The Journal of Renault, Bishop of Valor
Chapter 3
So I apologize for the large delay in between chapters. I got sick from the flu about a few days after I posted the last chapter and was out of commission for about a week, plus with the coronavirus pandemic and a whole bunch of other personal stuff still up in the air I've been working my butt off at my day job (well technically afternoon job since I'm second shift) to get the extra money for an apartment. Luckily I've had time to plan the next few chapters so stay tuned for those and until then don't forget to rate and review this series for more!
I felt a hand grasp lightly onto my shoulder. I turned around swiftly and found Briar as the origin of the hand. Realizing that he had caught my attention, he removed it from my shoulder and spoke softly to me, "Your swings are too jagged. Try adjusting your grip on the handle so that your hand is closer to the crossguard, and try to put a little more flick in your swings."
"I don't see what's wrong with the way I swing. Every time I've held a sword I've always swung it this way," I replied half-sheepishly. It felt embarrassing being a mercenary but still having to be taught by someone I didn't know how to use a sword correctly, even if I was still a little rusty. And was I truly in the right to ask such a question? Nevertheless, he didn't bat an eye.
"Fighters have all sorts of ways that they hold their weapons, but those who have trained themselves to hold it the right way are more successful. While your way is good for something like a short sword or a dagger, if you were to wield that sword like that in battle, it would take about a swing or two to knock it from your hand. And if that happens you won't have much time to grab it before you get your ass kicked." He paused. "Now try what I have taught you. Take your left hand and grasp the handle firmly under the crossguard."
Left hand under the crossguard, check.
"Now with your right hand grasp firmly just above the hilt."
Right hand above the hilt, check.
"Focus on the target in front of you."
Target focused in front of me.
"And swing."
I swung the sword downward and with a mighty CLUNK, the blade found itself nestled into a groove that it created. I pulled the sword back up and looked back at Briar, who nodded in approval. "There you have it," he said. "A perfect swing. One accurate, fluid motion. No hesitation, no shakiness, just pure force."
"I still feel more comfortable handling this sword with one hand. It allows me just a little more freedom, you know?" I asked.
"I would worry more about your technique for now rather than your freedom of movement. Besides, there's no need to try and impress these other guys. Your swordplay is but party tricks to them. You'll thank me later."
I wasn't trying to impress anyone, I thought. If anything, I was more or less trying to impress and improve myself. I didn't care for what anyone else thought about my swordplay, not even Briar. If they thought it was good then it was good. If not, so be it. My goal was not appreciation, it was money.
"Alright men," called out our Captain. "Grab a bow and a quiver. It's time we see who amongst us is a deadeye and who is the lame duck of the group."
Archery practice. Great. I've never even shot a bow before, so now I knew that I was bound to make a fool of myself. Regardless, I stepped up to the bow rack and grabbed the only bow and quiver remaining. They were in pretty fair shape, but a few of the arrows in the quiver were a bit worse for wear. I noticed this and was prepared to bring them to Captain Cobalt when Briar stopped me and handed me a fresh bundle. "Here, take 'em," he whispered, ushering the arrows in my face. "I'll take the ones you have."
Having swapped projectiles, I lined up with the others in front of a row of targets and prepared an arrow. I took a deep breath and pulled it back on the string as far as I could. I raised the bow, aimed hard, and released. FWAP! My eyes widened. The arrow had pierced the target just a few inches below the bullseye. I couldn't believe that I had actually hit the target. Briar, who was to my left, leaned over and whispered in my ear, "Great shot Renault, but don't get too cocky. You get too cocky and those shots will start to fly all over the place. Just keep calm and collected, and try not to think about where the arrow will land." I just nodded and pretended I was listening as I prepped another arrow to fire. I took a deep breath and released the arrow, but this time the shot was far off from where I hit last time. I turned to see if Briar was going to make another snarky remark, but surprisingly he noticed nothing.
Surprisingly, the day came and went rather quickly and practice ended as the sun began to settle. While the other mercenaries left laughing and shoving each other, I stayed behind and sat on a hay bale parallel to one of the archery targets. I kept thinking the same thing over and over again in my head: "Maybe I'm not cut out for this kind of profession". Was I right to think that after just one day? Sure being a fighter isn't easy, but could it really be this hard? Even Briar made it look so easy, and he and I are around the same age and talent. Perhaps it's instinct? As these thoughts circulated in my mind I felt the hay bale shift a bit, and I turned to find Briar sitting next to me.
"You look lost," he chuckled. "Got something on your mind?"
I sighed. "Just exhausted," I fibbed. Briar shook his head, as if he was calling my bluff, and put a hand on my shoulder. He's pretty touchy-feely isn't he, I thought.
"You're upset because you feel like you didn't do good today, huh?"
I didn't answer.
"Let me tell you something, Renault. When I was young and in-training, my father would be the crap out of me if I made even one small mistake. And whenever I cried, he'd beat me even more. I thought he was a complete asshole, but as I grew I realized why he did it. He wanted me to act like a man, and he thought the only way to do that was to punish me for my mistakes, even the smallest ones. Eventually the tears stopped coming and the beatings were less frequent. My point is that the only way we can grow stronger is if we push ourselves to improve. I had to force myself to become a man to make my father proud, and in return my combat skills and maturity vastly improved. All you gotta do is bust your ass off day in and day out, push your limits, and soon you'll start to see improvement. Did you get all that?"
I nodded.
"I know I may come off as annoying or picky, but trust me when I say I DO want you to succeed. I just have a bad habit of giving tough love, you know?"
I'll admit, that last bit made me chuckle. "Yeah, sure thing," I said with a laugh.
Briar and I sat for a moment in silence before he decided to speak up again. "Tell you what," he grunted as he rose from his seat, "let's go to the tavern. I'll buy you a drink, hell I'll buy you two if you want."
"I definitely could use one after today," I chuckled as I stood.
The two of us left the base side-by-side, and at that moment I had realized something. I didn't just feel like we became best friends, nor just friends.
I feel like we became brothers.
The rain began to pour even harder the closer night came. I turned my head towards Nergal, who throughout the journey refused to make eye contact with me. He looked as though he was lost in thought, completely lifeless like a corpse but yet so alive. He didn't move an inch, even as the carriage rocked to the rhythm of the dirt path, which was slowly turning to wet mud. He finally snapped back to reality as the cart suddenly jerked forward and came to a halt. I peered out the side of the wagon to see what had happened and found one of the front wheels mired in a small ditch of mud. I turned back to Nergal, who didn't say a word.
"Master Nergal," I said, "one of the front wheels got-"
"Yes, yes, I'm well aware, boy," he interrupted.
"Are we not going to fix it?"
He looked at me coldly. "You mean are you going to fix it? I'm too old for this kind of manual labor, boy."
Having no choice but to fix it myself, I sighed and marched to the back of the caravan to grab the spare wheel. As I heaved the heavy object out of the back, a crack of lightning crashed into the muddy earth with a roaring BOOM! I stumbled backwards and fell into a puddle of muck, dropping the wheel as I fell. Nergal, impatient with my antics, snapped at me to hurry up. I rose to my feet, groaning at the fact that my clothes were stained with mud and grass, picked up the spare wheel and got to work. In almost no time at all, I managed to get the dud wheel replaced with the spare and we began again. I was still annoyed by the state of my attire, but I said nothing in the fear that I would bother Master Nergal.
The rest of the jaunt didn't last that much longer, and soon we were at our destination: a cottage on the outskirts of the city of Reglay, shrouded by a thick blanket of trees and ominously quiet save for the pattering rain. The hill leading up to it was at a sharp incline and, in this weather, too dangerous to try and bring the carriage up without slipping and sliding. Nergal snapped out of his trance and began to dig at the inside of his cloak, soon producing a small dagger that looked almost new in appearance and sharp to the touch. At first I was confused by his attempts to gesture it into my hand, but I soon realized what he was getting at.
"You...you want me to kill him?" I gulped. Surely he's joking, I thought. Mercenary work was one thing, but this was murder! Killing an actual human being for all the wrong reasons...I couldn't. I would never! This was absurd! I wanted to run, I wanted to refuse, but for some reason his gaze prevented me from resisting.
"You must. You have no other choice. You agreed to assist me in my work, and so you are bound to my orders," Nergal growled, putting the weapon in my hand.
"But Master Nergal-"
"Keep your voice down fool!" he hissed silently.
"But Master Nergal," I whispered, "is this even right? Killing bandits is one thing, but murder...I can't go to those extremes."
"So you refuse?"
"Yes. I cannot, I will not, carry out this order."
Nergal did not flinch. Instead, his lips curled into a smirk as he said "I understand, my dear boy" before pressing two fingers to my forehead. A small light emitted from his fingertips and suddenly a freezing sensation pierced my head, like sharp cold icicles digging into the depths of my brain. It stung horribly. "I understand that you are a foolish young pup who needs to listen to his master when he gives orders," Nergal finished. I tried to pry myself away from him, but I couldn't move. I felt paralyzed by his magic, unable to find the will to move. I tried to yell, but nothing came out. I was frozen, physically and mentally. Then, the bitter cold feeling inside my head turned blazing hot and a walm, velvety feeling coated my body. My tensed muscles began to relax, and my will faded.
"Now you listen to me, boy," he spoke to my hypnotized vassal as he showed me a rough picture of the target, "this is the man you must kill. He is an enemy to me, to this nation, and to this world. Once you have killed him, we shall take his quintessence and head back to base. Should we succeed without any interruptions, I will be able to return your friend to life. Understood?"
"Yes Master Nergal" were the only words that came out of my mouth, despite the fact that on the inside I kept shouting at myself to snap out his trance. My consciousness kept slamming at the walls of Nergal's magic without much success. As a matter of fact, every time I tried to fight back I was pushed further and further away. To try and regain my own will was a losing battle.
Even my body, which at one point followed my orders, was now working against me. I could feel my legs moving on their own, eyes beginning to seethe with hate, as we approached the lone cabin. The grip on the knife in my hand grew tighter. The urge to break free grew weaker. And soon enough, the door stood in front of me. Nergal hid around the corner of the doorway, smirking with victory as I knocked three times. There were a few soft voices, a set of footsteps, and the sound of the doorknob turning. The door swung open to reveal a middle-aged dressed in nightwear. He looked at me in frustration.
"Eh? Who in the blazes are you?" he barked. Without hesitation, I drove the dagger in my hand into his chest at full speed. I watched as his eyes widened and he stumbled backwards, the color from his face slowly draining. I heard the shrill cry of terror from his wife as the man slumped to the floor, collapsing and breathing heavily in a pool of his own blood. I turned my gaze to the child. He did not move at the sight of my crime, but was instead frozen in pure shock and fear. I began advancing towards them, sheer hate in my eyes, but Nergal pulled me back.
"That's enough," he said, the same wretched smirk plastered on his face. He slinked towards the man on the floor, chuckling to himself, and knelt down beside him.
"You...blackheart…" the man groaned forcefully. Nergal ignored him and placed a hand over his heart. A dull light shimmered and an ethereal string of aura traveled out of the man. His breath became more labored until at last, it ceased. The woman screamed again and Nergal, annoyed with her, raised a finger towards her. Another light, this one brighter than the last, shined from his fingertip and both the woman and child fell into a deep slumber. Satisfied, Nergal turned the other way and began to walk out the door. "Come," he said to me. I could feel my legs moving on their own again towards the carriage. As we sat back down and began to ride back home, Nergal snapped his fingers and I came to my senses. I saw his mouth curled into a coy smile, and that's when I looked down to see my hands coated in fresh blood. That's when I realized what I've done.
I've just committed a murder.
Stay tuned for the next part! Hopefully this damn coronavirus pandemic doesn't stunt my writing activities so I can get the next couple of chapters done ASAP.