Warrior Baptism Chapter 2, Page 2

  “You are talking madness.”

  “Every day I continue to enjoy the life I purchased with my cowardice, the stain on Father’s good name darkens further,” Theel said. “This is my chance to wipe that stain clean.”

  “You do not need to die to restore Father’s honor,” Yenia insisted. “There is another way.”

  “What way is that, sister?” Theel asked.

  “You can defeat the zoth chieftain,” Yenia answered. “You can slay the Crowlord, reclaim Father’s shield, and earn your place in the knighthood.”

  “You are describing an outcome that is not possible,” Theel said. “The Crowlord is too great a foe for me.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Father was a legendary warrior. The greatest knights of the Seven Kingdoms revered him. Yet the Crowlord more than matched him. I will never be the man Father was.”

  “Yes you will,” Yenia said.

  “I couldn’t even defeat Raveling’s dog, Bestol,” Theel said. “The only reason I survived that fight was because my armor saved me from his axe.”

  “But your armor did save you,” Yenia said. “You did survive. You should take that as a blessing, as a reason to keep fighting, not as an excuse to quit.”

  “The Crowlord dominates men like Bestol without effort,” Theel said. “Father wasn’t even the only knight the Crowlord has killed. There are at least two others.”

  “But you are not like those others,” Yenia suggested. “You have learned from your first encounter with the Crowlord. You will come back smarter and stronger. I will be at your side.”

  “No you won’t,” Theel stated. “I will be alone when I face my fate.”

  “I am coming with you,” Yenia insisted. “I swore an oath.”

  “Your oath does not bind you to certain death, and that is what awaits me,” Theel said. “You must understand, sister. I do this for you, as well. You will live a long life, free of me and the burden of my failure. Once I am gone, and the honor of our family restored, you will be free to pursue knighthood yourself. Or whatever else you wish.”

  “I will never be a knight,” Yenia said. “You know that.”

  “You will be whatever you wish,” Theel promised. “You are more like Father than I am.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  “You are burdened by your big brother’s failure,” Theel said. “Once I am gone—”

  “You think I wish to profit from this?” Yenia asked. “To gain from my own brother’s death?”

  “Your brother’s death is coming soon, regardless of what you wish for,” Theel said. “You should accept whatever benefit that brings.”

  “You have lost every last one of your wits,” Yenia snapped.

  “I know precisely what I am doing,” Theel retorted.

  “What about Uncle Guarn?” Yenia asked. “You promised him.”

  “I promised him I would try,” Theel said.

  “You promised him you would do your best,” Yenia said. “How do you think he feels right now? He learned of Father’s death only minutes before his tavern and everything he owned burned to ash. Right now, he may be shackled in a dungeon somewhere, surrounded by the Witchfinder’s questioners. All because of us, because we came to his door asking for help. He gave us that help in exchange for a promise.”

  “I promised to do my best to defeat the Crowlord,” Theel said. “And I intend to keep that promise. But I also know my best is insufficient. How can I, a lowly squire, succeed where Father, the great knight, failed?”

  “Father wasn’t perfect,” Yenia said quietly.

  “Far from it,” Theel agreed. “You and I know that better than anyone.”

  “Perhaps,” Yenia said.

  “He was a good man and a great knight,” Theel said. “But he wasn’t a father. We weren’t his children. We were soldiers in his little army.”

  “That’s not true,” Yenia said.

  “All he knew was weapons and tactics,” Theel insisted. “He knew nothing of child-rearing. He didn’t even allow you to be a girl. He wanted sons, not daughters, so he put a sword in your hand and tried to make you a boy.”

  “He had a good reason to put a sword into my hand,” Yenia retorted.

  “That’s what he wanted,” Theel said. “Did he ever care what you wanted?”

  “Do you care what I want?” Yenia asked. “Perhaps I preferred weapons to dolls.”

  “You weren’t given the choice and neither was I.”

  Yenia sighed. “Must we discuss this now?”

  “He wasn’t even truthful, choosing to burden his children with fairy tales about the prophecy of the Blessed Soul.”

  “Father spoke the truth about the Blessed Soul,” Yenia said. “His words came from faith.”

  “His words came from empty beliefs that he tried to pass on to me,” Theel said. “But I won’t accept it. What good was Father’s devotion to the prophecy?”

  “How can you ask that?”

  “What did Father’s faith earn him?” Theel said. “An early death and orphaned children. A funeral held in secret and a pine tree to mark his memory. Despite all he professed, the great knight is dust, just like all those who did not believe as he did.”

  “You speak as if his life meant nothing,” Yenia accused.

  “Not true,” Theel said. “He meant a great deal to me. I loved him. But I never felt that love returned. I was nothing more than a tool in his hand to be pounded, bent, and shaped. He was trying to make the perfect warrior. He failed me as a father, and I failed him as a squire. But I intend to mend this. I will be with him soon.”

  “I have never heard you speak like this,” Yenia said. “Where is all this coming from?”

  “I have always felt this way,” Theel said. “I could never voice it. As you know, the children of the great knight were not allowed their own opinions.”

  Theel punched his fist into the palm of his hand.

  “We must show strength!” he shouted into the darkness.

  He punched his palm again.

  “We must never show weakness!” he shouted. A tear ran down his cheek, but he angrily wiped it away. “Honor! Respect! Obedience!”

  “You are right, brother,” Yenia admitted. “Father could be very harsh. He demanded much of us. But he did his best, and taught us what he knew. He was a great man.”

  “You are correct,” Theel agreed. “He was a great man. But he was also capable of great delusions. I fear his faith was so strong it blinded him to truth. And to the harm he was doing to his children.”

  “I was under the impression you were attempting to restore Father’s honor with this quest,” Yenia said. “Now it seems you are more intent to spit on his grave!”

  “Not so,” Theel said. “I would murder the man who spits on Father’s grave. I simply cannot believe as he taught me.”

  “Why?” Yenia said. “Why do you choose this?”

  “I don’t choose it, sister!” Theel said, his voice shaking. “I want to believe. I pray for faith, but it is denied me. I always said and did as I was told. I prayed for the strength to succeed as Father wished. I prayed for the faith to follow the prophecy. But then I was forced to watch him die. Despite all my prayers, I could not save him, because God turned his back on me that day on the Dead Man’s Bridge. What did my faith earn me? What did my prayers gain me?”

  Yenia didn’t answer.

  “Nothing,” Theel answered his own question. “No one prayed harder and longer than Father and me. The Blessed Soul is nowhere to be found. The answer to our prayers is silence. Despite all our hope, the homeland of our fathers is being destroyed by the Iatan. Despite all our prayers, Father is dead at the hands of the Crowlord. And despite all this pain and suffering, the Blessed Soul still does not reveal himself.”

  “The time is not right,” Yenia suggested. “The Blessed Soul will come when God wills it.”

  “When will that be?” Theel asked. “Those who believe in the Blessed Soul are
disgraced and persecuted. The followers of the Cross are burning as heretics or sold as slaves. We cry out to the God of the Prophecy for deliverance, but there is no answer. Where is the Blessed Soul when we need him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “He doesn’t help us because he is not real,” Theel said, puffing. “Because the prophecy is false.”

  “The prophecy is true,” Yenia said. “The Blessed Soul will reveal himself when he is ready; when the world is ready for him.”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Father told me,” Yenia answered. “And I believe him.”

  “Father also said he was stabbed through the heart and lived,” Theel said. “Do you believe that?”

  “I do,” Yenia answered. “I saw the scars on this chest and back. We’ve all seen his shield with the hole through it. He wore the shield over his heart when that hole was made.”

  “I once believed the same as you, and now I feel a fool for doing so,” Theel said. “A man cannot survive after being stabbed through the heart. It is not possible, no matter how you wish it was.”

  “Father was an extraordinary man, capable of extraordinary things,” Yenia said.

  “That is true,” Theel said. “But he was not a miracle worker. He could not defy death as they say he did. I learned that at the Dead Man’s Bridge, much to my shame.”

  “I believe he was stabbed through the heart and lived,” Yenia said. “I knew Father as an honorable man who never lied to us, despite what you want to think.”

  “You misunderstand, little sister,” Theel said. “I want to believe as you do. I just can’t. Not when reason tells me otherwise.”

  “I believe you will think differently once we defeat the Crowlord and recover Father’s shield,” Yenia said.

  Theel noticed how the orange torchlight reflected strangely on the ripples of water. There was too much light.

  “Theel?” Yenia said.

  “Yes?”

  “When we recover Father’s knightshield, you will admit his words were true,” Yenia repeated.

  Theel didn’t answer. He was confused about the firelight glimmering on the water. It reflected where it shouldn’t, within the shadows cast by the crates. This could only mean one thing. There was another light source.

  “Theel?” Yenia said. “Is everything all right?”

  “No.”

  He turned to look at the light behind him, thinking it was the flaming beacon they’d just passed. It was difficult to see in this dark place, but it appeared the fire must have broken free of its anchor and was now floating after them, keeping pace with their boat. Theel squinted his eyes, trying to see. There was no longer one torch, but three. And they were not keeping pace. They were gaining.

  Theel turned around and began to row in earnest.

  “Paddle harder!” he hissed.

  “What is it?” Yenia asked.

  Theel paddled as hard as he could, greatly increasing their speed.

  “Someone is following us…”

  Fight!

  There were three of them traveling together, three small canoes full of men, paddling their way through the Trader’s Cave. The canoes were small, built for speed, not capacity, and carried no freight, nothing but their crews. Each vessel contained four men who plied their oars as fast as they could, behaving as if they were in a race for their lives. The three canoes did not travel single file, as boats commonly did in the Trader’s Cave. They moved down the river side by side, with torches mounted on bow and stern, combining firelight to illuminate as much of the cave as possible. They were searching for something. Or someone.

  Theel ducked down low within the shadows of the crates and looked back. Those men were traveling fast, four pairs of arms and four strong backs propelling each canoe. Their torchlight filled the cavern, illuminating the darkness, lighting the rock walls and rippling on the surface of the water. It also illuminated the black surcoats each man wore, as well as the symbols on their chests: the white lily, sigil of House Kile.

  “Soldiers!” Theel hissed. “They are Kile swords, and they are following us!”

  There was no doubt in Theel’s mind why these men were in the Trader’s Cave. The Kiles would not have sent so many to harass thieves and smugglers. Theel could see sword handles resting against the sides of their boats, spears on their backs, bows and quivers of arrows. These men were ready for a fight.

  There was nothing to do but paddle for his life and hope that he and Yenia might outrace them. For a moment, Theel wanted to laugh. This would be remembered as the most futile attempt at a knight’s quest in the history of the Seven Kingdoms. He would be the first squire ever to fail at achieving Warrior Baptism before even leaving the city.

  An arrow zipped by, a wide shot, but close enough to cause discomfort. That arrow meant there would be no peaceful resolution to this. The Kile men didn’t attempt to talk to him. They didn’t ask him or order him to stop his boat. Instead they spoke with violence, giving him treatment only a wanted killer could expect. It was now undeniable why those soldiers traveled on this river. They were in search of the murderer of Raveling Kile. And they now believed they’d found the man they were searching for.

  That was fine, Theel decided. If those men wanted a fight, they would get one. The chase was on.

  “Give me the torch, sister,” he said.

  Yenia pulled the torch from its mount on the bow of the boat. “Here, take it.”

  Theel stood up and immediately regretted it, almost falling over trying to stand in the wobbly boat.

  “What are you doing?” Yenia asked in alarm.

  “Just keep paddling,” Theel said, reaching over the crates to take the torch.

  With only Yenia’s paddle moving them forward, the boat slowed down, but Theel intended to slow the Kile soldiers even further. He found his father’s knife and used it to pry the lid off the topmost crate, finding folds of rich fabrics inside.

  Another arrow zipped by, reminding him to move fast. He pushed the flaming torch into the crate, igniting its contents, then picked it up and threw it into the water. The boat rocked crazily and he almost fell out, but he held on, and managed to get the next crate open. More cloth, and that too went up in flames. As he lifted the crate, an arrow thunked into its side, inches from his hand. It was close, but close wasn’t good enough. He ignored the arrow and threw the crate into the water.

  Soon the river behind them was filled with flaming boxes. They didn’t remain afloat for long, as they weren’t watertight. One by one, the boxes began to sink, but before they did, they slowed the canoes of the Kile soldiers and did much to help the siblings increase their lead. Theel threw the crates into the river, leaving only the one containing his possessions, then he extinguished his torch. When the Kile men made their way through the flaming obstacles left in their path, their fire-burned eyes were met with nothing but darkness.

  Theel sat down and again joined his sister in paddling. Now they were working together, moving a boat made lighter by its lack of cargo. There was no light but the torches of the soldiers behind them and a single beacon far ahead in the distance. The siblings could not see where they were going, but they paddled as if they could, working hard to propel themselves as fast as possible into a big, black unknown.

  There was no way Theel would be captured without a fight. He would row until his arms fell off. Then he would row some more, with his teeth if necessary.

  More arrows zinged by to splash in the water, aimless shots directed at an unseen target. The Kile men were desperate to catch their prey, so much so that they were loosing arrows blindly. The flaming crates slowed them somewhat, increasing the siblings’ lead and purchasing them some time, but not enough. The canoes of the soldiers moved faster than Guarn’s boat ever could. The Kile men would overcome them. It would happen sooner, or it would happen later, but it was inevitable.

  Theel was determined it would happen later—much later. Now he found himself grateful for the merciless
fitness training he’d endured at the hands of his father. No one must outlast a squire, Theel was reminded daily, not in strength of will, nor in physical endurance. There was no shame in failure if all effort is spent, no shame in being bested or losing to another of greater skill. There is always someone smarter, stronger, faster, better. But there was great shame if that failure was a result of a lack of physical or mental conditioning. They might outwit you. They might outfight you. But they must never, ever, outlast you.

  Yenia grew up under the same philosophy, was subjected to the same rhetoric on a daily basis. Theel might have had more strength, but his little sister was tireless. The children of the famous knight complemented each other, making a magnificent team. In a contest of endurance, Theel would bet on himself and Yenia against any other tandem with no lack of confidence. It would be very hard to catch them if they didn’t want to be caught. And right now, they didn’t want to be caught.

  “Let us see how quickly the average Kile soldier grows tired, shall we?” Theel said loudly.

  “Yes, brother,” Yenia responded. “Let us see!”

  The sleek canoes of the soldiers cut the water with efficiency, gliding smoothly across the surface of the river. Guarn’s oddly-shaped boat glided nowhere and cut nothing, only pushed its way through the water with the elegance of a slug, exhausting the arms of its crew with every stroke of the paddle. The Kile men had better equipment and more men—twice as many in each vessel. So the siblings had to row twice as hard.

  The arrows stopped flying. With nothing but darkness in front of them and no visible targets, the archers dropped their bows and took up oars. Just as Theel expected, the Kile men gradually gained ground. The siblings were able to make up for much of their boat’s inadequacy with supreme effort, but it was not quite enough.

  One flaming beacon glided by in the darkness, then a second, then a third. Theel looked back, and still the soldiers were there, paddling relentlessly. They traveled miles, passed three more beacons, and still the soldiers were there, closer this time.

  Theel hoped they could stay ahead of their pursuers long enough to reach the famous island of stone called Candle Rock. It was a place where the Trader’s Cave split into two branches, two separate caves, with the Candle Rock sitting in the middle. The way to the left, the eastern route, was a safe and slow descent upon calm waters to the Toden River Valley. The way to the right, the western route, was an unsafe, terrifying descent down twisting rapids and eventually, a waterfall. It was unlit, it was in pure darkness, and it was suicide.