Fall of the Western Kings (Tirumfall Trilogy Book 1) Page 5

  Chapter 7

  The days passed quickly for Gant and Chamz. Gant's work at the freight company was uneventful except for an occasional troublemaker that Gant dispatched without bloodshed. The best part of each day was the evening sword practice with Chamz behind the stable. Chamz had improved enough to be a worthy sparring partner. For Gant’s part he was determined to make the best of things.

  One windy, cold evening with a hint of rain in the air, Gant left work and trudged toward the inn, his cloak flapping behind him like something alive. No sword practice tonight, he thought. Nothing to look forward to but a warm meal, a bit of idle talk by the fire and then off to bed. Dismal prospects.

  He reached the Hammond House, pulled open the door and stepped inside, glad to be out of the wind. Shutting the door against the wind, Gant looked around. A fire roared in the hearth, the inn bustled with patrons and the warm cooking smells reminded him how hungry he was.

  “Hey Gant,” yelled Chamz from their usual table by the fire. “Look who's here.”

  Glancing toward their corner he recognized Uncle Jarlz.

  Gant’s face lit up. He hurried to greet his uncle. “Uncle Jarlz, where have you been?”

  Jarlz stood up, rounded the table and gave Gant a warm hug and a clap on the back. “Great to see you,” he said. “Some greeting.”

  Gant sat down overwhelmed to finally see his uncle. “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I am glad you're here. I’ve been wasting away. I've done nothing to regain my good name or remove the blot on Father.”

  “On the contrary,” said Jarlz, sitting back down. “Have some food.”

  Gant noticed the plate of roast meat, the fresh loaf of bread and a crock of butter in the center of the table. He pulled off his cloak, folded it and put it on the bench beside him. Waving for a pint of ale he said, “Will you be here long?”

  “A while, I expect.”

  Chamz leaned over and said, “You should hear what's going on in Netherdorf. You're famous.”

  Jarlz laughed. “I wouldn't go that far. But people certainly are interested in you, Gant. It's hardly a day that someone from Blasseldune isn't interrogated in the inns about what you're up to and how you're doing. Your mother gets all the news straight away.”

  “And my father?”

  “He is just as eager to hear about you and perks up every time they bring news.”

  “News of what? I haven't done anything.”

  “Well, stories do tend to grow in the telling.” Jarlz took a bite of bread and chewed for a moment. “I came as soon as I could. You left things in quite a stir. Many of the nobles have set against the king for not pursuing you more vigorously. But their ill will has taken a back seat to other dangers, at least for now. So, I was allowed time off, so to speak, to see how my favorite nephew was doing.”

  Gant chuckled at the “favorite nephew.” He was Jarlz's only nephew. “I'm doing all right, I suppose.”

  “What about your training with Chamz?”

  “Yeah,” shot Chamz, “what about that?”

  “Well, yes there is that. He's improved a lot.”

  “And you haven’t? Actually, I had hoped to test you tonight. With the wind, and rain, I think we'll put it off until tomorrow.”

  “I have to work tomorrow.”

  “Of course. We'll train in the freight yard. There's plenty of room and I'm sure Mr. Brawnson won't mind. Usually when I'm in Blasseldune, he's glad to have me hang around the yard, adds to the security, he tells me. For now, let's eat, drink and enjoy the fire. Time enough to be serious tomorrow.”

  They spent the rest of the evening at the table, talking about life in Netherdorf, about Gant's mother, Chamz’ family and what was happening in the world. Some things were unsettling.

  #

  In the morning, they were up early and off to the Eagle Freight Company. As Jarlz suspected, Mr. Brawnson was more than happy to have them train in the main freight yard, a visual deterrent to thugs.

  With a preliminary salute and Chamz as referee, they drew their swords and circled for a moment. Quickly, a crowd gathered, first freight company workmen and then townspeople and soon everyone who could crowd inside the fence.

  Jarlz lunged in with a simple thrust. Gant turned it aside, circled and slashed down across the neck. Jarlz countered and redirected his sword in a lightning quick thrust. Jarlz stopped his sword point just in time to keep from piercing Gant's chest.

  “One for me,” said Jarlz, and pulled back.

  A cheer went up from the crowd. The two combatants started again. Gant watched for an opening, saw one and rushed in. Jarlz turned it aside and circled into a thrust to the chest. Gant blocked it. Jarlz anticipated the move and countered with another attack. Gant sidestepped, went for a low slash and missed. Jarlz had him again. More cheers.

  “Two to zero,” said Jarlz.

  It went on for nearly an hour. Gant kept seeing openings, openings he was sure he'd score on only to find he'd misjudged, or was countered at the last second. At thirty to zero, Jarlz called a halt to groans from the onlookers.

  “You've improved a lot since our last workout,” said Jarlz as they walked into the freight company office.

  “I was terrible,” grumbled Gant. “I’m worse.”

  Inside the freight company offices, Mr. Brawnson greeted them.

  “Marvelous entertainment,” he said, “but we aren’t getting many wagons loaded.”

  “I'm sure,” said Jarlz, clapping the freight company owner on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, we'll leave you alone from here on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I'm afraid Gant will be leaving your employ. He has more serious things to do and time is running out.”

  Gant noted the determination in his uncles’ eyes. “What do you mean?”

  “Training. That's what I mean. Chamz is a good friend and helped keep you from getting rusty. You need more intense training with a more advanced opponent.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Me, of course.”

  “What will I do for money? For a room?”

  “As long as I'm here you won't have to worry about money.”

  “And what about Chamz? Does he have to work while I play? He wants to learn swordsmanship as much as I do.”

  Jarlz took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, I'll take Chamz as a student too but he will slow down your progress.”

  “No, he won't. And so what if he does.”

  “You won't be ready in time.”

  “In time for what?”

  “For fate to catch up to you. Now come on, let's get back to the Hammond House. We'll have lunch and then go looking for a suitable practice field.”

  Jarlz pulled open the door to leave the freight office. “Thanks for keeping my nephew employed,” he said to Mr. Brawnson.

  Then he was out the door with Gant and Chamz running to catch up.

  Chapter 8

  Chamz was happy to be relieved of his chores at Hammond House. The proprietor was not so happy. Chamz was reliable and hard working and the owner counted on him for a number of things. Jarlz's offer of gold coins eased his pain and after a satisfying lunch, the three of them went searching for a training site. Gant wondered why they needed a new place, but Jarlz insisted they go away from town where there would be fewer distractions. By mid-afternoon they located a quiet hilltop meadow east of town overlooking the road to Maltic City. It was close enough to the road so they could reach it quickly but far enough away that they were not easily noticed. It was also the highest elevation around so people had to look up to spot them and, as Gant noted, travelers hardly ever looked up.

  The grass was thick and lush making footwork more difficult. Training started with exercises and specific sword movements that Jarlz said were designed to increase the strength and flexibility of the wrist, arm and grip. Jarlz repeated them over and over for more than an hour. Gant and Chamz got so tired they nearly dropped their swords. After the exercises, Jarlz took out
his sword and had each of his students attack him. Both Chamz and Gant were easy targets now, too tired to effectively defend themselves.

  Finally Jarlz called an end to practice. Exhausted, Gant and Chamz dragged themselves back to Hammond House. They washed up and flopped onto a bench in the main room for dinner. Everything smelled extra delicious, though Gant was so tired he thought of skipping the meal. But the food came, the ale washed it down, and Gant was reenergized.

  Chamz looked up from his meal and said, “Now that was a workout. Are we going to work that hard every day?”

  Jarlz chuckled. “Are you ready to go back to work at Hammond House?”

  “Well, no,” said Chamz. “I just thought, well, we trained pretty hard before. Compared to today we were just playing.”

  “Combat training should be as tough as possible and still it won’t be as tough as when it's for real. No matter how hard you push yourself now you'll still need to find unknown reserves when the time comes. And Gant doesn’t have much time.”

  Gant lurched alert. “You keep saying that. What am I training for?”

  “The world is changing. Evil grows and we'll need every available swordsman to defend against it. I think you will be an important part of that.”

  It was an answer without being an answer. Gant would have asked more questions but fatigue clouded his mind. “Okay,” he said, “but right now I'm ready for some sleep.”

  “Yes, and sleep is what you should be doing,” said Jarlz, rising from his bench and heading for their rooms.

  They all went directly to bed. Gant was asleep instantly. His dreams were of sword fights, duels with evil men and then with a black, formless monster. In the morning he couldn't remember if he'd won or lost.

  One day ran into another. The training was endless. At first a few curious onlookers came from Blasseldune to watch. But Jarlz made the boys work solo drills whenever anyone was watching. Eventually the curious left and then the sparring started again. Soon no one bothered to come.

  Both swordsmen improved quickly. Gant began to score an occasional point on his uncle. And the fatigue they'd felt that first day faded. Now they trained even harder and still had energy at the end of the day to sit in the main room at Hammond House with an after-dinner pint and listen to the stories and gossip that circulated.

  After barely a month Gant finally had a day when he scored more points than his uncle. And even Chamz scored twice on Uncle Jarlz.

  The next day Gant faced his uncle. Gant tried to circle until he had his uncle facing the sun. Jarlz knew that trick and constantly maneuvered to get Gant facing the sun. As a result, neither ended up with the sun at their back. Gant measured the distance between them. Uncle Jarlz hefted his sword, smiling with the pride that comes when a pupil has learned their lessons.

  “One more flurry,” said Jarlz, “then we head back to Hammond House and talk about your future.”

  Gant nodded. It seemed early to be leaving the meadow. The sun was still high in the sky. But if Uncle Jarlz said it was enough, then it was enough.

  Jarlz rushed in, his sword poised high for a down stroke. Gant parried deftly and counter-thrust to the ribs. Jarlz blocked but before he could attack again Gant arced his sword skillfully overhead and brought it to a stop with the softest touch at Jarlz's neck.

  Uncle Jarlz grinned and said, “You've learned all I can teach you. Let's go get some lunch.”

  Jarlz clapped Gant on the back as they walked back to the road.

  Chamz hustled along beside them. “Now are we going to start a real adventure?”

  Jarlz laughed. “I think the adventure started a long time ago. For you, I think it's time you went home. Your father has his hands full and he's worried about you.”

  “When Gant can go home, I'll go home.”

  Gant turned to his friend. “Chamz, I'm the one exiled. No reason you couldn't go home for a bit.”

  Chamz ignored Gant. “Where is Gant going?” he asked Jarlz. “You seem to know and won't tell us.”

  “Wait until we're back at the inn. There'll be plenty of time for talking then.”

  Once they reached Hammond House they took their usual table. Today the inn was lightly attended. Gant knew everyone except for the stranger sitting at an empty table in the corner. His dress and the lute propped against the table suggested he was a traveling minstrel.

  “Ale,” shouted Jarlz once they were seated.

  He leaned back slightly and rested one heavy boot on the unoccupied stool between himself and Chamz. He looked at Gant for a moment, considering, and then motioned with his big right hand for Gant to lean closer. Gant obediently leaned in. Jarlz smacked him hard on the ear.

  “Never be so eager to obey another,” instructed Jarlz through clenched teeth. “Follow your own mind else someone take advantage of your good nature.”

  Chamz tried to hide his laugh, but couldn't. Gant smacked him on the shoulder. “What are you laughing at?”

  Jarlz frowned. “Both of you,” he snapped. “This is no kid's game. You are men who will be counted on to do what is right despite our enemy’s best efforts to deceive you. You must judge what you hear and see by your own yardstick. Not what someone else tells you.” With that Jarlz leaned back and relaxed.

  “I don't understand,” said Gant, “I'd do anything you say.”

  “Me, too,” added Chamz.

  “I know, lad. It's best if you trust people less.” A softness crept into Jarlz's voice. “You've been the best pupil ever, and Chamz, you've been a close second. But there is little more I can teach and you need to go your own way.” He paused a moment. “I'm only holding you back.”

  The ale arrived. Gant grabbed his and took a sip. He'd forgotten how thirsty he was and the cool liquid felt good.

  “How about something to eat?” asked Chamz, reaching for his mug.

  Jarlz nodded. “Yes, a platter of the roast meat and bread will do.”

  Gant stared into his mug for a few moments. If training was over what was he going to do? Before he left Netherdorf he had worked in the smithy, regardless of his sword training. He wasn’t going back to a smithy. And he didn’t want a job in Blasseldune as a guard. He'd heard that the King of Mulldain was hiring troops but Gant had no desire to be a foot soldier. He'd also heard of the free town of Kittenspenny’s plea for help to fight off outlaws. The pay was small but the cause was just. Perhaps that dispute was already settled.

  While Gant pondered his future, Jarlz serenely sipped his ale. A smile grew slowly on Jarlz's face, broadening with Gant's growing frustration.

  Chamz finally couldn’t take it. “All right. What is it Gant's supposed to do? You keep talking about our enemies, and the like. Let us in on it.”

  Gant looked up. “Yes, let us in on it.”

  Jarlz nearly choked on his ale. “Okay, okay. I had a feeling once I announced school was out you'd be at a loss for direction. And with the answer so obvious. You've got to think farther ahead, lad.”

  Chamz fidgeted with his mug. “Okay, Uncle Jarlz, quit stalling.”

  “You can only have one goal.”

  Chamz thumped his mug on the table. "Yes! The games of combat at Devonshield.”

  “By the Great Dragons' Fire, you're right,” roared Jarlz, slamming his fist on the table so hard the mugs jumped with a spray of foam.

  “Are you kidding? They're hardly games. People get killed. And only the very best even dare enter.”

  Chamz grabbed Gant by the shoulder. “Don't you see? If you win at Devonshield, it isn't just the prize. You're famous. Kings and nobles seek you out. You can choose your adventures. You're a hero.”

  “I'm not sure fate will allow Gant to choose his adventures, but otherwise Chamz’s right. You need to enter.”

  “Who will sponsor me? I'm exiled and not even a noble.”

  “That doesn't matter. I'll post your entry fee and you can pay me back with your winnings.”

  “What makes you think I’ll win?”

  “Y
ou forget I fought there once. Almost won, except for the injury to my hand.”

  “Sorry. I didn’t forget. It just seems impossible.”

  “Well, I say you're ready. For Devonshield or anywhere else.”

  “Then I'll go to Devonshield. But only if you go with me.”

  “And me, too,” piped in Chamz.

  “Try to keep me away,” said Jarlz. “Chamz, I don't know. I promised your father that I would send you home.”

  “And you also just told us to think for ourselves. I'm going with you.”

  Gant grabbed Chamz's arm. “And I say he comes with us.”

  “Okay. Before we go I'll have to outfit you properly. You'll need a breastplate, helm and shield. It won't be fancy just serviceable.”

  “When do we leave?” asked Chamz.

  “Tomorrow. Early. We'll get what we need this afternoon.”

  The food arrived and the three of them dug in. They didn't pay any attention to the dark-haired minstrel. They didn't notice him hurry off immediately after overhearing Jarlz say they would leave in the morning.

  Gant thought about the games at Devonshield. It was unnerving. Fighting the best swordsmen was worrisome enough, but what if he killed someone? Not that he'd mean to, just that those things happened. He'd heard the stories. Maybe he shouldn't have agreed so quickly. Too late now.

  Chapter 9

  The next day dawned clear and wintry cold. Yellow and red leaves clung stubbornly to the trees. Gant, Jarlz and Chamz put on furs, heavy boots and pulled their hoods up to cover their ears. Gant wore the breastplate and mail shirt his uncle had purchased for him. It was uncomfortable and made carrying his pack harder. Jarlz led his horse, preferring to walk along with Gant and Chamz.

  They said goodbye to the innkeeper and headed north. A stiff wind blew straight into their faces forcing them to keep their heads down. They marched briskly, the cold kept them moving. Despite the frigid air, despite the gray skies, they walked with buoyed spirits. Finally they had a goal and were doing something.