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

by Alexander, Ian

  There could only be one victor in this match. And the one who lost would either be expelled from the training program, or worse, killed.

  "I know what it means to you," Render said. "Your pride."

  "If you fail, all I can do is appeal to the council that you be reassigned to train as a candlemaker or cobbler's apprentice. None of those tracks afford the opportunities for painting, music, or poetry."

  Of course, Sir Edwyn was right, but Render felt he was at the cusp of a breakthrough. "I know what's at stake," he said. "I only want to know—"

  "You must prepare for your exam."

  "Not until you tell me."

  "Now!"

  So close. Edwyn would soon relent. Render could tell. "I'll keep repeating that name if you don't answer my question."

  "Don't be a fool."

  Render began with a whisper. "Valhandra."

  Edwyn's face flushed red.

  "Valhandra, Valhandra!"

  Then to Render's astonishment, Edwyn grabbed him and slapped his hand over his mouth. "Stop it at once," he hissed.

  Eyes wide, Render nodded. When Edwyn released him, Render said, "Please, at least tell me why that name is so terrible."

  With no apparent recourse, Edwyn sighed and said, "It is because of Valhandra that my parents were killed."

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Even at the tenth hour, the sun beat down on Render through his chain mail shirt, which hung heavy on his shoulders. The shield he held bore the insignia of Castle Mittelvald, and made his hand sore even before arriving at the testing ground.

  As he and Sir Edwyn approached Hawthern Fountain, Render noticed that a small crowd had gathered. "What are they all doing there?"

  "Never mind them," Edwyn replied. "Fix your attention on your exam."

  Render's ill-fitting helmet slipped down over his eyes. He adjusted it and realized just how slick his hand had become. No matter how much he'd practiced, combat was the last thing he wished to involve himself with. Alas, it was a compulsory examination for all who trained. Even Sir Edwyn, in his youth must have successfully passed it.

  "Why won't you tell me who my opponent is?" Render said just as they arrived at the cobblestone plaza, where streams of water flowed from the sculpture of a large bird of prey, clutching a fish in its talons.

  "You shall see soon enough." Edwyn fixed Render's belt, adjusted his breastplate and tried in vain to set the helmet such that it would not move with each turn of the head. "I did not wish to cause you any undue anxiety."

  "The suspense has done wonders to calm me," Render said with an ironic grin.

  "You're better off with suspense than fear."

  "So I ought to be afraid?"

  "That is not my point."

  "Then what is—?"

  "Render!" A voice which he had not heard for so long caused his heart to rush. He turned to see a young man, approaching with an aristocratic Lord clad in black sleeves under his chain mail. The young man removed his visor and right away, Render ran up to him.

  "Kaine! I can't believe it's you!"

  "And just look at you." Kaine grinned, and somehow looked different than he'd remembered. "You look a head taller in that armor." He wrapped one arm around Render's neck and rapped his fist on his helmet affectionately.

  "What a surprise," Render said, freeing himself and shoving his older brother's shoulder. "What's it been, a month, two?" Guilt weighed his heart down like a wet cloak. He'd been such a beast the last time he'd seen him, blaming him for withholding the truth about Mother. Kaine had been right to protect Render's memories of her. As infuriating as he could so often be, Kaine had been a great brother.

  "Well now," Lord Mooregaard said as he dismounted his horse, which to no one's surprise, was black, as well. He spread his hands wide and smiled. "I am loathe to disrupt this reunion, but as the esteemed Sir Edwyn would agree, we are here to conduct the combat exams for you both."

  With that sobering statement, all the joy at seeing Kaine faded. Render began to feel ill at the realization.

  "I have to fight Kaine?"

  Edwyn nodded.

  It should not be a fight to the death, nor to any significant injury, hopefully. But the thought of losing his chance to study the arts and letters? He must not fail. If only he'd devoted more time to his combat training.

  "Well, Rend?" Kaine punched him in the arm. It hurt. "Ready to have your rump carved?"

  Render bumped him back with his shield and laughed, trying to conceal his apprehension. "Just watch your own." He stepped back and saw that the crowd had pressed in closer. Eager faces looked on, some smiling with missing teeth, others refined and clean.

  Lord Mooregaard's voice faded into the background as he announced the rules of engagement. An odd sensation coursed through Render's body. Sitting atop the sculptured hawk, was the black cat that had been sleeping on his pillow since the night she climbed into his room. She gazed intently with bright eyes.

  Just then, interrupting the formalities and Lord Mooregaards endless words, a crazed voice broke through the crowd. "Oh, I am blessed!" shouted an old man in a tattered brown robe. He looked over to the plaza where Render and his brother stood, now facing each other. "At long last." He looked to Kaine, then to Render. "To see you! The two of you!" Before he could utter another sound, one of Mooregaard's guards quietly took him by the arm and led him away.

  "On the third count," Mooregaard said, full of pomp, "You are to engage without pause until only one of you is left standing." He regarded Sir Edwyn as he continued. "Limbs are fair game. You are to spare your opponent's life only. Understood?"

  Render and Kaine nodded.

  The crowd seemed to hold their collective breath.

  Render had to win, it was as simple as that. He didn't know if Kaine shared the same ambitions or if any of this mattered to him as much. But it didn't matter. Render's future depended on this.

  "On three." Mooregaard stood tall and began the count.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  “...Two

  ...Three!"

  On Mooregaard's mark, Kaine lunged at his brother and cut at his right arm with all his might. His lack of hesitation surprised him. But Render turned swiftly and blocked the blow with his shield.

  The crowd cheered.

  Render faltered.

  As soon as he regained his footing, Render's sword came flying out at Kaine's face. Kaine parried the blow with his broadsword. Whirling his entire body around, he slammed his shield into Render's side.

  Render fell on his side this time and groaned.

  Without a moment to spare, Kaine stepped on Render's right hand.

  Render's sword clanked onto the cobblestone.

  "Come now, little brother," said Kaine, bending over his face. "That was too quick, too easy."

  From beneath the shadow of Render's visor, a smile emerged. Distracted, Kaine didn't see his brother swing his shield at his head.

  Dizzied by the blow, Kaine reeled. For a moment he could not see a thing. His ears rang. Without thinking, he threw off his helmet and put a hand over the ear that had been struck.

  A heavy blow caught him in between the shoulders.

  Kaine lurched forward but remained on his feet.

  Amidst the crowd's wild cheering and jeering, Mooregaard was shouting instructions. But Kaine didn't hear any of it.

  A second blow didn't follow immediately.

  Kaine took a breath, shook the flecks of light out of his head and turned around. There stood his little brother, smiling, holding up his shield and pointing his sword.

  His strength returning, Kaine feigned exhaustion, held up a hand as if to request a respite. As soon as Render lowered his shield—ever so slightly—Kaine let out a shout and charged him with all this might.

  Clang, clang, clang! His sword clashed against Render's, against his shield, his helmet. It was all Render could do to deflect, turn, gasp, shout and fall down upon his haunches.

  With every crash of metal
against metal, Kaine's fury increased in intensity. His control slipped away, yielding to that visceral desire to destroy, to conquer, to vanquish utterly.

  And finally, it happened.

  With Kaine's knee on his brother's chest, pinning him to the ground, with the sharp edge of his sword, drawing a pink line across the fair skin of his throat, Kaine's hand trembled. The impulse to press down and finish Render, who at the moment seemed more an enemy than his younger brother, felt irresistible. But Lord Mooregaard's words resonated within his mind. Follow your conscience.

  Render's eyes began to well up. Through clenched teeth he said, "I surrender!"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  For several days, Lao-Ying did not transform into an eagle. He and Ahndien continued their journey on foot, which didn't bother her so much. She had so many questions to ask and flying did not allow for discussion. Anyway, she liked climbing the hills.

  What she didn't like was Lao-Ying's evasive answers. "In due time," he would say, in response to her most desperate questions such as, "Did I really burn that wolf back in the woods? You seemed perfectly capable when it attacked me. Why didn't you help me?"

  She had managed to get one answer out of him, though it confused her more than helped her understand. "When those mountain lions tried to take Ah-Ba's sword from me, back in the village, why did it not simply kill me and take it?"

  "Because it knew it could not."

  "What do you mean?"

  It struck her as an odd statement, but he was much too old to be joking, at least he didn't appear to be, and much too wise to fabricate such an idea. "You mean, I can't die?"

  Lao-Ying looked out at the sky, ablaze in red and amber. His eyes drooped and his entire countenance became dispirited. He let out a poignant sigh. "I only said, they cannot kill you."

  They stopped at one last clearing in the hill, just before the ascent grew steep. Lao-Ying set his pack down and rubbed his back. In his human form, he looked to be a hundred years old, yet he never needed any more rest than Ahndien. When she looked at him, she could not help but see the sharp eyes and white crest of the eagle into which he had transformed several times now.

  It was just as Ah-Ba had said, though in not so many words. There are some who manifest their full spirit potential. Lao-Ying was the first she'd ever beheld who fully embodied the spirit of an eagle. An enormous one, at that.

  "Let us stop here," he said and sat on the green moss. "There are several things we must do and discuss before we make our ascent."

  "I'm tired."

  "First: Training."

  "For what?"

  Lao-Ying stared straight into her eyes as though examining her sincerity. But she had nothing to hide, she really didn't know. "Don't you want to know the answers to your questions?"

  "Of course."

  Lao-Ying reached up, grabbed a narrow limb of a Bakha Elm and snapped it like a twig. He began to wield it with the finesse of a seasoned swordsman. "Draw your sword."

  "I'm tired. And hungry." To her surprise, Lao-Ying swung the branch and swatted her swiftly on the left side of her rear. "Aiya!" It didn't hurt very much, but it did sting.

  "Your sword."

  Ahndien gritted her teeth. "I am in no mood—"

  Another swat. This time on the right.

  "Stop that!"

  Lao-Ying wagged his finger at her, smiling and taunting. "You think me too old, eh? To slow, eh? I will teach you things you do not know." Another swat.

  "I said stop!" More out of annoyance than compliance, Ahndien unsheathed Ah-Ba's sword. The mirror-like blade glinted in the sunlight. She didn't even take notice of the interesting carvings near the hilt.

  Just then, Lao-Ying leapt high into the air in a frightful attack maneuver. He came down with the staff above his head, about to apply the full force of it to Ahndien's head.

  Without thinking, she swung around and deflected the blow, just as he landed. Then he slashed at her three times, from three directions, in rapid succession.

  But with equal swiftness, she deflected the blows. The sword whistled through the air with each swing. She didn't have time to wonder how she had gotten so deft with Father's sword.

  She rather enjoyed it, though.

  Lao-Ying continued his attack. But despite his speed and accuracy, Ahndien repelled every strike. The old man smiled, and narrowed his eyes. "Good. Very good!

  The swordplay went on for a while until Lao-Ying finally stumbled, his hand on his back. Lifting one hand he said, "Respite. Please. I need to..." Then he clutched his chest and winced.

  "Lao-Ying?" Ahndien dropped her sword and approached him fearing the worst.

  "My...heart." He grimaced in pain.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  Ahndien rushed over to Lao-Ying. As a small child, she had seen Ah-Yeh, her paternal grandfather, suddenly fall, clutching his chest as Lao-Ying was doing now. Ah-Yeh had died suddenly.

  This could not be happening, not now. She stepped right up to him. "Lao-Ying!"

  Then, quick as a flash of lightning, Lao-Ying's face lit up with a mischievous smile, he swung his staff right at her head.

  "Ai!" Faster than she knew she could move, Ahndien shot her hand out and grasped the end of his staff, stopping it mid-swing. Now, something burned from within. The heat rose from her belly to her neck, her face, her scalp, her fingers.

  "Yes!" The old man's eyes widened in an expression somewhere between wonder and dread. "Let it flow."

  She gripped the staff and with all her might tried to push it back to Lao-Ying. But he held firm, clenching his teeth. "Come on! Do not let a feeble old man defeat you!"

  At first she thought it was anger. But as she continued to press, she realized it was something stronger: Determination. She clutched the staff with both hands and with a final grunt, thrust Lao-Ying back with such force, it propelled him away.

  He flew backwards.

  For a moment Ahndien thought he might fall and hit his head. But instead, he transformed into a normal sized eagle, flew up and perched upon a tree branch.

  // DO NOT STOP THE FLOW! LET IT HAPPEN! //

  Still gripping the staff in her hands, she noticed the heat leaving her hands.

  A golden light filled her vision.

  The staff began to glow. First red, then white.

  Then it burst into flames.

  "What's happening?" She threw the burning staff onto the ground. But even as it left her hands, a stream of fire clung to it, like strands of tar. Her mouth dropped open as she lifted her hands to her eyes. Her palms were burning like kindling in a fire. But it didn't hurt.

  // IT HAS BEGUN //

  The more she concentrated on the fire in her hands, the hotter the flames grew. They almost felt solid. The more intensely she focused, the heavier they became.

  // TRY THROWING IT //

  Glowing white balls of fire pulsing in her hands, Ahndien turned and faced Lao-Ying. "At what?"

  He spread his wings.

  // WHY NOT TRY A MOVING TARGET? //

  Not bothering to answer, she responded by hurling one of the fireballs at the eagle. It made a hissing sound as it launched through the air, a fiery tail streaming behind it like a shooting star. Lao-Ying flew off, but the fireball hit the tree branch and cut it off like a hot knife through a rice cake.

  For the next few minutes, Ahndien marveled at her ability to conjure up fire in the form of projectiles and streams. She tested them everywhere she could without destroying all the trees and greenery around them.

  "Just as I have foreseen." Lao-Ying now stood before her, in the form of the deceptively frail-looking old man. "Your time has come."

  "I don't understand." The heat from Ahndien's face and hands dissipated. Her long hair which had been ablaze and floating as though under water returned to normal. "Is this my spirit potential?"

  "Only in part, if all I have seen in my dreams is to be."

  "What dreams?"

  "Come, sit." He motioned for the mossy patch. She sa
t on the ground beside him. He pulled out the flask and offered it to her. "Thirsty?"

  "My throat feels like sand." She took it and drank the entire flask without stopping to breathe. White columns piped from her mouth and nostrils. When finally she stopped, she wiped her mouth and exhaled a cloud of steam. "What about your dreams, Lao-Ying?"

  "Ah, the dreams." He took out another flask and drank from it. Then he smacked his lips and wiped them on his sleeve. "For many years, I have forseen events in my dreams. At first, I didn't understand. But later—many years later, I came to understand. They foretell matters of Valhandra's Kingdom."

  "The same Valhandra in Father's books?"

  "Yes, child."

  "It must be wonderful to see the future." But her excitement dissipated. "What if you don't live long enough to see it come to pass?"

  "It is a blessing and honor to know what is to come." The old man's eyes began to shimmer. "And at the same time, it can be a curse."

  Ahndien studied the creases in his face. Like the lines of an old parchment that had been rolled up and folded for many years, his skin betrayed his aged wisdom. Like Ah-Yeh. "Just how old are you, Lao-Ying?"

  He smiled a bitter smile and shook his head.

  "Well?"

  "No. I will not say."

  "But why?"

  "It is foolishness. I would not risk your ridicule. It is enough to say that I am older than you can imagine."

  "Ninety? One hundred?"

  He shook his head.

  "Oh, please tell me! I'll lose sleep if you don't!"

  Lao-Ying murmured unintelligibly.

  "What was that?"

  He cleared his throat. "Never mind."

  "Oh, but you must tell me!"

  He shook his head. "No."

  "Why not?"

  He turned to face her, held both of her shoulders, a poignant smile floating to the surface like the air bubbles of dying fish. "You would not believe me."

  "After all I have seen? I will believe almost anything."

  "To be a seer, and the length of days I've been afforded is indeed a curse—knowing the fates of your loved ones years in advance, but not being able to do anything to alter their course—and believe me, I have tried. Watching friends, family, beloved rulers, and an entire people die over the years, while I continue to live? I serve Valhandra with honor. But this path is full of bitterness, and I wish..." His voice quavered.