The Ritual of the Sword - part 2

        The ride to Lake Erstead, atop fine riding horses provided by the Order of Knights, was quite painful for me, much to the amusement of Draknahr. Prior to this three day ride, I had never even sat atop a horse, having lived my entire life in port cities, and traveling very little other than by carriage or on foot. During the journey, Draknahr and I spoke at length, and it was on this journey where our friendship was cemented. Draknahr told me many stories of his childhood which I will commit to writing at a later time.
When we arrived at Lake Erstead, I was overwhelmed with the majesty and beauty of the location. It is a large lake, clear and cold sitting at the foot of the southernmost extent of the rugged White Mountains, which separates Ghieral and Galdor, and intrudes into Caeleon for thirty or so miles. Several small towns sit on the southern shores of the lake, while the northern portion is enclosed by steep mountain walls. We set up camp as far north as we could manage, and then Draknahr told me more of what he knew.
“According to the stories I have heard from the knights in the Order, when Vellarius was tracked down, he and his followers were living within a series of caverns there,” Draknahr said while stoking our small campfire. He pointed with the smoldering stick he had been stirring the coals with to an area at the base of the cliff wall overlooking the lake, and just a few hundred yards from our camp site. “Eventually, as you know, Sorcerers from your Guild came and caved in the cavern opening.”
“That is not entirely accurate,” I replied, filling him in fully on what I knew. “The Sorcerers were the finest in Del Caet at manipulating elemental earth. They did not just cause a cave in, but sealed the cavern opening entirely. Unfortunately, I am quite poor at manipulating earth, but there may be another way. Some of the accounts that I read indicated that Vellarius and his men seemed to have a readily available supply of water, and the smell of cooking fish was common from the cavern. It can be surmised the the caverns were in some way connected to the lake.”
“Why then did Vellarius and his men not escape?” Draknahr asked.
“I can not be sure. Vellarius had witches with him, but no sorcerers. While I know little of the actual rituals and methods the Witches Guild teaches, I do know that their power does not come from within, as it does for we Sorcerers, but requires a living sacrifice to release the power they then manipulate. The more difficult the task, the greater the sacrifice necessary. I would guess that fish did not provide them enough power to escape,” I replied. “It is also possible that their rituals simply cannot do some of the things that sorcerers can do.”
The next morning, I set out with my walking stick to the location the cavern entrance had once been. There was no trace, and even reaching out with my limited power in elemental earth, I could not even feel the faintest hint of the former cave mouth. It was just as I expected, and there was no possibility of accessing the caverns through the cliff face. Taking a different approach, I walked to the water's edge, and sat down on a flat topped rock projecting a few inches above the water's surface, several feet from the shoreline. I took my hand and gently touched the surface of the water, and pushed out my power over the water very gently. While I was simply feeling the water, a task requiring little power, the depth of the lake, and the massive area I was searching made the task extremely draining. As I searched, I could feel the fish knifing through, and the insects skating on the surface. I felt ducks swimming, and I felt deer gently drinking at the water's edge, and finally I felt the contours of a rough tunnel leading into the side of the mountain wall. The tunnel felt natural, and in places was barely small enough for a man to pass. It was also deep, and long. The witches would have faced a daunting task to try to use it for escape. Satisfied with my discovery, I rose from my rock and returned to the campsite where Draknahr waited impatiently. We decided to make the attempt the following day, after I had rested and recovered my strength.
The following morning at dawn, Draknahr roused me from my deep slumber. Clearly he was incapable of waiting for even a single minute longer than necessary, and I could feel a nervous energy radiating from him. Almost at once, I could feel myself feeding off of his excitement, and off we went, not even bothering to eat breakfast. Draknahr and I each brought a rucksack with some provisions, as well as torches. While I was capable of providing light myself, I saw no need to drain myself unnecessarily. At the water's edge, I quickly prepared myself and instructed Draknahr to stay as close to me as physically possible. Then, I took a long breath, pushed out with elemental air, and then stepped into the water.
The sphere of air that I pulled down into the depths, a cocoon around our bodies, was actually slightly more difficult to manage than I had expected. We were able to look out of the perfect bubble to the water and lake bed around us, and see the fish darting away from us. The saturated mud of the lake bed made for difficult walking. Fortunately, the lake was incredibly clear, so light was not an issue until we made our way along the cliff wall and into a much deeper part of the lake. Here, the mud gave way to rocky projections, and we began climbing down the terribly slick and icy cold wall, finally reaching the tunnel after more than half an hour of tentative climbing.
When we reached the tunnel, I was beginning to have trouble maintaining my focus. I was beginning to tire, physically and mentally, the cold of the water and rock had completely numbed my fingers and toes, and I sensed the air in our bubble was growing stale, and soon would not be able to sustain us. I nearly lost heart then, fearing that my overconfidence had indeed led us to our doom, but Draknahr, sensing my doubt and fatigue grabbed me and slung my body over his shoulder before I could even protest.
“You concentrate on the sorcery, I will manage the climbing,” he said between clenched teeth, and he soldiered on, in fact picking up his pace.
This was the first display I had really seen of Draknahr's resolve. Despite his obvious fatigue, he never wavered, and he climbed through the narrow tunnel, with me clinging to him like a baby monkey to its mother. In several places, I had to make my own way through narrow crevices, but finally after what seemed like days in the pitch black water, scrambling over freezing rocks, we pulled ourselves, gasping, exhausted, soaked and nearly frozen to death out of the water and into a dark chamber. I heard Draknahr digging through his rucksack, and then I felt a torch pressed into my hands. It actually took me several seconds to determine what the object was, as my hands at that point could feel nothing, and my fingers could barely grasp. With the very last of my elemental energy, I touched the tip of the torch, and a spark leaped from my finger, igniting it.
We huddled around the meager flame of the torch, absorbing its heat into our bodies until it sputtered out, barely bothering to look around us at the small, natural cavern we sat in. Sensation slowly and painfully returned to my hands and feet, and I was overcome by my fatigue. I fell asleep where I sat, my back resting against the rough wall, but amazingly, I was not to sleep for long.
Draknahr Otherian's one significant flaw, if it can even be called one, is that he is a man of action, often before thoughtful deliberation. One significant strength, often to my frustration, is his incredible physical resiliance. These two factors were what caused Draknahr to shake me awake, after what seemed to be an entirely inadequate amount of rest.
“Alan, you have to see this,” he said, his eyes bright with excitement in the torchlight.
After groaning, and stretching my still stiff fingers, I rose to my feet, knowing that nothing I said could dissuade Draknahr. I followed him through a series of low passages before we finally came to an opening into a large chamber filled with stalactites and stalagmites, and standing pools of water. I noticed immediately that the light from his torch was only accounting for a part of the light illuminating the chamber. The rest, a cold silvery glow, came from what appeared to be three large crystals of ice in the center of the chamber. Littering the floor in a circle around the crystals were a dozen or so corpses, most of them little more than skeletal remains wrapped in pieces of rotted armour, or tattered robes.
I did not know then what I was looking at. I could see some shadowing within the icy crystals, and instinctively, I approached them, looking carefully inside. Draknahr followed close on my heel, saying nothing. I stepped over a body that had clearly been a warrior, his chain armour rusted, and I walked to the central crystal. Inside was a man. He wore grey armour and a white cape with gold trim. He held a white plumed helm in his left hand, and a dark grey scimitar in his right. His face looked aged and regal, yet his chin bore an unkempt beard, and traces of grime. His grey hair was pulled back and tied with a gold threaded ribbon. This was clearly Atrius Vellarius.
I am normally a cautious person, but my amazement in that moment overwhelmed me, and I made a terrible, but possibly inevitable mistake. I touched the crystal encasing Vellarius, and a deep booming, almost like the ringing of a mountain sized bell filled the chamber. The three crystal prisons flared for a moment, and then melted away, becoming nothing more than pools at the feet of Vellarius and the two men flanking him, one dressed as a knight, and the other as a witch. A moment later, Atrius Vellarius opened his eyes as I backed away.
“Our salvation has come,” he said with a deep and raspy voice, and he smiled triumphantly.
I was absolutely terrified. I knew who I was facing. I knew his reputation for cruelty. I knew that we were doomed. Apparently Draknahr, as was often his tactic, decided that boldness would serve us better than the pathetic quivering I was displaying, and he stepped forward, pulling me behind him and spoke.
“How are we your salvation?” Draknahr asked, though even I could hear the fear in his voice.
“You boy, are nothing. The Sorcerer is all that we require to escape this place,” Vellarius said grimly, then he stepped forward and pointed directly at me.
“Kill the boy and bring the Sorcerer here,” he commanded his minions.
The knight took a step toward me, his hand going to the sword at his side. The witch stepped back, and I saw that his hand held a small fish, wiggling and struggling while the other held a knife. Even though I had never before witnessed a witch's ritual, I recognized that one was being prepared. Draknahr apparently did as well.
I had not noticed that his hands had been hooked in his belt as he spoke to Vellarius, but with lightning quickness, Draknahr pulled his small dagger from its sheath and hurled it with amazing accuracy at the witch. It struck home in his chest before the witch could complete his ritual, and he fell in a heap to the rocky ground. For some reason, seeing the witch fall, clearly dead before he hit the ground, roused me to action. Unfortunately, Draknahr in his excitement had awakened me while I was still nearly depleted of my power. As the knight drew his sword, clearly intending to cut down Draknahr, I lashed out with a ball of elemental fire, blasting the knight back against the wall. Though I knew not whether he was dead or simply knocked unconscious, the knight slumped to the floor of the cavern and dropped his sword. In an instant, the sword was in Draknahr's hand, and he turned to face Atrius Vellarius as I fell to my knees, once again completely depleted.
“Who are you boy, so that I might know your name before I end your life,” Vellarius said with an evil grin while slapping his helm on his head. The armour he wore, rather than appearing ceremonial, as one might expect from the Emperor's leading general, instead looked quite functional and almost utilitarian. He raised the scimitar before him, and I could see tendrils and wisps of elemental shadow enveloping it.
“I am Draknahr Otherian, here on my ritual of the sword from the Order of Caelish Knights,” Draknahr said, taking a defensive stance with the knight's longsword held out in front of him.
“A novice obtaining his first sword,” Vellarius said with sadness, stepping ever closer to Draknahr, his stance making him look like a cat stalking a mouse. “I remember completing the ritual quite well, but you might have overreached a bit, trying to steal my sword from me.”
“We had not thought to find you alive. It has been over a hundred years,” Draknahr replied, stepping backward, and circling into the center of the chamber.
Before replying, Vellarius attacked, delivering three slashes in rapid succession, each aimed at different locations. If Vellarius had intended to end the fight quickly, Draknahr thwarted him by parrying the first two strikes and dodging the third.
“Your skills are exceptional for a novice,” Vellarius complimented. “It is not likely that a hundred years have passed. The sorcerers and knights had us trapped. They would have come to finish their task.”
“Is it likely that they sent only two men, and mere boys at that?” Draknahr replied and launched an attack of his own, slashing at Vellarius's sword arm. The strike was easily turned aside.
“Indeed, that is not likely,” he replied and launched a flurry of strikes, but Draknahr was up to the task, parrying each one before countering with several attacks and feints of his own.
“Perhaps I was hasty in ordering your death,” Vellarius admitted, “one with such skills as you have, and at such an age could be a worthy ally of mine when I claim the Emperor's throne for myself.”
“The throne has sat empty since Zarthurian's death,” Draknahr said with a new found confidence. “I also think you would not be offering alliance if you were sure you could defeat me.”
Reflecting back on this exchange, and with a much better knowledge of sword play than I had then, I can now easily see what Draknahr saw. Vellarius was highly skilled, but old, and the armour that he wore made him much slower than a young and unarmoured Draknahr. Barring a single lucky strike, Draknahr had the edge.
Vellarius was wily though, and had escaped many impossible situations before. Using the same method he had always used, he circled his way away from the still flaming torch which was the only illumination in the cavern, and suddenly melted into the shadows around him. I instantly knew what it was that the sword did, and pulling myself to my feet, I scrambled to take up the torch and stood in the small circle of light while Draknahr paced the cavern, cursing at the shadows.
“Draknahr, come,” I called him over desperately and pulled him, still cursing, out of the cavern and back to the water that represented our only escape.
“Where is he,” Draknahr demanded of me.
“The sword allows him to merge into the shadows. In this place, we will never find him.”
“The cowardly thing to do would be to make our escape, enjoy the comforts of a nearby inn for several weeks, and then return after he has had time to starve,” Draknahr said bitterly, but I actually thought that it sounded like a marvelous suggestion, with one fatal flaw.
“We cannot escape. My strength is gone, and I must rest,” I told him.
“Then rest. We were not leaving anyway until Vellarius is defeated,” he said.
I closed my eyes, and again, seemingly moments later but actually several hours later, I was rudely awakened, this time by the ringing of steel. Draknahr told me that as he sat in the small circle of torchlight, watching for any movement, his attention had momentarily wavered. His own fatigue caught up with him briefly, and he closed his eyes for several seconds. Vellarius had obviously been closely watching, because that is the moment he chose to strike. From out of the shadows, Vellarius, having discarded his heavy armour elsewhere in the caverns, launched himself at Draknahr. Amazingly, Draknahr opened his eyes just in time to see the clipped point of the scimitar emerge from the shadow, aimed at his neck. Draknahr always insisted that it was the voice of the Goddess Harriane herself that came to him in his sleep, and demanded that he open his eyes. From what I now know, this may well be true.
When I opened my eyes, Vellarius and Draknahr were furiously trading blows, and even to my untrained eye, it appeared that Draknahr no longer had the edge. His parries came ever later, and it appeared inevitable that the end would come very soon. They were so focused on fighting each other though, that neither of them noticed me. While I had again had an entirely inadequate amount of rest, I had rested enough to do something.
While this is intended to be an account of the adventures of Draknahr Otherian, and I have no intention of aggrandizing myself unnecessarily, this is one of the few occasions where I can honestly say that I saved Draknahr's life. As Vellarius struck again and again, inflicting several small but mounting injuries to Draknahr, I seized hold of the water we had emerged from hours earlier, now but a few feet away from me, and pulled it out of the tunnel in a ribbon. This was no simple feat, and again I felt my strength fading rapidly, but not before I wrapped the ribbon of water around the waist of Atrius Vellarius and pulled him back into the watery tunnel. I could feel him struggling desperately and my mind screamed at me to stop, the effort of holding him was enormous, and the horror of drowning someone in this way, appalling. I did not stop though, and several minutes later, I finally collapsed, the cavern around me fading to black.
I awoke many hours later feeling entirely refreshed. Dozing next to me was Draknahr, his injuries no longer bleeding, and looking reasonably clean. Cradled in his lap was the scimitar. Apparently he had been unable to wait for me to wake up, and had gone in after the sword while I recovered. It was a menacing looking blade, dark grey, with the haze of shadow surrounding it. The grip was of padded, bleached suede, with thin, braided gold wire holding the grip tight. The pommel was a simple ring with a tassel of white and gold hanging from it. All in all it was a beautiful, if menacing looking blade. Draknahr's eyes opened and he smiled.

Three days later, Draknahr and I arrived back at Del Caet, and after showing the city guard at the gate his authorization from Commander Camrian, were we allowed in without the customary inspection of the cart we had procured. Similarly, when we arrived at the Training Ground, the guard there greeted us warmly, as was befitting a returning sword apprentice after success in his ritual, and Draknahr prominently wore the scimitar on his back, white tassel brushing his right shoulder. With an uncharacteristic bit of dramatic flair, Draknahr asked that the cart be taken to the center of the field without the canvas covering being disturbed.
As we strode onto the field, Commander Camrian and the same two senior knights awaited us in the center of the field with proud smiles. Many other knights lined the perimeter of the field, and still more looked out over the field from balconies. Draknahr and I both bowed to Camrian and the senior knights respectfully, and then Draknahr ever so deliberately drew the scimitar from his back, and held it out for them to see. The three men stepped ever so slightly toward us to get a better look, and as one, they realized what they were looking at.
“By the Gods...,” one of the senior knights said in shock.
“The scimitar of Atrius Vellarius!” Draknahr announced triumphantly, and a murmur sounded from all around them.
“How did you come by this?” Camrian asked, his amazement quite evident.
“We came by this and more,” Draknahr said, and as if on cue, our cart was brought onto the field. It had been unhitched from Draknahr's horse, and was pulled in by the same two men who had brought the training targets.
Draknahr waited for the cart to arrive next to us, then pulled the canvas cover away, revealing a neat pile of blackened steel armour from Vellarius, another neat pile of polished steel armour from his companion knight, a silvery longsword, a sack containing all of the rings, clasps, necklaces, earrings and other assorted precious finery we had looted, and finally, laying with arms crossed over their chests, in the dignified pose proper for a fallen member of the Order, were the bodies of Atrius Vellarius and the other knight.
The murmuring ceased instantly. All eyes fell on Vellarius, and every knight present, from the initiates to Commander Camrian himself gaped in astonishment. Fortunately, Draknahr and I had discussed this very event for three days, and he had prepared exactly what to say, in all its elegant simplicity.
“Commander Camrian, I claim all spoils, as is my right, for myself and my companion. I returned the bodies of my opponents so that they may receive a burial appropriate for respected members of this Order,” Draknahr said with great formality.
“You went to the cave and found them alive?” Camrian asked, his face growing a bit pale as the reality of what we had faced settled in his mind.
“Alive enough, sustained by a witch's ritual,” Draknahr replied.
“And you faced Atrius Vellarius, and you killed him?” Camrian sounded incredulous, but he was staring the the irrefutable proof.
“We defeated him, his fellow knight, and a witch that we left there to rot. He was quite hostile, and left us no choice,” Draknahr replied without a trace of remorse.
After more than a full minute staring at the body of one of the most reviled men to ever come from the ranks of the Order, and a man still spoken of in hateful whispers throughout Caeleon, Commander Camrian walked to the cart and took the piles of armour, one at a time and set them at Draknahr's feet. He took the sack and without even looking inside, sat it next to the armour. Lastly, he took the silvery longsword from the cart and approached us.
“Draknahr Otherian, you have completed the ritual of the sword, and have exceeded all of our expectations. You have earned your sword. Wear it proudly and may it always defend you and Caeleon. We welcome you as an apprentice of the sword,” he said loudly enough for all to hear, and a cheer went up from all around us.
“From what I have seen today,” he added very quietly, “ridding Caeleon of a disease that has silently slept for a century, we should expect great things from you. Just take care that your power remains great and does not become terrible.”
“Alan of the Sorcerers Guild,” he turned to me and said loudly. “Though you are not officially a member of this order, what you men faced, and what you have both done for this nation will become legend. While I had concerns about your suitability as a companion, as far as I am concerned, you have also earned your sword. Wear it proudly and may it always defend you and Caeleon.”
Young as I was, even I recognized the unprecedented honor that Sir Camrian had shown me. I took the sword from his hands and bowed very deeply to him. Again, a great cheer went up around me, and I was given a seat of honor, alongside Draknahr at the feast that evening.
Amazingly, even my fellow Sorcerers were highly impressed at the tale of our adventure, and word of our deed spread throughout Del Caet, seemingly within hours. Despite the acclaim, invitations to social events with influential people, and the small amount of wealth we split, fame had a price. We were soon to learn that there were other dangerous threats which had been long biding their time, and Draknahr and I had shown ourselves as targets.

The Ritual of the Sword - part 1

          While I have little intention of maintaining an obsessive attention to chronological order in my telling of the adventures of Draknahr Otherian, the flow from my first encounter with the young warrior, when he saved me from a pathetic embarrassment at the hands of a pair of street thugs, to our first genuine adventure together should make for an interesting and dramatic contrast.

          After being safely delivered to the door of the Sorcerers Guild, it took me several weeks to get adjusted to life and responsibilities in this new guild-house. My time spent as a student in Salran and Wehlor had left me filled to the brim with formal knowledge, but desperately short on practical skills and experience. My arrival in Del Caet brought me into a city and nation that had known more than a century of peace and prosperity, but with subtle political intrigue among the wealthy senatorial families, as well as between the Sorcerers Guild, Witches Guild and the Church of the Dawn. While outright assassinations were quite uncommon, espionage, burglary and assault were the order of the day. Thus, it took me longer than expected to get my bearings and discover my role in the guild and in Del Caet.

          Finally, finding several hours with no other pressing matters, I made my way to the guild archives and set about doing the research Draknahr had asked of me. Sadly, his instruction to look up a item called a “shadow scimitar” were initially fruitless. Fortunately there were volumes written on the former Knight of Caeleon named Atrius Vellerius, and it was there that I found information about the sword Draknahr had spoken of.

          One hundred and twenty years previously, there had risen through the ranks of the Order of the Caelish Knights a warrior and tactician of immense skill and ability. He had been born to a leading senatorial family, but had been the youngest son and had stood to inherit little of his family's lands or wealth. He decided, as a few others in his situation do when their ambition reaches higher than their station, to join the Order and seek his name there. Atrius Vellerius's ambition was far greater than anyone initially imagined.

During the early stages of the Caelish civil war, Vellarius came to the attention of the last Emperor of the realm, then called Zarthurian the sixth, now referred to as Zar the mad. Zarthurian elevated him to his right hand, and he became the commander of most of the Imperial forces. In later days, it became known that Vellarius was already initiated into the Witches Guild when Zarthurian had elevated him, and had begun a rapid rise through the ranks there as well. It has been speculated that the Witches Guild, and Vellarius himself were in some way responsible for the bloodthirsty madness that dominated Zarthurian's reign, but definitive proof will likely never emerge.

          During the late stages of the civil war, Vellarius ordered a purge of the Order of Knights after a group of them refused his order to destroy a village in northern Caeleon, thought to be harboring renegades. This finally caused the Order to rise up against the Emperor and Vellarius. The Order joined with the renegades and ambushed the Emperor's army in the field. The Emperor initially escaped the battle, but was ridden down by a group of knights whose identities were never revealed. They killed him and returned his body to Del Caet where it was entombed in the Mausoleum of the Emperors below their tower on the Highland, in the center of the city. Vellarius however, did escape with a fiercely loyal personal guard and a group of witches.

          Two years later, the Order tracked them down to a cave on the edge of Lake Erstead in the north, near the Galdorian border. For weeks, the Order sieged the cave, but it eventually fell to members of the Sorcerers Guild in Del Caet to give final closure to the civil war. The Sorcerers, using elemental earth, sealed the cave, trapping Vellarius and his people inside. The Order stood guard at the cave for ten years, just in case the witches he had with him managed to devise an escape, but no sign of them was ever seen.

          Notable in all of these events, was the escape of Vellarius himself in several situations where he was utterly defeated and facing certain capture. Also of note, when the cave was being sieged, every tree for miles around was cut down and burned around the cave day and night, so that not a single shadow would show on the ground. The Sorcerer writing the account knew the reason, but did not say it in the text.

It took me several further days of research to determine that Emperor Zarthurian had given Vellarius a sword, as an award for his loyalty and service. From a single account, that sword was identified as one that had been given to Emperor Zarthurian the first, more than three hundred years earlier, as a gift from the Grand Sorceress in thanks for Caeleon's help in defeating pirates that had been raiding Arisus for decades. This sword had no official name, but the description of a scimitar of exceeding quality, and possessing an aura of shadow left little doubt in my mind that it was a magical sword of great power.

          After reading all of this, I confess that I was having many doubts about pledging my support to Draknahr. While there could be little doubt that few more illustrious swords existed anywhere in the world, this one carried with it a history that I found troubling. After sending word to Draknahr that I had completed my research, I then met with him the next day to discuss it at an inn offering some of the most affordable Therian food in Del Caet. Draknahr has always had a tremendous love of Therian cuisine, and while I have today grown fond of it through familiarity, at this time, the spices and preparations made it quite challenging. Fortunately, I had enough on my mind to distract me from the food.

          “Alan, sit and tell me of your research,” Draknahr said warmly, and with a friendly smile as I entered the inn and spied him sitting at a small table against one wall. I had not seen the young man since our initial meeting. We had corresponded in writing several times, but I had not yet told him what I had discovered.

          “I'd actually like to hear what you know about it first,” I ventured, sitting down across from him. Already there was a small bowl of olives on our table, and two tankards of ale, Draknahr's already half gone. I sampled my ale and found it to be a touch bitter, my palate more accustomed to wine or mead.

          “It is a sword of great renown, and of superior quality. I know where it is probably located, and I know I will need a Sorcerer with me to get to it,” Draknahr replied simply and took a large drink from his tankard.

          “You also know that this sword is magical, crafted by a Grand Sorceress, and that it probably has killed hundreds of your countrymen?” I asked in a whisper. Draknahr however just shrugged and gave me a wry smirk.

          “A sword never killed anyone. It is the hand and will of the wielder that kills, the sword is simply the vehicle. Atrius Vellarius might have killed hundreds with his hand, but he killed thousands with his words and the hands of others,” Draknahr answered smoothly.

          “Draknahr, I am worried,” I said plainly. “I mean you no offense, but I have great doubts that a sword like this should be in the hands of a sixteen year old boy. Vellarius used it to terrible ends, and I cannot be sure that you will not do the same.”

          I worried that I had said too much. That I had been too offensive to the young man, calling him a boy, and accusing him of harboring malevolent intentions. Draknahr, despite his gruff and stoic disposition later in life, was much more open and kindly in his youth. Instead of taking offense at my words, he deliberated on them for several minutes in silence before nodding his head and smiling at me.

          “Alan, I have put you in a difficult position. You know little of me, and without spending years together, all you have is your instinct and my words. Know this; I am the perfect person to use the sword. I have ambition, not to control or dominate other people, but to protect and assist. I am honorable, and I am loyal. Never in your life will you regret helping me in this task,” Draknahr told me with earnest simplicity. Truer words were never spoken.

          One of the most under appreciated benefits of being a member of the Sorcerers Guild is the freedom it allows. While most trade organizations, and the Witches Guild certainly, are somewhat constraining by design, we Sorcerers assume that our guild-mates are ever engaged in their own compelling research, and generally we offer support only when sought. We have some obligations to the guild certainly, as well as to the nation hosting the guild-house to which we are assigned, but it came as little surprise to my fellow Sorcerers when I informed them I would be away for a week at least doing research on an important magical item that had come to my attention. This announcement provoked some curiosity, and even a bit of skepticism, but the kitchen packed up my provisions, and after packing my rucksack with the few items I thought I might need, I was off. Things were not so permissive for Draknahr.

          When I arrived at the enormous fortified complex that was known throughout Del Caet simply as the Training Ground, I was greeted with no hospitality at all by the guard manning a stout, iron banded wooden door. All I could see of him was the upper portion of his face through a narrow slit in the door, but I could easily tell that his expression was not a welcoming one.

          “You're the magician here to assist one of our children,” he stated more than asked.

          While I had heard it many times previously, I was always taken a bit aback when I was referred to as a magician. It was a mocking and derisive term used by people who had no understanding and little interest in what Sorcerers actually do. Instead, they chose to simply group us in with the illusionists and charlatans who frequented taverns and street corners, trying to win their dinner through slight of hand. Fortunately the term has gone largely out of fashion in the last few decades.

          “I am from the Sorcerers Guild to see Draknahr Otherian,” I replied unnecessarily, for the door was already opening.

          Another guard looked me up and down when I entered the halls of the Order of Caelish Knights, and seeing no weaponry, and little to be impressed with in my tall, skinny frame, he led me into the fortress. After passing through largely featureless halls for several minutes, we finally arrived at another wooden, banded door which the guard threw open. I found myself looking out across a sandy field, square in shape and vast. Towering above the field on all sides were the inner walls of the fortress, with rows of balconies overlooking the sand. I stepped on to the soft sand, and looked above me in some amount of awe. The huge opening above the field was mostly covered with stretched canvas, looking like a tent or sail designed to keep the field mostly dry and shaded. Standing in the very center of the field were three men in full, sparkling armour of polished steel. Kneeling before them, yet looking anything but insignificant, was a stout, red haired young man.

          I approached the group of men, trying to show a confidence that I in no way felt. The three knights watched my approach with grim faces, and one actually shook his head in apparent disappointment as I got close to them.

          “Halt Sorcerer,” the eldest looking knight commanded when I was ten paces from them. I complied immediately. “I am Commander Camrian. You have been summoned to this training ground to act as companion to novice Draknahr Otherian in the ritual of the sword. Do you understand your responsibilities?”

          “Not entirely, Sir Camrian,” I replied honestly. Draknahr had not been entirely forthcoming on the specifics.

          “Hmm,” Camrian grunted. “In all the years this Order has been in existence, only six novices have ever chosen a Sorcerer to act as their companion, and none even half as young as you. Draknahr has told us nothing of his plan, as is his right, but I sense danger along your path. As his companion, you are to provide for his defense as necessary, as a dagger and wooden training sword are all he is allowed. You may provide suggestions to assist in the completion of the task, but the novice is to make all decisions, as this is also a test of his leadership ability. You may only disobey his orders when you believe doing otherwise would create imminent danger of death. Do you agree to this?”

          “I do,” I replied with a twinge of doubt.

          “Sorcerer, I do not wish to offend, but overconfidence is a common affliction of youth. Draknahr is a highly promising novice, and I would not like to see him fail tragically at his task due to youthful bravado. I need to see a display of your skills in order to accept you in this role,” Camrian said and waved his hand.

Seconds later, from the sides of the field, two men in rough, belted tunics dragged training targets to the center of the field, finally erecting four targets twenty paces behind the senior knights. Each target was slightly larger than a man, and looked to be made of burlap stuffed with straw and nailed to a roughly man shaped frame. Over the burlap, each training target was covered with rigid leather armour pieces and a leather helm. All the armour looked like it had seen many years of abuse.

          “For this demonstration, I will ask you to disable three of the targets using whatever means you like. You will only be judged on your efficiency,” Camrian said while walking toward one of the four targets. In a single fluid motion, he drew the longsword from his side and delivered a devastating strike which caught the target just under the leather breastplate and severed the wooden pole acting as the target's spine. As the upper portion of the target spun in the air, Camrian flicked his wrist and sliced again, removing the burlap head with helm still intact.

          “See, simple,” Camrian said with a humorless smirk and walked back to the side of the other knights.

          At this point, Draknahr glanced back over his shoulder at me with an encouraging nod.

          “Sir Camrian, I cannot promise that the armour will not suffer damage,” I advised, having noted that Camrian had not touched the armour of his target in any way.

          “We can replace it,” Camrian said with a rough chuckle.

          This was the kind of demonstration that had never before been asked of me. Demonstrations of skill within the Guild almost always consisted of tests requiring great control and finesse. This, while also a test of control, was simply a display of controlled power. Fortunately, power was not something I lacked.

I looked at the three targets, all sitting within about ten paces of one another, and I immediately knew what might make the biggest impression. I waved my arms and called upon my inner reserve of elemental air, then I pushed a bit out toward the center point between the three targets and set it rotating. I fed in ever more air, and what had started as a small disturbance in the dust grew in a second into a tiny but violent tornado, sucking the three targets into the spinning vortex violently. While this probably would have sufficed to pass the test, for some reason that day, I was feeling a bit ostentatious. Perhaps it was the guard who had called me a magician, but I felt a need to leave a lasting impression.

          I held the vortex of air, and then I pushed out with elemental fire, which has always been my strongest attunement of any of the elements. I held back very little in feeding flame all at once into the vortex, and suddenly I knew I might have gone just a bit too far. A wave of incredible heat hit us all, and a deafening shrieking and howling came from the spinning cone of flames. I cut it off at once, though I had nearly depleted myself, and within a second, all that was left of the horrifying tornado of fire was an image of it seared into my vision, and a small section of sand that had been turned to blackened glass. There was no trace of the three training targets, and the pieces of the fourth sat smoking from the heat.

          The silence that filled the field after the shrieking of the inferno was complete. No trace of the faintest breeze, not a single chirp from a bird or buzz from a bee could be heard, and all of the men in the center of the arena looked at the blackened, glassy sand wide eyed and stunned into paralyzed silence. I finally and sheepishly broke the silence.

          “My apologies, I got a bit carried away,” I said. When the three knights and Draknahr looked back at me, each one wore an expression of amazement.

          “We had always heard that the Sorcerers were powerful...,” began one of the senior knights who had not previously spoken.

          “How often can you do that?” Camrian asked, his tone a fearful accusation. I then understood instantly that I had indeed gone way too far in trying to prove myself.

          “Alas,” I said in as non-threatening a tone as possible, and began telling a series of half-truths to reassure the knights that I was not quite as terrifying as what they had just seen, “I may be the only Sorcerer alive who can do that, and I could only attempt it again after some rest. I also must admit that presenting me with a target of highly flammable burlap and dry straw made things look quite dramatic.”

          While they appeared to be at least slightly reassured, Sir Camrian looked long at the patch of glass littering the floor of his training field, and he clearly recognized that even without a sword in my hand, a powerful sorcerer, even one as young as I was, was not a man to be trifled with.

          “Very well,” Camrian said. “Assuming that you can display wisdom and self control, I see no reason why you cannot perform your duty as Draknahr's companion.”

          “Sir Camrian,” I replied humbly, “the way of the Sorcerers Guild is one of studious contemplation. I will provide only well reasoned guidance. As for control, you asked for a demonstration of my power, and I gave you one. If you would like me to light a campfire, or your pipe, or simply warm your bath water, I can do these things as well.”

          Without another word to me, Sir Camrian bade Draknahr to stand before him.

          “Novice, your companion has been approved, and the ritual of the sword begins. Go with bravery, and return to us an apprentice of the sword,” Commander Camrian said, dismissing us both. As we walked off of the field, I looked back over my shoulder for the briefest moment to see Sir Camrian kneeling down over the blackened glass, staring at it in renewed amazement.