CHAPTER 1
Gideon Eldridge, in his final year at the Grenfield Combat Academy, brushed the biscuit crumbs from his blue and white uniform as he walked away from the mess hall. His best friend, Frederick Krass, who was normally on the other side of campus in the morning, caught him in the hallway.
“Are you nervous?” Frederick asked, as they walked towards the courtyard, flicking a tetraherb cigarette butt into a small fountain. The enormous open space was at the heart of the academy, and a central hub for the main classes recruits needed to pass before they would be given their career assignments. It was Autumn, and the gentle breeze that rippled through the courtyard was a relief compared to the previous few months of stifling classrooms. Thankfully, both Frederick and Gideon were Knights of the Silver Moon, and with it came privileges; having their class schedule skewed to outdoor combat training being their favorite perk. Some professors still didn’t cave to the demands of the Knights’ leader, Bernhard Dorian, one of which had just posted the results of a recent exam.
The two men, who had come to the academy as boys, reached their destination, a scroll pinned to a post outside the door of Practical Defense. Gideon shook his hands in a jittering motion, as if he knew he hadn’t passed and was trying to shake off the disappointment.
Gideon sighed. “Yes, I am,” he replied. “Professor Corvo told me that while it was great I was ‘so great with offensive stances’, I had to work on my blocking and ripostes.”
Frederick let loose with a hissing, light laughter through his teeth. “That old man has a stick up his ass. You’re a Knight, and the way you fight…you don’t really need to even use defense. And your ripostes are just fine; your Stance relies on them. What even is defense, really? Some big blocky shield you’ll have to carry around?” he said, mockingly.
“I tried to tell him,” Gideon responded with irritation, brushing a bright orange leaf from his shoulder as he stood in the back of the small crowd that had gathered at the post, before hunching his back to pretend to be the professor.
“Young man!” he mocked, in Corvo’s trademark raspy voice. “If your combat is not balanced, then you will fall. Remember Asherami the Great?”
Frederick rolled his eyes. “Always talking about that guy. Didn’t he die of food poisoning over 300 years ago?”
Gideon nodded. “He doesn’t like hearing that. But apparently, he was the ‘master of the blade’ so we have to study him.”
“Let the professor study him then. We can learn from someone who is still alive, like Master Dorian,” Frederick proposed. “By the way, can you get a clear view of the scores?”
Gideon, at a height of slightly over six feet, tapped into the golden amulet of Avara around his neck. It was a family heirloom, and his Parsell, which powered his Gift of Sight. Going into an ethereal focus, he mentally swam through the flow of Whispers from the necklace, and latched onto the power. His vision was instantly trimmed with gold, and even the slightest inflection of muscles in his eyes allowed him to zoom in and out wherever he wished. The man had to bob his head around for a few moments, but was able to get a look at the scores, written in the professor's tiny, chicken-scratch handwriting.
“You have a…78 percent and I have…76 percent,” Gideon said, before shaking his head to clear the connection to his Parsell. It could only contain so much Whisper, so he had to budget its use. That, and it gave him a headache if he used it for too long.
“Good enough!” Frederick smiled, his trademark devious grin crossing his face. “And who said your Gift is useless outside of combat?”
“...You did, the first day we met. Remember?” Gideon answered, his arms crossed in front of his chest. “You thought it was great that I would never have to buy a spyglass”.
Frederick’s eyes darted as his grin turned from happy to sheepish, his arms moving as if pondering some great problem. “I can’t be expected to remember everything I’ve said…there’s so much to learn and retain, that and the lempies causing their own problems at home and abroad.”
“The lempies…” Gideon responded, not particularly in the mood for his friend’s usual babbling nonsense. “Those dumb animals grazing just outside the campus grounds?”
“Exactly,” Fred answered, pointing behind Gideon. “For example, there’s one right there.”
“How could there possibly be…” Gideon asked incredulously, turning around to see the creature. Only a small fountain occupied the space. When he turned back around, Fred was gone, and in his place stood Torvald, Dorian’s second in command. Gideon exhaled from his nose, rolling his surprise into disgust as he stood, tight-lipped. Torvald was a brute, which he could deal with, but he was also famously cruel, and Gideon had seen him break bones unnecessarily during sparring matches on more than one occasion. He was stunned that the large man could have made his way through the crowd so quickly.
“Master wants to see you,” the bulky, stone-faced man croaked. He was wearing the standard Grenfield uniform of blue and white, with a slate gray cloak given to all Knights of the Silver Moon draped over his shoulders.
“Why?” Gideon asked, irritated. He had another class soon and didn’t want to go all the way down to headquarters. He could tell from Torvald’s sneer at his response that he didn’t appreciate his tone.
Torvald glared at his underling, his dark brown eyes not breaking from Gideon’s.
“You know better than to ask that,” he growled. “Do you need an escort, your highness?”
Gideon took a step up to Torvald, using an arrogant swagger that he’d never use on his own, knowing that it would anger the cruel man even further.
“Does it look like I need it…little man?” Gideon asked, tilting his head to one side, his eyes furrowed in an ultimate gesture of pity.
Torvald, only an inch shorter, fumed as Gideon could see his mouth clench in anger. Both Knights knew that killing each other outside of a duel was grounds for expulsion, and Torvald valued the organization too much to give into his current rage.
Gideon walked briskly past his Master’s messenger, and through a door on the other side of the courtyard. Immediately after shutting the door behind him, Gideon let out a sigh of relief and wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead.
“Wooo, I have NEVER seen him that mad before!” Frederick said in awe, appearing through the wall a few feet down from Gideon. His Gift, Ghost, let him pass through any solid object or person he wanted.
“What do you think the Master wants?” he asked, the exciting situation causing him to bounce in his shoes slightly.
Gideon shrugged. “The term is almost over, maybe he has a job for me?” he suggested.
“That would be nice,” Fred thought out loud. “He’s always sending Torvald out on secret missions, I’ll bet he pays well, too.”
“It does sound better than a post in the middle of nowhere,” Gideon thought out loud. “But I have no idea; I need to get down there.”
Fred nodded, giving his friend a two-fingered salute, a personal gesture of their friendship that meant “see you later, and good luck”, as he Ghosted backwards through a stone wall. As much as he admired his friend’s Gift, Gideon worried that one day he’d run out of Whispers and get stuck somewhere dangerous. But this time, the Gift seemed to work as intended, so Gideon found the secret door for their part of the campus and descended the stairs beyond it.
The secret stairs, as they were called by members of the Knights, were the only way to get in and out of the Academy’s underground storage, and as far as anyone outside the Knights knew, they didn’t exist. Usually hidden in plain sight as a locked doorknob sticking out of an inconspicuous wall, or a trapdoor under a rug, they allowed Knights to get to their headquarters quickly and quietly.
Gideon traversed the damp, spiral staircase and through a maze of underground rooms, eventually coming to a wall marked with a single, unlit sconce.
Gideon looked around, then knocked nine times in quick succession, then pausing briefly before a final tenth knock.
“Password…?” a voice hissed from the other side.
“Falchion,” Gideon hissed back, before the wall opened up. A tuft of air hit him as soon as the door opened, and it was immediately refreshing compared to the dank and stuffy smell of the labyrinthian storage rooms. He took a big inhale of that air, grateful that it smelled like life, before stepping inside. He had always found a “secret password” for entry to be amusing, like something children would do for a clubhouse made of pillows and sheets. But his Master was perpetually thinking several steps ahead, and relished the extra security.
The Knights of the Silver Moon’s headquarters had been Gideon’s home for the past several years, and although he didn’t sleep there, their influence gave him his own private room near his classes. The decor was simple, but clean, with bookshelves lining the spotless wood-paneled walls. Paintings of landscapes, wild animals, and Dorian himself adorned those walls, looking down at the ample amount of comfortable furniture. The absence of candles reminded Gideon of how, through his influence in the academy, Dorian had enlisted the help of several Light Gift users to illuminate the area. They weren’t allowed inside, but were paid well to keep balls of light maintained at “random coordinates”, which coincidentally happened to be inside the secret headquarters. Gideon was just grateful that as a young recruit, scrubbing ashes from walls wasn’t part of the hazing. He had always hated that chore as a child.
The student found his master with his feet up, looking into a crackling fireplace as he sat on a plush couch. The man turned his head to greet Gideon before he had come within ten feet of his place of respite.
“Gideon!” Bernhard Dorian smiled. “I see Torvald passed along my message. I’m sorry to bring you down here in the middle of classes.”
“Not at all,” Gideon apologized, his hand waving dismissively. “Although I’ll get in trouble if I’m late to Economics of Vintelli.”
The Master nodded. “I’ll get you back in time, there’s just something we need to discuss. Please, let’s talk in my office.”
Bernhard Dorian, the Master of the Knights of the Silver Dawn, escorted Gideon to a hallway nearby. The man, for as long as Gideon had known him, was crafty, wry, and loved this position of authority. Slightly shorter than Gideon, his thin frame betrayed a body of lean muscle; he had seen it during sparring practice several times. His slicked, well-manicured dark brown hair topped a head full of plans and schemes Gideon couldn’t comprehend, and his pale blue eyes made anyone looking at them think, “good luck figuring it out.”
The man had taken Gideon, a naive boy and son of a low-level noble from a less-desirable part of Morwell, under his wing near the end of his first year at Grenfield. Through merciless training, Dorian had shaped Gideon into what would pass as an adept of all nine combat stances, plus a tenth forbidden stance he had developed himself.
Once the pair had come to a simple, unassuming door, Dorian pulled a key ring from his pants pocket, then deftly cycled through them until he came to the one he had been looking for. Gently inserting it into the lock, he opened the door with an obnoxious creak. Gideon winced.
“Would you like me to ask the academy’s engineers for some oil?” Gideon asked, pointing to the door’s hinges as they stepped through into the office.
“”No need, son,” Dorian replied. “The noise prevents anyone from sneaking in quietly.”
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Always a step ahead, Gideon thought.
Dorian made a gesture towards a set of overstuffed chairs near a fireplace, and while Dorian calmly searched through a bookcase along one of the walls, Gideon started a cozy fire and sat down in one of the chairs. He had been to this office only a few times; he had never ranked very highly up in The Knights of the Silver Moon. But he felt that with this summons, that just might change.
Gideon rose from his comfortable chair as his Master approached, who motioned for him to sit back down. They both did, with Dorian rigidly holding, based on Gideon’s judgment, a very strange and old book. He looked at the tome, then at his Master expectantly, trying to contain his excitement with a mask of stoicism. His controlled breathing brought in the sweet smell of burning sage through his nose, which helped to calm him down.
“So, Gideon,” Dorian began. “How do you like my little club?”
Gideon was slightly stunned at the question’s simplicity. He quickly gathered himself.
“The Knights? They’re great!” he replied eagerly.
I have to be professional, he thought. This is important.
Dorian made a brief, approving nod.
“That’s good to hear,” Dorian continued. “Although I’ve heard from sources that you aren’t particularly happy with certain…aspects.”
Gideon gulped, his mind beginning to race.
Where was this primal fear coming from?
“It’s true that while I do love the Knights and what they stand for, I feel like we could do more to help people.”
Dorian leaned forward, his hands tented in front of him, the book on his lap.
“I see. I appreciate your honesty. Torvald said he had heard you complaining about me specifically, and about wanting to leave,” the Master informed.
“Absolutely not!” Gideon corrected, his mouth remaining open in an unbelieving expression.
“Relax,” Dorian calmed, his hands pushing down air. “I knew Torvald hates you, and for good reason.”
“That’s a relief,” Gideon sighed, before his eyebrows furrowed at the realization. “Wait, what’s a ‘good reason’?”
Dorian smirked. “He hates you because he thinks you’ll take his position at my side. And he’s right.”
Gideon blinked. “...huh?”
“Torvald is…well, you know the man”, he began. “He’s strong, but lacks finesse. He can’t see the bigger picture, he just lives in the moment. He completely dominates the moment, but that’s all he can do. You have shown to not only be trustworthy, but that you think before you take action. A little too long sometimes, but that can be remedied with experience. I have a project for him that will take him out of the country for quite a while, and I need someone to step up and take his place. I was hoping…it would be you.”
Gideon’s mind felt incredible relief, like he had just received what he always wanted.
Did I really want this? Of course I did. He’s always been there for me, and has so much more to teach.
“I…I would be honored,” Gideon stuttered, his mind still struggling to come to terms with the present. “What do I need to do?”
Dorian leaned back in his chair, gently stroking the cover of the book in his lap. “You must swear to secrecy, and to the Knights,” he stated sternly.
Gideon nodded. “Of course, I would never turn my back on the Knights, or tell any of our secrets.”
The Master tilted his head slightly, one eye narrowing a hair’s width as it seemed to bore into his student’s very soul.
“I believe you,” he said, the tone in his voice turning away from the serious one he had been using. “Now…do you know what this book is?”
Gideon took a moment to catch his breath, then focused on the spine of the book, which had the only writing he could see.
“Not particularly, no,” he answered. “The letters look familiar, but I can’t read them.”
“That’s okay. This book was part of a historical collection, an artifact from Garesh,” Dorian said proudly, his eyes drifting to the cover. “I procured it years ago, and couldn’t decipher it until recently.”
“Incredible,” Gideon amazed. “Garesh fell over a thousand years ago, and anything from that culture is extremely rare. What does it say?”
Dorian chortled. “You know your history. This is a book on Proximancy.”
“Oh,” Gideon deflated. He had the history of magic drilled into him since he was a child.
“So it talks about how Whispers are gifts from the gods, filling our Parsells every morning so we can use our Gifts. That’s…history, all right,” Gideon rattled off, bored.
“Is it?” Dorian asked, a wry tone accompanying a raised eyebrow.
“What does that supposed to mean?” Gideon asked, curious but slightly defensive.
“It’s all…a lie,” Dorian announced in a breathy, dramatic voice, not being able to contain a full-toothed grin. He popped the knuckles on one hand, a habit he employed when he became too excited.
Gideon’s face contorted as his mind puzzled, not understanding what his Master was telling him.
“Ooooh yes,” Dorian continued. “This book is an example of the reason as to why Garesh and its culture was destroyed. They were there…when magic first came. And this book is heresy.”
“But we’ve always had Proximancy,” Gideon protested, his hands shakily moving to accent his argument. “The gods give us Gifts and the Whispers to use them; we become tied to a Parsell when we experience powerful emotion. And Garesh fell when the king’s brother led a coup d'etat against him for the country’s resources, taking it over to create Morwell. What else could that book possibly say?”
Dorian nodded, then looked down at the book before opening it. He carefully turned a few of the pages, which were somehow not crumbling, before stopping at one and showing Gideon. One side of the page was scribbled with the same type of text as the spine of the book, but the other had a diagram of a box full of wheels, rope, and what looked like more wheels with teeth on them. Gideon’s mind went to the machines of the artificers in the country’s capital, with their complicated gadgets that could do so many wondrous things.
“Even before the kingdom of Garesh, explorers found this device. They said it was bursting with power, and transformed the gold coins they had with them into items that held that power. When they held the gold, they discovered they had gained the capacity to use incredible abilities.”
“I…wait…” Gideon retorted. “This item on the page created the first Parsells?”
“Now you’re catching on,” Dorian answered. “The Parsells created were capable of holding an immense amount of power, and could turn objects made of gold into new Parsells as well, although not as strong.”
Gideon balked. “Incredible. What about the emotional connection to Parsells?” he asked eagerly.
“That aspect of Proximancy survived the purge of Garesh,” Dorian replied. “To connect to the Parsells and use their power, Gifted have to be in a highly emotional state to bond with Parsells, even with ones created directly from that device.”
“So the Whispers of the gods aren’t from the gods at all…” Gideon mourned, his heart aching at the thought. “It’s just a mysterious power connected to that device.”
“Yes and no,” Dorian said. “Maybe the gods fill up the Parsells at sunrise or it’s something else, and we still don’t know what determines who receives Gifts, but it all traces back to this machine. The way Parsells are made is like how a sickness spreads through a town.”
Gideon was starting to feel sick himself.
“So…what does this have to do with me?” he asked.
Dorian closed the book and placed it back on his lap. “I want to find this device. The ancients of Garesh called it the ‘Wheels of a Thousand Beginnings’, and if the Knights could find it, then we could create as many strong Parsells as we want! Imagine, never running out of Whispers, no matter how much of your Gift you used.”
The man popped his knuckles in excitement before collecting himself again. Gideon could never seem to get used to the unnerving sound.
“This book tells us that if we collect enough of these ancient Parsells, the ones created directly from this device, their collective Whispers will lead us to it,” he continued. “But I need the help of Gifted like you, Knights I can trust, to find and secure these relics.”
Gideon sat, staring at his mentor while stunned. The fireplace nearby gave the side of his face a pleasant warmth, while casting his Master’s visage into a mask of half light, and half shadow. The gentle crackling of the fire filled the void of silence between the two men, as Gideon thought out his Master’s plan.
He needs me, he thought. But my Gift isn’t very useful. And where are these ancient Parsells anyway?
“I must know,” Gideon began, breaking the silence. “Where are these Parsells you’re talking about, and why me? My Gift isn’t very strong.”
Dorian grinned at his student. “Well, if I knew where these Parsells were, I wouldn’t be here, would I? I have some leads…but since these items are powerful and probably large, I assume most of them will be guarded. And as for your Gift, I can’t think of someone more suited to scout locations before the rest of the Knights come in. For safety, of course.”
Gideon had trained thiefcraft, although Knights were only taught to use it as a last resort. “So, we’d be stealing them,” he said flatly. “From their owners.”
Is that so bad?
“I’d say we’d be ‘liberating’ them,” Dorian corrected. “With enough gold and emotion, new Parsells can be made if they’re needed badly enough. The Gifted linked to them just see an old, large Parsell; they don’t have the big picture like we do. Plus, you wouldn’t let some backwoods people in the middle of nowhere stop you from following orders, would you?”
They would just stand in our way.
Gideon’s fingers tapped subconsciously on his belt buckle. “No, I suppose not.”
“That’s one of the reasons why I want you to do this,” Dorian said proudly. “I saw what happened at the sparring ring last year. Killing eight Knights in a rage before I finally got through to you. That level of ambition is exactly what I need.”
Sparring match, what?
Yes…the weak would stand in our way.
The idea of this quest seemed to be getting better, sitting more comfortably in his mind.
The gods decide who is weak, not you, another voice flowed into Gideon’s mind.
“What match? I killed someone?” Gideon asked, puzzled.
“Oh! I’m sorry, that was a slip up on my part,” Dorian soothed. “I was thinking of someone else. It was before you came to the academy, a very sad state of affairs.”
They all died.
“I see,” the student replied. “I just thought for a second…nevermind.”
Your moment of triumph.
Gideon shook his head to clear it.
“And what happens once we make all these new Parsells?” he asked, trying to change the subject. “Do we sell them to fund the growth of the Knights?”
Dorian chuckled, which seemed highly out of place to Gideon for the serious conversation. “No, money isn’t an issue. We would just use the Parsells to make the world a better place for the Gifted. A world where we can use our powers as much as we desire, to make our dreams come true.”
But what about mother, and Xander? Gideon thought of his unGifted mother and older brother. If the Gifted have unlimited power, there’s nothing to guarantee the safety of everyone else.
The unGifted are weak.
Those who abuse their power are the weakest of all, the calmer voice chided.
Gideon blinked, trying to clear the intrusive thoughts from his head.
We could rule them. It’s only fair.
Fair to whom?
“Is something wrong, son?” Dorian asked, after noticing his student had started to stare at nothing.
“Uh…I’m fine, Master,” he replied. “I’m suddenly not feeling well. I should probably visit the doctor before my next class.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Dorian comforted, standing up. “I need you rested and ready to take on some amazing responsibilities. But I know you’re up to the task, don’t worry.”
Gideon nodded, standing up and leaving the headquarters to the Knights of the Silver Moon the same way he came. A borrowed lantern helped him to see his way back, his mind clashing between light and dark like the flame dancing through the underground maze. By the time he had reached the surface and felt the warm afternoon air hit his face, his mind cleared and he knew that he had to escape. His soul had never felt as conflicted as it did in that moment, and it made him realize what he was doing: taking ominous orders and discussing insidious plans in secret, one that will mainly benefit those in power. He didn’t like the thought of it, and knew he wasn’t raised that way. The thought of his life with the Knights being a lie made him ill, but his medical classes taught that an infected limb sometimes had to be removed.
With the long walk back to the academy proper, Gideon couldn’t explain the tug-of-war that was raging in his mind. Dorian’s Gift, Leadership, had allowed him to make those under him feel good about following him. It had always made sure the Knights were rife with loyalty at all times.
But this… he thought. This feels wrong.