of parliament, much less within arms-reach of the King.”

  Zander nodded. “True. And unless I am mistaken the protocol of which you speak can be amended by the King. Am I correct?”

  Brackus glared icily back at Zander. He really did not like to be corrected, especially in front of so many.

  The king raised his eyebrows and waited for a response.

  “Yes, Majesty. You are correct”, Brackus answered. He then sat, his expression smoldering.

  “Then, I do hereby amend that protocol to allow Warrior Tag-Gar to bear weapons here and now. I trust Warriors Ruguer and Mag-Gan will provide adequate protection should it be needed.”

  All eyes went to me. I placed Tinker’s pouch carefully on the table in front of me. As quickly as possible, with Dwan helping me, I put on my metal forearm and calf protectors, followed by my helmet. I then slung my sword over my shoulder into its sheath and hooked my mace into my belt. My shield hung from my left hand and my spear was in my right. When finished I turned to the king. He spoke to the crowd.

  “Good Lords and Ladies. When I was made aware of what was to be discussed today I sent my capable clerk to the archives. I was reminded of a certain relic that I had been told about years ago by my father. I think it may help us decide some of the matters put before us this day.”

  He beckoned to the man who carried the rolled parchment. The man handed it to the king with a low nod of his head. Zander took the object and walked away from our table and over to the Vicar. He handed the scroll to the holy man.

  “I would ask our Lord Vicar if the seals on the ribbon of this parchment are genuine and unbroken.”

  The Vicar rose and took the parchment holding it away from him so that his aging eyes could better focus on it. He reached into a purse affixed to his sash and withdrew a thick round glass. With this glass he brought the p
archment closer and carefully examined it. After a moment he put the glass away. He turned to the gathered attendees.

  “They are genuine and unbroken.” He announced.

  “And what do those seals tell you about this article?” Zander asked.

  The Vicar smiled a curious smile. “The unbroken seals on this parchment tell me that the article was sealed two hundred years ago.”

  Zander extended his hand to recover the parchment. In front of the Vicar he broke the seals and untied the ribbons. The rolled parchment now lay across his two hands. He faced the crowd.

  “Two hundred years ago a great evil swept this land. The Grey Horde invaded our peaceful kingdom and began slaughtering our citizens, consuming them like livestock. Men, women and children, none were spared. This menace was met by a great king. One who was almost defeated. Our history tells us that one day a man appeared. A large man. A righteous man. He was a mighty warrior. He told all who knew him that he did not know how he came to be here. He did not speak our language. He said he spent most of his life in a different land, maybe even a different world.” Zander looked at me. “This man was accompanied by that rarest of beasts, a white Child of the Mountain. The Mountain Child went everywhere with him, providing him assistance when needed. On the very brink of disaster, when the four kingdoms needed him the most he rallied the warriors to a great victory even after the king had been slain. The Grey Horde was defeated, their few remaining numbers chased back into their mountains.”

  Zander held the parchment straight out with one hand on top, the other on the bottom.

  “That was two hundred years ago, Lords and ladies. This parchment has not been opened since that time.”

  With that Zander slowly unrolled the relic. He was facing away from me when it was completely open. The court attendees that could see it from their vantage point were stricken with awe which showed in their faces. Slowly, the king turned making the thing visible to all in attendance. When, at last, he turned to where I could see it I was shocked. It was a painting. A painting of a man wearing my clothing and armor and holding my weapons. The face under the helmet was similar to mine. The hair on the shoulders was yellow and the eyes blue. On his shoulder perched a Mountain Child the size of a house cat with pure white fur.

  Tinker picked this moment to spring from her pouch and scamper up onto my shoulder.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Friendship

  Later that afternoon in the private dining hall of King Zander, I sat with Ruguer, Dwan, Mag-Gan, Vynn and, of course, the king. We all ate delicious meats and pastries and shared some of the cinnamon-tasting spirits of which Vynn was so fond. Ruguer was in an especially good mood.

  “Zander, my good king, you have a definite flair for the dramatic. Never have I seen Brackus so choked with anger. Now instead of having a small minus directed at you he has an enormous plus to deal with.” He pointed at me. “The Legend. Who would dare oppose you now that Tag-Gar stands at your side?”

  I was sitting on a blue tufted divan with Dwan, holding her hand. Tinker was perched on Dwan’s shoulder grooming the woman’s long brunette hair with tiny fingers. I was not joining in on the frivolity. Zander noticed.

  “Are you troubled, Tag-Gar?” he asked.

  I looked at each of those present in turn.

  “I confess I don’t know what to think.” I nodded to the king. “I saw that painting. There was no mistaking the armor and weapons. Even the face looked like mine. But I found those weapons and the clothing in a cave. I took them because I was naked and defenseless. I see many things which make me think I may be this Legend. But it is a difficult thing to believe. Try to put yourself in my place. On one hand I dismiss it all as fantasy. On the other I see the miracles which I have experienced. But when all is said and examined there is no way to know for sure.”

  Zander smiled. “Good Tag-Gar. I am a man of facts. Legends, fables, children’s tales, all are to be accepted for what they are. But I am not reckless enough to think our ancestors were fools. I have read all of the writings and studied the relics from that time. The Legend was real. He appeared out of nowhere, did not speak our language and was accompanied by a White Mountain Child. He was enormous in size and spoke of coming from another world. Two hundred years have passed since he was last seen. For all of that time our people have handed down the predictions that say he will return when he is needed. Well, he is needed. And you appear. With her.” He nodded his head toward Tinker. She seemed to know she was being discussed. She turned her head and chittered, flicking her tail.

  Vynn raised his glass. “Well I have seen all that I need to see. I saw you cut cleanly through the shield of a Grey One with one blow, cleaving him almost in two. Not even the mighty Ruguer is capable of such a feat. If you are not The Legend you are his twin. I will consider you to be him until such time as I am made to believe otherwise.”

  The others all raised their glasses and drank. Dwan put her hand on my leg.

  “There are some things, the answers to which we will never know,” she said. “In the end certainties are not required. The kingdoms need a hero. Zander needs support. Youcan be those things so youmust be those things. It is really as simple as that.”

  “Well said, Good Lady’, offered Mag-Gan.

  Zander smiled. “I don’t know how this world measures to the one from which you came, Tag-Gar. But I’ll wager it held no better woman in it for you. There are some things that even kings envy.”

  Dwan blushed and gave Zander an appreciative expression. Ruguer stood and raised his glass again.

  “Let it never be said that The King’s Sword ever ignored a reason to toast. We drink to good women and good friends.”

  And thus was born my friendship with a king and his allies.

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Schooled

  The next several weeks were among the happiest of my life. Word of the happenings in the court leaked out immediately and soon the entire city was telling of the arrival of The Legend. Every morning I would stride through the interior of the castle proper, smiling and returning waves. I never confirmed to anyone that I was that mythical person but neither did I deny it. Dwan had made it clear to me that I could play an indispensable role in the security of the king and the morale of the people. Knowledge of the impending invasion by the grey invaders had rippled through the city. Fear had been growing. The fable of The Legend and his possible return went a long way towards alleviating some of that worry.

  My relationship with Dwan was developing nicely. The mores of the people of Olvion were not as restrictive as I had expected of a less-developed society and the fact that we were cohabiting raised no protests or really any interest. She filled her days treating the sick and injured and I trained with Vynn on the use of the sword. I was not foolish or conceited enough to not know that luck had played an enormous part in my survival thus far. My superior strength and size could only take me so far in this world, especially since I was certain more combat would be in my future. Improved skill with my weapons was definitely needed.

  To my great disappointment I found that the sword was not a weapon with which I had any real natural abilities. It was a device that required years of training, developing the essential muscle memories and reflexes required for skill. Vynn however, was a true expert with all edged weapons and an excellent teacher. I think he relished the opportunities I presented to point out my mistakes with sharp swats with the flat of his blade. They were not meant to humiliate. Nothing plants a lesson more firmly in the mind than a little pain.

  After two hours of sword instruction I was subjected to another hour with Layann, a female warrior. Her specialty was the knife. More correctly, knives. Layann taught me the art of fighting with Tooth and Claw. The tooth was a shorter blade held in the right hand, blade down with the sharp edge pointing outward. The claw was a longer knife, edged on both sides. It was clasped in the left (or weak) hand, blade up and held out in front of the body. The idea was much like a boxer’s
strategy. The claw was the jab and the tooth was the knockout punch. In the boxing ring the jab kept the opponent off balance and unable to land heavy blows. The flicking fist did light damage but it did so all through the fight. Eventually those light taps added up to trouble for the less-able pugilist. As the jabs took their toll, opportunities appeared for the knockout punch which ended the fight. It was the same principle for the tooth and claw. The claw kept the opponent at a safe distance, making him pay for incursions with slashes and stabs. Once the opponent was sufficiently preoccupied at avoiding the claw the tooth would strike inflicting serious damage. It was a vicious game and Layann was a master. Or mistress.

  I was surprised to find I had a knack for this form of fighting. My strength gave me no advantage but the length of my arms and legs did. Layann used dull wooden practice knives with layers of dye-soaked wool on the edges. Each successful attack she employed left a dye-mark on my skin. On the first five or six lessons I left the training arena looking like a zebra while she remained clean. Then I slowly began scoring a slash here, a stab there. Layann cursed my “pole-like” limbs. I learn to abbreviate her knife thrusts with short kicks to her armored shins. It was a martial arts tactic that they taught me in the prison. She acted angry when I first used them but I saw the stifled smiles. I even saw her doing the same thing to me when she could overcome my reach. The fact that she adopted my tactic made me proud. I made it a habit to meet up with the female warrior at least once a day.

  In all of my weapons training I found my mace to be the weapon with which I was most effective. Mag-Gan had provided me with his best martial arts instructors. For the mace lessons I was given a bear of a man, tall as Ruguer and more heavily built than any other person I had yet seen on this world. He was called Pulg and he was a master of the mace and club. On the first lesson he met me at a circle of sand near the warrior training stables.