And Chapter 9 before bed.  I am ready to sleep, but I am still a bit uneasy.  Parts of this story are attaching to me.  Or, perhaps it is the steroids.  They said I would have some emotional effects.

It has been a long time since I wrote the short story that spawned this story, and now I am going back to fill in the origin.  I wish I could add that story into this one, as it would fit quite well.   I have to decide how much I want to adhere to the rules of NaNoWriMo, or just finish the book as I want to be be.

And, as promised, the quote from Felicia Day. I am very excited about this, as this quote truly drove the chapter.  I held back tears as I wrote.  The next chapter starts getting exciting again, as we will deal with Damon’s preparation for Vengeance and all the lessons that come with it.

Chapter 9:  The Long Road

“‎Past the idea of right and wrong there is a field. When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is in balance. I will meet you there.”

–          Tallis, Dragon Age Redemption (Felicia Day)

This was the only time I can remember not wanting to come home.  The gates were open and the guards were quiet as we passed through.  They courtyard was shortly filled with servants and villagers, all come to see what was happening.  And as they realized what it was they began weeping and wailing.  The sight was almost too much for me to bear.

No.  It was too much for me to bear.  I left Balor to the task of securing the body of my father until the funeral, while I went to find Mother.  She would not handle the news well, but it had to be done.  She would already be hearing that we had returned and likely the news of her husband’s death would be reaching her ears soon as well.  I needed to be there.

As I turned the corner to her sitting room and met her coming to me in a dead run.  She stopped as she go to me and just looked at me, then to Pathfinder on my hip.  She needed nothing more and fell to the floor, crying in the way only a lover can when she loses the one.

I stood there for a moment, not sure what to do next, when Vic shoved me forward.

“Go.  I will go arrange things with Balor.  Go.”

I embraced my friend in the warrior’s fashion, hands clasped at the elbows, the other arm around the back.  As I released him, he smiled a little and turned to tend to my father.  I began to weep as I turned around and walked to my mother.  She was just a mess.  As I reached her, I kneeled down and began to lift her up.  As I did, Pathfinder began to vibrate again, but this time it was soothing and I felt myself calming down, able to stand up straight without nearly the fear.

Was this how father did it, remaining calm in the face of everything?  I would need to explore this later, when…when we were done.  I looked into the eyes of my mother.

“It is true, then.  He is dead?  Ambrosias is…dead?”

“Yes, mother.  He died trying to save Marcos from some Dark Creature in the woods.  He has Marcos still, but I he seems to want him alive, as Marcos was taken away.  He wanted to kill Father and used capturing Marcos for that.”

I hated lying to my mother.  It was mostly true, as Marcos was taken away by the enchantment making him kill father, then leaving in the aftermath.  But I couldn’t tell her that her son killed her husband.  There was no way I could do that without her misunderstanding.  Or so I thought.

Pathfinder did not like my lie at all, as he began to vibrate violently on my hip, nearly knocking me over.  My mother noticed and looked at the sword and almost smiled.

“That was what he did when your father tried to lie to me.  It seems you think me weaker than I am, as he did.”

Her voice was strong and firm, the way she talked to me when I had made an error as child, although there was less of an edge to it right now.  She was struggling to hold on, but she needed to know.  She stared at me with that look that said she would stand there all day to get the truth.

And, it appeared Pathfinder demanded honestly.  Amazing, this blade.  So much about Father made sense now.  He never lied, always pursued the right thing.  He was driven by the weapon, as it was now driving me.  I was really looking forward to learning more about it.

And she was still staring at me.  I cleared my throat.

“Right.  The truth, then.  It…was Marcos. He was under some sort of spell and it made him kill Father.  I was wounded in the fight, and did not get to him in time to stop it.”

She was silent for a minute, absorbing it for a moment.  Then, with a twist of her head to move her hair back on her head, she drew herself up tall and caught my eyes one more time.  She had a resolute look on her face, the kind you see when someone has made a decision.

“I want to see him.  Take me.”

“Mother, you don’t want to see him.”

“Take me to my husband, child.”

I looked at her for a long moment, and then extended my arm.  She clasped it and we walked in silence to the room where they would be cleaning up my father, her husband.

It was the longest walk of my life.

*****

She stared at him, and I looked in through the doorway.  She had made us all leave, and was spending a private moment with him.  Sometimes, she would stroke his beard ever so softly and then begin weeping.  Then, she would go back to just staring at him.

I was about to go in, as the preparation would need to start soon or the smell would set in.  Invictus’ preservation spell was not as strong as our master’s.  Annathon would need to start soon, so that the few days we needed to prepare the funeral would not see the body start to decay.

And then, as though frozen in place, I stopped at the door way.  Mother had started to sing.

“My love, my love, where have you gone?

Our time together had to wane.

My love, my love, you won’t be gone long.

Before I meet you again.”

I remembered this song, from my grandfather’s funeral.  His wife had sung it to him.  There was more, but mother stopped singing after this one line. I waited another moment before finally entering the room.  She turned on me suddenly, and I halted my steps.

When she saw it was me, she relaxed a bit and turned back.

“It is time, isn’t it?  He must be prepared.”

“Yes, mother.  The master is waiting in the hall when you are ready.”

“Send him in, then.”

I half-turned, then stopped to look back at my mother.

“I will find the creature that did this and punish him.  I have sworn and oath.”

She looked at me, concerned.

“On the sword?”

“Yes.”

Her face grew white and sunken, and she turned back to Father.

“Then it has begun.  Send in the wizard.”

*****

The courtyard was filled with people, perhaps a thousand or more.  The sword master Oren was next to me, with the Balor, Jom and the rest of the Red Guard spread about the pyre where we had placed Father to be burned.  Jaron, the Captain, held the torch.

Mother was next to me, and Vic was next to her.  We stood with heavy hearts as the ceremony was conducted.  I won’t bore you with the details, but suffice it to say that there was great praise and love expressed for our Father, Ambrosias Numen, Lord of the Realm.

And it was sincere praise, as we had a long peace while he ruled, even though there was great evil in the world.  Father’s forces had driven it back a long way from the main cities for many years and it had lied dormant.  Many thought it was this same evil that killed him, and I couldn’t disagree.

I needed to know more about this enemy, but I could not think about it now.  It was time to send off Father and have a proper mourning period.  There were ceremonies, like this one, and then rituals to perform, and the official, “Damon is the new Lord” ceremony.  I was not ready for that one.

I hated ceremony and ritual, as I had always preferred to act when I was upset.  But, the country needed this; needed to see me mourn and then act.  So, I would mope about the castle, train with this new sword, and try to determine who the hell charmed my brother into killing my father.  How long had the spell been on him?  Since we were boys?

Vic nudged me in the ribs and I realized everyone was staring at me.  I was supposed to do something.  Ah, yes.  The ritual.  Did I mention I hate ritual?

I stepped forward and drew Pathfinder over my head.  I spoke the words I had been taught over the last few days.

“Gather people, lords and ladies, friends and family.  I present to you to shell of my Father, Ambrosias Numen, slain in battle.  A great man, and a great father; he will be sorely missed.

As his eldest son, I will take up the task of Lord of the Realm, although I am barely worthy if this great man’s shadow.  I swear to do my best to protect this peace and prosperity that he brought you, as long as I so live.”

The pulse from Pathfinder told me he would hold me to that Oath, as he apparently did my father.

“Captain, please put my departed Father to the torch. “

As he walked to the pyre, and lit it, I said these final words.

“Let the fire commit our Lord to the Realms beyond, that he may be with the Creator and see everlasting glory until we can be with him again.”

The fire caught quickly and spread over the body with a flash that could only have been accomplished by magic.  I suspected Invictus, as that was his thing.  He smiled slightly at the pyre with pride, until he caught my eye, and then it was gone.

I stared at the blaze, and at the appropriate time, I sheathed Pathfinder.  We stood there together until the blaze subsided, an hour later. Everyone had gone, leaving me alone there.  I vaguely remember people coming to talk to me, but I had ignored them.  The fire held me, as though I expected something to happen.

Eventually, even Vic and my mother left and I was alone in the courtyard, the last embers fading from the pyre.  Under my breath, I had one last thing to say.

“Goodbye Father.  I will miss you.”

A slight warming and a pulse from Pathfinder said he agreed.

Man.  Some days are harder than others.  Chapter 8 is done.

I am a bundle of steroid induced emotions today, spawned by a several large and small things.

• A friend that is in trouble that I will help bail out of it in several ways.
• I heard Christian Kane’s cover of “Fast Car” and was reminded of some really rough days in my past.
• I had to write a rough chapter, about the aftermath of a character death.
• Some work folks had some rough things happen to them, and I listened to it.

And then, I watched Dragon Age Redemption, a web series by Felicia Day, to cheer me up.  It was a sad affair, with a mixed emotional ending.  It was absolutely brilliant.

She had this great final quote, that I wanted to use as my quote for Chapter 9: The Long Road.  I figured I shouldn’t without asking.  So, I complimented her series and the quote on Twitter.  And she replied!

She said she liked it also.  I asked if I could use it. And she said that I could.  So, I have had my first conversation with Felicia Day.  Now I am going to write like the wind. Maybe someday, she’ll read my novel.  One can hope.

Anyway, fanboy moment over.  Here is Chapter 8 and I am off to Chapter 9.

Chapter 8: Blood and Pain

“If an injury has to be done to a man it should be so severe that his vengeance need not be feared.”

–          Niccolo Machiavelli

My father is dying, stabbed by his own son.

I watched my father bleed, trying to believe it.  An eternity passed, and then I was pulling myself across the floor, wound and all, until I was close enough to him to see his eyes.  They were not quite blank, and were watching something that was moving around in front of him.

“Father, you will be alright. Invictus can heal.  It will be alright.”

My voice began to fill with rage and fear, as I called out to Vic across the room.

“Vic, Father needs healing, now!  Vic!  Get your ass up here and heal my father!  Viiiiiiiiiiiic!”

Invictus was struggling to stand, and covered in blood.  As he stood and started running to father, he slipped on the bloody floor and went down again.  I heard a cracking sound as his knee hit the stone, but I did not care.  This one thought consumed me.

My father is dying, stabbed by his own son.

Still, I staggered to my feet, feeling my stab wound ebbing blood down my leg.  The pain was intense, but I had to go help Vic.  I got down one step, then two, and then my leg went out from under me as I too slipped on the blood.   Balor, of the Guard, ran to help me up, but I shoved him off.

“Help Vic!  He must heal father!”

He quickly ran over to help Vic, his heavy boots proof against the blood.  If I lived through this, I would get me a pair of this boots, for certain.  This sliding on a pool of my enemy’s bodily fluid was no fun at all.  I mean, why didn’t Vic and I have those boots?  My family paid for those boots, I should have a pair as well…

My father is dying, stabbed by his own son.

The thought once again demanded time in my mind, removing the ridiculous thoughts of the boots.  I turned to move towards father, but could only move enough to come my elbows and watch as my friend Invictus kneeled over father, wincing from the pain in his knee.  He began the chanting he had done over me to thread the skin together that the knife tore open.

I saw my father turn to me, then.  He looked at me with eyes that burned low, but still strong.

Father would be healed.  Vic was going to save him.  As I convinced myself that this was true, I heard his voice over the wizard’s chanting.  It was faint, yet strong enough that I heard it clearly over this short distance. I crawled up closer, pulling up one leg beneath me to steady myself.

“Damon, my son.”

“I am here, Father.”

“Your brother is…”

He coughed up blood and I waited for him to continue.  Vic was sweating and working his spell.  The wound in his stomach was healing, but there was a lot of blood.  I wanted to yell, but I was afraid I would break Vic’s concentration and make him lose the spell.  And then Father would die.

“You brother is not evil.  Do not blame him.  Something…something has him.”

Another coughing fit over took him, but he composed himself and raised his right hand, still holding Pathfinder.  His knuckles were white, from loss of blood and the intense grip he had on the blade.  He began again.

“It is your time to shine, Damon.  Shine bright enough for me to see you from Great Kingdoms where I now go.

Shine, my son, Shine…”

His voice had trailed off as he grabbed my hand and put Pathfinder in to it.  As he let go, his hand hit the stone floor and lie still.  In concert, his last breath left his body and he lie still.  The chanting continued, but I knew.

Father is gone.

As that thought went through my head, I started to stand, completely ignoring that I was wounded.  I had to go get my brother.  I had to find the bastard that made him kill my father.  I yelled out to the cave, to no one in particular.

“I will find you!  I will make you pay for this!”

I think I made it to my feet before the world began spinning.  The last thing I remember was the clang of a sword hitting stone, hands upon me and a faint chanting of a language I should have understood.

*****

I was moving; I think on horseback.  Something warm was in front of me and I was pressed against it with all of my weight.  I felt a throbbing in my side and instinctively leaned back to reach over to it.  When I did, the warm body in front of me moved as well.  And then it spoke in a frantic voice that almost spooked the horse.

“Hold on, there!  You’re attached to me!  Don’t move so much.”

Vic.  My friend.

“Vic?  Why am I on a horse attached to you?”

“Because you passed out before I could heal your wound.  We had to leave, so I tied you to me so you wouldn’t fall of the horse.”

“Ah.  That makes sense.  Can we be unattached now?”

My mind began to put things together, as I slowly figured out what had gone on before I found on myself on horseback strapped to my friend. I remembered a cave, and wolfen and then men in black robes and lots of blood, getting stabbed and then…

“Father! Where is he?”

No one answered.  I looked around at all the riders and did not see him until I looked at the horse that Balor had in tow.  It carried my father’s limp body tied carefully to the back of his horse with a blanket over the top of him.

I stared at it for a long time.  Days, it seemed, but it was probably minutes.  I honestly don’t know how long.  The image will be burned in my memory for the rest of my days.

My father is dead.

That sunk in for a moment, leaving an empty place in my stomach that I could not fill.  I can’t remember a time when my father wasn’t available to me for counsel or to teach me a skill.  Or to reprimand me when I made an error.  He had been my conscience for all these years, and of everyone under him.  The men would be mourning him as well; they had bled for him.  Their friends, fathers and brothers had died for him. And now he was gone.

And I am in charge.  They will now look to me.  Can I possibly replace the man that my father was?

I felt a vibration on my hip as I thought those words and reached down to see Pathfinder moving ever so slowly in the sheath.  When I looked at it, the vibrations became more pronounced, almost frantic.  Without really thinking about it, my hand went to the handle.  I was overwhelmed with emotions immediately and let go.

Did the sword of my father have feelings?  I had heard of blades having a form of intelligence, imbued with the spirit of a favored animal that was nearing death to ease the loss of a friend.  It was even said that dark spirits would be put into weapons to serve some even darker master.  The demons of the north were the likely goal for this enchantment.  I had never seen such a blade, let alone held one in my life.

Even in a world as full of magic as mine, the Great Weapons as they were called were steeped in legend.  I knew father’s weapon was one of these, but he never really talked about its power.  He told me that when the time came, I would find out.  And now it seems I am.

The vibrations began again, this time much more frantic than before.  I tapped Vic on the shoulder to get his attentions.

“Can I ride my own horse now?  I really treasure our friendship, but I think I am done being attached to you, now.”

Invictus laughed and called the party to a stop.  As we slowed to a stop, I began loosening the ropes that held me to him.  By the time the horse had ceased moving, I was already sliding off the back.  I walked over to my horse and unstrapped him from Jom’s horse.  He had a look of deep sadness, like the rest of the men.  I mounted my horse and put my hand on his shoulder, looking him in the eye.

“I miss him, also, Jom.  I wish I had been a little faster, perhaps…”

“Milord, you were wounded.  It was I that was too slow.  I was right there, and I didn’t stop it.  And than that brat hurled me down the stairs, and,” he paused for a moment and looked away.

“I know, Jom.  It is alright.  He is certainly a brat.  I know my brother, and he didn’t do this of his own accord.  Even father sensed it.”

Pathfinder began to insist that I grab him again by literally moving my hips so that the horse jogged a bit to the left way from Jom.”

“We will find him and the monster behind this.”  I turned to address the rest of the Guard. Grabbing the handle again, I was overwhelmed by the emotions pouring forth from the weapon.  For a moment, I grew dizzy and was in danger of falling off the horse.  I felt a hand on my shoulder, steadying me, and I regained my composure. Before anyone could speak, I opened my eyes and drew Pathfinder over my head.

“I swear to all of you, hear and now, we will find Marcos and release him from the spell that made him kill our father, your Lord.  We will also make this Dark Wizard pay dearly for his mistake.

No one loved my father more than this group before me, as you fought countless battles with him over the years.  This was my first time to see you all at work and I am proud to be among you.  I hope that, in time, I will earn the respect my father shared with you and that I will one day be worthy of the title Lord.

Follow me, as you did him, and with the guidance you shall give me, I swear to you I will become the man you need me to be to defeat this enemy of our land.

I swear by my father’s sword, the Great Weapon Pathfinder, that these deeds will be done.”

As I said those last words, the blade sent a surge of power through me and out to those that witnessed my words.  We all knew that my Oath had been heard and registered with the universe.

“Will the Red Guard accept this Oath with me, to pursue this enemy to the end?”

They all drew swords and raised them high.

“So say we all,” was the reply.  And the pulse happened again, going through them all back to Pathfinder.  The deal was sealed.

I looked back at Invictus, who had his staff held high in the air.  I shot him a smile and looked back at Jom with the same determined grin.  He returned it, as he no doubt had seen it on father a thousand time.  We were one in our mission.  It was time to go home and get ready for a battle.  But we had one more important task that must be done first.

Pathfinder seemed calm for the moment, so I put him to rest in his sheath.  I am not sure how I knew Pathfinder was a male, but I did.  There is mystery to this blade that I will have to uncover over time.  Perhaps my Master Annathon will know?  I will ask him when I get home.  Right now, to the matter at hand.

I rode up the front of the group, where Balor sat waiting on his horse.  He was a mixture of determination and pain, but he was still and patiently waiting for me to give an order.  And so I did.  I placed my hand on his shoulder and said softly to to group.

“Let’s go bury our Lord.”

 

I am way behind.   Let me explain.  No, there is too much.  Let me sum up.

I got sick.  I had people that needed me.  There were social engagements I could not miss.  Oh, and I am still sick.  So, I am very far behind and I am not sure if I will make the end of November goal.  I will finish the novel, however, so there is that.

With that said, I am starting Chapter 8.  Adieu.

Chapter 7:  End of the road

“Let no one weep for me, or celebrate my funeral with mourning; for I still live, as I pass to and fro through the mouths of men.”

–          Quintus Ennius

Surrounded in the dark, he could hear them closing in.  Growls and snarls and howls were all around him, ready to strike at any moment.  Pathfinder was in his hands, its light quenched by some foul spell.  Twice, he had tried to dispel it, but he was no match for this power.

There was just enough light to see a sword-length from him, but barely enough to react when the first one came through.  Ducking under the raking claws, the warrior cut across the underbelly of the beast above him.  Following through to the dirt below, the beast was hurled away back into the darkness as another jumped upon the swordsman’s back.

Grabbing it over his shoulder, he rolled forward and threw the monster onto the ground before him, ending on its chest.  Pulling the sword up with both hands for a finishing blow, he was abruptly struck on his side and hit the ground hard.  His sword was thrown off into the darkness and he was plunged into complete darkness.

He lay there in the black void, hearing the same noises moving in.  He popped up to his feet, in the way the sword master taught him – hands over the head, throw the feet up and out, and push your upper body over them to land on your feet.  Drawing a dagger, he closed his eyes to listen better for signs of his enemies.  Open, he would try to rely on them over his ears; closed, he would ignore them.

He circled in place, preparing to fight these unseen creatures, when a blast of light came at his face.  Reflexively, he opened his eyes and was momentarily blinded by the light.  At the same time, he was shoved hard in the chest sending him once more to the ground.

As his eyes cleared, he saw someone standing over him, Pathfinder raised above his head.  The boy standing there was familiar, although in the blur he couldn’t see.  And then all at once, it was daylight.  Standing over him was Marcos, poised to kill him.

“Hello, brother.  You shouldn’t have come.”

And the sword was plunged through his stomach, leaving Damon in agonizing pain.  He could hear his screams and his brother’s laughter clearly above him as his life ebbed from him.  He was wailing as the blood came out of his belly, thick and red.

“Damon!  Wake up!”

He sat bolt upright on his bedroll, as his father’s voice rang out, and his face took the place of Marcos.  It was a dream.  Just a dream.  Marcos wasn’t here.

He reached for his stomach as if there might still be a wound but he found it unharmed.  Well, save for the incredible hunger he had. Nightmares take some energy it seems.

“I need java.  Is it ready?”

“Yes, it is.  Tell me about your dream.  You were screaming, ‘Marcos, NO!’ in your sleep.”

“I was?  That is rather odd, isn’t it?”

He got up to go get his drink, hoping that would be all. Hope failed him, as his father followed him to the pot.

“Son, what was the dream?”

He had that voice that said he wasn’t going to stop, that family tendency to never give up.  I resigned myself to the reality that I wasn’t getting out of this, and told him the dream.

“Perhaps it was a vision of the future.  Your mother was strong in the ways of magic; you may have picked up the Sight.”

“Or, I just had a nightmare.  It doesn’t have to mean anything.”

“Dreams often do, my friend,” Invictus broke in, as he sat down next to me, “Generally, they tell us things we don’t want to see, that we have buried or run from.

Our fears will betray us when we sleep.”

“That’s comforting.  I am sure I will sleep much better, now that I have had your counsel.”

“I’m only trying to help.  Master made me read a book on dreams, in case I was ever attacked there.  If you can recognize it for a dream, you will have your full skill there, and some more.”

“Well, boys.  It is likely that it was just a dream, but we will be cautious just the same.  Let’s get some food and pack for the rest of the trip.  I’d like to get back before nightfall.”

With that, he finished his coffee and walked over to talk to the Captain of the Red Guard.

*****

There was an unnatural darkness to the cave, made more so by the profound lack of any kind of encounter on the way to it.  An hour of walking in the dark wood made the group more than a little nervous.  All save one.

Ambrosias had walked with a purpose, as if nothing was happening and they were just out for a stroll.  Either he was fearless or he had absolutely no idea what was happening around him.  Damon chose to go with fearless and kept walking cautiously along until they came to this cave.

It was tall, perhaps 30’ around, and showed signs of recent activity by many feet.  It hadn’t rained in a while, so the tracks were obvious in the soft dirt.  It seemed that this entrance was regularly used by wolfen and humanoids, from the tracks there were here.

Except for now.  There was no sign of movement of any kind inside the dark entrance.   Everyone stood crouched in the woods staring at the large mouth except for father.  He stood there staring inside the entrance, holding pathfinder in front of him.   It had been that way for several minutes and Damon began  to wonder what was happening.  As he was about to speak, Ambrosias took the opportunity.

“Time to go.  There is something happening in there that we need to stop.  Marcos is in trouble.”

With that, he began walking quickly toward the cave.  Everyone else looked at him, looked at each other, and then started after him.

“Vic, do you know what he means?  Does your power tell you the same?”

“I cannot see Marcos state of being other than I know he is alive and is in that cave.  The relative distance has not changed, so I just assume he was at rest.  I have no magic to tell more than that.”

“Let us hurry.  Perhaps saving him from some ugly fate will show him we care.”

Under his breath, Invictus murmured, “Perhaps,” and followed after.

The long tunnel was dark save the light from Pathfinder and we walked perhaps 10 minutes before father came to a halt.  They were just around the corner from a large cavern filled with sounds, not unlike chanting.  It seemed a whole group was working some magic together.

He signaled for us to wait, and walked forward slowly and cautiously.  We lost sight of him for a few moments, as he went around the corner.  Quickly, he came back around and whispered to the group.

“Marcos is chained to a slab and a robed man is leading a chant over him.  I think they mean to sacrifice him.  I am going in, and I want all of you to charge on my command.

Or, should I be immediately attacked, of course.”

A smile played across his face, as he turned and walked confidently around the corner to confront the dark congregation.  We snuck up into positions around the entrance, weapons drawn and spells ready.  As soon as we were in place, father walked straight out into the cavern and spoke to the cult leader in a loud voice.

“Ho there.  You have my son, and I would like him released.  Now.”

“Father!  Help me!” cried out Marcos, fighting against the chains.

Father charged the black robed man.  His target, ignoring him, raised a wickedly curved ceremonial dagger over his head.  He was poised to thrust it into Marcos’s exposed chest.

The rest of the congregation turned to see the intruder and began moving between the leader and the warrior running at his back.  And the rest of the party charged at them.

As this happened, the torches in the room flared up and made the room entirely too bright, making all of the above actions that much more exciting and dramatic.  The next few moments unfolded something like this.

Father drove a wedge through the cultists reaching the leader in short order, with only a few small cuts on the way through.  The Red Guard plowed into them, pushing through in a practiced way, as though they were just chopping their way through tall grass.  The boys attacked those that were at the rear, in an attempt to create a funnel where either way they went, they found sword or spell.

Without a pause, Ambrosias thrust Pathfinder straight ahead, as the chanting rose to a height and the dagger was starting to fall.  The blade went straight up through the man until the hilt slammed hard against his back making a loud thump.  The man appeared to be held there by the strength of the man who currently held steel through his midsection.

Meanwhile, the rest of us cleaned up the minions surrounding us.  They fell several at a time as the Guard and the boys tore into them with shining steel and blasts of fire and ice.

Soon there was a bloody mess about the floor, making the footing less than pleasant. After a particularly strong swing, Damon was turned in a way to see his Father pulling the blade out of the leader and watching him as he fell to the stone below him.  At that moment, he saw his father in a completely different light.  He was a warrior, and was capable of great deeds.   His hero and mentor, protector and teacher.

A stinging pain in his side brought him back to the present, ongoing mayhem as a dagger had struck him while he looked away.  He screamed and brought the pommel of his sword down onto the head of the man who had stabbed him several times until the man fell to the ground before him.

Clutching his side, he fell back behind the Red Guard, so that he would be less likely to get stabbed again.  They let him through and he fell to the ground near the lifeless leader, leaning against the stone altar, he waited for the conflict to end.  He looked up to father as he was attempting to loosen the chains around his boy.  They were quickly undone, and Ambrosias lifted Marcos up and embraced him.

The battle around them continued, although there were only a few cultist left and the Guard had them on the run.  A few stood near the alter to guard Ambrosias’ back, as Invictus came up to Damon and started to cast a healing spell he knew.  As he was doing this, Damon noticed something odd as he looked at father.

Marcos was drawing Ambrosias’ dagger from his belt as he was being hugged and raised it over his father’s back.

“NOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” Damon cried, as he attempted to get to his feet.  His would was not yet healed, and he fell before he got there, knocking Invictus down and spoiling his spell.

Father released Marcos and looked around at Damon.

“What is the matter?  Are there more com…uuuunnnnhh!”

His voice was cut off by intense pain. Turning to look forward and down, Ambrosias saw his son’s hand on his own dagger, which was thrust into his abdomen.  As the blood poured out, he looked down at his son with a look that said, “Why?” and began to fall to the ground.

The Guard and Invictus began to run to their lord, but were stopped by a wave of Marcos’s hand that sent invisible force at them.  They fell backward down the altar steps onto the bloody floor below.  Damon, tried to rise again, but only made his wound open more and fell once more the ground.

Marcos pulled the blade out, and thrust it in again at his father’s heart.  As the big man fell forward, Marcos stepped back and pulled so Ambrosias fell on his back with a heavy thud.   He stared up at his son with wide eyes, unable to speak.

Marcos, however, had words.  He leaned down and spoke in a wicked, spiteful tone.

“Father, your guard was a bit low.”

Chapter 6, complete!  I think I have a little more in me.  Chapter 7, here I come!

With barely any adieu, I give you…

Chapter 6:  To face the music

“You made the cat angry.”

–  Puss in Boots

“What were you thinking?”

Ambrosias stood before his son with a look that would wake the dead.  And make them run.  Far away.  Damon was wishing he was back getting beaten by Oren again, rather than facing this look.  It was the kind of look that made people who were really good at bad looks get scared.

Seriously, it was a really bad look.  Damon answered slowly, so as to not make that look any worse.

“I wasn’t, father.  I just wanted to find my brother.  I was worried about him and…”

“You were worried about him,” He let the words hang in the air for a second, while he paced to once end of the room and then back.  When he returned to his former place, he continued.

“So worried, in fact, that you felt that you could take off with six of my guardsmen and an untested wizard out into the Great Wood?”

There was another pause, as Damon determined what he should say next.   He failed at this task, as all that came out was, “Yes, Father.”

“And what, exactly did you find there?”

“Father, the border guards are under a spell and would not let us pass.  Also, they lied about Marcos passing through there.  When they threatened us, we returned to tell you.”

“Threatened you?  They have been friends of our family, ever since your mother moved here.  That is strange,”  The big man paced another time, end where he started once more, “Strange indeed.

How did you know Marcos had gone through?”

Striding forward from the doorway, the soft voice of Invictus pierced the air, “My spell was tracking him, sir.  He had gone that way.”

“And your spell is infallible?”

“Yes, sir, it is.”

“Confidence.  Courage.  In a wizard.  Most extraordinary.”

“Your sons taught me, sir.”

Ambrosias turned from another attempt at pacing, and faced the young wizard.

“Excuse me?”

“Your sons, sir, are the finest example of confidence and courage.  And persistence, I might add.  I watched and I strived to be like them.  That is what you see before you now.  A product of your sons’ teachings.”
Ambrosias strode over and looked down on the boy for a second.  After a moment, his voice softened.

“Perhaps you can teach them some humility, if it will take.  Thank you.”

“My pleasure, sir.”

Ambrosias turned and walked quickly to the mantle and pulled down his sword.  As he strapped it in, Damon looked at him and then at Invictus.  He had a puzzled look that eventually became words.

“What just happened?”

Both father and friend turned to look at the confused boy before them.  And then they laughed at him.  It lasted for a few moments, when Damon found words again.

“No, really.  What is going on?  Father, why are you donning Pathfinder?  What is happening?”

                His voice rose to levels one does not use to your father.  Especially one that is strapping on a Great Weapon.

“My son.  Invictus and I are going to get your brother.  Would you care to join us?”

He and Invictus shared another laugh, as Damon stood bewildered at the severe lack of punishment he was receiving.   He stood bewildered for a moment and then finally joined them in mirth.

“Well, then what are we waiting for?”

The father put his arm around the two boys and they strode out of the hall into the courtyard.

*****

                “I really hate these things.”

Invictus was clearly not happy with his 3^rd six hour ride in 2 days, but held it back with as much grace as he could muster until now.

The party made good time, with Ambrosias in the lead, his personal guard close behind and around the boys.  There were 10 warriors and a wizard riding down Centaur Road to the Great Wood.  They passed the trolley a few hours ago, stopping long enough to ask the centaur Bran if she had seen Marcos on the road.  The fiery redhead had indeed seen him a few days ago as she was leaving the wood.  He voice was flirty and playful, and it was clear she knew the Warrior before her.

“He was talking to the border guard as I approached and attempted to hide in the woods as I passed.  I learned long ago not to get involved with Human and Elven royals unless there were coins involved, so I just passed on by.  The guard pretended they didn’t know he was there, and so did I.”

“That is all you know?”

“That is all you paid for, yes,” came the sultry voice, “Now if you don’t mind, I have a fare to return to Korlann City and it will be dark soon.

Fare they well, Wielder.  If I can be of further service, you know where to find me.”

And with that, she gave Ambrosias a wink, as though there was something private between them, and galloped off with her carriage.  Ambrosias watched her leave and reluctantly turned his horse back to the road.

“Wielder, father?”

“The Centaur see many things, and recognize a Great Weapon when they see it.  Wielder is a sign of respect for one that can manage to control one, rather than letting it control them.”

“How well do you know this…creature?”

“Well enough,” came the reply, “As I said, the Centaur know a great many things.

Let’s ride in silence awhile, shall we?”

And that was that.  When father was done, father was done.

 

*****

 

The wolfen were on them before they knew it, perhaps thirty of them.  They were pack creatures, like the wolves they resembles, but stood like men.  They carried cruel swords of blackened steel, and howled as they came in.  Hitting and fleeing, they would make small wounds in a man and then be gone before he could return the blow.

Recovering from the first blow, Invictus regained his composure and began an incantation that Damon was familiar with. He and his Father maneuvered the men behind the wizard, while remaining next to him to fend off the wolfen that were advancing. With a sudden rise in his tone, Invictus finished the spell, commanding a small gust of fire to emerge from his outstretched hand.

It flew at the largest cluster of wolfen and exploded in their midst, sending them flying.  At least seven were taken out by the blast, and several more where on fire and running around trying to put it out by rolling about in the dirt.

From off to the left, three of the beast came at Invictus with claws bared.  Damon was on them first, getting between the animals and the wizard.  His elven blade shone in the dim light of evening, and the attackers made attempts to keep away from it.  Damon made sure they failed, leaving a pile of bodies before him.  He looked behind him to see the Red Guard holding their own at the rear, letting no wolfen get through, while Damon and his father controlled the front.

As Invictus began another spell, a few of the wolfen charged at the wizard again, hurling small knives at him.  He abandoned the spell and threw up a shield like the one that had knocked Damon on his ass a few days before.  Damon couldn’t help a small smile as he headed towards the wolfen that approached.  His father was there before him, and he saw a beautiful sight.

Ambrosias had Pathfinder before him and in just a few graceful strokes beheaded the three wolfen that threatened Invictus.  It was almost as though the sword was wielding the man, or perhaps the two were dancing, trading the lead as needed to win the fight.  It was a sight to behold.

Turning about him to view the scene, Damon realized that those were the last few animals that were living and not on fire.   He signaled the Guard to deal with burning ones and the set upon them, making sure they were no longer living.  Damon turned to Invictus, looking at him with concern.

“Are you well, friend?  This was really your first battle, was it not?”

“If you don’t count fending off Marcos, then yes, this is the first.  Quite unsettling.  I don’t think I want to do many more of them.  At least not this close.”

“You did excellent, especially with that fireball.  Took a third of the force in one blow!”

“Yes, I suppose.  Now why do you think they attacked us?  We had a fire and eleven people in an enclosed encampment.  This was suicide.”

“Perhaps they hadn’t eaten in a while, or they were mentally unwell?”

“Invictus is correct,” injected Ambrosias, “these creatures were compelled to fight.  The odds were against them and wolfen are smart enough to know that.  Someone made them fight.  Can you tell who?”

Invictus squatted down over one of the corpses at his feet and started his chanting again.  After a few moments, he stood again and looked at Ambrosias with a solemn look.

“Well, there is good news and bad news.  These were definitely not made to do this by Marcos hand.  I know his work and his imprint was not present in the enchantment.”

“And the bad news?  Who made them fight?”

Damon was not sure what it could be, but was extremely curious to know.  He waited for Invictus to be ready to tell him, which took a lot longer than he wanted.

“Something much darker.  It was powerful and evil and it masked its imprint.  I do not know who – or what – made these things attack us.”

The camp was silent except for the sounds of a fire being set upon the gathered bodies of the slain or the moans of the wounded men being tended by the healers.  Ambrosias broke the quiet.

“We will enter the Wood in the morning and find the meaning in all of this.  Set a watch, and rotate every 3 hours.  Everyone else rest now.  You will need your strength tomorrow.”

So, I am officially behind now.  I took some time this weekend to get some things done and now there is makeup writing to do.  These things were necessary, as no matter what goals I set for myself, I will not abandon friends.  So, the important events I couldn’t miss.

Sadly, that leaves over a day behind schedule from a word count perspective.  I will be content to finish the novel and I will not constrain my self completely to these arbitrary dates.  I will, however, strive to meet them anyway just because.

Thank you, to those that are following my journey, for following my journey.  I will endeavor to make it worth your while.

Right.  Back to it.  3000 words before bed!  Cry Havoc and Release the Dogs of War!

Or, rather, shut up and start writing.

Chapter 5:  And back again

“In times like these it is good to remember that there have always been times like these.”

–          Paul Harvey

The morning was met with some rather creepy animal sounds coming from the woods.   They sounded like the kind of thing that would peck at you in your sleep and be happier for it.  Luckily, the group was largely unpecked and healthy when they awoke. The creatures seemed happy with staying in the woods.

Damon did remember hearing the sounds of wolfen during the night, and that gave him a less than restful sleep.  He would awaken from dreams of battle, saving his party from certain death by single handedly taken on a score of wolfen.  He would sit up, sword in hand, and be greeted only by the guard on duty looking slightly puzzled and suddenly alert again.

He would explain that it was a dream to the watchman, and lie back down to attempt sleep once more, although it was difficult.

Thus, he rather sluggishly walked to the pot of hot java over the fire.  It would be needed to get through the woods, as there are sure to be foes to fight today.  As he poured his cup, he looked over at Invictus. Meditation seemed to be his morning fare, as Damon watched him sit there unmoving facing the woods.  It was a skill that he had never learned, sitting still and focusing his power for an action ahead.  He could it for that short burst of energy for a fight, but not like Invictus did.

He could sit and meditate for hours and then he’d be able to cast spells all damn day.  I mean, he had studied so hard because of my brother’s torment, that he had quite the arsenal of magic at his command.  He was even getting good at the improvisational magic that Master wouldn’t teach to anyone until they were absurdly good at everything else.  I only knew of two others that had learned it – Marcos and my mother — and they were nowhere near Invictus skill.  He was a true magic man for certain.

Damon, however, knew only a handful of spells, and those were enhancement magics and simple light and heat, as all the new wizards were taught.  He could make his muscles react faster or enable super feats of strength, but the idea of finding something that he lost was beyond him.  That is what Invictus was good at.  And, making things burst into flame.  He was real good at that.

After this little adventure, he decided to put a little more time into magic studies, at least to learn how to find things.  He was really tired of asking his friend to hunt things down.  Maybe he’d even get better at that meditation thing.  Just a few more hours a week and he’d start getting good at it.

Who am I fooling?  I’m no wizard.  I’d probably make about a week and I’d be back in the training yard. 

Damon walked over to his sword and began his daily meditation – Sword drills.  The guardsmen joined him after a few minutes and soon the entire camp was moving in unison with the drills they had all learned from Oren.  He went through it in his mind, even though the movements were rote.

Shift weight forward and thrust. Step back into overhead block, sword pointing down, arm outstretched. Shift balance and spin around, striking downward across the body. Cut up across the chest, ducking off to the left to avoid the counter blow. A backhand slash straight into the neck, taking off the head. Step back again to the overhead block.

They repeated this and several other patterns for about 30 minutes until their bodies were warm and ready for action.  Throughout the exercise, Invictus hadn’t moved.  He sat in his posture staring at the woods.  When they broke up and starting breaking camp, he stood from his trance and strode over to Damon.  Without looking up, he started in on his friend.

“Morning, Princess.  Sleep well?”

A small lick of flame appearing in his hand he replied, “Please. Stop. Calling. Me. Princess.”

“Alright. Alright.  Don’t set me on fire again.  I only brought two shirts.”  He laughed and continued packing.  The flames died out, and Invictus’ voice became less serious.

“I know where he is now and he knows we are coming.  I sensed it during my trance.”

“Since we are trying meet with him to talk about coming home, I think that will be ok.  Why does it trouble you?”

Invictus stood and walked away for a moment, as if considering his response carefully.  Then he turned with purpose to speak.  Perhaps he just wanted distance for these next words.

“He tried to kill us at our last meeting.  I suspect he may try that again.”

“He will not.  Once I have talked to him, apologized for my behavior …”

“Apologize!  Why in the name of Res do you need to apologize?  For not dying when the fireball was stopped?  By my hand, if you remember!”

He moved closer to Damon, and continued, enraged.

“He is an evil little brat and will not behave with the grace and compassion that you imagine in your head!  If you confront him, he is likely to capture or kill you for your trouble.”

“If this is what you believe, then why are you even here? You could have told my father and I would have been unable to come on this little journey.”

Pointing his finger at Damon, his voice became softer and focused, “You need me, and you know it. I would not let you face danger alone, not after all these years you have been there for me.

I may not agree with you.  I may even think you are stupid, sometimes, but I will be damned if I will let you go get yourself killed when I can be there to stop it.”

Damon walked closer and put his hand on Invictus’ shoulder.

“And that is why I have always been there for you.  No one shows more courage or loyalty than you. You are as much a part of my family as Marcos.  And if it were you who had left, I would do the same.”

They stood together for a moment, with the guardsmen looking on, all activity in the camp halted for a moment.  Invictus spoke to break the silence.

“Let’s do this.”

The laughter from Damon was loud enough to make the nearby birds in the Wood take flight and make the weird creepy noises that birds of the Wood make.  The guardsmen, startled for a second, got back to work breaking camp grumbling things about crazy teenagers getting them killed.

*****

After a short while, the party mounted up and headed towards the road leading into the woods a short distance away.  They began the quick jaunt to the trees and prepared to head into the wood when Damon heard the distinct twang of a bow firing.  Before he could react, an arrow with a red fletching landed in the path ahead of them.  That was a warning arrow of the border guards of the realm.

Damon held up one hand to signal the stop of the party and continued to ride forward to the arrow.  Dismounting, he walked up to the arrow and stood on this side of it.

He called out to the Woods, “I am Damon, Son of Lord Ambrosias.  Show yourselves and explain this warning.”

As he spoke, Invictus rode up to Damon and less than graciously dismounted his horse to stand by Damon, his hands at his sides with palms towards the Wood.

As if they had always been there, about 20 elven warriors armed with bows were standing about 40 paces off in an a semi-circle around the party.  They had their weapons trained on the group and were prepared to fire. One straight ahead broke the circle and walked forward, lowering his bow.  When he was a few horse lengths from Damon, he stopped keeping an arrow nocked and at his side.

“You must go home, Damon, son of Ambrosias.  These woods are not safe for you.”

“We are looking for my brother, Marcos, whom we know came this way and is in the Wood.  Please let us pass, so we may meet with him.”

“Your brother has not come this way, as we would have seen him and turned him away, as we are you.   Now, go.  Before we make you go.”

Damon stood there, trying to determine what to do next.  Meanwhile, Invictus scanned the archers before him, settling on the spokesman before them.  He leaned in to Damon, and whispered to him.

“These men are under an enchantment.  They are not of their own mind.  We should go.”

“Bide a moment. Let me talk to them.”

Damon walked forward, passing the arrow in the ground.  As he did, the archer raised his bow and aimed it at Damon’s head, drawing back to fire.  Damon stopped, raising his hands, and started to speak.  He was cut off before he could start.

“Another step, half-elf, and I will put this arrow in your eye.  Go.  Now.”

Damon stood there for a moment, lowered his arms to his side, and started walking backward to where Invictus stood, never looking away from the elf.

“You are right, Vic.  Time to go.”

With that, he signaled to men to move out, and turned to mount his horse.  Invictus lingered a moment, considering the group.  When the leader turned his arrow towards him, Invictus turned and went to his horse to mount up.  As he did, he turned back to the elf and stared.  Soon after, he turned and galloped off.

Damon and the others did the same.  As he rode off, he turned back to look at the elves one more time.  They were gone.

“Now, we must tell father.  He will not like hearing that the border guards have been ensorcelled, possibly by his son.  And, he will certainly have words for the son that went against his wishes to discover it.”

“He will certainly want to hear this, Damon.  I can tell him it was my idea, and he will be angry at me.”

“No, Vic.  He will be angry at me, regardless.  I would save you the pain of his wrath.  I will tell him.”

They rode all day in silence all the way to the castle.

 

 

 

Distractions abound, but I am getting along with it. I really wish I had written it in 1st person, as I intended, as I think I write better that way. Perhaps the next story, I will. Oh well. Best laid plans, and all that.

This word count is the count as of right now, not at the end of this chapter, meaning it includes chapter 5.  Cranking it out, as they say.

So, here is Chapter 4, as promised. Chapter 5 is nearly done, but I need to take a break and post later.   I see a lot of editing needed on this one, but I have successfully resisted.

I think I have grown.

Chapter 4:  To the Wood

“A friend loveth at all times, and a brother is born for adversity.”

– King Solomon

Damon ducked low under the swing at his head, and thrust in with his sword at his attacker’s ribs.  The man spun his body just offline of the swing and brought his elbow back into Damon’s head, making his ears ring for a moment.  As he tried to right himself, Damon felt the ground disconnect from his feet, as his shoulder’s rapidly switched places with them. Overhead, he heard a voice through the ringing in his head.

“What is with you, boy?  You haven’t connected a blow in days!”

There was love and concern in the old sword master’s voice, as he extended a hand to help the boy to his feet.  Damon took it, and let himself be pulled upward to his feet.  He staggered a bit from the headshot, but managed to maintain balance.  He stood there, reeling slightly, waiting for his next instruction.

“Did you hear me?  I said, what is with you?  Still whining about Marcos leaving? No future in it, but I guess that is what little boys do, right?”

Damon stood straight up and looked at his master with a look that should not be given to one’s sword master.  Still, it was given, and in return the elder shot him back a smile that said, “Come do something about it.”

Damon picked up his sword and staggered a bit forward when he did.  He caught his balance, and stumbled to a ready stance.  The two stared at each other for a long moment, eyeing the other like two predators that had wandered into each other in disputed territory. Without warning, Damon lunged at the man with a fury unbalanced.

Stepping to the left outside the boy’s blade, the old man came in hard with a kick to the stomach, making Damon crumble to ground once again.  He made a loud “uumph” as it landed, and then again when he hit the ground.  He lie there with a mouth full of dirt, deciding whether to stand again.

Oren walked back over to his student and extended his hand once again, which was accepted.  Damon rose to his feet, readied his practice blade, and waited again for his master to speak.

“Perhaps you just like misery?  Or you want everyone to feel sorry for you?  Poor little Damon.  His mean younger brother finally ran away.  He’s probably out in the woods torturing little bunnies, the evil little bastard.”

“EEEEYYYAAAAA!” came the battle cry from the enraged student, with a powerful overhead swing at Oren’s head. Stepping to the right, Oren dodged the blow, and swung for the back of the boy’s head.  The wooden blade bounced off his skull with a resounding “whack” and sent its receiver straight to the ground again.

Once again, Damon found himself flat on his face with dirt in his mouth.  This time, he ignored the offered hand, and just lie there, blowing dirt out of his nose and mouth.   A few moments went by, when the silence was shattered by Oren’s gravelly voice.

“Ahhh.  Lesson’s over, then.  Come back and see me when you are ready to face me like a man, instead of a boy.”

He heard the last words receding, along with the footsteps of his teacher, and soon the room was in silence.  He rolled over onto his back, eyes closed, feeling the pain in various parts of his body.

For a short while he wept, until he heard a familiar voice drown out his own breathing.

“That was quite a beating you took.  You ok?”

Invictus.  My best friend.  Who talked me into letting my brother leave.  Who is now here, when Marcos is not.  Even Father seems to have given up.

Damon didn’t hate him.  No, he loved his friend Vic.  Like a brother; the brother Marcos should have been.  He only wished it could be three brothers, laughing and pursuing adventures together as brothers should.  But that was not how it was.

“Damon?”

Invictus sounded worried, but Damon still lied there, until he heard Invictus start chanting a spell.  He sat up and thrust his arms in the air, and made a loud “aaaarrrrr” sound at his friend.

Invictus reflexively redirected his energy into a shield and Damon was pushed back to the ground again onto his back.  The shield went down immediately, and Invictus started to curse.

“Damn you!  That wasn’t funny!  I might have hurt you.”

Damon lie on his back again, and burst into laughter at his friend’s words.

“After the beating I just got, I really doubt it,” he choked out between laughs, “as Oren seems to be trying to train me out of my sadness.”

“Damon, I…”

“No need to apologize again, Vic.  It was not your fault.  You are not responsible for the actions of my brother.”

Invictus extended his hand to his fallen friend, and Damon began laughing again, remembering how many times this had happened today.  As he got to his feet, he heard his own words echoing from the mouth of his father some years before.  He looked Invictus in the eye and told him.

“And neither am I.”

 

*****

                They rode hard out across the countryside towards the Great Woods.  Invictus spell was leading them there.  He complained the whole way that they should not be going, but Damon ignored him.  His stubborn tendency to never give up had kicked in and he planned to ride until he got where he was going or the horse had to stop for the day.

It was more likely that Invictus would give out before the horse, truth be told.  He is a powerful wizard for his age, but fast, long distance travel was not his forte.  He would tire soon and they would have to rest.  This was not to Damon’s liking, but he may need Invictus fresh when they arrived.  A tired wizard is as good as a pile of sticks when you peel all it all away.

Still, he would push it until he had to stop.  They would rest before they went into the Wood, as the men would not go there at night.  It was hard enough to get the guard to come with and not just drag him off to father for punishment, so he decided to not anger them as well.  Besides, there were things in the Great Wood that liked a good meal of Half-Elf, and he wasn’t about to get himself eaten.  He would remain long lived only if he didn’t get himself killed.

And, I am sure father would be upset if half a dozen of his royal guard were killed and eaten.  Especially considering he didn’t order them on this little mission; his bull headed son did.

I’d best bring them all back alive, or it’ll be the kitchens until I marry.

He could hear Invictus start to moan again and began looking for a good place to camp for the night.  Someplace with a little cover would be nice, in case the wild things of the area got curious.  The tents they had would keep out the weather, as he had taken the better ones from the war storage.  These survival tents would keep out all but gale force winds with the spells they had on them, but they were still just leather, after all.  A bear or a hungry pack of wolfen could cause us to have a really bad night.

“Damon, when are we stopping?  I am exhausted.”

“Just looking for a place to put the princess to bed now.”

“I can set you on fire, if that would speed things up.  It’s no problem, really.”

“I’m looking, your highness!  I’m looking.  No need to get snippy.”

Invictus looked around as well, as though he could find a camp spot.  He probably could, with a spell or two he knew.  With the exception of fireballs and the like, finding things was his specialty.  I never lost anything for long that Invictus hadn’t located for me.  And we never get lost, as he just seemed to know where we need to go to get anywhere.

“There,” came his voice, “Over there.”

He was pointing at a small outcropping of rocks near the tree line, where we would be shielded from the eyes in the woods and the strong winds that blew across these plains at night.  I signaled the men to head that direction to check it out.  Someone – or something – may already have had this idea.

“Well done, Vic.  You are quite the outdoorsman after all.”

With a laugh, he spurred his horse on to follow the guard, hopefully to be there first if anything hostile popped up.  The guards were capable, of course, but his father had chosen them more for loyalty than for skill.   Damon knew he could take most of them in a duel, but he hadn’t been this far from the castle without Father and his personal guard more than a few times.  These men did it all the time.

He wanted to be there first so he could get a shot at whatever came at them, assuming something did.  If they could, they would get in the way and try to protect their Lord’s son, so Damon wouldn’t get any action.  And he was determined to see some action.

He was really looking to see what would happen in a real fight outside the castle against real opponents that were really trying to do him harm.  It was stupid, really, looking for a fight.  He could really get hurt killed doing this kind of thing.

He spurred the horse on again, a smile growing across his face.  In the dim light of early evening, he could still see clearly into the rocky area with his Elf sight, one several birth-gifts from his mother, while the guard would need light soon to see clearly.  They called out to him to slow down, but he kept on riding.

He arrived at the spurs and leapt from his steed into a roll, coming up into a fighting stance with his sword free of the sheath.  He looked about him in the failing light, but nothing was there save some vermin that scuttled off as soon as he emerged in the clearing.  He walked around the clearing, but nothing evil tried to slay him; nothing hostile appeared.  With a short exhale, he began sheathing his blade as the guard caught up to him.

“It truly is a clearing, Bom.  There is nothing here.”

“M’lord,” Bom cleared his throat before continuing, ”If you would please not do that again?  Our job is to protect you, and we cannot do that if you don’t stay with us. “

“Yes, yes, of course.  I will endeavor to do that in the future.”

“Thank you, M’lord.”

Both of them knew, from the frown on the guard and the smile that Damon wore, that the boy would run off again as soon as he could.  They walked back to their horses and began unloading gear to make camp.  Invictus strolled up and dismounted, walking a bit funny after the long ride.

“6 hours on a horse is a bit much for you?  If you would learn that Flash Travel spell the Master used, this wouldn’t be so hard.  We’d have been here forever ago.”

“I don’t see you learning any new spells.  What will you do if I am not there?”

“Dear friend, you will always be there, won’t you?”

“As long as I am able, you know that.  But if you would just study…”

“I hear enough of that from the old man.  I don’t need it from you, as well.  Let’s get camp ready.  Can you see to the meal while I help with the tents?”

“Of course.  I’ll go get my apron.”

Damon chuckled, and slapped the smaller boy on the back.  “That’s the spirit, princess.”

As he walked away, Invictus flicked his wrist in Damon’s direction, and his shirt sleeve caught on fire.  Damon noticed after a few more steps, and dropped to the ground to beat the growing flames out.  As he did, he called out behind him in a mildly annoyed voice, continuing on toward the horses.

“Not funny, Vic. This is my favorite shirt.”

Today is a struggle.  I mean, really a struggle.  I am tired, and I think it shows.  I am not happy with this chapter at all.  It moves the story forward, although it will get rewritten, I expect next month.  The characters fought against what I wanted and I eventually gave in and just let them have their way.

Still, as long as they keep telling me where to go, I will keep telling their story.  Damn kids, anyway.

Here it is, gentle reader, for what it is worth. I am off to keep writing towards Chapter 4, as I am behind a bit on the word count today. What with the Nutcracker, consoling a friend who needs me, and running a game on Sunday, I need to get ahead. This weekend may not let me write as much as I need to. Grrrr. I need to not stress, or the story will not come out.

So, I leave you tonight with this, such as it is.

Chapter 3:  Power uncontained

“Running away will never make you free.”

– Kenny Loggins

The explosion was deafening, making everyone cover their ears.  Annathon ran to Invictus, yelling something that could not be heard over the fires.  People were running everywhere; some throwing water spells on the fire, others trying to make destroy the air that would fuel the flames higher.

Invictus just stood there, arm outstretched, fingered spread out towards the fire.  His face was covered in sweat, his Will bent on the flames, as if he could will them to go out, just as he willed them to explode as they did.

There is no way I did that.

Before the fire could spread, Annathon waved a hand at the blaze and a great wind followed the gesture to the flames.  It was out in a few seconds, and the wind died as it did.  He stood there looking at Invictus, with a look of confusion and pride.

There is no way he did that.

They stared at each other for a moment, as if they were having a conversation without words, when Invictus finally spoke.

“Master, that was not all my doing.  I controlled the blast…”

“I agree, Invictus, I agree.  Let’s go have a look at the target, shall we?  Perhaps we can shed some light on the matter.”

He walked towards the target, with Invictus close behind, and reached it in in short order.  Damon and the other students were there as well, having stopped their efforts at putting out the now extinguished flames.

Slapping Invictus on the back, Damon yelled, “That was a hell of a blast, Vic!  You are becoming quite the wizard!”

Falling slightly forward from the force, Invictus righted himself before he replied.

“Thanks, friend, but that was not all me.  Something was wrong in the spell, I would guess, as the power was far too high.  I cannot guess what happened.”

“I can, my apprentice, I can.  The target was coated with firemoss.  Who put this here?”

The old man was holding aloft the charred plant in his hands, with a look of concern on his face.  He turned around in circles, showing the moss to the gathered student body, staring at each face, into each young mind.  They could feel his Will boring into them, coaxing their fear, making them cower before their teacher.  He rarely was angry, unless someone did something stupid.

This clearly qualified.

“Not only has someone stolen firemoss from our locked storage area, they have placed enough of it here to set the whole castle on fire.  Had we been standing closer to the target, we could have all been killed. So, I ask again.

WHO DID THIS?”

His voice carried power with it, across the courtyard and into each student.   They felt the voice as a physical thing, as if someone was in their face, grabbing their collar and demanding that they speak.  No one moved a muscle and no one owned up to planning such a dangerous act.

The Wizard turned in one slow circle, evaluating each student as he did.  When he had completed his rotation, he stopped in front of Damon.

“Where is Marcos?”

“I do not know, Master.  He was here before the test.  Shall I go find him?”

“Thank will not be necessary.  I will do it.”

With that, he lowered his head and chanted in a low, guttural voice, as if he had a mouthful of water and was trying to talk through it.  It went on for a few minutes, and while it did, the students just stared at him and waited.  He very abruptly stopped chanting, lifted his head, and pointed toward the second story window of the dorms.

“There.  Bring him to me.”

Damon looked down the wizard’s arm to the window, and saw Marcos face drop out of view.  He broke into run, that carried him like a gazelle across the grounds, his boots clacking on the hard stone as he ran.  Up the stairs he went, and spotted Marcos running out the other side toward the back stairs.  He chased after him, through the hall and around the corner to the stairs.  As he leapt down then, he could hear the door shutting ahead of him, and Marcos’ footsteps receding outside.

“Stop, brother!  The Master wants you!  Stop!” he yelled as he ran after him, opening the door and heading off in the direction of the footsteps.   He began to slow down, as he saw his brother had ended the chase, frozen in mid step, with his head looking back over his shoulder.

“What is this?” he demanded, as he walked up to his statue-like brother.

“I have him, Damon.  Go get Master Annathon.”

Damon looked to the voice, and saw Invictus, once again with his arm out in front of him, pointing at Marcos and staring at him intensely as he slowly walked closer.

“Dammit, Vic, when did you learn that?  Show me later?”

They smiled at each other for a moment, like two kids that had just caught a bug that they thought was cool.  After a second, Damon shook his head, and started off to find the old wizard.  Vic waited for him to leave and then closed the gap on Marcos, his smile fading.  He leaned in to Marcos ear, laying his hand on the frozen boy’s shoulder.

“I am done being your servant, Marcos.  I can stop any thing you do to me now.  My Will is stronger than your malice, and I will suffer no more of your bullying.  Not on me, or anyone.  You will need to go back to torturing rats for your pleasure, like you did before I came around.

I will do far worse to you if I hear of you harming anyone else.”

Invictus leaned back as he heard footsteps coming closer.

“I dare you to test me, Marcos.”

Annathon, Damon and then the rest of the students came around the corner to see Invictus standing quietly before the immobile figure of Marcos.  He stood with his hands behind his back, turning as the class approached to face his Master.  He bowed his head slightly, and gestured to his trophy.

“Release him, Invictus.  Now.”

Invictus lowered his hand, looked at Marcos for a second, and then walked to stand beside Damon.  Marcos began to move suddenly and fell to the ground in a heap.  He started to get up and continue his run, when the Wizard spoke again in a softer voice.

“Marcos.  Come with me.”

Marcos looked at him, looked at Damon and Invictus, then stood and brushed himself off.  He walked straight to Invictus with a murderous look in his eyes.  Damon stepped in front of him, holding up a hand to stop Marcos advance.   Marcos stopped before his brother and stared.

“Marcos!  Come. With. Me.”

The master’s voice was strong but soft, compelling Marcos to follow.  He started to walk with Annathon, and suddenly turned back towards Invictus and hurled a small object at him.  Damon moved to catch it, but Invictus yelled, “NO!”

Just in front of Damon’s hand, it froze in midair.  Moving quickly up past him, Invictus enclosed it with both hands.  Chanting under his breath, he moved his hands outward as the imprisoned rock exploded into flames.   The flames licked around the young wizard’s hands, but none of it escaped far.  Sweat poured down his face as the fire went out.  He came to a proud stance, letting his arms fall to his sides, and faced Marcos.

“Never again, Marcos. I am no longer weak.  Your torment has made me strong.

I suppose, I should thank you.”

Invictus mouth pulled up into a smirk.  Damon stared at Marcos with the frown his father wore, and began to advance on him.

“You could have killed us both. That was too far, brother. ”

“Brother?  You call me brother? You never treat me like a brother; only use the word to make me another pet of our father like you.  ”

“Our father loves us both.  Only you want his love all to yourself!”

“How can he love me, when he gives it all to you?  And, as for brother, this brat can take my place.  I have had enough of this pathetic family.”

With that, he turned and strode out past the class into the courtyard.  Damon ran after him, but when he closed in, his brother turned with a knife drawn.

“Leave me alone.  Brother.”

He nearly spit out the last word, with a contempt that was unmistakable.

“Father will hear of this.  You will not be allowed to leave.”

“Try and stop me.”

As Marcos backed away, and Damon begins to follow him, he hears Invictus’ clear voice.

“Let him go.  If you make him stay, someone will die by his hand.”

“But, he is my brother,” Damon interjected, turned to his friend, “and I cannot just let him leave.”

“Would you chain him up?  Put him in the dungeons?  If he chooses to leave, he will leave and nothing you can do will stop him.  Let him go, Damon.  Let him go.”

With that, Marcos put the knife away and turned to walk away.  Over his shoulder, he cast back the words, “Good bye,” as though they were so much trash to be tossed away.

Damon stared at Marcos’ back, as he disappeared through the gates, the Invictus slowly moving up behind.  He placed his hand on Damon’s shoulder and stood silently next to his friend.  Damon turned to him, and spoke, in a voice barely loud enough to hear.

“But, he is my brother.”

His friend just nodded, with a face that expressed “I know,” and “I’m sorry,” all at once.  They stood there together, staring at the open gate, quiet and unmoving for a time.

Marcos was gone.

Good day and welcome to Day two. I will keep writing tonight, but I wanted to post this now, as it is an end of A chapter. I have gone back and posted the entire chapter one — still unedited — so that this part of the story will make sense. Go finish that, before reading this.

No, really. Go.

Chapter 2: The spell and the sword

“Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will.”
– Mahatma Gandhi

Invictus hit the ground hard, all the air coming out in a loud, “UMPH” as he did.  He could feel the skin on his wrists and knees breaking open on the stone floor and the blood begin to flow from his wounds.  And to make matters worse, his head bounced off the rock with a resounding “thud” that made it ring loud enough that he couldn’t hear the voices around him.  This was actually a blessing, as he didn’t want to hear the jibes of the other schoolboys again, anyway.

This is getting old.  And painful.

His thoughts were almost drowned out by the bell ringing in his skull, but were loud enough to make him attempt to stand, one more time.

“You are weak.  Stay down,” Marcos voice was cruel, and was followed by a hard thump on Invictus’ back.   Back down he went, sliding across the uneven floor with his chin and chest, leaving more small cuts.

He lay there for a moment, pondering what to do.  He only knew a few spells, and not of them were combat magic.  The damn teacher wouldn’t show him the good stuff until he had mastered his concentration.  If he knew how to throw a stun ball, this would be a non-issue.  All he could do was basic light and heat, enough to start a small fire if he concentrated enough.  There is no way he could make these little spells into bully repellant.  Unless…

He started chanting under his breath, drawing magic energy to him in a slow and study rush that made his head throb.  Between the crack on the skull and the gathering of power, this headache was the mother lode.  But he was determined to make that son of a bitch pay for all this bullying.  He just needed an edge so he could stand and fight.   Just a few seconds more.

The kick in the ribs that came next was almost enough to break his concentration and make him lose the power he had gathered.  As he had been taught, a wizard’s greatest strength is in his will; Will to draw mana, Will to focus power into an imagined probability,  and Will to keep it together when outside stresses made these first two difficult.  For if a wizard released power without will, the effects could be deadly to the wizardly and those around him.

Not that this little spell from this little boy could cause the world to end or anything, but it would definitely not feel good if the power backlashed.  Invictus kept it together, and focused the power, imagining a bright white light in a brilliant cone.  He captured that image in him mind’s eye and rolled over onto his back, thrusting his hand towards Marcos.  Through outstretched fingers, bright white light filled the immediate area in front of him, blinding his oppressors.

As they all reached for their eyes, Invictus struggled to his feet and charged towards Marcos.  He threw his most powerful punch as the bully’s face, screaming in a berserk, high-pitched voice and…met air.

Marcos had moved.  Somehow, he had managed to get out of the way or was able to counteract the blindness.  Either way, he now stood next to Invictus with a wicked smile on his face.

“Missed me,” with a slow vicious tone that made Invictus cringe in fear.  In a step and a lunge, Marcos hit the young wizard square in the chest with the open palm of his hand, sending him off the ground and into the air.  He hit the stone again with a resounding thud, and remained motionless on the slab staring up at the sky.  He was not sure if he could move again.  Between the spell and the beating, he was spent.  Not sure what else to do, so he just laid there and bled on the cold rock.

Marcos’ face appeared over him eclipsing the sun with his head, that smile ever present and ever mocking Invictus weak body.  He pulled from behind him a small stick and swung it back out of view.  Invictus didn’t move, ready to accept the blows that would surely come soon.  At least this time he had earned them.  He had fought back and didn’t just…

Pain flooded through Invictus as the stick connected with his ribcage, making one of them crack.  He screamed so loud his own ears hurt, but the next blow connected before he could finish and the wind came out him choking off the sound.

Just kill me and get it over with.  I’ve had enough.

“No you haven’t, boy.  No you haven’t,” came the voice above him, as the next blow hit and broke the left arm, that had reflexively come up to block a blow to the head.

Invictus had been talking about loud and didn’t realize it, screaming for Marcos to kill him, to end this torment of years.  It was too much.  Too much.

“I am still enjoying this, Vic. There is no way I am ready to stop.”

As Invictus once again saw the stick coming down, he braced for impact, in the sense that he just lay there waiting for the pain.  There was no movement left in him.  He closed his eyes as he expected the blow and…it never came.  Another voice rang out, familiar and strong.

“Leave him alone, Marcos.  He’s had enough.  Why don’t you try someone more your size?”

Marcos spun in place, with a look of shock and horror as he faced this new adversary.  His expression changed to hatred as he stared into the eyes of his brother.

“Coming to the aid of the defenseless, again, Damon?  I would think you would be kissing butt with Father, or that old fool of a magic teacher.  It seems to be your best skill.”

Damon moved to a defensive posture, hands out in front of him slightly apart with the left slightly closer to Marcos.  He made a “come and get it” gesture with the front hand and smiled as he spoke.

“And yours is being an overbearing ass, it seems.  Care to test your stick skills against my fists, brother?  I was looking for a little exercise after all morning with books.”

At this, all but a few of the bigger boys moved away from Marcos, their cheers for the bully subsiding at Damon’s challenge.  Marcos’ lackeys moved to the side, as if they were moving out of the fight, but Damon knew better.  They were positioning themselves to come to the aid of Marcos when he started losing in a minute.  Damon had come to Invictus’ aid many times, and Marcos’ thugs always intervened.  Damon just saw this as extra practice, so he kept up the smile and focused on his brother, ready to act.

It grew quiet and tense for a few moments, as the three bullies slowly made a half circle around Damon.   He watched them, with the practiced ease of a warrior.  He watched them, letting them get into position, eyeing each of them in a way that made them uneasy.  As they finally stopped, presumably at the proper position for an ambush, Damon smiled wide, his thoughts thoroughly on the game he was about to play.

Here comes the fun part.

The larger of the two boys lunged at him from his left flank in a powerful charge intended to knock Damon down.  Damon stood still, watching the other boy maneuver toward Damon’s back, looking to get behind him also.  As the charge had almost reached him, Damon saw Marcos start his step and swing with the stick.  Damon waited.

Just as first thug’s arms started around Damon, he dropped into a crouch and launched an elbow into the big boy’s groin, using his other hand to focus his forward momentum overhead towards the second boy.   Surprised, he didn’t quite move as fast as he needed to avoid being slammed by the behemoth Damon hurled at him.  Down they both went, as Damon stepped forward toward Marcos with his right arm straight and out to the side.

Marcos moved the stick back, in an attempt to block Damon’s arm, but was just below the mark as Damon’s forearm caught him in the throat.  Marcos’ legs went out from under him and he fell abruptly to his back, the stick flying out of his arms towards the crowd.  They jumped out of the way, and the stick twirled out of sight.

As the clanged against the ground, Damon turned to a relaxed stance, facing the 3 fallen boys.  As they began moaning, he looked down at Marcos with an oversized grin and laughed loudly.  He leaned over him, as Marcos coughed and choked, holding his throat.

“Your guard is still too low, Marcos.”

Laughing again, he walked over to where Invictus lie, and helped him up.   Still laughing, he put the smaller boy’s arm over his shoulder and helped him away.

“How are you feeling, Vic?”

Invictus only groaned, nearly passing out from the pain of walking.  When they had cleared the scene of the fight, Damon’s laughter turned somber.

“You really need to stay away from Marcos.  One of these days, he may kill you if you aren’t careful.”

The other just nodded his head, unable to speak with several broken bones.  Through his mind, he knew the only thing keeping him conscious was his will; his Wizard’s Will that made him not quit.  He would never quit, even beaten bloody senseless, as that would make him truly weak.  And he was not weak, just unskilled.  Someday, he would be skilled, and Marcos’ torment only drove him to study harder, to become mighty.  Someday, Damon and his father would be proud.

All that came out of his mouth, however, was a whimper and a cough, as he was led once again to his Master Annathon to be healed.  More humiliation and talk.  More punishment for fighting, even though Damon would surely tell what had happened.  That it wasn’t his fault.

And Damon would insist on sharing the punishment, and Annathon would agree, so that Damon would watch over me, as he always did.

Someday, I will be mighty.  Someday, I will be saving them with my power. 

Damon put Invictus on the bed in the Master’s office, and Annathon went to work, the predictable argument already underway.  Once he was lying on the bed, however, Invictus could feel his will fail.  In his Master’s house, there was nothing to fear, no one to hurt him.  He could relax now, and he did.  He saw the room start to blacken, and he knew what was happening.   The noises became distant, and he was left with one…last…thought.

Someday.

I have elected the way of pain;  I am writing a novel in the month of November.

Having never done it, I expect the resulting novel to be shit, not worthy of giving away.  Still, I will have a novel.  I will then edit it and offer it up for people to read.  FYI, this is unedited text. If you must comment, make them about content not grammar and spelling.  I know I missed things there.

As of right now, I am at about 1965 words, and I will be adding a few hundred more before I stop tonight with Chapter 2 written.  With that said, I will give you a taste, and go back to writing.

Synopsis

Damon and Invictus, childhood friends, are forced to face evil in the shape of Damon’s brother. In this story, we find that sometimes the bond of the family we bleed with is stronger than the family we share blood with.

Chapter 1:  A turning point

“The voice of parents is the voice of gods, for to their children they are heaven’s lieutenants.”

– Shakespeare

A low fire rumbled in the hearth of the great room, felt rather than heard over the din of the room.  The boys were playing together; the loud clack of wood on wood filled the room as great battles were acted out with toy swords across the great bear skin rug.  They had been going like this for hours, while their father, Ambrosias, looked on.  He rarely said a word, interjecting only when one of the boys did something that needed a correction.  This was one of those moments.

“Your guard is low, Marcos.”

“But, I am winning Father!” cried out Marcos, just as Damon swung his sword above the others and connected with his chin.  He fell to the ground, crying aloud, as the welt began to appear on his face.  Damon backed up, as Ambrosias came forward to inspect the wound.

“As I said; too low.”  Father’s voice was clearly littered with disappointment as he continued, “although I am not sure your brother saw it, or just took advantage if my pointing it out.”
Damon’s face went from a beaming smile to the panicked look of the guilty as his father’s words struck home.

“I’ll go get the surgeon, Father,” and he began to speed out of the room.

“No need.  It will serve to remind him of the mistake he made.   You will get to look upon it and ponder whether you were fighting with honor.“

Ambrosias went back to his chair and sat down, staring at the dumbfounded boys.  Marcos was holding his sword in one hand and his chin with the other, alternating glares between his brother and his father.  It was hard to tell which he hated more at this time, but if looks could kill, he’d be alone soon.

Damon, had his sword at his side and was staring at his father with a look of near despair.  He opened his mouth to speak, and then closed it, as if he knew the answer he would receive.  He lowered his head slightly, and began to think about his father’s words.

Like a predator waiting on his prey, Marcos chose this time to strike again, swinging his sword down upon his brother’s head.  Damon moved to parry, but clearly was not fast enough.  It would not knock him out, but he was clearly about to hear the ringing of the time bells, if you know what I mean.

Just before the blow struck home, the blade went wide as if struck by something.  Marcos’ head looked in the direction of the sword, to see what had happened and missed his father’s hand close upon the back of his neck, seizing his shirt in his powerful grip.  He caught a glimpse of his father’s turkey leg that was now hitting the floor, as he felt his feet leave the ground.

“That is enough!” the voice echoed through the chamber, and froze everyone within earshot in their tracks.  The servants, the boys, even the dogs who were about to burst for the meat on the floor came to rest their eyes upon Ambrosias as he held Marcos’ aloft, poised so he could speak eye to eye with the boy.

“This is a profession of Honor.  You will not strike from surprise in a duel.  In War, these tactics must sometimes be used, but in a duel of brothers, especially in play, we do not.

For years I have counseled you both on what it means to be a swordsman.   Damon has learned, and has become a fine swordsman.  His is in need of refinement, and subtle hints about proper conduct, but he does not seek revenge when he injured in training.  That is the coward’s way. “

His eyes burned into Marcos’ as the words sunk deep into his psyche, never to leave. He heard them as clear as if they had been spoken aloud.

Damon is the better son.  You are a coward.

“You punishment will be to prepare our meals with the servants until you can show me you have learned.   Jaron, take this whelp to the kitchen.”

The Captain, who had run in when he hear his Lord bellow, released his hand from his sword and crossed room to Marcos.   The warrior’s gait was impatient, as if this was clearly something he didn’t want to deal with.

“Come on, boy.  Another month with the help for you!” his voice filled with contempt for the boy that made him a babysitter, even if it was just for a moment.  Marcos strode off with his head low, looking back with a sorrowful gaze at his father, who was watching him leave.

As he passed Damon, he gave him a look that would have started him ablaze if it could.  Fortunately for Damon, their wizardly studies were a year off, and he remained safely unscorched for the moment.  Still, he could clearly see the hatred in his brother’s eyes, and was clearly upset for his plight.  The welt on his chin seemed to leap out at Damon, and he mouthed the words, “I’m sorry” as they passed.  Marcos’ expression never changed, however, and he marched out of the hall like a prisoner in irons determined to escape.

Damon watched the door until he could no longer hear the footsteps, and then just stared into space, as if the whole thing might just change back to the way it was.  A moment or two later, he was startled by a large hand on his shoulder.

“You are not to blame for your brother’s behavior.   He makes his own choices.”

“I understand, father.  I still feel to blame.  If only I was a better example…”

“You are the better example.  He does not see it, as his eyes only gaze at himself.   You, however, see others before you and attempt to serve.“

Damon looked up at his father, who was smiling down on him.  His voice had softened, as it only does when they are alone.  In the pause it took him to answer, the dogs could be heard, finally devouring the remains of the castaway bird leg.

“Give him time.   He will see.  He will see.

Now, off to your practice. Tell the master at arms I said to work your thrusts.  They were slow today. “

Damon, knowing the hard work ahead of him for his transgression against his brother, groaned as he began walking away.  He would be thrusting at the practice dummies for an hour at least, before he got to ride his stallion again as he had planned.

And what is worse, he had to go ask for the work himself!  His father was showing his trust by not telling the old Sword Master himself, as he knew Damon would carry out the intent of the command.  Virtue is its own punishment, it seems.

He stopped to bowed to his father, and then ran to hug him quickly before the big man could stop him.  Ambrosias smiled and held his son, glancing around at the servants.  They were pretending to ignore his affection for his son, allowing him this moment of enjoyment that he so rarely was afforded.

Damon released his hug, and ran off to train, scooping up the toy swords with practiced rolls as he did.

Ambrosias watched him leave, the smile still upon his face.  After a moment, he spoke to the room.

“Enough play for today.”

Then slowly, he walked away, leaving the room to the servants.  They relaxed into their duties, and pretended not to be relieved.

——————————

Back to it.  Updates may not happen everyday, but I will keep posting my progress on my NaNoWriMo site here.