Wayne Batson - The Door Within

Then, it was as if the lights in the room dimmed and a spotlight illuminated one sword in particular. Aidan stared, drinking in the weapon’s every detail. Its silver blade was over three feet long, double-edged, and honed to razor-sharpness. It glinted iridescent blue when Aidan turned his head just slightly.

Cords, dark and ribbed, wound like a pair of black snakes down the two-fisted grip and disappeared into the silver pommel at the bottom. At the top of the grip was a crossguard of the same silver as the pommel. On the middle of this crossguard was an intricate engraving of a rising sun blazing out from behind the silhouette of two mountains-the very same design Aidan had seen on the tapestries in the castle halls. But engraved with such skill in silver, it took on special brilliance. It was a work of art within a work of art, and Aidan longed for such a mighty weapon of his own.

“Indeed, that lad ’as an eye for a blade!” proclaimed a stout Glimpse who appeared from an anteroom at the front of the armory. He waddled out toward Aidan, lifted an arm in a sweeping gesture, and bowed low. “Kindle, master of all things sharp or dangerous, at your service,” he announced.

Aidan bowed in return. “Uh, Aidan. Aidan Thomas,” he replied. Aidan didn’t think of himself as a master of anything, so he left it at his name.

Kindle, who seemed to have one eyebrow permanently arched higher than the other, smiled wryly and scratched his stubbly beard. He was just a little taller than Aidan but built like an anvil. And though he was certainly quite heavy, it was his broad cannonball shoulders and massive bare arms that gave him the squared appearance. The chain-mail shirt he wore draped over his chest and ample stomach made him look as if he had no legs at all.

“That is an incredible sword!” Aidan exclaimed, nearly drooling. Gwenne joined them in front of the broadsword display.

“That blade, m’lad, is a broadsword fashioned by none other than Naysmithe himself!” said Kindle.

“Nay who?” asked Aidan, perplexed.

Gwenne smiled as if remembering a glad time from long ago.

Kindle cocked an eyebrow and explained. “Naysmithe is the chief metalworker of Alleble. If it can be fashioned from iron, silver, or gold, then Naysmithe can make it. Truly, I say to you, it was Naysmithe who forged Charrend, the sword of our King. It is known as the blade that cleaves darkness.”

“Do all swords have names?” asked Aidan.

“Nay, lad, not all swords-only those made by gifted craftsmen and proven in battle. The blade you’ve set your eyes upon is called Fury-so named by a knight who wielded it against Paragory in the Cold River Battles long ago. Naysmithe finished repairing the blade only recently.”

“Come, Aidan,” interrupted Gwenne. “We need to get your armor and dagger.”

“Dagger?” Aidan blurted out, looking sadly back to the sword Fury. “But, can’t I use… that one?”

Gwenne smiled apologetically and looked to Kindle.

“Sorry, lad,” he began. “That blade does already ’ave an owner, and methinks it will be in use shortly. Besides, a blade that size would no doubt weigh you down exceedingly. When you’re ready, you’ll get a weapon that’ll be just right for you. For now, a dagger. Perhaps, a short sword.”

Aidan’s shoulders drooped. He really wanted Fury. But, of course, it belonged to someone else. Still… the sword seemed to call to him, every feature of the blade imprinted in his heart. No dagger would replace it, and a short sword sounded small like Aidan felt among the Knights of Alleble.

The armory keeper looked thoughtful for a moment, rubbing his chin as if considering some highly questionable course of action. Then, he shook his head, deciding “No” was the answer to the unspoken dilemma. With a brief embarrassed smile, he scuttled off behind a tall counter. He emerged a moment later carrying a bundle wrapped in flannel cloth.

“Your armor, lad. Wear it well, and may it turn the arrows of any Paragor rat who dares to fire upon a servant of the King!”

Feeling a little queasy with the thought of creatures firing arrows in his direction, Aidan walked into the changing room to put on his armor.

Kindle waited a long time before he decided he’d best enter Aidan’s changing room. Kindle took one look at Aidan and chuckled deeply. Aidan was struggling mightily, attempting to dress himself in chain mail and iron plates.

“That piece of iron you’ve got on yer head,” he said, “it’s made to fit yer elbow, Aidan!”

Aidan blushed and swiftly took the piece (called a couter, he learned) off his head. “Don’t feel low, m’lad,” Kindle said with a wink. “Most of this requires another set of ’ands to put on-usually the duty of a squire. So today, allow Kindle to be your humble squire.”

With yet another chuckle, the armory keeper went at once to work arming the embarrassed knight-to-be. It was not a complete suit of armor, Aidan was told, just a training suit for light fencing. Off came Aidan’s favorite pair of Nikes and his well-worn blue jeans to be replaced with a pair of dark brown pants. They were thick and durable but were somewhat elastic and clung to Aidan’s skin. Next, Aidan tugged on a pair of knee-high leather boots and laced them up. Off went Aidan’s half-shredded T-shirt. Kindle then draped a thick overshirt called an arming doublet. This was topped off with a long-sleeved shirt of chain mail. The tiny linked iron rings could perhaps turn an arrow or cause a light sword blow to do a little less damage-not a very comforting thought to Aidan! Then, on top of the doublet, the keeper slung and buckled a gleaming breastplate and shoulder harness that reminded Aidan of Robby’s football pads-only these were metal!

On each forearm Aidan wore a cylindrical piece of armor called a vambrace, and of course, on his elbows, he wore the couters. On his hands, Aidan wore protective metal gloves called gauntlets. Finishing his outfit was a thick leather belt with a buckler for a sword-or at least a dagger!

Aidan looked at himself in a long mirror. He had no helmet and no shield, but still he couldn’t get over how knightly he appeared. Sure, the weight of it all made him feel like he could barely move, but at least he looked good.

Gwenne also approved of Aidan in his new armor. She beamed proudly as he slowly spun around before her. “You shall make a fine Knight of Alleble,” she said, and Aidan glowed. He was once again dazzled by her sparkling blue eyes and pure white skin.

“Aidan,” Gwenne spoke. Aidan snapped out of the trance. “Let us take our leave of Kindle’s fine armory, for Captain Valithor is waiting.”

“Captain Valithor?” Kindle exclaimed. His eyes were wide, and he brushed a few dark, oily locks of hair out of his eyes. “Oh, lad, I do not envy you your next few months.”

“Days,” corrected Gwenne. “Captain Valithor has agreed to accelerate his training regimen so that we might leave for Mithegard within the week.”

“A week? Sorry for your sake, lad,” Kindle replied. He shook his head and stared at Gwenne with a look that said, “Become a knight in a week under Valithor? It’ll likely kill this one!”

Aidan swallowed. Being a knight didn’t sound so cool anymore.

Aidan and Gwenne walked in silence to the enormous training yard adjacent the castle’s main keep. Aidan’s stomach turned over and over as they walked. Aidan felt he was in over his head. And though the sky was cloudless and the sun rained golden rays down on Alleble, Aidan felt he was shrouded by an enormous shadow. A shadow cast by Captain Valithor.

G wenne and Aidan navigated a labyrinth of high wooden fences called palisades. Gwenne had explained that these rows of tall, extremely pointed stakes were temporary fortifications until stonework could be constructed.