Baiel Maves took a step back while running a critical eye over the numerous pairs of sparring young men spread out before him. Their ages ranged from eight to sixteen years, they all handled a true steel blade, and all were born to War. Taking part in the instruction of the warlords-in-training was one of Baiel’s favorite activities in the keep, always causing him to fondly recall the years he himself had spent training upon this grassy field.
“Bend your leg more, Luen, you’re can’t remain balanced standing like that. Feyter, you won’t pull off a successful feint by moving so slowly, put some energy into it! Qyn—nice work, but don’t hesitate to take the offensive. You’re not going to win a fight just by blocking and avoiding.”
Baiel continued to watch, calling out more critiques and encouragements for the remainder of the hour, and then blew a short blast on his whistle and waved the fifty or so boys over to him.
They were all panting, drenched in sweat, and exhausted—precisely as they should be after their rigorous morning exercises. Baiel sent them off to take their lunch, and from there all would spend the afternoon seeing to their assigned chores and studies. Idle hands were not a part of daily life here at Lutarre Keep, although everyone was given the time between supper and bed-rest to pursue their own interests, whether they involved games, riding, reading, or worship in the temple of Stahl. Warlord Captain Gaiden Rojek realized the importance of recreation time, and ensured all members of the community had the chance to partake of it for at least a short time each day.
Baiel followed after the boys at a much more leisurely pace. After the midday meal, he would be seeing to his own sparring with some of his fellow warlords, and then sit in on a council meeting meant to finally determine the outcome of Captain Rojek’s proposal over whether or not the warlords should offer a fee for any who brought to them a War-born child. Baiel already knew he would vote in favor of the idea, although there would be further considerations to be addressed. Overall, however, he remained confident that once convened, a reasonable answer to all concerns would be found.
“Baiel! Here!”
He paused, now only steps from entering into the castle, and turned back. A fellow warlord by the name of Teht Jarvey was moving toward him at a jog and looked to be coming from the center of the keep.
“Teht,” Baiel nodded in greeting as the other man drew near.
Teht drew to a stop beside him and lifted a hand to shade his eyes from the glaring summer sun. “Baiel,” he returned. “Your presence is requested at the temple.”
“Requested by whom?” Baiel asked, his brows lifting in surprise.
“Brother Jord. He asked that I relay you are wanted at your earliest convenience.”
Baiel was now frowning, for this was unusual. “Is everything all right?” he asked. “Is Brother Jord unwell?”
Teht shrugged. “He appeared his usual self, neither ill nor overwrought. Surely the summons is nothing to be concerned with.”
Baiel nodded, his worry ebbing but his curiosity still strong. “My thanks, Teht. I will head that way now.”
The warlord gave him a nod and then started away into the castle. Baiel turned and headed for the center of the keep, keeping his eye upon the Temple of Stahl as his steps brought him nearer. He had absolutely no idea what Brother Jord could want from him.
He silently entered into the temple, with its familiar walls of dark red, its musky scent of burning candles, and quickly scanned the room. Two warlords and a citizen were present; one of the warlords was kneeling at the forefront of the temple before the great stone statue of Stahl, while the other sat a few rows back upon a pew. The citizen, a woman Baiel recognized as one of the castle cooks, was sitting several rows behind the second warlord, her eyes closed tightly in prayer as her lips moved silently.
Not wishing to disturb their worship, Baiel moved soundlessly along the back wall of the temple, his eyes now on the heavy, blood-red drapes hanging beyond the altar and stone effigy of War’s Patron. As he watched, he saw the drapes twitch and then part slightly to reveal Brother Jord’s thin, pale face. The clergyman raised a hand and beckoned through the slit.
Still taking pains to remain as silent as possible, Baiel moved fluidly from the back of the temple to the front, staying close to the wall. Brother Jord was holding the drapes apart for him, and he stepped through quickly into the inner chamber before speaking.
“Brother Jord,” he said. “Teht relayed you wished to see me.”
The clergyman nodded and motioned him deeper into the chamber, to where an immense, round stone table was placed. “Take a seat, my son,” the clergyman instructed, gesturing to one of the chairs.
Baiel did so, keeping a curious eye upon his host. “Is everything all right?”
“Of course, everything is fine,” Brother Jord said as he poured them both iced lemonade from a glass pitcher. He then moved to set both cups onto the table before taking the chair next to Baiel.
Thirsty from his long morning under the hot sun with the trainees, Baiel took several swallows of the beverage before setting his cup back down and refocusing on the other man, who was watching him serenely.
Baiel hesitated, then said, “Don’t think I fail to enjoy your company, but I presume you’re going to explain your summons sooner rather than later?”
Brother Jord smiled. “Of course. I am simply attempting to calculate how you will react.”
Baiel’s expression slid into a frown. “There is only one true way to know,” he replied.
The clergyman nodded. “Do you recall the time we spoke, just after your return here to the keep?”
Baiel nodded. “That was only little more than two weeks past; of course I remember.”
“And do you recall the content of that conversation?”
Baiel was quiet for a moment as he thought. “Certainly,” he finally responded. “We discussed the fact that I hadn’t returned with a Secondary, and then I recounted the details of my time away.” He was now regarding Brother Jord seriously, having no idea where he was going with this.
Brother Jord was nodding. “Yes, the discussion involved your indecisiveness at choosing a Secondary. You asked me something in regard to that, do you recall?”
Baiel thought, searching his memory. He remembered the conversation quite clearly, and it took him only a few moments to come to the only likely conclusion.
“I asked if you’d gained any insights that might help me with my decision,” he said. Then he stopped, his eyes focusing in upon the clergyman intently. “Is that why you’ve asked me here? Have you seen something of this?”
“I have received information, but it does not pertain to the choosing of your Secondary medallion—at least not so far as I can see,” Brother Jord told him.
Baiel quickly reminded himself of all he knew in regard to these insights clergypersons would occasionally receive. Typically, they manifested during times of deep meditation, sent by the Patron in question when one of his or her worshipers prayed for guidance or needed clarity on a certain matter. The clergy worked as vessels in this way, the only beings—besides diviners, of course—thought to be devout enough to actually receive these messages from their Patrons. These men and women would then pass along whatever information was bestowed to the intended recipient. Brother Jord himself, Baiel knew, had played messenger to Stahl approximately two dozen times throughout the course of his station here within the Patron of War’s temple.
Baiel was still attempting to wrap his mind around the fact that Stahl—Stahl, his very own, beloved Patron—had made him the subject of one of these insights, when Brother Jord spoke again.
“You are to go to Aralexia,” he said, “and enter the games of the King’s Challenge.”
The overwhelming sense of excitement racing through his every limb now shuttered to a sudden and violent halt. “The King’s Challenge?” he repeated, grimacing. “Surely, you jest.”
Brother Jord appeared to find his reaction amusing.
“I assure you, I do not.”
“But . . .” Baiel started, “those games are reprehensible.”
Brother Jord took him in. “My son, if Stahl himself desires you to enter them, surely there is a reason.”
Baiel looked away, at the ceiling, at the walls, anywhere but at the vessel chosen to relay this directive he simply did not understand. Finally he swung his eyes back. “And am I charged to win them as well?”
“The outcome was not shown, so I therefore don’t believe it to be of consequence,” Brother Jord told him, still wearing his soft smile. “Although I would be much surprised to learn of any who possesses the skill to best you.”
Baiel was in no mood for flattery, no matter its truth.
“Those games, they are nothing more than the basest form of entertainment, witnessed by and bet upon by those who enjoy watching men fight each other to the very point of death! It is a disgusting practice, and one that says much of King DeSiva’s nature for keeping to this annual tradition!”
The clergyman took this all in calmly, his expression unchanged. “Your fellow warlords have occasionally fought in the games,” he said.
Baiel looked back with exasperation. “They were using the duels as practice, as nothing more than a unique sort of exercise to further hone their skills. They did not enter for prestige, nor money, as are the common grounds claimed by the majority of its participants.”
“Nor did they enter upon the wishes of Stahl himself.”
Baiel opened his mouth, then closed it again as his argument fell away in the face of such a statement. Of all challenges and duties, quests and deeds, why was it this nonsense, the games of the King’s Challenge, that his Patron asked of him? He didn’t understand it, he certainly didn’t like it, but he also didn’t see himself having much of a choice in the matter. It would take a braver man than he to deny Stahl’s wishes—no matter how trite and inconsequential they appeared to be.
Brother Jord was continuing to watch him with interest, and they sat in silence for a time. Finally Baiel sighed.
“Of course, I will adhere. So long as Captain Rojek grants me leave,” he said. The words were empty and they both knew it. Gaiden Rojek would not attempt to thwart the path of an insight, no matter what it entailed. He would send Baiel off with nothing less than his full encouragement and enthusiasm.
Clearly realizing the redundancy of the statement, Brother Jord didn’t comment on it. Instead, he said, “You are an intelligent man, Baiel, but you have never been one to put much thought into the bigger picture. It may be wise to begin doing so now.”
Baiel took him in, his brow furrowed. “I am not certain what you imply,” he said.
“I refer to the obvious disdain you feel for this directive you have been given,” Brother Jord explained calmly.
Baiel snorted. “How could I feel anything different? The games of the King’s Challenge stand for everything we as warlords abhor. Perhaps you’ve made a mistake, and are interpreting what you saw incorrectly.”
“There is no mistake, Baiel,” the clergyman denied, shaking his head. “You will go to Aralexia, and you will participate in the games. But the point I was trying to make is simply that you could very well be looking at this from an incorrect perspective.”
“Brother Jord,” Baiel responded, gesturing helplessly, “if you can make me see any sense in this, then by all means, I both beg and urge you to do so.”
“You are looking at the games as the result rather than as a possible means. Do not be so close-minded, Baiel.”
“I am still not clear upon your meaning.”
Brother Jord nodded. “It is possible the actual King’s Challenge games are unimportant in and of themselves. I suspect this because, for the most part, you are right; the vulgarity of them has very little in common with the code we who reside here in Lutarre Keep strive to live by.”
Baiel was growing impatient with the clergyman’s lack of clarity. “And so?” he demanded.
“And so,” Brother Jord repeated, appearing slightly amused at his exasperation, “it is likely the games will merely provide the next step in your life’s path.”
“How could that be so, exactly?” Baiel asked, frowning.
“There are thousands of possibilities, I could not feasibly try to list them all.”
“One or two, then.”
Brother Jord nodded indulgently. “All right. Perhaps you will at last find a clue to your sister’s whereabouts, or matters will be brought to your attention that require the needs of you and your fellow warlords. Truly, the options are endless.”
Baiel thought about this for several moments, realizing Brother Jord was probably correct. In fact, the possibility that his appearance in Aralexia would only prove a link in a chain of more meaningful events made him feel a great deal better about the situation. He could only hope those events didn’t keep him from Lutarre Keep for too long a time; only just recently returned, he had no desire to be away from his home again.
“I thank you for your wisdom in this matter, Brother Jord,” Baiel told him, his tone now returned to the respectful cadence he generally used when speaking to members of the clergy. “Your counsel is, as always, insightful and appreciated.”
Brother Jord nodded. “It pleases me to have been of assistance. Although you do surprise me, Baiel. It is a rare occurrence indeed that causes any manner of excitement in you. As seen to the eye, at least.”
Baiel looked down for a brief time, thinking. The other man was right—his emotions had gotten the better of him, and the resulting behavior had been most uncharacteristic.
“I apologize if my words were rude, Brother,” he said. “It is only that the knowledge of your insight took me by surprise.”
“Understandable,” the clergyman replied, waving a hand.
Relieved, Baiel moved to push himself to his feet. “I must bring word of this to Captain Rojek. But I will return before my departure to ask of you a blessing.”
“Certainly. I will expect you.”
Baiel gave the clergyman a nod and then stepped back to the heavy drapes, parting them with a hand before stepping through. One of the warlords within the Temple had by now departed, but the other remained, as did the woman who worked in the castle kitchens. Baiel again took pains to make no noise so as not to disturb their prayers, moving soundlessly along the walls until he was able to push through the doors leading to the outside. He started for the castle immediately, hoping to find the captain in his office.
Luck was with him, and he came upon the one he sought just returning from his midday meal. They entered into the office together, with Captain Rojek taking a seat behind his desk and Baiel standing before it. Baiel quickly relayed the insight Brother Jord had experienced of him.
Gaiden Rojek was a man of forty-two years, with graying yellow hair, green eyes, a Secondary of Death, and the physique of a bear. He’d been reigning captain here in Lutarre Keep for more than thirteen years, and had made it no secret over the past five that it was Baiel he grooming to succeed him. At present, he was smiling.
“I was once the subject of one of Brother Jord’s insights, you know,” he said, regarding the younger man from across his desk.
“Really?” Baiel replied, surprised. “I never knew.”
The captain nodded. “I was little more than your own age, perhaps a few years older. I was going through a personal crisis of sorts at the time—trying to decide if a life here at the keep was truly what I wished for myself.”
Baiel found this astounding, and he dropped into the seat across from his captain while staring at him in wonder.
“You were unsure?” he came back, disbelieving.
“I was,” Captain Rojek nodded, taking in Baiel’s reaction with amusement. “For many seasons, I prayed to Stahl that he would help give clarity to my path, and he complied by sending Brother Jord an insight showing me as captain here. I knew then that my life could go in no other dir
ection, and settled upon this course with no further conflict.”
Baiel was quiet as he thought this over. He remained somewhat disturbed to know his captain hadn’t always been as dedicated to this life as he was now, but Baiel supposed it mattered little, so long as it had all resulted as it was meant to.
“I only wish my own instruction had been so definitive,” he finally said, staring down at the surface of the desk. He then glanced up quickly when the captain responded harshly to this.
“You should be nothing but grateful that the very Patron of War has given you any notice at all. I wouldn’t care if it was his instruction for you to go frolic about in the midden heaps—if the duty you feel for him is as strong as you claim, I would think you would be jumping to do his bidding.”
Baiel wasn’t accustomed to receiving chastisement from his captain, and it had a profound effect on him.
“You’re right,” he said to this. “To be anything less than thankful for this gift is an egregious slight to the one we serve. I will ask his forgiveness and offer penance.”
Captain Rojek shrugged, his expression now falling back to one of familiar calm. “Perhaps it is unwise of me to be so bold, but I would think simply adhering to his wishes—with no further complaint—would do well enough. Now,” he went on, “we’d best discuss your departure. I would recommend speaking to those who’ve participated in Challenges past, so you’ll know what to expect from the games once you arrive in Aralexia.”
“Have any others asked for leave so they can attend and participate this year?” he put forth curiously.
The captain snorted. “I think a few were considering it, but none would now be so foolish as to pit themselves against you. But it may be for the best that you take a few men along for moral support as well as to keep any trouble from arising. As you know, some men fear us, others respect us, but there’s always those few who feel the need to challenge us. I will give you leave to ask the men of your choosing.”
Baiel nodded, already running through the list of possibilities in his mind.
“I would also suggest,” Gaiden went on, leaning back in his towering, leather-covered chair, “the need for a squire. Take one of the boys. I am certain any of them would be thrilled to accompany you and serve in this fashion.”
Baiel needed no time to consider now. “I’ll take Qyn,” he said.
“Fine. When do you plan on departing?”
He thought. “Three days. I should then arrive a day or two before the Challenge begins.”
Gaiden’s lips began widening into a sudden grin. “You know, I am almost tempted to leave the keep myself just so I can witness this. You being a contender in the King’s Challenge is not a circumstance I would have ever thought to imagine.”
Baiel fought off a scowl, and his captain laughed.
“So you’re not in the least amount worried for me, then?” Baiel then asked with a flat stare. “You know, men die in these games every year.”
The captain continued to chuckle. “Worried?” he said, looking back. “For you? Not in the slightest. In fact,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I’m expecting you to do much for our already formidable reputation. With luck, the populace—and, more importantly, the royal council—will come away believing the entirety of our ranks is comprised of men of your skill. And if so, I think we can expect to see a peaceful realm for many years to come, wouldn’t you agree?”
Baiel gave him a shrug in return, but the idea strengthened his hope for a deeper purpose to his instruction. “Perhaps that is precisely Stahl’s intention,” he replied.
Part 3
The King’s Challenge
Chapter 25