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Chapter 1: A Journey Begins

Javan sat brooding as his horse sauntered up the road toward the capitol city, Calembarey.  Hmm, Javan thought to himself in a cynical laugh.  Horse!  His mount was a poor excuse for a horse.  The animal was past its prime, had a sag in its back, lacked spirit, and was smaller than most other horses.  However, it was all his family could scrape together to help him on his journey.

Hmmph, came another self-deprecating half-laugh, half-scowl.  Some family.  A slight blush of shame lit his face as he passed some footmen and they looked up at him.  Javan was ashamed of his parents, embarrassed by his older sister, and didn't know of any other relatives.  His parents had mentioned something about moving from far lands to run away from a drought, but he neither could remember the details, nor wanted to.  He pulled his ragged, rough cloak around him against the oncoming evening winds that arose toward the end of summer, and looked up at the looming city on the horizon.  It would be dark long before he reached the gates in the ramparted walls.

As he rode, he pulled out a portion of bread from his satchel.  He munched thoughtfully as the horse plodded on.  It hadn't rained for over a week, so the unshod hooves raised small plumes of dust as they clop-clopped on.  Javan thought about his dream, to be a Knight of the Order of Ki.  All his life, he had admired the legends of their skills and magical powers.  People spoke in awe of their aloofness, of their uncanny fighting ability.  In the final battle of the Baer Wars, when his parents were children, a company of the Knights had fought off an invading horde of barbaric Baeren that numbered in the thousands.  The company had lost a single Knight, but the few remaining Baeren had fled in superstitious fear, and had not returned since.  Countless other tales of heroics and prowess had filled his childhood, but what impressed him the most was the equal tales of honesty, kindness, and magnanimity the Knights showed.

Ki.  He wondered what the word meant.  It probably had something to do with the military fighting style.  The Knights tended to wear light, flexible armor that moved with them.  They seemed to be able to perform impossible feats, able to leap long distances, tumble and roll from heights where a normal man would break a leg or die.  But more than all that, they embodied all the ideals of brotherhood, honor, and integrity.  If a Knight of Ki said something, it was either going to happen, or the Knight was going to die in the attempt.  In fact, they often followed through in spite of their death.

This is what Javan hated most about his parents.  They were always making and breaking promises, from little things like they would go out and mend the fence, to big things.  Big things like their promise to get his sister out of the brothel she worked in.  They didn't even make the attempt!  Javan spat contemptuously, and stared at the drop of spittle in the road dust as he passed it.  Not that it would have made a difference.  When he had confronted her, Javan's sister refused to leave.  She actually liked the job!  Javan felt a pit in the center of his being.  Actually, it had always been there (at least as long as he could remember), but he was especially conscious of it now.

As he had carried on the internal dialogue, he had failed to notice that the sun had sunk to the level of the stand of trees off to his left, to the west.  In the east, the purple lines of the Dragon's Teeth mountains broke the horizon.  Far behind him in the southeast lay the line of the Deeping Forest that he had left days ago.  The Calembarey Road ran through the Plains of Goth, Selenedor's southern province, covered in grasses and speckled with an occasional bush or shrub.  The darkness of night seemed to creep across the sky from the Dragon's Teeth, and Javan shivered as he thought of the name.

Past Calembarey, he knew from maps, the Road curved back eastward, the land becoming wooded and hilly.  Finally, it met a spur of the Dragon's Teeth range that reached westward from the main line.  There, in a high keep, sat the seat of power for the Knights of the Order - the Council that it was ruled by, and the Grand Chancellor.  Javan was going to see the Grand Chancellor, and demand that he be made an apprentice.

A sudden fear struck him, causing a wrenching feeling in his abdomen.  What if his brashness would cause them to reject him?  Should he ask?  No, should he beg?  What if that was taken as a sign of his unworthiness?  What would he say, if they actually allowed him an audience with the Grand Chancellor?  What if they didn't allow it?  It didn't occur to him to wonder whether the Grand Chancellor would actually be there when he got there, or if he should seek anyone else.

OK, what if he said he had an offer only for the Grand Chancellor?  When it came down to it, what could he offer?  He had practically no money.  He was almost out of food.  He would have to find a place to sleep tonight, and perhaps find a job in the city, earn a little money, and buy some food.  He didn't really have any information to offer the Order, so what value was he?

A fleeting thought came through his mind - he could forget it all: forget his parents, his sister, the yearning to become a Knight - he could find some place to die, throw himself from a wall, or pick a fight with a ruffian.  For some reason he could not begin to guess, the thought never took root.  As quickly as it was there, it was gone.  Somehow, deep down, he felt it was not his destiny.  Nor, were he to think on it some more, did he find himself worthy of such a quick, merciful end to a miserable life.

As he neared the outskirts of the city, small farms spread out on either side of the road.  Lights shone from the windows of the farm houses, set far back from the road.  Although he was closer to the city, the traffic on the road did not pick up because of the late hour; it remained an occasional traveler or wagon.  He pushed on, despite his weariness and the grumbling in his stomach.

When he finally made it to the gate, night had settled in.  The gates were shut.  He stopped at a well outside the gate, watered the mare first, then himself.  The great doors of the gate towered overhead, forming an arch.  It was four times the height of a tall man at its pinnacle.  Six riders could easily walk abreast through the opening, with room to spare.  The doors were made of thick, solid, burnished wood, probably Oak, banded and studded with polished steel.  Torches lit a wide area in front of the gates, and the silhouettes of guards stood out against the night sky on the battlements above.

The wall that the gate pierced stood taller than a tree.  The stones appeared joined cleverly, so that not a joint could be found for purchase.  They sloped slightly outward as the wall rose from the ground, and looked impregnable.

A smaller door in one gate stood open, big enough to let a cart through, with a helmeted and mailed guard in front.  Javan halted his approach at the guard's raised hand.

"State your name and business, please."

"I am Javan, sir, from the south of Goth," he replied timidly.  "I seek shelter for the night, and work and food."

"How long do you plan on staying in Calembarey?"

"A week to work and take on provisions, no more.  Then I'll be on my way.  Tell me, where can I find cheap lodging?"

"Take Hawk Avenue to the right from the square.  Along there, you will find various inns, and houses with rooms for rent.  A couple of blocks down, you will find some good bargains."

"Thank you, but what is a block?"

"Between streets."

"Thank you.  Good night."

The guard stepped aside and nodded.  Sharp eyes glittered from under the burnished helm, which bore the eagle crest of Selenedor.  Javan nudged the mare, and they went through the gate.

On the inside, there was a large square lit with torches, and fairly busy with people.  Shops and guilds lined the square, and several streets ran from the square outward into the great city. There appeared to be a market along the left, but all the vendors had closed up for the evening.  Javan goggled and gawked: at the faces, the signs, the sights.  He could see ahead in the torchlight, past the square, the buildings rise as the hill that Calembarey was built on rose, and as they got taller toward the center.  He had never before been in a big city, having spent his entire life in the same small village in the far south of Selenedor.  The thing that impressed him the most were the combination of various smells (cooking, smoke, tobacco, animals, perfumes, and other unidentifiable smells) and the constant sounds.  It seemed that it would never be absolutely quiet.  By this time at home, everyone would be in their homes, probably getting ready for bed or already asleep.  The only sound would come from wind and night animals.  He was also surprised at how many people were up and about this late.

Other than a few glances, nobody looked his way.  He made his way to the right, and saw a sign hanging off the corner of a building next to a street.  It had writing on it (which he couldn't read), and a picture of a hawk.  Guessing this was Hawk Avenue, he went down the road.  The space between the torches quickly got long, and the lighting was poor.  Between buildings, he could hear the small scurrying sound of rodents in their nocturnal hunt for food.  He passed various inns, each with a sign indicating something about its name.  The sounds of goblets clinking, laughter, and occasional yells drifted out from taverns.  As he passed one tavern, a sudden laugh and a scream caused his head to jerk toward the entrance.  In the torchlight, he saw a sign painted above the door with crossed swords over a mug.  After passing a few streets, a slightly-swaying sign in front of a gate in a fence caught his attention.  On it was painted a donkey kicking its back legs in the air.

The fence ran back from the street toward a closed door in the inn.  Javan got down and led his horse through the opening.  He knocked on the door.  A square peephole cover shot open.  Out of it peered eyes with very bushy eyebrows.  It closed, and the door opened.

"Aye?" said a burly man in a gruff voice.

"E-excuse me, sir.  I-I'm looking for a bed for the night, and a s-s-stable for the horse," stammered Javan.  The doorman's demeanor was so disconcerting, he felt the skin crawl down his back.

"'Old on a moment, boy.  'Ere!  Ben!" he called behind his back.  A scruffy-looking boy not much younger than Javan came up, and reached out for the horse's tether.  "Ben 'ere'll see to your mount, fed, watered, and brushed.  It'll be 'round back."  Javan handed Ben the tether, and their hands touched briefly.  He had a sudden flash of loss, as if he might never get the horse back, but he discounted it to the late hour, long ride, lack of good food, and strangeness of a large city.  Ben noticed nothing of Javan's discomfiture, and guided the horse to the left of the doorway toward the stables.

"'At'll be a copper for the night, and two for the 'orse.  Pay the clerk over 'ere," said the doorman as he led Javan through the foyer to a counter.

The clerk was a middle-aged woman with a round, cheery face.  She huffed as she got up from her chair, and smiled at Javan.  "You're just 'bout the same age as my son.  What'll it be, boy?"  She had a hearty voice that seemed to go with the rest of her, and Javan liked her instantly.

"A night for the lad 'n 'is 'orse," said the gruff man.

"Thank'ee, Grath.  Three coppers."

Javan handed them over, as Grath made his way back to the door.  The clerk handed him a heavy iron key she took from under the counter, and said, "Now that'll be down this hallway on your left, the eighth room on your right."

"Thank you, ma'am."  Javan hesitated, almost afraid to ask now that it came time.

"Somethin' else?"

"Um, yeah.  I need to earn some money for a while.  Any idea where's a good place to look?"

"There's all kind of folk lookin' for stuff 'round the main square.  Why don't you go there in the morning?  We'll fix you a good, hearty breakfast for another copper, and you can look there."

"All right.  Thank you."

"Me pleasure.  Where are you from, lad?  You seem to have a southern accent."

"I'm from a little village near the border with Kenland."

"Must be an important errand to bring you so far up by yourself."

Javan grunted.

"Well, good night, then."

Javan walked down the dimly lit corridor, counting under his breath the doors as he passed them.  On the eighth one, he fitted the key in the hole and turned.  The metallic sound of tumblers turning was new to him, and he pushed the door.  It didn't budge.  He turned the key the other way, the tumblers clicked, and the door opened to his touch, creaking slightly.  He stepped across the worn wood floor into a rather spartan room.  The bed looked comfortable enough - a sheet tucked over some bedding on a set of wooden boards raised from the floor.  He washed his hands and face in a shallow bowl of water on a stand, and ate the last of the food from his pack - the now hardened bread, and jerked meat.

His head spinning with weariness, he took off his outer clothing and went immediately to sleep.

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Copyright © 2002 by Jay Imerman.  All rights are reserved.  No works, in part or in whole, may be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Jay Imerman unless otherwise noted.