Michael Sullivan - Avempartha

“Was he a warrior? A general?”

“Blacksmith.”

“Blacksmith?” Mauvin asked in disbelief.

“In a village not much bigger than this. You know, the guy who makes horseshoes, rakes, pots.”

“Are you telling me a village blacksmith knew the secret disciplines of the Teshlor? I recognized the Tek’chin moves, the ones my father taught me. The rest I can only assume were from the other lost disciplines of the Teshlor.”

Mauvin drew blank stares from everyone.

“The Teshlor?” he looked around-more stares. He rolled his eyes and sighed. “Heathens, I’m surrounded by ignorant heathens. The Teshlor were the greatest knights ever to have lived. They were the personal bodyguards of the Emperor. It’s said they were taught the Five Disciplines of Combat from Novron himself. Only one of which is the Tek’chin, and the knowledge of the Tek’chin alone is what has made a legend out of the Pickering dynasty. Your father clearly knew the Tek’chin, and apparently other Teshlor disciplines which I thought have been lost for nearly a thousand years, and you’re telling me he was a blacksmith? He was probably the greatest warrior of his time. And you don’t know what your father did before you were born?”

“I assume the same thing he did afterward.”

“Then how did he know how to fight?”

Hadrian considered this. “I just assumed he picked it up serving in the local army. Several of the men in the village served his lordship as men-at-arms. I assumed he saw combat. He used to talk like he had.”

“Did you ever ask him?”

The thunder of hooves interrupted them as three men on horseback entered the village from the direction of the margrave’s castle. The riders were all in black and red with the symbol of a broken crown on their chests. At their head rode a tall thin man with long black hair and a short trimmed beard.

“Excellent swordsmanship,” the lead man said. He rode right up to Hadrian and reined in his animal roughly. The black stallion was draped in a scarlet and black caparison complete with braided tassels, a scarlet headpiece with a foot tall black plume spouting from his head. The horse snorted and stomped. “I was wondering why the son of Count Pickering wasn’t partaking in the combat today, but I see now you found a worthier partner to spar against. Who would this delightful warrior be and why haven’t I seen you at the castle?”

“I’m not here to compete for the crown,” Hadrian said simply, slipping on his shirt.

“No? Pity, you certainly appear to be worthy of a chance. What’s your name?”

“Hadrian.”

“Ah, good to meet you, Sir Hadrian.”

“Just Hadrian.”

“I see. Do you live here, just Hadrian?”

“No.”

The horseman seemed less than pleased with the curt answer and nudged his horse closer in a menacing manner. The animal puffed out a hot moist breath into Hadrian’s face. “Then what are you doing here?”

“Just passing through,” Hadrian replied in his usual amiable manner. He even managed a friendly little smile.

“Really? Just passing through Dahlgren? To where in the world, might I ask, is Dahlgren on the way?”

“Just about everywhere depending on your perspective, don’t you think? I mean all roads lead somewhere, don’t they?” He was tired of being on the defensive and took a verbal swing. “Is there a reason you’re so interested?”

“I’m Sentinel Luis Guy and I’m in charge of managing the contest. I need to know if everyone participating is listed.”

“I already told you I wasn’t here for the contest.”

“So you did,” Guy said and slowly looked around at the others, taking particular notice of Magnus. “You are just passing through you said, but perhaps those traveling with you wish to be listed on the roll.”

A feint perhaps? Hadrian decided to parry anyway. “No one I’m with will want to be on that list.”

“No one you’re with?”

Hadrian gritted his teeth. It was a feint. Hadrian mentally scolded himself.

“So you’re not alone?” the sentinel observed. “Where are the others?”

“I couldn’t tell you.”

“No?”

Hadrian shook his head-less words less chance of mistakes.

“Really? You mean they could be washing over the falls right now and you couldn’t care less?”

“I didn’t say that,” Hadrian replied irritated.

“But you see no need to know where they are?”

“They’re grown men.”

The sentinel smiled again. “And who are these men? Please tell me so that I might inquire of them later perhaps.”

Hadrian’s eyes narrowed as he realized too late his mistake. The man before him was clever-too clever.

“Did you forget their names too?” Luis Guy inquired leaning forward in his saddle.

“No,” Hadrian tried to hold him off while he struggled to think.

“Then what are they?”

“Well,” he began wishing he had his own swords rather than a burrowed one. “Like I said, I don’t know where both of them are,” Hadrian spoke up. “Mauvin is here, of course, but I have no idea where Fanen has gotten to.”

“Surely you are mistaken. The Pickerings traveled with me and the rest of the entourage,” Guy pointed out.

“Yes they were, but they are planning on returning home with me.”

Guy’s eyes narrowed. “So you are saying that you traveled all the way out here alone-passing through, as you put it, and just happened to join up with the Pickerings?”

Hadrian smiled at the sentinel. It was weak, clumsy and the fencing equivalent of dropping his sword and tackling his opponent to the ground, but it was all he could do.

“Is this true, Pickering?”

“Absolutely,” Mauvin replied without hesitation.

Guy looked back at Hadrian. “How convenient for you,” he said, disappointed. “Well, then don’t let me keep you from your practice. Good day gentlemen.”

They all watched as the three men rode off toward the river trail.

“That was creepy,” Mauvin remarked staring off in their direction. “It can never be good when any sentinel takes an interest in you, much less Luis Guy.”

“What’s his story?” Hadrian asked.

“I really only know rumors. He’s a zealot for the church, but I know many even in the church who are scared of him. He’s the kind of person that can make kings disappear. He’s also rumored to be obsessed with finding the Heir of Novron.”

“Aren’t all seret?”

“According to church doctrine, sure. But he really is, which explains why he’s here.”

“And the two with him?”

“Seret, the Knights of Nyphron, they are the sentinel’s personal shadow army. They’re answerable to no king or nation, just to sentinels and the patriarch.”

Mauvin looked at Hadrian. “You might want to keep that sword. It looks like a bad time to be without your weapons.”

Although he had put his lantern out long before the creature’s return, Royce could see just fine. Light permeated the walls of Avempartha, seeping through the stone as if it were smoky glass. It was daylight outside, of that he was certain, as the color of light had changed from dim blue to soft white.

As the sun rose, the interior of the citadel became an illuminated world of wondrous color and beauty. Ceilings stretched in tall, airy arches, meeting hundreds of feet above the floor and giving the illusion of not being indoors at all but rather in a place where the horizon was merely lost in mist. The roar of the nearby cataracts, tamed by the walls of the tower, was a soft, muffled, undeniably soothing hum.

Thin gossamer banners hung from the lofty heights. Each shimmered with symbols Royce did not understand. They might have been standards of royalty, rules of law, directions to halls, or meaningless decorations. All Royce knew was that even in the wake of a thousand years, the detailed patterns still appeared fluid and vibrant. It was artistry beyond mortal hands, born of a culture unfathomable. Being the only elven structure Royce had ever entered, it was his only glimpse into that world and it felt oddly peaceful. Still and silent, it was beautiful. Although it looked nothing like anything Royce had ever seen, his reason fought against the growing sensation that somehow all this was familiar. Royce felt calm as he wandered the corridors. The very shapes and shadows touched chords in his mind he never realized were there. It all spoke to him in a language he could not understand. He only caught a word or a phrase in an avalanche of sensations that both mystified and captivated him as he wandered aimlessly like a man blinded by a dazzling light.