Authors: Jason McWhirter
Without hesitating Fil stood up, addressing the king. “I have nothing left your highness. My friends and family are all dead. I would very much like to join your army, and become a Finarthian Knight. I know I can’t right away, but some…”
“Young man,” interrupted Prince Nelstrom. “A common peasant boy cannot join the elite knights unless you have a sponsor.”
“And he does,” stated Landon. “I will sponsor them both.”
“As will I,” added Allindrian.
The young prince eyed them both, unable to completely mask his look of disdain, but he did not press the issue.
“Your Majesty, I do not know what to do,” Jonas replied. “My life has changed so much that my mind is whirling with uncertainty. I was a poor cripple my whole life and now I sit in a king’s chamber with a God Mark on my chest. It is overwhelming. I have nothing left except for my friend, Fil. I have thought of nothing else other than to do something good with the gifts that Shyann has given me.” Jonas looked around the group, making eye contact with them all, even Prince Nelstrom, whose veiled hostility was becoming increasingly apparent to Jonas. He returned his gaze to the king on his throne. “I think that I would like to join your knights, where I can gain the skills to protect the weak and battle the darkness that is spreading. Then when I’m eighteen, with your leave, I will go to Annure to see if my destiny lies there.”
Everyone stared at Jonas, most with approval, a few with uncertainty, and one with disdain. For whatever reason, Jonas thought, it seemed Prince Nelstrom would become a problem for him.
“Well spoken, young man. If you are both serious, then approach the throne and swear your allegiance to me,” the king commanded.
Fil and Jonas looked at each other and stood, approaching the throne. They stopped on the top stair below the throne.
“Kneel and repeat after me,” the king ordered.
Jonas and Fil knelt at the base of the throne.
“I, Fil Tanrey and Jonas Kanrene, of the Tundrens, swear allegiance to the crown of Finarth. I will protect the throne and the people with my honor and blood, unto death.”
Fil and Jonas repeated the words.
“And I, King Gavinsteal of Finarth,” the king continued, “will protect you both as my vassals. My honor shall be yours through times of peace and war, unto death. Now stand, young men, you are now knight apprentices.” Fil and Jonas stood proudly, looking at each other, trying unsuccessfully to hide their growing smiles.
***
The apprentice knights slept in one large barracks by the north wall. There were around fifty young men between sixteen and eighteen years of age organized into five different training groups. These groups were each given a different color, each with a name. Jonas and Fil were assigned to the blue group, which they later found was the group where most of the commoners were placed. It created fewer problems because many of the highborn apprentices didn’t relate well with the commoners.
The barracks were simple but spacious. Bunk beds lined both walls. At the foot of each bed were two small trunks for their belongings. Each bed had a tapestry on the wall above it representing the group to which they belonged. They were all embroidered in their group’s colors and insignia.
Fil and Jonas stood at the base of their bed looking up at a blue tapestry. It was edged in red silk and lined with silver thread. In the center was a silver embroidered insignia of a massive set of deer antlers. The horns were spread wide and tall in a protective stance. The other groups were the Eagles, Dragons, Lions, and Boars.
“We’re the Stags,” said Fil, staring up at it. “I like it.”
“Seems fitting, I think Shyann would approve,” responded Jonas, looking up at the tapestry in thought. A stag was one of the symbols that represented Shyann, and living in a mountain town their entire lives gave them a deep respect for the wildlife that helped sustain them, particularly the noble stag.
They put their meager belongings into their trunk and took a look around. The barracks were empty now; the apprentices were at the training field. The king had a servant direct them to the barracks immediately after the king and Landon had talked a bit longer. Jonas was obliged to give Airos’s blade back to Androg who had insisted that it belonged in the temple of the High One now that the cavalier was dead. Jonas hated to see the weapon go, but he knew that Androg was right.
Jonas sat on his bed, looking around in wonder. Lying on the bed were two blue tunics, each marked with the silver stag horns. He grabbed one, throwing it up to Fil who had climbed to the upper bunk.
“Here you go, Fil.”
“Thanks. Should we put them on?” he asked.
“I guess so,” Jonas said, taking off his tunic and putting on his new uniform. There was also a plain black belt that he used to cinch up the tunic, and attached to the belt was a small simple knife in a leather sheath.
Jonas put his other shirt into the trunk, adjusted his uniform, and explored his new surroundings. The beds were all perfectly made and the barrack was immaculate. The entire area was simple and clean.
“Can you believe this, Jonas? We’re going to be Finarthian Knights,” Fil said, staring at the vaulted ceiling from his bed. Jonas noticed that all the beds were arranged in groups according to their training team. Each team had a designated area in the barrack, but there were no lines or walls separating them. The blankets on the beds all matched the color of the team, so you could easily tell which groups of beds were assigned to each team.
“I can almost believe anything now, with all that’s happened. It looks like they keep the groups together as much as they can. I wonder what group Tumas is with.” Jonas mused.
“I don’t know, but I imagine we’ll find out soon enough.”
Suddenly the far door bolted open and a short stocky warrior stepped into the barrack. He was wearing the gold and silver tunic of the Finarthian guard. The soldier was young, maybe twenty, but he carried himself with confidence, and moved with military precision. He wore a shiny chain mail shirt under his tunic that went to his knees and he carried a short sword and dagger at his belt. Leather greaves studded and lined with metal covered his muscular legs. The young man’s cape danced around as he approached the two new recruits. His face was cleanly shaven and his long blond hair was tied back behind his ears with a leather thong.
“Are you Fil Tanrey and Jonas Kanrene?” asked the warrior.
Fil jumped down from the bunk to stand next to Jonas.
“Yes, sir,” replied Jonas.
“Good. I am Sal. I was asked by the king to show you around and explain how things work and how your training will progress. If you will please follow me,” the warrior said, spinning on his heels and walking away, not looking to see whether or not they were following. Fil and Jonas glanced at each other, quickly running to keep up with the soldier’s brisk pace.
As they walked, Sal continued. “As you were told, the apprentices are separated into smaller training units. You will usually train with your unit only, which, by your uniforms, is obviously the Stag team. During the daylight hours you will perform a variety of tasks, from physical training and educational pursuits, to serving the knights that live in the inner castle. You will clean and maintain their horses, clean and care for their armor and weapons, and learn all the other skills needed to someday become a knight yourself,” Sal explained, taking them east to a long row of stables. “These are the stables that your team takes care of. Your team leader will organize your work. Do you have any questions so far?”
Sal stopped in the middle of the stables as the two boys shook their heads, indicating that they understood. They were both still busy taking in all the new information and looking around their surroundings. This was to be their new home for the next couple of years and they savored the thought.
The stables were impressive. There were probably at least a hundred horses housed within their walls. Several servants scurried around cleaning stalls, carrying hay, and brushing the horses, work that Jonas knew they would get their fair share of.
A thin older man walked up to them, setting down a bag a grain. He was balding and his face and body showed signs of a lifetime of manual labor. “Good evening, Sal, what do we have here, new recruits?” asked the man.
“Yes, Lars, this is Jonas and Fil, they will be joining the blue team.”
“Nice to meet you both. As you heard, my name is Lars and these are my beauties,” Lars said proudly, using his hands in a gesture that included the entire stable. “I run this stable and I expect it to be maintained to the highest of standards. Do you know what hard work is?” asked Lars.
“Yes, sir,” replied Fil. “We both come from the mountain town of Manson and hard work kept us alive.”
“Manson…never heard of it,” said Lars.
“It is far to the north, sir, almost a month’s travel,” replied Jonas.
“What brings you here to Finarth? Oh, never mind, a story for another time. I see that you are busy. I need to get back to work anyway. Good day, Sal. Boys, I will see you tomorrow.” Lars picked up his bag of grain and made his way to the feeding bins.
Sal brought them out of the stables, taking them around the outer wall. He explained to them that the inner castle had two walls. Behind the outer wall, the knights lived, trained, and kept their horses. The inner wall surrounded the king’s palace and housed the royal family, servants, and guests. Sal explained that the inner castle was huge with large dining halls and many spacious rooms. Fil and Jonas didn’t tell him that they had already seen several of those rooms.
Sal brought them to another barrack, this one much larger and more elegant than theirs. Vines of bright green with purple flowers climbed ornate pergolas that lined the outside courtyard.
In the clearing outside the barracks was a group of warriors, wearing only leggings and boots, their bare skin wet with perspiration. As they neared the group they noticed that two men were circling each other, while a handful watched and cheered. The sweat on their muscular bodies glistened in the sun. Each combatant bore several cuts and dirt streaked their bodies where the dust had mingled with their sweat.
“This is third lance Lathrin’s barracks. He has five hundred knights under his command and they are spread out over three different buildings,” explained Sal.
“What are these men doing?” asked Fil.
“They are training in hand-to-hand combat,” Sal replied matter of factly.
Fil and Jonas stared at the bruises and cuts on the faces of the two warriors as their blood was dripping down their bodies, mingling with their sweat. One man was tall and lean and moved like a dancer. The other man was also tall, but much thicker, and looked like a gigantic walking oak tree. Jonas had never seen a man so large, and he was amazed at how quick he could move for a man so thick of muscle.
The burly man moved in quickly trying to grab the smaller man in a powerful bear hug, but the other man, just as quickly, struck him twice with two lighting quick jabs to the face.
The huge man faltered but did not stop. He, too, swung his large right hand towards his opponent, hoping to land a glancing blow at least. The thinner man, sidestepping the punch, grabbed his arm, and using the big man’s momentum, he threw him through the air. The man landed hard on his back, forcing the air from his lungs.
“That is enough, Graggis. Let us both get some water,” said the tall wiry man, wiping the sweat from his face.
Graggis slowly got up, brushing off the dirt from his sweat covered body. “I hate that throw,” Graggis growled.
“You would think you’d see it coming by now,” the man laughed good naturedly.
“Who are they?” asked Fil, mesmerized by the warriors.
“That is Graggis, a man you do not want as an enemy.”
“But he was defeated by that other man,” said Jonas.
“He was not defeated, young apprentice, merely thrown. It would take much more than that to defeat Graggis. The throw angered Graggis and I suspect that is why Dagrinal ended the fight,” Sal said, smiling for the first time. “And when Graggis has his axe in hand and he is fighting for his life, it is something to behold. It is like he is possessed.”
“The other man is Dagrinal?” asked Fil.
“Yes, fourth lance of Lathrin’s ludas,” Sal said, looking at them both. In seeing their expressions he added, “A ludas is what we call a group of five hundred men. Dagrinal and another fourth lance split the ludas with Lathrin as their commander. He is working for his sword mark, and he is almost there. He is amazing with a long sword, almost as good as Prince Nelstrom.”
Jonas remembered his conversation earlier with Landon and he quickly worked out the numbers in his head. “So, Dagrinal leads his own modrig.”
“That is correct, apprentice. He leads two hundred and fifty men,” replied Sal.
They spent the better part of the next several hours exploring the castle’s inner grounds. Finally they neared the training field, which was located on the northeast section, between the outer and inner walls. It wasn’t really a field, noted Jonas, but more like a small circular road. Grass grew in the middle of the dirt road where many apprentices practiced with wooden swords.
A team of eight boys wearing black tunics embroidered with the silver symbol of the dragon were running around the track. Two other teams, the gold team wearing the black marks of the boar, and the white team wearing the mark of the lion, practiced with wooden swords on the grass. The space was large and Jonas doubted he could throw a rock across the field.