Swordmaster

Era of Opportunity

Leandyr rotated his wrist and grimaced at the jolt of pain that ran through his swollen forearm. Tendrils of hair dangled in front of his face, still wet from his bath. The water had washed away the blood and dirt, but not the shame. No, the shame still clung to his skin, a pungent stink that even the healing waters of Shifah couldn't wash away.

He had to make things right with Ridivan and Enver. But he would give them some space first. They last thing they probably wanted to see was his face.

With a sigh, he crossed to the lone window in his chamber. It stood taller than him, and was as wide as he could stretch his arms. The salty air rushed in as he threw it open, rustling the tapestries that hung on the walls.

Abydon stretched before him, a cascade of buildings sloping down to a glittering sea. People weaved through the streets like a colony of ants, carrying baskets of wares or herding livestock. Beyond all of it the white sails of merchant ships lined the coast, coming and going...

As they pleased. To places both nearby and far off. Places Leandyr had never seen. Places that held secrets he longed to know. Many times he'd gone down to the docks with naught but is sword with plans to hop on one of those vessels. To leave everything behind.

But he couldn't do it. Abydon had treated him well. The crown had treated him well. If he left, he would do so graciously – at the King's disposition.

Leandyr turned away from the window, his eyes tracking across the chamber. He had only a few simple furnishings – a bed, a chest for his belongings and a hand-woven throw rug. Along with those, there were two tapestries hanging on the curved stone walls. One such Tapestry was of Queen Zehra, and it was hung just above a mount for his sword.

He had stolen it from the castle's gallery years back and fixed a white mourning ribbon to its border. Now she watched over him, as she always had. Had she been with him in flesh, she would probably scold him for moving out of the lavish chamber she'd assigned to him when he'd first moved into the council.

Leandyr had abandoned it for a room high in the west tower, far removed from the others of high status within the castle. It was self-alienating, but people were less inclined to bother you if they had to climb an abundance of steps to do so.

An errant box was peeking from beneath his bed, and he walked over to pull it out. It was as long as he was tall, and crafted to double as a display case. Dust covered its once polished black surface, dulling the gildings at the corners. How long had it been since he last opened it? Fifty years?

Leandyr popped the latch and brilliant red velvet smiled at him from inside, as though it were thanking him for finally being able to breathe. Nestled inside was the Minstrel's Sorrow – a gift to him from the Abydon Queen. 

Former Abydon Queen, his mind corrected. He grimaced. She'd always be their Queen, even in death.

He ran his hand across the sheath's smooth surface, and the blade it covered hummed in response, like a purring cat. The power it emanated vibrated over his skin in a welcoming caress. His hand trailed over the cross guard, down the leather-wrapped grip to the pommel.

He'd never held it, never unsheathed it and never would. It was a fine sword; he was sure. The Queen would gift him nothing less, but he wouldn't taint her generosity with the blood of his enemies.

A knock on his chamber door cut through his thoughts. "Swordmaster, the King has requested your presence in the throne room." The feminine voice chimed through the walls like bells.

The temptation to stay quiet burned through him, curling his fists and grinding his teeth. "Now?" he asked in a whiny voice, like a petulant child.

"Yes sir. I've been asked to escort you."

"Lovely..." He closed the box and tucked it back under the bed, ensuring it was well out of sight. Then he opened his door to woman standing on the other side, hands clasped in front of her and head bowed.

She was dressed in the red and black livery of castle attendants, a simple sword strapped to her side. Her short mop of brown hair hid the rest of her face but there was something familiar about her. And, since she carried a sword, it meant she was probably his student at one point. One of those who didn't meet the requirements to join the Castle Guard.

"Lead the way, madam escort."

She gave a jerky nod and walked ahead of him down the winding steps of the tower. It would be a long way to the throne room. Plenty of time for Leandyr to think.

Their footfalls echoed of the stone walls as they wandered the halls of the castle. These walls know me better than I know myself, Leandyr thought. They'd heard his laughs of joy and screams of frustration. Seen his blood sweat and tears as he toiled day in and day out to turn himself into a living, breathing weapon, and watched over and protected him in the darkest of times.

These walls were his home away from home. They still would be when he was long gone, and should he ever return, they'd welcome him with warmth and protection. He took in their familiar sights – the paintings, the tapestries, the small alcoves here and there, and the windows that allowed the sun in to light them.

They passed the main foyer, where attendants, guards and scholars were back and forth about their business. From there, it wasn't long before they reached the high, red doors of the King's throne room. They were embossed with the symbol of the healing Goddess Shifah over a back drop of a pair of hands holding a sword.

Leandyr didn't waste any time announcing himself and threw both doors open like he owned the place.

Videlia's scowling visage was the first thing that greeted him as he walked into the room. Ayolus was in cape form on her shoulders like the dutiful accessory he was. "Shouldn't you be in chains?"

"Tsk, sorry darling," Leandyr purred. "I'm just not into that sort of thing." He turned his attention to the throne, and tried to ignore the murals of Abydon's heroes the graced the room's walls.

King Barish sat under a shower of sunshine from the skylight above, making the crown on his auburn head glow. The same one Leandyr had stolen the night before, but unlike him, it fit the king nicely. It complimented the chiseled aristocratic features, tawny skin and eyes the colour of mahogany.

Those eyes tracked Leandyr as he walked the red rug that ran the length of the room. For a moment, Leandyr's attention flickered to the women flanking the King. Three on each side they sat, and would probably be mistaken for life-like statues by a stranger.

Their stoic, painted faces and relaxed posture betrayed nothing, but their hands always rested on their daggers. Each wore pristine white regalia swathed with the traditional red and gold of Abydon. The only thing that set them apart from one another was the varying colours of their capes.

The Yilmaz, they were called. A group of elite magicians that served as the King's personal guard. And Leandyr's hate for them burned hot enough to melt steel. The disgust he felt in their presence churned his stomach and made him want to retch. For all their amazing talent and earth-shattering prowess hadn't been enough to save the Queen.

I wasn't enough either, Leandyr reminded himself. But it wasn't his job to be.

"Swordmaster," King Barish drawled.

"My King." Leandyr dropped to one knee and planted a fist against the soft carpet. "To what do I owe the honour of your summons."

The King gave a dismissive wave, the gaudy rings on his fingers winking. "Skip the formalities Leandyr. You know why you're here." He rapped his fingertips on the armrest of his throne, the sound echoing through the room like falling hail. "Last night I was awoken to the news that you had stolen some things of mine."

Leandyr grimaced. "And you sent your attack dogs after me."

"No," Barish corrected. "I went back to sleep. Only to be awoken again when you jumped into the Serpent's Strait. What were you thinking?"

He shrugged a shoulder and stood. "I was thinking I fancied a swim. Are we going to continue to dance around the real issue here?"

There was a beat of silence where the air grew frigid between them, but the King broke it before Leandyr could. "You're trying to invoke my ire. Trying to sway my hand. So that I can release you to frolic across Magika as you please." His voice was so flat, he may as well had been reading a supply list. "Any other King may have mistaken your stunt last night as a play for power."

"Well, I thank the goddess that you're not any other King." Leandyr imagined that any treasonous actions on his part would be met with the full force of the Yilmaz. The thought made his heart quicken with exhilaration. Six elite magicians and their six elite capes versus one Swordmaster.

The thought of slamming their pretty painted faces into a wall filled him with a delight that made his soul dance. They deserved no less.

Barish sighed through his nose, his eyes becoming distant. "Has Abydon not been good to you, Leandyr? Here, you are a hero, the formidable swordsman who fought valiantly against our enemies." He looked towards the mural of Leandyr on the north wall.

But Leandyr didn't follow his gaze. The blood and souls of eight hundred immortals had earned him the honour, but his feat all those years ago wasn't one of bravery or patriotism. Only vengeance, raw and unabated, had driven him to take the lives of so many.

"There are others who would kill for what you have." Barish continued. "Power, position, deadly prowess and the trust of your king."

Leandyr scoffed. "Tell them they need not kill. They can have it."

"And when you're gone, who will be my Swordmaster, train my soldiers? My Yilmaz?"

The Yilmaz can rot. He bit his tongue before the words could come out. "Videlia can do it."

The King arched an auburn brow, his eyes shifting to the person in question. "She bears a whip."

"She knows just as much about a sword as I do. She doesn't wield one because she cannot stomach being second best."

"That is not true!" Videlia lamented from behind him, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

The King fell silent once more, drumming his fingers on the armrest. His eyes seemed to be trained on a spot behind Leandyr, or on some distant place that only he could see. "How much do you know of the Hiroh clan, Swordmaster?"

Leandyr didn't let the shock that shook him leak into his features. "They were disciples the gods. Kindhearted, elite, they were even better than your Yilmaz. They met their demise over a hundred years ago."

"Indeed." Barish rose from his throne and walked forward with hands tucked behind his back. "It was said that they drank the blood of the gods to attain their incredible power. Even though their leader and I were on good terms, he never divulged any of their secrets."

Leandyr eyed his King carefully, unease churning his stomach.

"There have been murmurings that one of them has surfaced somewhere in this region. T'would be an honour to have a Hiroh in Abydon again." He placed one hand on Leandyr's shoulder and leaned in close. "So I will grant you this boon, Swordmaster. Get to the bottom of these murmurings. If you find them to be true, ask the Hiroh to make a formal visit to Abydon."

Leandyr gave a single nod, but felt a cold sweat break out on his skin.

"Do this for me, and I will grant you leave from my service." The King must have seen disquiet in his face because he frowned. "If you're no longer happy here, then I have no right to keep you." He lowered his voice so that only Leandyr could hear. "I have no doubt in my mind you will find her."

Leandyr's blood ran cold, but he took a breath and nodded again. "As you wish, my King." He gave an exaggerated bow and turned, taking measured steps out of the throne room. The doors boom shut behind him, the sound reverberating through his bones.

A bitterness was left in his mouth and a sourness made his stomach churn – like he'd been poisoned. He let his feet carry him wherever they wanted to go, focusing on the sound of his boots against the stone.

Leandyr cursed the unease that had settled upon him. No, Barish wouldn't mean any harm to Ayzel, would he? He was known for being a kind and gentle King, a servant to his people. There was no way he would...

I have no doubt in my mind you will find her.

Her.

Leandyr raked a hand through his hair. Barish, what in damnation are you up to?