Sovereign's Wake Read online

The boy ate, applied the medication as he was asked, and laid back down to rest.

  “You still have a couple hours until we have to meet Berault. By then, the soreness around your eye should have lessened, but nothing is going to remove that black patch but time,” Garreth informed before he left the study and headed out into the hall.

  When Novas was alone, he stood up and walked outside the room into the hallway. He peered out the window facing the back of the alley where the confrontation had taken place the night before. As he expected to see a macabre scene of blood and body, Novas was surprised when the sidestreet and the storm drain were their usual dirty selves; the evidence had been cleared away by the attackers, the citizens, or the constant flowing of scraps, garbage, and liquids that flowed through them. He had wondered if it had been all a terrible dream like a lapse in time while sitting in front of the tavern, but the pain in his face when he winced was real enough. He walked back to the common room, found the water basin, and tried to gleam his reflection. Against the sunlight beaming through the window, Novas could see a faint outline and some colour in the basin’s reflection. His left eye socket was a darker shade than the right, and his left eyebrow was more pronounced with swelling than the other. With a huff of breath, he placed the basin down and returned to his room where he lay down against the bed and tried not to think of the dull throbbing in his head.

  Later in the day, Garreth came back to the room to collect Novas and Kayten for another meeting with Berault. This time, the two were surprised when they did not head to his room down the hall. The two in tow were anxious about their destination, for Garreth had requested that they bring their swords along and try to conceal them as much as possible. With the scabbard placed under his cloak, Novas’ sword was hidden well. Kayten rolled hers up in a cloth and tied it across her back.

  Before long, they were in the streets of the Lower Quarter again and were headed north away from the Salty Dog. As they continued along, Kayten heard a telltale clanging of metal rise above the noise of the city and wondered if she was being sold into apprenticeship. Just off one of the main streets, a thin alleyway lay between two commons, which featured a creeping tangle of vines that rose up from the sewer. The natural knotting blocked the access to the alleyway from base to the second floor where it merged with a connecting brick wall. As thick as it appeared, Garreth disappeared through a crease in the leafy wall, and Novas and Kayten pushed through after their astonishment had faded. Through a winding set of corners and sidestreets, Novas tried to recall the way, but Garreth assured them they would become familiar with the way and their destination soon enough. Eventually, the winding paths opened up into a courtyard that had once been used as a market and for agriculture. In the far corner, a large shed with stone walls and a wooden roof stood. Nearby, a sizable plot of open earth, formerly a garden, had been sectioned off with posts and rope to create a pit. Novas soon understood why he was asked to bring along his blade.

  Inside the dirty ring, an assortment of adolescents and adults smashed strength and steel together in practice and routine. Their swords were plain, chipped, and worn with age. Those lucky enough to wear armour wore a mismatched garment of battered leather, rusty mail, and chipped and burnished plate. A group of archers practiced their stances and delivery by firing down a blocked off alleyway into some homemade targets, and a few of the larger members practiced with pikes and halberds against straw dummies. Novas was excited and anxious to see such a martial display inside the city, and Kayten shared some of his nervousness.

  “Garreth! Over here, lad,” Berault yelled from the storage shop as he waved them over.

  The trio walked into the shade of the barn where Berault leaned across a long, bar-like desk.

  “That’s quite a shiner, boy. A proper welcome to Amatharsus, I think!” Berault said to Novas, who tried to smile at the thought.

  “Well, you’re here now, and hopefully you’ll be the one giving the black eyes from now on,” Berault jested as he slapped Novas on the shoulder.

  “Indeed. You’ll be learning from the best. The man who taught me to defend my life and the lives of others stands before you,” Garreth informed them.

  While Novas was excited to learn a new talent, especially after seeing his father in combat, Kayten appeared to be disconcerted.

  “Have no fear miss. While we don’t train many women, I can see you have the arms and hands for it. Your work in the smithy will serve you well,” Berault said with reassurance, noticing Kayten’s reserve.

  “Now, let’s see your swords,” Berault commanded.

  Novas and Kayten uncovered their concealed weapons and placed them upon the desk. Berault took hold of Kayten’s blade first, noticing the quality.

  “This is a fine blade. It might even be a master craft. The more restless boys may take affront, but before long, you’ll be able to hold your own against them.”

  “The same goes for you, Novas. This is a good blade and shines like new. Don’t let the others treat you too unkindly. Remember that this is not a claw, but a limb like your arm,” Berault said as he twirled the blade with a smooth flourish before sinking it into the wood of the table.

  Upon examining the table, Novas noticed many similar notches in the table and was humoured to think it was from the same display. With some effort and shimmying, Novas made the blade from free from its formidable bite within the wood.

  “Now come over here, and we’ll get you equipped with some sparring leathers and some blunted swords for training,” Berault said as he led them over to the equipment racks.

  Before long, Novas and Kayten were panting under the summer sun and the city heat as their leathers pressed hot against their sticky clothing and skin. Today, they did not enter the ring but instead practiced rudimentary slashes and stabs against fixed targets of an iron skeleton, flesh of straw, and a coat of run-through leather jerkin.

  When Kayten would strike the metal bar of the target, the sword would shake as if it was trying to escape her hand. Kayten tried to focus and recall what Berault technique had demonstrated, but when she struck the target, the sword rattled and spun out of her hand. Kayten blushed as she picked up her sword and tried not to worry about the banter that churned around her. As she raised her blade again, she tried to recall the fortitude that allowed her to strike down the Blackwoods thug, and a deep emotion welled inside of her that reminded her of her resolve. She tightened her grip on the sword and struck the target again. While the blow grinded past the steely limb, the blade remained in her solid grasp. She was determined to learn the art of the sword; she never wanted to be a victim again.

  Novas was faring better, if only a little, with his practice drills. The blunted shortsword had felt heavier than his skinning knives and the sword he had been gifted, and he tried to make his strokes as less unwieldy as possible. He tried to make his slices more flowing and use the weight of the sword to his advantage. However, he had never seen many real engagements aside from the chaos of the most recent ones, and he felt that his actions to be impractical. When his sweat beaded heavy, Novas lifted his blade to his shoulder and walked over to the ring where two more experienced combatants were sparring. Berault was standing in the shade nearby where Novas chose to watch the fight.

  “This should be interesting to watch. Mont commands more strength with a sword than most men I’ve served with. Once, I saw him slice a man’s head off, straight through the chain mail. Eyrn, however, is a proper duelist and should give him some sport,” Berault informed as the two combatants finished securing their armours.

  Both men were dressed in a light ring mail, with patches of steel plate over the arms, chest, and legs. The first man was Mont, who was a bulky, bald man with a puffy face accentuated by a bevy of cuts and scratches. He was known around the ring for being rough and tough and for being a drinker and a brawler all the same. In his giant hands, he wielded a thick-bladed claymore that he hoisted with ease despite its apparent size and weight. The second man was Eyrn, a tall
and lean-muscled man with thin, black hair that fell to below his ears and a slight gauntness to his face which ended with his angular chin. Kayten, approaching the ring shortly after, found him quite attractive, and Eyrn attracted many women and men alike to his martial demonstrations. He was skilled in many weapons and chose a matching longsword from the armory although it was a thinner and more agile blade. As the two stepped into the ring, they equipped their helmets and began their paces.

  After a few steps, Mont lunged with a downwards strike and followed up with a spinning, sideways slice. With deft footwork, Eyrn stepped aside twice without bothering to engage with his blade, still maintaining his high guard stance. With the spin of his wrist, Mont performed two strikes from the side, the second of which Eyrn caught with his sword. Eyrn deflected the blow with the blunt of his sword, which prompted Mont to change his footing to prepare for another strike. Before Mont could regain his balance, Eyrn spun about and tapped his opponent on his back before he could strike again.

  “Aha!” Eyrn boasted as he raised his sword.

  The few spectators around the pit clapped and cheered in their hoarse manner.

  As the two reclaimed their breath and balance, the adversaries’ eyes met for a single moment before they lunged at each other again. Eyrn opened with some jabs more suited towards his lighter sword, but they were met with the solid wall of metal that Mont positioned himself behind. Even the most direct of Eyrn’s slashes failed to move Mont’s stalwart guard and grip on his blade. As Eyrn moved in for another lunge, Mont moved his blade to a more forward stance, plunged his blade into the ground between himself and Eyrn’s weapon, and then leapt with a solid grapple on Eyrn, pinning him to the ground with his weight. Eyrn met the ground with a solid oomph, and Mont raised his hand in victory for that round.

  The two men dusted themselves off and resumed positions to begin their final round. As each warrior was aware of their opponent’s style and stance, they were careful not to fall for the same tricks as the previous rounds. The bone-rattling exchange of grinding metal and clashing plate resumed on for a set of minutes. As the match wore on, the endurance and stamina of the men was put to the limit as their strikes only became more desperate and impassioned. Mont became a whirling tornado of cuts and cleaves, relying on his fearsome strength to overpower his opponent and wear down Eyrn’s defensive and reflective stance.

  As Mont finished a spinning combination with a downwards blow, he overextended his footing, and Eyrn caught the maneuver with his blade. Using the momentum to guide his blade, Eyrn slapped the blunt of his sword on the side of Mont’s neck. Mont fell to his knees and leaned upon his sword that was fixed within the dirt. The loud spectators cheered anew when Eyrn gripped his opponent’s hand and pulled him to his feet.

  “Those two are true warriors, I think. I’m proud to say I’ve help train them, and I’m glad to say they still remain loyal to us and the city,” Berault concluded.

  “They are very impressive swordsmen. I am glad they do not wear the ill-garbed black,” Novas commented in awe of that battle which he found to be astonishing.

  “I am glad of that too, lad. One day, you could be skilled enough to best fighters of their caliber. But only if you get… back… to practice,” Berault quipped with a loud and fierce clapping of his hands.

  With a roll of his eyes, Novas picked up the training blade and headed back to the dummy area. He wandered over to a different set of dummies that had multiple limbs and targets. As Novas stepped in and swung at the left limb of the target, the dummy whipped around on its center, sending its right limb straight into Novas’ back. Novas chuckled as he shrugged off the blow and pushed around the spinning dummy to test its reach and speed. He figured if he overstepped his strikes, put too much power into his slashes, or failed to counter the momentum he put into the dummy, he would be struck in return. Novas found this to be a much skillful challenge, and he practiced sending the dummy a strike and then deflecting the counter in return. However, Novas eventually became exhausted with having such a strenuous, back and forth exercise; it wasn’t really challenging if he approached the target without a certain measure of strength.

  Novas tried to recall the fight between Mont and Eyrn. Novas tried become more fluid with his strikes, learning when to tighten his grip, when to loosen it, and when to roll the wrist. After Novas struck the dummy, he met the dummy’s blow with a parry and followed up with a counterstrike on the back of its limb, sending the dummy around again. Novas discovered how to keep this momentum and change its direction if he wished. He continued with this drill of striking, parrying, and counterstriking until he was out of breath and quite exhausted. He placed the blade on his shoulder and drudged over to the equipment shed where Kayten, similarly exhausted, was standing with his father.

  “Berault thinks you’re a natural, Novas. Few have conquered that dummy without guidance like you have, but there are still many things to learn. If you have the strength, you may be able to move up to a two-handed blade before long,” Garreth informed with a smile.

  “With your wide stance, Berault recommended you try to equip a buckler when you are more familiar with some sword techniques, Kayten,” Garreth told her.

  “You’ll both be back tomorrow when the sword drills are scheduled. You should be able to participate without maiming yourselves or others,” Garreth said with a light chuckle.

  “For now, you can end the day however you see fit. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Garreth told the both of them before turning back towards the armory.

  Novas looked into the reddening sky as pillars of shadow and sunset formed between the divisions of buildings. He didn’t feel much like going back to his room but also did not want to travel far before sundown. A visit to the harbour sounded like an interesting idea to him, and Kayten agreed to join him in lieu of having little else to do that day. Personally, she was exhausted from this new day of learning. The two trainees packed up their blades and concealed them once again before leaving down the winding path. As they emerged from the concealed entrance, the two almost ran straight into a group of commoners who were loitering in the area. While the men observed the passageway, they became nonchalant under Novas’ inspection. In a slow but deliberate fashion, the loiterers moved down the street while glancing back. The two continued on back to the familiar intersection, down the western street, past the Salty Dog, and through the gates of the harbour.

  Three shimmering stripes of yellow, orange, and red lay on the canvas of the sea as the sun was swallowed whole. While the docks were always busy while light was in the sky, handfuls of workers headed off of their shift and back to their homes, shelters, taverns, or stys where they passed the time between the daily grind. This allotted Kayten and Novas a chance to explore the docks more freely than compared to the midday’s trade and traffic.

  Several dozen lengths of stony pillar shot into the sea like limbs upon the creeping centipede, the sturdiest of which housed the largest trade vessels and the most frequent of ships. Giant slabs of mortar and stone connected these docks and served as a staging area for the unloading and delivery of goods into the capital. The denizens of Amatharsus had taken it upon themselves to construct makeshift wooden docks that jutted out into the sea every which way like roots from the tree of the city. While the most inconvenient of these docks were destroyed by the careless ship or the blustering storm, the Fisherman’s Barge, the largest installation made in cooperation with those of that profession, was the fountainhead of the trade in the harbour. From there, many singular docks made of parallel wood strips and leak-proofed barrels floated upon the gentle waves in the harbour. As Novas was feeling rather to be his old, adventurous self after an eventful day of practice, he decided to sneak upon one of the barges and cast it out to sea, and he even managed to convince Kayten to join him.

  “Come on. It will be fun. The docks are emptying out now anyways. With these, we’ll fit the part perfectly,” Novas explained with an inviting smile.

&n
bsp; He continued as he grabbed two fishing poles out of a nearby barrel.

  “Oh, alright,” Kayten spoke.

  As soon as they had caught their balance, Kayten sat on the seaward side and cast her legs over the edge. Novas unwound the rope tied to the floating dock’s post. Soon, the seafarers were out as far as they could go. As if boasting, the wild gull cawed above the earthbound sailors as it hung over head and surfed on the currents of air that moved the waves of the sea. The water pulled them out to its depths, and the wind was calm and warm.

  “Wow, you can see all the way down the coast from here,” commented Kayten as she pointed south past the city walls.

  “And I can see the houses of Bell’s Beach from here as well. You know, the village at the end of the western road from the Crossroads? I remember travelling there as a girl. It’s where my father taught me how to swim,” she recollected as she peered southwards, splashing her bare legs in the gentle water.

  “It sounds like a nice place,” Novas replied as he gazed at Kayten.

  “I hope it still is,” Kayten answered, and her blush went unnoticed under the red of sunset.

  The magnitude of Amatharsus lay behind them. From their perspective, the city displayed three great gates leading into the Lower and Upper Quarters and the Trade District. While the architecture of the Trade District was more or less similar to that of the Lower Quarter, the elevation of the land raised the constructions of the Upper Quarter high above any other rooftops. The elaborate edifices of the Royal Palace were most recognizable at the city’s highest and most northern peak. The spires of the four watchtowers radiated in the setting sun due to the decoration of sunsteel, a newer installation with the addition of Blackwoods flags.

  Before the sun had set completely, Novas pulled the floating barge into the dock, and the two had returned feeling refreshed and rested with the salty sea air in their lungs. Kayten and Novas wandered back to the tavern and savoured the remaining warmth in the wind. They returned to their rooms content in their conversation, and the two both slept better than they had in since their meeting at the Crossroads.