Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga) (9 page)

At this Render paused and regarded his tutor, though Edwyn, too engrossed in the paintings, did not reciprocate.  "Am I not learning to your satisfaction?"

"Quite the contrary.  I have never had a student that I needed to warn off from working so hard.  You stay up at all hours, unless I find you and send you to bed.  You drive yourself twice if not thrice as hard as most ordinary students.  All this work is admirable, but—"

"I was a slave.  Or have you so soon forgotten?"  Edwyn looked up.   Render smiled and pointed to his paintings, to his lute on the table next to his history books and his poetry.  "This is not work.  This is joy.  Freedom."

His mentor returned the smile and clapped him on the shoulder.  "Would that all my students took your view."

"All my life, Sir Edward, I have felt I was meant to be someone of worth.  Not by fame or acclaim, mind you.  Just something more than a slave.  Someone who, before he dies, will have left some kind of mark, no matter how small, on this world.  Of this I am certain: I wasn't destined to live and die without purpose."

"And just what purpose would that be, young squire?"

"It was my hope that you could help me discover this."

"Perhaps I shall." Edwyn stretched his hand to the open door.  "But not tonight."

Only torch and candle light illuminated the stone hallways of the castle.  The sweet smell of wax filled Render's senses as they walked.  Their shoes made the only sounds other than their scarce words.   Render spoke quietly if at all.  "What of you, Sir Edywn?"

"What of me?"

"You never speak of yourself.  Surely you have discovered your purpose in life by now."  They reached Render's chamber, which thankfully he shared with no one.  Edwyn unlatched the door and it creaked open.  He gestured for Render to go inside.  "Well?"

"Perhaps another time, Master Render."

"But—"

"Good night."

Trying to hide his disappointment, he took a deep breath and inclined his head.  "Good night, Sir Edwyn."

Carefully, lest the ancient hinges awaken all nearby, Render shut the large wooden door.  With his back against it, he took a deep breath and set his candle on the desk next to him.  He went to light the lamp near the bed when he noticed the cool sheet of moonlight flooding through the open window.  So pleasing was this light that he decided blow out his candle and gaze outside. 

From his window he beheld the moon and stars above, and the high wall of the citadel below.  Not long ago, he had lived outside the walls of this great and ever-expanding Torian capital.  

A lifetime ago.

Now, he lived in the castle of the Lord Agon.  Neither slave nor servant, nor a ragged boy scraping the floor for a morsel.  He was Master Render, a knight in training, royal ward of the High King Corigan.

As he drew the curtains, shutting out all light, something dropped to the ground.  

"Hello?"  Instead of the lamp, he reached under the pillow for his dagger.  Steadily, Render got to his feet.  Squinted into the blackness as he drew his blade.

He was not alone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The edge of Sir Mooregaard's broadsword glinted in the moonlight.  Just moments before it came slicing down over Kaine's neck.  Letting out a terrified gasp, Kaine felt a surge of fear rush from the bottom of his feet straight up his mail-clad back.

"No!"  Kaine fell onto his side and rolled.

Mooregaard's sword hit the pavement, a finger's width from his ear.    Sparks flew as it scraped the stone, sending pebbles and dust into Kaine's face.  The loud clang echoed in his head.  He leapt to his feet and spun his own broadsword around his head and pointed it forward.

"Had I not been so charitable, Master Kaine, you would have stood a head shorter."

Kaine laughed nervously. "Not your charity, but my speed." 

Pale beams from a very full moon painted the walls and floor of the courtyard, illuminating a vulnerable position on Mooregaard's left.  With both hands, Kaine swung his broadsword for a swift cut at his opponent's forearms, sure to relieve the black knight of at least one of his hands. 

If only things went as expected.

In an instant, Mooregaard parried the attack with such force it knocked Kaine off his feet and onto his side, then flat on his back. 

Again. 

Barely enough time to react, he felt the wind of a blade thrusting down into his face.  A brutal way to die.  He shut his eyes even as the blade came smashing down, crushing, piercing.

Mooregaard scoffed.  "So much for speed!" 

 Kaine touched his forehead, felt around for the blade that must be impaling it.  But the absences of wet, sticky blood and pain permitted him to open his eyes.  He turned his face upon his left check and felt the rough stone surface of the floor as well as something cold and smooth.  All he could see was the reflection of his own eyes in the sword, still wobbling as it stood stabbing the stone brick on the ground.

Sir Mooregaard grabbed Kaine by the wrist and pulled him to his feet with such force Kaine feared his arm would dislodge.  "As I said, young squire," Mooregaard said, laughing heartily, "Charity."

 "Considering you twice nearly relieved me of my head, I'll agree."  Kaine bent down and retrieved his sword and sheathed it at his side.  "But at this rate, your charity will be the only way I will ever become a knight."

"And you know this based upon what point of reference?" Mooregaard came over and put his arm over Kaine's shoulder.  He thought he might collapse under the weight of his mentor's arm.  "How long have you been training?"

"A month or so."

"Have I any other students in my court?"

"Well, Sir, I...No, you do not."  He wondered about Render, Stewan and Folen.  So engrossed in his training, Kaine had only now thought of his brother and the twins.

"Have you ever tested your mettle against another?"

"I have not."

"Then all you know is that you are not superior to me."  At last, Mooregaard took back his arm.  He then clapped Kaine on the back, nearly tripping him face-first onto the ground.  "Do you think it coincidence that you are my sole pupil?"

"The Lady Volfoncé said that it was because of my age."

"And what does age have to do with it?"

He didn't know, never thought to question it.  Kaine shrugged.

"Your deductive facilities concern me more than your combat skills." Mooregard, who towered over Kaine, gestured to the fire pit in the center of the courtyard.  To the fire he followed the Don, the chief knight of The Order of the Scarlet Pendragon.  The knight's formidable shadow, cast from the dancing flames, took a strange form which barely resembled its owner.  Kaine rubbed his eyes and blinked.  But it stretched out of sight.  He stopped at the fire and waved Kaine over with impatience.

"You exhibit the qualities of a fine leader in the army of the High King.  Even so, you must prove your worth.  Your loyalty.  You must know all that is at stake before you commit to so noble an enterprise."

"And now, Master Kaine," Mooregaard grasped his shoulders, just as Kaine had imagined his own father might have.  Mooregaard swelled with pride and gazed straight into his yes.  "You are ready to know the truth."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

A cold bead of sweat crept down Render's back.  Someone or something lurked in the room, of that there could be no doubt.  A scraping sound caused the hairs on his neck to stand.  If it were a rat, it must be of a monstrous size.  And if it were a thief or assassin, it must be very light on his feet. 

Render unsheathed his dagger and reached over for the curtain.  The lamp and sword lay across the room. 

Out of reach.

Even breathing felt too dangerous.  With his dagger pointed blindly into the middle of the darkness he grasped the corner of the curtain between his fingertips.  In just a moment he would flood the darkness with moon beams and confront the intruder.

Stillness.

It's probably the wind, he thought.  But even as he exhaled, something hit the table knocking things onto the ground.  Without wasting another second, Render threw open the curtain.  In an instant, bright moonlight filled the room.  He jabbed his dagger into the air, swung around, searched for the intruder.

Nothing.

No one.

"Hang it all!"  It couldn't have been his imagination.  Render tried to slow his shallow breaths.  Sure enough, lying there on the cold stone floor was his candle, separated from its pewter stand.  He bent down to pick it up and then thought he heard something behind him.

On his bed.

With his heart pounding in his chest, he tightened his grip on the handle of his dagger.

Behind him, a soft, rumbling sound pulsed.  Slow, steady.

In one swift move Render spun around and thrust his dagger forward.

"Aha!"

There, resting on the pillow was the intruder.  It's greenish-blue eyes calmly examining him.

"What?  Where did you—?"

The black cat lifted her head and stood up on all fours.  She then yawned, leaning downwards on her forepaws, tail pointed up, and stretched.  Eyes affixed on Render, she moved just slightly above the pillow's edge. 

"Wait," said Render approaching her.  "Aren't you that cat...back at the cave at Smyth's Hill?"  Again, she lifted her head and regarded him with such clear eye contact Render could have sworn she was answering him.  He just knew. 

Then she sat, coiled herself up again, looked at Render, down at the pillow, and again back at Render.  The purring started again and she rested her head over her paws.

"What in all of creation?"

She must have climbed the wall and the tree just outside the window.  A million speculations floated in his mind.  But Render found himself too tired to sift through them all.  He sheathed his dagger and placed it on the table.

The cat, though she rested her head on his pillow, continued to eye him.  As if she were waiting for him.

"What? You think I should get some rest?  You're not my mother, you know."  The expression never meant anything to him before.  But this time it caused a twinge in his heart.  He had never known his mother.  What she looked like when she smiled, how she would speak tenderly to him.  He whispered, "Not my mother..."

At that her ears flattened, eyes narrowed, and gave a guttural growl.

"Fine."  He lifted the blanket and prepared to get into bed, but the cat did not move.  "Oh, come on now."  She shut her eyes and ignored him.  Annoyed, Render tried to nudge her.  Then he tried to lift her but strange as it seemed, he could not.  Her eyes still shut, it almost seemed like she was smiling.  Right.  As if a cat could smile.

"Bother that." Render simply climbed in and put his head on the pillow just beneath the cat who, to his great annoyance, insisted on resting a warm paw on top of his head, no matter how many times he moved it away.

Even so, her presence came as a welcome surprise since he hadn't really seen anyone for weeks.  Stewan and Folen lived and studied in an entirely different part of the castle.  And Branson, thankfully was never around.  Besides the weekly communal dinner, Render lived in solitude most of the day.

Despite his annoyance, the undulating purrs and warmth from the cat comforted him.  Since his former life as a slave there hadn't been any of the ubiquitous cats to whom he'd grown so accustomed to, save for the one Sir Edwyn had shooed away the first day Render walked through the citadel. 

To be completely honest, he missed them.

Perhaps I'll keep her.

Though, it seemed, she had already decided to keep him.  Nevertheless, as fulfilling as these days of training and education were, a companion would be welcome now. 

Only one concern surfaced as he drifted off.  Something made painfully obvious the last time he went to the market with Sir Edwyn.

He detests cats.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Seated by the fire ring with The Lord Mooregaard, who had just nearly decapitated him, Kaine trembled in anticipation.  "My Lord," he said, "For what truth am I ready?"

Mooregaard paced behind him, slowly, back and forth.  "Before I tell you, you must answer a few questions.  And with complete honesty.  Can you do this?"

Kaine turned to face him.  "I think so."

"Very well then."  Mooregaard stopped, and stood before him with one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.  "By our very nature, we are beings ruled by belief.  Wouldn't you agree?"

"Well, Sir, I—"

"Belief, however subjective, is ruled by choice, by perception.  For example, what do you believe yourself to be?  A boy?  Or a man?"

Kaine pondered the question, unsure of how best to answer.  "Well, I am of age.  So I suppose that would make me..."

"Quickly, think not too long upon it."

"A man.  Yes, I am a man."

"And not a boy."

"A man, Sir."

Mooregaard's chest swelled as he took in a deep breath.  "Had you answered any other way, I'd have been disappointed.  Indeed, you are a boy no longer.  Particularly because you have proven yourself an able fighter.  And judging by your many victories in the game of Leit, you are most perceptive in the ways of strategy."

Though pleased by the affirmation, Kaine began to perspire.  The heat from the fire ring grew increasingly uncomfortable.  But he dared not move.  Not just now.

"As a man, my dear Kaine you shall be defined not so much by your words, nor by the beliefs you profess.  Nay, you shall be defined by your actions and choices.  Particularly the difficult ones, the ones of ambiguous nature."

"I see."  But all he really saw was the vision of himself a minute or two from now, burning as the flames melted his flesh.  The flames from the fire ring were getting too hot.  "Lord Mooregaard, if you don't mind terribly—"

"Do not interrupt.  We discuss matters of grave importance.  Now then.  On to the questions."