Storm of Prophecy: Book 1, Dark Awakening

by Von Werner, Michael

  Arrendis took another breath. “The point is, we can’t prevent those things from coming into existence. Evil people and injustices will always abound; we don’t have a choice in that. What we can choose, is what we decide to do about it. No one wants to kill, Vincent. No one likes it. Do you think you’re the first person to say so? You’re not. The only people who seem to genuinely enjoy it, or care nothing about the suffering they inflict, are people like the ones who fell to this blade. You did the right thing, you protected us.”

  “Master, noble as that sounds, I still think that maybe someone else could…deal with these things. Someone better suited than I.”

  “You’re right,” Arrendis agreed unexpectedly. “Someone else could take care of it. But what about everyone beyond this keep who can’t? I’ll bet you anything that the people who had their still-beating hearts carefully cut from them wished they had your strength, your sword, your magic, some kind of fighting chance at all before they were captured and put under the knife. Part of our purpose here is to fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. And where magic is concerned, we are the only ones who can fight for those who have none.”

  “I’m still not so sure that I am the person to be doing this. I don’t think that I am cut out for it.”

  “And why is that?”

  Vincent had difficulty putting it into words and so didn’t. He said something else instead. “My power is nothing special, just a small amount of metal manipulation. Someone with greater magic could have defended the vault better than I.”

  Arrendis looked incredulous, maybe even slightly hurt. “You mean to say that after all this time, and after all we’ve been through to get you this far, you have finally let the criticisms of the ignorant and insecure few make you believe that you don’t deserve to be among us? You’re lying.”

  “I failed!” Vincent burst out, unable to contain himself any longer. It had been eating him up inside, and he had to tell someone. Tears began to flow freely from his eyes.

  Arrendis got up, the sword still in his hands, walked behind Vincent, and closed the door so that they wouldn’t be heard. Vincent waited while he walked back around him and sat back down. “How can that be true, Vincent?” He asked. “I heard that you defended the keep bravely, that two of the attackers were slain by you. If you did your best, then you didn’t really fail. Don’t ever think otherwise.”

  Vincent stared hard at him. “I’m not a good enough killer,” he said contemptuously when he was able to control his voice enough to do so. “I hesitated. There was a single moment of truth that could have meant death for them, or at least catastrophe for their theft…and I faltered.”

  Arrendis didn’t prod him to go on, and continued to stare back and listen intently while he allowed him to go at his own pace. Vincent started feeling nauseated at the recall and could feel his face pale again. He wished he hadn’t eaten breakfast.

  “After I…killed the first intruder, and he fell apart with all his blood and…nevermind. After I killed him, I tried not to let what I saw bother me, and I moved on to attack the next person I thought was there.” He swallowed. “It was a woman. I had cut her deeply across her torso, and I got to look right into her eyes as I watched the life drain out of her. In that last instant she had to live, she…retaliated. I was thrown against the wall and almost killed. That was how I wound up in the infirmary, and how those vile people walked away with whatever it was they stole from us.

  “All this time you’ve helped me, I trained, and when it really mattered…I failed.” Vincent swallowed again, his eyes wet. “I know that you are fond of me because you practically raised me, and that you have no desire to see me go, but one way or another I will have to. My career will be over when I give my report to the masters. They’ll want me expelled for allowing this to happen; I might as well announce my intention to quit. I’m not going to lie to them about my mistake just to have another chance to go on…” he made himself say the right word “…killing.”

  Arrendis took a long time before answering, seeming to wait to see if Vincent would say more. His visage was that of someone genuinely concerned. “If you tell them the truth, I’m sure they’ll understand that the first time is never easy…”

  “How would they know!” Vincent interrupted rudely. “Have they ever killed anyone before! Have you!”

  His mentor didn’t take offense. “As a matter of fact, I have. When I was about your age, long, long before I ever brought you here, I was part of a council-ordered mission into the Badlands. We were sent there to uncover the plot of a powerful Orc shaman who was rumored to be attempting a unification of the tribes. We ran into trouble many times before we finally found him, and he was trouble enough.”

  “Why have you never spoken of this before?”

  “You never asked.”

  Silence.

  “But they were just…” Vincent stammered, unable to put words to his thoughts.

  “Orcs,” Arrendis finished for him. “I told myself that many times. In some ways we’re more alike than you think. And it didn’t really matter which ones we encountered. Females, offspring…we had to slaughter any who saw us in order to conceal our presence while we traveled. And of course we also had to make it look like other Orcs had done it so they would continue attacking each other. The greenskins are foul tempered and dangerous, not to be trusted or shown mercy.

  “Apparently so were the people you had the misfortune of dealing with. You shouldn’t blame yourself for not having perfect resolve your first time during a crisis; almost no one does. People can train, but there is no way to know how they will react until it actually happens. Given the circumstances, I think you responded pretty well. Just learn from your mistake and don’t repeat it the next time you should find yourself in a similar situation. If you can do that, you should be alright.”

  Vincent’s anxiety was not eased. “What if they don’t understand this as you do? What if they don’t see it that way?”

  “Then stand your ground and explain it to them. Apologize and promise never to let it happen again. Even if one or two aren’t satisfied, the rest should be. You’ll be alright, trust me.”

  Vincent wasn’t entirely convinced that he would be. “But…I’m a coward. I was afraid. More afraid than I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “That wasn’t the true test of your bravery.” Vincent looked on in confusion, wondering if Arrendis was comparing Vincent’s experience to his own. “The true test, believe it or not, is right now. A wise man once said that ‘to convince men to go into battle for the first time is a very easy thing to do: anyone will volunteer. To convince them to return a second time is much more difficult.’”

  “I’m not a soldier,” Vincent pointed out, “and I didn’t come here to become one either. I came to try to prevent the killing.”

  “Well I’m not going to lie to you, Vincent,” Arrendis said. “Sometimes to prevent killing, you have to fight back against or even kill those who would. And if you did resign, where would you go? What would you do?”

  “I guess I would go back to my hometown, become a farmer, and build myself a house. Maybe get married and raise a family.”

  “Very well,” Arrendis said, playing along, “and if someone came and tried to murder you or your family, to take your money or your possessions, or perhaps just to kill you and rape your wife, what would you do then? You would have to fight back, maybe even kill again.”

  “The chances of that happening are slim,” Vincent maintained.

  “Ours is a world full of dangers. As I recall, your hometown is located in northeast Ryga. Orcs are abound in the Great Northern Plain almost as much as in the Badlands. If even one tribe were to stray from their relentless attacks upon the Dwarves or from their constant fighting with the barbarian nomads to the north, your village, your family, and everyone you know would be slaughtered. You would still have to face death, and you might still need to kill. Given the choice, don’t you think it would be much better
to face the dangers here with us? Fighting to prevent such atrocities?”-he lifted up Vincent’s sword as he spoke-“At least here you would have a sword instead of a pitchfork. Out there you would have no more chance than any other poor fool or simpleton. Someone else would have to protect you or investigate your murder if they couldn’t.”

  Vincent’s memories of launching his own covert and unauthorized investigation into the murders of others resurfaced, fruitless as it had been. He couldn’t find fault in what his mentor was saying to him; it all made sense. Death and fighting were a part of life even if one didn’t wish it so. Feeling sorry for himself didn’t make it better. It was what it was. Running away wasn’t going to help. There was no escaping it.

  Vincent wiped away the wet edges that were left from his tears. It seemed as though he was starting to feel the slightest bit better. “You are wise as always, master. Everything you’ve said is absolutely true. I just wish that I was a better student.”

  “You are a good student, and you’ve made me proud. It may not seem like it to you because they escaped, but what you did down there was no small thing. Through alertness and dedication, you noticed what others might not have, and you defended the keep with honor.” He looked to the side for a moment before returning his gaze to Vincent. “And if things hadn’t turned out the way they did, you would have died and the theft would have gone unnoticed for some time. Stop being so hard on yourself.”

  Vincent took another breath to calm himself and help return to normal. “I guess you’re right.”

  That said, Arrendis turned around to look back toward the empty perch near his window. “Gracie still isn’t back yet. Looks like I’m going to have to fend for myself. Would you like to join me downstairs for breakfast?”

  “Thanks for the offer, master,” Vincent replied, feeling simply drained. “I’ve already eaten.” He didn’t bother telling him that he had almost lost what he ate.

  Arrendis stared at him with a curious frown on his face. What he was thinking, Vincent didn’t know. “Before I go downstairs, I think I would like to take a look at the city from the roof on this bright, clear day. I want you to come with me.”

  Vincent could tell that this wasn’t a spurious request, that he intended to speak with him further and impart some other lesson or counsel. He couldn’t refuse. “Of course.”

  From beneath his widely draped gray hood, Arrendis made a quick, tight-lipped smile and grabbed his wooden staff from where it lay, leaned up against the left side of the desk. As he walked past Vincent, he held out the sword without looking, and Vincent took it. Then he went out the door. Vincent followed him from behind and rubbed at his eyes further in order to compose himself better before appearing in front of others. Once he was out in the hall, Arrendis closed the door and put his hand over the gold-colored metal pad to lock it.

  As they walked through the hall toward the staircase leading to the roof, Vincent took off his cloak and fit himself through the straps of his baldric. His hated sword hung at his left side once again. He then put the cloak back on.

  Though weary, he found himself asking his mentor a poignant question. “Why are we visiting the roof of the keep?”

  “I’m still not entirely convinced that you won’t change your mind and then later decide to leave us anyway,” Arrendis began as he stepped along with his staff, making solid taps on the stone. “Change is difficult. Especially when it is a type of change we don’t like. You also seem to forget that I know you. You’re probably having second thoughts right now as we speak.” He paused to take a breath. “You’re always having second thoughts. What I told you could easily wear off in a matter of hours or days. It is easy to agree with something that sounds right but much harder to remember it always and apply it when needed.”

  “I can assure you that I will not soon forget your words, master. They were…enlightening to say the least. It may take me some time to fully accept the meaning behind what you have tried to teach me, but I will try.”

  “Even so,” Arrendis replied, “I still have some things that I would say to you.” Vincent said nothing and continued walking with him.

  The roof of the fortress appeared like a single wide room large enough to cover almost the same area as the keep below it. There were stone supports for the shingled roof above it that protected those stationed here from rain, arrows, and unusually high-flung boulders. There were no windows along the outer edges, only a gap between the sheltering roof-edge above the parapets that provided cover. Together, the openings beneath the wide roof granted a panoramic view of the entire countryside from this height. It also granted defending troops the same full circle for shots fired back during a siege.

  All around them as they strode toward the north side of the roof were rows of barrels upon barrels of arrows, their white fletching sticking from the top of the openings like a layer of white cloud. Along the north edge and all others, stood a row of men just behind the parapets. They each wore shiny metal helmets that came to the top in a point, long red tabards that hung low over their leather pants, and a full quiver over their backs. Each man carried a bow on his shoulder, and a few standing near the interior stone supports stood guard with swords. Those men wore armor, including shoulder plates, and the standing black lion crest was more easily seen on the front of their red tabards because of how they stood.

  Near each stone support on either side of the outward edge were two men that formed the crew for the roof-mounted ballistae. The long, thick bolts were sitting face up within a few wider barrels to the side of the weapons. Each machine was currently not loaded or ready so as not to wear out the strength of the draw with unneeded tension. Though the men standing guard near the supports stood stolidly at their posts more or less the same way Vincent had stood at his, the archers and others were far more lax, and many appeared to be engaged in conversation, telling stories or jokes. Most threats to the keep would be noticed by those manning the towers and defensive wall surrounding the fortress; their role was merely to provide additional fire.

  When they came closer, Arrendis politely asked the soldiers in question along the north stretch to clear out and stand guard elsewhere on the roof for the time being, saying that he would like to share a word alone with his pupil and that the two of them would watch that side for now. They looked curiously at Vincent, perhaps not thinking him a wizard because of what he wore, but said nothing and moved aside. After they did, Arrendis moved up closer to the crenulations and held steady his wooden staff while placing a hand on one of the stone protrusions and looking out at the vast expanse. Vincent stood to the right of him and leaned his right forearm on top of one, resting his left hand on his sword handle for lack of something better to do with it.

  Arrendis took a few deep breaths of fresh air and then finally spoke. “Take a good look out there, Vincent. Look carefully at the campus, the city, and the farms. More importantly, think thoroughly about all the people involved in each.” Vincent did as told, looking at each part of the city in turn and the busy streets. He also gazed over at the farms, wondering what sort of lesson Arrendis was about to impart to him. “All of it, every person, thing, and place has something in common. What is it?”

  Vincent kept looking out, trying to discern what it was that his teacher was hinting at, but could find nothing. “I don’t know, master. They all look pretty different,” he replied truthfully.

  “Perhaps on the surface,” the wizard said. “The thing they all share in common is that they have a purpose. If you look there, you will see a baker, over there, a shoemaker, a weaver, a blacksmith. In the city, you might see a soldier patrolling the streets to enforce the law. Out in the country beyond, you will see a farmer growing crops. Each are different, yet each are an important part of the larger tapestry, and they are each good at what they do. They pursue whatever it is tenaciously and work toward their own betterment while at the same time providing stability and prosperity to the whole. It is the same with nature out in the wild: each plant
, each animal, each bug has a purpose, even if it is not readily apparent. People are perhaps more flexible in what they choose to do, but even in people there are things that shape and determine what course their life will take.”

  “You’re saying that I was meant to be here, doing what I do.”

  “Precisely.”

  “I’m not so sure about that, master. If you look around us up here, you will see that many other men can wield a sword. If you go downstairs or to any part of the campus, you will find that other people can wield magic, magic more powerful than mine. I find the idea that I’m particularly useful or special somewhat hard to believe.”

  The old man looked over into his eyes with a crease on his brow. “That’s where you are wrong, my young friend. Your skills and abilities may not seem unique or useful to you, but they are important nonetheless. Could you go home and learn to be a farmer? Possibly. Could you learn another trade? Perhaps. Yet how many out there”-he waved his hand in a gesture toward the expanse-“could we grab and make them learn to do what you do?” Vincent sighed through his nose, starting to tire of this line of discussion; it seemed like just a handful of pitiful reassurances. Arrendis answered for him. “None, Vincent. The answer is none.”

  “But master, I just said that…”

  “Nevermind what you just said,” he cut him off. “You were wrong.” He started to give examples again. “You’ve never told me yourself, but in the past I did some asking, and I heard that you’re pretty good with a blade: fast, strong, clever, innovative, and unpredictable.”