Rough draft of Book Five - Forging of a Knight, Knighthood's End, is complete!
Well, 419 pages in and it's done! At least - the rough version is. Now it's time for a couple of re-reads, polish, and then its off to Erin the editor for the official run-through. My left eye can hopefully stop squinting now...
Below is a small preview - Qualtan a villain? A traitor to his knightly Order? His fellow knights Euric and Bartholomew, the King, and his Master Knight, Lord Mountebank, forced to turn against him? Yep, yep, and yep! Why? Well, that's to be continued...
“Open it.” Qualtan repeated.
Sighing, Lord Mountebank removed a key that was always held on his person. The wheels of the door spun and clanked. With a loud hiss, the door unsealed, unfurling like an opened flower. A stone chamber lay beyond. They entered, and the door closed just as quickly behind them. The room was plain and simple, save for the statues of the Arch Mages that surrounded it, and for a large metal pillar nestled in its center. There was a glowing orb that sat above it, half-shielded by a metal visor that curled protectively around its shape. Posts were fitted with flags from the three Alliance nations, and weapons from each adorned the walls. Capped holes along the lower walls kept safe the many transcripts taken within the room. Shelves of crowded journals and wormy books reached high towards a ceiling which passed beyond many levels, accessible by long trailing ladders that clung to metal rails. Qualtan had never seen the interior of the Chamber before and was astonished by its vastness.
Lord Mountebank noted his reaction. “There is much history here, from the first days of the Alliance to the end of the Great War. Your uncle had this place fashioned by dwarves, and it still carries their magic. Look there.” The general pointed to the metal plugs that dotted the walls.
“Do you see those? They are arranged by banner, to reflect all the conversations taken between the Kings, their generals, and the Arch-Mages under each. Talk of battles, our strategies, even the plans for Reconstruction, after the War was over. This room had seen much use back in those days.”
There was one banner that was not from those of the Alliance. It held the image of a shrieking griffon flying over a gentle cloud.
“That shows the mark of Hermstingle, the nation of the high elves!”
“Of course. They were our allies, and their King a closer one to your uncle. Their ruler, Lord Veltrus, aided in your sword’s creation, did he not?”
“He did.”
“His Kind were given this special privilege, separate from the rest. There are notes here, too, from your father.”
“My father?!”
“Yes. Will you allow me to show them to you?”
Qualtan thought for a moment, his grip reflexively growing tighter.
“I mean you no betrayal. I am your prisoner here, after all.” Lord Mountebank reminded him.
With a quick shove, Qualtan released him. Slightly taken aback by his treatment, the general re-ordered his vest and cloak before continuing.
“Look here.”
Lord Mountebank motioned to one of the sealed plugs beneath the Turinthian banner. Using certain motions, he pulled one loose.
“There were many battles your father led for us. He communicated through this Chamber’s use when he traveled with your uncle. Here are some of them. Some are responses in the King’s hand, others are in mine, but a few were written by him, sent back to be stored in his honor.” Lord Mountebank showed the papers to the knight. Qualtan was amazed. His uncle had kept many of his father’s notes and belongings from their various missions, and the First Knight had learned much from the rulers of Hermstingle when he had chance to visit there, but this was something new. The letters made only routine mention; of morale, supplies, the length of travel, and the losses of war, but then Qualtan saw it. A note sent from his father to the King, a statement of thanks, for congratulations given prior to his final mission with Aurelus and Lord Greythorne, his companions at the time. The statement acknowledged the well-wishes he had received for the pregnancy of his wife and the hoped-for birth of a son:
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for the words of kindness received during our last conversation with my brother Aurelus. My heart is indeed lifted, that in such a time as this, when war still burdens the land, that a miracle of life, the magic of female birth, has arisen to bring back my faith that our work shall soon be done. Aurelus tells me it will be a son, and I trust in his magic to know. I send now to this child my love, a message of the soul that I hope he will hear, so far away is he from me, safe within my wife’s belly, protected from this war. Our last mission is soon upon us, and we travel to the lair of Thorngagg. We shall put him to an end, and the power of the Evil Ones, Those That Stand in Shadow, will be surrendered at last. Only Shaz and his lone remaining captain shall remain, and that captain has long since fled. By the time this letter reaches you, our work will have been done and we shall be on our way to returning home. The work of the Alliance has been done, and our futures have been saved. I have plans for my little one, for he will surely follow in my footsteps. Better times are upon us, and the honor of our roles will return. My wife has already picked out a name for him, and I will speak it to him when I arrive. Aurelus assures me his powers will be like mine, absorbed through the magic given my blood, and he will thus serve as I have, when the world is right again. Knighthood will make better sense then than it does now. It is only for that, when the rain of blood has washed away, that I would hope for him to become a knight; never at a time such as this. Hail to your leadership and the honor of the Alliance, King Prelance, and hail to you, Qualtan my son, as your father returns wearily but with final victory.” - Eucradus
Qualtan could not believe the treasure that was now in his hands. His father would indeed be sent additional word of the birth of a son, born during the winter season. That, Aurelus had told the First Knight, had given his father the strength to pursue their last battle, reaching the hidden lair of Thorngagg, but it was to be a bittersweet victory, for his father never returned home to greet his child. Now, that first salute and welcome from his father had at long last been received. Qualtan’s eyes grew soft, and with the image of his father now in his mind, all the voices of guilt and suspicion that still lay within him reached out for one final attempt.
“My father.” Qualtan said with trembling voice.
“Yes. That was him. Does your mind clear at last? Think of what he would have said. Do you realize the danger of your present position? I can forgive this attack on my person, if you so admit it, but you must be placed in immediate confinement until this curse of yours is gone, in order to save you.”
Lord Mountebank had intentionally chosen that letter, knowing full well how the knight would react. He stepped carefully away from him, eyeing the Chamber door. Even Qualtan’s strength could not damage it, and his sword would take too long to break free – enough time to gather up a suitable force to stop this madness once and for all.
The voices were forced back.
“I do not need to be saved. I know what I do. Contact the Arch-Mages.”
Qualtan continued to stare at the letter. Lord Mountebank had backed himself near the door. In a moment he could open it, and then…
Qualtan suddenly looked up and saw what the general was about to do.
Lord Mountebank reached for the door. He was fast, but Qualtan was faster. The First Knight hurled his dagger towards the door. It whizzed past the general’s face, forcing him to fall back.
“You are not leaving yet.”
Quickly, the general spied a sword from the weapons ornamenting the walls and removed it.
“She has made you into a traitor! She will use you to get at your uncle next! You have been a tool of her’s ever since you first met! Bring your mind back, before you go too far!”
Qualtan placed the letter into his belt. “I have already gone too far. You refuse to believe me. You refuse to listen.”
Lord Mountebank cursed. He pointed his sword at the knight.
“Look at yourself, man! You have forced your way here, with me!”
Qualtan calmly resealed the plug. He faced the general. “I do not wish to fight you. You are my Master Knight. Please, just listen to me!”
The scar on Lord Mountebank’s face added a deeper crevice to his frown. “It is too late for that. I will not summon your wizards to you. Your Mah-Zakim has failed. I refuse!”
“Then I will force you to.” Qualtan said softly, unsheathing his blade. It was a dream, a nightmare, all of it, he thought. Perhaps he was not even in this place, but somewhere else, imagining it. How could it be real?
His footsteps sounded on the cold floor as he advanced. Lord Mountebank readied his sword, jabbing and thrusting into the air. He uttered his final words of warning.
“Qualtan, if you strike me, if you dare to raise your blade against me, it matters not that you are under her spell. You will no longer be the First Knight, and I will defend myself as I must, even if I must kill you. Raise your sword and all you have achieved will be at an end. You give everything you have ever done, every honor you have ever received, to the Mah-Zakim. Do you understand?”
“I do.” Qualtan responded, accepting what was to take place at last.
With a cry of battle, the two knights attacked.
Below is a small preview - Qualtan a villain? A traitor to his knightly Order? His fellow knights Euric and Bartholomew, the King, and his Master Knight, Lord Mountebank, forced to turn against him? Yep, yep, and yep! Why? Well, that's to be continued...
“Open it.” Qualtan repeated.
Sighing, Lord Mountebank removed a key that was always held on his person. The wheels of the door spun and clanked. With a loud hiss, the door unsealed, unfurling like an opened flower. A stone chamber lay beyond. They entered, and the door closed just as quickly behind them. The room was plain and simple, save for the statues of the Arch Mages that surrounded it, and for a large metal pillar nestled in its center. There was a glowing orb that sat above it, half-shielded by a metal visor that curled protectively around its shape. Posts were fitted with flags from the three Alliance nations, and weapons from each adorned the walls. Capped holes along the lower walls kept safe the many transcripts taken within the room. Shelves of crowded journals and wormy books reached high towards a ceiling which passed beyond many levels, accessible by long trailing ladders that clung to metal rails. Qualtan had never seen the interior of the Chamber before and was astonished by its vastness.
Lord Mountebank noted his reaction. “There is much history here, from the first days of the Alliance to the end of the Great War. Your uncle had this place fashioned by dwarves, and it still carries their magic. Look there.” The general pointed to the metal plugs that dotted the walls.
“Do you see those? They are arranged by banner, to reflect all the conversations taken between the Kings, their generals, and the Arch-Mages under each. Talk of battles, our strategies, even the plans for Reconstruction, after the War was over. This room had seen much use back in those days.”
There was one banner that was not from those of the Alliance. It held the image of a shrieking griffon flying over a gentle cloud.
“That shows the mark of Hermstingle, the nation of the high elves!”
“Of course. They were our allies, and their King a closer one to your uncle. Their ruler, Lord Veltrus, aided in your sword’s creation, did he not?”
“He did.”
“His Kind were given this special privilege, separate from the rest. There are notes here, too, from your father.”
“My father?!”
“Yes. Will you allow me to show them to you?”
Qualtan thought for a moment, his grip reflexively growing tighter.
“I mean you no betrayal. I am your prisoner here, after all.” Lord Mountebank reminded him.
With a quick shove, Qualtan released him. Slightly taken aback by his treatment, the general re-ordered his vest and cloak before continuing.
“Look here.”
Lord Mountebank motioned to one of the sealed plugs beneath the Turinthian banner. Using certain motions, he pulled one loose.
“There were many battles your father led for us. He communicated through this Chamber’s use when he traveled with your uncle. Here are some of them. Some are responses in the King’s hand, others are in mine, but a few were written by him, sent back to be stored in his honor.” Lord Mountebank showed the papers to the knight. Qualtan was amazed. His uncle had kept many of his father’s notes and belongings from their various missions, and the First Knight had learned much from the rulers of Hermstingle when he had chance to visit there, but this was something new. The letters made only routine mention; of morale, supplies, the length of travel, and the losses of war, but then Qualtan saw it. A note sent from his father to the King, a statement of thanks, for congratulations given prior to his final mission with Aurelus and Lord Greythorne, his companions at the time. The statement acknowledged the well-wishes he had received for the pregnancy of his wife and the hoped-for birth of a son:
“Thank you, Your Majesty, for the words of kindness received during our last conversation with my brother Aurelus. My heart is indeed lifted, that in such a time as this, when war still burdens the land, that a miracle of life, the magic of female birth, has arisen to bring back my faith that our work shall soon be done. Aurelus tells me it will be a son, and I trust in his magic to know. I send now to this child my love, a message of the soul that I hope he will hear, so far away is he from me, safe within my wife’s belly, protected from this war. Our last mission is soon upon us, and we travel to the lair of Thorngagg. We shall put him to an end, and the power of the Evil Ones, Those That Stand in Shadow, will be surrendered at last. Only Shaz and his lone remaining captain shall remain, and that captain has long since fled. By the time this letter reaches you, our work will have been done and we shall be on our way to returning home. The work of the Alliance has been done, and our futures have been saved. I have plans for my little one, for he will surely follow in my footsteps. Better times are upon us, and the honor of our roles will return. My wife has already picked out a name for him, and I will speak it to him when I arrive. Aurelus assures me his powers will be like mine, absorbed through the magic given my blood, and he will thus serve as I have, when the world is right again. Knighthood will make better sense then than it does now. It is only for that, when the rain of blood has washed away, that I would hope for him to become a knight; never at a time such as this. Hail to your leadership and the honor of the Alliance, King Prelance, and hail to you, Qualtan my son, as your father returns wearily but with final victory.” - Eucradus
Qualtan could not believe the treasure that was now in his hands. His father would indeed be sent additional word of the birth of a son, born during the winter season. That, Aurelus had told the First Knight, had given his father the strength to pursue their last battle, reaching the hidden lair of Thorngagg, but it was to be a bittersweet victory, for his father never returned home to greet his child. Now, that first salute and welcome from his father had at long last been received. Qualtan’s eyes grew soft, and with the image of his father now in his mind, all the voices of guilt and suspicion that still lay within him reached out for one final attempt.
“My father.” Qualtan said with trembling voice.
“Yes. That was him. Does your mind clear at last? Think of what he would have said. Do you realize the danger of your present position? I can forgive this attack on my person, if you so admit it, but you must be placed in immediate confinement until this curse of yours is gone, in order to save you.”
Lord Mountebank had intentionally chosen that letter, knowing full well how the knight would react. He stepped carefully away from him, eyeing the Chamber door. Even Qualtan’s strength could not damage it, and his sword would take too long to break free – enough time to gather up a suitable force to stop this madness once and for all.
The voices were forced back.
“I do not need to be saved. I know what I do. Contact the Arch-Mages.”
Qualtan continued to stare at the letter. Lord Mountebank had backed himself near the door. In a moment he could open it, and then…
Qualtan suddenly looked up and saw what the general was about to do.
Lord Mountebank reached for the door. He was fast, but Qualtan was faster. The First Knight hurled his dagger towards the door. It whizzed past the general’s face, forcing him to fall back.
“You are not leaving yet.”
Quickly, the general spied a sword from the weapons ornamenting the walls and removed it.
“She has made you into a traitor! She will use you to get at your uncle next! You have been a tool of her’s ever since you first met! Bring your mind back, before you go too far!”
Qualtan placed the letter into his belt. “I have already gone too far. You refuse to believe me. You refuse to listen.”
Lord Mountebank cursed. He pointed his sword at the knight.
“Look at yourself, man! You have forced your way here, with me!”
Qualtan calmly resealed the plug. He faced the general. “I do not wish to fight you. You are my Master Knight. Please, just listen to me!”
The scar on Lord Mountebank’s face added a deeper crevice to his frown. “It is too late for that. I will not summon your wizards to you. Your Mah-Zakim has failed. I refuse!”
“Then I will force you to.” Qualtan said softly, unsheathing his blade. It was a dream, a nightmare, all of it, he thought. Perhaps he was not even in this place, but somewhere else, imagining it. How could it be real?
His footsteps sounded on the cold floor as he advanced. Lord Mountebank readied his sword, jabbing and thrusting into the air. He uttered his final words of warning.
“Qualtan, if you strike me, if you dare to raise your blade against me, it matters not that you are under her spell. You will no longer be the First Knight, and I will defend myself as I must, even if I must kill you. Raise your sword and all you have achieved will be at an end. You give everything you have ever done, every honor you have ever received, to the Mah-Zakim. Do you understand?”
“I do.” Qualtan responded, accepting what was to take place at last.
With a cry of battle, the two knights attacked.
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