The town of Borom was, in many eyes, worth several royal paintings; so much so that the royal city of Tarmin had a hall decorated with paintings of Borom deserving of their king. An entire wall in the throne room depicted a vision of the town so alive and vibrant with the dark stone castle looming high over the townsfolk like a great stone gargoyle watching protectively over its walls. The castle stood atop a large hill, not easily climbed, with the town set into the hill slowly twisting its way to the bottom with lush green hills with carefully cultivated farms rolling off into the horizon. In this vivid depiction, one could see the neat gardens laid out before the cozy homes with their whitewashed stone walls and brilliant red roofs.
Though the pride in this town seemed larger than the hill it sat upon, and though the favor they had in their kingdom of Curew was exceptional, it was only a recent development. Old men would tell tall tales of how kings would often come to seek advice from the lords and find peace among the industrious people. The former may have been true of the most recent lord, yet before then Borom had simply been another property for the king to tax. All was attributed to the young boy of a common foot soldier that had been stationed at the castle in his twilight years as a guard.
The young boy named David was a stocky, long-haired child who had a knack for getting himself into trouble. The story goes that he was taught how to fight from the womb and came forth from his mother to kill his first man. Bear in mind that this story derives from the same old men that swear to all the gods that Borom always held favor. David was, in fact, a boy like none other and was taught to battle from a young age. There was not a weapon in the armory, usually stolen, that he couldn’t handle with practiced skill and confidence. He delighted to do the right thing for the wrong reasons, such as rushing selflessly into a burning building to save a child for the excitement, or killing his first man, saving a woman from being violated, simply for the thrill of the fight. By the time his voice began to break, he ran away from home to join the war against their neighboring kingdom of Mondall to the north, promising his childhood friends, Mathew and Rosoline, that he would return a real man.
He rose quickly through the ranks even as he grew through his adolescence. His natural ability to get himself into trouble and his skill to save him in those moments earned him much recognition, yet it was his tactical skill that earned him the ear of his king. By the time Curew had pushed Mondall back inside their own borders again, David had earned himself so much thanks from King George that he was allowed the holding of his choice. David, for all his ambitious nature, told the king that his dearest wish was to return to his home and friends so he may teach others his skill. The king, insisting that David be given nobility, tried to give him the first earldom in centuries, yet David merely and respectfully said that anything more than a lordship would take too much of his precious time and effort if he were to give others his knowledge. After a long-suffering sigh, King George consented and added the amendment that Lord David need not pay tribute to his king in times of peace so he could afford to train soldiers without the added help of the king.
With his newfound power, he was not yet ready to settle down to the peace Curew had gained. True to his promises, he returned to his friends a man with many tales of his success following in his wake. On the good, healthy food of soldiers David had grown into an imposing bear of a man with limbs thick as tree trunks and taller than any around him. The serious face of the once so easily excitable youth now made him look frighteningly unapproachable. Returning to his home, bringing much honor to the bleak town, was cause for extravagant praise that died on the lips of many as they set eyes on the dark, vicious looking man.
Two who didn’t allow their praise to die as the others of humble Borom were his friends Mathew and Rosoline. Always supportive of his ambitions, they quickly took him to his new castle home where his father had stood guard, to find his proud and loving parents dead; a hard life claiming them before his gallant return. Though his grief was great, Rosoline spent much of her time with them, describing the wonderful stories reaching home and helping them in their final days, allowing David’s conscience to be clear. She told him of their love for him and their pride in having raised such a son. After paying his last respects to his parents, his friends begged to hear the true accounts of the war from David.
His return home was brief as he had not yet experienced the world enough to satiate his thirst for adventure. David took Rosoline as his wife, the only who could ever equal him in his glory. Rosoline was slim and fit whereas David was a hulking beast, and her beauty was matched only by her intelligence. After the wedding, David, Rosoline, and Mathew left Borom in the cover of night to seek out new tales and glory to bring back to their beloved home.
Onward they quested for the unusual and strange, righting wrongs and causing as much mischief as they could manage without getting caught. Those journeys would quickly become legendary throughout Top Side as word reached its long fingers toward home of dangerous and deadly deeds the three childhood friends found themselves in. When they returned home after several long years, they had experienced more than most of the combined lives in Borom, and true accounts of their travels were sometimes more fantastic than the rumors.
On the arm of Mathew came a stern looking woman by the name of Nelver with hair tight in a bun and eyes that made most squirm with guilt even when they did nothing wrong. Mathew, on the contrary, was almost as bad as David with a boyish face scarred in several places in a testament to his adventures. Nelver had the gift of healing and was put to work in no time, as Mathew became David’s second in training the young how to battle. It was not long before they were all settled into their comfortable and rich lives. Mathew and David often left for errands such as a summons from King George or to travel to different cities and towns to search out their pupils. Before any knew what to expect from their new lord, Borom was whipped into the shape seen in the great paintings in the throne room of Tarmin.
As the years slowly passed for the four great friends, Borom became a place where many would come to learn from David and Mathew, yet also became the place where craftsmen, masters of their trade, were drawn to the influx of young people so eager to learn until Borom grew out at the bottom of the hill to be more of a city than a town, all based in the art of learning.
After what the townsfolk believed to be far too long, Rosoline gave birth to the heir of David’s lordship. A small, pink, black haired boy was trumpeted around Borom with the great expectation of being exactly like his father, bringing them more of the favor they had so quickly become accustomed to. His deep purple eyes gave the babe an entirely unique look, giving the townsfolk the hope they were looking for that he would be a legend in his own time as his father. What they didn’t know was that his very name was curious and shrouded in mystery such as the happy family had never known. Exhausted, frail, and covered in sweat, Lady Rosoline looked into the eyes of her precious new son to give his name yet found she couldn’t slip it past her lips though it sat neatly on the tip of her tongue. She was baffled by this yet told none except her husband and friends. Though she knew his name as she knew fire was hot and cold was not, she couldn’t utter his true name, so called him Drake, even though it sounded incomplete.
The boy known far and wide as the offspring of David the Mighty, as the legends called him, was, if anything, more incredible than his father. By the time his motor skills developed enough to hold a wooden practice sword, David began to teach his son with barely suppressed glee. It became evident, as Borom collectively held its breath, that Drake showed the promise of having the same natural talent his father possessed. Years passed in a blur for the people of Borom as they watched, through the ever-turning rumor mill, the young boy that would eventually bring the prideful town the glory they remembered from Lord David’s youth. Drake grew into a sturdy boy that almost mirrored his beloved father until he hit the age of reason at six years old where his intelligence was as evident as his mother’s. She quickly brought him to lessons much older children attended so his mind could quickly be formed to her liking, always preferring brains over brawn. Drake would have had the same typical neglect every boy showed in such lessons, yet his idolized father told him of how the mind needed working the same as muscles and that none could help him more than the surly, arrogant, old men that fancied themselves philosophers.
Mostly unseen during this happy time for the four friends, there was another that was given to the castle. Born of Lady Nelver and Weapons Master Mathew, Rhey was a sweet girl with bright, aquamarine blue eyes that stood shock against her hair, black as a starless night. The same age as Drake, and named in much the same incomplete way, she showed wit and charm far beyond her years. Any who laid eyes on the adorable girl was instantly besotted with her and delighted in her matched intelligence to Drake, which she used shamelessly to cause as much trouble as she could. It was in their eighth year that she was introduced to Drake as his newest responsibility. As his father put it, she was his charge, and the gods help the boy if he didn’t make sure she was better protected than King George. It was with that simple introduction that Drake’s life was forever changed, and he was not always certain it was for the better.
Rhey was an eight-year-old demon, in Drake’s eyes. She had a knack for getting herself into trouble with little or no apparent thought. Only this little girl could take something so simple and harmless as breakfast and turn it into Drake’s worst nightmare. He quickly lost count how many times he had to reach over next to him and use his fork to block a knife she accidentally flipped into the air at her face. She would smile sweetly and thank him before dropping the knife into her unprotected lap. By the third meal they ate together, he removed all the sharp objects from the table before she sat down. Their parents laughed to tears even as Rhey began to argue with him about her ability to eat with her fingers until this one’s father gave her a fork, or that one’s mother gave her a spoon. Drake took no time to form ideas of her innocence in the matter. He was convinced she caused these incidents on purpose after she tried to fall over the battlements late the second day. If Drake kept a busy life before he was charged with the little monster, he never stopped running after.
What made it so frustrating was he knew full well she could keep herself safe when he was not around. She had survived eight years without doing herself injury or worse; there was no reason to question her continued ability on that quiet path. Were that not enough, she would never leave his side from the time he woke to the time he laid down for the night. He tried his best to be nice, like when he was late for his lessons and knew he was going to get punished, he would ask her politely to hurry up so he wouldn’t have to perform some extensive menial task, such as training with unfamiliar weapons or dragging trees through the forest, even carrying a knapsack filled with rock up the mountain. She would insist on spying on a couple sneaking around behind a workshop or pestering him for money so she could buy a worthless trinket. When he would finally convince her to come with him, or be left behind, he would receive a heavier punishment for his being late than if he would have if skipped out all together. What made his punishments even more unbearable was the scholars would punish him for his tardiness and Rhey’s. Of course, you couldn’t discipline a girl, yet Drake still thought it was unfair for him to have to take her chastisements as well. Maybe a punishment or two would calm her a bit, he would think as she ran out of the room in search of more mischief. Every time he would appeal to his or her parents about it, they would laugh and say it was his responsibility above all others to watch over her and protect her.
“She’s your responsibility Drake,” Lord David would laugh fondly as Drake complained of the unfairness of it all. “Teach her to obey orders like a soldier or use your head to outsmart her like an enemy. You’re smarter than this, fight her urges to get you into trouble.”
“She likes you Drake,” Lady Rosoline would say in an infuriatingly patient tone after she endured Drake’s tirade about Rhey’s ability to get into dangerous situations. “She just wants you to pay attention to her like you do your military training.”
Try as he may, Drake could never give her enough attention or outsmart her as either of his parents would suggest. At the end of the first horrible week Drake thought would never end, and it became a joke to everyone in Borom. They would smile knowingly and tempt Rhey into whatever trouble they could imagine and betray him immediately to Lord David or Master Mathew when she managed it. By the end of the second week, he would often be surly and short with anyone but her. Rhey would always start a childish argument he was not interested in when he was short or waspish with her. He was stubborn as a rock, like his father, yet she was like trying to move the castle. Sometimes, just to get a reprieve, he would use his stealth skills born from playing a game of hide and seek with his father in the woods to give her the slip and head into town by himself, ignoring his responsibilities that seemed never ending now. Many of the townsfolk, who were all on the best of speaking terms with each other and the people at the castle, would taunt him and find the crying Rhey to direct her to her “knight,” as she would call him.
“Where’s your lady friend my lord?” some would call out to him jeeringly.
“I hear she’s looking for you in the armory, my lord. Don’t you think that’s a rather dangerous place? She could really hurt herself,” another would laugh.
Drake would hold his head high and pick up his pace to get away from the taunting merchants and shop keepers. More than once he escaped into the forge where the master blacksmith would refuse to allow women, until Rhey got wind of that safe haven and walked in without thought or care as to what was inside. She managed to find her way around a yelling master smith and tripped over her own two feet falling for the forge fire. With reflexes born from a lifetime of fighting, Drake jumped between Rhey and the open pit, rewarded with a burn that left a scar for years. Rhey calmed down after that; it was terribly frightening for her to see the pain in his eyes, and worse seeing nothing but a straight face holding back his agony. She still managed to get him into some sort of trouble every day, yet she never again tried to do something that could cause him true physical damage like the forge incident.
Even if Drake thought she was the cursed child of Asnu, the God of Death, or at least the child of ever childish Avolate, God of Mischief, he couldn’t help but to be endeared to her when she showed her curiosity, intelligence, or creativity; he had to admit it did take quite a bit of creativity to come up with new ways to torment him. Her mind was also faster than his, and she used it often when she was forced to sit through their lessons to battle endlessly with the old philosophers about their ideals, doing her absolute best to drive them up a wall. She would delight in speaking riddles to match their proverbs and dance around their ideals, often using their own logic against them. The idea that a woman, especially one so young, could question them infuriated the old men, yet the first aggression towards her was met with a dark, unapproving look from Drake, who’s hand was never far from his training sword. This afforded Rhey the rarest of opportunities to humiliate their teachers without reprisal, and Drake learned quickly that if she had something to occupy her mind, he would be safe from her mischief. Once she tired of the old men, however, her attention would immediately turn back to Drake and inventing new ways to torment him.
When he woke on his twelfth birthday, it was a chilly morning and the sky was painted in the dull gray of predawn. He dressed in his black tunic of serviceable rough cotton and pants to match. Rhey found it rather entertaining to tease him about his dark and rough clothing.
“You would look ever so nice in a sky blue,” she would taunt. “Maybe some silk.”
He shuddered at the thought of her torments today, of all days, because he knew she would be extra attentive to her knight on the day of their shared birth. He belted on his dull steel practice sword as he did every day; it gave him a feeling of comfort to have his favorite weapon at hand wherever he went. He buttoned on his cloak before looking over his bare room to search for anything missing. It was a small square room with a cot much the same as used in the soldiers’ barracks. He never wished for better because it was what his beloved father preferred for most of his young life. The rest of his room was likewise simple, just as a barracks. He had a small trunk at the foot of his bed, which held his clothes and few belongings like a spare sword belt and gloves. He smiled at the thought of the special gloves he had the master blacksmith make for him earlier that summer. They were leather gloves with the fingers cut off halfway and spikes fitted into the knuckles. Lord David had laughed when Drake showed them to his father and said his son was attempting to become a one-man army with such things. Drake smiled in return to the compliment and said he already was. Lord David laughed all the harder. Drake ran his fingers across the mahogany bedside table before turning out the oil lamp. He quietly hoped he would get a sharpened sword today to put onto his weapons rack on the wall next to the table. He left the room with only the billowing sound of his cloak to announce his movement.
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Drake strolled down the dark corridor contentedly, reveling in the quiet before Rhey woke with the rest of the castle. Only the early fall breeze running through the hall and the soft guttering of the candles in their brackets kept Drake company as he made his slow pace to the top of the outer walls on the east side of the castle. He pulled his cloak around his shoulders and lifted the hood against the chill air. If the young Drake had a weakness, it was the cold. Nothing was harder for him to deal with than a chill in the air. Though he never got sick, his muscles would stiffen in protest and his whole body would shiver at the slightest nip in the air. Today wouldn’t be so bad, it was still early enough in the fall for the day to warm up nicely, yet as he stood atop the wall this morning, his skin already begun its irritating habit of prickling with the crisp, cool air.
Even with the cold, this was Drake’s favorite time of the day. Here he would lean against the battlements and look out over the lands he would one day own after his father decided to leave the running of his estate in Drake’s capable hands. The lands, in truth, were not what made it so nice, though the gently rolling hills of green, which would soon to be fading to the golden brown of the cold months, certainly helped. No, it was watching the sun make its slow way up over the horizon, the gradual changing of colors in the brilliant sky, was what Drake came to see. The only peace and quiet he would get today was here among the silent and half-asleep guards patrolling the walls. He sat on top of the battlements and let himself be lulled into a trance of contentment as he watched the beautiful progression of the sun.
“What in the names of the gods brings you up here every morning?” Rhey asked stifling a yawn and sitting on the battlement next to Drake.
She found her way under his arm and rested her head in the crook of his shoulder. Rhey was always very subdued when she woke at the crack of dawn and, when she was in such a comfortable state, she would often find a way to be cuddled up next to Drake and always in his arms. The first time she did this, Drake was shocked and highly embarrassed, yet to his surprise— and everyone else’s—he didn’t object.
“Because I think the dawn is a beautiful thing,” he explained. “The dawning of a new day brings new adventures and new experiences, and if you listen carefully, you can hear the blood and tears of yesterday being washed away by the sun like the moon and stars.”
“That was pretty,” she complimented.
“Thank you,” he said simply, yet she was already fast asleep against his chest.
Drake let her sleep nestled tightly against him and continued to watch the sunrise. The pale pink hues turning slowly to crimson were awe inspiring and made him feel very calm and carefree. He wrapped his free arm around Rhey (“to keep her from falling off the wall,” he firmly told himself), and rested his cheek against her head (“it’s early still and my head feels heavy,” he said just as firmly). Rhey snuggled tighter against him as a faint smile of triumph brushed her lips that Drake hoped he imagined. He watched the sun make its assent into the sky from the great beyond, pointedly ignoring the snickers of the soldiers coming awake for the end of their shift. When the natural light show was finished, and the glaring sun stirred Rhey from her comfortable position in his arms, he hopped down off the battlement and helped her down as any gentleman would. Besides, she would have found some way of falling the other way if he didn’t help her. She was always doing things like that, to his great irritation.
They made their way down to the great hall where some of the guards who had already been relieved of duty were eating breakfast with the castle servants. A few of those guards seemed to be whispering behind their hands and sneaking glances at Drake and Rhey as they walked toward the high table.
The two children took their seats next to each other, Drake on the left, Rhey on the right, as was custom. Lord David and Master Mathew both sat on the left side of their wives. Drake never thought twice about the implications of their set places, enforced by their parents, yet if he had, he would have been sure there was nothing he could do about it. Rhey always had a smug look when she looked down the table at the placement of their parents.
“Good morning and happy birthday children,” Lady Rosoline said giving Drake a kiss on the top of his head.
“Thank you, Mother,” he said putting some eggs on a plate and handing it to Rhey.
He looked over at his father who was speaking quietly with a guard Drake had seen on the south wall this morning; they were both chuckling in a way that warned Drake what was coming.
“I hear some little children were quite cozy up on the east wall this morning,” Lord David smiled at Drake.
“And I hear your guards gossip like old ladies,” Drake retorted, leveling a hateful glare at the guard. “I thought the prize of Curew had better things to do with their time than spy on people minding their own business.”
“Yes, I agree,” Rhey put in past a mouth full of eggs. “If Drake and I cuddle up on that wall in the early hours of the morning when no one is around, that’s our own business.”
“You’re not helping,” Drake said darkly returning to his meal to hide a blush.
The table laughed and laughed harder as Drake’s face darkened with embarrassment. The only one to not join in was the high priest of Unsa, the god of peace, who generally sat at the head table to cast judgmental looks down on individuals who had not been to see him lately. Drake thought he had an ally here until the old man spoke.
“Unsa help me, aren’t you two too young to be doing things like cuddling and kissing?” he asked with a pained face.
Drake was shocked to the quick.
“Oh, I don’t see a problem with them cuddling,” Master Mathew said wiping tears of laughter from under his eyes. “But if they were caught kissing, I think we would need to put a fast stop to that.”
“Well, we certainly couldn’t punish the boy,” Lord David laughed. “I’m running out of things to make him do.”
“No matter,” Rhey said leveling a dark look at the guard to match Drake’s. “I’m sure that if we were ever caught, I could simply have my knight teach a lesson to the person who betrayed us.”
Drake blushed further and looked at her sharply as the table went up in laughter again. She smiled her infuriatingly sweet smile at him and winked, sending the guard to his knees, unable to hold himself upright any longer from laughing so hard.
“I don’t find any of this very funny,” Lady Nelver snapped. “They are too young for that sort of thing, and I would think that a few grown men would understand that.”
Her admonishment only made the men laugh all the harder and even Lady Rosoline had to cover a trill of laughter politely behind a hand. Drake ate in moodily silence and blocked out the rest of the table’s conversations. When he got up to try his escape from the adults for a few minutes before weapons practice, Lord David held him up.
“You are going to be paired up with one of the boy’s today,” David informed him, “but only if you can defeat me.”
“Really?” Drake asked excited, all embarrassment and moody silence forgotten. Drake was never allowed to practice with the other boys because by the time he was old enough at the age of nine, when all boys in the castle started learning to fight, he was beyond them in skill and strength. “Better make it three or four so I can get in a good workout,” he said thoughtfully. “Damascus knows I wouldn’t want to be deprived.”
Lord David and Master Mathew roared with laughter.
“By the gods you’re right,” David said. “Yet if you can prove it, I’ll give you a present.”
Drake beamed at him and turned to walk out with Rhey always in tow.
“Hold it little girl,” Master Mathew said reaching around and grabbing the skirt of her dress. “Your writing teacher tells me you’re behind on your reading.”
“But he teaches writing,” she argued. “Why should he involve reading in the whole mess of things?”
“They’re the same thing,” Lady Nelver said firmly. “Don’t argue with your father. Now go to your room and start reading those scrolls; and if I catch you out of that room without being able to tell me exactly what they say, word for word, I’ll post a guard before your door with explicit instructions to keep you there.”
“Yes, my lady,” she said with a long-suffering sigh. Catching a rather mean look from her mother, Rhey turned on heel and walked quickly, if not imperiously, from the hall.
“Thank the gods for Drake,” Lord David said shaking his head after her. “If it weren’t for him, none of us would get any peace.”
“Truly,” Mathew agreed with a smirk.
“That wouldn’t be such an issue if someone could keep her in line,” Lady Nelver said, giving her husband an accusing look.
“Let’s go Drake,” Lord David said sensing trouble.
“Yes, I think I have a group of archers this morning,” Master Mathew made an excuse on the spot purposefully not looking into his wife’s eyes.
Drake flashed a heartless grin at Master Mathew before making his retreat with his father from the hall. They followed the corridors, busy with servants putting out the torches, to the west side of the castle where the practice grounds stood in the largest of the courtyards. Drake unfastened his cloak and laid it beside the gate, despite the chill morning air. This was the field of battle and Drake would never show his weakness to an enemy, even if that enemy knew already what that weakness was.
“You have proven yourself time and again son,” Lord David said quietly, his voice mixing with the steely rasp of his unsheathing sword. “Now we’ll see just how capable you really are.”
Drake didn’t need to be told that today, his father and teacher, was going to hold nothing back. This was a rite of passage to Lord David and forcing it upon Drake so early in life spoke volumes of the respect he gave his son. Drake swore to fight until there was nothing left in him or he won. He smiled arrogantly at his father, knowing it was his time to release all restraints, and pulled his sword from the sheath.
They faced each other for just a moment before locking in that first clash of steel against steel. Drake jumped back, nursing his arm after the heavy blow, and watched his father for the tell-tale signs of his next move. He was taught from an early age how to watch another for the slight twitch of muscle in arm or face that spoke louder than words what they would do. To the onlooker, one might say he went so far as to read his enemy’s mind, yet that was the foolishness of the uneducated. Only a master of the blade could watch and know the truth of Drake’s seemingly faster than possible reactions. He was faster than any in Borom, possibly Curew, to be sure, yet he could never read another’s mind. Drake blocked and parried a complicated series of blows that no one had ever able to stop.
He stayed on the defensive; occasionally making a halfhearted thrust here, easily blocked slash there. Lord David the Mighty was known throughout the kingdom of Curew and the northern kingdom of Mondall as unrivaled with a blade and the legends of his bear-like strength were not far from the truth. For several years, Drake lost harshly to his merciless father, yet as he grew older, he gained strength and endurance beyond that of normal men. By seven years old, he was strong enough to withstand most of his powerful father’s blows; and later that same year, he could match power with his sire to everyone’s astonishment. Now, Drake knew he could overpower his father with the right practiced swing and outlast him in any battle. It was with this knowledge he formulated his plan: Toy with his father and goad him into spending all his energy before Drake made his move. Lord David saw through this defensive pose, and slid into one himself, drawing the boy out into an aggressive stance. He made his point known by managing a quick series of blows that befuddled Drake for a split second and coming out victorious as the first to draw blood. Drake was no stranger to blood; these things happened at the best of times when swinging heavy swords around, sharpened or not. The cut on his face would have stung, yet the scent of blood in his nostrils made him hunger for victory.
Drake was now coming into his potential as David showed the first signs of sweat beading on his brow. The smile that spread across Drake’s face was one most would never want to see from of a young boy, especially one who could battle so fiercely. His wicked smile sent a chill down David’s spine, despite the many times he had seen it before, because he knew what was coming and there was no way to stop it. Drake dodged a heavy swing from his father, ran his blade up the flat of his father’s, twisted his wrist a little, and David’s sword came free of his hand. Before he could correct Drake’s disarming move, his sword was thrown across the courtyard, and he was looking up at his son from his back. Drake tried to point his sword at his father’s throat to end the battle, yet David rolled out of the way and bound for the fallen sword. Without a thought, Drake found his father’s ankles with a foot, and tripped the man again. This time, however, David dived into his boot and pulled out a long dagger he always kept there. Drake’s heaviest blow was blocked by the dagger and David kicked up at Drake’s head. Lord David the Mighty was beginning to show signs of fatigue yet Drake was still working on his father mercilessly, as his father had always shown him the same care in battle.
As they continued, David moved toward his sword, and Drake hounded him at every turn, allowing him only an inch at a time. Of course, it was easy to see what Drake was doing, yet David couldn’t get himself off the ground, let alone stop his son from driving him into exhaustion. After several minutes of Drake fighting his father on the ground, he finally allowed David to pick up his sword and stand once again. There was an obvious slump in David’s shoulders, as he blocked a strong swing with one hand and sheathed his dagger with the other. The sweat was now pouring off his face, whereas Drake was nothing less than buoyant. Drake allowed David a moment to rest and flashed his wicked smile again. David, without anything better to do, swung first, yet he already knew he lost.
Drake dodged the attack, spun around his larger father, kicked his feet out from under him one last time, and cracked him on the back of the head with the pommel of his sword as David landed on his knees. Lord David fell face first into the dirt and rolled over, attempting to rectify his mistake, to see his son’s sword pointed at his chest. David the Mighty, defeated, yet still Drake’s beloved father, smiled up at the boy who had kicked his sword away and stood a foot on his chest. With a mischievous twinkle in his eye, Lord David dove his hand into his boot and pulled his knife out again to slash at Drake who had already ducked and rolled away.
“Gods what a son you’ve made!” he laughed fondly. “I couldn’t hold a sword that long at your age, or even move so quickly.”
“I am happy to have made my lord so proud,” Drake bowed deeply, triumph clearly displayed across his face. “Can I have my present now?”
“And he always remembers what’s owed to him,” he added proudly. “Yes, Drake, you may have your present now.”
He pulled the sheath to his knife out of his boot and replaced the blade.
“This dagger has been in the family for generations,” he explained handing it to Drake. “From father to son, it has passed through the centuries and protected us in the greatest times of need. Always keep it with you, take good care of it, and it will never fail you.”
Drake’s breath caught in his chest as he took the blade from this father’s large hands. He had coveted this dagger above all other weapons in Borom from the moment he laid eyes upon it. The size of Drake’s calf, for every man in his family had always been large, it always sat in his father’s boot, day or night. To have the blade, finally, was like receiving a gift beyond wealth. He pulled the blade from the sheath and inspected it with an eye taught by Master Mathew and the Master Blacksmith. It lacked the usual dents most old blades sported and when tested with a deft thumb, found it to be as sharp as the day it was made. There was no weapon in the armory as sharp or as formidable as this dagger. He knew that in all the years Drake could live, he would never find a superior blade. Not made of steel, or at least not entirely, he could tell that no matter what happened to it, it would never break. What made it such a curious piece was the symbol at the pommel. He would have called it a cross, yet this one had two vertical lines crossing the one horizontal, all encircled and made of something that looked like silver yet was far stronger. Drake slipped the dagger into his belt on his right and wrapped his arms tightly around his father’s neck in an excited bear hug.
“Thank you, Father,” he said, voice muffled by Lord David’s long black hair. “It will always be my most prized possession.”
Lord David smiled and patted him on the head. They looked across the field to a boy of fourteen, who was headed their way at an easy trot.
“This is Dolmont,” David introduced when the older boy reached them. “He’s the best archer I’ve seen in years and he is going to teach you. Mind your manners with him; the things you will learn from him will be priceless.”
“Yes, my lord,” Drake nodded.
“I have to head off a little girl at the moment before her mother catches her, so I’ll leave you two to your own devices.” Without another word, he strolled to the archway and lifted Rhey up from around the corner by the scruff of her neck.
“Congratulations Drake,” she yelled while being dragged away. “And happy birthday.”
“Thank you,” he called after her happily. “You too.”
He returned his attention back to the boy named Dolmont. “So how do you work those big stick throwers?” he asked jovially.
“They’re called bows my lord,” he said stiffly.
“I figured as much,” Drake laughed easily. His laughter died out quickly when he saw Dolmont didn’t join him. “Hint taken, let’s get down to business.”