Knight of Strolm Read online

  When Jurod arrived back at the camp, the Knight had a cook fire burning and had erected a small tripod to cook the soup and whatever else Jurod caught. Pulling his knife, the Knight quickly went to work cleaning the pair of rabbits and gleaning what meat he could from them. Using spices and cloths from his saddlebags he cooked and spiced the meat with practiced ease and dropped it into the pot. There was some extra meat after the pot was full, so the knight cut the extra into strips and wrapped it as trail rations.

  Jurod’s mind continued to wander as he picked at the stew. The Knight he was with sat against a tree as he ate. He was a mysterious figure with a powerful aura and Jurod got a distinct impression that he was an experienced killer.

  “Who are you?” Jurod asked later as the Knight packed his spices and the new trail rations.

  “Sir Xardan Ta’Caran, Knight of the Black Era.” Xardan stated formally.

  Hundreds of stories flooded into Jurod’s mind from the travelers and soldiers that came to the monastery about the infamous Knight of the Black Era. The purging of Faelhart, the battle of Reth, and the conquest of Illyria were foremost among the countless others; hundreds of mages had died on this man’s blade. And after the event in the stable, Jurod was sure Xardan intended to treat him like every other mage he had encountered over the past years.

  “Scared?” Xardan asked. As Jurod nodded he continued, “You should be. The world is at war anywhere you go and death waits on every street.”

  Jurod stared at Xardan a long moment as he packed his cooking supplies back into his saddlebags. Once everything was repacked, Xardan threw a roughly cut wooden sword at Jurod.

  “Do you know how to fight?” Xardan asked.

  “I’ve practiced some with Lewk as a child. I only learned basics from the monks though, and not enough to have ever properly trained myself.” Jurod could scarcely hide the fear that was evident in his face at even pretending to fight against this murderous man.

  “You have no need to fear me boy; not as long as you do as I tell you. You have talents that even someone like me values. Now show me what you can do with that thing.” Xardan commanded, shifting into a middle guard. “You defend first.”

  Jurod mimicked the middle guard and prepared for Xardan’s attack. The first attack was a slow, side slash at Jurod’s right side. Jurod shifted his blade to block the attack and Xardan brought a faster slash around to Jurod’s head. Jurod’s blade moved into a horizontal high guard and Xardan quickly spun away into a fast lunge. A vertical upper guard parried Xardan’s lunge as Jurod spun away to his left. With his back to Xardan, Jurod shifted his blade behind his back and felt the hard impact of Xardan’s fourth attack against his sword. Finishing his spin, Jurod brought his blade back into another horizontal upper guard to stop Xardan’s final attack.

  Jurod moved immediately into his set of attacks. Three slow slashes and a lunge at Xardan’s torso took the Knight into a lower guard. Jurod spun his blade quickly into a faster upper slash, landing his blade solidly against Xardan’s head. Jurod confidently stepped back, flourishing his blade.

  “Well at least you’re competent. That’s more than I can say for some of the people I’ve had to teach over the years.” Xardan admitted, “You’ll survive against a mildly skilled swordsman, but you need to learn to fight masters.”

  Xardan moved forward, his wooden blade moving in an upper slash into Jurod’s left ribs. As Jurod moved to block the slash, Xardan’s blade turned and landed in Jurod’s sword arm. Xardan lunged forward and sent Jurod staggering backward with a firm hit in his chest, then moved into a downward slash that left him sprawled on the ground. Xardan stepped forward and planted his blade on Jurod’s neck.

  “I told you there was nothing to fear from me, but unless you work hard and learn to fight with a good blade, you won’t last more than a few seconds against the men we’re pursuing. As we travel, you and I will practice at swordplay every night before we camp. Hopefully, that will make you competent enough to hold off those men so I can come kill them for you.” Xardan stated.

  Jurod pushed up onto his feet and retrieved his wooden sword; a new determination filled him as he turned back to the Knight. Jurod moved with hard, fast strokes each landing harmlessly against Xardan’s sword. Xardan only slightly shifted after the fourth attack and planted his blade into Jurod’s ribs.

  Jurod gasped to restore breath into his lungs, “Not… your… turn… Only… four… strokes…”

  Xardan slowly walked around Jurod as the half-breed rolled onto his hands and knees before stopping just off to Jurod’s right. Lifting his blade, Xardan dealt a hard stroke to Jurod’s spine, sending him back to the ground.

  “If you’re going to survive in this world you have to be ready for anything. In a real fight your opponent won’t wait for you to take five strokes. They will take the first kill shot they can find and they will do it mercilessly.”

  Jurod staggered back to his feet again and grabbed his sword. Xardan immediately moved forward, his wooden blade hitting Jurod’s just above the hilt and sending it flying across the clearing. Xardan’s boot came up and dealt a powerful kick at Jurod’s chest.

  Jurod lay on the ground looking up at the sky. Xardan towered over him, looking pitilessly down into Jurod’s eyes.

  “I expect you to learn quickly boy. You may have had people in that monastery that kept watch over you and were nice to you all the time, but I expect you to become a skilled swordsman. I don’t have time for pity or weakness. We’re done sparring for today. You will need your strength for practicing your magic.”

  Xardan turned away from Jurod and walked back to his horse; Jurod’s muscles ached with complaint as he followed slowly.

  “The first time a Knight uses his power is the hardest.” Xardan explained, “After that the power is a part of him; as easily controlled as his arms and hands.”

  The partitioned piece of Jurod’s mind flailed against his conscious as Xardan explained.

  “Are you saying that I’m a Knight!?” Jurod gasped.

  “But there is a danger to it.” Xardan continued without acknowledging Jurod’s outburst, “And that is what you must know about before we start this part of your training.”

  Xardan’s serious demeanor took over his entire aura, making him seem to tower over Jurod.

  “All magic is addictive!” Xardan cautioned, “For spell casters it is a physical need that weakens them if they don’t Focus. For Knights, it is a constant mental struggle. The power in your mind can only be calmed by using the power. However, frequent use will increase the strength of the addiction. You must always remember not to use your power unless you have to.”

  “I’m a Knight!” Jurod boggled at this latest information, “Is there a way to reverse the addiction?”

  Xardan’s rough, deep laughter split the air, “How were you raised in Ealthen’s monastery and know so little about magic? Once you’ve used magic at all it is an endless struggle to keep control of your sanity. Since you cast Drashyre in the stable you’ve been involuntarily enlisted into the struggle. You have no choice now but to learn to control it, or die.”

  “Drashyre?” Jurod asked.

  “The magical name for dragon’s fire; it’s hotter and more powerful than your every day campfire. Drashyre can burn many things that would remain untouched by fire; like my Shadow Shields. It’s also nearly impossible for a typical wizard to conjure, and extremely rare among Knights. Now, before we continue, we must determine how much control you have over your power. I realize you haven’t used it to any great extent yet, but listen carefully to what I say, and the risk will be minimal.”

  Xardan’s serious demeanor had disappeared as he casually walked a circle around the clearing, leaving a distinct line of darker shadows as he did. Jurod moved to the center when Xardan finished, standing ten paces from the Knight.

  “Remove the partition separating your power from your consciousness.” Xardan told him. “Let the power merge with your conscious. Let them
become the same. Now wield your power; summon a small ball of Drashyre.”

  Jurod closed his eyes and focused on controlling the power as it surged past the partition. Holding his right palm up, Jurod felt heat flood across it. The crackle of flame tickled Jurod’s ears as he opened his eyes and looked into the cool blue flame floating above his palm.

  “Make it larger.”

  Jurod smiled at Xardan’s excitement and focused his power on the flame. The small flame grew to a fist-sized ball of Drashyre.

  “Make it smaller.”

  Jurod focused on the flame and it slowly flickered back to its original size.

  “Put it out.”

  Jurod tried unsuccessfully to extinguish the flame. Panic started to come over him. What would happen if he couldn’t put out the flame? Would it burn forever? How much would it consume before it burned itself out? Shadows rose up from the ground and wrapped around Jurod’s flame. After a moment, Jurod felt the flame extinguish.

  Jurod sighed in relief, “How did you do that?”

  Xardan smiled at Jurod, “Magic has rules; they apply to Drashyre as well. Both fires require fuel and air, so I cut off the air supply to your Drashyre and it extinguished.”

  Confusion clouded Jurod’s mind, “But why couldn’t I extinguish it?”

  “Magic is difficult to understand,” Xardan explained, “and is entirely different for every Knight.”

  “So I can summon Drashyre, but I can’t dismiss it?”

  “It would seem so; but don’t worry about it too much. You’re not the only one with a difficult restriction on your power. We all had to learn our restrictions and how to work effectively around them.”

  “We all?” Jurod repeated, “What is your restriction then?”

  Xardan smiled, “I can only control shadows that already exist; I can’t create them. Also, the brighter it is, the harder it is for me to keep the shadows under control. Light extinguishes shadows; therefore I have to work twice as hard to use the shadows in a well-lit courtyard at noon.”

  “I don’t see how that’s difficult aside from trying to control the shadows at noon.”

  “Well the existing shadows restriction isn’t. Even in a well-lit courtyard I can just open my purse and there are natural shadows inside.” Xardan explained, “The physical toll of using your Knighthood should not be underestimated though; you can leave yourself unconscious and defenseless if you’re not careful.”

  Chapter 3

  The Tyrns forged an empire of strength, subjugating the Fey and Ibeald with the Ogres by their side.

  *

  Justyn guided Nikolas through the crowded streets of Erethil as he followed Lewk to the herb shop. Erethil was a fairly small city compared to the ones Justyn was used to. It definitely was a city, but was less than half the size of his home, Faelhart. Shops were tightly packed within the walls and were hard to distinguish from each other; especially for those that couldn’t read. Fortunately, Justyn had been trained as a child in letters and knew well which shops they were passing. He kept close note of a few of them as they made their way down the market.

  As they walked, Justyn’s right hand pushed Nikolas along while his left hand tightly gripped the hilt of the sword at his hip. It had been four days since he had lost his men and acquired these two fools as companions instead. Now he had a crazy old man, a useless spell caster and an ancient, magically sealed spell book; and he had to cross all of Strolm and most of Faelhart without being found. He had never had a more difficult assignment, even when he got his first assignment as an officer to accompany Xardan on the siege of Reth.

  Justyn shoved Nikolas roughly onto the steps of the shop as Lewk disappeared through the door. Justyn took a position against the wall where he could watch Nikolas and the passersby. It was an uneventful watch. As usual Nikolas accepted his captivity without complaint and no one passing by seemed to recognize himself or the old man.

  After a moment, Lewk returned from within the building. Justyn moved quickly and dragged Nikolas up to his feet.

  “Can we finish this now?” Justyn snapped at Lewk.

  The monk glared at Justyn, unbridled contempt flashing across his eyes.

  “We’re missing an ingredient.” Lewk announced.

  Justyn’s grip on the sword hilt tightened as it flashed from its scabbard; the tip pressed firmly on Nikolas’s chest.

  “I refuse to spend another night in the company of that old man.” Justyn stated.

  At this exclamation, several of the passersby stopped mid stride and started staring at the small confrontation occurring on the steps. The three men could hear mumbles of “strangers…” and “guards…” but Justyn didn’t care. He could talk his way out of most situations.

  “You may not have to.” Lewk replied carefully and quietly, “The herbalist mentioned another shop here in town and said they probably have what I’ll need for the serum. Their shop is supposed to be near here; if we hurry we could still get what we need and have enough time to finish this tonight.”

  Justyn waited a moment before stiffly sheathing his sword and commanding, “Lead on.”

  Most of the crowd quickly dispersed as soon as steel was no longer bared, but a few of them continued to stare at the trio as they moved down the street.

  Lewk led them back to the south gate road and deeper into the city. They passed multiple inns and Justyn took note of those that had signs advertising company available for lonely travelers. They turned off the main road onto a side street, and then turned onto a small, dark avenue that brought them back around to the east gate road. Half way down the avenue Lewk turned into a dark building; Nikolas sat willingly on the steps as Justyn resumed his watch.

  The dark avenue was full of thugs. Rough men with every manner of weapon and armor imaginable cast suspicious glances at Justyn; and at each other. The sounds of music, laughter and brawling from the adjacent building told Justyn that it was another tavern. As he watched the east gate road, Justyn was taken aback to see the Knight of the Black Era staring down the avenue toward him; the pitiful half-blood from the monastery was next to him, examining a long sword from a street hawker. Hoping it was not too late, Justyn pulled his hood up and looked to Nikolas, thankful to see he had already pulled his up as well.

  Three women stepped out of the tavern’s side door with cloaks drawn tight around them. The men gathered near the door smiled as a gust of wind blew by and caught one woman off guard, blowing her cloak out behind her. Men began to move forward as she hastily pulled her cloak back around herself, but it was too late; the men already had enough motivation. Five men began to step forward; Justyn loosened his blade in its scabbard.

  “Don’t get any thoughts men,” one of the other women called out to them, “You haven’t paid for her services.”

  “How about a free sample?” one snarled, an eye patch covering his left eye and a wicked battle-axe in his right fist.

  “No.” the whore whispered hesitantly.

  “And why not?” another man asked. He wore assortments of heavy leathers and carried multiple daggers.

  The leader of the women snapped back at them, “Because she said ‘no’!”

  “Take her anyway!” the first man roared, rushing forward.

  Justyn’s blade flashed from its scabbard, striking his first target in the head as it made its first arch through the air. Justyn shifted forward and struck the second man in the back of the neck, severing his head. The third man was smaller, wearing a chainmail shirt that Justyn recognized as Faelhart standard issue. The man turned to the sounds of the other men dying and saw Justyn approaching; dropping his mace, the deserter turned and ran onto east gate road.

  Justyn was in the middle of the fray now. The three women cowered behind him with Nikolas and the remaining two men standing in front of him; their charge stopped short.

  “You can’t kill us both, foreign scum.” The knife wielder growled.

  “You underestimate me.” Justyn replied confidently, “But
consider this: is an unpaid whore truly worth risking your lives? I killed two of your friends with two strokes of my sword and the rest of your thugs have fled already.”

  The first man glanced around the alley quickly before turning to Justyn. His hand flexed on his axe repeatedly as he considered his opponent and the potential prize.

  “Might I make a proposal?” Justyn offered to the hesitant pair, “It has recently come to my attention that two men have entered the city today that I am not fond of having chasing me when I leave. If you must risk you lives for a free whore, then kill them tonight and bring their heads to me here first thing in the morning and I will have a whore for each of you paid through the week.”

  The two men grinned with excitement at Justyn’s proposal.

  “Who are they?” the first man asked.

  “One is from Faelhart. He’s an old man with white hair. The other is a half-Lythrain with dark hair down to his neck; I don’t know any more about him, except that he is a thorn in my side. I saw them both on east gate road just before our… engagement.”

  The two men nodded their agreement at the bargain and the first man answered, “You’ve got a deal, friend.”

  Without another word the two thugs turned back toward east gate road. Justyn thankfully cleaned his blade on one of the dead men’s shirt and sheathed it before guards could be called and turned back to check on Nikolas, who sat exactly where he had when the engagement began. Behind him, the three women held their cloaks tightly around them.

  “How can we repay your kindness, sir?” the first woman asked.

  Justyn threw his hood back and considered the women.

  “My companions and I will be staying the night here and we still need rooms. What inn would you recommend?”

  “The Charging Knight on the north gate road is a good place.” The first woman told him, “The rooms aren’t the best, but the quality of their food makes up for it.”