The Lone Dragon Knight

by D. C. Clemens

  The days got colder, and it was on the days when we were essentially snowed in did he open up more. He asked what I knew and what I didn’t know, with every question related to my fighting potential. Through him I learned, or perhaps relearned, about the paths I could take to enhance my combat abilities. There were two ways I could concentrate on using the corruption running through my spirit energy, or prana, as it was known. On one hand, I could augment my body’s strength and speed by pouring prana into my body and muscles. The second option was to use it as fuel for casting spells.

  After everyone else had left the large dining room, Garf asked me, “How did you normally kill your opponents?”

  “A rock… My hands too. They gave me a sword later. I liked the sword.”

  “A sword, eh? Hmm, then I think the name ‘Saber’ suits you. It also sounds like focusing on your speed and strength would be the easier course for you. I’ll give you about a year to train, so I’ll be able to show you some spells as well. Once you’re ready, I’ll send you to do some work for me. The better you do, the better your rewards. You should take advantage of them, too. You won’t have long to enjoy what life has to offer, as your destiny will have you living fast and dying young.”

  Thus started my formal training with my new name. He would often send me to the backyard to spar or fence against his people. Sometimes he would watch over himself and hand out some pointers. He would at first pit me against a couple of other boys closer to my size, but it was soon clear that the speed and strength my corruption offered me was more than enough to handle them. I moved to training against men twice my size. They could knock me down or jolt me with some spell, but the pain they inflicted was minimal compared to what I had already endured, so I was never down long.

  Garf most often watched and guided my training when I held the practice sword in my hands. My handler appeared to be a busy man, so the fact he spent much of his off time training an amateur told me he must have found the pursuit an enjoyable pastime. My overseer called my overall fighting style brutish, but salvageable. He gave me several books and scrolls he had on different offensive and defensive stances. It took me a few weeks to remember how to read the symbols, which a few of the women helped me out with, but there were plenty of illustrations to match my movements to in the meantime. I looked over these fighting manuals in the hours I wasn’t training, including several on incantations.

  According to Garf and the manuals, it normally required months of exhaustive training to begin sensing the prana latent in all living things. As I had already gone through this effort, combined with the corruption viciously invigorating my soul, all I had to do was acknowledge the spiritual fuel seeping from my body. So when I wasn’t training or reading, I meditated over some spells to purposely use this energy instead of only instinctually implementing it in my physical strikes.

  A handful of Garf’s people could use some low level spells to create a sword of flame or summon a weapon they had sealed away previously, but since my handler did not desire for me to accidentally destroy a part of his home, I focused on a spell that wouldn’t be destructive if I succeeded in casting it. The spell I chose was an illusionary type that I found in a tome. This particular incantation would generate a visual replica of myself that could be used to trick enemies. Mastery over this incantation meant being able to cast more than one copy and controlling them over longer distances.

  At first, there was little other reason for learning this spell besides the fact it was nondestructive, but the more I mulled over the concept, the more I felt a tinge of desire at fooling my enemies before I sent my blade into them. As I had few feelings that seemed like my own, I embraced this aspiration a great deal. Excluding the tome itself, the only physical item I needed to practice the spell was a mirror, as I needed to recognize how I looked like to achieve a good doppelganger.

  During this time I also learned that if I had to spend time with anyone, I preferred the company of the women. They could be as verbally brash and filthy as the men, but they were not physically abusive to me and a few even had the capacity to act with kindness. This preference toward the opposite gender grew when I later noted how most women outside the criminal underworld appeared more genial still. Meanwhile, even men unassociated with Garf’s life didn’t seem all that different from the criminals I associated with, if not as freely violent.

  Even as the spring came to make all walks of life more colorful, my handler’s aspiration kept me training. There were moments when more of my own meager ambitions leaked through, but this was quickly followed by Garf reinforcing the mind rune etched on my back by reading his scroll with a hand on my back. Most others in the house saw me nothing more as an extension of Garf’s will. I knew enough to know that this was somehow wrong, but the few sparks of self-thought I had were not spent on them.

  Chapter Four

  By the time the trees changed their leaves to brittle pigments, Garf’s will wanted me to join his people in their often savage trade. Wintervale belonged to him. That’s what I heard, but there were some people who needed reminding, or who outright rebelled. Most times, however, the people we encountered did not need a fistful of reminders to give Garf his due. I became more involved as the months continued to pass, though nothing that really tested my developing skills.

  My swordsmanship was almost as good as Garf’s best fighters. Only their experience prevented me from closing the gap entirely. The illusion spell was progressing, though I could not get my unsolid replica to keep its shape for longer than three seconds. It wasn’t until I read well did I realize that the spell was probably too advanced to start with, but I had invested too much time to give up and start on something else.

  Not long after my second winter in the outside world, Garf and some of his lackeys hauled me eastward to a large town called Rise. This was not his town, but he wanted it, which meant more prolific work for me. From what I gathered, the town belonged to several groups, and our job was to secure territory away from the weaker ones. Not all of this taking was done through fighting. Oftentimes, all Garf had to do was pay off some people to either get them to convert to his cause or to stay away from a future clash.

  When we did take the fight to our enemy, I was regularly sent to start it, as my age allowed me to get in closer than most. I would stroll up to the unsuspecting enemy assembly and smash a few small smoke bombs in their direction, catching them by surprise. It sometimes didn’t even become necessary for the others to interfere. By the time the blackish smoke cleared, a heap of two or three men would be dead or dying at my feet, my short sword dripping their blood. Someone would sometimes make a fight of it, but this was when my group would come and overwhelm them. A strong sense of disappointment overcame me when this happened. I wanted nothing more than to test myself against a worthy opponent. Whether this was Garf’s will, mine, or a combination of both didn’t matter. It’s what I felt.

  More months. More blood. I ate well, slept on soft beds with well-made blankets, and wore durable clothes, boots, and coats. My handler had gained a foothold on Rise near summer’s end. It was entrenched enough so that our work was not always so constant. He and his people’s revelry now went deeper into the night. Since my handler did not need my presence during these times, or during their recovery periods, I had some time to myself, as it were.

  Of course, his will drove me to seek ways to better my lethal skills. This mentality sent me seeking more training manuals. Garf funded my search by giving me a few coins to purchase what I needed. I could have simply stolen them, but when I wasn’t with Garf or the others, then it was inadvisable for me to attract guards when I was alone.

  Rise had plenty of shops to look for useful guidebooks. One of these I found early one morning. It was an out of the way shop that had a sundry of items, including books and scrolls. An elderly fellow manned the counter, who was the only one in the small store with me. He asked if he could help me look for something.

  “Training manuals.”

>   “Want to be a warrior, eh?”

  “A better one.”

  He chuckled. “I see. Some basic stuff is on that shelf to your right, but the more advanced booklets I have stashed in that little cabinet next to it. Go ahead and open it and see if you like anything.”

  I rummaged through the dozen manuals he had in the cabinet. Most were actually not that advanced, but a few of them looked worth a lengthier gander, so I took these up to the counter.

  “Just these three?”

  “Unless you have more.”

  “I do have more books on broader topics.”

  “I’m only interested in enhancing my fighting skills.”

  “Ah, but reading about history and other academics can be just as useful in becoming a better warrior. They can open your eyes to tactics that other generals have used or help you figure out how people think. Do you think the best warriors only learned from some simple guidebooks?”

  It sounded like a pitch to sell more books, but there was wisdom in what he said. Enough so that Garf’s desire was not averse to the idea either.

  “What books would help me gain an advantage in a fight?”

  He stepped out behind the counter and showed me another shelf with some history books. I bought one that focused on famous generals and another that described human anatomy. He told me to check back a few days from now when he received a new shipment of goods.

  I consumed both the training manuals and the educational words over the subsequent days. For the first time in a long time I sensed there was indeed something more out there. Reading about ancient generals had me wondering about the details of their lives and the reasons for the battles themselves. Even the anatomy book showed me something beyond the immediate wishes of my handler. I went to more shops and bought more books. Purchasing them felt as though I had made the most personal decision I had ever made yet. I had more or less forgotten the old man’s shop, but almost a month after my first visit, I returned.

  I wasn’t alone.

  Chapter Five

  I was walking with Hector and Miles late in the afternoon. We had been collecting this month’s cut from our new sources and were walking back to our headquarters. Hector caught sight of a woman ahead of us. Only the back of her slender body could be seen, including her long chocolate hair, but this was all Hector needed to try and get her attention with some hissing whistles. The woman ignored the attention seeking calls. He whistled again. She walked a bit faster. So did we. She entered that familiar shop.

  Hector laughed and said, “She’s playing hard to get! My favorite game!”

  He followed her inside the shop, so we did too. By the time we entered, the woman had ran behind the counter to join the old man. With her front side now visible, I saw that she was on the verge of leaving her youth. Her long face and small nose looked somewhat similar to the old man’s, making it easy to assume their relationship.

  “Can I help you gentlemen?” asked the guarded old man.

  “Everything in here is for sale, right?” asked Miles. “How much for a night, babe?”

  Trying to sound firm, but failing, the old man replied, “Now, I’ll have to ask you to leave if you continue making such vile jokes.”

  “Who the fuck is joking?” asked Hector rhetorically. “Do you know who we’re with, old-timer? This can be simple or really simple. I’m a fair man, so I’ll give you an entire silver standard for a wholesome night of fun with the girl. How ‘bout it?”

  Hector took a big step forward and the old man reached for something under the counter.

  The girl squeezed the old man’s arm and whispered, “Dad, be careful, please.”

  “I would listen to her if I were you,” said Miles, taking a smaller step forward while also unsheathing his sword. “Last chance to just take the coin.”

  The old man responded by pulling out his own sword and yelling out, “Lock yourself upstairs, Millie!”

  Hector and Miles hollered with savage glee as they ran and hurdled over the counter, leaving me standing there as Hector used his broadsword to knock away the old man’s desperate attempt to defend everything he held dear. His daughter shrieked horribly as she ran up the stairway located behind the counter. Hector shoved the old man to the ground and chased after her. Miles brought down the end of his steel blade with a thud, ending the old man’s groans.

  “Should have just taken the coin, old bastard.”

  Without ever looking at me, he trailed his partner’s upward path, his sword’s tip wet with blood. The woman shrieked again, but it was muffled before it could get to its highest pitch. Limbs and bodies hit the floor and walls. I walked up behind the counter. The old man’s neck was gushing the red sap of life. His dim eyes were wide open. Despite their lifelessness, I felt them imploring me. I wondered if he had recognized me. My rune began seething.

  “Miles!” said Hector. “Did you make sure the fucking door is locked? Go make sure, dumbass!”

  Miles’ stamping footfalls speedily came down the stairs. On seeing me, he said, “Oh, right. Saber, lock the door and keep guard.”

  My rune burned hot, but I was still able to lift my hand and point to some vials hoarded within the dark hollow of the counter. I asked, “What are those?”

  Miles turned to see what I was referring to. “Just some fucking health poti-”

  His voice stopped when my sword severed his spine and throat. I almost collapsed with Miles’ body. The rune was blistering my skin and sending the pain into every nerve, pinching them at their ends. But I still had control. I straightened and began climbing the tallest stairway in my life, every step up feeling as though it required the sacrifice of more of my humanity. Only her stifled whimpers pushed my legs higher.

  When half a lifetime ended and I had wholly ascended, I saw that they were on the hallway’s floor, his pants-less body facing away from me as he gyrated in a roughly rhythmic fashion. The floor squeaked in my approach, but he must have assumed it was Miles, for he never stopped his revulsion. He did eventually turn his head a bit, but it was at the same moment I lunged my bladed hand forward.

  There was no time for him to dodge. The sword went through his back almost as easily as it had cut through his friend’s neck. He didn’t die as quickly, however. He thrashed and uttered a gurgled groan, but I held my sword firmly inside of him, even giving it a twist. The woman stayed frozen on her spot, her clothes ripped. It wasn’t until Hector’s twitching body slumped back onto her did she return to her senses, yelping and crawling backwards. Hector tried to say something, but the blood spouting out of his mouth made the words unintelligible.

  I fell to my knees and vomited. I puked the entire day’s food and all of my bile until I was just dry heaving my raw lungs. The burning of the rune finally subsided just enough for me to stop throwing up and look about myself. The man was dead and the woman was holding her clothes together with one hand as she sluggishly stood back up. She eyed me nervously. My trembling hand picked up my sword, wiped it off Hector’s pants, and pulled open the flap of my coat to sheathe it.

  Below us, I heard a stranger say, “Is someone in here? Are you still open?”

  “You should get the guards,” I told the woman. “Tell them everything.”

  I walked past her to get to a bedroom behind her. I next heard her clambering toward the stairs as I saw my goal—a window. It was small and encrusted with dust, but it opened with a gripe and had sufficient space to squeeze my body through. It was a two story drop to the alley, but it didn’t take much prana to fortify my legs at this height.

  After dropping to ground level, I walked briskly toward the side of town Garf did not have as many eyes watching his interests, though I knew even this separation wouldn’t be enough for a lasting solution. The only option I had was to get as far away as possible as fast as possible. My description would be spread to every town guard and, what concerned me the most, to every criminal associated with the underworld by morning. Besides the obvious need to escape retributi
on, my rune was the overriding reason I decided to run instead of hide. I wasn’t certain how the rune’s power worked, but I figured the farther I was from Garf’s will, the less bearing it had over mine. Maybe I had to get four thousand miles away for that to hold true, but I was going to try.

  I wanted to steal a horse to get a bigger head start, but there were three problems with that idea. For one, the expensive beasts were always watched. Second, in Rise’s mountainous terrain, there weren’t many paths to take that would allow me to easily lose my pursuers. And lastly, my only experience riding a horse came from either watching others or being behind someone as they steered. No, there were too many unknowns. I had to go by foot.

  With that in mind, my only real chance at escape came in the form of the Onyx Mountains. The great peaks towered over the town a few miles to the north. It was late summer, but Rise still underwent some near freezing nights. It would be worse at higher elevations.

  In preparation for my first goal in life, I used much of the remaining coin I had to buy a large waterskin, a little pouch to store dried strips of meat, and a few hardy biscuits. I wanted to buy another coat as well, but I didn’t have enough for one that would do me any good. Moreover, most shops were closing at this point, and I didn’t want to waste any more time looking for an open shop with a good deal. I slinked out of Rise as discreetly as I could once I had what I needed. When I was sure no one could see me, I started running.

  Chapter Six

  The rune burned deeper and fiercer. It had been bearable after my vomiting incident, but it now seemed to be reacting to an invisible leash that stretched tighter and tighter the farther I moved from town. The blurred vision I suffered from obligated me to sprint slower than I liked, and even then I stumbled and tripped often. The debilitation soon traveled to my ears, upsetting my balance and forcing a pace that didn’t look that much different from a wobbling drunk.