ALICIA – CHIVALRY PARK, GARET, KLYDOR
1ST CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING, 845 PBM
“And now, our very own chosen, Acolyte Alicia will lead us in the Prayer of Devotion,” boomed the Deacon's voice across the throng of townsfolk in Chivalry Park.
As the Deacon retreated from the raised pulpit, applause filled the air. Alicia found herself momentarily frozen, staring at the vacant space behind it, even though she knew she was supposed to be moving towards it.
‘Just because I am a Cleric doesn’t mean I'm not terrified to have to address the entire town,’ she thought.
She sought a prayer to steady her nerves, but those same nerves left her unable to think of any.
‘That’s ironic.’
She forced herself to breathe. Once she had that under control, Alicia forced herself to put one foot in front of the other, and very deliberately walked towards the pulpit. A magical projector, placed atop the pulpit, would amplify and project her voice to every corner of the park.
‘So if I screw this up, everyone will hear it really clearly.’
She looked out across the crowd of townsfolk. Essentially everyone she knew was in this one place, and mostly focused on her.
Stop it. Pull yourself together. This is just reciting scripture. And that I can do!’
She opened her prayer book to the marked page. Avoiding the sea of eyes upon her, she started to recite.
“Deus Pater noster, qui est in caelis.”
(Our Father-God, who resides in the heavens)
She allowed for a pause after each line, letting the assembly echo her words. While most of the crowd repeated the common translation, priests typically recited in the archaic Archeron dialect. This was the language much of the early human history had been first written in, and the church of Chandrilar was largely built on tomes written in Archeron during Chandrilar’s pilgrimage with his people across most of known Driax.
“Gratias agimus tibi pro omni tribulatione, quam misistis nobis.”
(We thank you for every trial you send us)
A sharp reflection in the crowd caught her eye, and she saw the reflection had drawn her gaze directly to Mitchell. She looked at the strange light and continued with the prayer from memory. The book had really only been a comfort.
“Ita ut tibi devotionem nostram ostendamus.”
(So we may show you our devotion)
The luminescence around Mitchell intensified. She tried to blink it away, but the light only grew.
“Devotione discimus credere et obedire.”
(Through devotion, we learn to trust and obey)
Alicia became aware she was the only one who could see the light, as it was now too large and too bright for nobody else to be looking at it. And it was enveloping Mitchell, and to a lesser extent Hawkin and Peregrin, who sat to either side of him.
“Devotionis causa primam posuimus.”
(Through devotion we put the cause first)
Then a darkness appeared to challenge the light.
“Devotione colimus.”
(Through devotion we band together)
The darkness formed into spears, and moved inexorably towards Mitchell and the others. Her heart skipped a beat as a feeling of dread took hold within her. She forced herself to continue the prayer.
‘This is a divine vision! It has to be. Watch and discern the message the Lord sends.’
“In numeris nostris vires multiplicat.” Her voice gained in fervor.
(In numbers our strength multiplies)
A brilliant shield, bearing the emblem of Chandrilar, interposed itself in front of the spears of darkness.
“Devotionis causa nostra cognoscit victoriam.”
(Through devotion our cause knows victory)
The spears impacted against the shield. A feeling of hope replaced Alicia's initial dread as the dark spears shattered harmlessly.
“Benedico ovus Illyrius”
(Praise be to our Father-God)
As the prayer ended, the shield disappeared a fraction of a second before the rest. In that instant, she felt sure that without the shield, there was nothing else in Driax that could have stopped those dark spears. The feeling of dread washed over her entire body anew.
‘Was that really a vision? Why did Chandrilar send it to me? And why are there dark spears aimed at Mitchy and the others?’
She stepped away from the pulpit, the applause barely registering. She heard almost nothing else of the ceremony, as her mind whirred at the divine message she was sure she had just witnessed.
‘Evil comes for Mitchell and maybe his friends. And only the protection of Chandrilar can save them.’
AZZANON – ‘FOR PRINCE AND CHURCH’ HOTEL, LUTHIEN
[https://i.imgur.com/p24fgEF.png]
1ST CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING, 845 PBM
Azzanon Klarence Thibaut III scrutinised his reflection in the small mirror. Happy with what he saw, he smiled and winked in a manner he knew to be both captivating and cheeky. Adjusting his short, brown hair, he made certain the front curled perfectly in a wave over his face, and his piercing sky blue eyes. He ensured his goatee was neatly shaped, and he meticulously checked the tips of his pencil moustache, pointing them elegantly to reflect the latest trend from his beloved Drasnia.
‘Or at least what was the latest fashion when I left over a year ago,’ he complained to himself. ‘For all I know those stupid half-cloaks might be all the rage again now.’
Satisfied his face was at its handsome best, he re-checked his outfit. He wore a stylish white shirt, complete with a frilled collar and sleeves rolled up slightly, in a nod to the local fashion in Luthien. His dark coloured pants were freshly pressed, and slightly tighter fitting than most would wear, but Azzanon kept himself fit and trim, and wanted his dinner companion tonight to appreciate it.
‘Amongst the nobility, that is not always a common trait. Those born into money often have little self-control. Why should I conceal that I look after myself and look good?’
His half-length boots shone, embellished with large silver buckles. His ensemble was rounded off with a vest and a flamboyant feathered hat, which currently hung by his hotel suite's door.
‘Bloody expensive room, given it is still somewhat a shambles compared to the grand rooms back home. But it is the best room in Luthien, and I want tonight to be special. Unforgettable in fact. If it goes to plan, tonight changes everything.’
Azzanon's fingers brushed over a gold-coloured fleur de lys on his vest, a silent homage to his homeland.
‘For so many years now I have had to hide who I am. Always playing the part of whatever my alias was for a particular assignment. Sometimes I almost forget what my natural accent is. But tonight I stop the lies. I tell Samtha I love her, I tell her what I am, and that I am willing to leave the Drasnian Intelligence Agency behind to be with her.’
The wild-life of women, sex, drugs and partying will be no more. Or at least, will now be whatever Samtha wants it to be. Let’s not pretend she isn’t a wild girl herself. She is absolutely nothing like the woman I thought I was destined for. She is going to terrify my family too I suspect. My poor mother!
I just have to hope she forgives me for lying to her about… well, everything. But our feelings for each other are real! What does it matter if my name and accent are not the same.
He whispered a prayer to Faylen to help the night turn out as he wanted; for his declaration of love to be well received; his past lies to be quickly forgiven as part of his job; and for the two of them to retire to this suite to begin their new lives together.
He headed for the door, gathering his rapier, cloak and hat. He took one final look back at the mirror to ensure all three were sitting as he wanted. He noticed a plain envelope with the single word Salutations written on it had been slipped under the door.
It was a communication from the Agency. Likely new intelligence or even new orders. He ignored it, stepped over it and closed the door. After tonight, he would not need read another of those ever again. And he headed into the night.
****
Azzanon bounded up the stairs of the beautiful, waterfront, multi-level restaurant, with its spectacular views of the Sea of Tranquillity, on the coast of which much of Luthien was built. Revelers gathered below on the sands, visible in the light of the white and red moons, their laughter echoing off the crashing waves.
‘I have brought so many beautiful women to places such as this. Either to seduce them, steal their secrets, or to break up with them.’
A smile bloomed on his face as he approached the table. There was Samtha, his love and hopefully soon a whole lot more, sitting radiant in the moonlight.
‘Long dark hair, sections of it in dreadlocks. She has parts of her head shaved. She speaks with that ridiculous drawl, but I could listen to her speak for hours. Her body is more muscled than soft, and she is leaner and less curvy than my friends would say is my type. And she has a scathing wit and a mouth that can make sailors blush. She is simultaneously the opposite of what I am supposed to find attractive, and the single most beautiful thing I have ever encountered in this world.’
‘She smiles as I approach, and I feel butterflies all through my body.’
Taking her hand, Azzanon assisted her to stand, planting a gentle kiss on her knuckles. "You look beautiful," he whispered.
‘How often have I said that, and not actually meant it.’
“You look like … you look different,” she replied in her distinctive drawl. “Did you buy a new outfit for tonight?” she asked.
‘Hmm… not sure she likes the style of the ‘new me’. Not the most auspicious beginning.’
“I thought you might like to see a different side to me tonight,” Azzanon replied, trying to deflect any further conversation on his new appearance for now, and resuming his previous Lotese accent.
‘Remember, she thinks you are an arms dealer who sells and smuggles weapons for the Luthien resistance against the Cthrag Merlos. While that should not matter to a travelling bard such as her, it is still the world she thinks you are from. She should be happy I am not an arms dealer, right?’
Azzanon noticed the bottle of whisky on the table, accompanied by two generously filled glasses.
‘OK. Going to be one of those nights is it.’
He grasped his glass, taking a deep swig of the brownish spirit. It was potent, unrefined, and lacked sophistication. Precisely how the locals preferred it. He stifled the desire to cough as it assaulted his tastebuds and burnt its way down his throat.
Without hesitation, she followed suit and promptly topped up both their glasses.
“I've been contemplating our future,” Azzanon began.
‘I feel nervous. I have not felt this nervous around a girl since I was a teenager fumbling through my first stages of physical intimacy. Or when telling a lie to someone who might shoot you if he does not believe it.’
“Me too, Honey,” Samtha interjected. “And I don’t think it’s going to work out between us.”
The full weight of her words took a moment to sink in. Azzanon's trademark smirk frozen in place as he processed her unexpected revelation.
‘Then why the nice location, and the drink?’
And then it dawned on him.
‘Oh no! She is me. The beautiful location in public, so I won’t make a scene. The strong alcohol is so I can drink my ill feelings afterwards. Now I get to hear the speech. Please don’t be the speech.’
“It’s not about you, or anything you've done. This is about me," she began. "I'm in a phase of my life where a relationship isn't prudent. It's not fair on you. You deserve so much more.” She took a long sip from her glass, and instinctively, Azzanon mirrored her.
‘By the gods! Being on the receiving end feels like a dagger through the heart! All those times I believed my spiel was a kindness...how wrong I was.’
“I'm swamped with work, and right now, that has to be my priority. If only there were someone I could delegate my responsibilities to. But I trust no one with them. Our time together will always hold a special place in my heart. You're exceptional, Kronar, and you should be with someone who can fully commit to you.”
Though several counterpoints sprang to mind, Azzanon remained silent. Arguing would be futile, and it didn’t matter if he argued as Kronar or as Azzanon. The arguments likely were not even true, or at least not the reason she was breaking up with him. And so he just sat there. His eyes were now just staring at his drink as he pondered how it was possible he could feel so sad, and why had the Gods done this to him.
“Look, I don’t want to make this any more difficult for you than it already is,” Samtha continued.
Oh… how often have I said that. You mean you don’t want to sit here and be reminded what it looks like when you tear someone’s heart out.
“I have left enough money to cover the drinks, and a meal if you still want one. I have told the staff to leave you alone but to keep bringing drinks as long as you want them. I have also instructed them to get a coach to give you a ride home when you are ready, whenever that is.”
‘Damn you. That last part is good. I never thought to do that.’
And with that, Samtha stood up, kissed him on the cheek, and she walked out of his life forever. Azzanon tried not to look. but found himself watching every step until she descended the stairs and was totally out of view.
‘I hate you!’
‘And I still love you!’
****
An hour later, Azzanon stumbled into his suite, clutching a second bottle of the fireball whisky.
“Look!” he yelled at the bottle. “I got you the nicest room in the whole damn town! Would you like to sit on the balcony, and look at the view while I have my way with you?”
He took out a glass and was about to pour the whiskey into it when he saw the plain envelope with ‘Salutations’ on it still sitting on the floor.
“Might as well get all our bad news at once, right?” he said to the bottle. “With luck, new intelligence says that there is a Drasak assassin squad on its way here to kill me right now.”
He opened the envelope, struggling to open the envelope with drunken hands, before getting frustrated and tearing it open with his teeth. He pulled the paper out from within the envelope and uttered the command phrase to activate it.
“For the nation that will forever be the jewel of Driax,” he said, focusing intently to not slur any of the words. A magick rune briefly flared across the rolled piece of paper and a broken seal appeared out of nowhere, then the join of the paper and the writing itself appeared.
Azzanon grinned in mild surprise, and congratulated himself in the mirror, as though being able to speak without slurring was some kind of great accomplishment. He unrolled the scroll and saw a short and succinct message.
‘Current mission successful. New assignment. Head to Velluto and re-connect with prior network. Past alias of Francisco reactivated.’
‘Oh, lovely Drasak! It would appear we are not done with each other yet! A place where I will be surely killed if I am ever detected. Yet I can’t seem to stay away.‘
Azzanon lit a cigar and burned the note. He hated cigars, but having lit one, it would be breaking character to now not smoke it. So he went out onto the balcony with his glass, his bottle of whiskey and his awful cigar.
He smoked the cigar and had his way with the bottle of whiskey.
He also yelled obscenities at the people passing by below, but made sure to do so in a Lotese accent.
‘It would seem we are not yet done playing charades!’
MITCHELL – CHIVALRY PARK, GARET, KLYDOR
[https://i.imgur.com/13l3JXM.jpg]
1ST CARLISHAE, EARLY SPRING, 845 PBM
The deep night had draped Chivalry Park in a soft, velvety darkness, interrupted only by the warm flicker of the many bonfires that danced merrily within its bounds. Nestled by one such bonfire sat Alicia, flanked by Mitchell on one side and Hawkin on the other. Peregrin was next to Mitchell, and completing their circle was Davon, whose place was between Peregrin and Hawkin.
Davon, with his sun-kissed skin, sun-bleached long hair, and the trio of a bow, axe, and machete resting nearby, seemed the very embodiment of the wild. His worn leather armour bore testimony to his militia patrol only just returning home in time for the festival.
Around them hummed the last remnants of the Rebirth Festival, being joyously celebrated by the few who had not yet retired for the night. Priests had given their blessings, indicating the Gods were pleased, and had forecast a prosperous spring. Given it was also every commoner's birthday, once the ceremonies and hard work were over, revelry took centre stage.
But most people were now partied out, and had headed home or to wherever else they had arranged to stay for the night. For many that meant camping in Chivalry Park. Hawkin, who had probably been celebrating the hardest, showed no sign of calling an end to festivities anytime soon.
“Be careful not to throw yourself into the fire with another spinning pirouette, Mitchell?” chuckled Hawkin, flushed from mirth and drink, “Alicia might be running out of prayers for you.”
Mitchell shot a wry look at his large, noble friend.
‘Hawkin Aranson, the son of Sarek Aranson, the biggest legend in all of Garet. Trained by his father to lead, fight and ride, and to one day become a Knight of Klydor. He saw his first real combat with the town militia when the Red Moon band of goblins had harassed the town last year, and since then has been eager to prove he is the better warrior than everyone else.
‘But while Sarek longs for a dutiful son, Hawkin longs for a life of fame and adventure. Hawkin wants almost nothing to do with a simple life in Garet. Gifted with privilege and position, he wishes to shun it and seek glory and freedom from responsibility.’
Stolen story; please report.
“Perhaps my mistake was not feigning to drop my weapon, and then throwing dirt in my opponent’s face,” Mitchell retorted. “Then I could have just pushed my opponent over while he was blind. Or maybe I should have instructed Peregrin to cheat before you did, and save us all from your gracious modesty.”
Peregrin said nothing, but shook his head firmly, making it clear what he thought of that suggestion.
‘I guess I should be grateful I have never suffered from a rivalry with Hawkin, but even that is a little insulting. I have never been good enough to be considered a rival. I am not their equal with a sword or horse, and everybody knows it.
“Oh, so Mitchell’s failings are all my fault are they?” asked Hawkin cynically. “Did I help him set fire to the smithy when he tried his hand at being a blacksmith?”
Mitchell went quiet as a mixture of laughter and pity washed over his friends. Alicia looked to him sympathetically.
“Or when he let Old Man Davis’s sheep out while moving them to his west paddock?” Hawkin continued. “Although let’s be honest, nobody in town will ever forget those damn sheep wandering down the main street!”
Everyone chuckled at least a little at that last point.
‘In fact, to the townsfolk I have never really been good at anything. And the Gods seem to insist that I not be good at anything practical. But Maragon insists I don’t tell them the truth.’
“With today’s incident, I would blame your teacher,” came the deeper voice of Davon, nearly two years senior to Hawkin. “Part of your problem was your teacher allowed lethal weapons into a place you should be free to practice without fear of being killed.” While the words could be taken seriously, there was mirth in the tone to make it clear he was just making fun of Hawkin.
‘That is true, but I still should have done better, and not been hit by Stevran’s axe.’
“Shouldn’t you be on perimeter watch duty tonight?” queried Davon. “I realise you could not track a herd of grindek through a field, so perhaps you are just lost, but Chivalry Park is a long way from the perimeter.”
“The biggest threat to this town is you and Mitchell. So, I am here to keep an eye on you,” replied Hawkin jokingly.
Davon smirked, sharing a knowing look with Mitchell. Mitchell considered his quieter and thoughtful friend.
‘Davon, son of Andukan. His father is widely regarded as the best hunter in all of Garet, and Davon strives to be the same. Both served together as scouts for the militia during the goblin raids, and they were the ones who found the main warhost. His skills in the wild are undoubtedly the best of our small group. In a match of insult slinging, however, I suspect Hawkin has him covered.’
“Lord Hawkin took advantage of his wealth and position of influence to bribe another member of the militia to take his duty instead,” informed Peregrin.
Looks of varying degree of disapproval fell upon Hawkin. None worse than the glare he was getting from Alicia.
‘Abandoning your Duty. That will annoy her. ‘
While he knew it was petty, Mitchell always felt good when Hawkin annoyed Alicia.
“You were not supposed to hear that,” replied Hawkin sheepishly.
“Elves have exceptional hearing,” explained Peregrin. “Has nobody warned you of this?”
“Kerros needs the money for his family. I did a good thing,” Hawkin argued. From the tone in his voice it was possible he believed it.
“That is what I love about you Hawkin. You can talk yourself into just about anything,” replied Mitchell.
“What will your father say, when he finds out you abandoned your post?” asked Alicia, her tone getting quite serious. “Technically he could have you whipped in the town square.”
‘Alicia has not been herself tonight. Perhaps she is tired from having to heal me twice, or from all the preparations for the Festival.’
“We both know he won’t do that. People swap shifts in the militia all the time. He will be pissed though, because I avoided his punishment. He will come up with some kind of new punishment, but after seeing tonight, whatever the punishment, it will be worth it.”
“By that, do you mean your antics on the park table earlier?” asked Mitchell, as he pointed to a large wooden table they could only just make out in the night. “That was embarrassing!”
“No. It was awesome fun,” boasted Hawkin, as he counted off the reasons on his fingers, “It was legendary; the bard called me out by name; And…it would have been very successful if it weren’t for you acting as a killjoy.”
There was a look of confusion on both Davon and Peregrin’s face, as they did not understand the joke.
“While you were showing Peregrin around the town, Davon,” explained Mitchell, “Hawkin was being Hawkin,”
Davon nodded as though that explanation was enough, but Peregrin was clearly still confused.
“Perhaps there is some element of your language I do not yet understand because I do not see how your answer explains anything,” queried Peregrin.
Hawkin, perhaps concerned all of this might get back to his father suddenly became more sheepish, “I have no idea what you are talking about…”
“That is because you are drunk, and likely do not remember many of the details. Shall I remind you?” offered Mitchell.
“I hardly think that is necessary,” Hawkin tried to interrupt the story. “What about…”
“Go on Mitchell. I wish to know more of the young Lord Hawkin,” encouraged Peregrin. “The behaviour of human nobility interests me.”
Mitchell contemplated the unfamiliar figure in their midst.
‘Peregrin Ellyrion. Judging you from your long silver hair alone, you are clearly a grey elf, and from the Llewyrr ruled side of the Forest too. Like all elves, you are slender of build, but move with a grace and dexterity few humans could hope to match. You are almost certainly gifted with the use of magick. And with your perfect face, silver hair, and bright violet, coloured eyes, you would be considered beautiful by nearly any definition. If this is indeed your first time visiting Klydor. I hope we do not leave a bad impression.’
Mitchell looked around to see if anyone was going to say anything else to stop him, but it seemed none were.
‘All right then. The truth. Maragon insists you cannot go too far wrong with the truth. Mixed with some humility for Hawkin. He deserves it. No, he NEEDS it.’
“The bard was really getting into his groove, and so was the crowd. Hawkin was…”
“You mean Lord Hawkin, of course,” corrected Peregrin.
“Ahh… yes, of course,” replied Mitchell, a little surprised at the interruption and mention of protocol. Protocol was not strong in the village of Garet.
‘So, a stickler for protocol. I guess technically Hawkin is a Lord, and therefore correct protocol is to address him by his title. But this is Hawkin. He just does not act or feel like a Lord. Or at least not how I think a Lord should act. I guess Lord Sarek Aranson and Lord Balinor Bardin are the only two Lords I have ever met, but none of them act like Hawkin. He has always just been… Hawkin.’
“Lord Hawkin was celebrating like it was his birthday instead of it being everyone else’s, and as such had already drunk more than was wise. I had suggested he slow down, but he suggested I should speed up. I suggested he stop climbing onto the tables during the ribald singing of the bard. But he insisted he could see things better from up there.”
“That was true. I could see the stage much more clearly,” chimed in Hawkin, a smile coming over his face as his exploits were being retold. It is like he does not even realise he is the fool in this story. Just loves hearing his own stories, I guess.
“I suspect you were more interested in being seen, than in what you could see from up there.” Mitchell postulated. He got nods of agreement from both Alicia and Davon.
“Initially it was just him dancing, and hollering at just about everyone,” continued Mitchell. “Then he decided to try to encourage some of the young females present to join him on the table to dance. That went well until he fell from the table.”
“Was probably trying to emulate your defensive spin,” interjected Davon, which elicited laughter from everyone.
“Actually, I was trying to get closer to Brelda Davis,” explained Hawkin. “And at least I didn’t need a healer.”
“Luckily, Old man Davis told the girls to get down and that stopped him for a while,” commented Alicia. She motioned for Mitchell to continue.
“As the night continued, Hawkin got back up and his comments from the table got more lewd, almost in synch with the nature of the songs,” spoke Mitchell. “He even managed to get a shout-out from the bard for the strength of his celebration, and a round of applause from the crowd. He bowed like it was the greatest moment of his life.”
“A fun night was had by all! No harm in it,” Hawkin decreed with a grin.
“OK. But did you really think any of the young women present were going to accept your offer for companionship when you just stood on the table in the middle of the square and yelled it for all to hear?” asked Mitchell bemusedly.
“At the time it seemed easier than asking them individually,” shrugged Hawkin, equal parts embarrassed, yet proud at the retelling of his exploits. His friends all knew from the broad grin on his face that Hawkin was generally quite comfortable with his behaviour.
“I did ask you to join me up there. Having some fun and perhaps some female attention would do you good,” responded Hawkin.
“As I told you then, I was not interested in being on your bimbo box and making a spectacle of myself during our biggest celebration of the year,” retorted Mitchell.
“Yes. I remember,” recalled Hawkin. “You said it so loud everyone heard, and after that nobody would dance with me. Kheldon Wentworth even had the gall to start calling me Lord BimboBox after that. He is lucky I didn’t knock out his front teeth. Let’s see what that does to his leering grin.”
“That is not entirely true,” conceded Alicia. “There were some girls who perhaps thought accepting your offer would change their lives for the better. It was my duty to explain to them that the world was full of young common girls whose lives were ruined raising some noble’s bastard.”
“What? That is so … “ Hawkin struggled for the word to finish his rebuke.
“True.. is that the word?” asked Alicia.
“I would have gone with unkind,” countered Hawkin with a grin.
“Because you are so good with responsibility, you think I have misjudged how you would go with having a young child,” asked Alicia, a thin edge of seriousness mixed in with the mirth.
“I would have used protection. I bought some off one of the merchants,” Hawkin protested. Davon interceded and waved Alicia off before she got really fired up.
‘Hawkin’s lack of responsibility stirs her up, but I am so jealous of their exchanges. She has such fire when she interacts with him. I get protected like a younger brother.’
Mitchell then glanced at Peregrin, trying to gauge his reaction to the banter. The elf's expression remained inscrutable. Mitchell had no idea if he approved or was horrified by the actions of Lord Hawkin.
“Oh, I should probably explain one really important aspect of human customs,” called out Hawkin, looking straight at Peregrin.
“What is that?” asked Peregrin, raising a single eye-brow in curiosity.
“We have an etiquette rule that what happens or what is said in this circle, is sacred knowledge shared only by those within in the circle,” spoke Hawkin passionately.
Peregrin understood instantly what Hawkin really meant. “I will not tell your father anything of this night, or indeed anything at all. I am here to learn about humans and your customs. Not to inform your father about your actions. Our Seers say the fates of our empires are forever linked, so I want to see what the big deal is with ‘Klydorians’.”
“Oh, in that case, you will love us!” exclaimed Hawkin. “We are the best of the humans. All the stories say so.”
“But how much of the stories are true and how much are legend,” countered Peregrin. “That is what I wish to know. How can an empire as great as our own, be truly and irrevocably linked to the fate of a human empire such as your own.” The inflection he put on the word human implied some level of disdain or inferiority.
“How long will you be staying to learn that?” asked Mitchell hopefully, ignoring the insult.
‘Hopefully long enough to get a few more lessons in.’
“As long as it takes. My people live much longer than you, so we can be patient and do things properly,” replied Peregrin.
Hawkin muttered, “Such arrogance.”
“Peregrine does not mean to offend or appear arrogant. He is just stating what he believes to be fact in a cold and logical way,” explained Mitchell. Peregrine nodded, but did not say anything.
Ok. So maybe I am mostly right, and maybe it does not bother you that it causes offence.
Hawkin looked like he wanted to go on with the argument, but reluctantly remained quiet.
“May I ask some questions of your group?” Peregrin asked.
Three heads nodded their agreement quickly. Hawkin took a few seconds longer to agree.
“How do you all know each other?” Peregrin asked.
“We grew up together,” replied Mitchell quickly. “We have all grown up in and around the town and for kids our age it was either hang out in this group or with Kheldon and his ‘cool group’.” Mitchell accentuated the cool group by holding up one finger on each hand as he said it.
“And the three of us are not wealthy enough to be in his group. Not that I would have wanted to hang out with that pompous jerk,” added Alicia.
“And why is Hawkin not in that group if the divide is based on economic circumstance?” asked Peregrin.
“Because I am a better person, and can see past that stuff,” replied Hawkin. Peregrin raised an eyebrow, as if surprised by, or perhaps disputing that point.
“I heard it was because he hit on Kheldon’s sister,” said Davon.
“It was because Kheldon was picking on Mitchell,” said Alicia proudly. “A young Hawkin interjected himself and told them to leave Mitchell alone. Kheldon said something like ‘make me’ so he did. That is when I realised you weren’t just a spoiled little noble boy.”
“That is also why Kheldon’s nose is slightly crooked,” added Mitchell. “I imagine every time he looks in the mirror he has a constant reminder why he hates Hawkin.”
“I have one of those reminders too,” added Peregrin, theatrically rubbing his black eye. “But the lesson will last longer than the bruise. Any combat lesson you live through is a good one.”
‘Sometimes it is easy to forget that you are not the same age as us. You are at a similar point in elven society, probably somewhere near the point of adulthood, but that still makes you something like 40 years old. This gives you a wisdom that I should try to harness and learn from. I think Maragon would like you.’
‘I also hope you understand the custom of friends teasing each other mercilessly.’
“I do love it here, late at night under the stars, with just us and the flame,” uttered Hawkin, as he stared wistfully into the night sky. “I love the feeling of freedom. Just being able to do what you want.”
“So in other words…,” translated Davon, “No father telling you what to do!”
“And no responsibility,” added Alicia.
“No…well…Yes. But I want more for my life than to serve in his damned militia,” replied Hawkin. “I know its important to the town, but even Father had a heroic life before he settled down. People revere the great Sarek Aranson as a hero… and its not because of the stuff he has done with the militia. It’s the other stuff. The stuff all the bards sing about each night. He killed the Orc Warlord Krin’Yak.”
‘Sought him out and slayed him during the final battle, ending the Black Orc raids.’
Nodding his understanding Mitchell continued, “He rescued Lord Vendermere’s daughter from the Krushai cultists.”
‘The supposedly renegade Black Order wizards were going to use magick to influence her thoughts and manipulate her actions, and through her, influence the Royal Court. Maragon made me study that whole thing in detail.’
“He led the Knights in victory over the Merlo forces at Silverton,” intoned Davon
‘Spearheading the charge of heavy cavalry that broke the Merlo right flank, killing one of the Clan leaders, and turning the battle. Potentially stopped that skirmish from escalating into another great war if the Merlos had taken Silverton.’
“See…I want to do that stuff too,” replied Hawkin, satisifed he had made his point.
‘And we have reached the point where Hawkin starts to dream of leaving town. Happens nearly every time he gets drunk around us.’
“And then he helped build Garet. And made it his life work to protect it. You should learn to appreciate the satisfaction that can be had from dedicating oneself to a higher purpose,” countered Alicia.
“Look, I understand the necessity of protecting the town from goblins, bandits and all the other undesirables that threaten us. But we all know if any serious threat ever emerges our town will stand or fall by the Klydorian army stationed in Chandrex three days hard march north of here. Father loves his militia and that is great for Garet. But that’s not what I want. I want to see the world. I want the chance to be famous for my own heroic deeds. I don’t just want to be the Captain of a group of armed farmers and townsfolk.”
“He will never let you go,” stated Mitchell. There was a prolonged silence as Hawkin thought about it. “He has trained you from birth to inherit his position and to continue what he has started.”
“Maybe I won't tell him. Just pack up and leave.”
“Perhaps it is time for bed. I fear Hawkin has clearly had more than enough to drink already,” replied Mitchell, for they all knew such a comment was all boast.
‘Hawkin may have had his differences with Sarek, but he would not run out on him.’
“You're mad!” declared Alicia. “Your family are rich. You own your own land. And you have never wanted for anything your entire life. Now you want to run away from all of that just to seek fame and glory?”
‘Alicia. So often the voice of reason within our group. The youngest daughter of a farming family on the outskirts of Garet, she has grown up under hard times and is very appreciative of the basic things in life as a result. I would love nothing more than to protect her and give her everything she wants.’
“Why don’t you come with me? You joined the church of Chandrilar because you wanted to make the world a better place. I am sure we can do more to change the world out there than we can in Garet,” countered Hawkin.
“Actually… I believe that was why she tried to join the Militia. She only joined the church when your father told her in no uncertain terms that no woman could ever serve in his militia,” interjected Davon.
“Yes, your father said women do not have the constitutions for the physical demands of battle,” she scoffed. She likely would have continued to rant on that exact point had Mitchell not cut her off.
“Hawkin has a point you know.”
All of them stopped and looked at him. Even Hawkin seemed a little shocked.
“I do?”
“Your sacred oath to Chandrilar is about safeguarding the innocent and seeking out and destroying evil, is it not?” Mitchell asked.
“I believe part of your ordaining oath to Chandrilar was to protect the innocent, and to seek out and destroy the evils that threaten the world.”
Alicia stared at Mitchell, clearly surprised he knew what her ordaining oath was. Not only were the words sacred and known to only a rare few, they were also in the same language as her prayers, and hence generally incomprehensible to any who might over-hear them.
“It is even in your prayers...Nu virtus animatus de ule... May your courage inspire us all,” he continued. Now she was really stunned.
“Really? I was wondering what all that gibberish she was uttering in those ceremonies meant,” said Hawkin. “Well, that and if the priestesses were wearing anything under those ceremonial gowns.”
“I did not know you spoke Archeron,” she asked, looking curiously at Mitchell, as though trying to solve some kind of puzzle in her mind.
Mitchell seemed lost for words for a few seconds, before stammering, “I need something to fill in the time in that old tower. Learning languages is one of those things.”
‘Not the best lie, but hopefully it will hold. Not too many reasons to understand an ancient, mostly dead language, that was named for the race that taught humans magick. These days it is used only for reading really old books, many religious texts, and nearly all the written works of human magick.’
He noted Peregrine had a slight grin of amusement.
Hawkin meanwhile, took this moment of silence as an opportunity to expand his focus from Alicia to all of the people around him.
“Why don't you all come? What's there to stop you? Nothing to stay here for.”
“Except family..., friends... and our entire lives,” replied Alicia. Blunt, honest, and to the point. Hawkin, however, was now gaining momentum, and he was not going to let things go that easily.
“Maybe for you and me, but what about you Mitchell, you wouldn't be leaving any family behind.”
“Maragon is as much a father to me as any person could be.”
“What? He might be at best considered your uncle, and he was certainly never fatherly. We’ve all heard rumours he worked with the King in their younger days, and my father thinks very highly of him, but he's locked himself in that stupid tower for the last fifteen years and you're the only person who ever sees him. Is that your future is it? You're going to spend the rest of your days cooking, cleaning and whatever else he has you doing up there? Going to be Mitchell the Strange forever?” he asked increduously
“Almost certainly not,” Mitchell replied, slightly offended. “I will help Maragon and do whatever is required of me. As an orphan I owe him a lot for taking me in and raising me.”
“And as for you Davon, you've been taught all your life how to survive in the wilderness. What would be the point of all that if you're going to stay in town all your life. I am not sure tracking Old Farmer Klin’s cows around the top paddock is really utilising your skills.”
“I cannot believe you are seriously considering this,” said Alicia disbelievingly.
“And why shouldn't I. When we were younger we always said how we were gonna leave Garet, seeking out adventure and becoming rich and famous. We all promised that we would become valiant heroes, remember.”
“We were young and foolish. We had no idea of the implications of what we were saying.” replied Alicia.
“Well we do now. What is to stop us making the same promise.”
“Reality, and responsibilities which cannot simply be left behind or forgotten. Life isn’t a game, no matter how much you wish it was.” Alicia answered, strong emotion bleeding into her voice. “I have heard enough. I am retiring for the night. I will see you all bright and early in the morning.”
With that, she strode towards a small tent and camp-bed. Like some in town, she was staying in the park for the night as it was too far to walk home now. Alicia’s outburst took the wind out of the sails of Hawkin and the others. They sat there silently for many moments.
“That was very interesting,” said Peregrin finally, once it was clear nobody was going to say anything else. “You must each find your purpose, and that will not always be the purpose your parents had intended for you.”
“You know something of that, do you?” asked Hawkin hopefully.
“I do not. My family has been Blade-dancers for generations. Longer in fact, than there has been a Garet, or indeed a Klydor. My father always wanted me to be a Blade-Dancer, and I excelled with a blade from a very young age so it was always assumed I would be accepted into the order. I honoured him by coming 2nd in my class.”
“You didn’t win?” asked Hawkin, with a little too much mirth in his voice.
“Bladedancers are not like anything you humans have. Coming 2nd in my class is a great honour. Do not fool yourself. None of you, and indeed none of those in Garet, could even come close to completing the training required of all who attend the hallowed halls of Hyanda’Mar.”
“A touch arrogant again, don’t you think?” queried Hawkin. “You haven’t seen me in a real fight, and I doubt you have seen my father. He is considered a great wielder of a sword.”
Peregrin seemed to consider Hawkin’s comment, but only briefly. “It is not arrogance to understand the truth of something and to both act and advise accordingly. No Ala-Lie has ever passed the training. Therefore, we can conclude none are able to.”
“L-a-lee?” asked Hawkin. Peregin laughed.
“Lie means people in elven, but it really only means elves,” explained Mitchell, to the surprise of both Hawkin and Peregrin.
“And Ala-Lie means everyone who is not elven, and translates to ‘the Not-People’. Its not quite as bad as it sounds in our language, but it does mean at least some of what that implies.”
“You are a surprise Mitchell of Garet,” offered Peregrin, the closest thing to a look of respect anyone had seen appearing on his grim features. “And you are correct.”
“I bet its all stories and myths. I bet there is little difference between a Blade-dancer and a Klydorian Knight,” countered Hawkin. “In fact, I bet the Knight wins with his heavier armour and his superior strength.”
Hawkin is trying to bait Peregrin, but I can see from the look in his eyes that his cool may be his best weapon. He will not give it up easily, and certainly not for anything so trivial.
“We are unlikely to learn the answer to that.” Peregrin replied. “The elves of the Llewyrr Forest have been the staunchest allies of Klydor since before the founding of your kingdom. We even made the stunning decision to cede half the forest to you. So it is unlikely we will ever see them draw blades on each other in anger.”
‘Peregrin speaks with an arrogant calm, like he is superior to us, and knows more than us. But that response was not antagonistic.’
“And I think noble families all over Klydor should rejoice at this,” Peregrin continued. “For if we ever did their would be great mourning all over your kingdom. Our warriors are chosen on merit alone, while yours are selected based on birthright. We have many Bladedancers who have trained for more years than even your oldest knight has been alive.”
And I was wrong. Clearly Peregrin has to win any contest he is in, verbal or physical.
“I do think Alicia was right that we should get some sleep,” reminded Davon, attempting to divert a further escalation in the discussion. With that he started to head off to his bedroll under a big broad ash tree.
For the next ten minutes the remaining three sat there and looked at each other, unable or unwilling to say anything more. One by one they too retired for the night, until only Hawkin was left by the fire, dwelling on all that had been said.
Mitchell hopped into his bedroll and tried to go to sleep, but found it was useless. All he could do was brood on what Hawkin had said.
‘Of all of us, it should be me who would go with Hawkin. What have I been training for all of my life, if not to face the evils that are lurking out there. Years learning both the spell and the blade from Maragon, he a famed War Wizard of the mighty Clan Golden Bears of the Cthrag Merlo empire.’
‘But would he let me go? Perhaps part of the training is I have to tell him when I am ready to go? He is always trying to teach me to make the right decision rather than telling me what the right decision is. It would be in keeping to that style. I could be training forever and it will never be over if I wait for Maragon to tell me I am ready.‘
‘But he also preaches being prepared. You must have a primary plan which attacks the problem in the most efficient manner possible, ideally from a flank the enemy will not anticipate. And you must always have at least one contingency plan for if the primary plan is not going well. Am I prepared enough to leave now?’
‘I have no other peers to compare myself too. I have always been trained alone by either Maragon or another of the Seven. I do not even have a bar to measure my skills against to know if I am good or bad at nearly any of what he teaches me.’
‘Could Maragon survive without me? Obviously he survives just fine on his various secret missions without me. But I do have important duties at the Tower. If I were gone who would do all those tasks that assist him keeping the Tower running; helping prepare his departure and returning rituals; helping with the many different magick experiments and rituals he conducts; performing all the tedious clean-up afterwards whether they succeed or fail; the clean-up is usually much worse when they fail.’
‘And ignoring all of that, what do I want?‘
His thoughts remained silent for some time. The answer came to him slowly.
‘I do not know.’