Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (7 page)

Erik pulled hard.

The deep tone echoed off the hill and through the valley. The ringing faded into silence. Erik looked at the double doors. Nothing stirred. No birds sang. Erik gripped the rope ready to pull again. A window opened in the top of the right hand door. A bald man with a round face and a thick mustache with ends hanging below his chin appeared.

“The bell of the foal has been rung. Who rings the bell of the foal?” he asked.

“I, Istan Tal’Griovahi, ring the bell for the admittance of one,” Istan intoned with the same rote manner. The Cavalier was now
mounted on his steed directly behind Erik. Erik had not heard a single hoof fall.

“Let the one present himself for admittance.”

“I, Erik of Armeston, ask for admittance, good sir.” Erik stepped forward, trying to copy the formality of the ritual.

“And who is your sire?” the man asked with more reverence.

“I, Istan Tal’Griovahi, sire Erik of Armeston to be trained here in The Halls of the White Charger.” Istan said.

“Erik of Armeston, before your name will be written in the halls for admittance, I give you this one last chance. You may leave now and no shame will come upon thee. This is the last time such an offer will be given. If you accept and later reject what is being offered, a shame will be on thee which will mark your seed for eternity. No Cavalier will ever aid you or any of your line,” the doorman stated.

“I wish to enter,” Erik stated.

The doors creaked open and the doorman exited the gate arm outstretched. He grasped Erik’s forearm in a firm shake of greeting. “Welcome to the fold, young colt.”

“Wait!” Lawt yelled. The man came running wildly. “Lawt of Waeldford, asks for admittance, good sir!”

“And who is your sSire, child?” the man asked.

Lawt looked at Erik and turned to the gatekeeper. His head sank and his shoulders began to slouch. “Lawt…Lawt does not have…” Lawt stammered.

“I will sire him,” a deep loud voice boomed.

Erik, Istan and Lawt all turned to see Gavin on his black horse, a large smile across his face. “I, Gavin Tal’Kyrronus , sire Lawt of Waeldford to be trained in the Halls of the White Charger.”

Erik dreaded walking outside with the clothes they forced him to wear. He now wore the orange tunic, white breeches, and brown boots which were the standard issue uniform for trainees. The bright orange color could be seen miles away in a dark forest. It was uncomfortable, tight on his shoulders and baggy around his belt. It hung low around his knees, threatening to trip him if he moved too quickly.

The issuing personnel threw equipment at the recruits as if the items carried plague. The two trainees clumsily tried to find ways to carry the equipment. Erik kept precariously perching each object on his new saddle until the pens and paper were handed to him. He did not know how to read or write and tried to refuse. While he shook his head his extra breeches started falling off one side of the saddle. When he adjusted to catch them his practice sword, his knives, and brushes fell to the floor with an embarrassing crash. Sighing, the lady giving him the writing tools briefly explained trainees were required to study letters and to use them for this purpose. Lawt had already left the room with Gavin and Istan. Erik crammed everything but the saddle into a large leather bag, which he inconveniently received last. Placing the bag on the saddle he staggered under the weight but he would have to manage. He was afraid to lose the group and did not want to be lost on his first day.

There was no need to worry. Lawt stood outside waiting for him. The large man carried the saddle under one arm and carried his equipment in the large bag with the other hand. A distance away from Lawt, Istan was taking the opportunity to make his opinion known about the stunt Gavin pulled back at the gate. It was apparent Istan did not approve of Gavin’s decision to sire.

“Lawt did not mean to cause such trouble but Lawt is glad to be with his friend.” Lawt looked at Erik with a large smile.

“I’m glad to have you along, too. It’s going to be a bit easier, I think, with you around.” Erik said.

“Well now that you two have your equipment I suggest we get you to your bunks,” Istan said, walking up. “We still have lunch to get to. From what I hear you two are fortunate. You’re the last to fill this class’ register. Some trainees wait months for their class to fill.”

Erik followed the two Cavaliers out. The four primary buildings in the training grounds formed a quadrangle around a statue of a large alabaster stallion. All paths led to this horse. The group walked directly across the yard to the three story billeting house. The sun was finally piercing through the overcast of the last couple days and Erik felt the first warming rays of direct sunlight hit his shoulders. Changing into dry clothes, no matter how ugly, and warmth after days of being wet and miserable lifted his spirits.

The room they entered was adorned with two rows of beds placed directly in front of wardrobes along the sidewalls with a chimney taking the place of one of the sleeping sets on the left. A bed of coals from the morning fire still glowed red in the fireplace. A door opposite the entrance framed stairs leading to the next level. The immaculate precision did not prevent its warm atmosphere.

“Hmmm. It looks to me like a class has decided that it didn’t have enough chores to do.” Gavin said looking disdainfully at the coals.

Istan led them up the stairwell and into a similar room including a fireplace and chimney on the next floor. This room’s fireplace did not even have an ash pile. “These two bunks are yours,” Istan said, pointing to the nearest two beds. “I don’t care who takes which but you have one hour until your classmates get back from field chores for lunch. Put your equipment away according to the diagram inside your wardrobe and we’ll meet you downstairs in an hour.”

With a little trial and error Erik and Lawt put away their equipment and they still had time before lunch. “What do you think it will be like? The training I mean,” Erik asked his friend.

“Lawt thinks it will be tough, but thinks that you will do very well.”

“I hope so. You seem to be coping very easily.”

“Lawt is worried about the learning. Lawt is not smart. Lawt does not think he will make it through the training if it is required he learns to read.”

“You’ll do great, Lawt.” Erik was not sure about the reading and writing himself, and worried his big friend was right. “We better get going. We wouldn’t want to be late for anything around here. I get the feeling people will be looking for a reason to give us something to do.”

For lunch Erik and Lawt were eating a peculiar looking stew while Gavin and Istan had bits of roast and potatoes. “All I am saying is I can’t see why we couldn’t have had the roast?” Erik looked down at his bowl.

“This is the induction meal of all the new class. It would be wise for you to eat it and not complain so much in the future,” Istan said, putting down his fork and looking Erik in the eye.

The stew, while delicious, had an odd flavor and seemed to coat the tongue. It was filling and after weeks of trail food Erik devoured every scrap served to him. Lawt ate his fill just as eagerly. Erik drained his water cup in an attempt to remove the uncomfortable film of flavor to no avail. Lawt opened and closed his mouth while his tongue scraped the roof of his mouth. “Does that help?” Erik asked.

“No.”

Istan smiled at the two of them “Come, you two. It’s time to meet your class and begin your training.”

Erik felt himself finally giving into exhaustion. It took him a couple of steps to get some energy running through his limbs. He eagerly anticipated what lay ahead but following his sire took a major effort of will. He hoped whatever they did would be done soon. He needed a nap.

Behind the quadrangle lay the heart of the complex, the stables. The stabling areas were as clean as they were immense. Three huge white buildings lay side by side with a wooden fence connecting them. This same fence extended out of the side buildings and curved around out of sight. A maze of fence work formed training pens and tracks, occupied sporadically by a horse and mount. A wooded mountain peak rose directly behind the stables with a small white house nestled halfway up the slope.

Six young men in orange tunics mingled around the entrance of the central building. Off to the side leaning against the stable walls was a short, stocky man robed in the gold and crimson of the Cavaliers, chewing on a blade of grass. When the Cavalier noticed Istan and his coterie approach he spat out the blade and moved to intercept. Completely bald, his blonde eyebrows made him appear as if he had no hair at all. He moved with a purpose but his motions seemed rigid.

“Rovan? Rovan Tal’Harralio? You’re the master for this group? When did you become an instructor? Maybe I should take my colt away for a month and wait for the next class to start,” Istan said with a smile, his arms already spread to intercept his friend’s embrace.

“Helro and I were sent to mediate a peasant uprising against an oppressive lord,” Rovan said in a raspy, low voice, fulfilling the embrace. “Everything was going well until the White Charger suddenly called us back. When the peasants found out we were leaving them without making sure they were not hung for insurrection one of them decided to put a crossbow bolt in Helro’s back. His mount Brutal had to be put down, worse than rabid he was. The peasant who shot Helro had his head caved in so badly by Brutal his neck looked like it ended in blood pudding. It’s horrible seeing the union end that way. The horse should be the one to go first.” His voice cracked near the end. “Until they can figure out who to match with Zephyr and me the old man asked me to train.”

“I’m sorry. It’s odd for the Charger to pull a pair back like that,” Istan said. His eyes shifted to the side, looking for an unknown follower.

“Who are we to question the Great Horse. So this is your colt, eh? He sure doesn’t look like much. You sure he can handle it?” Rovan’s face looked as if he had eaten a mealy apple.

“He’ll do well. What do you think of the class’s outcome?”

“Good lot this one.” Rovan finally smiled. “Three of them can already read. By my figures I think we may get five out of this group.”

“Five! You are impressed with them. Well let’s not keep them waiting on this most important of days my friend.” The men led their small group to the gathering of lounging trainees.

“Arlif!” Rovan hollered. “He is the current herd master in training for your class,” Rovan said to Istan. Hearing his name, a blond young man jumped up and jogged over to Rovan and his new charges. “I was told during lunch, these would be last two in the class, and I wanted you to meet them, Eric of Armeston and Lawt of Waeldford.”

“Nice meeting with you, Erik. We welcome you into the herd,” Arlif said with a tired smile. The man looked on the brink of exhaustion. Shorter than Erik, he was still tall. His nose hooked into a beak which thankfully drew attention away from his disturbing icy blue eyes. His smile seemed to be an immediate response, which engulfed his face, with cheeks creased in dimples giving him the look of someone who had been up all night preparing mischief. He said nothing else, turned and walked toward his waiting classmates.

Rovan kicked Arlif in the back of the knee bringing the young man to the ground. Before his student could get up Rovan was on his target’s back pinning his neck to the ground with a knee. “You have a problem with one of your herd?” Rovan asked

“Yes, sir! He is too primitive to understand the ways of a civil and polite society and will only hold the class behind. That savage is a monster better put down than to be raised up to the honor of Roh’Darharim,” Arlif said with as much indignation as he could muster and managed to spit. Arlif moved his hands to push himself up.

“His name has been entered into the book,” Rovan shouted while stepping on Arlif’s hand. “Right now his standing bears as much weight as yours. Is that understood? That savage may one day save your worthless hide boy. I hope he remembers what you said here today if that time comes. You better hope that he doesn’t.”

Rovan stood up and ground his boot into Arlif’s hand before he walked over to the class. “And that goes for the rest of you. From now on you are all a herd. You look after each other. Without each other you will not make it through the obstacles that will be placed in front of you during this training and throughout the rest of your term as a Roh’ Darharim.”

Arlif stood slowly. He headed toward the group of students with his head down massaging his sore hand. Rovan ignored Arlif’s approach, his mind already moving onto a more important subject.

“Now, today may be the day you will remember for the rest of your lives,” Rovan said positioning himself in a lecturing stance. “Today we will match you up with your mount. Your mount is your brother. As long as your mount is able to serve you will be Roh’ Darharim. If your mount is incapacitated in training you will be expelled. If he is incapacitated while you are Roh’Darharim you will be retired. We will walk into the main yard and I will place you where the free colts can find you. You will be chosen by them. Do not stray from where you are placed until you have been chosen.”

Rovan turned and walked through the central stable expecting to be followed. Row upon row of stalls filled the large building. Horses of every color and size occupied most. Orange tunics could be seen with shovels and pitchforks mucking stalls, laying bedding, feeding and watering. The smell of fresh hay mingled with the odor of old bedding forming a familiar but stronger aroma, making Erik feel at home. He had to wonder what size dung heap would be created in one day from such a setup.

Rovan exited the other side of the stable into a large cleared pen. The white fence completely enclosed them. More gates than Erik could take in leading to any number of training pens and runs interrupted the fences steady pace. All of them were closed cutting off the area. Rovan paced around the ring in a large circle counting off thirty steps between pupils. When he got to a spot he wanted to place a student he simply looked up pointed at the student, then at the ground. Soon Rovan pointed to Lawt. The large man did not waste time doing as told. He seemed ready to sprint up the mountain if Rovan had pointed in there.

Erik was anxious as well. The fatigue he felt earlier was replaced with a jittery nervousness crawling in his lungs. Looking around, Erik noticed groups of people forming around the fence line. Cavaliers and trainees mingled with the servants of the school. Everybody came out to witness what was going on. This must be an important event to draw the attention of the entire camp. While his attention was focused elsewhere Erik did not notice Rovan had been pointing at him. By the time he realized it was his turn to be placed Rovan was already heading toward him, his face bright red.

“For your sake I hope you have an excellent reason as to why you were busy looking off into the distance rather than paying attention to what is at hand,” he whispered in a low barely audible voice.

“I’m sorry, sir! I seem to be having a tough time concentrating. I think my journey may have worn me out more than I had realized,” Erik managed to sputter.

“A little spring stroll in the woods is enough to knock you out, huh? Istan was wrong about you, boy.” Rovan grunted.

Erik ran to the spot designated for him, scarlet shame and fury mixed in his skin. Istan was right about him. He would make it through the training. He did not know why he could not keep his head focused on what he was doing. The importance of what was happening was obvious. The entire school had congregated here. Everyone except whoever lived in the small white house on the mountain. Smoke poured from the chimney. Wisps of smoke drew a pale gray line from the earth to the remainder of the clouds still hovering in the sky.