Trysmoon Book 1: Ascension (The Trysmoon Saga)

by Brian Fuller

  Unlike before, the twelve were led away through the guardhouse gates and into a nearby Church where they were to wait, pray, and be healed as the First Mother and the Regents decided their fates. Six would eventually be called and returned to the field, each proudly bearing on their left breast the Im’Tith, the magical seal of all those who entered the Chalaine’s close service, the same seal Fenna had worn since she was twelve.

  “Will you please join us, Fenna?” the First Mother asked.

  “Yes, your Grace,” Fenna answered, surprised at the request.

  She followed the First Mother, Cadaen, Captain Tolbrook, and the Regents down the stairway nearest the Box and across the street to a guard station.

  A soldier near the door of the squat, gray-stone building snapped to attention while another opened the door. Once inside, they went down a hallway that passed a barracks and an armory, coming to a larger room with a well-weathered wooden oval table in the center. Ethris was there already, sitting in a corner near a narrow window and gazing outward with a pensive expression. There were enough chairs for everyone save Fenna, and, as she waited for one to be brought forward, the Regents chattered excitedly with each other, though some seemed troubled.

  After Fenna had been seated, the First Mother called for silence.

  “I am sorry to startle you by bringing you here, my dear Fenna, and you shall be released to your duties shortly. Gentlemen, this young lady has talked to the young man who concerns us, and I have brought her here to ask her a few questions before we deliberate.”

  The Regents nodded their approval.

  “First,” Mirelle said to Fenna, “I know that you had little opportunity to converse with him. I want you to tell us everything he said, no matter how trivial it might have seemed.”

  Fenna did the best that she could, though she wanted to crawl under the table as she related the parts about her feelings for Kimdan, especially since his father was among those assembled. Harrick discomfited her with a lopsided smile. Even worse, Ethris studied her unblinkingly, and by the time she was finished, she felt quite unnerved.

  “Thank you, Fenna, and I apologize for this necessity. One last thing. How do you mark his character? Could you tell anything about him from your brief moments with him?”

  “He seemed honest, caring, and polite, Majesty. More than that, I cannot say. His face says nothing, though his eyes were kind.”

  The First Mother seemed satisfied with her answer and turned to the Magician. “Ethris, what could you discern when you subjected him to the test?”

  Ethris stood and leaned on his Staff by the window. “He has an iron will, your Grace, almost frighteningly so. I have only known Magicians and Churchmen—and ones long in the tooth, mind you—to have such strength of mind. He also possesses a deep devotion and loyalty to the Chalaine. To be sure, the other candidates possess the same, but Gen’s is of a different quality, the type of loyalty you would expect from a friend rather than one inspired by the abstract ideals of religion. It’s almost as if he knows her. If you are asking if he is dangerous to her or an impostor, I would say no. He greatly desires to serve the Chalaine.

  “My best judgment is that he would be an admirable Dark Guard, perhaps the best to accept the honor in years. I am concerned, however, about his abilities. No one as young as he is should be so skilled, and no human has ever known the Kuri-tan.”

  “The what?” the First Mother asked.

  “Kuri-Tan. It was an elven martial art. At the threat of Mikkik, the elves, at first, shunned weapons and weapon-making, learning instead an unarmed form of fighting they called Kuri-Tan. While unarmed fighting is known in human kingdoms, elven fighting is elegant and powerful, as we saw today. From the limited display we had, I cannot be certain it is the elven art, but I would wager it is.”

  “And you say it is unusual that he should know it?”

  “Absolutely!” Ethris said. “For one, Maewen the half-elf is all anyone has seen of elves in two hundred and fifty years. Secondly, the elves would never teach a human the art. The humans begged them to teach it to them during the Mikkikian wars and they flatly refused.”

  “We will simply have to ask him about it,” the First Mother said, “but I don’t care so much about that as I do his character and his intentions, both of which I am satisfied with at present.”

  “Hold a moment, your Grace.” Regent Julim Magravaine stood. He was old and thin, and he always held his gray-haired head high and dignified. “Doesn’t Gen’s utter humiliation of Kimdan—no offense, Harrick—show a certain meanness of character? I also noticed that during group combat he tended to hit the Aughmerians in the head and rather harder than others.”

  “‘Tended to hit them in the head’ is not correct,” Tolbrook interjected. “He did not hit an Aughmerian except he hit him in the head. He was deliberately punishing them and doing his best to cast them in an incompetent light. I was watching carefully there to ensure things didn’t get out of hand.”

  “Gentlemen,” the First Mother said, lowering her voice as if fearing being overheard, “I, for one, cannot and will not reproach him for his treatment of the Aughmerians.” Murmurs of assent were heard throughout the room. “As for his treatment of Kimdan, Lady Fairedale gave us the answer; he wanted Kimdan’s respect. I daresay he has it, however grudgingly. Kimdan needed humbling, and Gen has done us a service there, if you’ll forgive me, Harrick.”

  “You know I agree with you, your Grace,” Regent Ogbith replied. “I shall thank him for the service one day. Cadaen and I share Ethris’s curiosity about his skills, but I find no fault in his behavior today.”

  Regent Magravaine tried to conceal his agitation and sat down.

  “Very well, I am satisfied with his fitness then,” the First Mother pronounced. “Captain Tolbrook, you have a new apprentice. I’m sure you’ll find him quite different from Dason.”

  “Indeed,” Tolbrook replied thoughtfully.

  “The real question,” Regent Ogbith piped in, smile splitting his face, “is if Tolbrook can teach the boy anything.”

  At this, Tolbrook took offense, and he, the Regents, and Cadaen all broke out into wild speculation and argument about Gen’s experience and abilities. Ethris’s comments bolstered Fenna’s resolve to find out more about the young man and the root of his devotion to her Mistress.

  After a few minutes, an amused First Mother calmed the men. “Gentlemen, we shall all, no doubt, want to be present when the new apprentices undergo their skill tests so we can see just what Gen can do, but now we have eleven—well, ten—other young men up for our consideration and must get to it soon lest the crowd become impatient.

  “Fenna, you are free to go. I charge you to say nothing of what was said here. I also command you to speak with Gen when you can and become his friend, for he will be alone when he enters service with the high born.”

  “Gladly, your highness,” Fenna answered, the First Mother smiling at her knowingly. Fenna felt fit to burst with what she had learned, and she had to try hard to say nothing as she returned to the Box and found herself besieged with questions from her court-bred peers, Serena included. But soon, finding they could extract nothing from her, they left her alone.

  The sun was sinking, throwing long shadows across the field. The smells of roasted meats, baked breads, and stewed vegetables made Fenna’s mouth water, but she hadn’t the stomach or inclination to eat until the ceremony was over.

  Just at the onset of evening, the First Mother and her councilors returned, all save Ethris who Fenna knew had gone to the Church to perform the magical branding and dismiss those not chosen. The crowd raced back to their seats or to line the fence. Fenna noted that the streets brimmed with even more common folk than before, and their enthusiasm charged the air with excitement.

  With great effort, the First Mother managed to silence everyone. A trumpet blew, and the gate to the field was thrown open. A herald rode through on a white horse, bearing a flag with a black rose on a white field,
the colors of the Chalaine.

  “Hear ye, hear ye, people of Ki’Hal. Six men have recently entered the service of the Chalaine, the blessed future mother of our God. They are released from what former duties were theirs to dedicate their bodies, their hearts, and their minds to protecting the Chalaine from Mikkik, his Ilch, and all other evils. I present them to you now.

  “Gen, serf of Tolnor, an orphan of no family, apprenticed to Captain Tolbrook, hereby set apart to be Captain of the Dark Guard.”

  The commoners cheered and celebrated, much to the chagrin of the peerage who, while they did not like it, could not fault the decision. Captain Tolbrook, now wearing the half-moon tabard of the Dark Guard, strode onto the field, his apprentice, shirtless so the Im’Tith could be seen, came behind him as calm and emotionless as he was when the Captain’s men first dragged him across the field earlier that day. Fenna noted that the First Mother was as shocked as she was at the mention of the Gen’s status as an orphan.

  As the herald announced the others, the people were almost too abuzz with talk of Gen to applaud when Kimdan’s name was read. Volney Torunne and two brothers from Aughmere, Ghent and Pahram Mail, had been chosen. Gerand Kildan of Tolnor rounded out the six, joining Gen to represent his besieged nation among the apprentices. When the herald was finished, the First Mother stood and signaled for the men to come toward her. They knelt, and, after a brief speech of congratulations and gratitude, she released the young men to their masters.

  “Tolbrook versus Gen!” someone shouted from the commoner side of the crowd. The aristocracy acted shocked as the commoners laughed at the remark.

  “Well,” Serena said acidly, “Tolnor is certainly well represented. I shall see you at home, Oggie. Do not stay out too late drinking.”

  After bowing to the First Mother, Serena departed, Fenna hoping she wouldn’t inquire further into the identity of Gen’s lady benefactor.

  “What do you say, First Mother,” Regent Ogbith said mirthfully. “Should we open Gen’s skill test to everyone? It would, no doubt, be almost as disorderly as this.”

  “Certainly not!” the First Mother said, feigning outrage.

  While everyone filtered into the city and turned their attention to celebration, the new apprentices were to spend the night in meditation and prayer. Fenna watched Gen—proud that he still wore her sash—as he left in the company of the Captain. She wanted to run and congratulate him, but seeing someone lighting a lantern at the approach of dark reminded her that she needed to hurry back to the Chalaine and relieve Eldwena. She would have plenty of time to track Gen down tomorrow. For now, she wanted to talk to the Chalaine about her newest defender.

  Chapter 17 - The Naked Blade

  Gen left the Church with his fellow apprentices at the break of dawn. Captain Tolbrook collected them and led them by the competition field where they had fought the day before. The streets were empty and quiet, the mass of revelers still sleeping off a night of celebration. What few people milled about stopped to watch the young men pass formidably by, all six apprentices now dressed smartly in the high-collared, black uniform of the Dark Guard. New swords, blessed and given them by the Prelate Obelard of Mikmir, hung at their sides in scabbards made of finely tooled leather embroidered with silver.

  Tolbrook set a quick pace. Gen glanced back at his sword-mates. A tense, grueling day at the Trials and a night spent awake in meditation and prayer sapped the liveliness from their step and the brightness from their eyes. Kimdan, while tired, was the most alert and angry of the lot, and Gen needed little experience or training to know that a long time would pass before Kimdan would lose the sting of failing to secure the captaincy. Gen predicted Kimdan would strive at every opportunity to demonstrate his apprentice-captain’s weaknesses and flaws.

  Tolbrook took them around the back of the practice fields to the front of a squat gray building nearby. Gen thought Tolbrook remarkably resembled Pureman Millershim—well-built with a ring of graying black hair around his head. Tolbrook’s hooked nose and small, beady eyes were the only things that separated him from being Millershim’s twin. Gen would have believed it if someone told him they were brothers.

  “Apprentices, welcome home,” Tolbrook said, indicating the building behind them. “Most of you will find the accommodations sparser than what you’re used to. You will share a room with one of your fellow apprentices, and you must be clear on one thing: you have no servants here, only masters. No one will do your laundry, see to your beds, or build your fire. If you have difficulty with these tasks, you will address your concern to your Captain, who will help you.”

  “No doubt he knows how to do all the women’s chores,” Kimdan whispered a little too loudly. Tolbrook stopped his speech to stare at the Regent’s son. Gen thought Millershim possessed the fiercer eyes, but Tolbrook could wither with a stare quite admirably.

  “Well, Kimdan Ogbith,” Tolbrook began in a scalding tone. “Still jealous, are we? I thank you for your little outburst, for it will allow me to address another point. When you serve with the Dark Guard, there are no aristocrats, nobles, servants, serfs, merchants, or princes. When you serve with the Dark Guard, you do not endanger, mock, or abuse another member of the Dark Guard—ever.

  “If, Kimdan, I hear you say another word against your Captain or any of your sword-mates again, I will have you dismissed, regardless of who your father is. Regent Ogbith informed me himself that you are arrogant and gave me full permission to send you packing home at my convenience. Is that understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” Kimdan said firmly but not humbly, straightening to attention.

  “Very well. Your meals you will take in the castle commons. In all other matters of schedule and time, you are at the mercy of your masters. Every Sixthday, you have the afternoon and evening to yourselves to take care of personal business and recreate yourselves as you see fit. You will, however, wear the uniform at all times and comport yourself as befits a member of the Dark Guard. You have the rest of this day off so that you can attend to your friends and relations and prepare for the arrival of the Ha’Ulrich.

  “You do have an assignment, however. Familiarize yourself with the main areas of the castle if you don’t know them. You will be expected to be on duty in the Great Hall promptly at the beginning of sixth watch for the feast. It will be your privilege to be in attendance with the Chalaine and the Ha’Ulrich. Remember, you will be on duty, not there to woo or mingle. If there are no questions, then see the Quartermaster inside for your bunking assignments. Dismissed!”

  Gen led the way into the building as Volney Torunne nearly fell over himself in delight about the chance to see the Chalaine and the Ha’Ulrich. Volney was tall and broad at the shoulders, massive arms hinting at the power Gen had felt when crossing swords with him. His face was round and kind, framed by close-cropped brown hair. Large brown eyes shone with excitement.

  “Are we not fortunate, indeed?” he effused to Gerand Kildan. “We shall be some of the first ones to see the two of them together in the same place! I cannot help but feel unworthy of such an honor. What will we do if they should speak to us? Surely the Chalaine will want to know who we are!”

  “Calm yourself, Volney,” Gen interjected. “It is an honor, but we best serve the Chalaine by being alert and attentive. Having both the Chalaine and the Ha’Ulrich in one place is dangerous and an excellent opportunity for the Ilch to prepare some strike against them. Be wary, not overwhelmed.”

  “Well said,” Gerand agreed.

  “Yes, yes,” Volney stammered. “You are right.”

  To Gen’s satisfaction, the Quartermaster assigned him a room with Gerand Kildan. Seeing his countryman reminded him of the picture he had seen of him at Shadan Khairn’s manor house on the Ellenais shard, and the likeness was exact. Gerand’s eyes were determined but bore the weight of someone striving to prove himself. From what he saw of Gerand’s matches during the Trials, with a little training the Duke’s son would be a force to be reckoned with. His demeanor
was pleasant but subdued, and Gen found him the most mature of his fellow apprentices.

  He wanted to question his countryman about the war and what Shadan Khairn had done since the start of spring, but after a perfunctory conversation about the plainness of the room, Gerand left, saying he was to meet his mother and sister who had left Tolnor before the war spread. Finding himself alone, Gen tested the bed, and, finding it thoroughly unfit for sleeping, left for the castle, thinking food from the First Mother’s prosperous larder would do him good.

  The sun was full up now, and groggy merchants mechanically set up their booths and shops. Today the Ha’Ulrich would arrive, and potential customers would fill streets and swell profits. At first Gen thought he might brave the crowds for a glimpse of the Ha’Ulrich upon his arrival, but Tolbrook’s announcement that the apprentices would be on duty with him that night lessened his enthusiasm. The short time he had spent in Mikmir made him long for empty country lanes, and he found he disliked the noise and press of the city, although, he admitted to himself, he hadn’t seen the better parts.

  The castle Mikmir sat only two miles from the tournament field, situated atop a low hill that commanded a stunning view of the Kingsblood Lake and the river that stretched westward toward the sea. The gates were shut and guarded—though the portcullis was up—and many soldiers patrolled the walls. The Rhugothians took the protection of the Chalaine seriously and always had, even in less portentous times.

  Gen wondered if he needed a password, but as he approached, a guard unlocked an inner door built into the gate and opened it for him. The guards congratulated him on his success at the Trials and closed the door behind him.

  After passing through the thick walls into the courtyard, Gen found the interior buildings a mix of the old and new. The walls, the Chapel, and the keep were constructed of rough gray granite, a tough but unattractive stone. In contrast, the Great Hall, its attendant outbuildings, and the Chalaine’s tower—on a small shard of its own—gleamed in the morning sunlight, all built with highly polished white marble. Trees with plum-colored leaves grew in circular planters set in regular patterns about the courtyard, all pruned into dome shapes and casting broad shadows. Near the trees, benches of the same polished stone provided excellent places for conversation or reading.