Chapter 10 - Chi

The master’s foot shot up, faster than the boy could track and snapped to a halt instantly, touching the underside of the lad’s chin.  Gently the master raised his foot, lifting the boy’s head.  He signalled for the boy to keep his head and eyes forward, not down to the wooden floor.

“I can’t…” he began, but Sensei Akihiro held up a hand, index finger raised, to quieten him immediately.  Lowering his foot to the floor, the master nodded slightly to Chi, and made a motion for him to repeat the punching technique he was trying to learn, but slowly.  Chi blinked and took a deep steadying breath.  He closed both fists as he had been shown, thumbs locking the fingers into place.  Then he moved his right arm back heading to his side, as he simultaneously pushed his left hand outwards, away from him and towards an imaginary line through his midriff.  As the hands moved, he rotated them slowly.

Akihiro’s open palm shifted impossibly quickly and slapped Chi’s left hand.  Chi stopped the punch in mid-flow and looked at his master, questioningly.   Akihiro took both Chi’s hands and controlled them with his own.  He moved the right one back and the left one out, but neither rotated until late in the punch, when the fists finished their movement.  As the punch ended Akihiro double-tapped Chi’s stomach with a palm.  He indicated an exhalation from the mouth and tapped all of Chi’s arm muscles, his legs and his buttocks. After this Akihiro made a small sign with his fingers and indicated the end of the punch. 

Chi knew enough to know Akihiro was naming the technique or a part of it.  The finger signals were part of the Ghostwalker training.  All the physical teachings of this discipline were done in utter silence, and as part of his training, Chi had to learn the secret hand signals the Ghostwalkers used to communicate.  The sign his master had made was ki and Chi knew it meant to focus.  He understood – the point was that the rotation of the fists at the end of the technique was one of the many parts of the move that made up the ki element.  He knew that he should also be tensing his whole body, but only at the very moment of impact.  He should be breathing fully out at this stage too – ensuring his whole body was solid.  Chi was struggling with the idea of sharply exhaling a whole lung full of air, whilst maintaining absolute silence, but he supposed it was just one more technique he would have to learn to master if he was to become a fully-fledged Ghostwalker one day.

The master made the signal which indicated ‘again’ and Chi punched slowly out.  He held the rotation of the fists much later this time and as he completed the punch he exhaled as softly as he could, trying to empty his lungs right down to his stomach.  He knew this technique helped the power of the technique and also had the side effect of lessening the chances of being winded, should he be hit at this moment.  As the punch completed he focused on tensing every part of his body, connecting the power of the attack from the floor, up through his stance, his legs, stomach, and lats into his punch.  Sensei Akihiro watched intently.  Then he nodded. 

A nod.  It was the most positive feedback Chi had received since beginning his training and Chi was delighted.  He let a big smile onto his face and was instantly slapped across the arm as a reprimand.  The sensei shook his head briefly and all of Chi’s exultation vanished.  But he was determined to drag another nod from his teacher before the day’s training was complete.

*

“Punch the dummy, Niko-san,” instructed Satoshi sharply.  Chi knew the choice of words was intentional.  The student training alongside Chi, whose name was Niko, looked quizzically at the older boy as if asking, “Which one?”  Satoshi grinned nastily and added, “The straw one, I mean.”

Niko threw out a powerful punch, putting everything into the blow.  He hit the straw target dummy right in the chest and was rewarded with a few stray bits of straw being dislodged and a puff of dust being expelled into the morning air.

“Not bad,” commended Satoshi, “but you are overreaching.  You put too much power into that punch and not enough control.  Had the dummy moved, you’d have overextended at least, maybe even fallen forward.  Power is good, but only with control,” the lad explained.

Chi, Niko and Satoshi were in the training compound.  Over half of the monastery was out there training and it was a time when the students worked in their small teams.  The more senior students would use this time to train the junior ones, as the masters wandered the training ground watching, evaluating, answering questions and correcting where necessary.  Chi and Niko were being drilled by Satoshi and, as usual, Satoshi was taking every opportunity to belittle Chi.  That said, Chi was pleased to note that at least he was also telling Niko when he did things wrong, and some of the things Satoshi was pointing out about Chi’s technique he knew he needed to improve on, so he determined to ignore the barbed comments but take on board the criticisms, as they could only improve him.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” said Satoshi stepping in front of the straw target.  “Move aside, move aside,” he said, waving his arms at the youngsters.  Satoshi took up a punching position and made a big show of keeping his back straight, and upright.  “Don’t allow your punch to go too far, or it will pull you off balance.”  The older lad threw out his punch and it thumped into the target, doing a fair amount of damage to it.  A small lump even fell off.  Satoshi was nicely balanced at the end of the attack and Chi could tell he had not overextended.  He found himself quite impressed, but he noticed something about the attack.  It wasn’t as focussed as Chi felt it could be.  He had noticed the fists rotated through the punch rather than at the end.  Satoshi’s shoulders were tensed as he struck the target which generated a reasonable amount of power, but which Chi noticed tended to raise the centre of gravity and reduce the stability of the stance.  All in all, it was a good punch, but Chi surmised it lacked the full focus it needed.  It lacked proper ki.

“You’re next, gaijin,” prompted the older lad and Chi stepped in front of the straw dummy.  He dropped into his front stance, in reverse punching position, ready to deliver a strong punch to the target.  “Now, remember, powerful but with control,” urged Satoshi.  Chi thought back to the Ghostwalker training he had been receiving from Sensei Akihiro.  He knew the key to a powerful punch, and one which also delivered excellent control was the focus.  Ki.  He took a steadying breath and let it out slowly.  Drawing in another three-quarters breath he let loose a strong punch, whipping his right hip in towards the target, driving the punch in and through the dummy.  As he connected he tensed every muscle as his fists rotated, and let out his breath, sharply but silently as he could, bringing his whole technique, his whole body, into focus.   The dummy fairly exploded.  Straw dust and bits of hay flew everywhere. 

From nearby Chi noticed Sensei Akihiro had been watching the exchange.  The master nodded briefly at Chi then turned away to help another set of students.  This time Chi kept his smile from his face, but inside he was glowing.

*

“Today we will learn the most important lesson.  It is at the heart of everything that the Ghostwalkers do and it is more important than any physical technique you will learn here.  It is known as the Three Principles and it forms the core of your teachings.”

Chi was sat cross-legged on a mat in the mediation room that Akihiro usually used to deliver his private instruction.  This time the lesson was not physical and Chi immediately realized this lesson would not be silent.  Though every lesson which taught and practised the physical techniques of the Ghostwalkers was conducted in absolute silence, occasionally he had a lesson which was about lore or history.  These were done verbally.

“Are you ready?” asked the master, sitting cross-legged opposite his student.

“I have a question, sensei,” responded Chi and Akihiro nodded that he should ask it.  “Are these teachings written down?  I am struggling with learning my letters and would like to read more.  Reading the teachings of the Ghostwalkers would help solidify them in my mind whilst helping me to practice my reading.”

Akihiro shook his head almost imperceptibly.  “No, they are not, Chi-san.  We protect these secrets fiercely.  We do not write them down, ever.  They are only handed down to exceptional students and they are all done verbally; or, as you have seen, silently using hand signals.  Nothing is here that could prove of value to enemies of our organization should the monastery be raided or infiltrated." 

Chi nodded his understanding.  He had figured something like that must be the case. 

“Besides,” continued Sensei Akihiro.  “Ghostwalkers do not exist.”  Chi raised an eyebrow in question at this last statement.  “Ghostwalkers are trained in sabotage, and spying and on occasion are called upon to assassinate a lord’s enemies.  This is not a profession that we are keen to advertise or even to admit exists.  The Ghostwalkers were in fact first developed in the Phantom province.  We have borrowed the idea.  Even in their homeland, the Phantoms claim that Ghostwalkers are a myth and a legend.  I expect all the provinces have Ghostwalkers in some number, though I believe the Phantom province has many more than the rest of us.  And none of us is real, officially.”

Chi nodded once more, taking all this information in.  “Sorry, master I have another question.”

“Go ahead.  One more and then we must continue your training.”

“In the training compound yesterday, I was practising punching with Satoshi”, Chi began and Akihiro nodded once.  “I noticed…” Chi faltered, unsure if he should point out a senior’s weakness to his master.

“Go on,” commanded the instructor.

“I noticed that Satoshi’s punches lack ki, sensei”, finished Chi simply, trying not to make it sound like an accusation or a boast.

“Indeed,” began Akihiro in response.  “You are right to spot this and it shows you fully understand the lesson.”

“But he has been here many years longer than me?” questioned Chi, deciding to risk being told off for asking too much.

“He has”, responded the master.  “And he has yet to understand the concept of ki.   This is because no one has yet taught him that lesson.”  Akihiro raised a hand to stop the next question he knew was coming next.  “We do not generally teach the monks of the monastery that lesson yet.  As a Ghostwalker, you are being taught concepts and techniques that your fellow students who are training only in the Way are not shown, or are taught later in their development.  Some students of Satoshi’s years here have been shown.  The more gifted have worked it out for themselves.  Some are yet to grasp it.  And here is another important lesson:  you must not tell anyone about the things you are being shown here as a Ghostwalker, not even the monks who you also train with.  These lessons are for you and you alone.

“Now.  Onto the main lesson of the day, the Three Principles.  The way of the Ghostwalker is built around these three simple concepts:  Heaven, Earth and Mankind.  In short, Heaven is about timing.  We do not work using random timings but rather we pick the exact moment to strike.  We work out when is the optimum time for a mission, an attack or an action and we time it to perfection.  Earth is about weakness, the enemy’s weakness.  Every action or attack is aimed to exploit that weakness.  We do not attack randomly, but we plan and think.  We work out which is the weak spot and we take advantage of it.  Finally, Mankind is about people.  Men are creatures of habit.  Men are predictable.  Men are controllable.    These are the three principles and as we go forward with your training we will discuss them in more detail and show you how we use them to make the seemingly impossible, possible.  The Ghostwalkers have a legendary reputation.  The Three Principles help maintain that reputation.  Understood?”

Chi bowed deeply to his teacher, aware he was truly being taught something extremely important and valuable.  Briefly, he considered that it must be unusual for a gaijin to be invited to train at the monastery, let alone being invited to be a Ghostwalker, that most secretive and select of organizations.  He realised he was extremely fortunate and special. 

It had not yet occurred to him that, because of the Three Principles, there must have been a very good reason for this and it was unlikely to be for his benefit.

Chapter 11 - Jaeden

The sound of thundering hooves was much louder than Jaeden would have expected.   His mount, a roan by the name of Rafferty, was young and spirited and had no issues with the idea of racing.  But going in a straight line appeared to be beyond it.  And when it came time to steer the horse around obstacles that was pretty much impossible.

Jaeden had never ridden before.  His father, though reasonably well off and of the noble class, was a minor aristocrat and could not afford a horse, so Jaeden had simply missed out on this part of his education.  The other pages he was training with, for the most part, had the advantage here.  Many were from the more affluent families and had their own horses and had been riding all their lives.  One, in particular, an annoying and arrogant brat named Nathaniel, appeared to have been born in the saddle such was his technique and ability.

Jaeden was trying to steer Rafferty towards a barrel.  The idea was simple:  ride up to the barrel, go around the far side of it, and return to where you started.   Convincing his mount that this was the plan, was so far proving more than Jaeden could manage.

He was in an open training yard, surrounded by a low wooden fence.  This yard was part of the impressive Chapter House of the Knights of the Sun in the capital city.  On one side of the yard were the stables and on the other the main buildings of the knights’ headquarters.  They were immense, sprawling and built of local yellow sandstone.  Rising even higher than the Chapter House and behind it to one side rose the incredible silhouette of the Cathedral of Light, the centre of worship for the whole kingdom.  It should have been an inspiring setting for any aspiring knight, but Jaeden had too much on his mind to take note of the surroundings right now.

The young lad was up against Nathaniel, of course.  The rich young noble sat atop a grey mare who was old and docile.  In theory, the young roan should have the beatings of the older horse, but the skill of the rider was a huge factor.  Nathaniel deftly guided his mare up to the barrel, keeping her close to the side of the wooden marker, and was around the obstacle and heading back to the start.  By this stage, Jaeden’s mount had covered nearly twice as much ground but mostly in the wrong direction. 

Jaeden knew that he was supposed to gently but firmly guide his mount with his knees.  For this exercise, the boys were not even allowed to use the reigns.  They sat with their arms crossed, the reins flapping untouched across their horses’ necks.  Rafferty seemed uninterested in Jaeden’s gentle directing so he decided to give the horse a good kick.  Landing his heels hard into the roan’s ribs, the response was instant.  Rafferty took exception and stopped in mid-run, bucking hard.  Jaeden with no expectation or experience of such matters simply found himself flying through the air to land in a crumpled mess, winded.  When he shook his head and looked up he saw Nathaniel guiding his grey across the finish line, a smug look on his face.

In the interests of fairness, Sir Harken made the boys swap mounts for the rematch.  Jaeden sat atop the grey mare, feeling out of his depth.  How should he handle this mount?  Would it throw him off if he kicked it?  Should he squeeze his thighs and knees to get it going?  What was going to happen?  Sir Harken dropped the yellow scarf to indicate the race was on and Jaeden, mindful of not wanting to end up in the grass again, took the option to squeeze.  The mare didn’t budge.

Next to him Rafferty bounded off towards the barrel at full tilt and Jaeden watched, expecting Nathaniel to be thrown.  Instead, the roan positively flew around the barrel, hardly slowing, with Nathaniel happily sitting deep into the saddle, appearing completely at home and relaxed.  At a mind-numbing pace, the roan was around the barrel, and back to the start.  Jaeden had not managed to get the mare off the starting line.

Nathaniel quipped, “Maybe you’d be better off walking, Jaeden.”  The gathered pages and squires burst into laughter at his expense.  Even Sir Harken was smiling.  Jaeden vowed to himself that this would not be the end of things.

*

“Your training as a page will last from now until your fourteenth birthday.”

Jaeden was in Sir Harken’s quarters, standing to attention as his father had taught him.  He was there alongside three other pages, Nathaniel included.  Also in attendance was Sir Marin, a young knight who was thin and short – almost the complete opposite of the Grandmaster.  Both the knights were resplendent in their full plate armour, the tabard of the Order of the Sun proudly displayed.  Jaeden struggled to think of a time when he had seen any of the knights out of their armour.  As far as he could tell they seemed to live in it.

Sir Harken’s living quarters were surprisingly spartan considering his position as Grandmaster of the Order of the Sun.  The floor was wooden with one comfortable rug thrown near the fire.  The room itself was smaller than Jaeden’s family dining room.  The walls were of simple white plaster, as were most of the rooms in the Chapter House.  A single window faced east and would catch the rising sun, filling the room with light at dawn.

“The standards of the Knights of the Sun are formidable,” Sir Harken continued.  “We who now wear the colours were trained to these standards, as were our forebears.  We expect nothing less of the pages and squires we bring into our ranks.  If you cannot perform at the level that is expected of you here, then you will be dismissed and returned to your families.  Not many young men and women pass this test so it is no disgrace to be rejected by our order.  Quite the opposite; it is a huge honour to have even made it this far”.

Jaeden heard the words but knew that would not be true for his father.  There was no way that Jaeden’s father would accept his being dismissed from the Order of the Sun as anything less than an utter disgrace.  He was determined that would not happen.  He did not want to let his father down.  The thought struck him hard.  He’d never before really appreciated how much his father’s regard meant to him.

Jaeden’s attention snapped back to the Grandmaster as he continued his monologue.  “As pages, you will learn the basic skills at which all the knights are expected to excel.  This includes horse riding, the basics at least.”  At this Jaeden could not help but notice the side-long glance from Nathaniel and the smug grin which he quickly hid before the Grandmaster could comment.  “You will learn weapon handling,” Sir Harken continued, choosing to ignore Nathaniel’s reaction. “We will take you hunting, teaching you how to handle the birds of prey we use.  We will teach you lore and history from this kingdom and beyond.  You will begin to be taught the Knights Code, a series of rules by which we all must live.  Your general education will be continued, and you will begin to learn how to look after the knight you will be assigned to if you make it to becoming a squire.  Any questions?”

Nathaniel raised his hand, “I have one sir.”

“Yes?”

“How bad do you have to be before you get kicked out?” the lad asked with another sideways glance at Jaeden, this one clearly meant to be seen.

“Everyone starts at different levels, Nathaniel.  The key is: do they progress and do they do it fast enough?  Do they learn from their mistakes, or do they keep making them?  The Knight’s Code tells us that we must be humble whilst striving for perfection in everything we do.”  The Grandmaster’s gaze flicked pointedly between Jaeden and Nathaniel.  Jaeden understood the implications.  His card was already marked.  He’d not failed yet but he needed to improve, and fast.  It didn’t occur to him that he was not the only page in the room with whom Sir Harken was not impressed.

*

Jaeden anticipated the attack, knowing full well he was holding his shield too low and was offering a juicy target.  The sword blow came in predictably, as if in slow motion.  Stepping forward and to his right, he moved inside the attack, using his momentum to lift the shield and ensure he was covered, in case the attacker was being deceptive himself.  From this position, he was perfectly placed to strike the killing blow.  Swinging his broadsword sideways and horizontally he connected with his partner’s back, the blunted sword edge crashing into the mail shirt the other page wore.  His opponent fell forward on his face in the dirt and Jaeden stepped over him, blade raised in case he tried to stand.

“Halt,” called Sir Marin who was overseeing their fight.  “Step back, page,” he commanded to Jaeden who did as he was asked, pulling the helm off his head and looking down to make sure the other lad was okay. 

Nevil shook his head and groaned a bit but clambered to his feet.  He grinned at Jaeden and nodded his appreciation of the manoeuvre.  “You had me there, Jaeden,” he complimented.  “That shield drop was a feint, right?”  Jaeden simply nodded and saluted his partner.

“Go and get some ale,” the knight ordered.  “Take a few moments to rest”.

Jaeden and Nevil moved off to the ale barrel where heavily watered-down ale was available to keep the knights and pages refreshed and hydrated.  Jaeden poured his sparring partner a drink and then filled his own pewter mug. 

It was midday and the autumn sun was weak and chill.  They turned to watch the next match which was Nathaniel up against another page, the only girl in their group.  Alena was the daughter of Warden Thomas of Waymeet.  Not a true noble by birth Alena was here because her father had risen high in the kingdom and he had paid for her to be given a chance to become a Knight of the Sun.  Jaeden knew that she had all the makings of an excellent knight.  Her character was beyond reproach, she was clever and studious.  She could sit a horse almost as well as Nathaniel and she was devout.  She had a way with the birds of prey the pages used to hunt.  The only area she was struggling in was weapon handling.  She was slight of build and found the heavy armour and weapons the pages were expected to wield a trial. 

Where Jaeden and Nevil worked with her to help reduce how much this was evident to the knights, Nathaniel was bound to attempt to expose this weakness in her.  He reasoned that she would need to be able to fight "out there" in the real world if she ever was knighted and that now was the time to expose her rather than in her first real skirmish where being under-skilled could mean hers, or others’ deaths.  Though it was sound logic Jaeden could not help but feel Nathaniel’s motives were more about showing her up than protecting anyone.

Nevil and he leaned on the wooden railing next to the ale barrel and watched the fight.  As expected Nathaniel was brutish and direct.  He brought his considerable strength and size advantage to bear and, though Alena was fast and quick-footed, she wasn’t able to swing the heavy broad sword with enough power to get close to landing a significant counter no matter how many times Nathaniel left himself open.  The result was never in doubt.  Eventually, the sheer power of the boy won through and Nathaniel landed a huge overhead blow.  Alena should have got her shield up to at least partially block but she was too tired.  The heavy broadsword crashed into her shoulder and she crumpled.  Jaeden noticed how at the very last second she must have realized the blow would hit and she collapsed with the strike, thus greatly reducing the impact, but it was still a mighty hit.

Incredibly she struggled to try and stand but the knight overseeing their fight stopped it.  He helped her to her feet and told her to take a breather and get a drink.  She made her way gingerly to the boys, feeling her shoulder and collarbone.  She could still move her arm so it appeared the last-minute dodge and the heavy armour had turned the attack into a bruising blow rather than one that broke bones.

“Jaeden, Nathaniel, you’re up next,” called Sir Marin.

“Give him hell,” urged Nevil.  Alena looked up at Jaeden and smiled demurely.  Jaeden was determined to see the arrogant bastard pay.

Hefting his broadsword he replaced the helm on his head with meaning.  Striding forward into the space designated for the fighting he cricked his neck side to side and focused.  Unbidden images of Nathaniel’s smug face at the horse racing came into his mind.  Images of the way he’d repeatedly brought Jaeden’s failings to the attention of the knights floated into his conscious thought.  Memories of conversations where the rich lad had complained that Alena was not the right breed to be allowed to be a knight.  Nathaniel was better at pretty much everything that the knights taught the pages.  He already knew most of the lore and history the knights taught the youngsters because his family had paid for private tutors since he was old enough to speak.  He had his own hunting falcons at home.  He was a natural horseman.  Jaeden wouldn’t mind any of that if he wasn’t so arrogant with it.  And there was one thing that Jaeden was better at.  Jaeden had an exceptional talent with weapons.

Nathaniel was ready.  Shield and sword held in a traditional defensive stance, his feet planted wide and well-balanced.  Nathaniel knew that Jaeden was the better swordsman and he intended to go on the defence and try and survive as long as he could.  This would make Jaeden’s job harder, but at least he could forgo worrying too much about defending himself.  He just made a mental note not to fall into the trap of totally focusing on attack and leaving himself open to a sucker counter.

Jaeden slid off the strap which held his shield to his arm and threw the defensive item away.  Taking his sword in two hands he moved forwards, stalking his prey.  His focus on his target was absolute now.  His mind moved out of conscious thought and into a world of instinct.  His warrior senses instantly locked into his mark.  He sensed that he was out of range from the enemy but he knew one swift step would close that distance.  He moved left and as expected his victim moved right in response.  A step forward and the prey moved back, keeping the range.  A step forward and right and the target moved backwards and left. 

Slowly he herded his quarry into the exact spot his subconscious mind had selected for the engagement.  A patch of slightly thicker mud in the training ground that he had not even been aware he had noticed.  A place where the opponent would find it slightly harder to move, where his defences would be marginally lowered.  And his warrior mind knew that small margins were all that was needed.

Jaeden’s detached mind now shifted his body into sync with the opponent.  His breathing mirrored his prey’s, breathing out when he was breathing in.  His instinct knew that his target would react faster just after the in-breath when his lungs were full.  So as Jaeden’s lung’s filled and his prey’s lungs were just emptying he struck.

He stepped forward and left, his stride an extra foot in length than he had been subconsciously getting his opponent used to.  This location put him within reach of the broadsword.  Swung two-handed it was well within reach. The target tried to move right and back, reacting as he had each time before, but this time his feet were marginally slower at shifting as the thick mud sucked at his boots.  This was just enough to put the target somewhat off balance and unable to rotate and bring his shield to bear.

A part of Jaeden knew that all he had to do now was shoulder charge the opponent and the advantage of terrain, momentum and balance would result in a prone enemy and a victory.  But somehow rising through the purely primal instinct he was moving with, a picture of this enemy battering a young girl into the dirt rose and dominated.

Jaeden swung the broadsword two-handed, up and down in a diagonal arc, stepping in as he did so, adding his whole body weight to the momentum of the blow.  The blunt blade smashed through the half-raised sword of his prey and down into the opponent’s mailed collarbone. 

There was no control.  There was no discipline or restraint in that blow.  There was pure primal aggression and hatred.  There were months of frustration at being shown up and being told he was not as good.  There was month after month of smug smiles and know-it-all answers.  And there was the picture of a good young lady being battered into the ground by a bully.

Jaeden snapped out of his warrior reverie as he heard Nathaniel scream in agony.  The blunt sword had split the boy’s mail shirt and driven right into the shoulder of the other page.  Blood was flowing and Nathaniel had almost passed out in pain.

Sir Marin was by the boy’s side in an instant.  He knelt and covered the wound with his open palm.  Closing his eyes he chanted something under his breath and Jaeden watched as soft light seemed to flow out from the knight’s palm and into the injured boy.  Nathaniel’s screaming quietened down and he was soon just sobbing quietly.

The knight took his hand away and through the ruined mail shirt Jaeden could see the wound had been closed, though an ugly scar remained and the shoulder was covered with terrible purple and black bruises.   The knight looked hard at Jaeden.  “Go and report to Sir Harken, page.  Tell him what happened here today.  I will be asking the Grandmaster for the details of your report.  Make sure that I don’t have to add anything to it.”

Jaeden gulped and ran off.

*

“Nathaniel is a mess,” Sir Harken told Jaeden curtly.  “His shoulder may never heal properly, even despite the immediate attention of Sir Marin at the time of the … incident.  Fortunately, the lad is young and you younglings have remarkable resilience and ability to recover from these sorts of things, but there is no way he will be back doing his duties for a considerable time.  The impact this may have on his career will need to be assessed as he heals.”

Jaeden looked to the floor, fully aware that everything he was being told was true.  He had potentially destroyed any chance that Nathaniel had to become a knight and all because he could not control himself.

“The thing is,” Sir Harken continued, squatting down in front of Jaeden to bring his huge imposing figure down to the boy’s level.  “Sir Marin described the fight.  He told me it was as perfectly executed an assault as he has seen by a page of your age.  In his opinion, you could have beaten most of the squires in our training at the moment.  Some of them are nearly ten years your senior.  You have a talent Jaeden, something that we don’t see here often.  The knights are trying to remember when last a warrior of your potential came into our ranks.  Some are even comparing you to the legendary Sir Mangarack when he arrived as a page.”

Jaeden knew the tale of Sir Mangarack.  He was the last Grandmaster of the Sun and Sir Harken’s predecessor.  The story went that he was the most accomplished swordsman the Order of the Sun had ever seen.  Sir Mangarack featured heavily in the history of the Chaos Wars, from fifteen years ago, before he was born.  But his was a sorry tale as he was corrupted by the Demon Prince.   Instead of being a beacon for good and hope in those wars, he was a power for the side of destruction and desolation.  At the height of the Chaos Wars, he was exposed as a traitor and he fled into the wastes of the Great Desert.  He was never seen again and was presumed dead.  Jaeden was not sure he liked being compared to the most treacherous and deceitful knight the order had ever produced, but the comparison to Sir Mangarack the warrior made him blush with pride.

“But your attack lacked something fundamental to the tenets of the Order of the Sun, Jaeden.  It lacked compassion.  It lacked empathy.  It lacked humanity.  In many ways, you have added to the comparison to my predecessor with your utterly clinical attack.  That is exactly the sort of thing Mangarack was famed for in his time here.  I would not want to see your career follow his.”

Jaeden bowed his head, unable to look into his master’s eyes any longer.  The blush of pride was replaced with a flush of shame and Jaeden wished the ground would swallow him.

“So, in the meantime,” continued Sir Harken, “I am going to have to provide a suitable response to your actions.  You need to learn that your choices have consequences.  In this case, seeing as Nathaniel is unable to attend to his normal duties as a page, you will perform all his normal duties as well as your own.  You will do this until he is well enough to return to work.”

Jaeden swallowed a lump in his throat and asked, “How long do you think that will be, sir?”

“When Nathaniel tells you he feels well enough to take his chores back from you.  I suggest you work to build a relationship with the lad or you may be doing his chores until you become a squire.”

Chapter 12 - Thia

“I’ve found something!” Thia exclaimed, putting her half-eaten apple down on the arm of the velvet chair she was sitting in and rising to her feet in excitement.  The book she held was an ancient treatise, probably a couple of millennia old she guessed.  Entitled ‘An Almanac of Local Historians’ the book was leather-bound and worn.  The vellum pages were age-spotted and in danger of falling out so she reverently took the book over to where Alandriel sat behind a dark mango-wood desk, three or four books and numerous pages spread out in front of him.

“What is it, dear?” asked the old fey, looking up from his reading.

“This book mentions a ‘historian’ by the name of Callindrill!” she began, her voice rising.  “I know that in itself is meaningless, but it mentions a book that this historian penned.  And I recognise the name of that book; I’m sure it’s here in your library.”

“What book?” asked Alandriel, leaning forward, clearly interested.

Thia looked back at the book in her hands again, “Let me see.  Here it is.  ‘Breaching the Void.’  Curious title.  I remember seeing it on a shelf somewhere, but the copy you have had no author so I dismissed it as minor.  Could it be that it’s written by the Archmage himself?”

Alandriel pushed back his chair and shrugged his shoulders.  “Certainly possible,” he replied, heading to a bookshelf in the corner of the room.  “If I recall correctly that title is over here somewhere.  I will admit I have never read it.  It was a gift from a rival and I assumed it was full of rubbish and was given to me to muddy my research.  How ironic if it helps you in yours.”

Moments later the elderly man had recovered a dusty tome.  Taking it to his desk he cleared a space, quickly and carefully moving the books and papers aside.  The book was relatively new, probably less than a hundred years, which in this library was positively youthful.

“Not an original,” observed Thia.  Callindrill had died around fourteen hundred years previously. 

“Maybe, maybe not,” answered Alandriel.  “Yes, it is most likely simply a copy that someone penned a hundred or so years back, a thousand years after the great mage’s death.  But Callindrill was an amazing scholar and many of his books had enchantments laid upon them which reduced the effects of age upon them.  It is just possible that this tome was penned by the great man himself.”

Thia let out a breath of excitement.  Together they opened the book and began to read.

*

“So we are both a great deal wiser in the art of the Orator than we were a couple of days ago,” remarked Alandriel.  “Yet we still find ourselves no nearer to boosting your talents.”

Thia crunched down on a fresh red apple and nodded absently, her mind whirring.  The last couple of days had been a whirlwind of excitement.  The tome was, indeed written by Callindrill.  Whether it was a copy or an original was impossible to determine but the important thing was the content.  The book was a commentary on many different forms of arcane knowledge and skill.  It covered the more common forms of magery such as those practised by the fey.  It discussed the powers of the priests and gave theories on how they channelled the Light by reaching out to the Void.  It covered more seemingly natural powers such as those of the Druids and put forth ideas on how their control of nature was related to the Void.  It ascertained that all magic in all its forms was a matter of drawing energy from the Void.  And it mentioned a rare skill that some practitioners were able to master: Oratory.

The art of the Orator, Callindrill claimed, mostly involved controlling, beguiling and influencing others, using phantasms, suggestions and psychic power drawn from the Void.  The way this was brought into effect was through a Word of Power.  These words were impossible to capture in writing and had to be taught to students directly by masters in the art.  Callindrill maintained that in unusual circumstances students of Oratory sometimes spontaneously discovered these Words of Power in moments of great stress or anxiety.  Unfortunately, according to the Archmage, the art of the Orator was passed from teacher to student orally, naturally, and no written records were kept of this uncommon form of arcane training which meant there would be no way to learn this art by studying in a library.

It all made sense.  Thia’s personal experiences appeared to completely fit the theory put forward by the region’s foremost expert on the subject matter.  There was no greater mage in the history of this part of the world than Callindrill and his theories aligned perfectly with Thia’s practical experiences.

But it meant she was stuck.  She had no master of Oratory to learn from.  As far as she was aware there simply were none.  She had had a little success in discovering what might be Words of Power when she had been in extremely stressful situations but she had little interest in going through life trying to put herself in dangerous situations in the hope that arcane phrases might pop into her head and save her.

“I have an idea,” Alandriel interrupted her thoughts.  “Though it won’t be simple and it might not work.  It also could be a bit dangerous,” he admitted. 

“Well, unless you are about to tell me to walk into the lair of a great dragon, I’m all ears,” joked Thia.

Alandriel smiled reassuringly and said, “No, no dragons.  But other creatures exist in the realm of Sylvandale, beyond this city,” he told her.  “Some of them have innate abilities which closely mirror and resemble the powers of the Orator.  According to Callindrill’s tome, he believes that the first Orators may have unlocked the secrets of their powers by studying or even working with various creatures of the fey realms.  So perhaps, in the absence of a master to teach you, you should revert to the trials the first Orators undertook.  Go out there and find your masters beyond these walls.”

Thia nodded sagely.  It was a bit of a long shot but she knew, much as she loved Alandriel’s library and all the esoteric lore it contained, she was never going to become an Orator studying books.  “I agree,” she told her master.  “The question is, where to start?”

“I have a thought on that,” Alandriel returned.  “A day or so south of here is a grove of ancient elm trees which grow atop a hill.  No other trees grow on the hilltop so it is easy enough to spot.  These trees are special because they are the home of an ancient spirit known as a hamadryad.  I feel you may be able to learn something from that spirit.”

Thia considered this.  She knew something of the reputation of the spirit her master was talking of.  The hamadryad were tree spirits, some said they inhabited trees, and others that they were the very embodiment of the tree’s soul.  They had a reputation as nymphs that would lure unsuspecting travellers into their grasp and then suck them into the tree, drawing life energy and essence from the victims to empower their trees.  They were potentially very dangerous creatures but were certainly rumoured to use powers similar to those of an Orator.  Perhaps she could learn something from them.  What did she have to lose?

“Okay,” she told her mentor.  “I agree.  I will set out to visit this grove and see what I can learn.  After all, how dangerous can it be?” she asked.  “At least it’s not a dragon’s lair,” she joked.

“Indeed,” Alandriel agreed.  

*

The elms were ancient yet regal.  Thia was no expert in the natural world but even she felt a sense of archaic and brooding power here.  The grove comprised exactly a dozen elms in a perfect circle.  Beyond them the hilltop was bare.  Above her, the stars shone brightly.  It was unusual to see them so clearly in the fey realm of Sylvandale for there were not that many clearings in the expansive forest and Thia had spent most of her life in and around the fey city at the centre of the forest.  She took a moment to stop and enjoy the heavenly glory.

“An exceptional sight, I agree,” said a voice nearby suddenly.  Looking up sharply, Thia saw that a previously unnoticed woman had stepped from behind one of the elms.  The woman appeared fey with long silver hair that caught the moonlight.  Her face was angular and beautiful with ears that reached up high to sublime points.  Thia could not help but notice and admire the sensual curve of the woman’s hips and breasts.  The woman’s eyes bore into Thia’s and Thia was instantly aware that the young fey was conscious of and enjoying her attention.  Something in the woman’s attention was both primal and arousing.

“Come closer,” she invited, beckoning with a slender, graceful finger.  “The stars are even more exotic when viewed from this location.”

Thia started to move in the direction of the attractive stranger.  The angle of her approach took her under the eaves of one of the oak trees which formed the forest immediately surrounding the grove.  She brushed her hand across the bark of the oak tree in passing and her attention snapped to the feel of the rough ridges of the oak’s hide.  It momentarily broke her connection to the woman ahead.  That was enough.  Instantly Thia’s training kicked into place and she brought to bear the skills Alandriel had taught her to quieten and still her mind.  Though she had never been able to master even a simple Cantrip, these skills were not arcanely related strictly speaking but were more about willpower and a disciplined thought process.  From the haven of a still mind, she regarded the woman again.  Now she saw her for what she really was.

The woman was a hamadryad.  Thia could see that she was not a separate person, but was part of the tree itself.  Her mind had filled in the bits that the tree spirit had wanted her to see.

“I see you for what you are, nymph,” she told the creature.  “You have no power over me.”

The dryad realised this was true as it snorted in derision.  “Begone then, witch,” the nymph ordered.  “You are not welcome here.”

“What if I have something to offer you?” queried Thia.

“What could you possibly have to offer me?” asked the spirit, “Unless you are planning to come here as I asked?”

“No, I think not.  But I have something else I can offer.”  Thia slowly removed her pack from her shoulders and set it down on the ground.  Opening it she withdrew a crystal vial, full of an opaque and murky-looking green liquid, the colour of mushy peas.  “This,” she declared, lifting the bottle so the dryad could more easily see it, “is an arcane brew.  An elixir crafted by the greatest alchemist of the city of Sylvandale.  This mystic solution is imbued with untold power sucked from the depths of the Void and blessed by the earth goddess herself.  And I am prepared to trade it with you.”

“What exactly does it do and what do you want in return?” the tree spirit asked her.

“This solution is a powerful force of regeneration and growth.  If you pour it onto the ground around your grove it will infuse the very earth giving it great powers of rejuvenation and prosperity.  Your grove’s power will be expanded by far more than it would have been had you lured me into your trap.”

The dryad inclined her head in appreciation at what the elixir could do for her and the health of her grove.  “And what would you seek in return?” she inquired.

“Knowledge,” replied Thia.  “Teach me the Word of Power which enables you to charm and to seduce those who venture too close to your grove.”

“That would be pointless,” the dryad told her.  “You cannot hope to understand such a word.  It is steeped in power and potency which will be meaningless to you.  Few mortals have ever been able to understand them.  Fewer still can wield them.”

“I’m willing to take that risk,” answered Thia.  “You share the Word of Power and how it is used and I will give you the elixir, even if it turns out that I cannot understand or use the knowledge you have given to me.  Agreed?”

The dryad spent a few moments considering this, and then clearly decided it had nothing to lose.  “Agreed,” she confirmed.

*

“And so it was that the hamadryad taught me how to access the Word of Power which enables them to charm travellers and to implant suggestions into them,” Thia told Alandriel a few days later.   They were back in his library, sharing a meal at one of the few tables that were free of books and papers.  “I’m pretty certain with some practice I can use it for more complex suggestions than just ‘come here’ which seems to be the default idea that the dryads use it for, though it will no doubt take some practice.”

“Fascinating,” declared Alandriel, forking a slim slice of cured ham into his mouth.  “You need to be careful,” he observed.  “Please do not start going around charming and suggesting stuff to the people around here.  It will be sure to get noticed.”

“Quite,” she agreed.  “Anyway, I have a feeling that the fey are quite resistant to this power, so the present company is probably not the best place to try this.  But if I encounter any humans wandering the forest I may well see how it works out.”

“Good plan,” responded Alandriel.  “There is one thing I can’t figure out, though,” the old mage continued.

“What’s that?” asked Thia.

“That elixir.  Where on earth did you get such a powerful and useful item?  And do you think it was wise giving it to a hamadryad?”

Thia snorted into her dinner.  “That elixir?  That was concocted in your kitchen,” she told him with a smirk on her face.

“My kitchen?” he exclaimed.  “How?  What?”

“Before heading out to the grove I did a bit of research on hamadryads in your library.  It seems that, though they are creatures with a close connection to the Void and able to draw on it, they have no particular ability to sense if things are Void-touched or not.  That potion was nothing special,” she said. 

“In fact, it was exactly what it looked like.  Mushy peas.”

Chapter 13 - Chi

The bokken was a wooden training sword, about the same size, shape and weight as a real sword.  It was supposed to be less dangerous when it hit you, but it still hurt like hell.  Chi stepped back defensively as the next flurry of blows came sweeping in.  His hands moved rapidly to parry and deflect, but he was being overpowered.

Ryo was a fast and aggressive swordsman.  His blade work was precise, accurate and implacable.  His arms seemed to have an unlimited supply of energy and power.  He came on relentlessly.

The two trainee Ghostwalkers were in a small garden inside the Monastery.  The grounds were impeccably maintained – one of the duties of the Ghostwalker novices – and comprised a sandy area for training, split from a formal pebble garden by a small stone bridge over a false stream.  The sandy area had been set up for shiai combat.  The shiai was a simple circle of white stone pebbles, arranged in the sandy training section.  The circle was big enough to allow two combatants to spar with a degree of movement but not so big as to allow one opponent to evade the other if they were chased aggressively.

Chi retreated before the onslaught of Ryo’s bokken.  His friend was driving the exchange, having taken the initiative and begun the engagement on the offensive.  He could see Ryo’s face was a visage of concentration and controlled aggression and he continued to evade backwards and occasionally a bit to the side, giving ground reluctantly and slowly.  Every inch that Ryo pushed Chi back was hard-won, but it was unrelenting.

Finally, Chi reached the edge of the shiai and with nowhere to go had a simple choice:  stand his ground, and probably take a hit from Ryo’s superior swordsmanship or step out of the arena and concede a half score.  Chi stepped back.

Sensei Akihiro, who had been controlling the combat, stepped forward instantly, his hand chopping down between the boys to signal a cease in the melee.  He signalled that Chi had left the shiai and pointed to Ryo, awarding him a half-point for driving his opponent out of the ring.  All this was done, as usual, with no words and in silence using the Ghostwalker hand signals. Ryo was halfway to victory.

The combat was reset with both boys coming to their starting positions inside the shiai.  Sensei Akihiro lifted his hand in a ‘begin!’ motion and the two lads dropped into deep stances.  Chi could see from his face that Ryo was already in offensive mode and sure enough his friend immediately advanced, bokken raised threateningly.  Chi chose to retreat again.  Ryo’s face was lit by an unmistakable sense of impending victory and the assault began in earnest, his bokken probing and striking, looking for the gap in Chi’s defences.

Chi retreated in measured steps, not giving ground too quickly but not fighting as doggedly as he had before.  Ryo’s tempo and aggression rose and he came on even more fully.  Chi quickly reached the edge of the shiai and had nowhere to go.  His retreat was at an end.  Ryo upped the cadence of his flurry still further and looked like he would break Chi’s defences at any moment.

Then Chi slipped and fell prone to the floor, landing just inside the shiai.  Ryo did not hesitate to take advantage, swiftly raising his wooden training sword high above his head ready to bring it crashing down onto Chi’s prostrate form and win the fight.  He let out a great exhalation of air as the blow fell, not entirely soundlessly, as he endeavoured to bring his ki into the final attack.

Suddenly, just as the bokken fell with terrific speed and force downwards, Chi spun in place on the sandy floor.  His left leg, which was stuck out, fully extended from where he had landed in a seemingly awkward pile on the floor, hooked the back of both Ryo’s ankles and swept the lad completely off his feet.

Ryo landed in a heap next to the prone Chi, who was already up and on one knee.  Chi’s bokken came down, quick as a flash, in the first attacking move he had made all fight.  It came to rest on the windpipe of his opponent, with perfect control.  A killing blow and a fight-winning move.

*

A few days later the two lads were once again in the formal garden with Sensei Akihiro.  This time they were being given training in the use of the small throwing knives that formed part of the Ghostwalker arsenal.  These tiny blades came in all sorts of shapes and sizes but were mostly concealable in the palm.

Sensei Akihiro had set up a series of targets in the garden for the boys to throw at.  There were three leather striking posts which a well-thrown knife would stick into.  There was a dangling bell which was swaying slightly in the evening breeze.  There was a heavy weight on a piece of thin hemp twine.

Akihiro signalled to the two boys what they were expected to do with each target and which knife was for which throw.  The first three targets simply required the boys to get their knives to stick in the leather.  The bell target was designed to be hit with a knife and rung.  The final target was not the weight as Chi had at first assumed but rather was the thin twine which was holding it up and steady.  It was pretty simple in theory but the knives were not as easy to throw as they at first appeared. 

Chi went first and was pleased that he managed to get three of his five throws pretty much where he was aiming them.  Two throwing stars were now embedded into the leather pads they had been aimed at, but one had bounced out.  One knife had hit the hanging bell with a resounding chime, though the note was slightly flat, possibly because the blow had been glancing.  The final throw had missed the slim length of twine and flown off to land among the stones of the formal pebble garden.

Ryo clapped Chi on the back silently in a congratulatory manner then stepped up to take his turn.  He managed four successful hits, with all three of his knives sticking into the leather block and the bell being hit pretty much full-on, making an impressive-sounding chime which was much fuller than the sound Chi’s knife had made.

The master nodded to both boys, clearly impressed.  Then Ryo signalled something to him which was very unusual.  Chi was not sure how the master would react.  He could take this as a challenge, or he could take it as an opportunity to demonstrate the skill to the boys.  Chi dearly hoped it would be taken as the latter or he imagined Ryo would be in all sorts of trouble for his impertinence.   Fortunately, Sensei Akihiro smiled at the request and bowed to his son.  It appeared he had just agreed to Ryo’s invitation to show us how it should be done.

Stepping up to the mark, Akihiro took one long deep breath and let it out slowly.  With a single flurry of movement, Akihiro launched all five throwing knives faster than Chi could have imagined possible.  It was as if they were all thrown simultaneously from one hand.  It was too fast for Chi’s eyes to follow.  But his ears heard the resounding dong as one of the knives hit the bell right in the mid-section, setting off a perfect-pitched chime.  Looking at the leather board Chi saw three knives embedded deep into the padding.  And when his eyes moved to the heavyweight he saw it was laying in the sand, thin twine sliced neatly in two with a perfect throw.

Akihiro bowed to the two boys once more.  His hands signalled 'keep practising' and he left the garden, leaving two awe-struck lads behind.

*

“Focus on your toes,” Akihiro instructed.  “Feel the breath flowing down into them and on into the earth.  Ground your attention and your focus there”.

Chi was kneeling on a tatami mat in the meditation chamber that Sensei Akihiro and he used for their formal individual Ghostwalker training sessions.  These usually involved direct instruction and were not silent, unlike the physical training sessions.  Chi was allowed and encouraged to ask questions in these sessions.  However, at this time they were meditating and Chi knew he was simply to listen and do as he was instructed.

“Your legs have very little going on, compared to your torso,” Akihiro told him.  “This is why they are a great location to focus on when you wish to calm the mind and centre yourself.  Legs are boring and carry far fewer distractions than the chest and stomach.  They also provide a natural grounding.  Breath into your feet and down on into the ground.”

Chi allowed the breath to fill his body, passing down into his lungs and then imagined the air continuing into his legs and down into the tatami beneath him.  He focused on the feeling of the soft woven straw on his bare feet.  His complete focus was on the simple act of breathing in and out and of a sense of attachment to the ground beneath him.  All other thoughts and distractions were ignored.

He had been a kohai in the Monastery for nearly a year now and his training was going exceptionally well, he felt.  He’d progressed as a Ghostwalker and was learning new stuff every day.  His grasp of the local tongue was expanding and it was rare that he had to ask for an explanation of what someone meant when they spoke to him.  He was even beginning to master the complex calligraphy and kanji letters that he was expected to learn.

“Feel your breath drawing your attention down into the ground, earthing you,” his master’s voice cut into his reverie and he admonished himself for letting his focus slide away from his breathing.  It amazed him that it was so difficult to keep his thoughts focused on one simple thing at the exclusion of all else.  He was clearly not as advanced as he was perhaps beginning to believe.  Letting that thought drift off he concentrated back on his breath once more and exhaled into the floor.

A short while later, Akihiro called the meditation to a halt.  Chi stood carefully and bowed to his master.  He stretched and allowed the blood to flow back into his tingling legs.  His master then spoke, “Last week,” he began.  “You and Ryo were doing the shiai training with your bokken.”  Chi nodded to show he remembered.  “It appeared that Ryo had the upper hand throughout the entire encounter, yet you prevailed.”  Chi nodded again.  “Explain.”

Chi looked down at the ground, wondering how to phrase this.  “Errr…” he began.

“Be forthright, Chi-san.  I expect no false modesty here.  It is important to help me understand how your training is progressing.”

“Well,” Chi responded.  “I used the Three Principles,” he stated simply.

“Go on,” prompted Akihiro, nodding.

“Heaven,” began Chi.  “Time the attack with care.  I wanted to make sure that Ryo was fully committed and at his most vulnerable before I struck.  Earth: Find the enemy’s weak spot.  In this case, it was Ryo’s overconfidence.  Mankind: Manipulate how men behave.  I lured him into believing he had complete domination over me in the fight.  I knew if I appeared to fall on the first pass, he would hold back.  He would suspect a trap.  But by stepping out of the shiai on the first engagement I achieved two things:  Firstly he felt his confidence was well-placed and that I was perhaps a little scared of him.  I had chosen to leave the shiai rather than stand and be hit.  Secondly, he did not want me to do that a second time.  I know Ryo.  He would not want to win by two half-points because I ran away twice.  He wanted to finish it before I could leave.  So he chased me when I retreated faster the second time.  By combining the Three Principles I was able to lure him into a trap and execute it at the most optimum time.”

Sensei Akihiro studied Chi for a long moment, considering all this.  Finally, he nodded in approval.  “You have done well, Chi-san.  Very well.  You take fundamental lessons, and you absorb them rapidly.  And you are then able to take that knowledge and use it to your advantage.  You will make a fine Ghostwalker one day.”  With that Akihiro left the meditation chamber, leaving Chi alone with his whirling thoughts.

Chapter 14 - Jaeden

Jaeden squeezed gently but firmly with his calves, encouraging the mount to leap forward.  Dancer was an exquisite grey stallion who seemed to have an innate connection with the young squire.  Ever since Jaeden had passed his training as a page and been promoted to the formal rank of a squire, a little over a year ago, the two had become inseparable friends.  Here in the list, that friendship paid off.

Jaeden brought the heavy oaken lance up to level and aimed at the dead centre of the shield ahead. The shield was attached to a wooden arm which jutted from a central beam.  This beam was affixed to a rotating platform.  The whole thing was called a Quintain and was a typical training tool for the knights and their squires.  Attached to a secondary pole, jutting from the central beam, was a wicked spiked mace on the end of a chain.  This one had its spikes blunted so was not lethal but a strike from it severely hurt and could easily unseat a man.  For a fifteen-year-old like Jaeden, it posed a real threat.

The idea was that you rode at full tilt into the Quintain and struck the shield at maximum power.  This would rotate the Quintain at great speed, whipping the mace head around towards your back as you rode through.  Hit the shield well, be fully committed, and keep your speed up and you would be fine.  Hit the shield at a bad angle, or generally hesitate and you could expect a serious wallop in the back with a heavy metal ball for your efforts.  Worse still, if you were not fast enough through the equipment the mace would strike your mount, and there was no worse crime for the squires than to see one of their horses hurt.

Jaeden was determined to do well.  He pushed Dancer forward to maximum effort and the grey threw himself towards their target with utter commitment.  The blunted wooden jousting lance smashed into the dead centre of the shield and Jaeden squeezed all the more, willing the horse to continue its charge.  Dancer did not let him down and the pair were through and past the Quintain before the whoosh of the mace head safely whipped past their backs.

“Hurrah!” came a call from across the list.  Jaeden reigned Dancer in and pulled to a halt.  Dropping the heavy lance to the sandy floor he tugged his full helm off and smiled across at his friend who was cheering his success.

Nathaniel had grown in the last seven years.  Though still a half-hand shorter than Jaeden and considerably slimmer, he had filled out from the youngster Jaeden had first met, and hated, when they were taken in as pages.  Nat sat astride his horse, a piebald warhorse named Flea that had been provided by his family.  Where once Jaeden had resented Nat for the wealth of his family he now came to appreciate that by donating horses for the Knights’ squires they made it easier for the Knights to afford to train their charges.  Dancer had come from Nathaniel’s family too and he would forever be in their debt for this.

Nat clenched his fist in a sign of valour to Jaeden and pulled his helm over his long brown hair.  Jaeden settled in to watch his friend perform the stunt.  The young man fired Flea forward, following the same route that Jaeden had taken moments earlier.  Unsurprisingly he hit the Quintain at full pace, for he was nothing, if not committed.  Nat’s weapon arm was not quite as brawny as Jaeden’s however and the lance did not hit the centre of the shield.  Rather it caught it at a slight angle, which was enough to slow Flea’s momentum.

It was almost too fast to see but the Quintain rotated around on well-oiled wheels and the mace flew out sideways.  Nat could not quite get Flea back up to full speed in the time it took for the device to spin a half circle and Jaeden winced as the blunt mace smashed into his friend’s back.  Nathaniel was an exceptional horseman by this age and though Jaeden suspected the blow would have toppled him, Nat rode out the other side of the Quintain, still sitting atop his horse.  He reigned in, threw his lance down to the floor in disgust and ripped off his helm.  His face was a mixture of pain, anger and embarrassment.  “Argh,” he spat in disgust.  “I will never get the hang of that infernal machine!”

“It could have been worse,” Jaeden pointed out.  “At least Flea remains unharmed.”

“True,” nodded Nat in agreement.  “Very true.  And anyway, I have to let you win at something,” he grinned.

Jaeden returned the smile, knowing full well that in most things which involved being mounted, Nat was far superior.

“But look at you,” exclaimed Nat.  “Remember seven years ago?  You could hardly sit a horse.  Today you ride like a Nargastani horse lord!” he laughed.

Jaeden felt himself blush at the praise, even as he knew it was exaggerated.

“Well done my squires.  You both equipped yourself well this day,” declared Sir Harken, Grandmaster of the Order of the Sun.  Jaeden and Nat exchanged proud glances.  “Though you need to improve that arm, Nathaniel.  And Jaeden, you would perhaps have struggled to have pushed through on a different steed.  Dancer knows instinctively what you want of him.  Other steeds would need you to be more assertive with your controls and instructions.”

Jaeden took the feedback on board.  From day one he had been determined to please Sir Harken and make his father proud.

*

“This coffee is too weak for real men,” complained Nathaniel, screwing his face up.  “Alfred, you should have brought the type the king drinks, not this watery stuff that Queen Rachel prefers.”

“Actually,” corrected Alfred, “King Jarred rarely drinks coffee.  He is partial to the tea that comes across the border from the eastern empire.  It’s the queen who is the real expert and patron of master Caerdic’s coffees.  This is her favourite brew, a dark chocolate bean from far off Khemit.  My master brings it back once a year himself.”

“Your master travels to Khemit?” enquired Jaeden, incredulously.  “Every year?”

“Indeed.  Usually in the summer, when the seas are calmest.  Sometimes merchants from Hishan arrive here in Littlebrook but the master claims their beans are substandard quality compared to the beans from Khemit.”

“And does your master know you have taken this coffee from his stores?” asked Nathaniel, raising an eyebrow.

“Errr, probably,” blushed Alfred.

Jaeden chuckled.  “Can’t help yourself, can you Alfred?”

His young friend smiled his cheeky grin and the three lads laughed deeply together.

“Give us a hand with this, Alfred, will you?” requested Jaeden.

The boys were in Jaeden and Nathaniel’s room, which they shared.  It was spartan and bare.  The floor was cold flagstones of quarried granite from the Jagged Peaks. A small hearth filled one corner of the room, though it was unlit.  A thin, shuttered window looked east across the grounds of the Chapter House and would let the rays of first light into the room.  Two small and old-looking cots lined the wall opposite the window, each with a tiny chest at its foot.  A pair of oak tables and chairs were on the sidewall, with ink wells, quills and some scrolls strewn across them.

Jaeden and Nat were seated on their beds, each holding a different part of a suit of plate armour.  Jaeden currently had a metal gauntlet and Nat a long greave.  Each had a cloth and some polish and was studiously buffing and shining up the imposing suit of silvered metal.  It was one of their many chores to clean Sir Harken’s armour every evening.  They were told it taught them humility and also how all the different parts of a suit of full armour went together, in minute detail.  It took hours and was a painstaking job.

Being squire to the Grandmaster was a great honour but came with a huge responsibility.  Sir Harken was the most noted knight in the entire kingdom and he wore his single suit of armour every day.  It would not do for it to be anything other than gleaming, and he would not have it any other way.

“What?  Help to polish that old piece of junk?” quipped Alfred with a giggle, waving imperiously at the heap of armour pieces stacked neatly on the stone floor near the beds.  “I don’t think so!”  Instead, he pulled out the chair from under Nat’s desk and propped his feet upon it, leaning back on Jaeden’s chair and sipping exaggeratedly from his coffee mug.

Alfred was allowed in to see the squires one evening a week on the proviso he did not disturb them from their chores.  Today he had brought a gift – a strange rune-carved tankard from his master’s coffee shop.  The runes, he had been told, were a minor enchantment that kept the contents of the tankard piping hot for an indefinite amount of time.  It had allowed Alfred to sneak his coffee pot into the lads’ room for them to enjoy.  Alfred had been apprenticed to Caerdic the coffee purveyor for seven years now and was coming towards the time when his master would either allow him to advance to journeyman status or would let him go.  It was a nervous time for the young lad.

Before Jaeden or Nathaniel could berate him there was a knock at the heavy oak door.

“Come in,” offered Jaeden and the door swung open. 

In strode Nevil and Alena.  They had also completed their time as pages and were squiring for Sir Marin, the arms master of the Littlebrook Chapter House.  They were also housed in this wing and had completed their chores for them to be free to roam the halls.

“All done already?” groaned Nathaniel.

“Indeed,” smiled Nevil.  “The benefits of squiring for a master who is short and thin – his armour takes less time to polish!”  The five friends chuckled at the humorous comparison between the two knights they served.  “Happy to help you two though, if you need?” he offered generously.

“I will sharpen Sir Harken’s sword,” offered Alena, an eager glow in her eyes.

All five turned to look to the corner of the room where a large hand-and-a-half sword stood alone on a vertical weapon rack.  The blade was sheathed but even so, it was a masterpiece.  The scabbard was made of smooth russet leather with ornate runes embossed into its length.   The hilt of the sword, big enough to enable the weapon to be wielded with two hands if desired, was wound around with steel wire, which was polished to a sparkle.  The cross piece was of some unknown, light material, edged with steel.  Three diamonds completed the hilt; two small ones at the ends of the crosspiece and a large one at the end of the hilt.  Each diamond was flawless and perfectly transparent.

“Thank you, but no,” responded Jaeden firmly yet kindly.  “If you want to help you could finish off the last greave for me, whilst I polish the sword.”

Alena nodded, picked up the remaining piece of armour and plopped herself down on the bed next to Jaeden.  He handed her a bit of rag cloth and some polish then rose and added the finished gauntlet to the pile on the floor.  Moving to the sword stand he picked up the blade, carefully and reverently.  He moved back to the centre of the room and slowly drew the blade from its scabbard.

As he did so he felt, as he always did, a sense of calm purpose flood into him, as if the blade were filling him with confidence and drive.  With this sword in hand, he felt he could achieve anything.  He didn’t know if it was some strange arcane property of the weapon or just how it felt to be holding such a storied blade, but he knew it was affecting him.

The room was hushed as the friends looked with awe at the blade that was revealed.  From tip to cross-piece the blade was a dull metallic colour.  Etched deep into the centre of the blade were runes of power.  Jaeden had no idea what they said or what they meant but they appeared to writhe before him as his vision momentarily swam.  The first time this had happened to him he had nearly passed out, but now he was more used to it.  Moments later his vision stabilized and the runes stopped swimming.

“Wow,” was all that Alfred could mutter.  It was the first time he had seen the blade unsheathed.

Jaeden sat carefully.  Taking up his polishing cloth he began to work methodically along the length of the blade from tip to hilt.  The blade remained studiously dull and drab looking.

“Doesn’t appear to be polishing up well,” noted Nevil.

“It never does,” responded Nathaniel.  “No matter how much you polish that blade, it stays that dull, lifeless colour.  I don’t think it’s made of true steel, though I have no ideas what it is made of.”

Jaeden meticulously ensured every inch of the blade was cleaned and then went to replace the blade in the scabbard.  “Aren’t you forgetting something?” asked Nevil as Jaeden prepared to slide the blade in.  He stopped and looked at the other squire.  “A whetstone?  You know, sharpening it?”

Jaeden shook his head.  “There is no need.  This blade never loses its edge.  Even after hours of training with wooden dummies or plate-clad knights, this sword remains razor-sharp.  You could shave with it – if you had any facial hair,” he added grinning.

“Rubbish that can’t be true,” replied Nevil.

“This,” declared Jaeden, “is the legendary Sword of Eldred, founder of Albion and the first-ever king.  He was known as the Justicar.   It never loses its edge and never needs sharpening.”

“Show me,” demanded Nevil, standing and approaching.  Before Jaeden could stop him Nevil had reached out and grasped the blade in his hands.  It was an impressive feat that he did not scream out loud at the deep cut that he suffered across his palm and fingers.  Ripping a bit of his bedding off quickly, Nathaniel wrapped the injured hand.  Nevil was looking in awe at the blade.  There were spots of his blood on the granite floor, but the blade itself was still utterly spotless.  Nevil gulped and went to sit back down.

“What I don’t understand,” commented Alena from her perch on the bed, once Jaeden had returned the blade to the sword stand, “Is how Sir Harken has the blade.”

“What do you mean?” asked Nevil, nursing his injured hand.

“Well,” she continued, “According to the legend that blade is over fifteen hundred years old.  It was made by Callindril for the first king when he was bringing the tribes of the land under his control.  It passed down through time from king to king and then, about six hundred years ago when the Order of the Sun was formed, the king gifted it to the first Grandmaster.  Since then it has been passed down from Grandmaster to Grandmaster.  The infamous Sir Mangarack was the last to wield it, during the Chaos Wars, which were twenty-two years ago.”  The boys knew Alena liked her facts but they had no idea she knew so much about the history of their order and they all listened intently.

“Sir Mangarack was exposed as a traitor by Lady Fortuna and the Fellowship of the Sun, but he fled to the Great Desert with that sword in his possession.  Rumours told that he had crossed over to Hishan or even beyond into distant Khemit.  How is it that, twenty-two years later, Sir Harken has the Sword of Eldred in his possession?”

The room fell silent as each of the boys considered her question.  Their minds filled with curiosity and many wild tales began to form in their imaginations when Alfred spoke up.

“I believe I know,” he stated.  All eyes fell on him.

“How?  And what?” asked Jaeden, expressing all their thoughts.

“My master,” explained Alfred, “I overheard him speaking to the queen once.  I am rarely allowed into the palace but on the odd occasion, Master Caerdic lets me accompany him.  When he does, I am not allowed into the same room as the king or queen, obviously,” he hurried to explain as their eyes grew wider.  “But sometimes I hear the ends of a conversation when they are ending their discussions.”

“And some days you eavesdrop,” I assume you are trying to tell us?” asked Jaeden, knowing the former thief and his habits too well.

Alfred blushed.  “One day, a few years ago now I suppose, I heard the queen coming to the end of a tale she was telling my master.  It was all to do with someone having just successfully returned from a perilous quest into the Barren Waste and beyond.  I could not hear it all but one phrase stuck in my head for some reason:  the Sword of Eldred.  I remember it as I recall seeing a fleeting look cross my master’s face as they approached the antechamber I was waiting in.  He seemed annoyed about what the queen was telling him, though why a coffee seller should be annoyed to discover the Grandmaster had recovered a holy relic is beyond me.”

It was beyond all of them at that stage to understand the significance of the conversation.

Chapter 15 - Thia

“So I have been thinking about what you do next,” began Alandriel.  “Your encounter with the hamadryad went extremely well, so I believe we should try again.  Agreed?”

Thia pulled her eyes away from the mesmerising flames of the hearth and looked at her mentor.  “Agreed,” she replied, wondering again why the old fey always seemed to have a fire burning, even when it wasn’t cold.

“I have done some more research and I think I have an idea where you can head next.”

“Go on,” she prompted.

“About a day’s walk due west of the city, deeper into the forest, following the Meandering Brook, is a small enchanted pool.  I have heard that a nasty fey creature makes its lair there.  Known as a witch-hag or virago, these creatures are terrible to behold.  It is said that just looking upon them can cause distress or even insanity, so keep your wits about you.”

“Sounds lovely,” mused Thia absently.

“Perhaps you can learn some tricks from it if you can find it and convince it to help?  Though I am not sure what you can offer it in return.”

“Well, I don’t appear to be getting anywhere learning to be a great Orator by sitting in your library reading books, so I guess it is time to get out into the wilds again,” agreed Thia.  “I’ll pack tonight and head out tomorrow at dawn.”

*

The next day found Thia tramping along a fern-shrouded path following a small babbling stream.  The waters flowed bubbling along beside her as if they too shared her building excitement at what lay ahead.  She was dressed in her customary travelling leathers which were tight-fitting and comfortable, designed to restrict her movement as little as possible whilst giving a degree of protection and camouflage in the leafy underbrush.  Slung over her back was her travelling pack and strapped next to that were her twin fey-blades.  She was proficient in them but did not kid herself that she was able to handle herself in a fight.  She preferred to avoid confrontation if possible, and so she strode carefully and lightly as only the fey can in the woods.  Thia might be half-fey but she had, at least, inherited her mother’s abilities in that respect and flitted from dappled shadow to dappled shadow.

“Well met, Thia,” a strong, deep voice came out of nowhere.  It spoke the fey tongue perfectly but the accent was heavy, human.  “What brings you out into the depths of Sylvandale this day?”

Thia turned, already aware of who was addressing her.  As expected she saw the ancient human druid, Caerdic, wearing the same leafy green robes as he had been when she had first encountered him at the stone circle years before.  He held the same gnarled oak staff in his wrinkled hand.  He had not aged one bit, though Thia realized she found it hard to judge the age of humans, old ones especially.  “Well met, Caerdic,” she replied and saw he was pleased that she recognised and remembered his name.  “I am trying to learn more about Oratory,” she told him.

“How so?”

“Well, Master Alandriel and I have decided that as no Orators exist near here to learn my trade from, I would revert to the same approach that the original Orators used:  I would study the fey creatures of the forest who possess similar abilities and traits and see what I can learn from them.”

Caerdic cocked his head and nodded thoughtfully.  “A good idea,” he agreed. “And who are you seeking today?”

“I hear that there is a witch-hag who lairs near a pool at the end of this stream,” she told him.

“Ah,” he responded, pursing his cracked, dry lips.  “Viradeth, she is called.  A particularly ancient and withered crone,” he told her, which Thia found amusing coming from this decrepit old man.  “You should be careful and do not take anything she says at face value.  She is full of deceit and malice.”

“I will be careful, Caerdic, and thank you for the warning.”

“Good luck, my dear.  May the spirits of the forest watch over you and keep you safe.”

*

Later that day, as the light began to fade and sunset was fast approaching, Thia heard the sounds of a waterfall ahead.  She was still following the side of the brook and figured that she must soon be arriving at the location of the enchanted pool, so she stepped off the path and edged silently out into the undergrowth.  Moving parallel to the stream but watching where it led, she soon came into view of her destination.

She was looking out over a cliff face.  The stream she had been following was on the upper edge of the cliff and it tumbled down the side of the cliff wall to splash down into a beautiful and enchanting pool.  The small tarn was surrounded on three sides by rounded, moss-covered rocks. Pond lilies and ferns edged the rest.  Behind the cascading waterfall, she could make out the dark entrance to a foreboding cave.  Late afternoon sunlight filtered down through the boughs overhead into the clearing and illuminated the pool and the figure inside it.  For someone was bathing.

Thia’s breath caught in her throat.  Where she was half expecting to encounter the evil witch Viradeth, instead she beheld a beautiful, naked fey man.  His form was exquisite, his body toned and lithe like most fey males, but this one was an exceptional specimen.  She knew she should look away or make a noise but she could not help herself and she stared shamelessly, certain that he could not know she was there.

Then the man rose out of the pool and climbed out to sit on one of the mossy rocks.  At this stage, she noticed the collection of neatly piled clothes he had sat next to.  He sat, cross-legged, his back straight, his torso catching the sunlight, and let the last of the afternoon sun warm and dry his body, sitting motionless, his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling slowly. 

Thia watched him for a long time, entranced by his form and poise, and the male didn’t move.  Finally, when her patience was about to run out, he opened his eyes, leapt nimbly to his feet and began to dress.  It was then that he noticed her.  Thia had the good grace to blush as he turned away from her and quickly finished dressing.  She moved from her position in the bushes and out into the open.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted as an introduction, feeling off-balance and flummoxed.

“What am I doing here?” he repeated, a subtle note of accusation in his soft, clear voice.  “Is that how you question everyone you spy on?” he finished as he buckled on his sword belt and turned to face her, still standing on the rocks overlooking the pool.  Thia noted the ornate basket-hilt of the fencing sword he wore attached to the belt.  It complemented his regalia perfectly.  The man was a noble, she was sure.  He had the fine, rich clothing of that class, and certainly the bearing with a hint of arrogance about him.

“I am sorry,” she told him.  “I wasn’t expecting anyone to be here.”

“Well, nor was I,” he answered her.  “At least no one … pleasant.”

“How do you mean?” she asked.

“I came because of a rumour,” he began.  “A tale.  A legend even.  The gossip in the noble houses in the city is that a terrible hag lives near this pool.  I came here to hunt her down and slay her; to remove her curse from the lands.”  He raised his chin, his voice proud and haughty.  Then he turned to look at the dark cave mouth.  “I entered what I took to be the terrible creature’s lair,” he continued, indicating the dark hole.  “But there was no one and nothing in there.”  He looked disappointed.  “So I await her return.”

“By taking a bath?” Thia asked, chuckling.

“Well, it was extremely tempting in the afternoon heat,” he said, smiling a stunning smile.  “And my trusty blade was never out of reach.”

“Indeed,” Thia replied, moving forward to the edge of the rocks he was standing on.  “The pool does look extremely tranquil and the setting is sublime,” she noted, looking up into his angular face as he stood on one of the boulders.

He looked down at her and a mischievous look came across his face as he studied her.  “It’s a shame,” he replied, jumping agilely down off the rocks to land lightly nearby, “that you didn’t arrive a little earlier.  Perhaps we could have waited for the hag together.”

She smiled and looked up into his deep green eyes.  “Indeed,” she murmured.

“Perhaps, you would have enjoyed the pool as much as I did.  It would have been very pleasurable to have someone to rub ferns across my shoulders and help ease the aches of a hard day’s walk…” he muttered softly, his face looking directly into hers.

Thia was loosely aware that the man was very close to her now and that her full attention was on him.  A part of her knew that she should be alert to the dangers of the forest, as the witch-hag could return at any moment, but this man was intoxicating and the images that were springing unbidden into her mind about him and her and the pool were too enticing to be easily put aside.

Before she knew what was happening the man’s arms were encircling hers and his soft, wet lips were brushing hers, gently, yet eagerly.  She closed her eyes and allowed herself a moment of freedom.  She breathed in deeply. He smelt…

He smelt slightly of rotting vegetation, she realized.  The old druid’s warning flashed into her thoughts and she took a step back, breaking their embrace.  Keeping her eyes closed, Thia threw up her mental defences as Alandriel had long taught her.  She closed down any thoughts of what she wanted this man to look like, of what she imagined this man to look like, and sound like.  She opened her senses to what she could truly feel.  The rotten smell was stronger now, the stench almost causing her to gag. 

“What’s wrong dear?” asked a voice nearby.  But this voice was not the soft, melodic voice that she had been hearing.  It was cold, wheezing, rasping and strained, like an ancient crone struggling to speak.

Thia opened her eyes and beheld what was truly there.  Gone was the visage of the attractive male fey noble.  In his place was a withered hag, with mottled green skin, patchy silver hair and a bulbous, wart-ridden nose.  Where his slim, dextrous fingers had been, she had talons with fingernails six or more inches long.  And she was snarling at her.

Thia blinked and slowly stepped backwards again.  The revulsion she was feeling must have shown on her face as the hag snarled at her.  The old crone uttered a quick word under her breath and disappeared in an instant.

Thia understood.  She had been so closely linked to the crone when she realized that the whole thing had been a masterful illusion that she understood fundamentally how the crone had weaved the picture.  She realized that most of the illusion had been a phantasm – something inside Thia’s mind where she had constructed the charming and attractive male from her subconscious desires and wants.  All the hag needed to do was absorb Thia’s desires and weave them into an illusion.  It was not that difficult, and Thia believed she could master this trick herself.

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly.    She still felt a slight longing for the illusionary fey but it was dimming.  She realized the power of the illusion was very strong, as it was effectively conjured in her mind and not an external vision.  And she had hopefully discovered a useful ability here, one which she could not wait to try out on Galadrethin upon her return.

She stepped briefly closer to the pool, looking around her and wondering where the hag had gone off to when suddenly she felt claws grasp her throat.  Powerful, invisible arms pushed her down towards the pool and before she could stop it her face was plunged into the water.

She hit the pool and the world went dark.  Sounds became muffled and the pain of the talons encircling and squeezing her throat grew in intensity till it was almost overwhelming.  She longed to draw a huge gulp of air but her throat was being constricted and even if she could draw breath she was underwater.   She began to thrash around, trying to dislodge her assailant.  The arms would not let go and the claws squeezed tighter and tighter.  She felt like she would burst.

So this was it.  She would never become an Orator and fulfil her potential.  She would never find out just what she could do with the powers that she was just discovering.  She would never find out who her father was.  She would die here, in a smelly pool, strangled by a smelly witch-hag.   How Galadrethin would laugh if he could see her now.  The bastard.

Something snapped inside Thia and with a burst of strength she didn't know she possessed, she surged up out of the water.  The second her head broke the surface she screamed a word of power.  It was the same word she had used on the sprites when they were tormenting the wyvern back at the druidic circle all those years in the past, but with a slightly different intonation and emphasis.  This time though, it was powered by her fear, her shame and her anger for herself, not for some winged beast she had not known.  The power was immense.

The hag flew backwards from her, sent flying by the power of her voice.  In the same instant, that word broke all the spells the hag had used and Thia watched as the invisibility enchantment broke.  She watched as the hag’s body flew up and across the pool to smash into the boulders on the other side that they had been sitting on a short while before.  She watched as the hag’s body snapped and broke with the impact.  The witch’s neck was bent at an unnatural angle and Thia knew she would never rise again.  The dead crone slid unceremoniously into the depths of the pool.  Bubbles rose to the surface for a short while and then were still.

Thia began to shake uncontrollably.  As she tried to calm herself down, taking deep cleansing breaths and focusing on calming her racing heart as Alandriel had taught her, Thia realised that she had learnt a lot this day. 

She believed that she now understood how to weave a phantasm into the mind of a weak-willed person.  She felt that she was gaining more control over the word of power she had unlocked when facing the sprites.  And it might just be possible, she thought, that she had correctly heard the word of power that enabled the hag to turn invisible.

Chapter 16 - Chi

The room was silent and near dark.  Chi sat back on his knees on the tatami matting that comprised the floor of this training room and focused on his breath, keeping it slow and steady.  The sliding shoji paper door was shut, a sign to anyone outside not to disturb the inhabitants.

Chi knew there were two others in the room.  One, next to him, he could hear.  Ryo’s breathing was slow and deep, like his, but just about audible.  The other person in the room was silent as a ghost.  Silent as a Ghostwalker, Chi corrected himself.

“Yame,” commanded Sensei Akihiro, the command to stop their meditation.  Chi slowly opened his eyes and let them adjust to the evening gloom.  He knew no torches or lanterns would be lit for this lesson.  The boys were spending more and more time in the darkness these days, relying on other senses than just their sight.

“This evening,” began their teacher, “we will focus our lessons on escape.  “Though we plan every mission meticulously using the Three Principles, sometimes things inevitably go wrong.  No plan survives contact with the enemy, as the saying goes.  So we plan for what happens when the plan fails.

“We include an escape plan as part of every mission, and we know how and where we will abort our mission at all stages.  Importantly, where possible, we leave no one behind.  Our enemies would not hesitate to torture us to find out what we know and though we might endeavour to honour our clan by staying silent, eventually everyone breaks.  So we leave none of our companions behind, not just for their sakes but for everyone’s.”

Akihiro passed the boys a small leather pouch each.  “Open these carefully and feel what is inside.  Be mindful and careful though; don’t thrust your hand into the pouch.”

Chi placed the pouch on his lap and carefully opened it.  The inside was too dark to make out in the gloom of the room, so he carefully slid his hand into the pouch, facing upwards so that the back of his hand was exposed to whatever was inside.  A sharp prick dug into the flesh of the back of his hand, causing him to jerk the hand away.  A tiny point of blood welled on his hand and he sucked it away. 

Sliding his fingertips into the bag, even more slowly and cautiously he was able to determine that the bag contained a myriad of small metal spikes.  He pulled one out and examined it in the gloom.  It was shaped like a star with four spines.  Each was razor-sharp and had a hook on the end of it.

“These are called makibishi,” said Akihiro.  “What are they used for?” 

Chi looked but could not decide.  At first, he thought they were more throwing stars, but realised that throwing these would be more likely to damage the thrower that the target.

“Stopping pursuit?” asked Ryo.

“Excellent, Ryo-san,” praised their teacher.  “Yes.  You throw these onto the floor.  Their construction means that one spine is always pointing directly upright and always on a stable three-pronged base.  They are sharp enough to puncture leather boots if a man runs on them and the hooks make them hard to remove.  They will not kill a man but they will stop people following you without slowing to pick their way carefully through a makibishi field or sweep them aside.  Often, that is all that is needed to escape.  We make these part of our escape plan.”

Chi carefully poured a few more of the spikes onto the tatami mat around him and was impressed to see that what the teacher told him was true.  The spikes did fall so that one spike was facing directly upright.  He would not like to tread on one when running.

“Now,” declared Shidoshi Akihiro, “we are ready to begin the next phase of your training.  Tomorrow night we will perform our first mission.  This will be nothing more than a traversal of the rooftops of the monastery, but we will plan it as if our lives depend on it.  Remember, the monks who train here at the Monastery of the Way are not aware of what goes on in this building.  They know selected students are trained here, but they do not know what you learn.  So we mustn't be seen.”

Akihiro reached behind himself and pulled two large packages from the darkness.  He handed one to each of the boys.  “These are your shozuku, your Ghostwalker uniforms.  They are lightweight and wrap around your body.  These are dyed a deep grey as we will be working at night.  I will show you how you wrap the headscarf around your face so that only your eyes are exposed.

“When we execute our mission tonight these headscarves will be impregnated with a special herbal mixture.  This mixture has potent healing properties.  Should you or a companion ever be injured in a mission you can wrap this around an injury to help heal it quickly.”

“That’s cleaver Sensei,” answered Chi, “but I have never seen the monks here brew such herbal mixtures.  Is it part of our later training?”

“A good observation, Chi,” replied Akihiro.  “We do lessons on herbalism and poisons later, yes.  That said, the herbal mixture we use for our face masks comes from outside the monastery.  It is brewed by Master Caerdic.”

“Caerdic?” enquired Chi.

“The silver-haired gaijin who advises Lord Nakamura, ruler of Sapporo.  And yes, he is from your homeland of Albion.”

*

Chi placed his sheathed tanto sword up against the side of the building.  Using the square handguard as a step he raised himself an extra six inches off the ground, with his back to the wall.  Holding his hands cupped in front of him, he braced himself.  Ryo took three swift steps up to him, jumped up and planted a slippered foot into Chi’s grip.  In perfect timing, as Ryo pushed off, Chi helped by throwing the smaller lad up into the air.  He saw the deep shadow of his companion fly up and heard him land lightly on the curved roof overhead.  Ryo was on top of the building.

Chi turned, flipped his tanto up into his hands with a flick of his foot and stowed it quickly and silently.  He took a swift look around to ensure they had not disturbed anyone, but all was still and quiet.  He knew that somewhere out there in the darkness was Master Akihiro, but he had not sensed him once since their training mission had begun.

Chi turned back to the side of the building and swiftly climbed it.  He was the better climber of the two and was also bigger and heavier than Ryo so they had planned that the smaller boy would be swiftly hoisted up first and take a guard position whilst Chi followed in second place.  On the top of the lower tier of the main quarters where all the students slept, they crept silently along towards the next target of their mission.  At the very top of the building was a small bell tower.  It would be easy enough to reach.

A few moments later the two boys had scaled the second-storey wall and were on the top-most roof.  They skirted quickly up to the bell tower.  This was just a raised platform on which hung a bell.  The gap between the bell and the tower was small, only a few inches.  But their mission dictated that they would have to pass through that gap.  It was simulating infiltrating a compound or building through a tiny opening. 

The first order of the day was the bell.  Chi reached into the folds of his shozuku and pulled out a wad of sticky cloth.  This he carefully wrapped around the clapper, to silence it should it be hit.  Meanwhile, Ryo had pulled a small wooden box from his outfit.  He slid it slightly open and the night air was filled with the sounds of chirping crickets.  Perfectly natural in this setting and able to mask any slight noises they might make, he placed the box on the rooftop next to the bell tower.

Ryo, the smallest of the two, again went first.  He squirmed and wiggled his way carefully through the gap between the bell and the tower.  Being small in stature and frame this was relatively easy for him and moments later he was out the other side.  He signalled silently for Chi to follow.  Chi knew this would not be as easy for him as for his friend but he also knew it needed to be done for them to pass this test. 

Kneeling he began by sliding his head through the gap.  That only just fitted, turned through a quarter turn.  As his shoulders reached the bell, he knew he could not get through without disturbing the bell but hopefully the sticky wadding would stop the clapper from making any noise.  He pushed on through the gap, moving the bell with his shoulder.  The bell shifted quietly aside but as Chi pushed on the bell got stuck on the edge of the tower.  There was nowhere further for it to go and the gap was not big enough for Chi’s shoulders to pass through.  Swallowing hard, Chi shut his eyes and slowed his breathing.  He knew he would have to utilize a lesson they had been taught a few months ago and which Chi had hated.  He would need to dislocate his shoulder to get through the gap.

Once he had made up his mind that he would do this, his heart seemed to get under control.  His steady breathing helped and with a slightly detached mind, he pushed his shoulder against the bell tower at exactly the right angle to pop the bone out of the socket.   Pain lanced through his shoulder and into his neck.  He gasped out loud but did not scream.  With the pain still firing through his body, Chi pushed with his legs and his shoulders slipped through the gap past the bell.  He pulled himself through with his strong arm and quickly pushed the shoulder back into place.  The pain immediately subsided but his arm was still numb.  He took a deep breath through his nose, inhaling the herbs in his face mask.  This seemed to help and the pain slowly dissipated.

As Chi was recovering, Ryo reclaimed the wadding from the bell and stowed the chirping crickets.  They would leave no signs of their passing to alert anyone that Ghostwalkers had been on this rooftop tonight.  Feeling buoyed by their success at passing the testing obstacle the boys moved swiftly on across the rooftop.  Chi hoped Sensei Akihiro had witnessed his actions but there was still no sign of the master.

The next and final challenge was to get across to a next-door rooftop from this one.  Then they would make their way down the far side and back to the Ghostwalker training rooms without being seen or heard.  They were almost home.

Coming to the edge of this roof they realized that the next rooftop was quite a distance away – and it was a long way down.  Chi had never really considered the distances between buildings as significant, until now.  Now he was faced with the challenge of making the jump across and it was suddenly pretty important.

Moreover, the far roof was covered with tiles and sloped gently down to the edge.  Landing on it quietly would be a tough challenge.  He knew that the newest trainee monks, the kohais, would be sleeping below.

As agreed in their initial plan, Chi prepared to go first.  There was no point in spending too much time thinking about these things.  In his experience the more you concerned yourself about risky ventures, the scarier they became.  Best just to take stock of the situation, make a decision and act.  He knew the test involved making this jump.  He wanted to pass the test.  So he acted.

Taking a running jump Chi leapt out into the void.  The world fell away from him as he flew and he experienced a momentary sensation of pure freedom.  Then the rooftop came rushing up to meet him and he smashed heavily into it.  Rolling instantly to break his fall, he came to a stop a few feet up the roof.  He’d made it.  But he’d been noisy in the process.

Chi closed his eyes, slowed his breathing once more and reached out with his senses.  Was anything out of the ordinary below or in the compound?  Had anyone reacted to the noise?  He knew Ryo would be doing the same and would not make the jump just yet.  Waiting a few long minutes, Chi decided that all was well and no alert had been raised.  He opened his eyes and nodded to Ryo who was across the gap and waiting to make the jump himself.  Seeing Chi’s signal, the other lad wasted no time and was airborne in a second. 

Time seemed to slow down them as Chi watched Ryo’s trajectory.  He instantly knew something was wrong.  The angle of take-off was too low.  There was not enough height in the jump to make the distance.  Ryo flew out across the gap and hit the roof Chi was on.  Surprising Chi, he’d made it.  But only just; his feet were only inches from the edge of the roof and the twenty-foot drop to the night-shrouded floor below.  Chi relaxed.

Then a tile slipped.  Ryo’s foot fell with it and went over the edge of the roof.  The young boy plummeted out of view before Chi could react to grab him.

The next thing Chi was aware of was a sickening snap of a bone breaking in the silent night air.  Then a scream of intense agony from below.  Ryo must have broken a bone in the fall, probably his leg, Chi guessed.  He quickly moved to the edge of the roof, preparing to scramble down and aid his friend.

Before he could swing over the edge, a hand stopped him.  Master Akihiro had materialized out of nowhere next to him on the rooftop.  Chi was about to speak but Akihiro placed a sharp finger over his lips indicating silence.  Rapidly signalling in the silent code, Akihiro told Chi that the mission was compromised.  Wordlessly he signalled that he would deal with Ryo and that Chi should follow the abort route.  Chi nodded in understanding and headed off across the side of the rooftop to their pre-planned escape route.

As he prepared to scale the side of the wall furthest from the moon and in the deepest shadows, Chi noticed a cloud of thick smoke billowing out from the floor near where Ryo had fallen.  There was no sign of Master Akihiro but Chi surmised he had used a smoke bomb to cover the retrieval of his son.

Chi rapidly climbed to the floor and made his way back to the Ghostwalker training quarters.  Once inside he moved silently and quickly to the inner ornamental garden where they often trained, and which was designated as a rendezvous location in the event of an aborted mission.  Sliding the paper door aside he slipped in, moving into the shadows beneath one of the old cheery trees in the corner of the garden.

Moments later Akihiro arrived, moving purposefully forward.  He was also dressed in the full Ghostwalker outfit, the shozuku, and had the unconscious body of Ryo draped over his shoulder.   As he laid the boy gently down on the gravel path, next to the ornate bridge, Chi could see that Ryo’s shin was catastrophically snapped in half.  He almost gagged at the sight.  Mercifully, the boy had passed out from the pain.

Sensei Akihiro unwound his headscarf and beckoned Chi to his side.  It took all Chi’s resolve to get nearer to the broken leg, but he hardened himself and moved next to his teacher.

“I will straighten his leg,” Master Akihiro explained.  “Once I have done that, I need to you wrap the face scarf around the leg.  Can you do that?”

Chi gulped and nodded once, keeping his eyes on his teacher and not looking down at the terrible injury.

“Ready?” asked Akihiro, his voice calm and controlled.

Chi nodded a second time and forced himself to look down at Ryo’s leg.  Akihiro took both parts of the broken one and carefully aligned them.  Ryo screamed in agony, even in his unconscious state.  “Now,” instructed Akihiro with a nod. 

Chi began wrapping the headscarf around the wound.  “Tighter!” Akihiro exclaimed.  “It needs to go tighter!”  Chi wound the scarf even closer around the leg, pulling it tight with every circle.  Soon the leg was enclosed.  “Now your scarf, please Chi,” Akihiro told him.  Chi unwound his scarf and then wrapped it around Ryo’s broken shin.

The scent of herbs grew unaccountably strong in the garden.  It was confusing as Chi had spent the last couple of hours with the herb-infused scarf around his face, and had not noticed the aroma.  But now it was wrapped tightly around Ryo’s leg the smell had grown significantly.

Ryo opened his eyes.  Amazingly his face was calm and seemed pain-free.  “What happened?” he asked, looking up at his father.

“You fell off,” his father told him, simply.  “And hurt your leg,” he added as Ryo looked down at the bandaged shin.

“It itches,” Ryo said incongruously.

“It would,” agreed Akihiro.  “The herbs are healing it.”

“Did we fail?” asked Ryo, suddenly.  “Did we fail our mission?”

Akihiro considered this for a moment.  “You did, yes,” he concluded.  “But we escaped back here without anyone in the monastery knowing it was us or even quite what had happened.  So it was not a disaster.  Can you walk?” he asked Ryo.

“Of course I can,” answered Ryo as if surprised by the question.  “It’s only a small injury.”  He then amazed Chi by getting to his feet.  He did wince a bit when he put pressure on the broken leg, but Chi could not believe the transformation.  “I must have hit my head though, as I can’t recall coming back here.”

“Quite,” said Akihiro quietly.

“Sensei?” asked Chi.

“Yes, Chi?”

“How is this possible?  Ryo’s shin was snapped in half.  Just moments ago.   This isn’t possible,” he repeated.

“The headscarves,” Akihiro explained.  “They are imbued with herbal mixtures by the gaijin.  We believe he applies some sort of enchantment to the scarves so that they have powerful healing qualities when needed.  Something to do with the way the herbs are mixed I understand, though he will not share the secret with us.”

“Master Caerdic’s herbs can heal this much?” clarified Chi.  “He must be a powerful magician to brew such potent healing mixtures,” he said, somewhat awestruck.  “I wonder what else he can do.”

Akihiro turned away to look at his son and did not answer.

Chapter 17 - Jaeden

The common room was large and comfortable.  A fire was roaring in the hearth, which was necessary as outside the snow lay thick on the ground.  The wood smoke from the fire mingled with the smell of spilt ale and the scent of roasted meat drifting from the kitchens behind the bar.  There was a hubbub of amicable sound coming from the various tables dotted around the room as the patrons of the Waymeet Inn socialized together.

In one corner Jaeden and Alfred sat with pints of frothing ale in front of them, laughing at a remark Alfred had just made about Abbot Wotan of the nearby seminary where Jaeden was now studying.  The abbot was a large, rotund man, old and greying.  He was responsible for educating the initiates about local and regional history and the various religious teachings and practices of the Church of the Light.  Jaeden had been struggling with a theoretical lesson recently about how the Light is accessed and drawn from the Void and used to heal the injured or help cure mild sickness and disease.  The practical side of things he was grasping and he’d even been able to heal Nathaniel after knocking him out in a sparring match which had gotten out of hand. 

As was typical of many eighteen-year-olds he was sure the problem of his lack of grasping the theory of the Light and the Void was to be laid squarely at the feet of his tutor.  Alfred had remarked that of course, it was nothing to do with the fact that the abbot was old and fat, and that Jaeden seemed to have no such issues grasping the lessons taught by Dame Arnette.

Dame Arnette, the knight who ran the Chapter House where the seminary was housed, was young, dynamic and athletic; the complete antithesis of Abbot Wotan.  And it was obvious Jaeden was utterly infatuated with her.  She taught the young knights-in-training about horsemanship and honour.  She was also responsible for teaching the practical side of accessing the Light – an area Jaeden was able to focus on and make great strides in.

“Shut your mouth, cheeky,” admonished Jaeden to his friend.  “It’s nothing at all to do with what she looks like.  She’s just a better teacher is all.”

“Of course,” grinned his friend.

Alfred stopped as he watched Jaeden’s whole attention move away from him and over his shoulder in the direction of the front door to the inn.  Turning to see what had grabbed Jaeden’s interest his eyes fell upon a beautiful young woman who had just entered the common room. 

The girl, who must have been about their age, was of average height and slim build, though it was hard to be sure as she was swamped in a snow-speckled, voluminous travelling cloak of a dark brown hue.  She had just thrown the hood back to reveal a delicate, angular face with long auburn tresses pulled up into a high ponytail.  She turned to the hulking guard who held the door open for her and flashed him a smile of thanks that lit up that corner of the room.  Alfred tore his eyes from her pretty face to quickly appraise the man and woman who had entered with her.

The man was a soldier, he judged, and probably her bodyguard.  He was dressed in chainmail, which was rare in the kingdom, and wore the sky blue colours of Duke George’s household guard.  The guard’s tabard showed the coat of the royal household of Thistledelve.  He had a grizzled, experienced look about him that told Alfred he was not to be messed with.

The other woman who had entered with the girl was clearly and easily identified as the girl’s maid, further enforcing the impression that the girl must be someone important.  She was older than the thinner young woman, but not by many years, Alfred judged.  Wearing more common clothes under her travelling cloak, she was the opposite of her charge in many ways.  Where the young lady was slim and graceful, her maid was heavier and more cumbersome in her movements.  Her hair was light brown and cut short in a practical style.

The innkeeper, Tallisan, appeared at the young lady’s side from out of nowhere and greeted her warmly with a courtly bow.  She smiled kindly at him and from their exchange, it was clear they knew each other.  Turning to look around the room, the innkeeper spotted a spare table near Jaeden and Alfred’s and headed over, the girl and her escorts in tow.  This brought them into hearing range of the boys who had both stopped talking and were now sipping their ales, looking anywhere but at the approaching girl.

“This table should suffice, milady,” Tallisan was saying.  “It’s near the fire and in a quieter part of the common room.”

“You are most kind, Tallisan.  You have my thanks.”

The innkeeper bowed once more.  “I will send my boy across to take your orders,” he informed them and hurried off to find his son.

Jaeden could not help but look back at the young lady at the table nearby.  She was just removing her heavy cloak, her guard standing behind her, helping it from her shoulders.  Under the travelling garment, she wore a delicate dress of deep blue shade which shimmered in the firelight.  Her figure was slight, but the dress clung to her curves in a way that Jaeden found extremely alluring.  Tearing his eyes from her dress back up to her face, he could not help but smile as his eyes caught hers.  She had deep green eyes which seemed to pull him into their depths and she rewarded his grin with a dazzling smile which made his heart skip.  This was immediately followed by a definite scowl from her protector as he took the cloak from her and ushered her into the booth the innkeeper had allocated them.  Jaeden looked back to his ale, his mind awhirl.

Presently the innkeeper’s son arrived and took the newcomers’ orders.  He hurried off and soon returned with a tray of drinks which he handed out.  Jaeden noted the young lady drunk a glass of red wine, as did her maid, and the guard had a small tankard of ale.  As the innkeeper’s son left their table, Jaeden caught his eye and called him over to their table.  Quietly, so his voice would not carry above the background noise of the busy common room, Jaeden asked the lad, “Who is that?”

The boy, who was about the same age as Jaeden and Alfred, did not need clarification as to who he was referring to.  “Her name’s Lady Daniella.  She’s the daughter of Duke George of Thistledelve himself,” he answered keeping his voice low.  “Gorgeous, isn’t she?” he added with a slightly inappropriate grin.  Jaeden looked disapprovingly at the serving boy who became unsure if he had overstepped the mark and headed off to serve other customers.

“Well,” Jaeden said to Alfred, leaning across the table to be able to speak quietly.  “He was right about one thing: she is gorgeous.”

Alfred nodded in agreement, though his back was to the girl and he didn’t want to turn around making his attention obvious. 

The two boys continued to chat about Jaeden’s training at the local Seminary and his struggles with the theory of his lessons.  The conversation moved on to Alfred and his apprenticeship as a coffee purveyor down in the capital of Littlebrook.  His master was increasingly absent, leaving Alfred with more and more responsibility.  He was frequently allowed to represent his master at the houses of the nobles in the city but still, of course, never at the Royal Palace.

Throughout the entire conversation, Alfred was aware that his friend’s attention was never fully on him and on what he was saying.  Jaeden’s eyes kept flicking over Alfred’s shoulder to Lady Daniella.  Occasionally the young squire would smile and Alfred knew he had just made eye contact with the girl again.

“Just go and talk to her!” the urchin finally exclaimed, growing annoyed by his friend’s lack of attention.

“What?” asked Jaeden, blinking and snapping his attention back to Alfred.

“Daniella.  Just go and introduce yourself to her and stop staring at her.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Her guard.  He’s not left her side the whole time they’ve been in here.  And he keeps scowling at me,” responded Jaeden looking miserable.

“I wonder why,” quipped Alfred, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise.

“Unless…” began Jaeden, a mischievous smile growing on his face as he considered his companion. 

Alfred slapped his hand into his face in response.  “Why do I not want to hear what’s coming next?” he asked.

“So, if you were to ‘accidentally’ spill your ale on that guard and somewhat distract him, that might give me the opportunity I need to go and introduce myself to the fair lady,” Jaeden suggested with a cheeky grin on his face.

“And what do I get out of it?” inquired Alfred.

“The chance to spill ale over a pompous old fart who seems to delight in taking the fun out of everything in life?” responded Jaeden.

“Bit of an exaggeration, I’d say,” returned Alfred.  “The poor fellow is just doing his job.”

“Well, okay, but you know it will be fun,” encouraged Jaeden, continuing to smile his mischievous grin.

Alfred sighed heavily.  “This won’t end well, I’m sure,” he moaned but stood up and picked up his half-finished ale tankard. 

He headed towards the bar, which took him past the table at which Daniella’s party were sitting.  As he reached them he half turned to look over his shoulder at Jaeden and called out, “Did you want any bread or cheese with your ale, Jaeden?”  In doing so he contrived to knock into the table the guard was sitting at, which caused him to tip the contents of his tankard into the man’s lap.

“You little blighter!” exclaimed the thickset soldier.

“Oops,” responded Alfred with a half-mocking smile on his face.  The guard reached out to grab Alfred’s tunic but the young man was far too swift and dodged aside.  “You’ll have to be faster than that if you want to grab me, old man!” taunted the youngster, moving back into the crowd.  The soldier rose to his feet, swifter than would be expected for a heavy-set man and was off after the ex-thief.  Moments later Jaeden heard the front door slam as Alfred left the inn and ran out into the snow, the soldier hot on his tail.

Thinking that was his cue, Jaeden rose, picked up his ale and moved quickly to Daniella’s table.  “My lady,” he began, using his most courtly manner and bowing low.  “Please allow me to introduce myself.  I am Jaeden of Littlebrook, squire to Sir Harken the Grandmaster of the Knights of the Sun.  Pleased to make your acquaintance,” he bowed again.

“Pleased to make yours too, Jaeden,” she responded with a winning smile.  “I am Lady Daniella of Thistledelve.”  She looked him up and down in an appraising manner and appeared content with what she saw.  “Please, won’t you join us for a moment?”

“I’d be honoured, milady,” he responded, slipping into the booth where the guard had been sat a moment before and placing his tankard down before him.  “What brings you to Waymeet?” he inquired.

“Father is visiting Warden Thomas for a few days,” she responded.

“And would be very upset to learn that you were consorting with strangers,” interrupted her maid, with a disapproving look at Jaeden.

“Oh be quiet, Jane,” Daniella admonished.  “Jaeden here is merely ensuring we are kept safe whilst guard Alan is absent, aren’t you Jaeden?” she said with a mischievous grin on her face which the young squire found exciting and dangerous at the same time.  “He is squire to the Grandmaster of the Sun, Jane.  Who could be more suited to look after us?”

“Who indeed?” responded Jane grumpily, but quietening down regardless.  It was hard to fault her lady’s logic, even if it was warped.

“And what are you doing in Waymeet, good sir?” the young lady asked of Jaeden.

“I’m here studying at the Seminary, milady.  Training up to take my vow and become a Knight of the Sun.”

“How exciting!  Tell me more.” Daniella cooed, leaning forward, clearly interested and a little in awe of the concept of a knight-in-training in her presence.  There were, perhaps, a little over a hundred Knights of the Sun in the whole kingdom, and there was no Chapter House in Thistledelve, so they were rare in Daniella’s home town.

Jaeden took a long pull from his ale and began to weave a tale, telling of his training as a squire and as a page before that.  It wasn’t overly embellished, and he played down the menial tasks he had to perform and spoke mostly about the training regime and mock combats he and his fellow squires were put through.  Daniella was an attentive listener, leaving Jaeden to his flow for the most part and asking insightful questions whenever the young man came to a natural pause.  The two laughed and chatted together for a time, whilst all the while Jane sat in the corner, eyes downcast, gazing into her wine cup, looking quite put out.

The conversation was abruptly interrupted by a heavy, forced cough beside Jaeden.  He stopped in mid-demonstration of a counter-attack, using a spoon he had picked up off a nearby table, and looked up to see the guard Alan, looking down at him disapprovingly.

“Time for me to leave, methinks,” the squire said, rising to his feet and moving out of the booth as Alan glared at him.  “It was a pleasure, milady,” he said with a big smile, “I hope we will meet again one day.”

“I am sure of it,” she promised him with a stunning smile which set his heart racing.  “You need to finish your tale sometime.”

Alan scowled again.  Jaeden glanced up at the towering guard and moved off into the crowded common room, quickly leaving the inn by the back door.  Looking around he saw a familiar-looking silhouette leaning up against the side of a nearby house, sheltering from the light snow which was falling.  Crossing the street he greeted his friend.

“Well met, Alfred,” he greeted.  “How has your evening gone?”

The street urchin looked up with a slightly annoyed expression planted on his face.  “Cold,” he answered tersely.  “Yours?”

“Wonderful,” Jaeden replied with a huge grin.  “She is as interesting to talk to as she is pretty to behold.”

“I’m glad.  I’d have hated to have run halfway around Waymeet village in the snow for nothing,” Alfred grumbled.

“Rubbish!” countered Jaeden.  “I know you, Alfred.  There’s nothing you like more than the chance to run around giving guards the slip, whilst taunting them for their slowness.  Admit it, you had as much fun as I did,” Jaeden laughed clapping his friend on the back.

Alfred looked up with a mischievous grin on his face.  “Well, I suppose I will admit it wasn’t all bad,” he agreed.  “And I got to pelt him with snowballs a couple of times.”  Jaeden beamed in response.  “But I’m sure your time was far more productive than mine.  Tell me all about her,” he prompted.

The two lads stood in the shelter of the house, watching the patterns the falling snow made in the moonlight.  The village was mostly quiet apart from the noises coming from the inn across the street.  Jaeden recounted the entire conversation he and Daniella had exchanged like it was indelibly inked into his memory.  “Then the big lump came back, clearly having tired of trying to catch you, and rather interrupted me in mid-flow.  So I left by the back door and here I am,” Jaeden finished.

He stopped talking as three figures emerged from the front door of the inn and stepped out into the snow.  The lead figure, clearly the soldier, took a cursory look around him before motioning that the others should follow.  He set off across the snow in the direction of the keep in the centre of the village and Daniella and Jane followed.  Jaeden and Alfred exchanged glances.  “I suppose it’s safe for you to return to the inn now,” Jaeden joked.  “One more beer for the night?”

“Sure,” said Alfred, “as I think it's your round.”

Heading back into the comfort and warmth of the common room, they returned to their previous table.  Jaeden ordered a couple more ales from the serving boy and the two lads rubbed their hands to warm up after the snow outside.

“I’m heading back tomorrow,” Alfred informed his friend as the ales arrived.  “Master Caerdic will be returning from Honshu soon, and I need to be back to make sure everything is in order.”  He took a long draught of his ale, wiping a foamy mouth with the back of his sleeve and belching contentedly.

“Manners, Alfred,” chided Jaeden with feigned shock.

“Sorry,” the young man apologised.  “I keep forgetting I’m in the company of the nobility.  Anyway, as I was saying.  I’ll see you in a few months when I next have some time off?”

“Absolutely,” Jaeden agreed affectionately.  “And I will come and see you if I am allowed any time off to get home and visit father.  I hope to be permitted soon.”  Jaeden drained the last of his ale and looked at his friend.  “I best be getting back to the Seminary.  I have prayers at sunrise tomorrow, followed by a hard morning ride with Dame Arnette.  I will need all my energy for that.”

Alfred rolled his eyes.  “Just take care, Jaeden,” he replied.  “And one word of advice:  steer clear of that Lady Daniella.  She will be the death of you I fear if you go chasing after her.  Or, worse still, you of her.”

Jaeden smiled and the two rose to embrace.  As the young squire took his leave and headed off to the Chapter House and Seminary grounds, outside the village palisade, he thought back to the wonderful conversation he had enjoyed with the fair Daniella that evening and his body was filled with a warm glow which dispelled the chill night air.

Neither he nor Alfred had any idea just how portentous the young thief’s words would prove to be.

Chapter 18 - Thia

The formal gardens were unusual in the fey city of Sylvandale.  The fey did not often choose to tame and control nature in such a regimented way.  Usually, their gardens were more natural and less controlled, though always they worked with nature to create harmonious and elegant landscapes.  The vista around the young fey woman and her ancient companion was neat, ordered and involved more straight lines than was usual.

Thia ambled along, mindful that her tutor was not as young as her.  She had no idea how old Alandriel must be, but time seemed to finally be taking its toll on the ancient and wise fey archmagi.  

Alandriel was coming to something important, she knew.  He had been listing off her achievements of the last few years.  He had spoken of her tricking the hamadryad out of its secrets ten years ago.  He had spoken of her encounter with the hag at the enchanted pool some three years past.  He had reminded her that from these creatures she had learned the words of power which enabled her to charm people and create phantasms in their minds.  She had learned to block her existence from people’s minds, effectively rendering her undetectable if she so willed it.  And she had learned the words which would repel someone away from her.  All the powers involved drawing energy from the Void using the skills of the Orator and she was fast becoming an effective student. 

“However, I think you are ready for more,” the wizened fey finally said.

Thia stopped.  “More?” she queried.  “How do you mean?”

“Well, you have pretty much mastered all the powers you have gleaned from the creatures you’ve met so far, Thia.  You have grown adept at fooling even the minds of some of the more susceptible fey,”

At this comment Thia smirked, thinking back to the last practical joke she had played on Galadrethin a week earlier.  She was able to get what she felt was fair revenge on her rival whenever he bragged about his successes and her failure.  And so far she had managed to do so without anyone having any proof she was the one responsible for the series of calamities that had plagued the other fey.  Galadrethin was beginning to get a reputation as clumsy, which was something virtually unheard of in his species.  He was an excellent student of the arcane arts and was racing forward in his studies, but curiously was unusually susceptible to charms and phantasms, which most fey could easily see right through.  That fact was one of the few things which kept Thia sane as she continued to make a show of her training in the arcane arts and of course her failures.  Galadrethin’s susceptibility to her Oratory powers meant she could gain some measure of satisfaction in showing him up in return for his taunts about her lack of progress.

“Even if I don’t always approve of the ways you test your powers,” Alandriel commented in response to her smirk, as he too stopped walking.  Taking hold of her hands in his, Alandriel looked into her young, pretty face.  “I think it is time.  Your control of these new powers means you are ready to take on a fresh challenge; one more dangerous than before.”

Thia nodded.  She was ready, she knew.  And hungry to learn more about the ways of the Orator.  “Tell me what I have to do.”

“I think it is time you took on a more significant foe and I hope you will learn from them a power which, if used wisely can be very effective.  Though this power is ofttimes associated with fell, evil creatures.”

Thia was surprised.  “You would have me learn dark powers?”

“There is no such thing as a dark power, Thia.  These abilities, these arcane words, are nothing more than tools.  It is not the tool that matters but the hand of the one who wields it.  The arcane is no more right or wrong than an arrow.  It can kill if used in a certain way.  It is the responsibility of the wielder to decide if it will be used for good or ill.”

Thia nodded in understanding.  “So, what is the plan?”

*

Thia climbed up the rock-strewn hillside, using the occasional tree to help pull her way up.  The forest here was dense and gloomy.  Thick undergrowth clogged the ground making progress slow.  The land was becoming more and more rugged and hilly as she moved south. 

Stopping at the top of the rise, she pulled a waterskin from her pack and a juicy red apple from the pouch at her side.  She took a long draught of the water and sat to catch her breath, polishing the apple on her leather trousers.  Looking around she could not see too far but it was clear the landscape was rising further to the south.   She knew that a few more leagues in that direction and she would wander into the Zahku Mountains and the northern edges of the Theocracy of Hishan.  She realized with a start that this was the furthest south she had ever been, probably the furthest from home she had ever been.

She scanned the horizon as far as she could in the dim light, looking for signs of a structure, but could see none.  Taking a big bite of her shiny apple she stood once more, put her waterskin away and resumed her trek, eyes scanning the woodland.

As she proceeded south it was clear the forest was changing.  The landscape became increasingly barren.  The undergrowth thinned out and then disappeared.  The setting was less and less sylvan and more and more desolate.  She could not recall the last time she had seen signs of any of the usual forest creatures or birds around and the whole forest had fallen unnaturally quiet.  Her breath steamed in front of her face and she realized it was also getting colder.  She passed a few dead trees, which were unheard of in the more settled parts of Sylvandale, and it was clear that this place was devoid of the life-giving touch that the fey imparted into the lands they settled.

Thia finished her apple, throwing the core away to land at the foot of a particularly grotesque-looking tree which appeared warped and twisted.  Not quite sure what she would do with it, she instinctively reached across her back and drew one of her two slim, curved fey-blades.  The weight of it in her hands was somehow reassuring.  She continued onwards, forcing herself to slow, measured breathing.

As she moved deeper into the area, she passed more dead trees.  The living ones were increasingly rare.  Even these seemed diseased and dying.  The number of warped and twisted boughs seemed to increase.  They were bent into foul, unnatural shapes which seemed to threaten and taunt the half-fey as she moved on.

Suddenly Thia became aware of a structure ahead of her.  Broken down and ruined, it was covered with old moss and lichen.  The rubble of fallen masonry clogged the area around the base of the ancient tower.  But its style and design were clear.  This tower dated back to the First Age, from before the time the Demon Prince strode these lands.  It was over a thousand years old.  And it was the target of her search.

A thousand years ago, a nameless terror referred to only as The Demon Prince, somehow forced a passage into the lands from the Void.  An utterly terrible and evil power, the Demon Prince was a creature of pure darkness.  It existed in this land for just four months, and yet those times had passed into legend as the Reign of Terror.  Summoning armies of fiends from the Void he had ravaged the lands of Albion and its surrounds.  Finally, the Demon Prince and his armies approached the fey city of Sylvandale.  There the demon armies met the combined might of men and fey, arrayed against them in the last stand.  But the men, far from their homes, having faced defeat at every turn and with the unassailable might of the demon hordes marching towards them, routed and fled. The resulting death toll among the fey was catastrophic, including the destruction of the fair city of Sylvandale and the loss of all the Sylvarran, the legendary defenders of the city.

At that time the legendary wizard Titus arrived and turned the battle, too late for Sylvandale and too late for the Sylvarran, but in time to save the vast majority of the fey race. Finally, Titus faced the Demon Prince alone. Using a great spell of incredible power he banished the Demon Prince from this realm for one thousand years.  His banishment signalled the end of the First Age.

The tower ahead of her had stood at that time, during the great battle at the end of the Reign of Terror.  And if Alandriel’s research was correct, she hoped the ancient denizens of the tower would still be there too.

Thia shook her head at herself.  I’m hoping that a terrible foe exists in the ruined tower ahead of me.  What am I thinking?  Still, this is the only way to expand my powers, and as Alandriel said, I’m getting slowly stronger in the ways of the Orator.  I hope I’ll be safe.  She gripped her fey-blade tighter and moved slowly forward.

Approaching the ruins Thia began to feel a sense of foreboding closing over her.  A vague sense of sadness and anxiety began to well up in her core.  Steeling herself and using a calming mantra that Alandriel had taught her to relax and deepen her breathing, she continued to move cautiously forward. 

The crumbling walls of the tower loomed high above her as she approached a ruined archway which appeared to have once been the main gateway into the structure.   She guessed the building was perhaps fifty feet on each side and the top of the structure was about thirty feet above.  Weeds and grasses choked the entranceway and ivy curled up the inside of the archway.

As she neared the entrance the feelings of foreboding grew.  This was a place of terrible desolation.  She instinctively knew that fiends from the Void had swarmed over the land here a millennia ago, wreaking havoc on the fey souls who had stood to oppose them.  And the land remembered.  Forcing herself forward, step by step, she battled with the palpable terror which was pulsing from the ancient ruins.  The instinct to simply turn and flee this forsaken place was nearly overwhelming. 

Turning her attention away from the world and deeper inside herself Thia sought out the location of her peaceful inner being.  She turned her focus inward to the haven of her mind, whilst maintaining only enough outward focus to be aware of her immediate surroundings and to command her legs to take step after faltering step forward.  She could still feel the fear, but it was elsewhere now; something she could observe, rather than be directly affected by.  So she pushed on.

Moving through the archway she entered an old courtyard.  The remains of ancient inner buildings or rooms existed around the edges of the structure but they were mostly just low-lying walls now.  The tower was square with a square inner courtyard into which she had appeared.  But she was only dimly aware of the architecture as her full attention was snapped to the terrible visions she saw ahead.

The courtyard was full of ghosts.  Pale, translucent figures, reminiscent of fey but somehow warped and insubstantial filled the area.  Thia was instantly aware that these were the source of the terrible fear which was emanating from the tower.  She also realized that these poor souls had been trapped here for over a thousand years, cursed to remain in this place, after their battle with the demons of the Void.

Being careful to keep most of her focus and self in that secure inner place, Thia slowly allowed her consciousness to move outward.  She struggled with the fear as it threatened to overwhelm her once, but slowing down her exposure to the emotion helped her to maintain her control whilst more fully coming into the now.  As her focus moved more outward she became aware of a voice.  One of the ghosts was talking to her.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” it was asking.

“I am Thia Moonsong, of Sylvandale and I have come to bring you peace,” she told them.

“Liar!  Sylvandale fell to the demons.  We are the last outpost of the fey to survive the onslaught.  And now we wait for the Demon Prince to come and complete our doom,” the fey spirit replied, with a terrible moaning wail.

Thia blinked, thinking rapidly.  “The Demon Prince is no more,” she told the ghost.  “He was banished a thousand years ago.”

“You lie!” screamed the ghost again and Thia almost collapsed under the power of the voice.  “The humans abandoned us and fled.  Now we fight the demon horde, knowing we will soon perish.”

“You are mistaken,” responded Thia passionately.  “The men did flee, that much is true.  And the fey suffered great losses as a result.  But one man came.  The great wizard, Titus.  He came and he faced the Demon Prince, alongside the stout fey.  With powerful arcane magic Titus opened a rift to the Void and banished the Demon Prince back through it.  The Demon Prince was sent back to the Void for a thousand years.”

The ghosts appeared to consider this.  They seemed to somehow fundamentally understand that what Thia said was true.  “Then what became of us?” the leader asked after a while.

“You died nobly defending your lands and the forests of Sylvandale,” Thia told them kindly.  “But your spirits, enraged by the cowardice of the men who fled, would not pass on to the next life.  So you have remained here for a thousand years, tortured souls, unable to rest.”

“A thousand years,” repeated the ghost, mournfully.  Then a thought seemed to strike the spirit.  “Then the Demon Prince will soon be free to return?”

“Ah,” said Thia.  “Well, he did, almost.  You see, most people in Albion don’t live that long, and things which happened a thousand years ago are often considered myths and legends.  Thus it was that the time for the Demon Prince’s banishment to be over fast approached.  Fortunately, a few years ago a group of powerful individuals came to the realization that his time was coming.  Many signs pointed to his imminent return if you knew where to look for them.  So they did the unthinkable and opened a portal into the Void.   Using unimaginable sorcery they entered that maelstrom and fought the Demon Prince in his domain.  They destroyed him there, meaning he is gone from existence forever,” Thia finished. 

“The Demon Prince is no more?” the ghost queried, and Thia nodded.  “Then we can finally find peace?” it asked.

“You can,” she confirmed.  “There is no need for you and your companions to spend any more time in this half-life between the life you enjoyed and sacrificed and the final rest which has been too long denied you.  You are free to depart this land and find peace.”

“Thank you, Thia of Sylvandale.  You cannot imagine how much you have helped.  If there is anything we can do in return?”

“There is one thing,” Thia ventured.  

“Name it,” the ghost replied.

“The words of power you used to emanate fear and terror.  I would learn them from you.”

The ghost seemed to consider this.  After a while, it said, “These we can teach you, but to fuel them properly you would also need to take on all the pain and suffering we have experienced.  You would have to take our grief and hatred and make it yours.  Would you accept this burden?”

Thia nodded simply.  “I would.”

“Then I will teach you what you would know, and open my soul so you can feel the torment of a thousand years.”

Thia let her mind relax and opened herself fully to the terror of the apparitions in the tower.  When the process was completed she knew how to project fear and terror with her voice, but she truly wondered if she could control the immense pain and suffering that now filled her heart.

Chapter 19 - Chi

"We have to put the daisho back?" enquired Chi incredulously.  Sensei Akihiro simply nodded once.  The shidoshi and his two trainee Ghostwalkers were stationed in one of the small side rooms of the main training complex.  They all kneeled around a low cedar table upon which was rolled out a large piece of parchment, kept in place by small round pebbles.  The parchment showed a map of a building, the Niten Dojo, which was a famous sword school in the town of Sapporo.

The Niten Dojo trained the Dragon Province samurai in the art of fighting with two weapons.  All samurai of the empire carried twin swords, the daisho, comprised of the long katana and shorter wakizashi.  These blades together were the symbol of the standing of the samurai and to wear them when not of that rank was punishable by death.   

Most samurai fought with the longer katana when outside and used the shorter wakizashi if they were ever forced to fight inside or in confined spaces.  The masters of the Niten Dojo, led by Sensei Kanasawa, trained their students in using both blades simultaneously.  This required great skill, dexterity and coordination, plus huge amounts of time, practice and dedication.  But if a student had the aptitude and patience to learn the skill it was an unrivalled fighting style.

Rarely, samurai from other provinces travelled to the Niten Dojo to petition to be trained there and occasionally one was granted the honour.  In the entire hundred years that the dojo had been running, it had trained only one gaijin, the renowned master Heremod who had been a native of the neighbouring Kingdom of Albion.

"So you stole the ceremonial daisho from the dojo last night and our test is to replace them," summed up Ryo.

"That is correct," agreed Akihiro.  "I replaced them with a substitute pair of blades, so the theft will not be noticed immediately, but sooner or later someone will note the blades on the sword stand are not the authentic ones.  You need to do this tonight."

Chi considered the map.  The Niten Dojo was built like many of the larger buildings in the empire.  It was based around a central room.  This building had a balcony which circled the central area and had a few side rooms off the main room downstairs.   A pair of staircases led up to the balcony from the main room and at the very back of the building on the upper floor was a small room where the swords were displayed. This room was the focus of any special ceremonies which might be enacted in the dojo.

"The ceremonial room has no windows," he observed.  "But we should be able to get in through one of the upstairs windows onto the balcony not too far away.  We make our way across the balcony, into the room and replace the blades on the sword stand with the originals, taking the fakes with us.  Not too hard," he declared.

"Indeed," Ryo agreed.  "It looks pretty straightforward.  What do we know about occupants?  How many people are likely to be inside tonight?  Will it be empty?"

"That is where things get interesting," commented Sensei Akihiro.  Both boys looked at their teacher with concerned glances.  "Tonight the dojo will be full," the master continued.  "Sensei Kanasawa is entertaining Lord Nakamura this evening," he explained.  "The samurai lord is going to the dojo to see a demonstration of the niten fighting style and to enjoy a tea ceremony with the dojo master.  He will, no doubt, be interested in examining the legendary blades of the founder of the dojo which should be displayed on the stand in that room.  The ones which are, at this precise moment, on the sword stand behind you."

"You have to be joking, sensei," blurted Ryo, all control gone.

"I am deadly serious, Ryo-san, and you will mind your manners."

"Sorry, sensei," the young lad apologised swiftly.

"So you see, you need to get these swords back onto their ceremonial stand before Sensei Kanasawa entertains Lord Nakamura in that room.   Timing will be critical."

"The Principle of Heaven," said Chi.  "Time the attack with care."

Akihiro nodded.  "So now you must plan and plan well."

*

Chi was in his twelfth year of training as a Ghostwalker.  He and his best friend Ryo were now eighteen years of age and were very close to completing their education and becoming fully-fledged members of the organization.  Yet this was their first mission outside the walls of the monastery, and they were being sent out alone.

Chi carried the long blade of the daisho pair, Ryo the shorter.  Each blade was held inside a beautifully lacquered scabbard, wrapped with the highest quality Phoenix clan silks.  The hilts were of the softest leather and had been worn down as if gripped for many years to make a perfect fit for their now long-dead owner.   Chi carried his with a great amount of respect for this was the legendary katana of the founder of the Niten Dojo, Sensei Matamori.  He took a moment to take stock of his surroundings, focusing on the here and now, rather than on his unique and priceless cargo.

The two young men were high on the sloping rooftop of the Niten Dojo in the near dark of late evening.  This roof was curved, as most in this region were, to aid the snow to fall off in the depths of winter.  The eaves of the roof were wide, leaning far out over the outer walls of the building to cover the wide, wooden veranda below.   The roof beneath Chi's tabi-slippered feet was tiled which was unusual, and Chi knew to move carefully and cautiously down the potentially treacherous surface.  Above the pair a cloudy night served to blot out the moon which Chi knew to be half full.  If they had more options to plan the timing of their mission, he pondered, they would have waited another week for the moon to wane till it was superseded with a new one. But they had no choice, the swords had to be replaced tonight.

Furthermore, there was a very limited time window to make the exchange.  They needed to wait until it was dark.  This mission involved sneaking into the dojo, rather than somehow blagging their way in, so darkness was a requirement.  But they could not wait till the dead of night for they knew Lord Nakamura would be taking the chanoyu, the tea ceremony, after he had been entertained by the samurai of the dojo who were due to perform some demonstrations for him.  It was unlikely that these demonstrations would last too long so it was only a matter of time before Sensei Kanasawa would lead Lord Nakamura to the antechamber where the tea ceremony would be held.  And in that room, the historical daisho should be housed.

Below him through the ceramic-tiled roof, Chi could hear the sounds of many samurai training.  The clash of steel on steel and regular shouts made it clear that the demonstration for Lord Nakamura was in full swing.  This had the side effect of masking any sounds the two might make as they entered the dojo but it indicated their time was short now.  The demonstrations had started earlier than had been expected.

Let's go, Chi signalled to his friend in the silent hand code the Ghostwalkers employed when on missions.  Ryo nodded his assent and Chi moved stealthily and slowly to the edge of the roof.  He kept his body as low as he could manage, to reduce his silhouette and make it harder for anyone on the nearby street to spot him.  Peering over the edge of the roof he saw a lone Dragon samurai on the veranda below, guarding a side entrance.  Chi deftly swung himself over the edge and into the rafters which held up the wide expanse of roof.  Moments later he was joined by Ryo, unheard over the noise of the samurai drilling inside the central hall below them.

Ryo indicated a small opening in the wall nearby and Chi groaned inside.  His friend was right; that was their best entrance into the dojo and would afford them access to the upper balcony fairly near the tearoom.  But Chi knew it meant he would have to dislocate his shoulder to get through and he hated having to do that.  Ryo, still smaller than Chi as they had grown to manhood, would probably fit through the gap with a bit of wiggling and a squeeze.  But Chi knew he would not.  The bigger lad nodded his reluctant agreement to his companion and indicated the smaller young man should go first.

Ryo slipped expertly through the small opening and was inside the dojo building.  Chi waited for a few moments to make sure there were no alarms and then set about following.  He removed the katana from his back first and pushed that carefully through, knowing he could never make the hole with that strapped to his back.  He then pushed his left shoulder and head into the hole.  Mercifully he had misjudged the size of the gap slightly and he was able to slide his right shoulder through once his left had cleared the gap.  A few seconds later he was through and was strapping the katana back into place.

Chi surveyed the location they had come out.  They were on the balcony they had seen on the map.  It was about five feet across and made of cedar, with a cedar railing going the whole way around and supported by floor-to-ceiling pillars every few feet.  Chi breathed in the scent of the wood, knowing it to be far more expensive than pine which was more commonly used for internal fittings and construction.  The dojo was a wealthy place to be able to afford all this valuable wood.

On the balcony across the way from them, on the opposite side of the central hall, was a huge drum, suspended on chains between two pillars.  To their right on the ground floor were a pair of impressive-looking wooden doors, carved with ornate dragons in bass relief on this side.  The doors were currently closed.  Opposite the entrance doors, a pair of wooden stairs led up to the balcony Chi and Ryo were on and directly across from the doors, between the stairs, was a side room that Chi knew to be the ceremonial room where the blades should be housed.

Below the two trainee-Ghostwalkers, the main hall was a large open space and it was full of uniformed samurai.  The floor was awash with the lacquered crimson of the Dragon province samurai in full battle armour.  Exactly two score men were arrayed in perfectly straight lines, five rows of eight men standing equally spaced and all in the same stance.  Each had twin blades in hand.  At the front of the hall stood a middle-aged samurai who Chi took to be Sensei Kanasawa, the master of the Niten Dojo.  He too was resplendent in his full armour and he stood in front of his students calling out the timings for the class to follow.   The forty men and women moved in perfect synchronization with the commands their sensei shouted.  It was an impressive sight.

Around the central hall, spaced at regular intervals between the pillars were samurai also dressed in the crimson of the Dragon province, but these wore the mon which proclaimed them the personal guard of Lord Nakamura himself.

To Sensei Kanasawa's side was a raised platform, and upon that knelt a familiar figure.  Lord Nakamura was not wearing armour but was dressed in an exquisite kimono of imperial purple and black silk, tied with a black obi.  His twin blades were tucked into his kimono and Chi noted the samurai knelt so that each blade could be drawn in an instant if needed.  It was the way of the warrior.  He surveyed the assembled samurai with a critical eye. 

Stood almost in the shadows, behind the lord, was another figure.  Dressed in long leaf-green robes, tied with a simple rope belt and holding a gnarled wooden staff was an old man of Albion.   His hair was grey and long and was matched by a braided grey beard.  Caerdic, Lord Nakamura's gaijin advisor and the man who brewed the herbs which were infused into the face scarves the two Ghostwalkers now wore.

Chi signalled to his partner and the two men moved off, perfectly silent, one with the shadows, across the balcony and to the top of the first flight of stairs.  The upper level of the dojo appeared deserted which made getting to the ceremonial room an easy task.  They slipped unnoticed into the room.

The room was twelve tatamis big, which marked it as large by most rooms standard, but small compared to the main hall.  In the centre of the room was a sunken hearth where hot coals smouldered.  Suspended over the coals, on a chain from the ceiling above, was a kettle.  Off to one side, a low mahogany table was laid out with the items needed to perform the tea ceremony.

Ryo handed Chi the short wakizashi he was carrying and knelt by the doorway, looking out onto the main hall and keeping guard.  Chi approached the sword stand and quickly removed both fake swords from the wooden display piece.  He reverently placed the legendary wakizashi into its spot.

"Yame!" came the command from below in the main hall.  The Ghostwalkers knew that was the command which signalled the end of the demonstration.  Sensei Kanasawa would, any moment now, be ascending the staircase with Lord Nakamura, and heading into this room.

Hurry, signalled Ryo from his position by the door, they come. Chi rapidly took the true katana from his back and carefully placed it on the sword stand.   He tucked the fake longsword into the holder on his back and moved up next to Ryo.  Chi quickly stowed the fake wakizashi on his accomplice's back.  He then signalled that he was ready.  Below them Lord Nakamura had stood up and was preparing to make his way to the foot of the stairs, accompanied by Sensei Kanasawa.  The Ghostwalkers would just about have enough time to escape before the dignitaries ascended the stairs.

Suddenly Ryo broke all Ghostwalker protocol as he hissed loudly, "No!  They are the wrong way around!"  Chi blinked, stunned by the outburst which seemed extremely loud in his ear, and clueless as to what Ryo was talking about.

The smaller young man sprinted back across the room to the sword stand.  He quickly picked up the wakizashi and turned it around, so that the blade was pointing to the right.  Downstairs the lord and sensei had reached the foot of the stairs and were beginning their climb to the tea room.  A pair of niten students preceded them as a formal honour guard.  Caerdic trailed behind a respectable distance back and two further samurai in the uniform of the lord's guard completed the procession.

Ryo fumbled with the katana, endeavouring to switch it around so that it too pointed to the right.  But his sweaty palms would not grip the scabbard and the long sword slipped out of his hands and tumbled to the floor.  Chi glanced back over his shoulder into the room as it did and watched it fall almost in slow motion, knowing that any chance they had of escaping the room before the samurai arrived was gone.

Acting purely on instinct now, Chi moved back into the room.  He reached the sunken hearth where the kettle simmered and grabbed the stowed metal tongs that were used to move the hot coals around.  Picking up a lump of coal he quickly knelt and gently blew on the coal, bringing it to a bright red ember.  He then let it fall onto the straw tatami mat in the centre of the room, where it instantly ignited the floor.

Moving purposefully but in complete control, he then moved the last few paces to where the katana lay on the floor.  He picked it up and placed it carefully onto the sword stand, curving downwards, with the tip to the right, in the correct position for displaying the daisho.

The centre of the room was fully ablaze now, a thick grey smoke forming a barrier to stop anyone outside from seeing into the darkened recesses of the back of the room where the two Ghostwalkers hid.  Shouts of alarm came from outside as the samurai spotted the smoke and then the flames.  All was confusion.

Chi grabbed Ryo and showed him his open hand.  In it, Chi held a small package.  This contained a powder that when stuck hard would explode violently outward in a burst of dark smoke.  Chi signalled to his partner. I make smoke.  Then we leave.  Go left.  No hesitation.  Understood?  Ryo nodded that he did.

Two samurai came into the room with rugs and blankets they had acquired somewhere.  They covered their faces, coughing heavily as they tried to beat back and subdue the flames.  Chi tossed the package hard down near the hearth and saw a black billow of thick oily smoke erupt outwards.  He grabbed Ryo by the forearm and moved.   Silently as the ghosts they were named after, knowing that their lives depended on it, Chi and Ryo slipped past the two samurai and out onto the balcony which was now thick with black smoke.  Moving by feeling alone the two men edged around to the left.  They reached the corner of the balcony and came out of the smoke.  They could see Lord Nakamura and Sensei Kanasawa were still on the stairs, honour dictating that they not show fear in the face of the fire and retreat.

The two black-clad monks slipped slowly along the balcony, keeping in the deep shadows, but knowing all eyes were on the fire that the samurai were slowly getting under control and aware that their footsteps would never be heard in the commotion. 

They reached an opening to the outside world, this one larger than the one they had come in through, and Ryo slipped through first, moving into the rafters.  Chi took one last look at the fire, which was now mostly out, and at the two noble samurai on the staircase, and followed his friend through the gap and into the night, happy they had achieved their mission goal and had not been spotted.  He knew the smoke bomb packaging would have been consumed by the fire and knew they had left no trace of their ever having been in the dojo.  With a content feeling of a job well done, Chi climbed up onto the roof and the two young men slipped off into the night and headed back to the monastery.

Had the young Ghostwalker looked beyond the two senior samurai standing on the staircase he might have spotted the figure of the old man in green robes.  He might have noticed that the ancient advisor had seemed to watch the two young shadows even as they left the ceremonial room under the cover of thick smoke and darkness, and tracked their movement to the opening they had escaped through.  Should he have been extremely perceptive he may have noticed the old man's eyes appeared to be glowing almost imperceptibly as he followed their path, as if with some Void-touched magic.

Chapter 20 - Jaeden

The hot water soaked into his skin and muscles, leaving him with a deep and complete sense of relaxation.  The steam drifted up from the metal tub and made a heat haze in the room and as he half-closed his eyes, Jaeden let his mind create imaginary creatures from the flickering torches as they threw shadows onto the bathroom walls around him.  He was in heaven and felt like he could stay here forever.

"Wake up lazy bones!" a voice snapped him out of his reverie.  "Time for your shave."  Jaeden looked at the doorway where Alfred stood, shaving kit in one hand, short towel over his forearm and a cheeky grin on his face.  "I will do it for you," he told the knight-to-be.  "I've had plenty of practice with a cutthroat razor, don't worry."

Jaeden shuddered as he tried not to think of Alfred's less-than-savoury past in the slums of the city.  He sat up slowly, as Alfred moved to his side, pulling a low oak stool over next to the bathtub.  Alfred placed the shaving kit to the side and began his work.   "So, how are you feeling?" the young street rat asked.

"Pretty good," responded Jaeden with a relaxed smile.

"Just think," continued Alfred, "This time tomorrow you'll be a fully-fledged knight!  Who would have thought it?"

"Indeed," Jaeden agreed absently.  "It's been a crazy last twelve years."

"Twelve years?" echoed Alfred wistfully.  "Has it been that long?".

"It has," confirmed Jaeden.   "I was working it out.  Twelve years ago yesterday I found myself lost in the slums of the city when I heard a commotion.  I went to rescue a poor little urchin from a mugging by some thugs only to have the ungrateful brat steal my purse," he smiled.

Alfred grinned back, "I returned it the next week!" he asserted.

"Yes you did," Jaeden said.  "Empty of coins," he remembered fondly.

"And now, twelve years later, here we are," replied Alfred.  "I, a fully-fledged journeyman coffee purveyor working for the purveyor to the crown, and you ... remind me what you have achieved again?" he laughed.

"I am merely squired to the Grandmaster of the Order of the Sun, and soon to be a brave knight in shining armour," responded Jaeden with mock self-importance.  "Ah, how we have risen to great heights, my friend."

"You are due at the chapel soon," Alfred reminded him.  "To begin the vigil."

Jaeden nodded somberly.  He was to take his sword to the main chapel in the Chapter House and lay it upon the altar there.  Alongside Nathaniel, Alena and Nevil, who were all also due to be knighted the next day, he would spend the whole night in silent prayer, purifying himself ready for the ceremony at dawn tomorrow.

Alfred quickly shaved his friend, showing superb dexterity and skill with the razor-sharp blade.  He cleaned Jaeden's face of the remaining soap and then held out a long full-length sheet of towel which Jaeden stepped into and wrapped around himself.  Jaeden quickly changed into a simple white robe, tried at the waist with a rope belt, and slipped on a pair of sandals.  He picked up his blade from its position on an alcove in the room and turned to Alfred.

"How do I look?"

"Clean-shaven and ready for anything, milord," responded Alfred with a big smile.

"Thank you, Alfred.  It means a lot to me to have you here for this."

"You are welcome, Jaeden.  I will see you in the Cathedral tomorrow, though I doubt you'll see me.  I expect it will be packed and I'll be somewhere down the back."

*

"It is time."

The statement brought Jaeden instantly into the moment.  His thoughts had been far away, thinking of a happy youth spent in and around the city of Littlebrook, eldest son of a minor noble.  He got to eat well, and dress in fine clothes and would never have to sleep out in the cold.  A warm hearth and the companionship of a friendly hound were assured.  And, most significantly, he was able to come and go as he pleased.  With very little responsibility up until the time he was eight years old and was put into service as a personal page to Sir Harken, his life had been easy.

But that was the past.  Today he would say the words and become a knight.  Much would not change.  The knights would typically eat and drink as well as any minor noble.  They would dress well.  Jaeden knew that the Order would give him a horse, and a suit of extremely valuable plate armour.  No one in the whole kingdom, save the Knights of the Sun and the senior nobility, was permitted to wear such armour and it was extremely valuable.  He would be guaranteed a roof over his head.  The Chapter Houses of the knights were all old, grand buildings; maybe a little drafty here and there, but generally better accommodation than most could expect.  So he would live a good, privileged life.  But it would not be his own.

Today he would swear fealty to the crown and the Order of the Sun.  Today he would give up his family ties, though he would still get to see his family and, indeed, would be given a coat of arms with his family crest on it.  But his allegiance would no longer be to his father, and his life would be controlled by others.

Jaeden looked up at Sir Marin who was standing in the doorway.  Behind him, Jaeden could see the silhouette of the imposing Sir Harken.  Rising from his position kneeling before the altar, Jaeden flexed his leg muscles to return life to thighs and calves which had long ago gone to sleep from hours of kneeling.  As he got the blood circulating again, Sir Marin and Sir Harken entered the small chapel.  Each was carrying a small collection of clothing.

"Remove your robe," instructed Sir Marin.  Jaeden did as he was bid.  Sir Marin took a white tunic from his pile of clothes and ceremoniously lifted it over Jaeden's head.  Once he had, Sir Harken fitted a white leather belt around the young man's waist.  "These white items symbolise purity," Sir Marin informed the squire. 

Next Sir Harken took a pair of brown leggings and, asking Jaeden to sit, pulled them onto his legs.  "These brown leggings symbolise the earth, from which you came and to which you will one day return," the Grandmaster told him.

Finally, Sir Marin took a scarlet cloak and draped it around Jaeden's shoulders. "This symbolises the blood you are now ready to spill for the King, the Church and the Order of the Sun."

Sir Harken lifted Jaeden's sword from where it was placed on the altar in the middle of the small chapel.  "I will take this and give it to Cardinal O'Connor," he told Jaeden.  "You will get it back during the ceremony."

"Squire Jaeden, are you ready?" Sir Marin asked, formally.

Jaeden nodded clearly and looked up into the eyes of the two knights.  "I am," he replied, simply.

*

The Cathedral of Littlebrook was packed.  Nobles from all across the kingdom had come here for this special day.  Knights of the Sun were rare indeed.  There were less than one hundred currently invested in the whole kingdom, but today would see four more knighted to join that holy and prestigious order.  

The sun had just risen and was shining in through the huge stained glass window which dominated the eastern end of the main cathedral structure.  As was designed, the sunbeams were concentrated down onto the raised dais at the western end of the nave in front of the High Altar where stood the two most important people in the realm.

King Jarrad I, the current ruler of the Kingdom of Albion, stood resplendent in formal armour.  It was gleaming silver in the morning sun and dazzling the onlookers.  Beside him stood Cardinal O'Connor, head of the Church of the Sun in the kingdom.  He was in a pristine full-length white robe, with a golden sunburst embroidered on the chest.  

In front of the impressive pair were four young men and women.  All dressed in white, brown and red, each stood with heads bowed.  Jaeden, Nathaniel, Alena and Nevil had completed their training as pages together.  They had completed their years as squires together.  And now they would say the words to make them knights together.  

Cardinal O'Connor took a step down to where the four stood and kneeled in front of each one.  He took a pair of ceremonial golden spurs and fitted them to each one's ankles.  He then rose and moved off to a side table where four swords were laid out.  He took each one and moved over to the knights-to-be and presented each one with their sword, smiling broadly.  Finally, he moved back onto the top of the dais next to the king.  The four squires belted their weapons onto the white leather belts they had been dressed in.

The king then looked down at the four knights.  "Jaeden of Littlebrook," he called.  "Step forth."  Jaeden took the expected step forward and kneeled before the king.  "Speak the words," commanded King Jarred.

"I promise on my truth that I will in the future be loyal to the King, the Church of the Sun and the Order of the Sun, never cause them harm and will observe my homage to them completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit," declared Jaeden solemnly.

The king slapped Jaeden across the side of the face with the back of his hand - hard.  Though the blow was fully expected Jaeden reeled for a moment.  The king had certainly not pulled the blow.

"Be thou a knight, Sir Jaeden" the king declared formally, smiling as he helped Jaeden to his feet. 

Jaeden tried to keep his emotions in check and not to smile too ridiculously, at least until the others were all formally knighted.  The king called each of the others up, one at a time, and each took their oath of fealty. 

Then three huge warhorses, and one smaller, sleek one, were led through the main doors of the cathedral and across the nave.  Each was led by a newly appointed squire and each was covered with a long white, cotton caparison which had been embroidered with a family coat of arms.  Hung from the saddle of each was a large, white kite shield and a white banner was tied to the bridle, which would be attached to the knight's lance in battle.  Each of these was likewise embroidered with the family crest of these new knights.

Jaeden moved down to take the reins of Dancer and looked out across the gathered crowd.  He caught sight of Alfred, right near the back, standing next to his master the coffee purveyor.  The young lad gave Jaeden a wave which he responded to with a grin.   Then his eyes found the one person he had been seeking out:  his father.

Jaeden saw a man struggling to hold his emotions in check.  His father had always been a reserved fellow, never one for public displays.  He watched as the man swallowed hard and smiled a sincere, huge smile at his son.  A smile which told Jaeden just how happy and proud he was.  A smile which said how he always knew Jaeden had greatness in him and he was so pleased his son had fulfilled his potential.

Jaeden burst out laughing in relief and utter joy.  The crowd, who had until then been fairly restrained seemed to take this as a sign and a huge cheer erupted from the assembled throng.  The four new knights moved together and embraced in a huge hug, heads together.  They stayed that way for a long time until the cheering and applause had died down.

"And now," declared the king, "this ceremony is over.  But at one bell after midday today the Knights of the Sun will be holding an open tournament in celebration of these four new knights.  I hope you will all attend."

Chapter 21 - Thia

"He's gone."  Saying the words out loud somehow made the truth real for her.  Thia looked again at the piece of parchment that had been left by her bedside and tried to make sense of it.

Dearest Thia,

I have to leave.  I have discovered something which makes me worry for the safety of Sylvandale and the lands beyond.  But I need to confirm it.  I need to prove my theories and worries are true, or at least hopefully prove I am wrong.  I need more information than I can find in my personal library, so have departed to look for answers to the riddle.  I will return as soon as I know more. Do not attempt to follow me.

Fondest regards,

Alandriel.

"But what has he discovered and where has he gone?" she asked herself, shaking her head.  A long strand of blonde hair fell over her face and she tucked it subconsciously behind one upswept ear.   

Thia knew her mentor would not have undertaken such a decision lightly.  She knew that his leaving would have serious consequences for her future.  He was her tutor and her continuing pretence of studying the arcane with a master would fall apart if he was not back quickly.  As soon as it became apparent he was absent, Thia would be assigned a new tutor who would quickly realize that she had no talent at all in the ways of fey magic she had supposedly been studying for many years.  The truth would come out and she would be thrown out of her position as an apprentice mage. 

Alandriel would have known this, yet he had gone anyway.  That meant that he either intended to return in a matter of just a few days or that the issue was so serious that it was more important than her continued studies.  The note certainly seemed to imply as much.

The last line particularly caught her attention.  Why would he tell her not to attempt to follow her?  She would not have dreamt of doing such a thing; at least not until he had told her not to.  Alandriel knew her extremely well.  He would know that by telling her not to do something, he was virtually ensuring that she would.  Was this his way of encouraging her to follow him?  She would not put it past the clever old fey.

But even if she was determined to follow him, where had he gone?  The note mentioned that he had searched for answers in his personal library but could not find them there.  Was the explicit reference to his 'personal' library significant, implying that he was to go and seek out answers in other libraries?  Was this another hint, subtly telling her where he would head, without saying anything specific?  The note had been left on her bedside and was sealed but Thia knew that it was not hard to use arcane spells to divine the contents of secret messages.  So perhaps her mentor was sending her a message inside a message in case unfriendly eyes read it?  Or was she just overthinking things?

If the note did refer to another library, there was only one place Thia could think of.  The Great Library, located far across the other side of the Kingdom of Albion, was protected by the fortress of Mount Macarack and guarded by a small detachment of the Knights of the Sun.  If she was after a bit of information that could not be found in Alandriel's library, that's where she would go.  And there was probably no place in the entire world she would rather visit than the Great Library.

So, she decided, my master has gone off to visit the Great Library in Albion and has hinted that he wants me to follow him.  In which case, that is exactly what I will do!

Of course, Thia conveniently ignored the minor details that she had no proof this was his plan or where he had gone, and equally overlooked the fact that the fey queen had ordered the borders of Sylvandale shut down.  She could not just walk straight out of the forest unchallenged.  She just focused on the part of her plan which involved getting to visit the most extensive collection of knowledge in this region of the world, the Great Library.  She was set on her course.

*

"Hold!" came the command in a strong, assertive voice.  Thia froze in place, knowing that to take another step was to risk being peppered with arrows. 

She was in a light and airy clearing, very near to the northeastern edge of the forest realm of Sylvandale.  She was, perhaps, just a few hours hike from the open fields of the Kingdom of Albion and escape from the fey-controlled woods.  The early summer sun was shining in through a gap in the foliage and illuminating her tanned face.  A random thought drifted through her head that this would be an idyllic place to sit and eat a lunch of fruit and berries.  She dismissed the errant thought with a shake of her head and slowly turned around, hands resting in a non-threatening manner on her hips.

Across the clearing, she could make out the silhouette of a single figure.  The fey had a longbow drawn and aimed directly at her.  She knew there would be another dozen or so archers hidden in the shadows around the clearing, watching her and looking out for signs of any companions she might be travelling with.  Her eye went to the left wrist of the archer and there she perceived the tell-tale birthmark; the eagle shape that identified this man as one of the Sylvarran, the protectors of the forest.

Slowly Thia raised her hands, showing she was unarmed and of no immediate threat.  "I am alone," she told the fey scout.  "You need not be concerned," she added.  As she spoke she focussed on the sense of reassurance she knew she contained deep within herself, and whispering a word of power under her breath she opened a tiny portal into the Void, drawing forth enough power to turn her emotions into arcane energy which she pushed gently and subtly out towards the Sylvarran who still had his bow pointed at her.  "I am no threat," she told him calmly, her voice now laden with Void-touched power.  The fey slowly lowered his bow, a look of calm and reassurance on his face.

"All of you, please come out," Thia requested gently, turning slowly in a circle to face all parts of the clearing.  She drew forth a tiny bit more power from the Void to accentuate the request and turn it into a compulsion.  Slowly another ten figures stepped from their hiding places in the trees and showed themselves.

"I am no threat," Thia repeated, this time to them all.  "I was merely lost and now have found myself.  I suggest you let me go about my business and carry on my way home."  Thia knew this was pushing her limits.  Magically charming the fey was hard at the best of times, but trying to influence a dozen of them at once was always going to be tough.   So she reached out deeper into the Void than she would have preferred.  The act served to draw physical light from that place beyond and Thia began to glow very softly.  Briefly, she worried that the light would give the game away and spoil her suggestion, but in some strange way, it seemed to only enhance the effect. 

The Sylvarran all smiled as one and bowed deeply to her.  They cleared out of her way, making an obvious route out of the clearing, in the direction she had indicated she wished to progress.  Not wanting to risk how long this effect would last, Thia nodded in thanks and moved swiftly to the edge of the clearing.

She'd gone no more than twenty yards from the clearing when a voice right next to her shoulder stopped her in her tracks.  "Impressive display, Thia Moonsong," the melodic and slightly amused voice told her.  She turned to see another Sylvarran standing closer than she would have thought someone could get without her noticing.  The fey was tall and handsome, the epitome of all the fey held dear.  In a way, he reminded her of the arrogant Galadrethin, her nemesis, but this man had replaced the arrogance with a smile which made him appear as if he found everything amusing.  Instantly Thia found she liked him.  She also knew immediately who he was.

Thoron'ereb was the leader of the mystical Sylvarran.  A legend in the forests, he was a hero of the Chaos Wars a score or so years ago.  He was also one of the few who spoke in favour of her mother when she was cast out of the Sylvarran for birthing Thia, she knew.  Thoron'ereb was the only Sylvarran her mother had anything good to say about.

"Now tell me," the tall fey continued, "Where are you going and what are you doing?  Truthfully please, and try and avoid attempting to beguile me, if you don't mind," he smiled broadly.

Thia's mind raced.  Should she simply tell him what she was doing?  Should she confide in him?  It was the Sylvarran's job to patrol the realm of Sylvandale and keep people out.  In recent times that also extended to keeping the fey in, as the queen had broken all ties with the outside world.  If she told him her quest, would he help her or hinder her?  It was his job to stop her.  But something about his manner and her mother's comments on this fey told her to trust him.

"It's my master," the started.

"Alandriel?" the Sylvarran queried.  "What of him?"

"He's disappeared," Thia continued.  "Literally just left without saying a word.  He left me a note, which hinted at a terrible threat he needed to investigate and the note suggested I follow him.  So, I'm doing exactly that."

"May I see this note?" the Sylvarran requested.  Thia put a hand into a small pouch by her side and slowly withdrew the missive.  Thoron'ereb read it and cocked his head to one side, thinking.  "Hmmm.  I can see how you have come to the conclusion you have, reading this.  And so, I assume, you have concluded that he is headed for Mount Macarack, in the Jagged Peaks?  To visit the Great Library?"

"That was my assumption, yes," Thia agreed simply.

The Sylvarran took a moment more to consider everything.  "Then I suppose you had best get going," he told her, with another smile.  "Don't worry, there are no more patrols between here and the forest edge.  You should reach there without further incident."

"Thank you so much," replied Thia sincerely. "I owe you much."

"Well if Alandriel and you can counter this terrible threat he suspects is out there, it will turn out to be us who owe you," he replied with a bow.

Thia returned the bow and turned to leave.

"One more thing," the fey said before she had gone more than a few steps.  She turned back to hear his last comment. 

"Yes?"

"Your mother would be proud of you," Thoron'ereb told her.

Chapter 22 - Chi

"Feel for the space between Darkness and Light, where the shadows live," the voice told him.  "This is the gateway to the Void.  Find that gateway and then push it open with the power of your will."

Chi tried to seek out the place the mystic was guiding him towards.  He probed his mind outwards as he had been taught, mentally seeking to sense the darkness and the light and find the place in between.  The room was darkened and his eyes were closed, but in this state of heightened awareness, beyond a meditative state, he could sense the difference as if they were physical objects to be touched and seen.

He was kneeling in one of the meditation rooms.  It was just six tatami mats in size and unadorned.  This was a simple place with no distractions.  He was undergoing his final training, advanced meditation and learning the ultimate skills of the Ghostwalker.

"Take control of the shadows," the voice urged him.  "Bend them to your will.  You are their master."  Chi focused his mind on the shadowy space in between but the more he concentrated on it, the more elusive it became.  "Softly," coerced the voice.  "Gently.  The shadow arts are subtle and need a refined touch.  Do not be too forceful in your approach."

Chi relaxed his mind a little, taking a mental step back from the pressure he had been putting on himself.  Then he sensed it.  A tiny crack in the fabric of space that he was able to press into.  He pushed gently but firmly and the crack opened easily to the touch of his mind.  He sensed the shadows beyond and pulled them to himself.

Suddenly the shadows were rushing towards him, flowing past him, overwhelming him.  They had shape and substance and he was being suffocated by them.

"Light!" commanded the voice nearby and the room burst into brightness.  Chi blinked as his eyes came open and he thought he saw strange shadowy figures being sucked back into a tiny gap in reality, but then the gap was gone and he doubted his vision.  Looking up Chi glanced at his instructor who stood in the corner of the room.  Caerdic, the old advisor to Lord Nakamura, leaned on his oaken staff and smiled benignly. 

"Worry not, young man," the old man told him.  "Many people make that same mistake when they begin this journey.  The Void is a source of energy, of Light and Darkness.  Reaching for the shadows is a careful balancing act between the two.  Draw too heavily into the darkness and the shadows come alive.   Get it just right and you can summon an area of shadowy light into this world; a trick which greatly enables Ghostwalkers to weave their trade. 

"Never forget, the Light and the Darkness are enemies and there to balance each other.  The shadows are masters of both.  Now, particularly experienced or talented Ghostwalkers can completely block out the light with this talent, but doing so requires the utmost skill, precision and concentration as the darker the shadows the closer to pure Darkness the practitioner grasps and the more risk that something evil and sentient is pulled through the Void."

Chi realized he had just done exactly that.

*

He knelt in the traditional way of the people of Honshu, legs tucked underneath him, feet flat on the tatami floor mat, head bowed respectfully.  Kneeling immediately to his right was Sensei Akihiro, his master and teacher in the arts of the Ghostwalker.  None of that was particularly unusual.  What was definitely out of the ordinary was the setting and the two people he was kneeling in front of.

Chi was in the official receiving room at Sapporo Castle.  Kneeling on a raised dais above and before him was Lord Nakamura, lord of Sapporo.  Stood a respectful distance back behind the samurai was Caerdic, his advisor.  

Lord Nakamura was wearing a crimson kimono tied with a blue obi.  His daisho was, as ever, tucked into the belt and easily accessible.  His black hair, greying at the temples, was pulled up into a traditional samurai top-knot.  He was stern and regal-looking as ever.

Behind him, his advisor wore the same green robes he always appeared to wear. He stood tall, holding his smooth staff in one hand, as usual.  His long grey beard was braided and reached down almost to the simple rope belt which held his robes.

"Nakamura-sama, let me introduce Chi, our latest Ghostwalker apprentice.  He has just completed his training and is ready to be put into service in whatever way you deem fit," Sensei Akihiro said from beside Chi.

Lord Nakamura nodded curtly and turned his piercing gaze on Chi.  "We have heard impressive tales of your aptitude and intelligence, young Ghostwalker," the lord praised him.  "Your master has spoken extremely highly of you and your progress."

Chi kept his head bowed and tried not to smile at the rare praise from one so important.  He knew the Honshu way was to accept such praise stoically and without reaction, so he kept his feelings buried.

"Now, I have a special assignment for you, Ghostwalker," the samurai lord continued.  "As you know, upon completing your training some Ghostwalkers are sent out into the world with long-term missions.  You are to be given such an assignment.

"War is coming," the lord told the room, though his eyes remained upon Chi.  "The Albioners have long eyed our lands jealously.  Our rice paddies are more fertile than their crop fields.  Our hills have more valuable minerals in them than theirs.  Our sources say they will soon strike at us.  We need to be ready.  We need to seek out and understand their strengths and weaknesses.

"So you are to be sent back into your birthland as a spy.  Go out.  Return to normal life but wander the lands.  Be my eyes and ears in your old homeland.  Report anything you learn to Sensei Osaka at the Monastery of the North Winds, near the town of Thistledelve.  Additionally, I wish you to report there monthly in case I have any specific requests for you.

"Furthermore when returning to Albion you must resume your old identity.  You will no longer be called Chi but will once again be named Zachary, your birth name.

"Is this understood?" the Lord asked.

Chi nodded sharply, "Yes, Nakamura-sama," he responded, simply.

"Good.  This audience is complete."

Chi and Akihiro rose formally to their feet, bowed, took five paces backwards, bowed again and turned around to walk out of the room.

*

The wagon bumped along the rutted trail towards the setting sun.  The merchant wondered if he would make the edge of No Man's Land and reach the town of Eastward which guarded the Kingdom of Albion before it went fully dark.  He suspected the town gates would be shut at sunset.

He ran his hand across his fresh-shaven scalp and considered the last couple of days.  At the start of this week, he had been Chi, Ghostwalker in the Sapporo monastery and sempai to Sensei Akihiro.  Then suddenly, in one meeting with the lord of the region, that had all changed.  He had been ordered to return to the lands of his birth as a spy and saboteur.  He had been made to give up the only life he had known for the last twelve years.  He had been made to say goodbye to his best friend, Ryo, though he could not tell him where he was going or what his mission was.  The identity of Chi was temporarily suppressed, to be replaced by the merchant Zachary, a native of Albion who was returning home.

Ryo understood, of course.  He too was a Ghostwalker and knew that sometimes they were sent away on important missions which could last many years.  None of their fellow Ghostwalkers would know what they had been sent to do or where they had been ordered to travel.

Chi's reverie was broken when his draft horse nickered in alarm.  Stepping from beyond a small outcropping onto the trail directly in front of the plodding wagon was an old, robed figure.  Chi instantly knew who it was: Caerdic.

"Well met, Chi," the grey beard greeted the young man.

"I am Zachary," Chi reminded the samurai's advisor tersely.

"Of course, of course," agreed Caerdic pleasantly.  "Now, I have some instructions for you.  Your first task once you reach Albion.   After checking in with the Monastery of the North Winds and Sensei Osaka, you are to travel to Mount Macarack and visit the Great Library.  There you are to plant a small bug, hidden in a particular set of bookshelves.  This bug is known as a book moth.  It reproduces very quickly and eats paper.  An infestation will ravage the library, damaging an important store of information the Albioners have which could aid them in the coming war."

Chi nodded understanding.  His friend Ryo had cultivated a small collection of these unusual grey moths in the monastery where they trained until one escaped and caused damage to some of the monastery scrolls.  Fortunately, their master knew how to disable the moths and the infestation was quickly brought under control.

 "Which particular row of books should I plant them in?" Chi asked.

"On the third level of the library is a section entitled Ancient Albion.  Start the infestation there," commanded Caerdic.  "It will have the most effect on the information the Albioners can use against us."  With this, the old man handed Chi a package.  "This box contains some book moth larvae.  They will survive in their cocoons for a few weeks but you should not tarry in going to the library and planting them."

"Understood," said Chi, stowing the box with his few possessions.  "I am due to take this wagon to the North Winds monastery up at Thistledelve.  Once I have delivered it I will travel directly to Mount Macarack and plant the book moths."

"Excellent," commended Caerdic.  "After that return to Sensei Osaka for more instructions.  Good luck."

Chi nodded a final time and cracked the small whip he had over the back of the draft horse.  It picked up its head and plodded forward again, the wagon lurching along after it.

Chi passed the old man and wondered how the ancient fellow had so much knowledge about the inside of the Great Library.  Why it was that a native of Albion was helping the ruler of Sapporo prepare for war against his own country?

Then again, he mused, that was exactly what he was doing too.

Chapter 23 - Jaeden

Jaeden squinted as the bright early-afternoon sun beamed down over the top of the snow-capped mountain summit to the north.  He turned his face to the sun for a moment, basking in the warmth of the summer sunshine as Dancer picked his way along the rocky trail.  Behind him, he half-listened as Alfred recounted a tale from their youth to a delighted and entertained Daniella.  Jaeden might have been jealous of the attention she was paying his young friend, but the ex-thief was portraying Jaeden as a brave hero in one of their encounters with the street gangs of the city, and the newly appointed knight appreciated the way his friend made him sound.

Jaeden closed his eyes and enjoyed the moment.  He could not believe how lucky he had been.  His first posting as a newly dubbed knight was to the distant Mount Macarack Chapter House.  It was as far from the city of Littlebrook as it was possible to be, whilst still being in the kingdom.  When he was first told of this posting his heart had sunk.  It would mean leaving the city, leaving his family and leaving his best friend.  But he was a Knight of the Sun now, so his duty came first.

Then Alfred had told him that his master, Caerdic the coffee purveyor, was away on business in the east and that he had to take a consignment of coffee to the northern town of Thistledelve.  He could afford a few extra days to make the trip up to Mount Macarack from there with Jaeden.  He was bringing along some coffee to give to the knights and monks who lived at the abbey as free tasters.  Alfred hoped he could add the abbey to his master's list of customers.

Then, when the two were in Thistledelve, they had been contacted by the seneschal to Duke George and told that the duke's daughter, Daniella, wished to travel up to Mount Macarack to visit her brother who was a priest at the abbey there.  Sir Jaeden had been formally charged with escorting the royal duchess to the abbey.  It was his first official duty and he could not imagine a better way to start his new life as a knight.

Jaeden turned to look over his shoulder as Daniella, sitting sidesaddle on her dapple grey mare, laughed unreservedly at the punchline to Alfred's tale.  He watched as her long auburn hair, which was left to hang loose this day, bounced around, covering her face as she giggled loudly.  The sight of the beautiful young woman, seeming so happy in their company, brought a warm feeling to Jaeden's stomach.  He kept his eyes on her face as she moved her hair aside with her hand.   Their eyes locked and she gave him a glowing grin which brought a red blush to his face.

Then suddenly her face dropped as she raised her head to look past and over Jaeden.  The look of joy was replaced by one of terror and she screamed.

Jaeden spun in the saddle to see a huge monstrosity lurching onto the road ahead of them.  The creature was bipedal and mostly humanoid, but it stood easily fifteen feet high and was full of muscle.  It was naked apart from a fur loincloth that might have been made from bearskin.  Its face was huge and bulbous with a round, squashed nose which had been pierced by some sort of sharpened wooden stake.  It was mostly bald with a few wisps of stray black hair curling across its pate.  Its feet were bare, calloused and grass-stained.  The huge creature had a silver birch trunk in its hands which had been ripped right out of the ground.  It swung the tree trunk around like a warrior might swing a sword, swishing it through the air. 

Jaeden knew what the creature was, though he had never seen one before.  It was a mountain giant, a native of the Jagged Peaks.  Usually solitary, they were stupid and cruel creatures, but not normally aggressive.  This one seemed to be bucking the trend however as it growled menacingly at the trio below it on the mountain pass.

Jaeden pulled the slotted visor of his great helm down over his face and scrambled to ready his shield on his left arm.  His lance was held upright in the travelling position and he knew the giant was too close for him to employ the lance against it.  So he threw it to the stony ground and reached down to his left hip to draw his blade.

The giant bellowed a challenge which echoed back off the mountainsides, charging forward and bringing its tree trunk club to bear.   Jaeden hefted his shield and prepared to take the impact, knowing there was no way he could avoid it.

The tree came in, faster than Jaeden had anticipated, and smashed into his raised shield.  The blow lifted the young knight clean out of the saddle and threw him through the air to crash into a rocky outcropping by the side of the path.  His head cracked into the rock, his helmet flew off and his vision span.

The last thing he saw before he lapsed into unconsciousness was the enraged mountain giant advancing upon the defenceless Alfred and Daniella.

*

He was vaguely aware that time must have passed.  The sun had set and dusk had fallen.  His stomach rumbled as if he hadn't eaten for quite some time.  He tried to sit up but pain shot through his head and he collapsed back against the rock.

Jaeden slowed his breathing as he had been taught at the seminary and focused his mind on unlocking a tiny portal to the Void.  This proved to be hard with a spinning head and pain surging through him.  Eventually, he managed to hold on to the focus for long enough to summon a small amount of Light through the Void and into his body.  The healing energy suffused him, mending wounds and reducing the pain. It was enough that he could now sit up.  He did and immediately wished he hadn't.

The area around him was carnage.  The bodies of two smashed horses, Daniella's grey mare and Alfred's roan lay in grotesque positions across the path.  Dancer, mercifully, stood a little distance away, calmly cropping grass.  Of Alfred, there was no sign at all.  But the worst thing he saw was the crumpled body which lay at the foot of a nearby tree.  Daniella.

He tried to stand but could not summon the energy, so he crawled slowly and agonizingly across the mountain path to the small copse.  Daniella was slumped by the foot of an ash tree, her neck twisted at such an angle that Jaeden immediately knew she was dead.  Her body was broken, one arm and both legs bent at impossible angles.  The giant had battered her with his tree trunk, apparently multiple times.  It didn't make sense as mountain giants were not known to be aggressive and it was unheard of for one to butcher an enemy.  But there was no doubting the fact that the young girl was dead and the injuries were from the giant.

Desperate, Jaeden reached into the Void once more, expending all his concentration to summon as much healing light as he could and focus it on Daniella's body.  His grief and passion drove his efforts and his hands glowed with the life-giving power of the Light.  But Daniella's body was too broken, was past fixing.  The light flowed into her lifeless husk and, finding no spark of life to latch on to, simply sank away into the rocky ground.

Mentally and emotionally drained from his efforts, exhausted beyond all ability to remain awake, Jaeden slumped to the ground next to Daniella's body and lapsed back into unconsciousness.

In the dim light of dusk, across the mountain pass and hidden in the deep shadows of a rocky cleft, an old man with a long grey beard and green robes, leaned on a gnarly wooden staff and watched Jaeden's efforts.  Nodding in satisfaction, he turned to the hulking mountain giant beside him.  "Come," the old man ordered, "Bring my young apprentice and follow me."  Moving away down a small side trail the old man strode off at a quick pace.  The huge mountain giant followed easily on long legs, Alfred's unconscious form held gently in its arms.

*

Jaeden woke the next day to the feeling of a huge, rough tongue licking his face.  Pushing a big hairy head aside he rose, blinking in the early morning light to find Dancer standing over him, nickering gently.  The events of the previous day came flooding back to him and he rolled over to see Daniella's body still crumpled against the tree.  He shut his eyes and slumped back onto the floor once more, letting out a small whimper.

Sometime later he came awake again.  The sun was nearly at its zenith and his stomach was rumbling heavily.  He got slowly to his feet and felt pain shoot through his left elbow.  That joint had taken the brunt of the damage from the giant's swing and was almost certainly broken.  He placed his right hand over the break and summoned the Light.  The pain eased instantly and Jaeden was pleased with how easily he could open a small portal to the Void to benefit from the healing powers of the Light.

He moved to where Dancer was standing off to the side, cropping more grass, and reached into his saddlebags.  Pulling out some trail rations and a waterskin he went and sat on a nearby rock to eat some food and consider his options.

Half an hour later he packed his lunch away and began the grim task of picking Daniella's body up and placing it across Dancer's back.  The steed took the burden without complaint.  Jaeden went and retrieved his lance and climbed wearily into the saddle.  He turned Dancer to face down the mountainside and started the long ride back to Thistledelve to face his future.  To face Daniella's father.

*

The city of Littlebrook resolved before them they as they crested the last rise of the King's Road.  Tall grey, granite walls, punctuated with the occasional crenellated square tower, surrounded the city.  The King's Road was paved this close to the city and raised a little above the surrounding countryside.  Drainage ditches ran down each side, keeping the surface dry and solid, even in the depths of winter.  It was an engineering success and one of King Jarrad's improvement projects that had seen the quality of life in the capital city increase significantly in the nearly thirty years he had been on the throne.

None of this registered to the desolate Jaeden however, as he hung his head in shame and misery.  He rode atop Dancer who plodded along as if sharing his master's emotional state.  Next to him, still exuding an aura of barely contained fury, rode Duke George of Thistledelve.  Ahead of the pair, a dozen soldiers in the sky-blue livery of the northern duke rode in two columns.  Behind them, a dozen more followed.

The procession moved into the city, the commoners respectfully clearing space on the road for the cavalcade.  The King's Road ran straight and wide from the north gate directly to the palace where Duke George's cousin, the king, was in residence.  But the column didn't head that way.  Instead, it turned right, past the famous Green Dragon inn, and on towards the towering Cathedral of the Sun and the Chapter House of the Knights of the Sun which lay in the cathedral grounds.  Towards Sir Harken, Grandmaster of the Order and Jaeden's destiny.

*

"I'm sorry, Jaeden, there is nothing I can do.  He is the king's cousin."

"But, master..."

Sir Harken raised a gauntleted hand and stopped the young knight in his tracks.  "No, Jaeden, it is done."

The Grandmaster of the Knights of the Sun turned to look squarely at his old squire.  He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, let it out slowly and then looked straight at Jaeden.

"Sir Jaeden of Littlebrook.  You have failed in your duty to protect a person of the royal family.  Through your choices and actions, you have caused your charge to lose her life.  It is, therefore, the decision of the Order of the Knights of the Sun that you, herewith, be stripped of your rank, your position, your possessions and your privileges as a knight.  You will, henceforth, no longer be entitled to the rank of knight and all honorifics that go with it.  You are stripped of your right to wear the plate armour that signifies our order.  You will no longer have the right to wear your coat of arms."

Jaeden slumped and almost fell.  He felt his legs wobble and had to reach out to support himself.  Sir Harken took a step forward and held Jaeden's arms.  The Grandmaster took Jaeden's chin, and lifted it, forcing him to look him in the eye.

"You will get through this, Jaeden," Sir Harken told him earnestly.  "In your room, I have placed a fine suit of chainmail armour which will fit you.  Your sword and shield are there.  Dancer was a gift to you from Nathaniel's family and the Order cannot strip you of that gift.  The stallion remains yours."

Jaeden looked into the deep blue eyes of his old master through blurred vision as tears welled up in his eyes.  "Thank you, master," was all he could manage.  Sir Harken nodded and let the young man stand without aid.

"Where will you go?" the Grandmaster asked him, finally.

"North," answered Jaeden without hesitation.  "I need to find out what happened to my friend, Alfred.  In my grief and shock at Daniella's death I never even stopped to look for him.  I need to find out if he's still alive."