Once We Were Kings (Young Adult Fantasy) (The Sojourner Saga) (7 page)

Instead, the eagle sailed over the tops of the green bamboo and palm trees.  Leaves rustled with the passing wind.

And then it vanished into the thick of the woods.

Once again, it flew out with its quarry flailing about in its talons.  Ahndien dropped behind the crumbling wall of a demolished house and peered out at the spectacle.  As it did before, the great eagle dropped the second mountain lion to its death from a frightful height.

// BE STILL //

She jumped with a start. 

Swung around. 

Looked to the left.  To the right.  It was not the voice of the mountain lion.  No, this voice rang with aged sagacity. 

// FEAR NOT //

Right away, she lowered her arched shoulders.  Let out a suspended breath.

Still clutching her father's sword, Ahndien kept her eyes on the woods just outside the gate.  The eagle had flown out of view.  But somewhere in the thick of the woods, she feared, one mountain lion lurked.  The one that attacked her.  Whether it had fled or if it lay in wait, she could not tell.

With her hands clutching the sword so tightly it shook, Ahndien waited an eternity.  She dared not take her eyes from the fallen tree branches along the path outside the village gate.  She remained so still the only sound she heard was the pounding of her heart.  This did not subside with the passing of the time.  Instead, as the stirring in the brush grew closer, her heart pounded louder, relentless.

Poised and ready to slash at whatever came through, Ahndien bit down on her lip.  The crunching sound of pebbles and burnt twigs grew closer.  She drew a profound breath; wanted to shut her eyes and swing blind and wild when it arrived.

A rustling in the distant branches caused her to stiffen.

Something was coming.

CHAPTER TWELVE

The rare word or two spoken by Sir Edwyn barely left an impression in Render's mind.  As they walked about the citadel, Render's jaw slackened.  In awe, he gazed at the tall edifices made of smooth white stone, the spires of cathedrals which clutched at the sky.  According to Edwyn, they, along with all other such buildings, had long since been converted from great houses of archaic superstition to the modern services of the government.

"As you can see, this is the center of commerce for—" Edwyn stopped, glanced down at his feet, where a black cat stood, its tail erect.  It then circled and rubbed its face against his leg.

A warm, tingling sensation rushed through Render's body, up through his neck and to the top of his head. 

"Away, vermin!" Edwyn shoved it away with his foot.  Render tried to conceal his disappointment, though Folen and Stewan simply laughed.

They passed by a fountain in the middle of a public square, which, as Edwyn informed them, was called Hawthern Fountain.  A small crowd looked on as two young men fought.  They were clad in armor, their swords and shields clanging with every strike.  Each of their tutors, mounted on horses, held banners with their respective coat of arms emblazoned upon them.  On occasion they would call out a short burst of exhortation.

"Behold," Sir Edwyn said.  "When you have mastered a certain degree of proficiency in heraldry and combat, your training—all of it—the arts and letters, the martial arts, will culminate in a final exam, like the one these young men are taking."

"My word," said Folen.  "Won't they get hurt?"

"There are rules to the combat exam," he said and turned to Render.  "You shall learn soon enough."

Leaving the cheering crowd, the clashing weapons, Render and the twins followed their tutor past the fountain.  Render kept looking back to see where the cat had run off to.

"As royal pages," said Edwyn, straightening his tunic, "you shall take residence in my lord, The Lord Agon's manor."  He pointed to a walled castle to the left of the cathedral, the name of which escaped Render.  The castle's outer boundaries stood by the very walls of the citadel.  "Each of King Corigan's Lords take their official residency within the capital walls.  Castle Mittelvald, there on the Eastern Wall of the citadel, is but one of several.   It is there that you shall each receive your training."

When they arrived, a lancer clad in gray armor signaled the gate keeper.  A moment later, the massive bars whined as they yawned open with reluctance.

"It's huge!" Folen craned his neck around as they proceeded up the paved promenade.  Sweet jasmines, tall verdant trees and babbling fountains filled Render's senses.  The grass must have been the greenest, most finely cut he had ever laid eyes upon.  But surpassing all the grandeur of the courtyard, beyond the lush and perfectly level shrubs, a grand castle rose up from the ground.  From the windows in the corner turrets hung banners with a coat of arms.  Red, with the same dragon symbols Render had observed back at breakfast.

"For the duration of your training, you will study alongside with one other young squire," Edwyn said.  "He is not your age, Render.  But he is one or two years your elder, my twin pupils."  Folen and Stewan barely nodded, so affixed were their eyes on the castle's open door.

When they entered, a young boy about thirteen years old came forward.  He wore rich clothing, a small sword at his side, and a fine purple cap on his head.  With an upturned nose he stood at the threshold with his arms crossed over his narrow chest.  "Sir Edwyn, good day."

"And to you." Edwyn inclined his head.

"And what are these?"

"New students."

The young squire looked up at Render and frowned.  "Students?  These are provincial slaves.  Why, I've never seen the likes of these here."  He sneered at the twins.  "Apart from slaves."

Render's ears grew hot.  "I'm no slave!"

"Oh?  Surely you don't mean to—"

"Nor am I a servant."  Render stepped up such that the obnoxious little rat stood just beneath his nose.  Neither of them moved. 

"Do you know who I am?" said the squire, his white face now flushing like an apple.  "I doubt you even know who you yourself are.  But I'll tell you this: It's all about lineage.  For you see, I am..." He turned to the tutor.  "Sir Edwyn, would you be so kind?"

Edwyn's chest heaved.  With lead-weighted words he announced, "Master Branson, son of the Lord Agon.  The Lord Agon, who, thrice decorated for valor, is alone honored with the Scarlet Wreath." He turned to Render.  "Master Branson is the son of your benefactor."

"How impressive," said Render, devoid of all sincerity.

Finally, with impassive eyes, Branson stepped away and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.  "Quite.  If the good Edwyn insists that you are to study with me..." he rolled his eyes at the don, "then so be it.  Hmph.  I could use the diversion."

"Branson," said Edwyn, "Shall The Lord Agon soon return from the campaign?"

"Cursed if I should know," the boy said in a tone far older than one would expect for an adolescent.  "As if my father would condescend to telling me of his affairs."

"I only thought that—"

"You are here to instruct and prepare me for knighthood, though it ought to be mine by right of birth.  It's bad enough that your attention is now divided between me and those...those mongrels."

"'Tis by royal decree, young Master.  And by your father's wishes."

"I need not like it."  Branson tilted his nose up and began to sniff around near the twins.  "Do make certain they are bathed before dinner!"

"You stinking pile of cow dung!" Folen charged forward.  Despite the shouts for him to stop, Folen leapt and toppled Branson.  Straddling the young squire's chest, Folen repeatedly struck him.

Finally, Render and Edwyn grabbed his arms.  Yanked him up.

Eyes wide with anger. Branson climbed to his feet.  He drew his sword and rushed for Folen.  But Sir Edwyn took hold of his wrist and restrained him. 

"Unhand me!  Unhand me now!"

"With all due respect, Master Branson, it was your discourteous disposition and words that entreated such a reaction."

"I demand satisfaction!"

"What would your father think of this?  I am certain he would have a thing or two to say to you about your temper and woeful lack of decorum.  These are, after all, royal wards and your father's guests."

Pulling his hand free, Branson huffed and sheathed his little sword.  "Not a word, Sir Edwyn" he said.  "On your honor."

"I am duty bound to report all to my Lord."

It was then that Branson's icy features thawed.  More and more he began to look and talk like a boy of his age.  "Edwyn, please.  You mustn't.  If father finds out, why he'll...Well, you know what he'll do."

Edwyn nodded gravely.

"It's not fair!  I've worked so hard.  And has he ever once said, well done, my son?  No!  He just drives me harder and harder.  Can't you see why I am so ill-tempered?"

"Serves you right!" Folen said, rubbing his knuckles.

"Yes," Stewan said.  "It does!"

Branson reached for his sword.  Pulled it out partially.  His mouth twisted open to speak—no doubt something foul.  But Edwyn cleared his throat, which brought the petulant squire back under control.  Branson smoothed his shirt and affected a proud look, eyes half open and glared down his nose at the twins.  "Let us forget this unfortunate incident, shall we?"

None of them answered.  Folen and Stewan looked to Render.

"We shall not speak of this matter again," said Render.  "Neither to each other nor to your father."

"Good.  That's more like—"

"As long as you agree to one thing," said Render.  Edwyn's eyes betrayed the smile hidden behind his hand.

Branson opened his eyes fully.  "What is it?"

"As we are to be fellow students, you must treat us as fellow students.  As equals."  Render extended his hand.

For a moment longer than would have been polite, Branson stared at Render's hand as if it had just been pulled from a cesspool.  But finally, he took it, smiled a crooked smile and said, "Fellow students."

"Fellow students."

Branson took his hand back and began walking inside.  Mid-stride he stopped and looked back.  "But equals?"  He shook his head and scoffed as he left.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Exhausted, Ahndien did not know if she had any strength left to defend herself against whatever was approaching.  The soft but purposeful steps got closer.  Trepidation gripped her heart tighter with each one.

"Ahndien."

She gasped, swung her sword back preparing to strike. 

Held her breath. 

Then from behind the bushes, he appeared. 

Worn, ragged and limping.

At first she thought, Ah-Yeh?  But then she realized he was not her grandfather at all.  It was that voice.  //BE STILL...FEAR NOT // The one she had heard in her head.   Only stronger, more confident.

Still shaken from the mountain lion attack, Ahndien blinked and stood perfectly still.  She dared not move.  Then, when she saw who it was she lowered her sword and stepped forward.  "Oh, it's you."

"Are you all right?" Lao-Ying hobbled over on his gnarled walking stick.  The question barely settled into her mind.  Darkness enshrouded her thoughts.  With disembodied awareness, she knew that overwhelming sorrow brewed within her, but somehow they failed to connect with her thoughts, her words.

They're gone, she tried to say, but no sound passed her lips.

"Yes, I am all right.  I think." 

Lao-Ying sighed wearily, took hold of her arm and turned it over.  "You are bleeding."

 "All of them.  Gone."

Ahndien fixed her gaze upon the smoke rising from the village.  Ah-Ma and Shao-Bao lay dead just ahead of her.  A cold tear rolled down her face but she didn't move, barely breathed.

Lao-Ying muttered something, walked over to Ah-Ma and Shao-Bao and covered them with a large sackcloth.  He turned around and searched Ahndien with concerned eyes.  "I am truly sorry."

But her heart and her voice were entombed in ice.  All she saw were ethereal images layered over of the hills.  Flames shooting into the air, a few fleeing villagers running from the accursed Torian soldiers, who shot them with arrows.  This echo-like vision seemed much more vivid than witnessing them firsthand.  It disturbed her more than if it was actually happening before her eyes.

Lao-Ying returned and guided her to sit on a large rock.  He ripped open her sleeve and with a strip torn from that sleeve tied it tight around her forearm, just above the puncture wounds.  "What did the mountain lion say to you?"

The question echoed in her mind.  But all she could think of was her village, her friends, her family.  All gone.  She continued to stare into the hills as the images continued to flood her consciousness, if it could be called consciousness.  Her lips moved and, as if someone else had spoken, she answered the old man.  "It wanted Ah-Ba's sword."

"Sword?"  He pulled the ribbons tight.  A sharp pain oozed from the holes in her arm.  But Ahndien neither cried out, nor flinched.  She didn't even blink.  Lao-Ying rumbled.  "Why would they...?  Unless they thought that—"

All at once, like floodgates bursting, the reality of it all overcame her.  She let out a painful cry that resounded through the woods. 

"Ah-Ma!" 

Ahndien tore herself from the old man's caring hands and rushed to the charred remains of her mother and little brother.  "Ah-Ma!"  All her cries melded into an unintelligible melisma of sobs and words and screams.

Tears mixed with soot and ash muddied her face.  She fell to her knees over the bodies.  Now, the only word she could utter was, "No."  She choked back another sob.  "No, no, no, no!"

She had only left for a short while.  And in that time, her family, her village, her entire world had been destroyed.

"Ahndien," Lao-Ying said in a hushed tone.  Gently, he placed his hands on her shoulders.

"No!" she bolted up, expecting the old man to lose balance and fall on his back.  But instead, he straightened up and regarded her with empathy.  This moved her little.  "It is your fault!"