The Guild of Warriors Page 9

  "That's right," replied Fin suddenly clutching his forehead in a poor attempt at acting hurt.

  "Well sit up and let's have a look at you." The orderly put his hand under Fin's chin and roughly moved his head around, then he looked into Fin's eyes. "Any dizziness or blurred vision?" he asked.

  "No," Fin replied.

  "Hmm!" The orderly looked around at the three, clearly suspicious. "Well you've made a marvellous recovery considering it took your two mates to carry you in! Now get out and free up some space for someone who is actually sick!"

  The three boys departed quickly. Luan felt slightly ashamed but Brenn was grinning.

  "Well we got away with that," he said.

  "The cheek!" replied Fin. "He basically said I was making it up!"

  "We were making it up." responded Luan.

  "Yes! But he didn't know that, did he? I could have been concussed!"

  "Who would know the difference?" Brenn laughed as he dodged Fin's punch.

  LIKE THE FLOOR OF THE hall way below, the stairs were warped with age. To Luan, the steps seemed to twist beneath his feet, brief moments of dizziness that tugged at the pit of his stomach.

  He had been at midday meal with Fin and Brenn when the summons had come. The young guard had called across the room and Luan had felt all eyes on him as he stood and walked out.

  "What is it?" he asked nervously.

  "The Guild Father wishes to see you," the young guard had replied, his eyes cold, his face blank.

  At the top the landing sloped from left to right, the door at the end stood open. Luan paused, raised his hand to knock, then thought better of it and stepped inside. The dulled yellow light that forced its way through the windows only gave a faint impression of the colours in the room. Tapestries once bright with gold thread were dulled to a blur, forgotten heroes blended with the landscape. At the far end a small fire burned fitfully, overpowered by the size of the hearth where it struggled for life. Close by sat a huddled figure.

  "Come on over boy. Sit yourself down where it's warm."

  Luan walked quietly over and sat down near to the Guild Father. Close to, the old man looked very frail. His near translucent skin stretched tightly over his cheeks to fall in loose folds at his neck. Every contour of his bones showed in his hands beneath a network of blue veins. They sat in silence for a minute or two, Luan waiting patiently, the old man lost in his thoughts. Then he lifted his head and it seemed to Luan that the Guild Father's consciousness had returned from where it had been wandering.

  "Do you know why you are here Luan?" the old man asked. "Here at the guild I mean."

  The question surprised Luan "I...I don't really know." He stopped, but the Guild Father just watched patiently, leaving room for Luan to collect his thoughts. "I suppose my Uncle had a lot to do with it. I wanted to be like him, to be one of the Klaideem..." He looked up and met the old man's gaze. "I never imagined being anything else."

  The Guild Father nodded slowly. "It may surprise you to find that not all feel as you do. Some resent the tradition that tears them away from land and family. Others serve faithfully but only as they would any master. Many simply become accustomed to the life, the Guild becomes their family and their home. But..." The old man paused and to Luan it felt as though he was being measured against a standard he could only start to comprehend. "...there are those who are truly Klaideem. They are rare and precious, warriors who carry the Kingdom in their hearts, and follow the sword path because it is their destiny to do so. Your uncle was such a one, as, I think, are you Luan."

  Luan didn't know what to say, and so they sat in silence once again, staring into the fire.

  "There is something I must tell you." The words startled Luan from his reverie and he realised that the Guild Father had now reached the point of their meeting. "Among the novices who started with you is one very special boy. He is a prince, the second son of the King and so by law he must attend the guild along with all the others. Normally this would present no problem but these are dangerous times." The Guild Father stopped again and glanced at Luan who nodded as if in confirmation. "The King is sick, old before his time. His heir is a valiant man, strong in the arts of combat, but he is rash and insists on taking risks. He was badly wounded in battle, the same in which your uncle lost his life, and this has made him worse. He carries a rage inside him which threatens to be his downfall. And he has no sons! Do you understand what that means?"

  Luan nodded again. "The second son is the heir."

  "Exactly!" The old man's eyes shone in the firelight "And so it was decided that to protect the boy he would be kept secret and travel to the guild under an assumed name. Furthermore a false description was circulated so that if word did get out then his enemies would be looking for the wrong boy."

  Luan now understood. "So that is why the boys died. The killers were hunting the prince!"

  "Indeed," replied the Guild Father, "and I am very much afraid that those same assassins are now hunting you!"

  Luan stared into the flames. Did it make it easier now he understood why he was in such danger? Luan wasn't sure. It was somehow more real and that made everything more frightening, yet he felt a hard knot of determination growing within him. He wasn't just fighting to save himself, he was fighting for the Kingdom.

  "Did you find my seat comfortable this morning?"

  The question jerked Luan out of his reverie.

  "What? No! I mean, er yes..." Luan stuttered to a halt, caught out and unsure what to say.

  "I may be old lad, but my eyes are as good as they ever were." The old man chuckled softly.

  "It was you! This morning! In the Great Hall!"

  "This morning and at dawn every morning."

  "Why?" Luan asked. The Guild Father glanced sharply at him.

  "I think it is you who needs to explain himself to me rather than the other way around!"

  "Oh! Sorry," said Luan "Er...It's a bit hard to explain. And I'm not sure you'll believe me."

  "Would it help if I told you that by tradition that is the spot where the Klaideem could slip out of this world and into the other?"

  "Oh!" Luan paused, unsure what to say.

  The old man smiled. "I know you are mixed up in something terrible Luan, and I feel it is partly my fault. That alone would be enough to make me want to help you. Add to that the fact that I hold by my oath; I follow the sword and I would help you as my brother. Let me."

  Luan remained silent. The Guild Father waited, then sighed.

  "In a way I don't blame you for not trusting me. Very well, I will trust you first. You do not have to tell me anything, but if you would like to tell me a little of what you need I promise to help you."

  Luan thought for a minute. "I need my uncle's sword, and then I need to go on a journey."

  The old man searched Luan with his gaze, then nodded.

  "Very well. I said I would help and I will. The second is easy to accomplish. The final part of your first year is an extended patrol, a small group of Novices and an experienced Klaideem in charge. The purpose is to learn real soldiering, although generally we try to keep you out of trouble! It will be easy to arrange for your 'patrol' to head in the direction you choose. The first is harder. Novices are not permitted to carry swords, even on patrol they would only carry spear and shield. However, that does not mean that it is impossible!"

  Luan sat up and looked the Guild Father straight in the eye. "Can you do it?"

  The old man paused, drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I think I have an idea," he said at last, "but I will need to talk to some people. It is time for you to go. You will hear something soon." Luan stood and began to turn to leave. He stopped and turned back.

  "Thank you Sir," he said. "I just want to say, I will do my best, I will try to repay your trust in me."

  The old man smiled broadly. "Go with my blessing Luan. May your heart be true and your arm strong!"

  Luan glanced back as he left the room. The Guild Father was sittin
g immobile, staring into the flames.

  Slipping into the back of the room, Luan saw his friends' heads turn with curiosity.

  "Later!" he mouthed silently.

  "Wh..." Fin's reply was interrupted by Brenn's sharp elbow in the ribs. Luan watched as Brenn dragged Fin's attention back to the class and then tried to concentrate himself. It was hard work. The lesson was map making, fun in the practical lessons but tedious in the classroom. Their tutor tended to mumble and it was very difficult to follow what he said. It was only because he was a huge man with hands like shovels that guaranteed the boys good behaviour. That and the fact he had slammed the Weasel's head on the desk five minutes into the first lesson. It was the first and last disrespectful comment any of the boys made.

  At the end Luan stayed to make his apologies but the master waved him away.

  "Don't worry lad, already been told."

  Unsurprisingly Brenn and Fin were waiting outside.

  "What happened?"

  "What did he want?"

  "Are you in trouble?"

  "Hold on!" said Luan. "Give me a moment and I'll tell you, but not here. Come on," and he headed back towards their barracks.

  "Right," he said when they were out of earshot of the other boys. "First of all, the Guildfather knew where we were this morning and he also knew why, at least he knew we were trying to get to the other world."

  "How did he know?"

  "He saw us, apparently he goes there every morning. He also said that it is the place that the Klaideem traditionally used to step from this world to the other"

  "Was he angry?" asked Fin.

  "No, surprisingly." Luan thought for a moment "He also said that the reason I am being targeted is because I've been mistaken for someone else." On the spur of the moment Luan decided not to tell his friends the whole truth, it could bring them nothing but danger.

  "Did he say who?" Brenn asked anxiously.

  "Or why?" added Fin.

  "It's something political apparently." Luan quickly carried on, avoiding Brenn's question. "He seemed to feel quite guilty about it, which is why he is going to help us."

  "Help us?"

  "Did you tell him our plans?"

  "No," Luan replied. "He didn't make me, I just said we were going on a journey and that I needed my sword."

  "And he agreed?" Fin's question was half nervous and half eager.

  "He said that we could use a patrol as cover for the journey."

  "And the sword?" asked Brenn. "Swords aren't allowed to novices on patrol"

  "He said he had an idea, seemed to think he could get round it."

  The three boys paused, struck by fact that their plans were a step closer to reality. A grin flickered around Fin's mouth.

  "So we're on then!"

  Brenn grinned back at him. "We're actually going!"

  Luan looked from one to the other. "You're crazy! It's going to be really dangerous!"

  "Oh yeah, we know," answered Brenn. "But it's so exciting!"

  Fin punched his fist into his palm. "Bring it on!" he said.

  Eleven – The Tournament

  The correct term for a blow with a sword is a 'cut'. Just like in an unarmed fight, you want to use the minimum amount of effort to the greatest potential effect.

  EASOCH CAME RIGHT AT him, as Luan had known he would. The Weasel had held the traditional salute for only the briefest possible moment before attacking but Luan was ready and parried easily. He stepped back and parried again before seeing his opportunity as the ginger boy slipped. The obvious move was to step in and strike but Luan knew his opponent and stepped away, leaving an empty space for the Weasel’s sword to slice through a heartbeat later. Easoch rolled easily to his feet, the flare of his nostrils betraying his annoyance that his feint had failed. For a few moments the boys circled each other before the Weasel leapt forward striking hard and fast. Luan parried, stepping in and winding his wooden blade round his opponent’s as he closed, trying to shoulder barge. There was a brief moment of elation as the ginger lad gave way but then Luan felt his foot kicked out and knew he was going down. He threw himself forward and rolled, coming up on one knee with his sword above his head just as the Weasel struck wickedly down. The clash of the wooden blades threw a shock through each boys' arms and they separated again. A brief pause for breath, then an explosion of movement and noise: attack and counter; strike and parry. The Weasel was quick and unpredictable but Luan was starting to feel it now. Just as when he had fought with Sword, time seemed to slow. Luan felt a detached sense of rightness and completion. The sword was an extension of his arm, he did not have to will it to move, the thought and the action were simultaneous. There! Even as Luan saw the gap in Easoch's defence the strike went home, stabbing solidly into the ginger boy’s ribs. The Weasel grunted in pain, but then redoubled his efforts with a series of bludgeoning blows. Luan took a step back, defending, biding his time. Again! Luan slid his blade through the gap to crunch into the exact same spot. The Weasel winced in pain and switched his sword to his right hand only, leaving his left arm curled protectively over his chest. Now Luan attacked, stepping forward, his two handed blow easily smashing aside his opponents parry and then chopping down into the Weasels leg on the return. Easoch had no more tricks. He stumbled, tried to save himself, but then fell heavily. Even then he tried to reach for his weapon but Luan stepped on the blade and rested the tip of his sword just under the Weasel's chin.

  "Yield?" He asked.

  The reply was unrepeatable. Luan took it for a 'yes'.

  THE ANNOUNCEMENT HAD been made at breakfast three days after Luan’s meeting with the Guild Father. A competition to find the best swordsman in each cadre with the winner earning the right to carry their sword when the cadre went on patrol in the spring.

  "Clever!" said Luan.

  "What do you mean?" asked Fin.

  "Remember what Luan told us?" Brenn replied. "About how the Guild Father promised to help?"

  "Of course!" A grin spread over Fin's face.

  Immediately the competition was announced, a hubbub of noise spread over the canteen, as excited and nervous boys speculated about the contest: Who would win? Who might beat whom? Drustan leaned back in his chair, with his arms behind his head and a big grin on his face. The message was clear, he was going to be the winner.

  "Arrogant...." Fin's words tailed off as if he couldn't think of an insult nasty enough.

  "He's got reason to be," Luan replied. "He’s big, strong, fast and not as stupid as he looks."

  "Nobody could be that stupid!" muttered Fin.

  "We're going to have to beat him though." Brenn looked thoughtful. "If we want to get hold of your sword anyway."

  Luan frowned as a thought struck him. "What if we have to fight each other?"

  "There's twenty eight in our cadre," replied Fin. "The chances are we won't have to."

  "Unless we keep winning," Brenn argued. "In that case we're bound to meet."

  "Then I promise not hurt you too much!" Fin's laugh was cut short as Brenn pushed him off his chair.

  The first round of the competition was scheduled for that afternoon. It made for an unsettled start to the day and the morning's History lesson did not really hold the boys' attention.

  "I told you before that Amhar brought back two great gifts from the Isles of the West. As I demonstrated, the first of these was Iron. Stronger, sharper and more durable than bronze, the new material proved a huge advantage in battle. But if anything the second was even more decisive. You see, when Amhar returned to what we now call The Kingdom he did not come alone. He brought the Galcohar!" Master Derthwyn paused dramatically. Around the room the boys showed little enthusiasm. Drustan yawned in an exaggerated way. The Ghost stared out of the window. Fin looked up at the tutor with a frown, looking lost already. The master sighed.

  "I realise that for most of you this is dull, dull, dull compared with hitting each other with bits of wood or metal and falling over in the mud, but you need to understand
. There is much more to being one of the Klaideem than fighting." He looked around the room.

  "To be Klaideem is to replicate the Galcohar. Not just their prowess in battle, but their knowledge and wisdom, their nobility." The master stopped again and, turning on his heel, paced three steps back and forth at the front of the room.

  "Can you remember the first time you saw a horse?" he asked. "Or a horseman at full gallop? Can you recall the feeling of wonder, mixed with fear? Can you imagine then how the clansmen felt the first time they took the field against the Galcohar? The hoof beats like thunder as a thousand grey clad riders broke upon them like a wave?"

  Luan could almost see it. He could imagine the fear of being a foot soldier facing such a charge but he could also taste the exhilaration of riding into battle and seeing the enemy tremble. Part of him thrilled with the thought that one day that would be him, but another part recoiled, wary of such feelings.

  "With the Galcohar as his allies, Amhar was unstoppable," Master Derthwyn continued. "Slowly and surely he took control over huge swathes of land, eventually forging them all into the Kingdom as we know it today. But he needed the Galcohar to keep his kingdom. After his death and the civil war that followed it was the Galcohar that helped to restore order. But then they departed, which is why the Guild of the Klaideem was created."

  THAT AFTERNOON THE first round passed without trouble for Luan or his friends. Each of them had been paired against boys that were no match for them in skill. Luan had won simply and quickly, taking the first opportunity to disarm his opponent. Brenn had taken a while longer, biding his time until his foe overreached himself, then darting in to strike hard leaving the boy winded on the floor, clutching his stomach. Fin had attacked ferociously, blow after blow raining down on the unfortunate boy pitted against him until a mistimed parry left his foe clutching his arm, the practice sword falling from numbed fingers. The Weasel and the Ghost also won their first bouts, as did Stav, the boy who had beaten Luan in training. Drustan had simply bludgeoned his opponent to the floor, the entire bout lasting only a few seconds. Each bout was fought in the practice hall in a space about five paces square with benches on each side. It was an intimate space for a fight, surrounded by the boys in your cadre, their faces an indistinct blur behind your opponent, their shouts and jeers an assault of noise.