The Cavalier (16 page)

Four days into their march to Finarth, Fil, Jonas, and Allindrian were sparring in a clearing by their camp.
 
“You must get your arms stronger, Fil,” Allindrian admonished calmly as she sidestepped his clumsy stroke, smacking him on his left shoulder. Fil stumbled to the ground exhausted, but slowly got back up to his feet, panting heavily. “Swordsmen must first master their strength, not their blade. A strong back, stomach, and arms will allow faster and more powerful strokes, and those muscles are also needed to maintain balance. Your lungs must be strong in order to fight long drawn out battles.
 
And we must not neglect the mind; it is the strongest muscle of all. A confident warrior, who thinks not of defeat, but of victory, is a warrior to reckon with. But you should start with strengthening your body first, and your mind will follow. It is like a home built of wood. The outside may look beautiful, but if the foundation and frame are not strong then it will weather poorly and fall down in a heavy storm.”

“Our bodies are the foundation?” asked Fil, readying his stick again, assuming the start position that she had taught him.

“Precisely. It matters not how many fancy moves you have. If you are not strong and fast with powerful lungs, then you will be killed in battle if you face opponents that have mastered their mind and body,” Allindrian added as they began to slowly circle each other, their sticks held before them.

Fil was tired and sweating heavily, but Allindrian was calm, seemingly unaffected by the constant dueling. She struck out quickly and Fil parried the stroke, trying the parry she had taught him. Again he was not quick enough and her stick was a blur, deflecting the defensive move and smacking him heavily on his wrist. With a grunt he dropped the stick.

Jonas, who had been watching the session, grimaced as her stick made a solid thud as it struck Fil’s wrist. Fil bit back the pain, grabbing the stick from the ground.

“That is enough for now, Fil. Well done. Now, Jonas, it is your turn,” Allindrian smiled as she faced him. Jonas stepped into the circle and held up his stick.

In just four days of training, Fil and Jonas had made good progress. They mastered a few training positions, parries, and offensive moves. Their arms were not yet accustomed to the movements that they were learning and they often went to bed at night with sore muscles and bruises from Allindrian’s stick. They would hear the warriors laugh every time Allindrian smacked them hard on the body, but, even after a few days, it became apparent that Jonas was much better than Fil with a sword, even if it was just a stick. He was quick and agile, and he did not tire as fast as Fil. The constant running, walking, and climbing he had been doing for the last two months had made Jonas’s muscles strong and fast.

Jonas thrived on the physical exertion, often staying up late into the night quietly going through the forms she had taught him. He began to do various exercises to strengthen his arms, stomach, and legs. Allindrian taught him certain movements that he could do alone to build muscle. A tree limb could be employed to pull his body up until his chin was level with the branch or he would lie on his back, lifting his legs off the ground and holding them steady until his stomach burned from the exertion.

This time Jonas hoped to score a touch on Allindrian. He knew that she wasn’t really trying, and he wanted to capitalize on that and surprise her with a quick touch. Jonas decided to launch an offensive attack first, before he was too tired and covered with bruises. He moved in quickly with the point of his stick, hoping to bait her to block the false attack. Allindrian swung her stick down to do just that, but Jonas rolled his stick under the parry, trying to smack Allindrian’s exposed right thigh.

He thought he had her but she suddenly wasn’t even there. She had flipped her stick from her right to her left hand and, effortlessly stepping her leg back from his attack, she swung down, smacking him hard on the right thigh, harder than normal thought Jonas. He jumped back ignoring the instinct to rub his stinging leg.

“Good idea, Jonas. That was a well-executed roll,” Allindrian praised him with a slight smile.

The three practiced hard for a while, Allindrian teaching them various moves and forms until the sun dipped its head behind the snow covered peaks forcing them to stop.

“Good work. You are both doing well. I am impressed with your dedication. Keep working on the forms and your strength and you’ll become swordsmen yet.” Allindrian had barely broken a sweat. She grinned at the two young men, who smiled broadly at her praise.

Allindrian tossed her stick to Jonas who grabbed it out of the air. The ranger smiled warmly at them both and then leaped into the darkness, melting into the forest as if she was never there.

Fil and Jonas blinked, thinking that it was the flickering firelight that was playing tricks with their eyes.

“I hate it when she does that,” remarked Fil with wonder.

“Someday, I want to be that fast,” responded Jonas.

***

The morning dawned with the promise of a beautiful spring day. The chilling mountain air was slowly being beaten down by the warm spring breeze flowing across the Finarthian hills. The rolling hills were astonishing. They were blanketed with pockets of budding oak trees and elms and the green meadows were specked with blooming mountain flowers. White spring beauties and indigo bluebells were spattered like paint on a green canvas.
 

Jonas rode ahead of the column on one of Landon’s horses. The burly captain, Cyn, rode next to him on his huge warhorse. They were both scouting ahead and Jonas was hoping to spot a nice buck so he could bring some venison to the table.

He still felt uncomfortable on a horse, never having had the opportunity to ride one, and Jonas was constantly shifting in the saddle as he tried to move with the horse’s gait. Cyn looked over at him; his sharp eyes twinkling with amusement.

“You haven’t ridden much, eh?” he stated bluntly.

Jonas sat uncomfortably with his bow resting across his lap. “No, I never have. My family was poor and we had no horses. Does it show that much?”

Cyn smiled at Jonas. “Make sure you don’t ride too long or by morning your legs and backside will be so sore you won’t be able to walk. You have to slowly get your body used to the movement. Be firm with the animal; make sure he knows who’s in control.” Cyn’s eyes scanned the forest and grasslands around them.

“What are you worried about?” asked Jonas, noticing Cyn’s constant vigilance.

“Nothing in particular, but it is my job to worry. Master Landon pays me well to make sure his caravan makes it to market. There are always brigands and bandits roaming the countryside for easy prey.”

“How long have you worked for Landon?” Jonas asked.

“About five years now. I was a soldier in the Annurien army before I was discharged for hitting a superior officer. I went looking for work and roamed the lands for three years before I found myself in Tarsis, where I met Landon.”

“Why did you hit your officer?” asked Jonas, curiosity getting the best of his manners.

“I was the captain of a unit that was fighting in a skirmish against the Oshanti tribe, near the edge of the Sithgarin Desert. We were outnumbered two to one and being flanked on both sides. I ordered my men to retreat but my commanding officer, a first rank captain, ordered us to stay while he retreated with a second force. My men and I held the Oshanti back while my commanding officer retreated to safety. Finally, knowing that if we continued fighting we would all be killed, I ordered a full out retreat. I led a hundred men into battle and only fifteen came out of that disaster alive. If we had been allowed to retreat earlier, I would have saved more than half my men. My anger turned to rage as I led my wounded and exhausted men back to camp. I walked into the captain’s tent. ‘You should have told me you’d planned a suicide mission for my troops,’ I said, and then I struck him in the face as hard as I could. I broke his jaw and knocked out some of his teeth. Nothing has felt so good in all my life,” Cyn smiled, lighting up his normally stern and battle scarred face.

“They kicked you out for that? Sounds like he had it coming,” Jonas said.

“Assaulting a higher ranking officer is punishable by death. There must be strict discipline in an army if you want the soldiers to follow orders. I was saved from execution because this dung-eating aristocrat had made similar mistakes before. The king, King Olegaurd, pardoned me, but I was discharged from the army.”

“Doesn’t seem fair.”

“Not much in life is fair, young huntsman, but I believe you are learning that the hard way.”

Jonas and Cyn rode for a while in silence, scanning the countryside for brigands and deer. Hopefully, thought Jonas, they would only find the latter.

“So how good is Allindrian, really? I mean in comparison to other master swordsmen?” asked Jonas.

Cyn smiled broadly at Jonas, exposing his chipped front teeth. “I have never seen her equal. Elves are notoriously great swordsmen, but I believe that Allindrian may even be better than most full-blooded elves, although I have met few elves in my life so I may be wrong. She is a Blade Singer, Jonas. Do you know what that is?”

“No, what is it?”

“A Blade Singer is an elf who has practiced the craft of sword fighting beyond what humans can comprehend. Very few are given the honor of going through the training, although I have no idea what that entails as it is kept a secret. They are given the name because when they fight it is like a dance, and their sword makes a singing noise as it spins through the air. They are trained in their craft for hundreds of years. When they have completed the training, they are given the rank of Blade Singer. It is a great honor, and their skills are never taught to an outsider. The sword she carries is evidence of her rank, for only a Blade Singer carries that particular sword. Some fight with two, but I have only heard tales and
have
never seen it with my own eyes. The weapons are crafted specifically for each warrior when they graduate through the training.”

“Hundreds of years? How is that?” asked Jonas.

“Elves live very long lives. I am not sure why though. I believe that a full blooded elf can live several thousand years,” responded Cyn. “Allindrian is half-elf and I’ve heard they don’t live as long, maybe several hundred years, but I’m not really sure.”

“But she is teaching us to fight, isn’t that against the rules?”

“No,” laughed Cyn. “She is not teaching you elven secrets but merely stances and moves that are taught to all beginning swordsmen.”

“If they guard those secrets carefully, then why did they teach them to a half-elf? Wouldn’t they be reserved for a full blooded elf?” asked Jonas.

“No, elves do not hold disdain for mixed bloods. It is not welcomed or sought after, but if it happens, the elven community fully accepts the half-breed, bringing them into their society. But they are not allowed to marry a pure blood or bear children, so that the elven blood will not be diluted further. If they choose to marry an outsider, then they would be banned forever from the elven lands. I do not know anything about Allindrian’s family. She keeps to herself most of the time.”

“So why is she here, with the caravan?”

“You like to ask questions, don’t you, boy?” Cyn commented amiably.

“I’m sorry, sir,” Jonas grinned sheepishly, “but I’ve lived in a desolate mountain cabin my whole life and this is all so fascinating. I want to learn about the lands and our history, to learn to fight and protect.” Jonas wanted to tell the warrior his whole story but decided that now was not the time. He would keep his secret hidden a little longer anyway.

“Worry not, son. I understand. I was not being critical. The elves of Mel’un-riam send Blade Singers out from the forests of Aur-urien to gather information on the happenings of the lands around them, and to combat threats to its people. Their goal is to help maintain balance. They also act as ambassadors for the elven kingdom. They are similar to cavaliers in a sense. Cavaliers are sent by their gods to areas that need their help. Blade Singers randomly roam the lands looking for areas of intrigue, strife, or political unrest. They represent their elven queen throughout the surrounding lands. There are very few Blade Singers
,
as it is extremely difficult to pass the tests and the training. You should feel lucky to have met Allindrian. She befriended Landon several years ago and has been traveling with us ever since. The lands are alive with unrest now with the rumors of Malbeck’s return. There are stories of orcs and goblins amassing in the Black Lands and the Mazgar Forest. Maybe she feels she can learn a lot with us since we travel the many roads of Kraawn so frequently. I am happy her sword is with us. We are much safer because of it.”

“You mentioned the elven queen. Do they not have a king?” asked Jonas.

“Yes, they do. His name is Skywise Ell-Runore, protector of the Aur-urien Forest. But my understanding is that all female elves have an affinity with their queen and that she alone directs and controls the Blade Singers. I do not know any details of elven politics. They keep to themselves mostly and I’ve only met a few in my life, and what I’m telling you is more or less conjecture that I’ve heard from others.” Cyn looked down noticing the pommel of Jonas’s hunting knife protruding from his tunic at his side. “That is quite a hunting knife for a young huntsman who lived a secluded life,” he stated bluntly.