Spellscribed Tales: First Refrain (4 page)

The messenger smirked. Catching the expression out of the corner of her eye, Joven's mother stepped in front of her husband and popped her knuckles.

"I'll do it." she said seriously, popping her neck with a practiced tilt of the head. Joven couldn't see the look on her face, but the guardsman blanched, unconsciously taking a half step backwards.

"That won't be necessary!" the frightened man said hurriedly. "It was just unusual for someone so young to make that kind of claim!"

Leona tilted her head the other way, popping her neck again. "I'll stand witness to it. So will my husband."

Daelen looked from Leona to the messenger, his wife unable to see the proud expression he had. He shrugged at the man, who barely nodded his head in a
 subtle gesture of understanding. Balatoran women were strong and forceful, and Leona was as strong and forceful as they came. That, and it was rumored among the soldiery in the army that Leona had been witnessed crushing a steel helm into a crumpled mess with one hand. She had a bit of a reputation as a terrifying brawler, and of the married couple, there was no doubt which of the two was more likely to win against six armed men with their bare hands.

"You heard her." Daelen said. "Please inform the king that my guardian is preparing, and will be completing his training in five years."

"Five years?" the guard asked. "And he's only halfway done? Very well. I'll relay the message."

The armored men departed, and Leona slammed the door closed and locked it.

"Well that's the best news I've heard since you were promoted to Field Commander." Leona commented, embracing her husband. Joven stood to the side, barely able to contain his excitement. There was going to be a Spengur! And even better, there was a chance he would be the Guardian!

"See, son?" Daelen replied. "That's why we keep training. You never know when the call will come."

Joven smiled broadly, revealing a toothy grin. "It's going to happen!" he said enthusiastically. "I'll be the first of our line to watch over the Spengur in over three generations!"

"Yes, son.
I'm very proud to see you inherit the family's obligation." Daelen said. He turned to look down the hallway to the bedrooms. "Balen! Talen! Get out here!"

Balen arrived almost instantly, his door flying open. Talen sauntered in, taking his time.

"So we just received news from the king." Leona said, a smile on her face. "There's going to be a Spengur!"

Talen
 appeared unconcerned, but Balen looked worried.

"Do... do I have to watch the Spengur?" Balen asked. "I'm almost done with my training."

Daelen shook his head. "No, son. You've made it clear you wanted to follow me into pure military service. You've already started making an impression in some of my subordinates, so I will not pull you from that."

He looked over his sons. "Joven is the only one who has trained with dedication to
 taking on this duty. He hasn't started his required service yet, but next year it begins. He will not be serving to improve his rank, but to get as much useful experience as possible."

"What about me?" Talen asked. "You don't have a plan for me?"

Daelen sighed. "Talen..." he started. "You have always chosen your own path. Do what you feel is right for you. All I require is that you don't bring dishonor to our name."

Talen nodded, and Joven could see that there was something beneath the smile Talen gave. "Ah." Talen replied, the confusion he felt only seen for a split second before he covered it up with a mask again.

"All right children. Get some sleep. Balen, wake Joven when you rise. Take him with you to maneuvers tomorrow, and show him what you've been doing."  Daelen instructed, putting an arm around his wife's waist. "Talen, I trust your training is going well?"

"Yeah."
Talen replied dismissively. "Fine."

"Okay.
Joven?"

"Yes?"

Daelen waved a hand. "Get to bed. Your training is picking up again tomorrow, and it's only going to get harder."

"Yes father!" Joven exclaimed, rushing to get to bed. He knew he was too excited
 to sleep well that night, but he had to try. He was going to follow Balen's day and Daelen said nothing about him not having to do his own training, so he assumed he would have to do both. It was going to be a long, exhausting day.

Chapter 04: Ten Years Ago

"You need to get your armor resized again?" Leona complained. "I just did a refitting last month!"

Joven shrugged. "Must be all those hearty meals you feed me." He replied.

Joven had indeed grown considerably. While he had been compact and sturdy as a child, he had only built up from there. Now, he had the build and strength that the best men in Ironsoul could only hope to have. Only ten years of dedication to exercise, real combat, and precision designed training could have forged him into the six foot tall, 250 pound man he was.

He wasn't done growing though; if he was anything like his brother Balen, he'd not reach his full height and weight until he reached nineteen or twenty. He still had three years to go.

Leona sighed. "You're lucky your father and I had to do this with Balen and Talen already. You get to benefit from their experiences."

They were by the forge in the back near their personal training yard. Along the side of the wall was an awning protecting a table which held a massive assortment of hand tools designed for specific purposes and specific crafts; woodworking tools for weapon hafts, metal etching and grinding stones for blades and axeheads, and punches, needles, and cords for leatherwork.

Joven grinned. "Would you be able to get it adjusted quickly? I hear the Ergkinoa are being forced to make a decision."

Leona started stripping the studded leather armor off her son and clucked her tongue as she started adjusting the armor; selecting the right tools to make very minor changes to the design to accommodate his increased size.

"I'll have to re-tool the straps, probably shave off some of the padding leather around the collar. Could take a few hours." Leona replied. "So the king got tired of their delaying? Took him six years."

"Well to be fair, they first had to sort out when the eclipse was going to happen." Joven replied. "They say it could be within the next decade."

"A decade?" Leona asked, incredulous. "I thought with the stars having fallen out of the sky and all, it would have been sooner."

Joven shrugged, pulling on a shirt. "I don't know." He replied. "Prophecies are hard to understand, since they're not written down."

"Something we need a Spengur for, eh?" Leona asked, winking. Joven flashed her a smile.

"Yup." he said, "I guess now we'll see who gets to watch over the man."

"Or woman." Leona chided. "We've had three female Spengur, if my memory serves."

"Oh, right." Her son admitted. "Sorry, forgot."

Leona rolled her eyes. "Go. I've got this. I won't be done till tonight, but that shouldn't be a problem if you're just going to spectate. Try not to get into any heavy fighting."

Joven nodded, leaving the house. The light blue
 shirt was sleeved, which he hated. The cloth always seemed to bunch up or get in the way, and he'd ended up tearing the sleeves off all his favorite shirts, if he wore them more than once. It wasn't a waste. He'd turned them into a fine collection of different colored bandages, in case he needed them. He figured he probably would.

It was cold up on the mountain, but he'd been used to it for a long time now. He apparently wasn't as resistant to the chill as his brother Balen was; that man went bare-chested more often than not, no matter the weather.

Joven took off at a trot, jogging down the streets of the city. He had to make his way up several bowls, which included many ramps and checkpoints. He wanted a horse, but after Talen's horse nearly kicked Daelen in the head, his father had made him promise that he wouldn't own one until he tamed it himself. He had an eye on one in particular; an ornery warhorse that the breeder had been trying to sell for over a year, but the beast's attitude made him difficult to work with. If he could tame that one, he would be able to prove to his brother Talen that it wasn't as hard as he made it out to be.

Owning any kind of animal in Balator was tough. First they had to be of a breed that could handle the high altitude, thin air, and constant cold that the barbarians had been adjusting to for over 800 years. Then they could be correctly trained. But in general, they liked their animals feisty. Joven remembered the dog from over ten years ago and scowled. He'd wasted an otherwise useful animal when he’d killed it. He wondered if he had been trying to knock it down and broke
it's neck accidentally.

It took him nearly an hour to get up to the seventh bowl. While foot traffic was usually heavy around the military sections of the sixth bowl, hundreds of people were cramming up into the seventh bowl. Word of Gurn's deadline had spread through the city like an avalanche, and it was
 impossible to find a vantage point.

"Joven!" a voice called out to him. It was familiar, but Joven couldn't place it until he spotted the arm waving to him from the crowd.

"Korvos!" Joven replied, waving. "I knew you'd be here!"

The man named Korvos pushed through the crowd to stand in front of him. It wasn't hard as he was easily as strong as Joven. The two men clasped hands with a grin.

"Of course I was going to show," Korvos replied. "Only way to prove who's next, once and for all!"

Korvos had run into Joven several years before while he was also training to be a guardian. The second son of Dravik of the Rathe bloodline, he had been young enough to train for the position and old enough to be two years Joven's senior. Their training had intersected several times over the last six years, since both the Rathe and Rothel bloodline training regimens were nearly identical.

Joven laughed. "Yep. When did you get here?"

"About an hour ago."
Korvos replied. "Got a place over by the sparring yard staked out with a good view of the front doors. Come on, you can stand with us."

Joven nodded, and pushed through the crowd after his friendly rival. When he arrived, he spotted several others of the Rathe bloodline standing around, making room for Korvos. His three brothers
 and four sisters were there, as well as their father, Davik, and grandfather, Grask, who had managed to retire several years before. Joven thought he recognized one of Davik's brothers hanging around nearby in the crowd.

Unlike Joven's family, Korvos' family was expanding, while his was shrinking.
Only three sons and no daughters, uncles or aunts. It wasn't Daelen's fault that his mother died in childbirth with him, but it had greatly cut into the family line. Perhaps Korvos wasn't aware of the statement they were making by letting Joven stand with them, but Davik was sure to.

Joven leaned on the wooden fence separating the Ergkinoa's training yard from the rest of the world. Even with the crowds forming, the Ergkinoa still practiced and taught like nothing was happening. A couple of young girls sat along one side of the yard against their great hall, being recited a story by an elderly woman. Joven tried to listen in as he waited, but the sounds of the crowd milling around him made picking out the details almost impossible.

"She's telling the story of King Turk's rise to power as the fourth to take the throne by force." a woman's voice came to him from his side. A young woman in bleached white winter clothing stood on the other side of the fence, smiling at him, her blue eyes mirthful. Joven noted her hair was shoulder length blonde, nearly the same length and color as his. "It's a good story."

Joven nodded. "I've never heard it before." he replied. "I'd like to hear it sometime."

The woman slowed her approach, a frown crossing her face. "I thought everyone was taught the lineage of kings." she replied, concerned.

Joven raised an eyebrow. "When do they teach that lesson?"

The woman stopped a few feet from the fence. "Usually on the month of their fourteenth birthday, with emphasis on the kings who had the same totem as theirs."

Joven snapped a finger. "Ah." he replied. "I was hip deep in the wolfman attack on Winterhearth my fourteenth birthday.
Got the scars to prove it."

The woman seemed concerned, but no longer at him. She walked over to the fence and leaned against it a few feet in front of him.

"You were fighting Wolfmen at 14?" she asked. "That's a little unusual."

"I'm Joven, son of Daelen, of the line of Rothel." He replied. "Our training is... more intense than your regular warrior."

Recognition dawned on her. "Ah!" she exclaimed, clapping her gloved hands together. "You're one of the guardians!"

"Yep." he replied, giving her a broad grin.

She smiled at him. "I'm Anna." she said. "It makes sense now! Of course, it's possible you'd miss lessons, but didn't you get to sit in on any others?"

Joven shrugged.
"Never got the chance to make it up. After Winterhaven, I was sent with my brother to Furie's Crossing for the Bloodfrost Rebellion. After that, it just kind of slipped my mind."

Anna sighed. "Ah, and here I thought you were flirting." she said, giving him a wink.

Joven hesitated. "Uh....nope?" he replied uncertainly.

Anna laughed, patting the fence with a hand. "Good man." she replied.

"So, do you know who's going to be chosen?" Joven asked.

Anna's face darkened. "I don't." she replied. "Some of the memories are muddled by the years. We've never had such a long time between Spengur, and one of our eldest died before passing along all of her histories. The elders have been arguing over it as much as they are trying to collaborate on what they do know."

“And you didn't have any of them?" he asked.

She shook her head. "I'm too young." she replied. "Only the elder Ergkinoa are taught the line of Spengur.
And the Draugnoa."

"
The who?"

Anna half-shrugged.
"The Spengur's wives."

"Oh." Joven replied. "How are those decided?"

"That's much simpler." Anna replied. "You pick several prospective Draugnoa and then they perform various tasks to prove they are suitable to serve."

"That's it?" Joven asked.

"There are also fights." Anna added. "Matches to prove who's the most competent of fighters. The Spengur's life is fraught with danger, and the Ergkinoa don't like having to replace their lost members very often."

"Fights."
Joven said. "I like that way of solving it."

The Ergkinoa rolled her eyes. "Of course you do." she replied.
"Fight, fight, fight all the time! Never have time to learn any of the higher arts."

Joven scoffed.
"Hardly true." He replied. "I bet I know something you don't."

"What's that?"

"How to read." He replied.

She scowled at him, but the twinkle in her eyes told him she was amused. "Bah!" she exclaimed.
"Foiled again by centuries of oral tradition."

Joven shrugged. "Hey, nobody's perfect."

Korvos turned from a conversation with his family and spotted Joven at the fence. He sidled up, shaking his head.

"You know they can't marry right?" his rival teased.

Joven waved a hand dismissively. "Can't marry." he replied. "The law doesn't say they can't do anything else."

Anna blushed. "Joven!" she exclaimed indignantly.

Joven grinned again. "Only joking!" he protested.

Korvos shook his head. "You two look like siblings. You sure you're not related?"

Anna shook her head. "No." she replied. "I grew up in Winterhaven."

Joven glanced at her, surprised.

"My parents wouldn't have a home anymore if this offensive lug and his family hadn't been there a few years ago." She continued. "So, I think I can tolerate a little good natured ribbing."

Korvos chuckled, patting Joven on the back. "Yeah," he replied. "Kid's got more battle experience than many of our adults."

"Kid?" Joven asked, turning to him. "That's a stretch considering you're only two years older than me."

"Two years and two months." Korvos replied. 

The crowds around them quieted suddenly, and the two prospective guardians turned to look. The king and his guards descended from the ramps of the eighth bowl. The people assembled parted as he approached, filling back in after he passed.

The king, a man in his fifties, was one of the biggest men on Balator. Almost seven feet tall, his profile was only made more massive by the black plate armor he wore. A simple crown of steel adorned his head, pushing his hair back from his head. The man's face was hard and intense. Though he wore no weapons, his men were all armed with heavy blades.

His son, Kalenden, followed in his wake. Dressed similarly, it was obvious that he had inherited Gurn's build and features. He did wear a sword, a weapon with over-sized serrations. The only thing that could really mark the difference between the two were Gurn's graying hair and Kalenden's sneer.

The king approached the front doors of the Ergkinoa's hall, and they opened before he got within a dozen paces. From within, three elderly women emerged, their white dresses covered with heavy winter coats to protect their aging bodies from the cold.

"Your highness." the lead woman said, her voice easily breaching the silence. "I am..."