Ascent of the Unwanted (The Chronicle of Unfortunate Heroes Book 1) (9 page)

With the war of dominance over Erik realized he knew exactly where Ghost was. Erik could point to Ghost with his eyes closed. His young brother was still scared and running in the pen trying to find a way out. “Excellent, Erik!” Istan yelled y. “Now help Ghost. Allow the calmness to flow toward him.”

Erik pictured the feeling radiating from his conscience in waves, oozing through the mental wall toward Ghost. Ghost’s fear reacted immediately. In his mind Erik could feel the horse slow from a fear induced sprint to a calming, rhythmic trot. The excitement abating Erik could hear other Cavaliers yelling directions to their respective foals. A Cavalier with long flowing red hair screamed directions peaking near hysteria.

“You have to fight it, Grover!” the Cavalier screamed. The trainee was lying on the ground, knees curled up to his chin. He slammed his fists rapidly into the sides of his head. Blood flowed freely from his nose. A wild look of terror screamed from his eyes. The young trainee’s eyes clouded over. A spasm whipped through the trainee’s body, his back arcing his feet to his head. A quick shudder and the young man’s body went limp.

“No!” The red haired Cavalier screamed grabbing at the body. Tears rolled down his face as he clutched the limp form in an anguished embrace. An impact hit the wall which separated the stable from the pen the colts ran through. The boards cracked where the collision occurred and the stable rocked with the force of the blow. Erik ran outside to see what hit the stable.

A colt lay motionless against the wall, burying its head awkwardly beneath its body. “Grover’s brother,” Istan said, standing behind Erik again. “The amount of terror it carried and the sudden loss of the union blinded him beyond comprehension. It ran full force into the wall.”

Erik staggered at the shock. It could have been him in the dead man’s place. Istan laid a comforting hand on Erik’s shoulder. “It happens occasionally. A mind too weak or unprepared succumbs to the potion. I warned you about the dangers of the training. I hope he was not one of Rovan’s five.”

It was tough to sleep the first night. Erik woke frequently with his heart pounding and an urge to run. He had
slept little by morning, and the sleep he did have was haunted by nightmares and images of horses running to their death.

The morning after the ritual dragged on miserably. Erik’s head felt like a sledgehammer had been taken to it. The lack of sleep made him tear up and his eyes burned whenever he yawned. He was hungry but nothing seemed appetizing. He sat quietly in the dining hall with his stomach gnawing into his back. He would be walking when his legs would decide to give out on him. He managed to catch himself most of the time but Lawt’s eye was blackened when he fell in the dining hall and caught the corner of a table.

After breakfast Gavin and Istan approached followed by a skinny man with dark shaggy hair, wearing a blue tunic and black cloak. “I wanted you to meet Phayden before we left,” Istan said. “He is our surgeon, the last of our party. He has not been with us because he was cleaning up our little mess back in Armeston.”

“It is good to finally meet you face to face. I have watched you so long it seems as if I already know you,” Phayden said with a smile. The man was one of the unfortunate few who looked better when they did not smile. His teeth, while white, ran in every direction but parallel and down.

“You were there? I don‘t remember seeing you.” Erik was still trying to hold down the shock of hearing Gavin and Istan were leaving.

“I would hope not. I don’t usually want to be seen. Of course, all three of us have been watching you since that dreadful night at the tavern.” Phayden said. “I must say Istan and Gavin have been beaming like proud fathers since I came in this morning.”

“Really? About what?” Erik asked.

“You know, I have been trying to figure that out myself. I have always found that new fathers are quite easily impressed with the day to day events that happen to their offspring.”

Erik could see Istan and Gavin becoming uncomfortable with the man’s jokes but Erik still warmed to the skinny man.

“So, you’re a surgeon?” He asked trying to change the subject.

“Well yes, but a different type of surgeon I imagine than you’re referring to. A Roh’Darharim Surgeon is a Roh’Darharim just like these two, but his specialty is not with the horses and combat. His strength lies in… Well I guess the best way you could put it is fixing things. We work best in the background and the glory tends to be given to the hand that holds the sword, and rightly so!”

“So you’re like a medic?” Erik said.

“Yes, like a medic, but they just try and fix people,” Phayden said. “I can fix anything.”

“Anything?” Erik asked amazed.

“Well most things, and not as good as a specialist I admit but I can fix it well enough for it to pass muster or get it to a specialist for repairs. But I tell you, the mess that you boys left me in Armeston took me a good long while to get sorted out. It took more than a few greased palms for me to get the constabulary to accept it was merely a gang turf war. Yep, from wagons to wagers to wounds, I’m your man.” He finished with a bow.

Erik found the man charming and disarming. He spoke quickly, but would pause to make an inside joke to Gavin or Istan, usually at their expense. Erik never understood the subtle jabs at the two men but had to laugh from the manner at which the jabs were delivered. It was sad and difficult when Istan and Gavin finally told them it was time for them to leave. Erik and Lawt followed them as far as the gates and watched as they rode over the hill out of view.

Falling into the routine of class during the first month was easy. After waking the sparring classes began. Personal hygiene and breakfast was followed by scholastic studies. Reading, writing, and introductory mathematics would be followed by histories, laws, and tactical reviews. The rest of the day they spent getting familiar with the stables and running their mounts around the beginner’s arena. This time would later be used in mounted training. Rovan’s job was to watch and judge each trainee. He was the only person deciding who was worthy to move on to the next phase of testing.

Erik was corrected early about terminology. The area the ceremony was held in was correctly called an arena, as were all the training areas fenced off into enclosures. A pen was an enclosed area to contain livestock.

The main challenge in these sessions was to control the link. A strong link could hinder as well as help. Even well trained mounts felt fear in battle, and that channeled into the Roh’Darharim guaranteed failure. They needed the link to strengthen or decrease depending on the task assigned.
The class would spend hours moving their brothers without speaking, trying to sense items through their link using their brother’s senses, and used various games to enhance their skills.

Their instructor for training their horse was named Olarin. Olarin had simply outlived his mount. The top of his head shined with oily baldness while long stringy hair fell from the sides of his head well past his shoulders. His cheeks were deeply sunken and wrinkled. The four hairs he had left in each eyebrow were long wisps of gray silk that fell over his eyes. Despite his obvious age he walked smartly with his Cavalry’s garb of red and gold still giving him a commanding countenance.

The simplest game which helped to decrease the link was also the hardest. Olarin would place everyday items around the arena. Each student let their mounts move around the arena to find an item. The task was to think about the item while decreasing the link. If they were successful their brother would not be able to determine which item the student was thinking about.

On the first attempt all the mounts walked straight to the object each student had picked. They worked for weeks to dull down what the students had risked so much to receive, and this frustrated each trainee in unique ways. Most could keep the link down enough to keep the mount from finding it half the time. Arlif was never able to keep his brother Verity from finding his goal.

“The first thing all of you need to understand from the beginning,” the old Roh’Darharim said, “is that your mounts may be your brothers, but they are still only animals. You can feel their emotions, yes? You have been linked with them all night and have sensed their wants and fears, but those are all guided by instinct and reactions. That is what makes your brothers different from you, and it is a big difference. Slugs too have instincts and reactions. But
you
…You have complex reasoning and logic. A horse’s thought processes are linear. Even a tame, highly trained horse still has the same thought process
es
as a wild savannah stallion. We have used the horse’s instinctive and reactive nature to mold him into a tool. The union is a
tool as well. You must be able to control these tools. The tools must not be the ones controlling you. I only have to go back as far as last month to illustrate my point. It was not the drugs or the rituals that killed young Grover that night. The union and his mount killed him. The young man succumbed to the will of the horse. Once the horse had control his mind reacted the only way it could, violently.”

With the old Roh’Darharim’s warning clearly painted into his students’ heads he began instructing them again on forming and maintaining a clear and distinct barrier between their mounts and themselves. For the rest of the afternoon, and into the evening, the trainees worked at maintaining this clear and distinct separation. The memory of Grover was enough to keep their minds on their work and the class made significant progress for the day. All except Arlif. He still was unable to keep his horse from finding his object.

“Excellent work today!” Olarin said at the end of the session. “Tomorrow, bring the wool blankets you have slept under these past few days. These blankets carry your scent. We will use them to get the horse used to something that smells like you on its back.”

Erik had been around horses. “Sir, aren’t these horses far too young to start to break?”

Olarin smiled. “Who said anything about breaking? It will be years before you are even ready to think about riding but we want the scent of you on the horse as soon as possible. If the horse has your scent on his back after a while your scent mixed with his becomes second nature to him. Arlif, you will stay here

The next morning was nippy for spring, as a late cold snap came blowing out of the mountains. Erik got up early shivering and built a fire to warm the room. By the time the others woke the room was toasty and comfortable.

Lawt finished cleaning and organizing his personal area and began sweeping the common aisle between the beds. Arlif and Geoff approached him from behind. Geoff was the smallest of the class and he followed Arlif like a lamb before weaning, with his long black hair bouncing up and down.

“Take a good look, Geoff,” Arlif said. “You may not get another chance to watch garbage sweep up trash.”

Geoff gave a laugh only a sycophant would produce. “Good one, Arlif,” Geoff said, “Garbage sweeping up trash.”

Lawt looked at the two considering what recourse to take. He turned around, ignoring the two young men. Not getting the reaction he wanted from the large man Arlif resorted to more brutal measures. He kicked the backside of Lawt’s knee, obviously learning the trick from his encounter with Rovan. The leg was supporting all of Lawt’s weight and the large man fell hard. “You still want to ignore me?” Arlif sneered looking down at his victim. Erik moved to protect his friend but Geoff had placed himself between Erik and the confrontation.

Lawt stood, resuming the chore he had tasked for himself. Arlif pushed Lawt back
onto the ground. Moving over to Lawt’s bed he grabbed Lawt’s wool blanket.

“You need this big guy?” Arlif said waving the folded blanket in the air.

Erik was trying to get at Arlif when Geoff punched Erik in the gut. Not ready for the impact Erik doubled over.

“Please give Lawt his blanket,” Lawt asked getting to his feet again.

“Please give Lawt his blanket,” Arlif said pushing his nose up with his finger giving himself a pig snout as he mocked Lawt.

Lawt lunged for the bundle hoping to snatch it from his tormentor’s grasp. Arlif was ready and dodged out of the way. Arlif kicked Lawt in the small of the back using Lawt’s momentum to drop
him onto the ground a third time.
Arlif moved to pin Lawt to the ground with his boot but Lawt spun on the floor. Catching the back of Arlif’s ankle, Lawt pulled the supporting leg out from under the standing man. Arlif fell, his head whipping back and crashing into the wooden floor. Geoff and the rest of the class looked at Lawt in horror.

“Lawt-Lawt is sorry Lawt did not mean…”

“You have nothing to be sorry about!” Erik told him.

“Oh, he is going to be sorry,” Arlif said shaking his head while he stood. Still holding Lawt’s blanket, he moved across the room and threw it into the fire.

“No!” Lawt screamed running toward the hearth. The large man looked into the fireplace. The wool blanket had temporarily doused the flames but smoke had begun
to rise through the temporary blockade. Lawt stretched out his arm timidly. When his hand entered the fireplace he yanked it back as if scalded before he could reach the blanket. Lawt looked around the room for help and tried again to reach into the fireplace. Again his hand retreated before reaching its target.

“For Beshra’s sake, Lawt, just pull it out!” Erik yelled moving across the room. Arlif moved to intercept him. Erik could see his large friend trying and failing to pull his blanket from the fireplace. The flames, which had been suppressed, had finally broken through the blanket and began to consume it hungrily, trying to make up for the lost time. Erik shoved
Arlif out of the way and ran toward the fireplace leaving Arlif laughing behind him.

Erik reached in and pulled out the burning blanket, throwing it onto the floorboard. He stamped out the flames with his boots then looked at it critically. Over half the blanket was gone from the middle and the remaining ring of material had burnt holes in several places.

“Why didn’t you just pull it out before it started to burn?” Erik asked.

“Lawt wanted to but…” Lawt said, tears welling up into his eyes. “The fires. The fires tried to hurt Lawt.”

“That’s enough of that,” Erik said only loud enough for Lawt to hear. “We don’t want to give these guys anything else to torment you with. Stop your eyes from watering and shut up about the fire.”

Lawt stifled his tears. Erik folded the blanket as best he could and gave the bundle to him. “Hopefully nobody notices this until after tomorrow when you can get another blanket.” Erik said.

Lawt looked down ashamed rubbing both eyes with the back of one massive hand. “Lawt is sorry, Erik. Lawt is not meant for greatness.”

“Bull! You can make it through this just as well as any of us. You just have a few more obstacles to overcome. I don’t think the man I befriended would let anything so petty keep him from my company.” Erik said with a half-smile. Lawt looked up, the shame being broadcast to Erik like a lighthouse beacon through the fog.

“Lawt will let nothing stop his friend from succeeding.”

“Good, but I don’t want you to do this for me. You need to have reasons for yourself. I want you to succeed just as much as I. So, can we agree not to give up on each other at least?”