by Heath Pfaff
"OPEN THIS DOOR!" The voice of Weaver tore through the air. Again the Knight's voice held no sway over me, but I could feel the intensity of it, rippling through the air like the force of an explosion. The wood door shook in its frame and Weaver slammed his fist into it with such force that the entire wall of the building shook. The door, however, stood firm. There were screams in the streets and people ran into their homes, slamming doors behind them. Suddenly the roads were quiet, and it was just Weaver and me standing on an empty street in front of the store.
"Maybe we should leave..." I began to say, but Weaver's eyes turned on me and there was a fearsome burning there. I stepped back and held my hands out wide, letting Weaver know I would not interfere in his actions again. He had been a Knight for nearly four hundred years and I would allow him to do what he thought was necessary.
"Go away monster, we'll not..." The voice from inside the house didn't get any further than that because Weaver's monstrous voice tore from his throat in an outpouring of inarticulate fury. Two massive wings slipped from concealed slots in his cloak and beat the air heavily. I was forced to step back, or risk getting knocked off my feet by the leathery, black appendages. Weaver's powerful claws shot out and this time I managed to shift my perception of time fast enough that I could see them move, but even then those clawed hands were viciously fast. They pierced the door smoothly, and the terrifying red-eyed monster tightened his grip on the wood to the point that it began to splinter in his vice-like hands. There was a sundering, breaking sound and Weaver leaped into the air, pounding his wings and lifting the door and the portion of the wall that held the bar-lock with him into the sky. He gave another great scream of rage and tossed the door with tremendous force at the shop beneath him. I was forced to jump behind a wagon on the side of the street or be hit debris flying from the explosion of the building with the impact of the door. The roof of the shop caved in, along with a portion of the front wall. Weaver sailed to the ground, some fearsome beast of legend descending from the sky, and stepped through the rubble. I was terrified of the ferocity of the Knight I'd been traveling with. I was reminded of Wisp's unbridled rage, and wondered if the anger was a result of becoming more powerful amidst the Knights of Ethan.
"What terrible power." I said the words aloud, though I hadn't meant to. Hearing them, I clamped my mouth shut, not wanting Weaver to hear me. I started to stand up from my place, behind the wagon where I'd taken cover, but I stopped when I heard screams coming from inside the building. There was a man and a woman, shrill voices raised in horror. The noise went abruptly quiet, and a moment later Weaver stepped from the building, two full bags of supplies clenched in one fist. He tucked his wings back into the holes on the back of his cloak and they vanished as though they'd never been.
"Come, Lowin. It's time to take our leave of this hole." His voice was all command, rage just beneath the surface. I didn't dare disobey him, but the screams of the shop owner and his wife still hung in my mind, haunting me. We walked from the town without further molestation. It was a full hour later before I finally worked up the nerve to ask the question gnawing at my insides.
"Why did you kill them?" The words were hard to force out.
"Kill who? That ignorant shop keeper and his fat wife?" He looked at me for a moment, drew back the mask across his face and smiled widely. He burst into laughter. "I didn't kill them, Lowin. I merely put a little fear into them. Of course I wouldn't kill innocent people. Is that something that a Knight of Ethan would do?"
I smiled, still uneasy. The screams I'd heard inside the store, and the sudden way they stopped, still stuck in my mind. Had he really let the shop keeper and his wife live? It was impossible to know, but the ferocity Weaver had shown in Paix Farth was something I wouldn't soon forget.
We walked through most of the night and on into the next day, only stopping for a few hours to sleep. I didn't sleep at all. Too many troubled thoughts rested heavily upon my shoulders. I was tired as the sun rose once more over the horizon, but not so tired that I feared I wouldn't be able to function. My new body seemed to be beyond complete exhaustion, always having that reserve of energy I needed in order to go further. An hour past dawn, Weaver led us from the beaten path onto a small trail, still heading almost straight south. He seemed to have an unerring sense of direction. I wondered if it was another trait he had developed after becoming a full Knight of Ethan, or if he had always been good with navigation. I didn't ask him. Since the events in Paix Farth the day before, I had talked to him very little, choosing to keep to my own thoughts and company, unpleasant though they were.
"Do you enjoy your service to the king?" Weaver's voice broke the silence, calm and even, but startling after the length of time we'd traveled without so much as a word. I looked to my travel companion. He was looking back at me, his mask down and his face set in a neutral expression. It was a poignant question, and not one that I was sure how to answer.
The truth of the matter was I did not want to serve my king at all. I didn't believe in the enigmatic man who demanded the lives of the innocent in order to strengthen his army. I had no intention of telling Weaver such a thing though. I had seen the man's wrath enough, and had no desire to risk striking it aflame once more. "I have done little to serve my king yet. That is difficult to answer." I replied cryptically, hoping it would suffice.
"Surely you have some opinion of the great man whose orders you will be following for the foreseeable future? I'm not asking a difficult question, Lowin. What is your king to you?" The warrior pressed, and I knew by the tone in his voice and the look in his eyes that he had no intention of letting this pass.
I grit my teeth, wanting to blurt out that my king was a murderer. He was a man who traded innocent lives for power without blanching. I wasn't sure what Weaver was driving at, what he expected from me, and I didn't much care for the line of questioning. "The king is a man of power. He sits high atop his throne and governs the mass, not seeing the individuals over which he sits as judge, deciding what constitutes the greater good of the whole."
Weaver nodded. "Indeed, he is a powerful man with a strong idea of what is important for the greater good. He must only see the whole. That is a good answer, for one so young." The red-eyed Knight paused for a moment before going on. "Do you know what it takes to have a strong idea, Lowin?"
I looked at the shifting outline of my companion quizzically. I wasn't sure what a "strong idea" implied, and I certainly wasn't sure how to answer Weaver's question. "No, I don't." I said, and it was true as far as I knew.
"Imagination, nothing more. Anyone can have a strong idea, my boy, and it can be a harmless thing. The difference with the king is that he is very powerful man, and when a powerful man has a strong idea, it becomes a new creature entirely. Lives are lost, nations rise and fall, and cultures are born and die all on the waves of a strong idea, led by a powerful individual. The king - and I can't say I honestly know the name of our current king as there is a new one every twenty or forty years, and I've lost track - but he, in whatever new guise he comes, has always had the same, singular goal. The king wishes to align all of the peoples of our world under one crown, and reign in an era of peace and prosperity. That is a noble endeavor, no?" Most would have phrased that last sentence in such a way that the question would not have been searching for an answer, but I could tell by Weaver's phrasing that he expected me to reply. I thought before opening my mouth to give an answer.
A prosperous, unified world was a noble idea, but was it a noble endeavor? Trade would become strong, and the peoples of the world would never want for anything for they would be backed by a strong system that would see to their needs, but what of the peoples who didn't wish to be forced under the thumb of the human government? They would fight. That would leave the king with only one choice, to suppress those who rallied against him. And what if he met another king with a similar ideal, only that the other king wished to bring the people of the world under his own government? They would clash, and th
e world would erupt into a massive war. The people would suffer, trade would falter, and death would be the course of the day. It would happen, too. No king would willingly submit to another, and certainly the world was a large enough place that there were more kings than just mine. Rulers would never share power. It was not in their nature.
In times of war, the king would need stronger, more effective weapons and greater power. He would acquire those weapons, and that power, the way he'd always done, I knew, taking it despite the cost to the people he was allegedly trying to help. More innocents would die, more families would be destroyed, more men would be turned into monsters of war, and in the end it would be only the king who truly prospered. He would grind his people against the stone of war, hone them into what he needed for his purpose, and leave those that fell away to rot in their graves without remorse. All of this he would do for a noble idea. Even the noblest dream is folly, if in its pursuit the one who chases the dream loses himself.
"It is... a noble dream." I answered, choosing my words cautiously. A world of peace and prosperity was always a pretty concept, but no king could force it upon the world. The great dream of men would always remain just a dream.
Weaver smiled and nodded vigorously. I don't know if he read all the way into my answer, or was merely happy that I had seemed to agree with a conclusion he'd made- that the king was set upon a noble endeavor, but Weaver found something he favored in my words.
"It is the most noble of dreams, Lowin," the bloody-eyed Knight said with a laugh. "I think it is time we continued your training. I'll need to determine your combat skills before we begin." With those words, the subject of conversation was completely changed. We did not speak of such things again for several weeks, instead dedicating our time to a brutal training regimen that occupied every moment not spent walking or sleeping. Weaver avoided human settlements as we went, and for that I was thankful. Alone in the woods, he seemed a different person than the one I'd seen destroy the shop in Paix Farth. In time I even began to believe that he hadn't killed the shopkeeper and his wife; he was quick to smile, and quicker to laugh out in joy. Besides, at that point he was all I had to call 'companion.' It is easy to deceive oneself, when one really desires to.
A tall, stone walled, fortress loomed in the distance, an imposing structure obviously designed with prolonged siege defense in mind. I had noticed that we were traveling closer and closer to it as the day passed, but Weaver made no mention of his intentions. Two weeks of travel with the sometimes stoic, sometimes jovial, and always imposing warrior had done little to enlighten me to his true nature. He trained me hard, encouraging me to take full advantage of the new abilities granted to me by Kyeia's sacrifice. I was quick to hone my ability to sharpen the focus of time and I found that I could call it up at will. The speed of my limbs was still my greatest handicap, but I had learned how to overcome the limitations to an extent, even to the point that I could push myself to the very limits of my body's endurance. The first few times I attempted to do so, I caused muscles to tear and bones to break, but they healed in a matter of hours and I was ready to try again. I felt that it was important to know at what point my body would fail me. The best way to find that limit was to surpass it, recover, and try again until I mastered the appropriate time to stop without surpassing my body's ability. As I worked, some of the overwhelming exhaustion caused by the time slowing effect began to slip away. All my improvements were achieved in only two weeks on the road with Weaver, but as we grew closer to the mysterious fortress I became more agitated.
"Are we going there?" I finally decided to ask, pointing to the ever nearing structure.
"Yes, I have an appointment with the Lord of the keep." Weaver answered flatly, his voice calm and even, as it always was when he was discussing something he didn't necessarily feel like talking about. "The fortress is Renwalk, it is the last human stronghold in the south, and is responsible for scouting and maintaining the final line of defense from what lies beyond the human borders." He explained, gesturing with his hand to indicate the wide expanse of forested land that lay beyond. The dark green of the thick forest was broken in places by the white of early snow, something we'd been seeing more and more of as we traveled deeper into the frigid south. Traveling north from Fell Rock would have seen us moving into warmer climates, but we were growing closer and closer to the lands of snow and ice with every day of travel. Eventually, if we continued our march to the sea, we would reach the coastal region where the snow never completely melted.
"Ah, king's business." I said to myself, partially reassured that this endeavor into civilized land might go better than the last.
"Yes, business." Weaver mumbled the words.
"Will we be staying long?" I was still eager to reach our destination. The two weeks of travel had given me a lot of time to think, and I was still worried about the others from Fell Rock. Merrywin and I had never gotten too close, but she had taken care of me when I was at my worst. I hoped that she was well. Any news of Silent would be welcome. I feared the worst for him, but still kept a flicker of hope alive in my heart. Malice, though, occupied my thoughts the most. The tough, often angry woman who had trained me and comforted me during the hardest times of my life was my dearest living friend. I had never told her so, and I didn't know what she thought of me, but I felt a bond with her stronger then that I'd established with anyone else other than Kye.
"Only long enough to speak with Lord Twist. I need to make a report on the events at Fell Rock, and discover the position of any of our forces that might have checked in at Renwalk," came Weaver's reply.
"Might there be other Knights of Ethan at Renwalk?" I asked, my attention suddenly piqued.
"I doubt it, but we will know for sure once I speak with Twist, and get the reports from his scouts." The red-eyed warrior answered, not indicating whether he would be either pleased or displeased with finding more of his fellows had escaped Fell Rock. At times he could be very dispassionate.
My hopes sank with his assessment. I had held some hope that we might hear word of other Knights of Ethan in the vicinity. To be more precise, I had hoped to hear of Malice or the others. I wondered, though I didn't voice my thoughts, what made Weaver so certain that others wouldn't have passed the same way as us. If all the Knights had gone south to meet up after the battle at Fell Rock, did it not stand to reason that others might have stopped to make a report at Renwalk since it was along their way? Suspicion took hold of me again, and I found myself wondering at the true motives behind Weaver's actions. I thought back to the events of my last night at Fell Rock, something I'd been doing more and more as we traveled further to our rendezvous point.
There had been two strange men that night, obviously looking for me, one of whom I'd heard speak, the other of whom had been too quiet for me to hear. I had seen neither of them, at least not clearly, but I remembered only too well the sharp pain I'd felt just before blacking out, with the massive Lantern Eye blotting out the sky above me. If Weaver had truly saved me from the Lantern Eye, then certainly he must have either seen those two men, or been one of them. I knew that he was not the one who had spoken, because I would have recognized his voice, but could he be the other? If he was, what had happened to the man who had spoken, and why had they both been searching specifically for me, in the heat of a fearsome battle? If he was neither of those men, then he was a third person who had not seen those two at all, or had, for some reason, chosen not to mention those two in his retelling of the night's events. There was the possibility that the Lantern Eye had killed the two men I'd heard outside the building that night, but if it had killed the man standing directly over me, was it not reasonable to assume that it would have also killed me before help could come? I didn't have answers to any of the speculation that filled my mind, but I suspected that Weaver did. His psychotic dual nature, however, kept me from asking any questions that might anger him. The truth I so desperately wanted was beyond my ability to acquire.
Many times I had
considered abandoning Weaver, making my way south on my own, but I realized that with his superior speed, and ability to fly, I would not get far before he tracked me down. Once he did track me down, I would be in a dangerous position. He would want to know why I'd left, and that was not something that I could explain without casting him in a dark light indeed. As long as I kept traveling with him, Weaver seemed only too friendly, and eager to teach me all that he could. In fact, he had been nothing but gracious and a good general companion to me in all our time alone on the road. He did most of the hunting and gathering of supplies, and he also told many an interesting tale to liven up the tedium of the hours of walking. He never did talk about himself, but was that really a good reason to be suspicious of someone? I didn't know. I desperately wanted to be able to trust the red-eyed warrior, if only because he was the only living person around who understood what it was like to be what I was. Still, every time I grew comfortable around Weaver, the screams of the shopkeeper and his wife would ring through my head, reminding me of what lay hidden beneath the pleasant visage of the smiling Knight. I constantly wished that I had checked the shop to see if the keeper and his woman were still alive. Had I seen them living with my own eyes, I would not have had such a hard time believing Weaver when he said that he had not killed them.
Renwalk fortress loomed high above us now, its massive towers clawing at the sky seemed almost black, stained by soot as they were. I looked at Weaver as we drew closer to this place of human habitation, and wondered, with a mix of fear and anticipation, what new aspect of his nature I might soon uncover.
The moat surrounding Renwalk was far enough across that a score of men, laying foot to head, wouldn't stretch from one bank to the other. The banks down to the murky water were steep and treacherous. I guessed that the bottom was probably lined with sharp metal spikes or caltrops, making anyone foolish enough to try and cross the water without the aid of the draw-bridge likely to have their feet torn to pieces. The bridge was up as we approached, but once we were within audible range of the castle Weaver took down his hood and called up to the guards along the wall, who had not seen our approach, shrouded in our cloaks as we were.
