“Perhaps, but you don’t know the full story of my and Elias’s education, and how we managed to defeat the Scarlet Hand. Elias saw things when he was imprisoned by Mirengi. He believed that our father trained us in the use of our gift, but hypnotized us so that we would forget our lessons, but that they would be imbued in us, secreted away for when we needed them. He did this to protect us, so that we wouldn’t be detected by our enemies.”
“Elias mentioned something to this affect to me some months ago when I prodded him to tell me how he learned the spell of binding, but he didn’t elaborate much. It is an interesting theory, but it made little sense to me, as I can’t imagine your father teaching a child such a demanding and dangerous spell.”
“Unless his lessons didn’t end when he was a child. While I was away at the Academy, Elias spent many years and a lot of time alone with Dad.”
Phinneas grew thoughtful. “I’ve been chewing on this ever since I pried an answer from Elias, but I didn’t want to beleaguer him. He needed his space. The events of last summer troubled him, and I knew he needed time to heal. If that is the entirety of the explanation, it is a fascinating one, with staggering philosophical implications. The question then becomes, how did Padraic manage it, and why didn’t he tell me?”
Danica shrugged. “Perhaps he wanted to protect you as well, or us in case you were ever compromised. As to the logistics of it, I haven’t the foggiest. Did you ever teach any of these techniques to my mother?”
Phinneas frowned and ran an index finger along the bridge of his nose. “I introduced her to some of the basics along with some of the other Sentinels, but she never endeavored to learn any of the advanced techniques that would have allowed for a feat of this magnitude, at least not from me.”
“Could she have had another instructor?”
Phinneas’s scowl deepened, darkening the light brown of his eyes. “It seems unlikely, but your mother was an avid reader and researcher. She spent more time secreted away in Arcalum’s library than anyone I knew, myself included.”
A brief silence fell between them, as each of their minds grappled with the mysteries at hand, and their implications. Danica broke the quiet spell when her thoughts returned to Elias. “Elias said that Dad used a spell to unlock our secret lessons right before he sent the carriage away the day he faced Slade. He believed that because it was done hastily and without preparation that the block on our memories was only partially removed. His psychic struggle with Mirengi loosened his block, as did mine with Slade.”
“If he’s right, then the irony is that Mirengi’s attempt to invade his mind may have been the very impetus that led to his destruction.”
“Thank the One God for small favors,” said Danica, glad that Phinneas had elected to skirt mention of the tortures she had endured under Slade.
Danica filled Phinneas in on the remainder of her experience in the glade, to which the doctor replied, “yet another vortex. Whatever the place you visited is, and wherever it is, that is the common thread that connects your experience with Bryn’s, as well as the anomaly in her chamber.”
“And it’s a thread I plan to tug on. I have a feeling it will lead me to Elias.”
“That is one thing we can agree on.” Phinneas looked to the standing clock by Ogden’s writing desk. “Ogden should be back any minute. We wanted to talk with you about the magic you used in Bryn’s room on that creature.”
Danica sighed. “I’m sure you do, but I’ve had enough of sitting for one day. We can discuss it later. Suffice to say it was instinct. Now, I’m going to go join Lar for a bit of exercise.”
Chapter 15
The Royal Armory
“I didn’t expect to find you here, Danica,” Bryn said. She had left Lar hours ago, but the Marshal had remained behind, taking his lessons in soldiering from Blackwell seriously.
Danica wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her wrist, careful not to poke her eye out with the short-sword she held in her hand. “I thought to teach these two a lesson,” she said indicating Lar and Blackwell with a nod of her head, “but they insist on using swords twice as long as mine. Unfair, says I, but I suppose the louts could use the advantage.”
Bryn surveyed the chamber. The three combatants already enjoyed an audience of a handful of Whiteshields. “Indeed, perhaps you could use a teammate to help even the playing field.”
“Quite,” said Danica with a half-smile, “but it doesn’t look like you’re dressed for it.”
Bryn smoothed down her dress, for she already wore her dinner gown. She chose ebony wool, for it suited her coarse, black mood. She held up a large platinum key that featured an egg sized ruby. “No, I thought it proper we visit the royal armory before dinner to outfit Lar. I am all too eager to see the look on Oberon’s face when he sees Lar wearing something from the collection. Other than the Whiteshields Lar will be the only person permitted to wear a weapon in the queen’s presence. Oberon has toured the cache so many times that he probably has every item memorized and catalogued. The significance won’t be lost on him, I can promise you.”
“Shiny,” said Danica, “another time then?”
“Yes, and soon. I expect an hour exercise a day would do us all well. Given what happened the other night, it would be best if we were all in top form.” Bryn turned her attention to Lar who watched the exchange mutely. “Well, what do you say, Marshal, are you ready to choose a weapon?”
Lar looked to Blackwell who gave a nod and said, “He’s ready. The bastard sword has chosen him. No need for further delay.”
“There you have it,” said Lar. “Will you come with us, Captain? You know steel better than I, and can help me make a good choice.”
“You honor me,” Blackwell said. “Between my knowledge of weapons and Lady Danica’s knowledge of Arcanum, we’ll see you have a fine specimen.
“As for the rest of you lollygaggers, you heard the Princess—we’ve cause to see that we’re all in top form. Lieutenant Jager.”
A grizzled, square-jawed Whiteshield stood to attention. “Sir.”
“I want you to take these men through the fifth tier long-sword and halberd forms until the dinner bell.”
“Understood, Captain.”
“Have at it then,” Blackwell said before approaching Bryn and holding out his arm. The bemused princess took hold and the two swept from the room, with Lar and Danica close behind.
A short walk down the hall and a couple of staircases aside and the party approached the Redshields’ barracks tower and then the central keep beyond, which housed the armory and palace treasury. The two Redshields posted at the gate greeted Bryn with salutes. One reached a hand inside his breastplate and withdrew a key similar to Bryn’s, if less ornate. Bryn nodded at him and they both inserted their keys into twin keyholes. The guard turned a dinner-plate sized dial in the center of the door, accompanied by the clicking of gears. He and his compatriot both grasped a handle on each of the double doors and pulled them open, revealing a wide corridor lined with wall-mounted lamps.
“Come,” said Bryn, “The armory is the door at the end of the hall.”
As Lar followed Bryn trepidation quickened his heart, and he found the hall, though wide enough to fit three men abreast, tight and confining. The gravity of the moment was not lost on him, but he was unsure if he was equal to the task laid before him. He felt a child playing at a grown-ups game, certain that at any moment someone would call him out for the imposter he was.
Danica, sensing his mood, surreptitiously placed a hand on the small of his back and gave him a reassuring nod. Lar returned the gesture with a tight smile, and resisted the urge to fidget, though he was painfully aware of the beads of sweat that wound down his brow. Their procession, small though it might be, had the air of ritual, and he knew that the moment had been chosen by his three companions.
Bryn used her key on the ornate door, which was worked with sculpture in low relief of surpassing detail, and cast it open with practiced panache. She piv
oted to stand parallel to the open door and swept an arm into the room. “The royal armory. Marshal, Sir Lady Duana, choose an armament.”
“Me?” asked a bewildered Danica.
Bryn arched an eyebrow. “Indeed. Given the way you used steel against the monstrosity in my rooms, I mentioned to my cousin that you might benefit from a conventional weapon in addition to your arcane repertoire. She was quick to amend her oversight, but asked that you try not to spoil this weapon as you did the last by setting it on fire.”
“I’ll do my best,” said Danica, who was quick to recover her equilibrium. She prodded Lar with an elbow. “You first.”
The two companions from Knoll Creek entered the armory, with their guides behind them. Rows of gleaming armor and weapons lined the meticulously organized chamber which easily matched the breadth of Danica’s childhood home. Lar and Danica stopped at the first row, overwhelmed by the enormity of the collection and unsure where to start.
“The armory is organized first by weapon or armor group, and then by age,” Blackwell said. “To the far right are exotic weapons, those closest the entrance are the newer, and toward the far end the antique. Coming toward the center we have bows and thrown weapons, then halberds and spears, long blades, shorts blades. On the left side of the chamber is armor. The far side is gauntlets and vambraces, then light armor, and so on until the center where the fullplate is displayed.”
“Very well,” said Danica. “To the longblades, Lar.”
Lar set out, spellbound by the display before him. Row after row of swords were laid out, some naked, others sheathed. Unsure where to begin he meandered down a pathway between two caches of longblades, for the moment forgetting his companions and his apprehension. He took up swords at random testing their weight and length. He knew little of the quality of steel truth be told and instead operated on feel and instinct. Many of the swords felt too ornate for his tastes and he was reticent to select a weapon that out-valued his homestead. Others were stark and brutally heavy weapons, vestiges from a bygone era when men wore fullplate armor.
Nearing the far end of the room, a silver scabbard captured Lar’s attention. It was displayed on a rack which also held a steel shield trimmed in lapis, matching vambraces, and fine mail gloves. Behind this sat another rack which housed a breastplate and greaves.
Lar startled when Blackwell’s voice issued from his side, for he had been so engrossed that he hadn’t noticed the Captain walk up beside him. “Usually the armor and weapons are displayed and catalogued separately, but these armaments are all of one collection, and were worn by a one man, a Knight Vanguard by the name of Arnaud Renoir. Legend holds that he defected from Phyra because he fell in love with Queen Isabella Denar when she visited the court of his king.”
“Few know that Captain Blackwell is a man of letters as well as arms,” said Bryn, her tone earnest and absent of her usual glibness.
Lar took the bastard sword in hand. The hilt had been wrapped first with a single piece of supple black leather or moleskin and then with silver wire. Both the pommel and the flat of the scabbard featured the same symbol, a single tower with a teardrop shaped flame above it, edged in lapis. Lar ran a finger along the embossed design.
“The mark of the Vanguard,” said Blackwell. “The tower is a representation of the old gatehouse tower that used to stand at the entrance of Lucerne in the fourth dynasty before it was destroyed in the campaigns of the Aradurian Empire.”
“Aradurian Empire,” said Lar, doing the math in his head, though he was unsure if he remembered the proper dates. “How old are these?”
“Not that old, of course,” Blackwell replied. “But old enough. Renoir’s sword was forged nearly five-hundred years ago.”
Lar put it back at once, horrified that he had thought to take in hand such a storied historical artifact.
Blackwell clapped a hand on Lar’s shoulder. “A fine weapon.”
“That weapon is enchanted,” said Danica in a flat tone.
Lar turned to her to find her eyes had gone glassy and distant. That look never ceased to unsettle him, as it reminded him of the time he had happened on her in the fits of delirium when Slade’s sinister magic had taken hold of her.
Bryn chanted a quick spell and narrowed her eyes at the sword. “I don’t see anything, Danica. Are you sure?”
“Oh, I’m sure,” said Danica, who blinked and sobered presently. “It may not have a conventional enchantment, or an evident one like Elias’s sword, but I sense a spark of something in that steel.” She turned the focus of her gaze on Lar. “You know, some arcanists believe that our possessions can become attuned to us, that our energy becomes attached to them and they carry a piece of us with them. Perhaps this man had a great spirit, and a piece of him, his valor, his strength, lingers in the weapon.”
Bryn knew better than to question her friend, for she had the most uncanny senses she had ever encountered, equaled only by Elias. “Draw it, Marshal.” Lar glanced at her, his eyes round as marbles. “Humor me. I want to see it your hand.”
Lar took a breath and took up the blade. He held the silver scabbard gingerly and wrapped a hand around the hilt. The rain guard clicked when he pulled the blade from the scabbard and the steel rang brightly as he slid it free. A fleeting tingle swept up his arm, which he attributed to his excitement. He brandished the sword and gave it a couple of test cuts. Expertly balanced, the blade felt at home in his hand.
“The sword suits you,” said Blackwell. “It’s a perfect fit.”
“It’s decided then,” Bryn said. “Let’s strap that thing on you, so you can get used to wearing it by dinner.”
“You can’t be serious,” Lar said. “It’s far too valuable.”
Bryn tossed her head. “Everything here is, but its value is better employed if it’s put to use. It’s a princely weapon, but also an effective one. More than that, it’s a visual symbol of the queen’s favor, and a constant reminder of her support of the Marshal’s and your authority. The same is true for your shield. Wear them both wherever you go, and with pride. If not for House Denar, wear them for Elias.”
Lar sheathed the sword. “Until I die, or my service is ended.”
Bryn smiled broadly. “I suppose you figure it’s fallen to you to be the serious one since Elias is on holiday, eh?”
Lar elected not to respond, but his lopsided grin and the blush he wore high on his cheeks spoke for him.
“Now,” said Bryn, “What about you, Lady Duana?”
“Well that’s easy,” said Danica, “take me to the exotic weapons.”
“I should have guessed,” said Bryn. “This way.”
As they made their way across the mazelike chamber, Blackwell said, “Lady Duana, with what weapons are you familiar?”
“Call me Danica,” she said, which he acknowledged with a slight bow of his head. “Only the sword and short bow. Everyone does a little archery, after all.”
“Indeed,” returned Blackwell, “but most ladies don’t have much experience with the sword, the Princess notwithstanding.”
“My mother died when I was young, and as we were far from town my brother was my primary playmate. I was more amicable to playing swords and storm-the-castle than he dolls and tea party. And as we grew older Elias spent more and more time fencing with our father. Jealous of the extra attention he received, I demanded to be included and practiced alongside Elias for many years before going away to the Academy.”
“Well you won’t find many short-swords and rapiers over here,” Bryn said, “but there are hidden blades, boot daggers, spiked bucklers, that sort of thing.”
“Assassins’ weapons,” said Danica.
“I prefer to think of them as covert agents,” said Bryn, “but yes. The high ranking Sentinels do prefer these rows more often than not to the others.”
Danica meandered down the tables of treasures laid out on the far right tables of the armory. Nothing really captured her attention, and she didn’t have anything in mind, bu
t she felt drawn to that side of the chamber. She picked up a few odd weapons and examined them idly, such as a bracer that featured a ring and cord that attached to the middle finger. When the hand was flexed and the cord pulled, a spring-loaded stiletto sprung out. Despite being delighted by its cunning, it had little practical application, and bracers were hard to conceal beneath women’s fashions.
Shortly thereafter her hands found a curious whip, which she had first taken for a coil of black rope. She had thought the whip made from leather at first, but upon closer inspection saw that it was crafted from miniscule, flexible metal plates stacked upon each other and affixed by bindings finer than jeweler’s clasps. The whip must have contained a thousand such plates, for from further than a foot away the whip seemed a rope.
“What in Agia is this made of?” she asked.
“There are none who can say for certain,” said Bryn, “though many have made guesses. It is an ore or alloy unknown to us.”
“We don’t even know where it came from,” said Blackwell. “Although it is said that the nomadic tribes and slavers of Aradur favored the whip.”
Danica unfurled the whip, enamored by its beauty and workmanship. The haft was softened by a leather grip that was indistinguishable from the whip itself.
“Twist the grip,” Bryn suggested.
Danica complied and a wicked, black dagger with silver edges sprung out of the pommel. She cooed in delight. With a twist in the reverse direction, the dagger retreated as stealthily as it had come. Next she examined the tip of the whip, which didn’t end in tassels or barbs but a spade of leather. Confused at first she tugged on it and discovered it was a sheath which concealed a black, aerodynamic blade as long as her hand and shaped like a leaf-arrowhead.
“It’s called a whip-dagger,” Blackwell supplied.
“It’s hard to believe no one has claimed a piece such as this,” Danica remarked.
“It is an elegant weapon, and deadly,” said Blackwell, “however, it is incredibly difficult to use effectively. It is said that the warrior clans of the island continents of Ulbrea used chains and blades—they call them gramas, I believe—but this thing is in a class all its own.”
Wayfarer (The Empyrean Chronicle) Page 13
