Chapter Two: The Manos Blade
The last of the students had left for the night, leaving Merthisan Kendari to straighten up the practice area. The Kendari School was his pride his joy. The stone building had once been an unpretentious manor owned by a minor aristocrat, with two tower-like structures to the front, and the remaining architecture laid out in simplistic boxed design. Reminiscent of a small Imperial fortress, the walls were of gray stone with much the same for floors. Within some of the rooms, the previous tenants had made livable by adding wood paneling or traditional plaster and timber. Otherwise the school was stark but functional.
After a small fire, the place had been abandoned. When Kendari was looking for locations to start his school, this place was affordable due to the tremendous amount of work needed to make it livable. In the beginning, there was an endless amount of work and luck to establishing the school. Where once there was a stable, now a spacious practice area was padded with burlap and lined with benches. The rest of the modest estate comprised a large kitchen, storage areas, a few sparse rooms, and what could be described as an office.
Scratching the days' growth of graying beard on his chin, Merthisan found himself staring at a reflection on one of the shields. He'd been a handsome man once, but age was wearing hard on his visage. Lines now creased his brow, crinkled near eyes every time he laughed. Hair that was long enough to touch shoulders had long since gone gray, matching the white beard on his upper lip and chin. He noticed the blue eyes never lost their sparkle however, and oddly enough the brows remained the original brown as his hair and beard once was. No sir, he was old now, and there was no denying age was upon him. He'd given up a life with family in order to travel the world and become a hero. He'd taken an oath to protect the weak, defend against evil, and uphold honor and righteousness. Rarely were times he wondered if he made the right choice. For all that he'd given up, he now had the academy to show for those sacrifices.
Replacing the wooden practice swords to the shelves, Merthisan found shoulders tense. The sensation of being watched was strong, and he found his movements slow as he tried to discern why he felt eyes upon him. This of course was impossible being that nearly everyone was gone for the night. Students left at sunset, servants soon after. The school was empty, locked up tight, and only he remained.
His eyes darted up to the high walls of the practice room to see nothing but the shadows. There were a number of rafters above and a narrow walkway surrounding the room he used to reach the tapestries that donned the upper walls. There were no ladders or stacked boxes to reach that height. Only someone coming up to the stairwell could reach that area. Nonetheless, Merthisan couldn't help but feel for the past week or so, a sense that someone or something watched the school at night. Perhaps it was some animal that had made its home in the rafters of the practice room, such as a bat or an owl?
Shaking off the unsettling feeling, he still had to fill out the day's entry in the ledger. Heading upstairs to his office, he pondered on what other chores he'd try to accomplish this night before heading to bed. All was quiet in his modest school. This time of the night gave the sword master the time to sort through some of the wretched paperwork he dreaded to undertake. There were four main rooms on the second floor of the school; two being for storage and the one of the rooms was kept for guests. The last room was what some might refer to as his office, but it was anything but. Scrolls, papers, and old weapons were stuffed in the room for storage, and his tiny desk was always littered with all manner of junk and ledgers.
Sitting quietly and reading the current list of earnings, the sword master took pride knowing how well his school was steadily growing. Only in its tenth year, and already he was turning a tidy profit. He had regular classes of students from all walks of life, from nobility to simple farm folk. Some wanted no more than a few preliminary lessons in handling a sword or axe, while others hoped to attain enough training to make a living by the blade.
Then it happened.
Merthisan would've missed it if he was anywhere else in the school, but the sound caught his attention now. Like a brush of cloth or fluttering of moth wings, his attention snapped to attention. By the dark sky out the window indicated the day had become night and reached the time the class ended and everyone would go home. Even Renis, his assistant was heading out for a night on the town.
Curious, Merthisan moved slowly to the dark hallway, all his senses sharp for sound or movement. Nothing. Luckily he had taken off boots, so barefoot, he moved silently towards the end of the hall that would lead to the walkway overlooking the practice area. From here, the walkway circled around the perimeter, and tall tapestries of ancient heroes donned the walls near the ceiling. It was here Merthisan felt would be a good hiding place to see who or what might be sneaking into the school
His waiting didn't take long. Almost as soon as Merthisan was about to dismiss his sense of hearing, he stared bewildered at the small form taking shape out of the shadows. How the agile intruder managed to reach this walkway without being seen was beyond him. He couldn't have come in from downstairs. Merthisan would've heard him on the stairway. He couldn't have climbed into the one of the windows due to the walls being virtually unscaleable. Nevertheless, stealthy as a cat, the form took shape creeping to the edge of the wall. From above, it took note of the room below, with the soft glow of torchlight illuminating the face.
Merth blinked, not believing if he was seeing was real. An elf child? Age was difficult to ascertain. By his size, he couldn't be more than twelve or so. His body was lightweight, thinner than most, and yet the look in his eyes, the manner of body language implied the boy to be nearing his teen years. The face was only partially obscured by a fall of tangled black hair that was longer than what one might find on a lad, falling just past his shoulders. Gracefully elongated ears jutted out of his mane of hair, twitching to listen to sounds and his gaze was of brilliant eyes glowing red-orange. The dark skin was stormy gray, almost slate in hue.
Small framed, the boy wore tattered rags that were once a loose shirt and breeches. Now the threadbare clothes hung off his frame. Feet were bare, the soles calloused, and a thin belt kept his pants on his too thin frame.
Merth continued to watch the lad, wondering where he came from. There were not many street children, being the Imperial Shrine often cared for the homeless, and the elven races were notorious for caring for their own. How was it this child looked so forlorn and uncared for? Where were his parents? Why was he even here, hiding from others?
Crouched on the edge of the high wall, the elfling remained in the semi-dark, watching with keen interest to the area below. The red glow of his eyes shifted from orange red to deep wine as he looked around the spacious practice room below. He saw the youth move forward, and lean dangerously close to the fifteen-foot drop.
The swordmaster moved to shout a warning, or try pulling him from the perilous fall, but the elf child knew what he was doing. Fingers clasped the edge of the walkway, and he somersaulted to dangle feet off the ledge, subsequently dropping the remaining distance to an acrobatic roll on the practice mat.
Merthisan was amazed of the boy's agility, and moved silently to watch him move towards the line of practice swords. Did he mean to practice alone?
The elfling turned his head, listening and eying the room warily unknowing of the warrior above watching his every move. The red eyes settled on the store of steel weapons on the walls around, and much to the swordmaster's dismay, began assessing the choice of armaments.
Great…. a thief!
Most swords on the lower shelves were basic practice swords of wood and blunt steel. Higher on the walls, however, were displayed some of the more splendid swords, spears, and daggers Merthisan Kendari owned. They were mostly for show; only now and then the better students could try to use one in 'live steel' combat. A few he'd found in various adventurers, while others were gifts from kings or knights. They were considered rare, and apparently coveted if now thieves were breaking in to steal them.
The young elf focused on several swords too high to reach displayed on large oak racks fastened into the stone wall, and Merthisan was now wondering how he intended on reaching them. He'd have to be a spider to reach that height or able to fly.
The boy nibbled on a fingernail in consideration, looking around the large courtyard, and found a wood quarterstaff. He gauged distance, and much to Merthisan's utter surprise, pole-vaulted the distance and managed to literally hang from the well-mounted sword display frames. Now all he had to do is choose the one he wanted. He couldn't pick more than one or two, by his size. He'd still have to leave carrying the steel barehanded, and had no sheath or sack to hide the weapon in. But only one sword was chosen.
Merthisan leaned a bit to see him pluck a short blade, a splendid curved scimitar from its place. The boy dropped to the practice mat, and focused on his newfound prize. The warrior seethed. Little mite, thinks he can waltz in here and take whatever he wants, does he?
The child must have incredible patience to wait as many days as he did, staking out the school, then lying in wait up in the rafters to discover the best time to pilfer what he wanted. He must have watched the sparring practices for Merth's schedule, seeing when the teachers arrived and left, and who, if any, was left behind. This night, Lyra the maid had already gone home, Merth was nowhere to be seen, and all the students gone for the night. Even Renis, his assistant had gone. Of course, his thieving would be this night.
Furious, Merth reined in his temper, and moved down to the lower levels by taking the stairs. He remained barefoot to quiet his steps. An elf child had better hearing than most, and there would be no hiding in shadows from this one. Dark Elves could see in the dark as if it were day. Even still, Merth wasn't sure how to handle a boy thief. It seemed wrong to beat him senseless as he would any other burglar, but the crime could not go unpunished.
He'd have to call the guard no doubt, and as he considered what retribution was needed, he slowly drew out his sword. At least, he should frighten the boy so he'd never consider thieving form the swordmaster again! A quick slap with the flat-edge of his steel would turn him to right!
"Boy..." Merth said, startling the elf enough he nearly dropped the short sword in his hand. He spun, taken totally by surprise. "You should learn to not take what is not yours."
Before he finished the sentence, the elfling bolted for the only exit to the practice room, the double doors to the right. He was fast, this boy, but not fast enough as Merthisan moved to intercept, blocking the only means of escape. The elfling skidded to a stop, almost losing his footing but managed to remain upright and back up. Eyes darted around the room, trying to find another means to freedom, but found none. The eyes glanced upwards.
"Drop the sword." Merth told him sternly, hoping to use bluff and bolster to get the boy to do as he's told. The youth had other ideas.
Turning quickly, the elf ran back to the far corner, and nimble as a squirrel leapt to the wall. He then bounced from corner wall to corner wall until he reached the walkway above, almost an impossible height!
"Well that explains one way he might had got up there." Merthisan huffed, racing for the stairs to block any further escape. He couldn't even hear the boy move, and as he reached the darkened rooms on the second floor, hesitated before going further. Somewhere in the darkness, a boy with a very sharp knife was hidden. The thought unnerved him. A boy as young as this should be only playing at swords not trying to kill someone. Then again, he hadn't had he? Even armed, the boy ran to escape not stand and fight.
Merthisan moved slowly down the hallway to peer into the storage rooms to see if he could see any sign of the lad or the sword. In one room, a window remained ajar. Merthisan frowned; refusing to believe anyone could scale the wall let alone climb the height to enter through that way. He huffed softly in frustration, focusing on finding the boy. The kid had a head start, could be anywhere. Every shadow seemed likely to hide the small elf, but then a sound caught his attention. A very light thud sounded from the walkway.
"Oh for pity's sake…" He muttered. The boy hadn't gone anywhere but had simply remained at the ledge, and once he knew the swordmaster had reached the second floor, he had simply dropped back down in the practice room. Pretty clever…
He rushed to the walkway, seeing the boy run for the double doors only to find them bolted. Desperate, he yanked on the latches, and then tried pulling the bolts to unlock the heavy doors. He wasn't big enough, or apparently strong enough to draw back the large bolts but if he was persistent, might manage to open the doors to freedom.
Not quick enough though. Merthisan shook his head, turn and ran as fast as he could back downstairs to intercept the kid from leaving.
Naturally the elf heard the sound behind him, and had not released his grip on the stolen sword. Spinning to see the enraged warrior bearing down on him, the boy looked down at the sword, then back at him, suddenly falling into a fighter's stance. His resolve surprised Merthisan enough to falter his advance. Was he desperate enough now to actually fight? The boy was barely five feet tall, small framed, and cornered. Of course he felt he had to fight. It almost made the sword master laugh, except a very sharp and deadly sword was pointed at him now.
"You intend on fighting me boy?" The swordmaster was stunned. "I am Merthisan Kendari, master swordsman. Are you sure you want to challenge me?"
The elven features were set into an expression of grim determination. He edged sideways, still looking for a way out. Keeping the warrior in front of him, the boy inched to the practice mat, heading towards the stairs once again. No, it was obvious the boy preferred to try to run for it, but Merthisan could not allow that.
"If you point a sword at a man, you best understand how to use it." Merthisan told him sternly, drawing a weapon from a nearby bench. He bore a long sword of the finest steel. With a flick of his wrist, the blade spun in his hand, making a pleasant hiss as the steel sliced through air. "Now drop that sword."
The elf boy kept his face an expressionless mask, and a quick shift of the eyes indicated his intention to run once again. Merthisan glared. Insolent whelp! He didn't want to hurt the child, but he couldn't let him leave either. Just as the boy began to bolt, the sword master was on him.
He intended on using the flat of the sword to smack the youth upon the shoulder to show he was serious, but to his utter amazement, the scimitar flew up to block the blow. This was then followed by a sudden kick towards the groin that all but took Merthisan by surprise. Dodging quickly, he was forced back a step. The kid was fast! He had underestimated this foe. Somehow this young boy had learned something of fighting.
"So…the cub is showing his claws, eh?" Merthisan eyed the child with new respect. Now the boy had no choice but to fight. The other way was blocked, the double doors locked, and only a furious swordmaster to face down.
Rushing towards him, Merthisan swung a series of blows only to find each attack blocked. He was still going easy on the lad, testing skills and his intention. Another engagement, and his sword nicked the boy's shoulder. Another deft attack, and he scratched his chin, each wound having no affect. The elfling barely flinched before retaliating a series of deft swings, and another violent kick. There was also a certain level of desperation to his technique.
Unsettled by the boy's ferocity, Merthisan knew he needed to up the skill a notch. This child was not leaving. The fight was coming to an end.
"That's enough practice." He murmured low, using the powerful swing to hit hard enough to batter the short blade out of the elf's hand, and leave it skittering across the floor. A quick jab with the pommel of his sword met with the boy's face, clipping his chin and sending him sprawling to the floor.
Merthisan had seen boys twice the age, twice the size, with twice the skill howl like a baby from a blow with half the consequence. This one only grunted when he fell back to the floor. Blood trickled from his mouth, only to be wiped away with an angry hand. The strike had left him reeling. Floundering, the elf child fumbled to hands and knees and made pitiful attempts at scrambling up to his feet. Limbs refused to work, and he slumped back to the mat, falling hard to the floor to remain on shaky hands and legs.
"I think you've had enough." Merthisan told him, sheathing his sword. Circling him a bit warily, he wondered if the boy had any more tricks. The boy's breath was ragged from the fight. His hair fallen over his face, but the head tilted slightly as he grew aware of the swordmaster standing near him. In one last attempt, the boy suddenly came to life, springing forward to try a grab at the fallen scimitar just out of reach.
Merthisan growled, kicked the blade far from the boy. "Do I have to knock you senseless?" he snarled, drawing out his sword to hover the deadly tip near the boy's neck. The worried concern that this boy pushed his limit steadied his hand. He'd not kill him, but how far would he go in keeping the boy down?
The boy cringed, before slowly rolling to his back in submission. Hands splayed in surrender- finally! Breath was still hard from all the effort, and blood oozed from a split lip. By the look in the red eyes staring back at him, the boy knew he'd been beaten.
"What's your name?" Merthisan demanded, not withdrawing the sword from his throat. He could now see clearly the boy's face, with the vivid red eyes contrasting against the dark ashen hue of his skin. Arched brows were black with hair and lashes, and the well-designed lines of his face twisted in frustration.
His attention flickered from the blade to the wielder. "Feryl." He spat, the voice sounded as if hoarse, but he was still recuperating from the fight.
"Feryl?" Merthisan echoed. The word was Old Common term meaning a stray dog. Was he insulting him, with a sword at this throat? "I asked you a question boy."
The boy frowned back, intermingled with an odd look of confusion. "My name is Feryl." Merthisan matched his scowl. Was it a nickname?
"That's not a proper name." He told the boy, getting annoyed. "What's your real name?"
To this the elfling remained silent, looking even more puzzled.
The sword master stepped back, not sure if he was taking him seriously or not. No matter. "Get to your feet. Keep your hands where I can see them." He ordered.
The boy got up slowly, trying to hide a grimace when he moved, but did as he was told.
He'd have to call the city watch, have the authorities take him. They'd have experience with the likes of him. Merthisan snorted in disgust. "Put your hands behind your back."
"Why?" The boy moved to turn, but the warrior poked a warning to remain facing the other way.
"Because I told you. Now do it."
Hesitating, the youth followed orders, folding hands at wrists. Merthisan found the bit of leather straps used to wrap the sword hilts for a better grip. The boy's face was slightly turned, and he caught sight of what the man intended.
Jerking violently, the elf child lost all semblance of submission. He moved back, and for the first time, Merthisan saw real terror in the boy's eyes. It should be obvious I'm only going to bind his hands together. What did he think I'm going to do to him?
With no regards to sword or warrior, the elfling bolted to nearly slam past the much larger man, and this time cleared by enough to make towards the stairs.
"Dammit!" Merthisan angrily growled. "Not again!" Chasing him once more, the boy managed to reach the stairwell, taking steps by twos. Where did he think he was going? There were only storage rooms above. Did he intend on jumping out a window? Ah but there was the hall leading straight back to the walkway above the practice room. He was circling again to lead the sword master upstairs to drop down into the practice area to then make his escape.
Not fooled this time, Merthisan turned and went running down the way he came. He arrived back in the practice area just in time to see the lad unbolting the large door. The boy also had the sword again, and even dared glance back over his shoulder. The face was pensive, the mouth set in a grim line.
"You wretched elf!" Merthisan thundered. Nothing deterred the boy now as the door swung wide and he ran into the night. For several blocks, the swordsman chased after the elf child, seeing him moving further and further beyond his reach. Now out of breath, the man slid to a halt to catch his breath. "Dammit!"
The boy's footsteps disappeared into the night.
Note: Those of you who've read Challenges might remember Merthisan mentioning this very scene where he meets Feryl (a.k.a. Saber). The next chapter has the plot thicken with intrigue!