Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (10 page)

Lawt smiled and nodded his head.

The class went to breakfast after their morning chores were done, finished their academics and went to the training arena. Rovan and Olarin were already there with the class’ mounts running playfully around them. Ghost and Titan played tag, running back and forth at full speed through the arena. Ghost ran hard successfully tagging Titan and Erik could feel the thrill of his success. Then he felt the small disappointment as the large horse’s nose tapped him back with ease. Erik’s emotions echoed his brother’s.

“Welcome back,” Olarin started. “If you will gather your mounts we will continue with yesterday’s lesson on the union and separation. For the first year your work with your mount will be on the union and training your mount to handle commands though the link. You will find that the union will make the horse a little smarter than a normal mount. Not the parlor tricks you see at the local tavern, where the horse has been trained to tap his feet so many times at a specified phrase, but true counting. Admittedly, only the smartest horses can even count to ten, but even counting to three will help you and the horse immensely so we will work on that first.”

It was a chore getting Ghost and Titan to finally stop playing but Erik and Lawt managed to get their young brothers’ attention and bring them by their sides.

“I see you all brought your blankets like I asked,” Olarin continued. “Go ahead and fold the blanket into thirds and place the blanket high up on your mounts back close to the withers.”

The class did as instructed while Lawt tried to keep his damaged blanket from his teacher’s eyes. “Good. Good.” Olarin said while walking around the class. “Now, since this is the first time your mounts have had anything on their backs, use the link to reassure them. Think comfort and safety. What’s this?” Olarin moved at Lawt and Titan. “Lawt, what have you done to your blanket?”

“It was burned this morning, sir!”

“I can see that is was burned!” Olarin’s voice started to rise into a scream. “How was it burned?”

Lawt did not answer the question. He just stood in place looking around the class. “I ask again,” Olarin screamed at Lawt, “how was it burned?”

“Lawt dropped his blanket in the fireplace when he was stoking the fire for warmth this morning, sir.” Lawt answered.

“Dropped your blanket into the fire, eh?” Olarin said, calming down and comprehending. “It appears that the lesson this afternoon could not be any timelier.”

“Go see the taskmaster about remedial training for the rest of
class Lawt. Your blanket is useless unless you want Titan to get used to the smell of roasted gorak and sheep’s wool on his back.”

After training Erik spotted Lawt moving toward the arena. “What did the taskmaster make you do for punishment?”
Erik asked when Lawt finally arrived.

“The taskmaster sent Lawt to the kitchens to scrub pans,” Lawt said.

“Yuck! I hate scrubbing pans”

“It’s not too bad. Lawt could have been out here trimming the grass.”

“What do you think this lesson is we are going to see?”

“Lawt doesn’t know. Lawt thinks that if one is being punished as a spectacle around here, it must not be good.”

“I think you’re right.” A small shudder went up Erik’s spine.

The class was beginning to form when Olarin entered the arena. “You all will follow me and keep quiet throughout the ordeal. What is going to happen is shocking and disturbing, especially to those who witness it for the first time. You may ask questions of me when we return here. Until then, keep your mouth shut.”

Olarin led the class out of the beginner’s arena and toward a group of people gathering across the training grounds. Two large posts and a large pile of white polished rocks seemed to be the center of attention. The class stayed together and stood to one side as the gathering grew, forming itself into a ring around the posts.

A ruckus began behind the group. A young man screamed as he was pulled through the crowd by two large men. One of the brutes guided the young man by gripping tufts of hair and using it to pull the young man in the direction he chose. The young man’s hands were bound behind his body with rags which matched what passed for his clothes.

“Please, just kill me! Leave Patrician alone. It wasn’t his fault!” the young man screamed.

The thugs tied the young man to one of the posts, securing his head in place forcing him to look at the opposite pole. A great white horse with gray points was being led into the center ring screaming. Its eyes rolled, the whites making the horse’s surrounding features appear dingy. The horse reared, hooves churning in the air. Erik already had a disconcerting feeling in his stomach. With great effort the horse was tethered to the opposite post.

A man standing between the wild-eyed horse and the young man in rags began to read from a scroll. “The undertaking of the Roh’Darharim is tedious. The survival of the Roh’Darharim in the world is first and foremost important to us, not because of our strength but because of our honor. A student who has undertaken training is therefore confined to the training grounds until the student has been sworn a full member of the Herd. Ulaf
,
having fled two fortnights anon, has proven himself a coward and a traitor against our cause. Ulaf has condemned his brother to death.”

“No!” Ulaf screamed writhing against his bonds. Two men approached the horse with sledgehammers in their hands. Another group of men gathered around the pile of rocks somberly. All the men’s faces were wet with tears. The horse looked wild eyed between the two men.

The man reading the scroll lifted it into the air, tears rolling down his face as well. The instant the scroll was raised the men around the pile of rocks pulled a rock from the pile and prepared to throw. The men with the sledgehammers also prepared their weapons to swing. The man with the scroll let his head drop and slowly, reluctantly released the scroll from his raised hand.

The scroll hit the ground and the two men with the hammers swung, striking the horse on the front legs. The sound of bones cracking surpassed the sound of the impact of the hammers to the flesh. The horse screamed and collapsed to the ground, bones protruding. Ulaf gasped, his eyes bulging, and shook on his post. His veins protruded from his neck and sweat rolled down his face. The men with the hammers moved quickly out of the way as the men with rocks began throwing the large white spheres at the downed horse.

Arlif screamed and ran from the class toward the men with the hammers. With a flying leap the trainee tackled one of the men, and they both went rolling uncomfortably close to the thrashing horse. The men who had been throwing the rocks stopped hurling for fear of hitting the two men. Arlif ripped the hammer violently away from the man’s grip and stood, towering over him. “How can you do such a thing?” he screamed at the gathering.

“Stop it, boy!” Olarin yelled. “You are only making it worse!”

“Worse! What’s worse than this?” Arlif screamed at his teacher while moving away from the man trying to retrieve his hammer.

“You are now prolonging the horses suffering!” Olarin approached the young man. “Put that hammer down! You have already extended the suffering too long with your interference.”

Ulaf slacked on his taught restraints a whimpering plea escaped from his throat. “Help him. It wasn’t his fault.”

The grip on the hammer slackened in Arlif’s hand, its head almost touching the ground. Slowly he turned around and watched as the horse writhed on the ground in pain. Horror and anger warred on the young man’s face.

“Move so they can finish the job!” Olarin screamed.

Quietly Arlif moved toward the class. The original hammer wielder caught Arlif and pulled the hammer from Arlif’s slack grip. With both men out of the way the stoning proceeded. The stones fell like large hail. Over and over the men grabbed stones and hurled them at the horse. Dark purple and red bruises appeared on the horse’s frame. It seemed with every other throw the sound of a bone snapping could be heard, and blood began to pool beneath the creature. The horse, raising its head trying to pull itself up on its broken legs caught a rock square in the back of the head. It fell limp onto the ground. The men throwing the rocks immediately
stopped. The men with the hammers came back to the horse. Erik could stand no more of this and looked away. He could hear the men beat the horse one final time, ending the pain. Erik turned and looked at what lay in front of him.

Lifeless on the ground the horse’s white coat was stained a dark red. Ulaf sagged on his post with his body no longer straining against the bonds and his eyes not focusing on anything. The young man simply stared into the distance. Tears began to fall from Ulaf’s eyes but the blank stare never left.

“It is now recorded in The Book of Roh’Darharim that Ulaf of Simone’ is the murderer of his brother Patrician. Let no one aid him or his family upon penalty of death,” The man who read the scroll announced to the crowd.

The men with the hammers dropped their crimson covered weapons on the ground and untied Ulaf. Olarin gathered the class around him and began to lead them to the training arena. Erik saw Ulaf crawling toward his dead brother. A scream echoed around the stable yards once the class moved out of sight. Ulaf’s screams of torment died off in the breeze as the class finally reached their training arena.

“Now, I am sure there are questions running through your heads about what just transpired,” Olarin said. No one spoke. The feeling of foreboding and anxiety hung thick in the air after witnessing such an inhuman episode.

“Come, come, I know there at least has to be some outrage about what just transpired.” Olarin looked around the class, and stopped at Arlif.

John, who seemed as old as Istan or Gavin, was by far the oldest in the class. Timidly the old student’s hand rose, his brown hair fluttered in the breeze. “Why?”

“A simple plea.” Olarin said. “Yet profound and disturbingly wanting an answer. What did I tell you yesterday at the beginning of class?”

“The horse is a tool, not a person,” Erik said. He felt dirty. Arlif at least had the guts to do something instead of just watching the horror that unfolded.

“Exactly! The horse is a tool.”

“Lawt thought that the horse was considered a brother. Lawt feels an attachment to Titan that is unlike any Lawt has had in his life.” Lawt said. “Why would you treat our brothers so maliciously? Like a piece of lifeless meat.”

“Why was the horse put to death?” Olarin asked, his tone still calm.

Babin, a short pudgy young man with curly red locks and freckles lining his face spoke. “Because Ulaf fled the training grounds and fled his responsibilities.”

“But that is not the horse’s fault!” Arlif screamed at Babin.

“Peace, Arlif. It is truth Babin speaks the truth,”
Olarin said. His eyes, usually darting about as if in search of something missing, became quiet and looked into the distance. Not the unfocused stare Ulaf had, but a sharp stare used to cut through the haze of a fog. “The horse was not the one responsible for Ulaf‘s cowardice. The fault lies completely with Ulaf, so if I ask ‘Why such a horrible death for the horse?’ you must ask yourself ‘Why must the horse die in the first place?”

Erik remembered the first time meeting Rovan. The Roh’Darharim had said something to Istan. Something bad happens to horses when their brother dies. Something worse than what happens to a Roh’Darharim. “It is a punishment of death for Ulaf,” Erik said.

A look of proud astonishment flew across Olarin’s face. “Why do you say that?”

“Ulaf’s offense was great enough in the eyes of the Roh’Darharim that it demanded a death sentence, but if his brother is still alive the Roh’Darharim cannot kill Ulaf. But why can’t they just kill the offending Roh’Darharim without hurting the horse?” Erik asked.

“I told you yesterday,” Olarin stated.

“A horse’s mind only has instincts and reactions,” Arlif said, his tears abating. The understanding from the discussion seeming to come over him.

“Yes. Something happens when a link that has been established is suddenly cut off by the death of one in the union. The more abrupt the severing the more acute the reaction is,” Olarin paused as if trying to find a way to explain. “The punishment on the horse has many reasons behind it. The primary reason being that Ulaf being a man can eventually overcome the loss of his brother. Patrician, his mount, would have gone insane and killed anything in his path until he was brought down. Two lives would have been lost instead of only the required one. The beating itself has three reasons. Ulaf could feel every blow, every bone break in Patrician’s body, the pain being sent through the link was, and always will be, a reminder of how he let his brother down. Also, as I said before, the more abrupt the loss of the link the more acute the reaction is to the loss. Ulaf’s mind was already preparing itself for the loss of the union the instant those hammers fell on Patrician’s legs. If we had simply gone up behind Patrician and severed his head the shock would probably have killed Ulaf.” Olarin stopped, taking in a deep breath.

The class was silent, taking in all Olarin had explained. Finally Olarin asked, “So the moral question we must ask ourselves is, Is the pain we wrought on Patrician worth the life of Ulaf? I do not expect an answer. This question has been debated since the beginning of the discovery of the union.”