Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga)

by Alexander, Ian

  "No!" Kaine fell onto his side and rolled.

  Mooregaard's sword hit the pavement, a finger's width from his ear. Sparks flew as it scraped the stone, sending pebbles and dust into Kaine's face. The loud clang echoed in his head. He leapt to his feet and spun his own broadsword around his head and pointed it forward.

  "Had I not been so charitable, Master Kaine, you would have stood a head shorter."

  Kaine laughed nervously. "Not your charity, but my speed."

  Pale beams from a very full moon painted the walls and floor of the courtyard, illuminating a vulnerable position on Mooregaard's left. With both hands, Kaine swung his broadsword for a swift cut at his opponent's forearms, sure to relieve the black knight of at least one of his hands.

  If only things went as expected.

  In an instant, Mooregaard parried the attack with such force it knocked Kaine off his feet and onto his side, then flat on his back.

  Again.

  Barely enough time to react, he felt the wind of a blade thrusting down into his face. A brutal way to die. He shut his eyes even as the blade came smashing down, crushing, piercing.

  Mooregaard scoffed. "So much for speed!"

  Kaine touched his forehead, felt around for the blade that must be impaling it. But the absences of wet, sticky blood and pain permitted him to open his eyes. He turned his face upon his left check and felt the rough stone surface of the floor as well as something cold and smooth. All he could see was the reflection of his own eyes in the sword, still wobbling as it stood stabbing the stone brick on the ground.

  Sir Mooregaard grabbed Kaine by the wrist and pulled him to his feet with such force Kaine feared his arm would dislodge. "As I said, young squire," Mooregaard said, laughing heartily, "Charity."

  "Considering you twice nearly relieved me of my head, I'll agree." Kaine bent down and retrieved his sword and sheathed it at his side. "But at this rate, your charity will be the only way I will ever become a knight."

  "And you know this based upon what point of reference?" Mooregaard came over and put his arm over Kaine's shoulder. He thought he might collapse under the weight of his mentor's arm. "How long have you been training?"

  "A month or so."

  "Have I any other students in my court?"

  "Well, Sir, I...No, you do not." He wondered about Render, Stewan and Folen. So engrossed in his training, Kaine had only now thought of his brother and the twins.

  "Have you ever tested your mettle against another?"

  "I have not."

  "Then all you know is that you are not superior to me." At last, Mooregaard took back his arm. He then clapped Kaine on the back, nearly tripping him face-first onto the ground. "Do you think it coincidence that you are my sole pupil?"

  "The Lady Volfoncé said that it was because of my age."

  "And what does age have to do with it?"

  He didn't know, never thought to question it. Kaine shrugged.

  "Your deductive facilities concern me more than your combat skills." Mooregard, who towered over Kaine, gestured to the fire pit in the center of the courtyard. To the fire he followed the Don, the chief knight of The Order of the Scarlet Pendragon. The knight's formidable shadow, cast from the dancing flames, took a strange form which barely resembled its owner. Kaine rubbed his eyes and blinked. But it stretched out of sight. He stopped at the fire and waved Kaine over with impatience.

  "You exhibit the qualities of a fine leader in the army of the High King. Even so, you must prove your worth. Your loyalty. You must know all that is at stake before you commit to so noble an enterprise."

  "And now, Master Kaine," Mooregaard grasped his shoulders, just as Kaine had imagined his own father might have. Mooregaard swelled with pride and gazed straight into his yes. "You are ready to know the truth."

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A cold bead of sweat crept down Render's back. Someone or something lurked in the room, of that there could be no doubt. A scraping sound caused the hairs on his neck to stand. If it were a rat, it must be of a monstrous size. And if it were a thief or assassin, it must be very light on his feet.

  Render unsheathed his dagger and reached over for the curtain. The lamp and sword lay across the room.

  Out of reach.

  Even breathing felt too dangerous. With his dagger pointed blindly into the middle of the darkness he grasped the corner of the curtain between his fingertips. In just a moment he would flood the darkness with moon beams and confront the intruder.

  Stillness.

  It's probably the wind, he thought. But even as he exhaled, something hit the table knocking things onto the ground. Without wasting another second, Render threw open the curtain. In an instant, bright moonlight filled the room. He jabbed his dagger into the air, swung around, searched for the intruder.

  Nothing.

  No one.

  "Hang it all!" It couldn't have been his imagination. Render tried to slow his shallow breaths. Sure enough, lying there on the cold stone floor was his candle, separated from its pewter stand. He bent down to pick it up and then thought he heard something behind him.

  On his bed.

  With his heart pounding in his chest, he tightened his grip on the handle of his dagger.

  Behind him, a soft, rumbling sound pulsed. Slow, steady.

  In one swift move Render spun around and thrust his dagger forward.

  "Aha!"

  There, resting on the pillow was the intruder. It's greenish-blue eyes calmly examining him.

  "What? Where did you—?"

  The black cat lifted her head and stood up on all fours. She then yawned, leaning downwards on her forepaws, tail pointed up, and stretched. Eyes affixed on Render, she moved just slightly above the pillow's edge.

  "Wait," said Render approaching her. "Aren't you that cat...back at the cave at Smyth's Hill?" Again, she lifted her head and regarded him with such clear eye contact Render could have sworn she was answering him. He just knew.

  Then she sat, coiled herself up again, looked at Render, down at the pillow, and again back at Render. The purring started again and she rested her head over her paws.

  "What in all of creation?"

  She must have climbed the wall and the tree just outside the window. A million speculations floated in his mind. But Render found himself too tired to sift through them all. He sheathed his dagger and placed it on the table.

  The cat, though she rested her head on his pillow, continued to eye him. As if she were waiting for him.

  "What? You think I should get some rest? You're not my mother, you know." The expression never meant anything to him before. But this time it caused a twinge in his heart. He had never known his mother. What she looked like when she smiled, how she would speak tenderly to him. He whispered, "Not my mother..."

  At that her ears flattened, eyes narrowed, and gave a guttural growl.

  "Fine." He lifted the blanket and prepared to get into bed, but the cat did not move. "Oh, come on now." She shut her eyes and ignored him. Annoyed, Render tried to nudge her. Then he tried to lift her but strange as it seemed, he could not. Her eyes still shut, it almost seemed like she was smiling. Right. As if a cat could smile.

  "Bother that." Render simply climbed in and put his head on the pillow just beneath the cat who, to his great annoyance, insisted on resting a warm paw on top of his head, no matter how many times he moved it away.

  Even so, her presence came as a welcome surprise since he hadn't really seen anyone for weeks. Stewan and Folen lived and studied in an entirely different part of the castle. And Branson, thankfully was never around. Besides the weekly communal dinner, Render lived in solitude most of the day.

  Despite his annoyance, the undulating purrs and warmth from the cat comforted him. Since his former life as a slave there hadn't been any of the ubiquitous cats to whom he'd grown so accustomed to, save for the one Sir Edwyn had shooed away the first day Render walked through the citadel.

  To be completely honest, he missed t
hem.

  Perhaps I'll keep her.

  Though, it seemed, she had already decided to keep him. Nevertheless, as fulfilling as these days of training and education were, a companion would be welcome now.

  Only one concern surfaced as he drifted off. Something made painfully obvious the last time he went to the market with Sir Edwyn.

  He detests cats.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Seated by the fire ring with The Lord Mooregaard, who had just nearly decapitated him, Kaine trembled in anticipation. "My Lord," he said, "For what truth am I ready?"

  Mooregaard paced behind him, slowly, back and forth. "Before I tell you, you must answer a few questions. And with complete honesty. Can you do this?"

  Kaine turned to face him. "I think so."

  "Very well then." Mooregaard stopped, and stood before him with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword. "By our very nature, we are beings ruled by belief. Wouldn't you agree?"

  "Well, Sir, I—"

  "Belief, however subjective, is ruled by choice, by perception. For example, what do you believe yourself to be? A boy? Or a man?"

  Kaine pondered the question, unsure of how best to answer. "Well, I am of age. So I suppose that would make me..."

  "Quickly, think not too long upon it."

  "A man. Yes, I am a man."

  "And not a boy."

  "A man, Sir."

  Mooregaard's chest swelled as he took in a deep breath. "Had you answered any other way, I'd have been disappointed. Indeed, you are a boy no longer. Particularly because you have proven yourself an able fighter. And judging by your many victories in the game of Leit, you are most perceptive in the ways of strategy."

  Though pleased by the affirmation, Kaine began to perspire. The heat from the fire ring grew increasingly uncomfortable. But he dared not move. Not just now.

  "As a man, my dear Kaine you shall be defined not so much by your words, nor by the beliefs you profess. Nay, you shall be defined by your actions and choices. Particularly the difficult ones, the ones of ambiguous nature."

  "I see." But all he really saw was the vision of himself a minute or two from now, burning as the flames melted his flesh. The flames from the fire ring were getting too hot. "Lord Mooregaard, if you don't mind terribly—"

  "Do not interrupt. We discuss matters of grave importance. Now then. On to the questions."

  "But sir—"

  "Not now! We must press forward, for tomorrow your future will be determined. But first—"

  "Sir, please!" Kaine stood up. The wind from rising and stepping away from the fire alone cooled him enough to afford some relief.

  "Sit down, boy. Or I swear, I'll tie you down!"

  "Yes, My Lord." Kaine obeyed but sat on a chair. Away from the fire ring. From this moment on, he'd be able to give his undivided attention.

  Mooregaard cleared his throat. "Now, then. Kaine, what is your purpose as a citizen of Valdshire Tor?"

  "To serve my King, protect and defend my land from attacks both exotic and clandestine. But first and foremost, from the unseen enemy that is ignorance, superstition."

  "Yes, yes. Any student can recite the pledge of royal fealty." Mooregaard pointed the tip of his sword straight at Kaine's heart. "What do you say your purpose is?"

  Kaine tugged on his collar which suddenly felt tighter. "I'm not certain."

  "I see in you valor, honor, all of which are hallmarks of a great leader, a leader of the next generation."

  "But how do you know?"

  "You will lead. But I must know if your priorities are in order. First: Given the choice of obeying your Lord, or commander in combat, or even your king, or obeying your conscience, your ideas of right and wrong, which would you chose?"

  "My conscience."

  "It is well spoken. Commanders, kings even, are all but mere men, all fallible. A true leader leads by conscience, not the approval of man. Now, second: Given the choice of obeying your conscience or violating it, to aid a friend or even, a loved one, which would you chose?"

  Immediately, Kaine thought of the one person to whom this might one day, however hypothetical, apply. His reply was not as swift this time. Would that he'd never face this question in real life. "Well... I suppose, I'd still chose my conscience."

  The ebony knight drew his lips into a taut line, set his eyes in an austere gaze. "Few have understood the implications of these questions. Fewer still have answered as well. And only they can be entrusted with the truth, because only they shall know how to act upon it. Verily, I say, you are indeed ready."

  For the rest of the night, Kaine sat rapt in wonder at all Sir Mooregaard taught him. The history not only of Valdshire Tor, but of the world, all that could be known of it, from every aspect: Technology, culture, science and even an explanation of Valdshire Tor's ancient enemy.

  "For as long as anyone can remember, before all written history," Mooregaard said, now seated before Kaine, "we have been at war with the Sojourners, those religious fanatics of the East In the name of their deity, Valhandra, these honorless cowards attack the innocent, sparing neither woman nor child. They employ terror where no decent warrior would imagine unsheathing a sword. They know no battle ground for their cowardice drives them to attack the unsuspecting during times of ostensible peace."

  "Why do they war against us?" This was something he pondered since childhood. According to his former master, the Sojourners attacked the village of his parents and killed them. He and Render were not quite three and two years old, respectively, barely able to feed themselves. Both brothers were taken away, traveled westward for three days and sold to the people of Talen Wood into a life of slavery.

  But now, to their great fortune, King Corigan's annexation of the backwards village had reversed all that. And it seemed fate had smiled upon Kaine, affording what might well be the chance to avenge his parents' death.

  "Why do the Sojourners attack us?" Mooregaard huffed. "For our belief in universal freedom. Our way of life, some might argue."

  "Might you expound on that, our way of life?"

  Mooregaard sat back in his chair, rested his elbow on the hilt of his sword and cleared his throat. "Torians are rational, scientific, intellectually and culturally minded, we believe in tolerance of all people, despite our differences. But Tian Kuo is filled with fanatical zealots."

  "Why have the Sojourners killed so many? What is it they want?"

  "They wish to impose their superstitious ways on all. In the name of Valhandra, they hate, they terrorize, and they murder."

  "My parents..." They too fell victim. For that reason had he been reminded and taught to fear, to hate the Sojourners, since childhood. Quickly, he pushed the grief into the recesses of his mind. "Do not all nations fight over religious ideals?"

  Mooregaard straightened up, removed his helmet and placed a firm hand on his shoulder. "My young squire, if you have learned nothing else, mark this well: The people of this great kingdom are not beholden to any man-made superstition. Religion is but a walking stick for the feeble of mind. Any modern man with a sound head on his shoulders knows this. All this talk of magic, and the spirit realms, why, it's the stuff of fairy tales, nothing more."

  "Lord Mooregaard," he said, his voice breaking. "Do you know anything about the attack on my parents' village?"

  Mooregaard stood, sheathed his broadsword and held Kaine's own weapon out to him. "The hour grows late. You must be well-rested for your combat exams tomorrow."

  "But I should like to know more about—"

  "In due time. Remember, your knighthood, your very future depends on fulfilling this course of training. And as I have repeatedly said tonight, you are ready."

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  They had flown for two days away from the sun setting over the Eastern summits which stood like a fortress that separated the two great kingdoms. It had been Ahndien who wanted to stop and rest before entering the western mountain range, not so much because she felt tired, but because she was afraid.
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br />   Something about those snow covered peaks had always called to her, her sense of adventure. And at the same time, as she and Lao-Ying drew nearer, a cold dread darkened her heart like an overwhelming shadow. Such as when the moon stands before the sun and throws the entire world into darkness, when it ought to be light.

  "We are not far from Handara," Lao-Ying said, now in his frail human form. The air was crisp and laced with the minty scent of pine. It sent a chill through Ahndien's body. The breeze, pure and clear, seemed to blow right through her body.

  "I feel like we should wait." She sat upon a large rock, unbuckled and set her father's sword at her feet. "I'm not quite ready."

  "In more ways than one, you are right." At some point, he must have started a fire, but Ahndien had not been paying attention. Her eyes and thoughts were drawn to the mountains with overwhelming ambivalence.

  "I am going to get food, please fill the flask with water." He pointed to the glassy stream which flowed relentlessly down. Following its course, Ahndien saw how it ran all the way from the mountains down past this place. From the air, she had traced it past her village. This led to the Emerald River, which served as the main water supply for the great city of Tian Kuo.

  "Are we having duck again?"

  Lao-Ying grinned, his cottony eyebrows arching. "Would you prefer something heartier...mountain lion, perhaps?"

  "No, thank you. Duck will be fine."

  The old man laughed quietly and leapt into the air. "I won't be far."

  "Are you sure?" The thought of being left alone made her heart beat forcefully.

  "All can be seen from above, remember?" Before his body even began to fall, he transformed again. His gigantic wings kicked up leaves, branches and stones as he flew off with a piercing eagle's cry.

  "I'll never get used to that." She stepped over father's sword and went to the babbling stream. With her hands cupped, she plunged them into the water. It was so pure, so cold she just had to take a drink before filling the flask. The first handful soothed her so much that she almost forgot about the lingering pain that she'd been carrying but stuffed away like too much clothing into a sack. Her mother, her little brother, she'd never see them again.