Student Becomes Master

‘All men are Kings in their own home, quarters or buzz… buss?’ Lucas struggled over the word, trying to wrap his tongue around it.

‘Business.’ Said Luthar, not taking his eyes from their fire. He’d read the same thin book a hundred times or more, learning the ways and values of the guild.

‘Never… question a man’s authority whilst in the presence of his subordinates, to do so would… diminish?’ Lucas looked at Luthar who returned a silent nod. ‘His authority. Any issue that you take with his instruction must be addressed privately, man to man. Advice that you may offer to him in public must be given with the understanding that it may be dismissed.’

‘Good, your reading is coming on nicely. Now put the book away and see how our supper is coming along. I’m famished.’

They’d been on the road for more than a fortnight. Since leaving the guild they’d travelled through Stonebrooke, then south through the coastal villages, inland to Aldena and finally they crossed the border into Peccothia at Stormhaven. Their ultimate destination was the port city of Elvia, second largest only to the capital of Threftall. The job Leyton had prepared for them sounded simple enough, meet a trade caravan bound for Threftall in the north, and protect it from the plague of bandits that now infested the once peaceful countryside.

King Edward’s illness had worsened, leaving him unable to rule with the ferocity he once had. His son, Harold, was still a boy, so it was left to his closest allies to protect the Kingdom. In times such as this, the Lords of the land descended into petty squabbles and arguments, each trying to further their own interests. No matter who won, the realm always lost.

Lucas handed Luthar a small wooden bowl containing charred rabbit, a hunk of rough brown bread in a puddle of fat, before filling his own bowl. The meat was better than it looked, but the bread had begun to go stale, Luthar doubted Lucas had wrapped it properly, it was only three days since he had bought it at Stormhaven market. Nevertheless, Luthar ate hungrily as the last rays of daylight disappeared over the horizon.

‘Flint was due to meet us here tonight, I hope he’s not far away as the light's failing.’ Luthar said, not expecting Lucas to answer.

‘Mmph, he’ll be ‘ere foon.’

Luthar leaned over and clouted the boy around the back of his head. ‘How many times do you need telling? Don’t talk with your mouth full!’

‘Why not?’

‘Firstly, because I said so. Second, it’s bad manners. Do that in the great hall and you’ll be out on your arse! Understood?’

‘Yes, I get it.’

‘Good. Clear up here, I’m going to head back to the road and see if there is any sign of them. I won’t be long.’

Luthar stood up and stretched, knots were forming in his muscles after days on the road. He tied his sword belt around his waist and limped the first few yards before his legs moved properly. Twigs snapped and leaves rustled under his boots as he hobbled through the trees and undergrowth towards the road.

Luthar picked a shadow just out of sight of Lucas where he could keep an eye on the road. He leant his back up against the tree and rested his head against the rough bark. Closing his eyes he breathed in the cool night air, savouring it’s refreshing purity. Images of Chadwick and Ezekiel fighting danced across his eyelids, threatening to shatter his peace. He could almost hear Chadwick’s slurred words from the graveyard, battering him from the past.

His torment was interrupted by the sound of hooves on the hard, compacted earth. Switching into a state of alertness, Luthar crouched down and edged around the tree to get a better view of the road, his hand loosening his sword in its scabbard. Two riders, one man and one boy, it could be them thought Luthar, or it could be someone seeking to do them harm. The Thieves’ Guild still hadn’t forgotten about them, Leyton had told him of three men and two squires who had been killed for reasons unknown in the last moon. Every man of the Warrior’s Guild was itching for some revenge.

The men moved close enough for Luthar to hear their voices; relief flooded through him as he recognised Flint’s dulcet tones.

‘There was a herd of mammoths pass this way an hour ago, they still made less noise than you pair!’ Said Luthar striding out into the road, unable to keep a grin from his face.

Flint spied Luthar and brought his horse to a halt, smiling from ear to ear. ‘Good to see you Luthar, even if you are complaining as usual.’

He dismounted and signalled his squire to do the same. Luthar led them into the trees to their camp where Lucas was reading his book by the light of the shrinking campfire.

‘Lucas, this is Flint, can’t fight to save his life but at least he’s good humoured about it.’

Flint laughed and gave Luthar a shove before turning to his own squire. ‘This is Ed, doesn’t say much but he can swing a blade well enough.’

Nods and handshakes were exchanged before Lucas set about preparing supper for the newcomers. They sat in silence as they demolished their bread and rabbit, they’d been on the road as long as Luthar, and were in need of a good meal. Luthar made a mental note to ask Flint if there were any good inns in the area. After he’d finished mopping up the last of his fat with his bread, Flint rummaged in his bag and produced a wineskin with a smile.

‘It’s not the best, and I’ve had most of it, but a taste is always welcome.’ He took a mouthful and handed it to Luthar.

The wine was bitter, and a little stale. But after weeks of just water, the taste of something different was welcoming. He passed it over to Lucas for a sip before Ed finished the last few drops.

‘Ed, you see to the horses and make sure they’re settled for the night. Lucas, you get the camp tidy for tonight. Then both of you get your heads down for some sleep. Me and Luthar will take first watch.’ Flint’s commands were calm yet left no room for argument. Soon the lads had their chores completed under Flint’s watchful eye and were settled on their bed rolls. Flint waited until a gentle snoring sound came from Ed before turning to Luthar with his burning question.

‘I heard tell of what happened back at the guild, but I’m not really interested in rumour. I want to hear what happened straight from you.’ Flint was senior to Luthar in the guild, but Luthar saw him as an older brother, he was equally likely to get into trouble with him as he was show Luthar the correct path.

‘After speaking to Leyton, it seems it’s been made into a bigger issue than it actually was. Chadwick had been drinking a lot and when I arrived, he took me to Ezekiel’s grave. We spoke about what I’d done in Jakai and how I’d not properly made amends for it. He brought Elisabeth into it, how she was better off without me, and I just hit him. From there it got a bit ugly before Preston and Avery stepped in.’ Said Luthar, recounting the tale to Flint was easier than he’d thought. A weight seemed to be lifting from his shoulders.

Flint shook his head, frowning. ‘That really has been made into a lot more than it really was. You put hundreds of fighting men together, provide them with ale and they’ll fight each other. Doesn’t matter if it’s you, me, Chadwick or even Leyton himself. Don’t beat yourself up over it. Besides, Chadwick’s been drinking far too much and blaming it on Ezekiel’s passing. I know for a fact it started long before he got ill, I reckon it’s when you got promoted. He’s been struggling with a lack of purpose.’

‘I heard Leyton found him a new squire, do you think that will help him?’

‘It will, especially as he’s sending him down to southern Calladia. It’s the furthest they can really go without boarding ships full of rum. They’ll be on the road for weeks with little or nothing to drink and only swords to keep their minds occupied. By the time he returns home he’ll be back to his old self again.’ He paused for a second, watching Luthar’s expression. ‘Stop blaming yourself, you haven’t done a whole lot wrong.’

Luthar smiled in relief, it felt good to know that he hadn’t alienated every friend he had. He stared into the fire for a few minutes, enjoying the feeling of liberation washing over him. His breath misted in front of his face as the night grew colder. He pulled his cloak closer around him to keep the warmth in.

The first thing Luthar noticed that signalled something was wrong was the fire suddenly going out. It only took a few seconds for the dancing flames to recede into nothing more than glowing embers. The grass around their little camp turned white and frozen, like tiny razor blades covering the ground, the only movement Luthar saw was a squirrel haring up a tree to safety.

He turned to Flint, who responded with his own wide-eyed stare of confusion. Without speaking, they both collected their swords and shields and set themselves back-to-back. Luthar kicked the form of Lucas, but no noise or movement came, he couldn’t tell if he was sleeping heavily or dead. Grateful of the full moon overhead, Luthar scanned the trees for any sign of whatever had cast this spell on their camp. Nothing met his eye except the murderous blackness of the forest.

He felt Flint’s back leave his, meaning he’d moved to engage someone, or something. He spun around to find Flint slashing violently at thin air, his breath clouding as he wasted his energy.

‘Flint!’ He whispered as loudly as he dared, hoping to bring him back to his senses.

‘There was…’ Flint looked around hopelessly in his confusion before returning to his place at Luthar’s back.

A shape formed in front of Luthar, striding out of the blackness and straight for him. It looked like a man, but far larger, even than the mountain folk he’d fought. The top of his horned helmet grazed the lower branches of the trees, even as he looked down straight into Luthar’s eyes. His armour was pitch black, with horns and spikes protruding at his shoulders, elbows, and knees. As wide as a tree trunk himself, this must be some kind of giant.

‘Giant, black spiky armour, that what you saw?’ He whispered over his shoulder to Flint.

‘Yeah, you got him?’

‘Aye, ten feet. Five. Now!’

Luthar lunged low for the giant’s groin, where armour was normally weak. Flint went sideways, half a second behind, aiming for the gap in the armpit that would be exposed when he blocked.

Luthar’s blow was swatted away like a fly, rattling his blade, and sending shockwaves up his arm. He saw Flint rolling away to his right, clutching at his face. A heavy blow came down at Luthar, which he dodged, away from the remains of the fire, trying to give Flint time to recover.

Still the monster advanced, that long stride seemed never to falter, eyes hidden in the helm, and always fixed on Luthar. Luthar set himself, ready for the next attack, sword held tight and shield ready. The next blow was a thrust that Luthar managed to get his shield behind, but the blade went straight through the wood, stopping inches from his chest. He twisted the shield slightly, trying to keep the blade embedded whilst he worked an opening. He stabbed frantically upwards towards his right arm. The giant let out a grunt before slamming his gauntleted left fist into the side of Luthar’s head, sending him into blackness.

He opened his eyes moments later to see Flint backing off the giant, crouched down slightly, a counter attacking position. He raised his blade to meet a blow, but the giant’s black sword cleaved straight through Flint’s own, the point narrowly avoiding his neck. Flint pulled a smaller, reserve blade from his belt, with half a sword in one hand and a dagger in the other he wouldn’t last long.

Luthar heaved his aching body upwards, ruined shield in one hand and sword in the other. He placed his short sword in his hand behind the splintered shield, before setting his arming sword and charging.

He ducked a swing aimed in his direction and aimed his sword for the neck again, whilst Flint aimed for the armpit once more. Flint’s blow got stuck as the giant let out another grunt, but Luthar’s blow missed, leaving him to crash into his armoured side. He bounced off and onto the floor as if he’d run into a brick wall. As he tried to rise again, Flint flew past his shoulder, groaning in pain. The monster of a man put a foot on Luthar’s right hand and knelt on his chest, bringing his helmeted head no more than an inch from his face.

‘Tell your masters the seed of Lazmurol lives again.’ The voice was more of a serpent like hiss than human speech. As the monster breathed, it wheezed like an old man gasping for his last breaths.

Luthar carefully angled the blade concealed behind his ruined shield and thrust it into the neck of his foe. An angry yell caught his attention at Flint drove his dagger into the armpit for a third time. The creature rolled off Luthar and to the side before finding its feet and hurrying for the cover of blackness. They watched together as its back faded into the dark forest.

Pain erupted in the side of Luthar’s head and chest as the adrenalin subsided. The cold forest floor clawed at his back, burning like fire. As Flint helped him to his feet, he noticed that he was bleeding from his nose. A crack from behind them made them both spin around, ready to fight again, before realising the fire was coming back to life on its own. Two figures stirred from the other side; Lucas was sitting up and Ed rolled over.

‘You two have made a right mess, I’m not clearing that up again.’ He complained, rubbing his eyes.

Silenced by the relief that the two lads were ok, Luthar could only manage a smile as he started walking back towards the warm fire. He stopped as his foot kicked something solid. He bent down and picked up the giant’s sword. It was far longer than even his greatsword had been. Luthar wondered how anyone could be strong enough to fight with something so heavy.

‘Wrap it up tight and we’ll let the horses carry it. Don’t want anyone seeing it and getting curious.’ He instructed Lucas. Luthar was very interested in the origin of such a blade.