“Warriors, if Your Majesty will allow it,” Malana said.
“You don’t need my permission to be warriors. You just have to prove that you are.”
“How about knights?” Malena asked.
“I’ll allow it if you earn it, just like everyone else. While I’ve got you here, any bumps or bruises that need work? You don’t want anyone else being your healer, I know.” There were a few minor injuries, so I just enhanced their natural healing to speed things along. I might have cheated in their favor with my prototype spell to encourage muscles, but if I did, I’m not going to admit it. I sometimes have a soft spot for the underdog. They also reminded me of Caeron and Caedwyl. I miss them, too.
“No, don’t thank me. Just get going.”
They got going. I wondered just what the reaction would be when someone else figured it out, and how I should handle it.
Interestingly, Rethvan culture said that twins were one soul in two bodies; they were considered halves of the same person. It had peculiar ramifications for legal issues, marriage, and paternity. A twin couldn’t sign a contract, for example, without the other one also signing it. Both of them would have to qualify for knighting, of course. And as for marriage…
Meanwhile, I headed back to see if anyone was dying and, if so, what I could do about it. Perhaps just as important, I did my best to make sure people
felt
like they were dying.
Nobody asked about lunch. Nobody asked about dinner. They had all the water they could drink; the canal was right there. But I skipped lunch and dinner, so they did, too. If anyone complained, it was to each other and well away from my hearing.
About an hour before sunset, tired and aching a little, I called a halt to our work and told them to form up in front of my speaker’s log again. I climbed up to address them.
“I see we lost a few more during the afternoon,” I started. “It’s a tough course to follow. Trust me; I know. I’m tired and hungry, too. But I’m going to be right back out here tomorrow. If you’re here, I’ll do everything I can to make you all stronger, faster, and tougher. If you’re not, I understand; this isn’t going to get easier! Just lasting out today proves you’ve got guts, strength, and determination. And you’ll need
all
of it if you expect to stay! Salute!”
They saluted, closed fists of their right hands pressed over their left chest. Those of them with swords drew them and saluted with them in hand, points vertical. I hopped down and walked among the ranks, correcting the hand position for the few who didn’t have it quite right. Several of them were visibly trembling with fatigue. Back on my log, I drew, saluted in return, and resheathed my weapon.
“Dismissed!”
There were groans. A few people who were running low on willpower and determination, possibly worn down to sheer stubbornness, sat down on the spot.
I sat down on my log and took note of who simply plodded back into the town, who checked on the fallen, and so on. I almost threw one guy out on the spot; he kicked one of the exhausted recruits while he was down. I didn’t dismiss him, though, because he followed it up with, “That’s no place for a knight. Come on! Up! You can do it. Just as far as the water.”
And the guy got up, staggered over to the canal without leaning on anybody, and collapsed there, instead. I made a note of him, too.
Torvil, Kammen, and Seldar formed a line in front of me. They looked somewhere between haggard and exhausted. They had the advantages of youth and a day of magically-enhanced preparation.
“This close enough to private?” Kammen asked. They didn’t quite need to lean on each other.
“Sure.”
“Can we go home tonight?”
“Home?”
“To our families.”
“Ah. Your fathers were out here, today?”
“Yes.”
“And my brother,” Torvil added. I nodded. I remembered seeing him and noticing the resemblance.
“Did they all make it?” I asked. Everyone nodded. “Okay. Hold it,” I added, as they started to go. I worked with the spell I put on them the day before, maintaining it and putting some more power into it. The terrible exertions of today should be recovered by tomorrow, with a corresponding improvement. Are they getting results at twice the normal rate? Or at ten times? Or somewhere in between? I suppose I can compare their progress to everyone else and see.
“Okay, now you can go. But remember this: you are the only three people in all of Mochara who are officially knights. Don’t let anyone give you crap about it. If anyone disagrees, send them to me.”
Kammen looked thoughtful.
“If we’re really knights, do we gotta be tested? I’m gonna be here,” he added, hastily, “but it’s only required for everyone else, right? Sire.”
“Technically true,” I agreed. “Of course,
I’ll
be here. But if you feel you don’t need to be here, you have my permission to skip it.”
“We’ll be here!” Torvil assured me while stepping on Kammen’s toes.
“Good. I’d be disappointed if you weren’t. Dismissed.”
Torvil and Kammen started to turn away, paused when Seldar did not.
“Seldar?” I asked.
“Your Majesty. May I ask a question?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want us to find out what is thought of you?”
“How do you mean?”
“Do you wish us to listen to the opinions of others about the truth of your kingship?” Torvil and Kammen nodded, realizing that it might be a good idea.
“Oh, that,” I said. I thought about it for a minute. “No.”
“No?” All three of them looked surprised.
“I don’t care what they think,” I told him. “I am who I am. If they can’t figure that out on their own, they don’t need to be knights. As for everyone else, they can make up their own minds. I’m not much interested in people who can’t figure it out.
“However,” I added, “you might mention to people that anyone who thinks he’s a knight and didn’t show up today better show up tomorrow, prepared to hand over his sword. Anything else?”
That covered it, as far as they were concerned. They walked away, much more slowly and carefully than usual. I didn’t blame them a bit. I didn’t really feel like getting up and walking, either, now that I was seated and resting.
Bronze nosed me in the back. My mind was wandering. Time to get up and get indoors.
I roused myself enough to make the long climb up on her back; she was kind enough to cock one foreleg for use as a step. I sat up straight, though, and did my best to look as though I didn’t ache. Despite being a supernatural creature, during the day I can get tired; it just takes more effort. As far as anyone else is concerned, I suspect I’m a goal to live up to. We’ll see whether it motivates people or makes them give up.
Maybe people should train in regular, or even extra-heavy armor, and the good stuff gets reserved for when we actually expect a fight? I still don’t know what to make the good stuff out of…
Focus. Sit up straight. Got it.
On the plus side, the guard at the gate saluted as I rode in, so there’s that. In town, people cleared the street for me, standing to the sides and either bowing, going to a knee, or saluting. Apparently, word did get around. I suspect that just being on Bronze was enough to convince a lot of people about my identity. She’s kind of an authority on the subject, after all.
Night fell, and every minor ache or bit of stiffness vanished into the red-hot-insect-swarm-crawling sensation of sunset. I needed another bath, but that was a small price to pay for instant relief from all the little aftereffects of a hard day’s labor. Note that little tidbit as a big plus when totaling up the good and bad of being semi- (hemi?) dead. I also checked my internal gauges and was relieved to find the day’s exertions hadn’t made me hungry. Apparently, a whole herd of
dazhu
will stick to my undead ribs. Thank goodness it doesn’t also put hair on my chest; I’d be as fuzzy as an electrified cat.
What was really weird was the way I felt as though I knew what I was doing. Maybe it’s the professor in my blood—so to speak—with a class to teach. Admittedly, it’s more “coach” than “professor,” but nonetheless a class. Maybe it’s all the martial prowess of Zirafel.
Having all that Zirafel stuff sitting in my head and hands without me knowing what it is bothers me. Dammit, I’m not a king; I’m an empire, or at least a city. I really hate not knowing if a great idea is my great idea, or the leftover experience from hundreds of thousands of people. It gets on my nerves.
Remember, kids: chew your food!
While I was sorting out my hygiene issues, the maid knocked on the bedroom door. I opened it.
“Majesty,” she said to the floor, “there is a man at the door who begs audience. He says he has an apology to give.”
I didn’t recall anything that required an apology, unless, perhaps, it was one of the guys who gained a broken arm not so long ago. I thanked her and she disappeared as quickly as she could. I trudged downstairs and found the man in question.
He was about seventeen, I think, and skinny as an anorexic toothpick. Give him a pointed helmet and he might do well as a javelin. He was maybe five-seven and had an air of exhaustion about him. That, at least, I understood; I’d seen him lagging behind everyone in every exercise. He was one of the few who made it around the whole initial run, albeit late, if not last.
When I walked into the entryway, he went to one knee, fist on the floor, and bowed his head.
“Get up,” I told him. “What’s on your mind?”
“Majesty,” he said, rising slowly to his feet. It looked painful. I know it was painful to watch. “I’ve come to apologize.”
“So I heard. How have you wronged me?” I asked. He winced.
“I have presumed to become a knight, Majesty.”
“So have a lot of other people. It’s not a crime. Go on.”
“I don’t… I can’t, Majesty. I was wrong to try.”
“Really?” Now I was interested. “Why do you think that?”
“I’m just not strong enough.” He paused. “Or fast enough. And I’m clumsy. I can’t do anything right.”
“I see. But you kept going after a lot of other people quit.”
“I guess I’m just stupid, too,” he said, shrugging. His eyes were brimming, but no tears escaped.
“That’s odd,” I said, thoughtfully. “I could have sworn you were doing better than them.”
“Majesty?” he asked. He sounded confused.
“They wanted to be knights, but they quit. That strikes me as stupid. A real knight may change tactics if what he’s doing isn’t working, but he doesn’t just give up. And you’re doing better than most of the others who stuck with it, too; you’re weaker, slower, and clumsier than they are, but you kept on going no matter how badly you were doing. You had to try harder, and you did.”
“Oh,” he said, in a very small voice.
“Well,” I continued, airily, “if you want to apologize for quitting, you may. It’s your choice, of course. Bear in mind, though, that there are a lot of big, strong, fast men. Not all of them are knights—and most of them don’t have what it takes to be any sort of knight, much less one of
my
knights. I’m looking for something more than just big, strong, and fast. Any idea what that might be?”
“Um… no, Majesty.”
“Think about it. In the meantime, quit if you please; anyone who will quit should quit.”
He actually looked at me, right in the eyes, and that takes guts when I haven’t put my disguise spells on yet.
“Do you have a use for me as a knight, Majesty?”
“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Beltar, Majesty.”
“Beltar, I can make you strong and fast. I can train you with every weapon. I might even be able to help with that clumsiness problem. What I can’t do is give you courage, determination, and a noble heart. You prove to me you have those and I promise to take care of everything else. So, you tell me: do I have a use for you as a knight?”
“I think so.”
I shook my head sadly and sighed.
“If you only think so, then I don’t. Make up you mind! Do I have use for you as a knight?”
“Yes, my King.”
“I hope so. Now beat it.” I turned away from him and pretended to go about my business. He took the dismissal and departed.
I trudged upstairs to Tort’s laboratory, knocked politely, entered when invited. She was sitting in a chair next to a worktable, quill scratching on parchment. Next to her, a tallish gentleman stood over her worktable, half-leaning on it, watching what she was writing. He was in simple trousers and shirt, but they were high-quality, and he wore a jeweled ring on either hand; both rings shimmered in my mage-sight, but I didn’t take the time to analyze the spells. Tort put down the quill and turned to smile at me.
“Welcome, my angel. You have been busy,” she observed. I nodded. The man straightened up and faced me.
“I agree,” I said. “I don’t believe I’ve met your friend?”
“My angel and king, may I present to you Thomen, Master of the Wizard’s Guild of Mochara?” He looked about forty-ish, with dark hair, brown eyes, and the first hint of frost at his temples. He was clean-shaven. His face looked as though it was accustomed to a lot of smiling and a lot of frowning; it had what artists call “character”.