The Reborn King (Book Six) (29 page)

She folded her arms. “And why didn’t you?”

“I wanted to teach Laraad a lesson.”

“You wanted to teach him a lesson,” she chided. “And are you an instructor?”

“No, High Lady?”

“So what qualifies you to teach Laraad a lesson?”

“Nothing, High Lady.”

She scrutinized him for a time before speaking further. “This is not the first time you have been brought before me, is it?”

“No, High Lady.”

“And what did I tell you would happen if you broke the rules again?”

Aremiel saw Orias’ mouth twitch.

“You told me I would be expelled, High Lady,” he replied.

“No!” cried Aremiel. “You can’t!”

“Silence,” she snapped.

Orias placed a hand on Aremiel’s shoulder and shook his head as a warning to say no more. “I’ll pack at once, High Lady. If you would be so kind as to inform my father that I’ll be leaving for Baltria to join my mother.”

Her eyes darted from Aremiel to Orias several times. “I will do no such thing. You will leave only when I order you to do so, and not a moment before. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, High Lady,” Orias answered. This time he could not disguise the emotion in his voice.

Aremiel was positively beaming at his friend's unexpected reprieve.

“I don’t know what you’re smiling about,” his mother said sternly. “The two of you will be working in the kitchens for the next month. And after tonight you will bunk in the boys' barracks.” She looked back at Orias. “And since you have set yourself up as my son’s guardian, you can move your things from the older boy’s quarters and bunk
with
him.” She waved her hand dismissively. “Now get out of my sight before I come to my senses.”

Orias bowed. “Thank you, High Lady.” While hurrying from the room, he flashed Aremiel a wide grin.

In spite of pardoning Orias, the High Lady's features remained firm and unforgiving as she regarded her son.

He gave her a formal bow. “Thank you, mother.”

Slowly her expression softened. She shook her head and sighed. “I only spared him from expulsion because I understand why he acted the way he did. Orias may be a bit of a troublemaker, but he has a kind heart. And If I discovered that someone had hurt you…well, let’s just say that a beating from Orias would be the least of their worries.”

Aremiel embraced her tightly. “Thank you, mother. I’m so happy that you brought me here.”

She kissed the top of his head. “How could I not bring you? I love you.”

“I love you too. And don’t worry. I’ll make you proud of me.”

She squeezed him even tighter. “I’m already proud, son.”

The First Temple of Valshara – 49 years
earlier

Aremiel circled left, his sword gripped tightly in his right hand. Each step he made was well practiced and measured. The light armor he wore was the only thing hindering him. Just like his first robe when arriving at Valshara, it was ill-fitting and awkward. But it would have to do.

Orias was stood before him.
His
sword was a far superior weapon, and his armor had been made to fit his dimensions exactly. The tiny smile on his face told of his confidence as he matched Aremiel’s movements.

“What are you waiting for?” he taunted. “Let’s get this over with. I’m feeling hungry.”

This time Aremiel refused to be goaded. He feigned right and then left, trying to lure Orias off-balance. But he was far too good to fall for such simple tricks.
Better to wait and hope he makes a mistake
, he thought.

He didn’t have to wait long. With a grunt of irritation Orias lunged in, his sword thrusting low. Aremiel twisted away, at the same time bringing the hilt of his sword up toward Orias’ jaw. But his friend had anticipated such a move and leaned back. Aremiel felt a fist strike his temple and was sent stumbling back.

“Is that what Kioshi taught you?” Orias scoffed. “No wonder the elves killed him.”

The mention of Master Kioshi’s recent death sent torrents of rage coursing through him, and the grin on Orias’ face fueled the flame even more. He charged in, his blade swinging in a tight, controlled arc. Orias deflected the blow and countered with a series of his own.

Aremiel’s anger was giving him extra strength, but not nearly enough to overcome his older and stronger opponent. Soon, he found himself being forced to yield ground. Other than Master Kioshi, Orias was by far the best swordsman he had ever faced. There were even rumors that he had actually once disarmed Kioshi during a sparring lesson – though Aremiel couldn't really believe such a story.

After another flurry, Orias stepped back and scowled. “Are you going to fight me or not?”

Aremiel spat on the ground and spun left and attacked. Small sparks flew from their clashing steel blades. He couldn’t match Orias in strength – that much was certain – but he was not without his own strategies. He ducked and rolled forward, rapidly regaining his feet and drawing his dagger the moment he was behind him.

Orias stepped back and left, then grabbed Aremiel’s wrist. “Not bad,” he smiled.

Aremiel released the dagger before Orias could twist his wrist. Jerking his trapped arm free, he swung his sword wildly with the other to prevent his opponent from taking advantage of their close proximity. He was only just able to get away in time to reset his feet.

“I think your mother is right,” mocked Orias. “You
should
be a historian.”

Aremiel renewed his attack. After three more futile attempts at penetrating Orias’ defense, he was sure that he had at last spotted an opening. Orias was leaning his weight much too far back. Ducking low, he thrust high. But even while in the middle of delivering the strike, he realized his mistake…it was a trap. He would miss, and as a result was now badly over extended. Orias simply turned and brought his sword down onto Aremiel’s exposed neck.

The cold steel of the blade resting on his exposed flesh was a stark reminder that, had this been a real fight, he would now be dead.

“Damn it!” Aremiel shouted in disgust. “I almost had you this time.”

Orias laughed while sheathing his sword. “Actually, you did. If you had drawn your dagger before you rolled, you would have won.”

Aremiel sheathed his own weapon and glared at his friend. “How could you say that about Master Kioshi?”

“Because of what the master taught me,” he replied flatly. “Elicit anger in your opponent if you can. It makes them careless. And never fight with rage as your ally. Passion gives you power and focus. Rage only blinds you.”

Aremiel nodded. He remembered the same lesson well. But since hearing news of the master's killing by a band of elves near Tarvansia, he had been unable to focus on his combat training. Kioshi had become a mentor to him over the past four years. Aside from his mother, only Orias held a more treasured place in his heart.

“Why do the elves still hate us so much?” he asked. “The Great War has been over for hundreds of years.”

Orias began to remove his armor. “They’re savages. Soulless savages. We should have wiped them out when we had the chance.”

The part of Aremiel that was still mourning Kioshi agreed, but there was also something in his heart telling him that such thoughts were wrong.

“But what do we really know about them? Maybe if we tried to...”

“Tried to what?” Orias barked with a sudden flash of anger. “Reason with them? Make peace? We made peace, and yet still they plague us. Their hatred of the gods has turned them into nothing but brutish vermin.” He met his friend’s eyes. “Trust me. There can be no peace between human and elf.”

Aremiel gazed back at Orias, and for the first time could see the pain behind his eyes. When the message had come about Kioshi’s death, he had seemed unaffected, continuing with his studies as if nothing had happened. In fact, when a new combat instructor arrived two days later, he seemed quite happy. He even remarked that he was learning more than he ever had from Master Kioshi. But Aremiel could now see the truth in his friend’s expression. The master's death had wounded him deeply.

Orias forced a smile, as if he knew that Aremiel could see through him. “Come on. They’re serving roasted pork today. And I hear the cook has made apple pie.”

“I can’t,” said Aremiel. “I promised mother I’d have lunch with her.”

Orias laughed as he hung his armor and sword on a peg fixed to the wall. “Very well then. But I can’t promise I’ll save you some pie.”

Aremiel knew this to be a lie. He placed his equipment on the next peg and shrugged. “That’s fine. Then I can’t promise I’ll bring
you some sweets from mother’s chambers.” This, naturally, was another lie.

Orias slapped him on the back and hurried off to the dining hall. Aremiel hated it that his mother would never allow his friend to join them. But there was no convincing her otherwise. Each passing year as his studies progressed there were more demands put on his time. This meant less time with her. He could tell she was bothered by this, though she would never actually say so openly.

When he arrived at her room the door was already ajar. A young girl was placing their meal on a small table at the far side of the room, just beneath the window. His mother was seated and sipping a cup of honeyed wine. Her face lit up when she saw him.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,” she said.

Aremiel smiled in return and took his seat. “I would never defy High Lady Velinia.” Something about using his mother’s given name always made him feel awkward.

She looked at him with sad eyes. “You have matured so much since you arrived here. My little boy is nearly a man.”

This was an exaggeration, of course. He still had many years to go before his studies and training were complete.

“Are you still insisting on this
knight
nonsense?” she asked, her disapproval clear.

“It’s not nonsense,” he shot back. “The Knights are what is best about Amon Dähl. They protect the people and ensure that we can continue to do the work the gods have set before us.”

His mother shook her head and frowned. “You know Mistress Frasia says you are a quick learner. She thinks you would make a fine historian one day.”

“I don’t want to be a historian,” he contended. “I want to be a part of history, not an observer of it.”

“Those are Orias’ words, not yours,” she said. “I don’t like how much sway he has over you. He’s a good student and will make a fine knight, but some of his ideas are dangerous.”

His mother had always been distant from Orias. She'd never objected to their friendship, but clearly believed that his wish to become a knight was a result Orias’ influence. And he had to admit that there was some truth in this. He often daydreamed of himself
and his friend setting off together on an important mission and fighting side by side.

“He’s not dangerous,” he said with a grin. “Just stubborn.”

His mother blew out an exasperated breath. “Not as stubborn as you, it seems. And I did not say that
he
was dangerous, only some of his ideas. In some matters the boy is…obsessed. He thinks he must be the knight his father is. And I’m afraid that one day he’ll attempt something stupid to prove himself. And if he does...”

“If he does,” Aremiel said, cutting her off. “I will be fighting by his side – where a true friend should be.”

Velinia glared at her son. “You will be the death of me. You know that?”

His mother’s stare could always make him feel guilty. “I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m sorry.”

She sighed and took her son’s hand. “I just don’t want you getting yourself into trouble over Orias’ foolishness. I know that he’s your friend and you think you understand him. But I see something within that boy. A single-mindedness of purpose that disturbs me.”

“He just wants to be the best knight he can be,” Aremiel said. “That’s all. And I won’t let him get me in
too
much trouble.”

“I hope you are right.”

The two ate their meal quietly. Afterward, Aremiel told her about his studies and the day-to-day goings on of his life. He knew how important it was to her to know these things. If a week went by without an update, it was well known throughout the temple that she would be in a foul mood. This prompted members of the Order to often remind him that, if he had not been to see his mother in the last few days, then to do so very soon.

Aremiel was just about to leave when there was a soft knock at the door. A courier handed the High Lady a sealed parchment and then hurried away. As she read it, her expression grew dire.

“Go find Orias,” she commanded. “Tell him that I need to see him at once.”

“What’s wrong, mother?” he asked.

“I said go!” The sudden increase in the volume of her voice startled him.

He raced out and ran at full speed to the dining hall. Orias was sitting at a table talking with some of the older boys. He smiled when he saw Aremiel approaching.

“I see you didn’t bring me the sweets,” he said lightheartedly. “Well, it just goes to prove that I’m the better friend.” He gestured to a slice of pie sitting on the vacant chair beside him.

Aremiel did not waste time returning the banter. “The High Lady wishes to see you right away,” he said, breathing quite hard from his run.

The urgency in his voice dispelled his friend's smile. “Did she say why?”

Aremiel shook his head.

“What did you do this time, Orias?” teased one of the boys.

But Orias didn’t answer. He and Aremiel set off immediately toward the High Lady’s chambers. When they arrived, two knights and another man - who from the plain clothes he wore was likely an agent – were waiting.

“Your lessons are canceled for today, son,” the High Lady said. “Go now. I must speak to Orias alone.”

Aremiel reluctantly obeyed. Whatever had happened, he knew Orias would need him. He went to the courtyard and waited near the door that led up to the ramparts. If Orias was upset, that’s where he would go.

Several hours passed without a sign. Then, just as the sun was going down, he saw his friend leaving the main temple door. The two knights were with him. They walked for a few yards before stopping and talking quietly for a while. Aremiel wished that he could hear them. He had learned to read a person’s lips, but the knights had their backs turned and Orias was saying nothing to them in reply. Finally, both knights touched him on the shoulder and left. Once left alone, he stood there absolutely still for more than a minute.

Aremiel was just about to join him when his friend looked across and walked over.

“What happened?” Aremiel asked.

“It’s my father,” he replied. His expression was unreadable.

“Is he...is he…?” Aremiel could not bring himself to say the word
dead
.

“No. He is accused of murder and treason.”

Aremiel had met Orias’ father only once. Morzahn was widely considered to be the finest knight in the order. Perhaps the best in its history. Tales of his deeds had already reached mythical proportions. “That can’t be true,” he said.

“It is,” Orias replied, still without a hint of what he was feeling. “Your mother says there is undeniable proof.”

“I don’t believe it. There has to be some mistake.”

“There’s no mistake. He killed four knights and was caught
interrogating
a fifth.”

“Interrogating?  Why?”

“He was looking for the
sword.
”

Now his friend's tone did reveal a trace of emotion – it was hate. But hate for who?

“You don’t believe that, do you?” Aremiel asked.