Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Desmir was awake long before he needed to be. As the first tendril of light trickled through the closed, heavy curtains of his chamber the black eyes snapped open. For a brief moment he lay still wondering if he could get back to sleep but quickly discarded the idea. So instead he kicked back the covers that had tangled around his waist and legs. Sliding from the bed he opened his wardrobe and pulled out a training tunic. As he did another outfit tumbled to the floor and he sighed vowing to use a chest from then on for his clothes. Changing into the uniform he belted on his sword and pulled on a pair of thick, knee high leather boots. Taking a quick peek out his window to be sure no one was around he then threw back the curtains and pulled into sight the bundle of rope that he always kept one end tightly tied to an iron ring in the wall. The rig was concealed by his bed so no one knew about it accept him. The fibers were dusty grey so when he tossed it out the window and it rested flat against the stone it was impossible to see. Grabbing the rope after sliding on leather gloves he began to climb form his room down the edge of the high tower. Glancing over one shoulder he could see the far off wall and few trees that were the size of arrows below. Once again he was glad that he had a good head, and stomach, for heights.

Sliding down the rope with swift progress he quickly reached the bottom and dropped to the soft grass. Tying the rope end to a hook he made sure it was taunt against the wall rendering it nearly invisible. Satisfied his secret was safe he turned and jogged around the towers. Scaling a few small walls he reached the guard barracks and entered by the same method he had been using. Dropping from the walls top to the soft soil he drew a deep breath adjusting his weapons. The smell of iron and horses reached him along with the sounds of training men. All at once Desmir grinned, now he was not board. Here there were no treaties or documents, no delegations or extended councils, no quills and letters of permission. Here there was only what you learned from defeat and victory, from mistakes and from the sweat of your own actions. Here was where he understood things and ruled the show as a true prince.

Striding out from the edges of the wall he approached with an easy stride confident in the sword on his hip. The earlier manner in which he acted at the castle fell away as he strode past the men nodding his head lightly to each in greeting. In return they saluted, a fist to their left shoulder. As he walked he began to pick up the sounds of a commotion near the training ring. His grin widened. The fights were on. Moving faster he mixed in with the guards and soon had a clear look. Before him was a large sand ring with a rope boundary. All around the edge soldiers stood together each yelling or cheering on one of the two combatants in the ring. All of the men were either dressed in a leather lined uniform or a set of light armor showing that they had recently gotten off duty. Desmir moved his attention to the current fight. The two elves circling in the ring were garbed differently. One in the uniform and the other in half armor.

“Who’s the one in armor?” Desmir asked a soldier curiously not being able to tack a name onto the angular face and tightly tied back sweat damp silver hair.

“He’s a transfer,” the soldier answered, “Came from an outpost on the border. I don’t know his name, he only just showed up this morning.”

“So Mytilarro challenged him?” Desmir snorted.

The soldier grinned. “It is in Mytilarro’s nature after all.”

“Indeed,” Desmir looked back at the fight watching with keen interest as he dragged to mind everything he knew about Mytilarro. The elf was an expert fighter and his style consisted of going in headlong with harsh powerful strokes delivered by a heavy sword. He was of normal height with a heavy built and strong arms. His legs were also very mighty and he often reminded Desmir of a young oak tree. He served as an attack soldier in the fifth platoon. The elf had an impressive record and was loyally to the core easily following commands and not often making his own plans. When in a crowd is was very easy to recognize him by a rather strange trait. Unlike most elves who wore their hair long, Mytilarro shaved his head so he was smooth scalped. It was a little strange at first but once a person got used to it, it became quite normal. Just another thing that made the elf who he was.

With that information at his minds forefront Desmir eyed the transfer. He was a bit taller, long silver haired tied back tightly with leather strips. Garbed in half armor he was arrayed with a dagger, dirk and fought with a sword. Desmir watched with surprised admiration as the long blade took every blow without hesitation. It whizzed and whirled in the light humming like an angry hornet as its master leapt and flipped. He moved with lethal grace and measured speed easily going just fast enough to avoid a strike. As Mytilarro advanced he danced to the side and parried. The weapons met and the transfer whirled back turning his form to the side. Mytilarro’s sword hissed by overhead. Straightening the elf’s eyes smiled, his angular face had sweat running down one side the pale skin damp from it. His chest and body was muscled but his form smaller. He looked more prone to using a bow and arrow then sword fighting. Despite this the two combatants were well matched.

As the fight progressed Desmir noted how the transfer kept catching the other’s blows at an angle to glance off the power behind each strike. He never blocked directly and used small energy conserving moves. In this way he was hampering the other’s greatest advantage and using his own power against him. Desmir shook his head in admiration, he had fought Mytilarro himself before and nearly been defeated. It was only by a sudden and desperate move that he had won, the other’s power was simply devastating.

Suddenly the transfer whirled to face Mytilarro his sword taking the sword strike at full power. The weapons locked, both combatants chest to heaving chest the transfer’s free hand suddenly slipped up and under fingers closing on the other’s throat. Mytilarro lunged back to break free but as he did the transfer tangled one leg in the way and Mytilarro tripped falling back heavily. In a split second a sword tip was at his throat the other elf standing over him.

“Do you yield?” His voice was bantering

Mytilarro’s form relaxed. “I yield.”

The transfer smiled and stepped back offering one hand which was accepted. Facing one another Mytilarro spoke.

“You fought well, where were you trained?”

“In the outpost I served at.” The transfer answered. “I learn fast and trained under several teachers.”

“Indeed, I have not faced an opponent who fought like you. Possibly the Prince Desmir, but I’ve never faced your style.” Mytilarro replied

“Not many have, it is why I often win.”

“I cannot argue with you on that point. Have you ever been beaten?”

“Everyone has been defeated at some point. I included.”

Mytilarro glanced at the two other elves who had just ducked into the ring. “We had best step out, looks like the next two fighters are eager to get started.”

“Aye.”

They both quickly vaulted the waist high rope barrier. As they did Desmir watched them and moved from the crowd to intercept both warriors. Seeing the prince coming Mytilarro saluted and stood at attention.

“Commander.”

“Mytilarro,” Desmir greeted with a quick dip of the head. Then he turned to the other. “We have not met, what’s your name?”

“I am called Lorcost.” The elf bowed.

“I am Prince Desmir, one of the commanders here.” Desmir replied. “You must be the transfer Lord Pharom spoke of.”

“Aye, he reassigned me here sir.” Lorcost confirmed

“Do you know why?” asked Desmir realizing he had failed to ask his father the same question.

“The border was too quiet for me, he thought my skills would be better used here at the capitol city sir.” Lorcost answered.

“Based upon your performance here I would agree with my father, may I see your weapon?” Desmir offered a hand.

Lorcost placed the sword in his commander’s palm. “Yes sir.”

Desmir looked it over. The weapon was a normal soldier’s blade but seemed lighter and the blade was thinner. Easily a sigh of a few modifications to the standard issued weapon most were given so it would adapt to its bearers style. “An impressive weapon, did you make it?” asked Desmir handing it back

Lorcost shook his head. “One of my teachers at the outpost gave it to me. He said it suited my style best and would only gather dust if he kept it.”

Desmir nodded. “A kind gift. Who was the mentor?”

“The current outpost commander. He asked for my transfer. Said I would gain experience here.” Lorcost smiled. “He was a wise fighter sir.”

“Like my own father.” Desmir agreed. “Now, I hear you have been assigned to the delegation mission I am leading along with the fifth platoon.”

“Yes sir.”

“Would you mind taking a walk with me, I have a few questions for you.” Desmir requested.

“Oh of course sir.” Lorcost sheathed his sword at his hip. Falling in step with Desmir he waited as the prince gave a few orders to Mytilarro.

“Make sure that your platoon is ready to depart at the correct time and meet us in the courtyard near the main gate a few minutes early.”

“Aye sir,” Mytilarro nodded.

“Come now Lorcost,” Desmir led the other away from the group and in a slow tour around the guard barracks, training grounds and stable. “Are you happy with your transfer?”

“Yes sir, I hope to gain some experience here.” Lorcost replied

“Experience? Have you ever been in a fight before?” Desmir probed.

“Some, just a few small skirmishes against a few wild animals and…” Lorcost trailed off.

Desmir stopped and moved to face the other, he was nearly an inch taller. “Why did you trail off?”

Lorcost sighed. “I had a friend at the outpost. He was an older warrior, a few years ahead of you I’d say.”

“That’s rather young.” Desmir commented.

“Yes, he acted older than he is. See, he was an amazing fighter and I respected him greatly. Many of the tricks I know I was taught by him. He was trained by his father and joined the outpost garrison after some incident caused a rift in his family.”

“You’re talking about him in past tense.” Desmir noticed. “Why?”

“Because he started causing trouble. He and another soldier did not get along. They picked fights outside of playful challenges and it got them in trouble. My friend had a lethal build and could move like lightening, he was stronger. During one fight he injured the other and the garrison commander was forced to imprison him at the outpost. I had to help round him up.”

“You didn’t want to.” Desmir could sense he was right.

“No sir, but it was my orders.”

“Was your friend bitter about this?”

“He was angry, but not at me. He understood it was my duty. Funny though, he never seemed to understand that it was wrong of him to go after this other soldier though. It was the only wrong thing he has ever done.” Lorcost explained

“It was right of you to obey.” Desmir mentioned

“It was my orders.”

“Do you always do whatever you’re told?”

“Only if what I’m told to do is right.”

“Why did you obey the orders and betray your friend? Would that not be wrong?” Desmir challenged.

“No, because what my friend was wrong. I could not stand by him without being guilty of harassing another for no reason.” Lorcost replied

“Why was he after this other elf?”

“None of us knew. He didn’t tell me and flat out refused to tell when asked. The elf he was after did not tell either.” Lorcost sighed “I have a suspicion the garrison commander asked for my transfer to get me away from my unruly friend for a while and used my lack of experience as a cover.”

“You have good character Lorcost, I welcome you on this mission. I’ll let you go now so that you may prepare.” Desmir stepped aside

“Thank you sir.” Lorcost bowed once then left heading for the barracks.

Desmir considered what he had been told for a few minutes before moving to the training grounds. Drawing his sword he went through the many moves and tactics he had been taught. Time became a blur all his thoughts focused on the target before him. Soon his tunic became soaked, sweat dripped through his hair and his muscles hurt. But he pressed on feeling his frame relax and flow like water through the complicated forms of his style. Thrust, parry, twist and attack. Side step, swipe, duck and twist. It all felt natural his sword an extension of his own arm. After quite a while he slowly detached from the rhythm and became aware of his panting breaths. Halting he stood for a moment mentally and physically exhausted.

“Sir?”

Desmir turned upon hearing someone address him. “Yes?”

“Your platoon will be leaving in two hours.” The soldier saluted.

“Thank you.” Desmir nodded and sheathed his sword. Moving for the barracks he grabbed some food from the large eating room and tore through it only then realizing how hungry he’d become. Once he finished he entered his rarely used commander’s quarters and stripped off the sweat stained uniform. Rinsing his body with cold water he donned fresh clothes that consisted of thick riding pants, a commander’s uniform and riding cape. He also buckled on armguards, shoulder guards and hip armor. The latter buckled on under his belt and was several strips of shaped metal wielded together. It hung down to just past his knees and protected his thighs when fighting or riding. Finished dressing he collapsed across the bed in the chamber and was instantly asleep.

He woke later on as a hand touched his shoulder.

“Desmir? Are you alright?”

“Hm…what?” Desmir blinked waking up. A face hovered over him and after a moment it swam into focus. “Furendir? What are you doing at the barracks?”

Furendir offered his brother’s sword. “It’s nearly time to depart.”

Desmir snapped upright. “Eneldreth! How long was I asleep?”

“Roughly a little under two hours based on what a soldier told me. Come on, your horse is waiting. One of the platoon saddled him for you.”

Desmir rubbed his face swiftly rising. He accepted his sword and buckled it on. Swinging his bow and quiver over his head he felt the weapons settle between his shoulder blades. Sheathing a knife in the scabbard buckled around his upper thigh, he hid it under his uniform and hip armor.

“Alright I’m ready,” he announced pulling on leather gloves.

Furendir moved to leave with the other following. As Desmir tied back his hair he looked the other’s clothes over. Furendir wore a set of riding robes and had a sword with him. It was the only obvious weapon.

“Don’t you have a bow or armor?” he asked

“I’m the delegate, not the guard.” Furendir replied. “The sword is only there for tradition. I haven’t used it for months.”

“Good thing this is a quiet mission.” Desmir agreed.

Exciting the barracks they both moved through the gates nodding to a few guards as they went. Soon reaching the main building again they entered and stopped in the courtyard. Before them the platoon sat most already mounted. A few held horses and stood silently as Lord Pharom gave them final orders. Desmir saw Lorcost along with Mytilarro. The other seven members of the platoon were mounted behind them conversing quietly among themselves. Each wore half armor, the same as Desmir’s, but for chest guards. Swords hung from their hips and two carried spears.

As Desmir approached Lord Pharom waved him over.

“Yes father?” Desmir bowed his head in greeting.

“I trust you have everything?” Lord Pharom asked.

“Yes, I have my things here.” Desmir tapped a saddlebag he’d grabbed that contained what he was bringing.

“Good, now here is a detailed account of your orders should you need to review them.” Pharom offered a folded piece of parchment. “Remember though, this mission falls to you alone when it comes to judgment. If something goes wrong it is your duty to choose a course of action.”

“Yes father,” Desmir nodded

“I fully trust you son. Keep a detailed account of the mission and give it to me upon your return when you report to the council.” Pharom stepped closer gripping the young commander’s shoulder. “Son, I’m also trusting you with Furendir’s safety. He cannot fight as well as you and would be an easy target should an assassin be snooping about the human kingdom. Keep an eye on him. Do not leave him alone no matter what the reason.”

Desmir met his father’s eyes. “I promise you.”

“Good,” Pharom let go, “Now join your men.”

Desmir moved over and accepted his reins from Lorcost. Buckling his saddlebags on, he turned hearing steps.

“Elborn.”

“I came to see you off.” Elborn answered

“I’m glad,” Desmir tucked away his orders.

“Be safe and be careful,” Elborn cautioned. “I know this is your first assignment, don’t let it go to your head. These men are trusting you.”

“I know, I won’t be proud.” Desmir replied. “Thank you for your advice brother.”

Elborn nodded. “Now go on, I know how long you’ve waited for your own assignment.”

A reflection of Elborn’s smile tugged at Desmir’s lips. “Indeed brother. Farewell.” Desmir swung onto his horses back and settled easily claiming his stirrups. Gathering both reins he looked back at his men. “Ready?”

Lorcost replied for them. “Ready sir.”

“Good, Furendir?”

“Ready brother.” Furendir answered

Desmir glanced around once more then nodded to his father and mother.

“Be safe children.” Lady Cellica called.

“We will mother.” Promised Furendir

“Right, form up and move out!” called Desmir making a motion towards the gate.

Furendir fell into the center of the troop with the platoon members making a diamond about him, Desmir the leading point. Horses snorting and manes being tossed they set spurs to flanks and moved into a swift canter. Holding the pace, hooves ringing on the street stones, they thundered through the gates and down the slight rise into the town below. The village flashed past and soon they were galloping through the fields. Farmers straightened up to watch as the flashing platoon passed by. Several children yelled and pointed in excitement. Then they left the clear lands. Long having entered onto a dirt path they reached the tree line and not hesitating plunged in. The cool wind caressed their cheeks and made their hair fly back over shoulders. Light dappled by trees winged passed and branches spread overhead. A fox streaked past and birds took to wing.

Desmir watched the wild animals meeting the eyes of several. As the sunlight rushed over him and the leaves danced about his horses hooves he took a deep breath. Smelling the musty plants and dust in the air. He could hear the birds singing and feel the warmth and the breeze. A jaunty smile crossed his face. Here was where he belonged. The barracks and training fields made him feel relaxed and in control, the city caged and out of his depth. Here, he felt free. Here he felt powerful.

Here he felt invincible.