The Door Within tdw-1 Page 9

  “Mallik I am called,” he said. His mustache twitched. “I come from Ludgeon, the chief city of the Blue Mountain Provinces far north of here. So, you too were called by the King of Alleble? I will gladly serve with you, Sir…”

  “I’m not really Sir anything, but my name is Aidan.”

  “Aidan, ah?” Mallik stroked his mustache. “I like it. It is a strong name. A sturdy name. My people are sturdy folk-workers of wood, stone, and iron. This hammer was made by my grandsire and thundered in the hand of my father before me.”

  Mallik swept up the heavy weapon and held it on his shoulder like a major-league slugger posing for a baseball card. The haft of the hammer, thick like a bedpost, was carved from black wood and etched in silver with images of battle. Long, inlaid bars of iron ran the length of the haft and were welded into the weapon’s massive head. It reminded Aidan of the hammer he’d seen his mom use to pulverize raw meat-only the head on Mallik’s weapon seemed the size of a Volkswagen.

  “Few in Alleble can lift it-much less wield it. When my hammer falls, mountains tremble and foes wilt. What skill do you bring to our company of twelve?”

  Aidan thought for a moment. He was quite good at most video games, and his father had said he had a wicked backhand in tennis. But remarkable as those things were, they seemed useless in this context. “Uh, I don’t have a special skill,” he finally answered.

  Mallik snorted. Nock and Bolt stared at Aidan and betrayed no emotion at all.

  “Come, Aidan,” Kaliam said. “Let us leave Mallik and the twins to debate hammer and bow. We have much to discuss ourselves.”

  Kaliam and Aidan bowed. Nock and Bolt bowed in return. Mallik nodded.

  Kaliam led Aidan to a stone bench away from the fire.

  “Please forgive Mallik,” he said amiably. “He is brash at times. And we do not get many of your kind here… though more have been invited of late.”

  “That’s okay,” Aidan said. “Compared to you guys, I am pretty much a mouse.”

  Kaliam laughed. “Compared to Mallik, everyone is a mouse. But even a mouse may frighten a mighty elephant!”

  Aidan grinned.

  Kaliam winked. Aidan stared at the warrior’s eyes. At first, Aidan thought that Kaliam’s eyes were blue, but Aidan saw now that it was not so. His eyes were definitely green. But when Kaliam turned his head just so, his eyes glinted blue. It reminded Aidan of how a cat’s eyes seem to glow at night when struck with a flashlight beam.

  Gwenne, Mallik, Kaliam… Aidan wondered if all Glimpses’ eyes were like that.

  “How much do you know of our mission?” Kaliam asked.

  “A little. Though I don’t think I understand much,” Aidan admitted.

  “It is a worthy task,” Kaliam said. “One from which we may not all return.”

  “Now see, that’s what I don’t get,” Aidan complained. “I see hundreds of knights around here. Why take only twelve?”

  “There are untold thousands counted among King Eliam’s army, here in Alleble and in other lands who are allied to us. But for this quest, our strength comes not from number, but from the message we bring,” said Kaliam. He proudly slammed a vambrace against his chest. “The Glimpses of Mithegard will not trust in us because of the size of our army or the ferocity of our swords. Only Paragory seeks allegiance in that way.”

  Aidan shrugged and pulled at the chain mail at his neck. It was heavy and dug into his skin. “I still don’t see how I fit into this mission.”

  “Aidan, I cannot say what part you will play in all of this, but I deem that you are here to learn-to learn so that you may face an even greater battle that awaits you when you return to your realm.”

  Aidan rolled his eyes and shook his head. More riddles. Can’t anyone around here give me a straight answer?

  “Well, what about this Captain Valithor? What’s he like?”

  “Captain Valithor,” Kaliam began. “Well, he is-”

  “ON YOUR FEET!! You beslobbering, beef-witted barnacles!!”

  A Glimpse taller than Kaliam and broader than Mallik stormed into the compound. Like ants scattering from a disturbed anthill, scores of Glimpse knights escaped the courtyard by every conceivable exit. The remaining eight Glimpses, including Mallik and the twins-leapt to their feet, formed into rows of painfully straight lines, and stood in rigid, silent attention. Kaliam yanked Aidan up beside him and whispered, “That… is Captain Valithor.”

  The goliath Glimpse wrenched his head abruptly in their direction and then thundered toward them. His great chest heaved, breaths escaping in grunts. He stood directly in front of Kaliam.

  “Kaliam!” he bellowed. “Thou errant, earth-vexing mumbler! Tell me that you had not the nerve to speak before being summoned!” The Captain, who towered at least a foot greater than Kaliam, stared directly down into Kaliam’s eyes. Kaliam swallowed hard twice before answering his commander.

  “S-s-sir,” mumbled Kaliam. “I wish that I could tell you it was not me you heard, but… it was.”

  The Captain’s bushy white mustache curled on one side in a half smile. “Puny, lily-livered weasle that you are-at least you had the courage to speak the truth!”

  He turned to face the other wide-eyed Glimpses. “Let that be a lesson to the lot of you! No matter the consequences, the truth is always first!”

  Captain Valithor visited his wrath on each Glimpse in turn. None withstood his penetrating glare or his resonating voice. Even Mallik dropped his gaze when faced by his commander.

  In awe and fear, Aidan stared at the Captain. He was clad in brushed-silver armor and had a vast shield slung on his back. Snow-white hair fell in waves from his head, mustache, beard-even his eyebrows! His forehead was lined with deep furrows, and between his bristling brows and piercing eyes, his nose jutted out like the beak of a hawk. He stood erect when still and leaned forward, stalking, when he advanced. He carried no weapon, but had an ornate sheath at his side. It waited for a blade to match the magnitude of its owner.

  Intimidated as he was by the Captain, Aidan thought that he caught a hint of something vaguely familiar about him.

  He looked like a Viking from the pictures in Aidan’s social-studies textbook, but it wasn’t that. There was something in his intense, pale blue eyes that reminded Aidan of someone, but the identity shied away. The Captain’s eyes glinted brighter blue when he turned, just like the others. Maybe that was it. Aidan wasn’t sure. Before he had time to figure it out, the Captain turned toward him.

  “And thou,” the Captain bent low, close to Aidan’s face, “thou weedy wagtail! It is the King’s request that I make a knight of you in very short order! And so help me, I will… even if it kills us both!”

  Aidan felt dizzy, and he thought he must look very much like a pale Glimpse now that all of the blood had drained from his face. Fortunately, Captain Valithor turned away from him and went back to roaring at each of the other eight knights. He seemed particularly angry when he came to the Glimpse at the end of the second row.

  “Tell me, Acsriot!” Valithor roared. “How is it that your armor gleams like the sun and yet your blade is stained?!”

  Acsriot had no answer. He stood very still but cringed as if expecting a blow.

  “Thou weepy sack of wraith-clottle! Ten thousand times I have told you: Keep your blade sharp-and clean! The sword is a reflection of the one who carries it, and no Knight of Alleble will keep a weapon so besmirched.”

  Captain Valithor glared at Acsriot, and Acsriot stared back. There seemed some unspoken communication between the two, a silent struggle of wills, but inevitably, Acsriot could not endure. He looked away.

  “Come, Acsriot!” said the Captain in a triumphant tone. “Let us go to the armory and fetch some scrubbing tools. And after you clean up your blade… I’m sure Kindle will be happy to supply you with a few hundred more to scour.”

  After he was sure that the Captain had left the courtyard, Aidan asked, “Is he always like that?”

  “Nay, lad. We a
re fortunate he was in a good mood today!” said Kaliam, shaking his head. “Let not his manner fool you, Aidan, for Captain Valithor appears harsh, but he has the biggest heart in the kingdom-except for the King, of course. Captain Valithor is the Sentinel of this realm and one of the most valiant warriors Alleble has ever known. The King must deem this a mission of critical importance to allow his personal guard to go.”

  Aidan pondered Kaliam’s words. Just what kind of mission is this? And how could I, a teenager, be of any use among these great champions? Surely I’ll mess things up or, worse yet, be killed, leaving my parents to never know what has become of me.

  A great voice shook Aidan from his thoughts.

  “Rapscallions! Thou ragtag lot of widge-lumps! What madness has relieved all of you of your minds? You should be training, yet you stand on the very terrain on which I left you?!”

  Captain Valithor raged into the compound and stood in front of Aidan, Kaliam, and the seven Glimpse knights who remained.

  “The knight who moves?” Valithor called out to them.

  “His valor he proves!” the Glimpses thundered back.

  “And the knight who stands still?”

  “Is a target to kill!”

  Valithor made his knights repeat the precept a dozen times and then paired them off to train. He sent Kaliam to help Acsriot clean fouled weapons in the armory. Kaliam walked away shaking his head, downcast at losing the opportunity to train, but the Captain called after him, “Kaliam! Never alone!”

  Kaliam turned and smiled grimly. “Never alone!”

  It was the first time Aidan had heard one of the knights say that phrase. It rang with importance, but Aidan didn’t have time to ask about it.

  Captain Valithor stood very still, silently watching Kaliam leave the courtyard. He was so large and grand… he looked like a monument of an ancient hero somehow brought to life. Aidan knew nothing of Captain Valithor’s history or his deeds at arms, but it was clear that the Knights of Alleble feared him, revered him, and loved him. Though activity teemed around him-knights grunting, swords clanging, and Mallik’s hammer swooshing through the air-Aidan could not take his eyes off the rugged sentinel. Aidan felt strangely heartened. If anyone could teach him to be a knight, surely Captain Valithor could.

  The Captain turned and stormed over to Aidan. “Now, wayward minnow, it is time for you to learn knightcraft. Catch!” In a flash of motion, Captain Valithor drew something from his belt and flung it at Aidan.

  Aidan’s hand shot out, and to his surprise, he had caught the missile thrown his way. It was a wooden dagger, and Aidan had caught it by the handle.

  The Captain cocked an eyebrow. His mustache quivered, and he burst into laughter.

  “That was good, Aidan. Very good. You have much to learn, but your reflexes are sudden and strong. Now, let us see how you handle that dagger.”

  Aidan looked down at the wooden dagger and glowered.

  Captain Valithor guessed Aidan’s thoughts. “You want steel, eh, Aidan?” He laughed. “Fear not, for you shall have it-and soon. But for now, it would not do to have you hack off one of your own arms. So wood it is. Bring the weapon and follow me.”

  Aidan frowned at the small wooden thing in his hands. He felt like throwing it into the fire. The Captain himself had said that the sword is a reflection of its owner. Aidan knew what a little wooden toy made him look like. True, next to the Knights of Alleble, he was just a little guy. But at the same time, he despised being treated like a kid.

  This indignant spark kindled into a roaring blaze of desire-the desire to prove to Captain Valithor, to prove to Gwenne, to prove to everyone that he could be a knight. Whatever it takes to be a knight and earn a real sword, I will do it.

  “Tarry not, thou tardy-gaited flea!” Captain Valithor’s broad strides had already taken him far ahead, so Aidan jogged to catch up.

  The Captain led Aidan to one corner of the courtyard, where there stood an odd-looking contraption. “This,” said the Captain, “is the Training Urchin.”

  The urchin was a segmented post about man-high. Each section could rotate independently of the others and had several thick rods sticking out from it like arms. A different weapon or shield hung at the end of each rod. The Captain stood behind the urchin and grasped the two handlebar grips of the middle segment.

  Captain Valithor nodded. “Now then, imagine this post is your enemy. Take your sword-I mean dagger-and strike your opponent.”

  Frustrated like never before, Aidan gathered all his strength and swung his wooden dagger wildly at the urchin. Captain Valithor steered the urchin so that the wooden sword from one rod knocked away Aidan’s attack while simultaneously slamming Aidan to the ground with the post’s wooden shield.

  “That’s the spirit!” choked the Captain, laughing merrily.

  Aidan, reddening by the second, slowly stood up and brushed the dirt from his clothes and armor. It was going to be a long, long week.

  15

  SON OF FURY

  D id you see that?” asked Matthias, one of the oldest Knights of the Elder Guard. He leaned on a post and stared at two knights sparring in the center combat ring of the training compound.

  “Aye, I saw it,” answered Tal, another member of the Elder Guard. He shook his head and smacked Matthias on the back. “I saw it, but I don’t believe it.”

  “A true-as-life moulinet? He’s been at this three days, and he threw a moulinet. It took me three years to learn that.”

  “Three days,” echoed Tal. He whistled. “What kind of swordsman learns a combination like that in three days?”

  Tal’s question fell unanswered but, with the rest of the crowd, he watched in rapt silence as the two knights in the ring dueled. Kaliam was one of the combatants. And he wielded a broadsword so naturally it seemed an extension of his arms. Again and again he slashed forward, attempting to throw his smaller foe off balance. But his opponent, the Twelfth Knight, dodged each attack and deftly countered with a creative battery of blows that drew gasps from those gathered there.

  Captain Valithor coached from behind a short fence on the other side of the ring. “Don’t just stand there, you vexing slow-coach lump!” he yelled at Aidan. “Do as I showed you. Guard, now quick snap! Get that basket in tighter.”

  Abruptly, Aidan held up his small round shield. “Stop!” he said. “My back is sore, my legs feel like rubber, and every time you hit me, my whole arm aches. Kaliam, you’ve worn me out. Man, it’s a good thing you weren’t going at full speed, or you’d have killed me.”

  Kaliam glanced sideways at Captain Valithor. “Rrright… well, of course, Aidan. I uh… just wanted to be sporting, you know.” Kaliam bowed and walked over to Captain Valithor. They whispered briefly through the palisade as Aidan removed his breastplate and began wriggling free from his shirt of mail. Free of the armor’s weight, he sighed, leaned back against a post, and smiled.

  “You do not assume you are finished for today, do you?” asked Captain Valithor, tromping around the palisade toward Aidan. “Thou hasty-witted pigeon-egg, it is just time now for your wrestling lesson!”

  Aidan’s shoulders sagged. He exhaled audibly and trudged away with Captain Valithor.

  The next three days toiled by just as the first three had. Aidan was up every morning before the sun’s first rays painted the kingdom’s tallest turrets pink. After a hearty but brief breakfast, he went to the castle’s inner courtyard for stretching and a course of acrobatics.

  Then off to the armory, where Kindle instructed Aidan in the art of “putting the stone.” A torture, Aidan thought. Heaving large rocks until your shoulder felt ready to explode! Next came the Sylvan Fields behind the rows of cottages lining the main avenue of Alleble. There Aidan learned to throw a long, fluted spear called a javelin. After lunch, again brief, Aidan went to the training compound to practice dueling with a seven-foot wooden pole called a quarterstaff.

  Captain Valithor took over from there, tutoring Aidan in fencing and the other swo
rd arts. After the sword, Aidan wrestled until sundown. Aidan had always hated wrestling in gym class. It seemed like the P.E. teacher always paired him with some big slobbering goon intent on smearing an underclassman across the gymnasium floor. Wrestling in gym meant pins, bruises, and severe mat burns.

  The sort of wrestling taught in Alleble was far worse. There were no mats or pads, and there were no rules. You simply grappled until your opponent was unconscious or could no longer continue.

  Aidan, by his own admission, was a horrible wrestler. He did learn quite a bit about holds and pressure points, places on the body where a well-placed finger or elbow could cause an opponent excruciating pain, but that knowledge came at a high cost.

  His instructor, a short, thick fireplug of a Glimpse named Zander, tossed Aidan around like a pizza. Zander seemed to think that by slamming Aidan into the ground often enough, he might somehow learn how to grapple better. It didn’t work.

  And by Aidan’s calculations, he had inadvertently eaten over a cup of woodchips and several quarts of sand and dirt! It was a bittersweet relief when the sun went down at the end of the day. That was the cue to end his training, but it also signaled that it was time for Aidan to begin his chores.

  He had to wash his own clothes, polish his armor, and scrub his sword. At least he had a real sword now, though it was dull, heavily notched, and not much bigger than the wooden dagger with which he began.

  But the worst duty of all was what Kaliam called “refreshing the dragon pens.” This foul practice consisted of filling the dragons’ troughs with the second most awful-smelling slop Aidan had ever had the displeasure of inhaling through his nostrils. Then, while the winged beasts ate, Aidan had to shovel and scrape the dragon pens clean of the first most awful-smelling slop he’d ever whiffed. Aidan wished many times that dragons could be more like cats and bury their business.

  After lining each dragon pen with straw, Aidan could return to his chambers in the castle to bathe and sup. He spent each evening with Gwenne, studying The Scrolls of Alleble and learning the lore of a very ancient and wonderful realm.