Chapter 14 - Looking the Part of a Squire
anny woke up to the soft shake of a hand upon his shoulder. Coming awake with a squint, he looked up to find Chris towering over him.
"Get up, the eighteenth bell has come and gone," said Chris.
Beyond the single window of the room, the storm created by the Eye raged on, unending, blocking out the morning rays of the sun. High above the wall of black clouds, the deep blue sky contained a lone white cloud that reflected the missing light.
Danny yawned, stretched and climbed out of bed.
Suddenly, Danny found Doug standing next to him. "I'm sorry about last night," said Doug, extending a hand toward Danny.
"Me, too," said Danny, shaking Doug's hand in a gesture of friendship and acceptance.
"Is anyone else really hungry? I am," Chris asked.
At the mention of food, Danny's stomach began to rumble, forcing him to place his hand on his stomach. "I guess I am, too."
"I'm starved," said Anthony, admiring his reflection in the only mirror in the room.
"Let's head down to the common hall," said Chris. "I wouldn't want to miss breakfast."
Danny looked over his shoulder and said, "Someone needs to wake up Matt first."
After a few minutes of jostling, Matt stirred and sat up. "Has anyone seen my glasses?" he asked through sleep-matted eyes. He rifled through the sheets of his bedding. "Never mind, I found them," he said, laughing, he was already wearing them. Wiping them clean with his shirt, he placed them back on the bridge of his nose.
Together, Danny, Chris, Alonso, Matt, Doug, and their new friend, Anthony, descended the stairs to the common hall. At the base of the steps, the alluring aroma of freshly-prepared food greeted them. In the middle of the common hall, where the black leather couches had been the night before, there was a long wooden table heaped high with just about every breakfast food they could imagine.
"Man, this place just gets better and better," said Chris, rushing over to the table.
Danny followed behind, claiming a seat beside his friend, piling his plate with two slices of French toast, a large spoonful of scrambled eggs, four strips of crispy bacon, three biscuits drizzled with sausage gravy and a handful of hash browns. After a second helping, Danny sat back, resting his hands on his stomach.
"That was good," he said, to no one in particular.
Chris, working on his third plateful, nodded as he stuffed his face with a blackberry pastry.
Anthony had found a seat opposite Chris, keeping pace with him bite for bite, to see who could eat the most.
"Good morning, Squires," said Calador, standing at the head of the table.
"Good morning," said the mass of squires in a half-hearted harmony.
"I am sorry but I believe I said, good morning, Squires," said Calador again, raising the volume of his voice.
"Good morning!" everyone said again, the combined voices resonating into a boisterous response.
"Well, it seems that we are missing a few this morning," said Calador. His voice was quiet, so only a few sitting toward the front of the table, including Danny, could hear him. "In a matter of minutes," continued the Elf, resuming his commanding tone, "the seventeenth bell will chime. After this occurs, I expect you all to be standing outside the double doors of this barracks. We have much to accomplish on this day, do not dawdle." Calador headed off toward the boys' side of the barracks and ascended the steps.
By the time the seventeenth bell chimed, Calador had gathered three sleepy boys and two tired girls. He ushered them outside where the other squires waited, and, just as he'd promised the night before, they weren't allowed to eat breakfast.
"While you are here, you will learn self-discipline," said Calador evenly. If he held any spite toward the three boys and two girls who hadn't listened to his directions, his voice didn't show it. "Punishment should not be considered a means of cruelty, but a tool for learning. Learn from your mistakes and take pride in bettering your performance." The Elf waited but a moment for the message to sink in before he continued. "Now, please follow me."
Calador turned and began walking at a brisk pace in the direction of the distant, towering castle.
"I wonder where we're going?" Doug asked in a whisper.
"You lack equipment, Squire Garrett," said Calador, speaking first before anyone else could respond. "Surely, you did not think that you would begin your training with nothing but the clothes on your back?"
"No, I guess not," said Doug, confused about how the blind Elf had guessed his identity.
"Do not be alarmed, Squire Garrett, I have memorized the sound of your voice," said Calador, as if reading Doug's thoughts. "If you recall, such was the purpose of the introductions last night. Not only did everyone learn the names of their fellow squires, but I can now recognize every squire here simply by their voice."
"That's amazing," said Doug.
"All Elves have similar abilities," said Briza. The Elvin girl walked next to Doug, matching him stride for stride, sporting a slight smile in his direction.
Doug returned the smile, his face growing flustered with a deep red hue.
"Indeed," said Calador. "Due to my blindness, my sense of hearing, as well as my other senses, has been amplified beyond those of any mortal realm. However, to answer your initial question, we are currently en route to see the tailor. You cannot dine with the king without wearing the proper attire."
"We're going to see the king?" Danny asked, his voice rising in pitch.
"Indeed," said Calador matter-of-factly. "It is a tradition here at the Academy that all squires attend a celebratory dinner with the king before they start their training. You will also be introduced to your instructors during this time. However, as I said before, you must first be fitted in the appropriate clothing, which brings us to our destination." He stopped beneath a thick plank of wood with a needle and thread upon it. "Please, follow me."
Danny and the other squires followed, entering the large brick structure. Inside there was a line of men on the right and women on the left, standing behind a series of high wooden tables draped with assorted colored pieces of cloth, holding tape measures at the ready.
"Good morning, Squires." A man stepped forward, he wore a flowing blue robe of the finest weave, complete with silver embroidering. His features were sharp, accented by his long black hair, which was braided into three tails that draped down his back. "My name is Mathis Charles Deandrow III," he said with an elegant bow. "I am the head tailor and I oversee the making of and the maintenance of all uniforms, including yours."
"Are you a Knight of the Light?" Danny asked.
"No, Squire, I am not," said the tailor with a slight chuckle. "My weapons consist of needle, thread and thimble. I am afraid I would not know what to do with a blade, even if I owned one. You will find that, like most cities, the population of White Rock is made up of many professions, not just knights." Mathis remained silent a few seconds before adding, "We all fight against the Dark the best way we know how, Squire.
"Now, if there are no other questions, we have much to do. The men and women you see behind me are my faithful staff. They will be taking your measurements this morning in order to fit your uniforms to you properly. Throughout your training, you will see my staff and I for alterations in order to ensure that your uniforms stay fitted, for your bodies will change. Some of you will grow larger and stronger and some of you will lose the weakness of your waists. In either case, we will make sure that you feel as comfortable in your attire as possible. Now, if you would, please form lines, boys on the right, girls on the left."
Danny did as he was told and stopped before a tall man with short brown hair.
"Your name, Squire?"
Danny said his name and watched as the man dipped a quill pen in a small cup of ink and scribbled it on a yellow piece of parchment. Then the man went to work, measuring Danny's extremities and jotting down the numbers, one at a time on the piece of paper. Once finished, the man smiled and said, "Thank you, Squire. You may rejoin your chaperone." He pointed at Calador, who stood quietly and patiently in front of the entrance.
Danny found a place on Calador's left side. The tall Elf didn't seem to notice. However, Danny knew that he had.
"Where are we going next?"
"One cannot be a knight without the proper tools of war, Squire Firoth," said Calador with a smile. "Our next destination is the forge."
Although Danny's curiosity felt far from satisfied, he waited silently for everyone else to get measured.
The moment the last squire was fitted and joined the ranks of the others, Mathis stepped forward. "Thank you for your time, young squires. Now, if you would kindly excuse my staff and me, we have much work to do in order to ensure that your uniforms are produced on time for your engagement with the king this evening. I wish you all good luck in your upcoming training and I look forward to overseeing your future alterations."
"Come, Squires," insisted Calador. He nodded at Mathis and then pushed the double doors open.
Danny noticed that the tailor nodded in kind, a gesture most likely lost upon the blind Elf.
"Follow me, Squires," heralded Calador, as he turned in the direction of a billowing column of black smoke that seemed to rise from the middle of the island.
"Where's that smoke coming from?" Matt asked.
"What smoke? I am afraid I do not see it."
"It's just ahead of us," argued Matt, squinting through his glasses. "Toward the middle of the…" He stopped mid-sentence when he saw the subtle smile appear on Calador's usually straight face.
"Forgive my jest, Squire Mickler," said Calador. The smile disappeared from his face. "It is the smoke from the forge that you see. It is where you will receive your sword and eventually your armor, as well as your Bonded once you return as a second-year squire."
Danny felt the urge to question the Elf further but he knew that it would do little good.
Calador led the party down a series of white brick roads, winding through a city created from the same stone, the toiling dark smoke growing thicker with every step. Rounding a sharp corner, they came to a crossroads, each corner sporting a high tower. Knights of the Light stood in front of each one, wearing armored suites of polished plate mail. In the center of the converging roads stood an intricate water fountain, the edges marked by four statues of knights kneeling in respect, their swords outstretched before them.
Danny felt his stomach churn. "What is this place?"
"…The Pool of the Mageknight. It marks the exact center of the island," said Calador, "and the location of the Eye."
"…The Eye of Darkness?" Danny asked, his voice growing soft with shock.
"The very same," said Calador.
"Then where is it, the Eye?" Alonso asked, his head darting in every conceivable direction.
"Deep underground, Squire Martinez," said Calador, dipping his head downward as if he could see it through the white brick of the road. "The Eye is guarded by Knights of the Light all hours of the day and night."
Creeping toward the middle of the road, feeling drawn to the fountain, Danny asked, "Why do you call it the Pool of the Mageknight?"
"Have a look, Squire Firoth, and you shall see," said Calador in a cryptic tone.
Danny stalked to the edge of the fountain, finding a place between two of the bowing statues. The water within was a clear blue and calm, resembling glass. Just beneath the surface of the water, and in the exact center of the pool, rested the most beautiful longsword Danny had ever seen. The hilt, made from what looked like pure sapphire and wrapped in silver wiring at the grip, sparkled as it reflected the rays of the sun. The deep blue blade appeared almost transparent; the length of the brand swirled with a series of softer blues, like liquid distilled into a solid form. From somewhere within the blade's depth emanated a faint light.
Danny's hand reached out to claim the calling blade, dipping into the water. However, his hand stayed as Calador's voice continued just behind him.
"It is said that only the Mageknight can pull the sword from the pool," said Calador, moving next to Danny. "Many have tried, Squire Firoth. All have failed."
"Is it a Bonded?"
"It is."
"I can get it," said Alonso confidently, moving to the opposite side of the fountain, thrusting his hand deep into the blue pool of water. Danny watched as his friend's hand passed through the glossy surface of the water, the disturbance causing the slightest of ripples. Alonso missed the hilt by mere inches, catching nothing but water. "It moved," he said, looking up at the gathering faces to confirm his failed attempt.
"No, you missed it," said Matt.
"Watch," said Alonso, trying once again, as his hand passed just beneath the hilt of the blade. "See, it moved."
"It didn't move," said Matt. "I was watching it the whole time."
"Then you try!" commanded Alonso, growing frustrated.
"Fine, I'll try." Matt adjusted his glasses and moved to the lip of the fountain. After pulling his sleeve up, he reached down into the water and stopped, wide-eyed with surprise. "It did move," he said, grabbing for the hilt a second time. Once again, his hand missed the sword by inches.
Chris decided on a strategic approach, dipping both hands into the water. However, his effort met with the same result. Keeping a calm head, he attempted several different tactics, all ended just short of success.
Rolling up the sleeve of his shirt and revealing a ripple of muscle, Anthony punched his right hand deep into the pool. A sizable splash of water was the only result; his balled fist missed the blade by mere inches.
Doug chose not to attempt it, his focus remained on the mystery that was Briza.
"As I said before, young squires, only the Mageknight may pull the sword from the pool. However, all of you are more than welcome to try."
One by one, every squire attempted to pull the blade from the pool and Danny watched as every attempt ended in failure.
"It's impossible," said one squire.
"It's just some kind of trick," said another.
"Would you like to give it a try, Squire Firoth?"
Danny felt the eyes of the group shift to him.
"You are the only one who has yet to try," said Calador when Danny failed to answer.
Danny moved back to the edge of the pool and peered just below its glossy surface. Taking a deep breath, he slipped his right hand into the cool water, above the sapphire hilt of the sword. Soft ripples flowed out from his intrusion in a series of tiny rings. Danny inched his hand toward the pommel. However, just before he could almost touch it, the tiny waves passed over the sword, causing it to appear beyond the reach of his grasp. Confused, Danny pulled his arm from the pool.
"I told you it moved," said Alonso, from the opposite side.
"It's some kind of illusion," said Matt.
"Well, it seems the Mageknight is not among any of you," said Calador flatly. "Come, instead of bobbing for blades, I shall take you to a place where you can simply receive one." He turned and resumed walking toward the thick plume of black smoke that drifted high into the sky.
The group fell in behind him. However, Danny hesitated, lingering at the lip of the pool.
"Come on, man, you can try again later," Chris said, placing a reassuring hand on Danny's shoulder.
"Yeah," said Danny, mesmerized by the beauty of the blade but encouraged to hurry with Chris' support.
Both boys rushed to join the others as Calador led them down the road.
The tall Elf stopped before a large building marked by a sizable wooden sign with a hammer and anvil painted on it. The structure was the obvious source of the smoke; there were two huge smoke stacks on the roof, the once-white brick stained black from the accumulation of soot. Two thick iron doors stood open in greeting, allowing for a full view of the workshop within, where a group of squat, bearded creatures toiled with glowing bits of metal and large hammers. Their labor produced a steady rhythm of clangs.
"Sir Bartlett Firebeard," Calador called out. His interruption caused the group of Dwarves to cease their banging and look up in the direction of the Elf.
"Firebeard!" called out one of the Dwarves, his voice deep and gritty.
Moments later, a short, robust Dwarf emerged from the forge. At his side, a large hammer blazed red; the pommel, grooved in an intricate depiction of flames, was crafted from a silvery metal. His hair was long, unkempt and fiery red, matching the beard that draped just past his belly, which was currently smoldering.
"Calador, me old friend."
"Your beard is on fire!" Danny pointed out.
"Aye, it does get quite red dis time o year," said the broad-shouldered Dwarf with a smile and a hearty laugh.
"No, my friend, your beard is really on fire," said Calador after a slight sniff and a twitch of the ear.
"By da forge!" the Dwarf yelled. He stopped in mid-laugh, looked down at his burning beard and patted out the flame. "I must've gotten a wee too close ta da flames," he said with a laugh, as a whiff of smoke swirled past his head. "Ya have me thanks, young squire. A wee longer and me prized beard would've been nutten but ash." He turned toward Danny.
"My pleasure…"
"Sir Bartlett Firebeard!" the Dwarf roared in a deep and jovial voice, "Knight o da Light and Master o da Forge."
"Bartlett Firebeard, my name is Danny Firoth, Squire."
"When addressing a Knight of the Light, it is a sign of respect to use their title, Squire Firoth," said Calador.
"Sir Bartlett Firebeard," said Danny, correcting himself.
"Firoth, eh?" Sir Bartlett stroked his beard in thought. "Dat name sounds mighty familiar. You a Lightborn, lad?"
"…No, sir."
"No matter, Squire Firoth, 'tis a pleasure ta meet ya," extending his stubby hand forward in greeting.
Danny took the Dwarf's arm in a shake and winced in pain as his wrist was nearly crushed by the strength of Sir Bartlett's grip.
"Sorry, ma boy, don't know me own strength sometimes," reading Danny's expression, releasing his hold.
"We have just come from the Pool of the Mageknight," said Calador.
"Ah, and was da Mageknight among dis here group o squires?"
Calador shook his head.
"Shame," grumbled the Dwarf, once again stroking his beard. "But, no matter," he said, shrugging off whatever idea had troubled him. He addressed the group of squires as a whole. "I'm Sir Bartlett Firebeard! I'm da master o dis here forge and on dis day, you squires will receive a sword forged either by mine own hands or da strong lads and lasses ya see behind me. You'll treat me creations with respect, for a blade is no mere toy. These here hands," continued the Dwarf, raising his left hand skyward, "create works o art dat are designed for one purpose only—ta kill. Make no mistake, da weapons ya are ta receive dis here day are tools of war and should be treated as such. Are der any questions?"
The group remained silent.
"Good," said Sir Bartlett in a roaring voice. "Step dis way, please." The Dwarf turned and walked back into the forge.
Danny, being the first in line, hesitated for a moment before following behind.
Sir Bartlett turned and walked around what looked like a large pool of lava. The bricks containing the glowing amber liquid radiated a soft light, heated by the sweltering contents. Arranged around the lava pool were a series of anvils, where a group of Dwarves worked tirelessly, banging out blazing pieces of metal.
"Dis here forge was built on top of an active volcano. Da lava flows up from a fissure deep below us and would have blown dis here island sky high generations ago if it weren't for a few tricks we Dwarves used ta tame da volcano ta our will."
Waves of heat washed over Danny's face as he attempted to peer into the heart of the lava pool. His eyes watered; he glanced away from the scorching intensity, unable to bear the hot blaze. "How can they stand that intense heat?"
"We Dwarves possess a thicker hide den ya Humans, Squire Firoth," said Sir Bartlett, leading them beyond the bubbling lava, away from the banging of his kin. "Thicker dan dat of da Elves as well," he added, winking in Calador's direction as he led the group down a wide set of stone steps.
Calador kept any comments to himself.
Sir Bartlett passed through a pair of large iron doors, large for Dwarves anyway. Beyond the threshold, the huge room opened up with a vaulted ceiling, held up with eight thick pillars. On the opposite side of the room rested a pair of large golden doors, now closed. Displayed on various racks throughout the middle of the room was a collection of weapons in a variety of shapes and sizes.
"Welcome ta me armory, squires," said Sir Bartlett in a booming voice that echoed throughout the room.
"There must be over a thousand weapons here," whispered Matt, adjusting his glasses, peering about the room.
"Der is a bit more dan dat here, Squire," assured Sir Bartlett.
"Did you make all of these?" Doug asked.
"I got by with a wee bit of help from me kin, but yes, I see ta all da final touches of every weapon ya see here."
Before any more questions could be asked, the golden double doors across the way opened up and a smaller version of Sir Bartlett Firebeard stepped out. Perhaps the most obvious difference between the two were the pair of axes strapped to the shorter Dwarf's hip, the hefts carved from solid ivory, the blades crafted to resemble the head of a ram. The doppelganger closed the doors behind him and twisted a golden key. The locking mechanism caused a rhythm of grinding gears to rumble deep within the stone of the surrounding floor and walls. Then, he retrieved the key and secured it around his stocky neck.
"Ah, der ya are, Fredrick," said Sir Bartlett, turning toward the sound of the echoing doors.
"`Tis done, Father, da Bondeds have been cleaned and secured," said the smaller Dwarf as he crossed the room.
"Good, good," said Bartlett with a slight series of nods. A moment passed as he dropped his head in thought and stroked his beard. Then, he raised his head and placed a steadying hand on the slightly shorter Dwarf who had since stopped at his side. "Allow me ta introduce Squire Fredrick Firebeard, me apprentice and me son."
The other Dwarf bowed in greeting, sporting a matching fiery red beard, though not as long as his father's. "`Tis a pleasure ta meet ya, fellow squires."
"Are you a squire, like us?" Danny asked.
"Yes, though I am allowed ta train under me father in order ta learn da ways of da forge. Dis is me fourth year at da Academy as a squire."
"Do you belong to an army?"
"No, I am afraid most of me time is spent here in da forge, learning."
"Well, now dat introductions have been made, it's time for all of ya ta find your blade," said Sir Bartlett. "Spread out and find da best fit possible. Every weapon in here is different in some way, shape or form. Some are heavier on da end, some are heavier at da hilt and others balance toward da middle. 'Tisn't me lot ta teach ya squires technique, but as a master craftsman, I know a little. Just as every weapon in dis vault differs, so does da way ya will wield it. Once ya believe ya have found ya a good match, come and see me."
Unwilling to wait to be told twice, the group of squires scattered.
"And use some sense when handling me blades," added Sir Bartlett in response to the sudden chaos.
Danny moved off to the right, toward a rack of polished longswords. To his untrained eye, the majority looked the same. He chose the blade nearest him, one with a wire-wrapped hilt. Hefting the sword, his first conclusion was that it was heavier than he would have thought. Pulling it free from the scabbard with a soft chime of metal gliding along metal, he held the blade before him. The brand was wide at the tip and slender at the base, making it heavier toward the head. Danny concluded that this wasn't the sword for him, as the point wavered in his unsteady grip.
Sheathing the blade and placing it back on the rack, he chose another farther down with a hilt of iron. It felt cool in his hand and much lighter than the first as he pulled it free with the familiar ring of steel. The blade was slender and had the same width from base to tip, making it heavier in the hilt. With a simple twist of his wrist, he caused the sword to arc down faster than he'd expected, hitting the stone floor with a soft clang. Deciding that, once again, this wasn't the blade for him, Danny sheathed it and placed it back upon the rack. After trying sword after sword, he came to stand before a single stand with a silver-hilted longsword wrapped in supple black leather.
When he hefted the blade in his hand, the weight felt evenly distributed from the pommel to point. Pulling the brand free, he admired the blue tinged steel as it reflected the low torchlight. After a few practice swings, he knew that he'd found his sword. Making his way back to Sir Bartlett, he presented it as his own.
"What ya got der?"
"I believe I've found my sword, Sir Bartlett."
"Well, take her out and let's see den," encouraged the Dwarf.
Danny pulled the blade free.
"Hold it out in front of you," instructed Sir Bartlett, modeling the motion by holding his right arm straight out in front of him, as if he held a blade of his own.
Danny mimicked the movement and held his new sword in front of him. Sir Bartlett tested his arm with a few strategically-placed squeezes.
"Good," grumbled Sir Bartlett with a satisfied nod. "Now, let's see a one-handed swing."
Danny was about to raise the sword above his head and ready a swing, but stopped in response to Sir Bartlett's deep and rumbling voice.
"Wait!" the Dwarf grumbled.
Unsure of what he did wrong, Danny eyed Sir Bartlett, eyebrows raised.
"Safety first, lad," said Sir Bartlett in a softer voice. "Look around ya and make sure der is no one else dat might regret being so close t'ya."
Danny looked around himself completely, finding no one in the immediate area. Turning back to the Dwarf, Danny narrowed his eyes in question.
"'Tis a good lesson ta learn sooner ratha den lata, Squire Firoth. Go on, and give `er a swing," he encouraged.
Danny readied himself once again, hefting the sword above his head and leveling it. In one quick movement, he chopped the blade downward, causing a slight hissing sound as the sharp edge sliced through the air.
"Good," said Sir Bartlett, stroking the fluff of his red beard. "Now use both hands, lad."
Danny nodded and moved his right hand to the uppermost part of the hilt, gripping the bottommost part with his left. Once again, raising the sword above himself, he flashed the blue-tinged brand downward in a wicked arc.
Sir Bartlett stepped forward, a rather large smile forming upon his rough features as he placed a steadying hand on Danny's right shoulder. "Ya have a strong swing and decent technique, Squire Firoth," said the Dwarf. "Ya done well choosing dis here blade. From dis point on, she belongs ta ya."
"Thank you, Sir Bartlett," Danny said, sheathing his new sword with a subtle ring of steel, buckling the black leather scabbard around his waist. The weight of the blade at his side felt odd. However, there was a sense of confidence that accompanied the feeling.
Danny watched and waited as each squire went through Sir Bartlett's small practice session. Some passed, others were sent back to scavenge the armory for a better-fitted blade.
Matt chose a slender-bladed scimitar with a subtle curve, the hilt carved from ivory. Despite the limited bulk of his arms, he managed to wield the chosen sword with little difficulty.
Doug chose a broad-bladed shortsword with a wire-wrapped hilt. Heavier at the point, but light enough to wield without difficulty, he passed Sir Bartlett's challenge without problems.
Alonso went through several of Sir Bartlett's tests before deciding on a serrated-edged longsword. The golden hilt glittered in the soft torch light of the room.
Chris came before the Dwarf hefting a hand-and-a-half bastardsword over his shoulder, holding the leather-wrapped hilt steady in his hand despite its immense size. Unsurprising to Danny, Chris proved his prowess with the double-bladed sword during Sir Bartlett's test, handling the sizable sword with ease as he swung it downward in an overhead chop.
Anthony presented with the largest sword, a huge greatsword that nearly matched him in height. Gripping the two-handed hilt, he held the blade in front of him steadily, ready for the Dwarf's test. Swinging the heavy sword through a series of maneuvers, Anthony proved a worthy wielder of the blade despite the disbelieving expression upon Sir Bartlett's face.
Lastly, under Doug's watchful eyes, Briza selected a slender rapier, the blade long and petite as well as strong and quick, mimicking her own natural strengths. The group of squires gasped in awe as she put the sword through a battery of