Steven Savile - The Black Chalice

"I do so swear," Alymere said, raising his head proudly. If he could not honour his father by reclaiming his home, he would find another way. There was always another way.

"Do you swear that you will offer mercy to all deserving of it?"

"I do so swear."

"Do you swear that you will offer succour to those in need if it is yours to offer?"

"I do so swear," the words came easily to him now.

"Do you swear never to take up arms in wrongful quarrels for love or worldly goods?"

"I do so swear."

"Do you swear never to stand by idly whilst such evils are perpetrated by others upon the weak and innocent?"

"I do so swear."

"And do you so swear to be noble, worshipful and just in all things?"

"I do so swear," Alymere concluded.

The king withdrew Excalibur and sheathed the great blade without the tip of the sword touching so much as a hair on his head. He bade Alymere rise. "I will hold you to this oath, Alymere, for now you are no longer the son of Roth, but a son of Albion. And as such you are my ward in your father's absence. Think on this oath when you retire tonight, boy. Think on what it means and how it will change your life. For when first light comes you will enter into the service of your uncle, Sir Lowick." Arthur raised a hand to forestall any argument. "I would have you serve him faithfully as squire and learn what it means to be a true man and worshipful knight. There is much yet you need to learn — you have shown us that — and accordingly, you shall be bound to his service for two years and a day; then, when you are released, you are to present yourself here for judgement. Should you be found worthy, you shall be asked to renew the oath you have just sworn and invited to take your father's seat at the table, as is your birthright. If not, you shall be given a hot meal and released from your oath to make your way in the world alone. Serve your uncle well, learn from him, and in that way you will serve both your king and your country. That is my judgement. Do you accept it?"

And with those few words Alymere's world was wrenched out from beneath him.

He reached out to steady himself.

Now he understood what Bors had meant by his first test.

He wanted to scream, Why? Why would you do this to me? Why would you give me to him? Is this to be my punishment? A death sentence?

If this was the path to righteousness and becoming a true man, he did not know if he had the strength to take the first step, let alone to walk the path to its end.

He didn't know what he'd expected; to imagine that Arthur might simply finish the oath with the words "Arise, Sir Alymere!" and congratulate him was naive, especially after the morning's events, but this was cruel. This felt like the greatest betrayal imaginable. After everything he had told him, how could the king make him swear his oath and then deliver him unto the usurper like this?

It was all he could do to nod, but Arthur pushed him to answer, "Yes, sire."

The great chamber, the castle beyond it, the bailey and the courtyards and practice fields, shed every illusion of homeliness in favour of its true cold stone face. No matter how desperately he had tried to convince himself otherwise, he didn't belong here.

"Thank you for this chance to honour my brother's memory, sire," his uncle said, his delight obvious as he offered his hand to the boy. Alymere shook it off, gripping instead one of the high wooden backs of the chairs beside him. All colour had drained from his face. The chamber reeled around him. He was breathing too quickly and too shallowly, and couldn't catch a proper breath. "The past shall remain where it belongs, I have no dispute with the boy. My blood flows through his veins, after all. We are kin. We stand together, we fall together. I shall see to his education as though he were my own son. When he comes before you next he will be worthy of the knighthood, this I swear." Lowick bowed low.

"That is my hope," the king said, gravely. "There is much for him to learn, and more to unlearn from what I have seen, but he has courage, some skill and no small heart. All of which he will need if he is to rise to claim his father's seat."

"Everything matters. Everything is significant. Everything you say, everything you do, everything you think, everything you feel. Everything matters, all of it, every little thing, because when they are all brought together, they become you. But of equal importance, lad, are the things you don't do, the things you don't say. If you forget all but one thing that I teach you, let this be the one thing you remember. We are the sum of all these things." Sir Lowick said, tightening the buckle on his great destrier's saddle. It was a familiar lesson.

Alymere drew his wet cloak tight around his throat. The heat was leeching out of his body. Corkscrews of breath wreathed out of his nostrils as he wrestled with his own mount.

It was grim outside of the stable doors.

The blizzard had been blowing for days. The world was white. The snow was so thick, the world ceased to exist a few feet in front of his face. The skeletal limbs of the nearby trees were bowed under the burden of snow. The short walk from the house to the stable had been hellish; fat flakes of snow swirled about in his face, in his eyes, in his ears, and in his mouth as he tried to breathe. Head down, they floundered through the snowfall, the insidious cold soaking through to their skin in just a few paces. The thought of willingly riding out into the storm was insane, and yet that was precisely what his uncle intended they do.

Alymere was dressed in layer upon layer of tightly knit woolens beneath his mail shirt, as well as a heavy travelling cloak and hood lined with rabbit fur, and still the cold found its way through.

The wind cried out in a hundred different voices, each more plaintive and mournful than the last. Together the voices made the most haunting sounds as they rushed around the immovable stone of the stables. Alymere saw to his own horse, adjusting the blankets beneath the saddle. No one in their right mind would willingly set out into the heart of the storm. Even inside the stable the cold was ferocious.

The susurrus rush of snow sliding from the roof above them spooked the horses. It took Alymere several minutes of soothing and whispering to calm his mount, whereas his uncle's destrier settled almost immediately. The snow blustered in through the stable's barred windows. It was still cold enough inside the building that it settled, leaving a shallow mound of white banked up against the wall.

Alymere was long since past the point of challenging his uncle's will; if he wanted to ride out, they were going to ride out and no amount of protesting from him would make a blind bit of difference. They were well into their second year together. The first time he had questioned Sir Lowick, he had earned a swift slap with the back of the knight's hand across his face, and the second, and the third, and the forth, fifth, sixth, seventh, until he was broken of the habit and merely acquiesced. But, like the most stubborn stallion, he was a long time breaking. Alymere let his dislike for the man fester, but resisted allowing his anger to show through his mask of servility. He was the willing apprentice. He did not understand why the knight was delivering those back-handers until much later in their relationship, and not once did Sir Lowick take the time to explain why he had raised his hand to his nephew every time he voiced dissent or disagreement. His word was law. It was that simple, as far as the knight was concerned.

Hence, when Sir Lowick insisted they ride out, ride out they did. Duties could not and should not be shirked. Both the Stanegate Road and Deere Street traversed their lands, the crossroads deep in the heart of the old forest, and several mile houses on the great wall fell under their protection. These had to be patrolled; bandits and robbers preyed upon travellers. Although surely the inclement weather ought to be more of a deterrent than two men on horseback riding the road could ever be? Alymere did not argue, though. He finished getting his horse ready, then mounted and rode out into the storm.