Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (15 page)

He pointed to one patron that was already particularly shaken. The man sank to his knees blubbering, tears streaming down his face. Oswald cackled evilly and urged Sampson out the door.

The best course of action would be to let well enough alone. He knew who had the stone. He could just go the other direction and not worry about it. At this point ignoring what they were facing would only manipulate them into worse situations in order to get them together. Oswald turned Sampson around until he could see the blue glow. Sure enough, it was further away, but he could still clearly see it. He urged Sampson into a run.

They were out of the city before Oswald could make out the small figure of a woman down the road. Oswald slowed Sampson a little. The dog was old after all, and they would eventually catch her. He needed to approach with caution. There was no telling how she would react to him. He knew however he approached her she would be suspicious. The last thing she needed was to run away from someone who wanted to help.

The butterflies in Erik’s stomach were not making the day go by any quicker. The more his stomach rolled, the harder his heart pounded and the more Erik concentrated on the heartbeat in his ears the slower the day progressed. The White Charger had called both Erik and Lawt to go through the final trial of Roh’Darharim today. Five years, and the day finally arrived. Erik was to go first, and he wanted to make sure his uniform was as perfect as possible. He had already run the hot iron over his orange tunic three times but another pass would not hurt.

Erik looked at his boots at the foot of the bed. Their steel capped toes gleamed, his face reflecting back in the convex mirrors. There were tiny nicks and scratches on the toe line blemishing the otherwise glass like appearance. The boots were used daily so an occasional mar occurred that no amount of buffing would undo.

He heard the familiar footsteps of his friend on the hardwood floor behind him. “You feeling any better?” Erik asked, without turning around.

“A little, just not knowing what to do is the worst part. Everyone who succeeds comes back with a bandaged hand. Why is that?” Lawt asked.

Lawt went over to his bed and began to work on his boots again. They had a lot of room in the bay these days, being the oldest class of Roh’Darharim trainees in the compound. After Geoff’s death the other people in the class had failed one trial or another. Only himself, Lawt, Arlif, and John were left.

John was just barely hanging on. Compared to an ordinary man his talents would be exceptional but the Roh’Darharim’s standards were much higher. He excelled in the more scholarly aspects. He could recite heraldic symbols and court etiquette while writing treatises for the priests of Beshra. He proved again and again that he was the smartest of the four but that was where his expertise ended. He could survive in the wilderness but had a tough time following tracks that were only a few days old. John worked every day at sparring but seemed to take the first hour to grasp concepts he had mastered the day before. His failures began to take their toll on his spirits and his temper was on a short leash.

Arlif struggled in more personal ways. He had gotten over the stigma he had against Lawt and went out of his way to correct new trainees about the finer points of Lawt’s qualities, most of the time in a violent fashion. When Rovan had informed them that the White Charger was calling on Erik and Lawt, Arlif took it as a personal insult. He had spent most of the day away from the barracks.

In honor of the occasion they had all been given the day off. So much for John relaxing. He had not been seen since daybreak and his weapons were missing. He would not be cut for lack of effort.

Erik smiled as Lawt made another mad dash out of the barracks. The man had been running outside since breakfast. It was time for Erik to get prepared for his final trial.

Rovan walked into the room just as Erik clasped his belt around his waist. His stately, quiet pace told Erik he was not here for a routine inspection. Could he make this more torturous?

“Erik of Armeston, foal of Istan Tal’Griovahi, your sire has arrived to escort you to the White Charger.”

“Thank you, Herdmaster. I am ready to be presented,” Erik replied, following ceremony.

Erik followed Rovan out of the barracks. In the middle of the quad Istan stood waiting for him with an entire congregation of watchers lining the large square. Erik had joined in on these congregations before. There was not much too it from an observer’s perspective, a trainee walking out of the barracks towards their sire, then out of the quad. It was more the acknowledgment than the anticipation and watching a recruit fulfilling his journey was their show of respect.

“Erik of Armeston, regardless of what transpires this afternoon, you should know that I am proud of you,” Istan said. “You take the final trial of your journey into the Roh’Darharim. I will walk with you to show you the way but you must talk with the White Charger alone. Understand, you must do all that he asks of you.”

“Yes, sir.”

Erik followed Istan out of the square. They walked up the path that led past the giant stables and across the main training arenas. The small trail led them to the base of the mountain that overlooked most of the training grounds. Erik could see the stream of smoke drifting into the sky from the small secluded house on the mountain side.

“That is the Hall of the White Charger,” Istan said with a smile.

“That?” Erik did not mean for the shock he felt to come tumbling out of his mouth. “I thought the old man who lived there was a servant of the school. I have seen him walking around during wilderness training. He does not carry himself the way a great man like the White Charger should carry himself. Is this part of the test? See if I am still such a bumpkin that I will believe anything?”

“No.” Istan took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair before looking Erik in the eyes. “That is the Hall. The Charger is usually a very humble man. In all your chores, were you ever told to clean a massive hall with a giant throne? “

Istan made a good point there. Erik and Lawt had cleaned every room on the compound hundreds of times. “So what do I do now?”

“Follow the trail up to his house. When you get there, knocking on the door would probably let him know that you have arrived. Remember to do everything asked of you.”

Erik entered the tree line at the base of the mountain and walked up alone with his thoughts. The journey took longer than anticipated but the walking helped calm his nerves. When he reached the tiny house he looked around. A large pile of wood was the source of the constant stream of smoke visible down in the training grounds.  Erik turned around to look back the way he came. The valley lay below him with the buildings of the training grounds displayed like a constellation, a beautiful sight in its simplicity. A self-contained village snuggled softly by this hidden valley.

Erik approached the door slowly as his stomach took a lurching heave to the left. His jitters came back with a vengeance. He wiped his forehead and knocked with purpose. Nobody answered. Did the old man forget his appointment? Erik jumped excitedly on his toes a few times to work out his increasing anxiety and knocked again.

The door opened a crack. “What is it that you want?” an old voice demanded in the shadows of the small hut.

“Please, sir, I have been sent to present myself this day before the White Charger for admittance into the brotherhood of Roh’Darharim.”

The door opened fully and the old man Erik had seen so many times in the woods and in the compound stood in front of him. This was the first time Erik had seen him this close. The man’s face was mapped with careworn wrinkles, all of which seemed to connect to each other and met at his bright eyes. His thinning white hair on top matched his long white beard, neatly ending near the middle of his chest. His presence belied his small stature. He came up to Erik’s chest but he stood like a man who knew the power he held. When Erik had seen him before he had worn a plain tan tunic and pants, occasionally adding a cloak in the colder seasons. Today he gleamed in a long white robe trimmed in gold with a red belt catching the middle.

“You look nervous, boy,” The old man said.

“I am, sir.”

“Very formal of you, very formal. Do you think all this formality befits men like us?”

“Sir, it would be a dishonor to you if I did not defer to your standing in regards to the Roh’Darharim. You are to be held to the highest esteem.”

“Eh… Very well. I suppose if we must, we must. I am no different than any man. We all have strengths. We all have flaws.”

“No other man is the White Charger, sir,” Erik replied.

“You are very polite and I have forgotten my manners. Come in and enjoy my fire.”

Erik was still a little warm from his hike up the mountain but stepped in without hesitation. The small fireplace in the hearth made the room uncomfortably warm. On the opposite wall of the fire a wool blanket was strewn over a small bed. Except for the corner hidden from Erik’s view by a purple curtain every other inch of wall was lined with shelves. These shelves were crammed with books and scrolls and random bits of paper. The ceiling was covered with different sized maps of various cities, baronies, earldoms, dukedoms, and countries. Scroll cases were piled in corners and small stacks of paper could be found in random places on the floor. In the middle of the room was a table with clean tea cups and framed with two chairs. That curtain kept Erik’s attention. It was meant to hide something and he wanted to know what it was.

“Welcome to my home, Erik,” The old man said closing the door.

“You certainly have a lot of books, sir. Have you read them all?”

“Most of them. There are a few that were gifts from people who thought they were important. Their memoirs, I guess. Those I usually keep on upper shelves I can’t reach, a convenient excuse not to read them. We should have some tea while we talk. Would you mind making some? Everything you need is next to the fire.”

Erik walked over to the fire place and scrounged up the materials. A coal popped as he placed the kettle on to boil. It would take a while for the water to heat up so Erik prepared the cups and tea strainers with the aromatic herbs set aside for him. When the water was ready he placed the strainers in the cups and poured the steaming water over the metal baskets. The smell of that first hint of steam beckoned his mouth to enjoy the coming treat. Erik carried the tea over The White Charger for his consideration.

“Now I am supposed to ask you all kinds of questions to ensure you’re ready for the duties of a Roh’Darharim. This is a very tedious part. I only really have one. Are you ready to give up everything to complete the Roh’Darharim’s first priority?” the White Charger asked taking a sip. The wrinkles in the old man’s face betrayed the enjoyment of the beverage while his countenance remained solemn.

“A Roh’Darharim’s first priority is to protect all people. No one is worth more or less protection because of their standing. We must guard against arrogance in determining what is best for anyone. While there is a hierarchy of nobility which practice laws to protect belongings and organize people for the betterment of civilization, we must remain neutral in political skirmishes, unless it is determined beyond doubt that tyranny is the rule of law. All people must choose what is best for themselves,” Erik recited.

“You memorized that nicely, but what does it mean to
you
?”

Erik never had truly thought about the words. He had them drilled into his head since the first few days being here. He had spoken them almost every day at every lesson. “It means I have to understand that my own biases and opinions are nothing. I do not use my abilities for what I deem is right. My biases and opinions may blind me to what is best in the long run. I have to be aware that it is not my job to be judge and executioner. My job is to act only when I am certain my actions are right.”

“That is correct, Erik, but it is a double edged sword. No one is above their actions, not even us. However, the more followers a person has the more carefully we must tread. If we act rashly innocents might suffer. If we act too slowly innocents will definitely suffer. Case in point, there is an incident in the woods of Tredale. You find a man stabbed in the back with a dagger. You know the man who owns the dagger and the man has confessed to the crime. You do not know if the man is a good or evil person. You do know that he cares for an elderly woman and three little children. Justice demands the man’s life be forfeit but if you kill him those four other innocents will suffer or die.”

This was a ridiculous question. In what kind of circumstance would Erik find himself presiding over a confessed murderer that was so needed? The light flickered in Erik’s mind. This was a leading question. “If I find the man who killed my mother I may harm innocents if I avenge her. That is, if I am Roh’Darharim. If others could be injured for my personal quest for vengeance I am also wrong.”

Compassion melted onto the old man’s face. “You asked to be trained to fulfill this one goal. Would you give up the one item that drives you in order to be Roh’Darharim?”

Erik did not answer the question immediately. “You want me to give up my life in service to others, and give in to this as well.”

“You do not have to be Roh’Darharim,” The old man said. “You have finished all your training. You will be trusted to leave the training grounds. You could have any life you want out there. Ghost would have to stay of course, but we would take care of him until he dies of old age, and you will know when it is about to happen. You can make the proper emotional and mental preparations when that time comes.”

Erik sighed. The last five years had dulled the pain and Erik had grown since the day he rang the bell for admittance. “I will be Roh’Darharim, White Charger.”

The old man’s smile cracked, showing teeth as he raised his teacup from his saucer. “Oh bother, my tea has gone cold.” The man put down his cup looking at Erik. The pools of his eyes engulfed Erik and he heard the next words boom into his mind. “Get me a coal from the fire, Roh’Darharim.”

The title jolted Erik from his seat. He needed that coal. He walked to the fire and reached for the tongs.

“Not with those, with your hand.”

Erik swept up a coal into his hand. The pain shocked him and the muscles in his hands quivered trying to drop the coal. Erik forced himself to cross the room and deposited the coal onto the old man’s saucer.