II. Túmladir’s Mistake

List of Names:

* Túmladir (TOOM-la-dihr)

* Apállias (a-PAHL-lee-as, Bright Lord or Shining Lord)

* Althis (AL-this)

* Maidilar (MAHY-di-lahr, Sky Lord)

* Cáranithe (CAHR-a-neeth or CAYR-a-neeth, by dialect)

* Maerfoln (MAYR-foln)

Once there was a knight of the Holy Order, and his name was Túmladir. He was a Senior Journeyman knight of the Order, almost a Champion; and he was of the First Brotherhood, the Knights of the White Rose, who serve as protectors and guardians. Now Túmladir was a very skilled warrior, and quite strong; so when he was assigned by the Elders an escort mission, accompanying a monk to his monastery, he was not surprised. He clad himself in his armor, silver mail with the White Rose painted on the breast. He grabbed his sword and his square shield, painted with white sun and white stars, and slung his longbow on his back. He checked to make sure the sun of Apállias, god of light, that he wore was about his neck, just to be safe. And then he left his quarters to report to the Elder knight who’d given him the assignment, and meet the brother he was escorting. All was normal for this kind of mission, and Túmladir was not surprised.

But Túmladir was surprised when he met the brother, outside the castle gates. The monk, Brother Althis, was very old: wrinkled, with long white hair, he held a stick and was bent with age. He looked too old to ride; and he would not be riding, as Túmladir learned. Brother Althis was a monk of Maidilar, lord of justice, and his monastery was north across the mountains. To cross them they would take the Pass of Cáranithe, which was nearby; but the pass was rocky, and ill-fit for horses, so the two would go on foot. And they would go alone! Túmladir had thought that the case at first, but Cáranithe Pass was an unsafe place, troubled too often by goblins and other things. The old monk wore only the sky-blue and white robes of Maidilar’s order, and the conjoined wings, symbol of Maidilar, on his neck. Unarmored, he looked vulnerable, and Túmladir feared for him: he would stand between this good brother and any danger, but one stray arrow from a goblin archer... He asked the Elder knight if he alone was capable for this mission, or if a group should be assigned to escort the venerable brother. The Elder knight replied, “Túmladir, you are sufficient. Brother Althis will be safe beside you; he himself is highly regarded among the monks of Maidilar, and has progressed far along their path.” So he reassured Túmladir, but the knight was not convinced.

They began their journey northward, traversing the great hill on which the Order’s castle rests. In no time they reached the wooden out-wall, and passing through it found themselves on the path leading to the mountains, and Cáranithe Pass. They descended into the valley between the hill and the mountains, and walked among gold, flowing grasses. Túmladir’s unease grew as the mountain slopes drew nearer, and finally he confided in his charge, saying “Father, I can see that you are venerable and wise. I fear we are ill-prepared for this passage, and I am anxious for your safety. You must know the dangers of Cáranithe. Why are you so calm?”

And Brother Althis, leaning on his stick, answered, “I am sorry to worry you, son. Dismiss your anxiety; fear not! For I made the passage south on my visit to the Order, and was unharmed. And I have been this way many times over the years. I am becoming very old, as you can see, but the secrets of my brotherhood do not depart with age. The White Flame still dwells in me. And the wisdom of Maidilar has guided me true for seventy-seven years; I do not doubt him now.” And Túmladir was comforted, but worried still.

Now the slopes grew steeper, and became rough and rocky as they ascended. Following the path, they reached the area between the two mountains, where the path twisted between boulders and outcroppings, becoming quite difficult terrain. At either hand slopes zigzagged up, into wild pathways which could be used to climb the mountains, if one were skilled. Here and there instead of these wild slopes, a sheer wall would border the trail; some were a dozen feet tall, some two. Finally, the path thinned, bordered by the steepness on either side, rarely as wide as fifteen feet across. The Pass of Cáranithe.

It was rough going, and slow. Brother Althis wound his way with care among the areas of rubble, which were many, and labored at the times they had to clamber or even climb. Túmladir assisted him, when necessary, and offered to carry the man on his back at difficult points. Brother Althis smiled at his courtesy, and accepted his help; but he would not ride on the knight’s back, and patiently struggled on.

The noontide sun began to sink, and hours of peaceful travel went by. Túmladir was hopeful. For all his age the monk, despite his slow going, held up well, and the knight was confident they could make the passage in a day; they were most of the way already. He continuously scanned the area about them, wary of any creature’s approach, but saw nothing. With luck, they would suffer no incident.

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But, as is the case in such tales, danger did befall them. As the sunset began, they passed beside yet another sheer wall, on their left, this one rising twenty feet before tapering into a steep, mountainous slope; it continued for hundreds of feet ahead of them before petering off. They had walked for about a minute beneath the wall’s shadow (for the sun lay behind it), when Túmladir heard, faint but near, a shrill, birdlike call. Recognizing the signal instantly, he hissed a rebuke to himself under his breath, for his foolishness and overconfidence, and immediately drew sword and shield. He sprang beside the monk, crying “Ware, father!” and, shielding Althis from the west with his own body, he narrowed his eyes, scanning the deeper shadows of the wall.

It did not take him long to find, with an intent eye: about fifteen feet up, there was a ledge in the wall, well concealed in shadow; due to the stone’s coloration, it would have been hard to see the slight protrusion even in bright light. Indeed, Túmladir did not first see the ledge, so much as the goblins upon it. There were several of them, perhaps a dozen, and all were armed with bows. Even as Túmladir watched, several of them, grinning with fanged mouths, fit arrows to the string. He raised his shield before him, and felt the impact as three arrows were deflected or broken upon it.

He glanced about. The old monk was unharmed, and was gazing at the goblins with unwavering gray eyes. Behind them lay a large rock; another obstruction in the path, but in this instance a blessing. Túmladir gestured, and Brother Althis went to take cover. The knight followed, protecting him, and several more arrows were stopped by his shield; numerous others fell about them, skipping among the stones. From behind the rock, Túmladir sheathed sword and set shield aside, and took up his bow. He looked at Althis again, worried. Then, with a sudden motion, he stood, taking two rapid shots at the goblin marksmen. His daring was rewarded with a shriek, as one fell; but the rest continued hailing arrows at him, and he dove back under cover. For a few minutes the firefight continued this way, the goblins showering arrows uncomfortably near and Túmladir, whenever he could, darting out and loosing a hurried shot. Another fell from the wall, and a third was wounded, but it looked to be a long struggle; and already his quiver was feeling light.

Then his fears grew worse. Ahead and to the right there came several shrill, wild cries. Glancing that way, he saw several more goblin raiders, these with shields and axes, charging down the slopes toward them. They were caught in a killing trap: they could not stand and fight the axe-men without exposing themselves to fire from above. Túmladir took one last shot, then threw down his bow, and grabbing his shield up again edged around behind the rock, putting himself between the axe-men and the old monk.

He knelt there with sword drawn, wondering how he would fight several goblins in such a position, when movement behind made him turn his head. Brother Althis had left cover! Standing he faced the goblin archers, empty hands raised toward them; their arrows were whining all around him, and one passed within a handbreadth of his face. Túmladir cried out in fear for the old man, and sprang toward him, but then something remarkable happened. As he approached, Túmladir saw the brother’s eyes: they blazed a bright gray, as if something possessed him. The monk lowered his left hand and raised his right, crying out a single word. There was a brilliant flash and a thunderous boom, and a stroke of white lightning leapt from his hand, crashing into the ledge; it arced to every goblin archer, smiting them where they stood or blasting them from the wall.

His face blank in amazement, Túmladir was roused by the cries behind him. The goblin axe-men were seconds away from him; despite their cowardice and awe at the lightning, these must have thought themselves near and numerous enough to handle the old man and the knight. Túmladir set himself and received their charge, claiming one with his blade and throwing another back with his shield. The rest came at him, but he held fast – Túmladir was trained in Maerfoln, Path of the Thunderstorm, and he assumed a strong, defensive posture, repelling their attacks. Three more fell by his hand. Then, all the rest rushed him at the same moment, and as he fended their attacks two of them ran by him and charged at Althis. Túmladir cried out to the monk, but it was too late: they were far too close for him to throw lightning again, even if he could do so, and the knight could only watch them approach the unarmed old man.

Brother Althis raised his wizened hands. As they approached, he lashed out, his one hand held rigid in a shape like a claw, the other held in a fist. Túmladir heard the loud snap of bone; he also saw the impact. But he did not believe it. The knight was a senior journeyman, a seasoned warrior. He knew from experience the effect that attacks of diverse strengths should have on foes; he could tell by sight the strength behind a stroke, or could tell from the wound inflicted, and he had even seen the results of magically-enhanced strength upon injuries.

But this was like nothing he had ever seen. On impact, the two goblins went flying backwards, broken. It was as if a creature with not just the strength, but the size of a giant had struck them! And yet there stood only Brother Althis, the venerable monk.

All of this occurred in seconds. Túmladir turned to the three goblins left facing him: all three now looked far from confident. He lunged out, stabbing one; soon, none remained. He turned to the monk, to see to him, but Brother Althis looked unhurt. Sheathing his sword, the knight smiled. “Only ‘Brother’ Althis, father?” he asked.

The bent old monk smiled back. “Humility, perhaps” he answered. “Technically, it is ‘Master’ Althis, Abbott. I do my best to be a bit more anonymous. But did not I tell, you, Túmladir, that all my life Maidilar has done me no wrong? And the secrets of my brotherhood do not depart with age.”