"A Knight's Beginning"
"Ian, come in here."
Hearing the command, the young boy, who had been walking down the hall, turned and went into the room. He stopped in front of the older man sitting in the chair. "Sir," he addressed him.
"What do you want the most, Ian?"
"To fight, sir," he replied without a moment of hesitation.
"And what would you do to achieve this goal?"
"Anything honor will let me, sir." His hazel eyes remained fixed on the floor while he answered the questions.
"Very good, Ian. That is all that I wanted. You may go to your lessons now."
He left the study and continued down the hall. Walking into the room at the end of it, Ian saw one of his tutors standing beside his desk, waiting for him.
"You are late for your lesson."
"I am sorry, sir. Mister Irons wanted to speak with me."
The tutor nodded his head. "Now that you are here, we can get started."
*******
In his study, Kenneth Irons was contemplating his young charge. His answers had pleased the older man. Ian would soon be ready to be sent away to learn what it is that he was meant to be. "Not just yet though," Irons murmured to himself.
He stood up and paced over to the fireplace. He stared into it with his hands linked behind his back. After awhile, he turned away from it and walked over to his chair.
*******
Ian was in his room later that day when he heard a light knock on his door. He walked over to it and opened it, and a young boy stepped inside. He was about the same age as Ian, but that's where the comparisons stopped. They were as different as night and day. While Ian's hair and skin were dark, this boy's were light. He had light blond hair and green eyes. Ian was a couple of inches taller than him as well.
Their differences weren't just physical. Ian rarely lost his temper, but the other boy often did. He also always acted like he was superior to Ian.
"You are not studying your lessons, Ian."
"You are not my tutor, Luke."
"I told him I would make sure you were doing as you were told."
"No," he replied calmly. "You are doing this on your own behalf."
Before Luke Matthews could come back with a reply of his own, a shadow was thrown across the room. The two younger boys looked up and saw Kenneth Irons standing in the doorway. "Luke, what are you doing in here? Shouldn't you be studying your own lessons?"
"Yes, sir."
"Then get to them."
"Yes, sir," he said walking past him out of the room.
"Ian, shouldn't you be studying your own lessons?"
"I am finished, sir."
"Good."
"Did you want something, sir."
"No."
Ian wondered why he had come if he hadn't wanted something, but he knew better than to question Mister Irons. The older man left the room without another word.
*******
The next morning Ian went with his riding instructor to the stables. He walked to a stall where a young black Arabian stallion was sticking his head over the top of the lower door. He had a thin strip of white running down his head. He also had a small white sock on his left hind leg.
He was already tacked up, so Ian grabbed the reins and led him out of the stall. Once they got into the training arena, his instructor helped him into the saddle. He settled in the middle of the horse's back and took the reins in his hands once again.
"Just take him through his paces for now," the instructor told Ian.
He nodded, then lightly tapped the horse's sides with his heels starting him forward in a walk. They went smoothly into a trot, then to a canter, and finally a gallop. Then, they made their way back through them to a walk. Boy and horse came to a stop at the same spot where they had started. He looked at his trainer for further instructions.
"Now take him through the dressage movements."
Ian nodded, and they headed to the center of the arena. They started to go through the movements, but Ian's mind was not focused on the task. This had become routine to him, and he was bored with it.
The stallion, Gypsy's Dragon, threw his head up and lifted his front hooves from the ground. Ian almost slid from the saddle, but grabbed a handful of his mane and stayed on his back. Once he had the stallion calmed down, the instructor stormed over to them.
"What was that about, Ian?" He nearly screamed the question.
"I am sorry, sir. My mind was elsewhere."
The stallion was prancing around and pulling on the reins.
"Try it again. Keep your mind on what you are doing this time."
Ian turned his attention back to the horse. He asked him to move forward with his legs, but the stallion wouldn't behave. He would move the wrong way or not move at all. Finally, the instructor told him to stop.
"He's not going to cooperate now. Take him back to his stall, and we'll try again next time."
As soon as Ian was out of the arena, the trainer headed to the house.
*******
Ian walked Gypsy's Dragon around the yard outside of the stable to cool him off. Then, he led him back to his stall, untacked him, and brushed his sleek black coat. He was trying to find things to do to keep from having to go back up to the house knowing there would be trouble when he did. He had seen his instructor walking up to the house; he would be speaking to Irons now.
He put the brush away and slowly made his way up to the house. He would have to face him sometime. It might as well be now. When he got to the house, Ian tried to make it to his room without attracting attention, but it was useless. As he was slipping past Irons' study, he heard the older man call out, "Come in here, Ian."
His head lowered as he walked through the door. He kept his eyes on the floor, not wanting to see the anger he knew was in his master's face.
"Your riding instructor came to speak with me. He said your skills are not improving. That you don't seem to be interested in what you are doing."
"It is just the same thing over and over again."
The slap came out of nowhere snapping his head around. "Do not interrupt me."
"Sorry, sir," he replied as tears sprang to his eyes. This wasn't the first time it had happened, but it still hurt.
"If you don't take more interest in your lessons, you will never improve. You can do better, and I will not tolerate this. Now, get to your room and study your lessons until it is time for lunch."
"Yes, sir," he replied nodding his head and backing out of the room. He hurried to his room and shut the door behind him.
*******
After eating lunch in strained silence, Ian went through his day the same as he always did. He made sure to stay focused on his lessons. They ate dinner in silence, then he went up to his room and awhile later went to sleep.
The next morning Ian walked downstairs and felt that something was different. The front door was standing open, so he crept over to it and peeked around the corner. Irons was standing on the porch looking down the drive. He turned his head when he heard the boy's footsteps.
Ian's gaze went to the floor. "What is happening, sir?"
"Luke Matthews has left us, Ian."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"The priest that brought him here just came to take him away so he can learn his vocation. Just like you will one day, Ian."
The young boy's eyes lit up. "When will I learn to fight?"
"Soon, my boy. But not yet."
An hour later Ian headed to the stable. When he got to Gypsy's Dragon's stall, the stallion was tossing his head around. He let himself into the stall and tried to calm the horse, but it was no use. He finally gave it up and started to put his tack on. The horse wouldn't stand still for it though. He sidestepped as Ian tried to lift the saddle onto his back. It took him more than a half hour, but he was finally ready to go to the arena.
He led Gypsy's Dragon to the entrance, then mounted. His instructor was waiting for them. "Let's get started."
Ian nodded his head and started to do as he told him. Gypsy's Dragon had other ideas, however. First, he reared up on his hind legs. Then, he took the bit in his teeth and raced across the arena, turning just in time to avoid hitting the wall. Ian couldn't pull him up or even slow him; all he could do was to hang on for the duration on the ride.
Finally, the stallion tired himself out, and after several bucks, he stopped and stood still in the middle of the arena. His coat was white with sweat, and his sides were heaving from the exertion. Ian slid from the saddle as his instructor stormed over to them.
"What was that about?" He demanded to know.
"I don't know, sir."
Seeing that the boy was upset, he took a deep breath to calm down. "I will have to talk to Mister Irons about this. Take care of him."
"Please don't, sir."
"Just go take care of your horse."
Ian led the horse outside and walked him around the yard. Once he was cooled off, he led him back into the stable. An hour later he headed up to the house. As soon as the front door closed behind him, the young boy saw Irons step out of his study. His face was as calm as usual, but his eyes were livid. "Come in here, Ian," he ordered the boy.
He did as he was told and stood in the middle of the room. Irons slammed the door behind him as he entered the room. Pacing over to the window, he stared outside for more than a minute. This whole time Ian stood fidgeting in the center of the room.
The older man walked over to the fireplace and watched as a log fell, sending up sparks. Ian flinched as he saw a spark fall onto the floor. Irons quickly stepped on it. Then, he picked up one of the tools and scooped some hot embers from the fire. Walking over to Ian, he said, "Hold out your hands."
He hesitated, but after a moment he reluctantly did it. Irons dropped the hot coals into the boy's hands. He clenched his jaw, but showed no other outward sign of pain. The coals were burning his hands, and he wanted to drop them. He knew, however, that if he did, he would be punished even more.
After five minutes of this, the embers were cooling off. "You may drop them now."
Ian sighed as the hot objects left his hands. "It wasn't my fault, sir," he said in almost a whisper.
His head snapped around, and there was a red mark on his left cheek.
"I did not ask if it was. Now be silent until I ask for you to speak."
"I am sorry, sir."
"I told you that you must stay focused on your lessons. And you couldn't even control the horse. What do you think I should do?"
"I don't know, sir."
"Well, I do. I will get rid of that horse. And you will concentrate on your other lessons."
"No, sir. You can't." His head had come up, and his eyes were filled with panic. The next blow sent it back to its former position.
"Do not interrupt me. I will not tolerate it." His face had gone white with anger. Once he got it back under control, he continued. "That horse has become dangerous. He could have killed you today. I will not let that happen again."
"I won't let you do this," he said with more courage than he felt.
Irons grabbed a handful of Ian's hair and pulled his head back. "You have no choice in the matter," he told him as the handle of the fireplace shovel hit the young boy in the stomach. He doubled over and fell to the floor. The older man nudged him with the toe of his shoe and said, "Get up and walk over to the wall. And remove your shirt."
He did as he was ordered knowing it was futile to resist. He knew what was about to happen. Irons walked over to a corner of the room. When he returned, he was carrying a whip. Ian put his hands against the wall and closed his eyes in preparation for the punishment he knew was coming.
The first blow didn't draw blood, but it did hurt. With each flick of Irons' wrist, the whip struck the young boy's unprotected back. After ten blows, blood was running down his back from several gashes. Fifteen minutes later, Irons finally lowered his arm.
Ian's back was covered with blood. He now slid to the floor and lay there, not moving. The older man walked to the door and called down the hall, "Doctor Immo, come in here."
When the doctor arrived, he saw Ian laying on the floor. He looked at Irons with a look of shock on his face. "What happened?"
"Take him to the infirmary," he said, not answering the question. "And take care of his wounds."
He nodded his head and walked over to the boy. Gathering him up in his arms, he carried him out of the room and down the hallway. He laid him out on the bed and started to ten to his injuries. After washing the blood off of his back, he put some ointment on the gashes and bandaged them. Then, he did the same with the boy's hands. Immo gave him something to make him slightly more comfortable, then left the room.
*******
Ian slept off and on alternately for two days. During that time, he had rolled over onto his back. When he woke, he started to sit up in bed. The pain that spread across his back caused him to lower himself back down onto the bed. The events of the other day came back to him, and he groaned from the memory. He laid still until the doctor came in. Then, he only turned his head to the side.
Immo smiled when he saw that the young boy was finally awake. "Glad you are still with us, young Nottingham."
Ian struggled to sit up again, but it was useless. The pain was too much for him. The doctor reached out a hand and placed it on his shoulder. "Just lie still. You're going to open your wounds again."
He did as he was told, and Immo started to unwrap the bandages from his hands. They were covered with blisters and both of them winced at the sight. The doctor applied more ointment and wrapped them with clean bandages. Then he told Ian, "I have to turn you over so I can look at your back."
The boy nodded his head solemnly. When the doctor was finished, he said, "It will be at least a week before you can move around at all. I'm going to go let Mister Irons know you're awake."
Ian just nodded. He closed his eyes as Immo left the room. When the two men entered five minutes later, they thought he was sleeping. "Thought you said he was awake."
"He was when I left. He must have fallen back to sleep while I was gone."
The young boy didn't want to open his eyes to let them know he could hear them.
"Why don't you wake him up then?"
"Because he needs his rest."
"Fine," he said, sounding irritated. "Just let me know when he wakes again."
"I will."
When Irons left, Ian's whole body relaxed. He hadn't even known it was tensed. After only a few minutes, he had fallen into a peaceful sleep.
*******
Two weeks later Ian was able to move around without causing too much pain. His hands were healing rapidly, and he could grip objects without trouble. A month after the beating, his back was nearly completely healed.
Six months later Irons called him into his study. "What do you know about the Witchblade, Ian?"
"Only a female may wield it, sir. It will give her powers she would not know otherwise."
"Good, Ian. I will control it or her one day."
"And how will you control the Witchblade?"
"In order to control the Witchblade, I must control the woman who wields it. And this woman must be tested, must be made to run a grueling gauntlet, and in so doing learn to use the Witchblade. The will must be tested; it must be measured. Tell me what you know of will, Nottingham."
"The will is the link between the soul and the universe."
"Well spoken, young Nottingham. And now the time has come for you to go abroad to learn your vocation. To explore your special gifts."