Sir Quinlan and the Swords of Valor (15 page)

“It’s not far then?” Quinlan asked.

Taras shook his head. “Chesney Isle lies due west of the Wasteland.”

Quinlan stopped in his tracks. The warrior neither stopped nor slowed to wait for him. Quinlan shook himself and sprinted until he was once again traveling beside Taras.

“That’s a two-week ride … with a horse!” Quinlan said, breathing hard.

“Mastery of any skill is not to be hurried,” Taras replied. “And you have many skills to master. I will take you as far as the Tara Hills. You must make the rest of the journey on your own.”

“I have no pack or supplies, only my sword and dagger. How will I—”

“The training begins now, with what you have—nothing more,” Taras said a little sharply.

Quinlan had no answer to that. He tried to settle into a rhythm to keep up, but just staying close to Taras required every bit of energy he had. After an hour, Taras stopped to give Quinlan a chance to catch his breath. Quinlan found a tree to lean against.

“How does …,” Quinlan asked between gasps, “the kasilite … crystal work?”

Taras seemed hesitant to answer at first. “All of the King’s warriors, including the Shadow Warriors before the rebellion, partook of the Life Spice in the Kingdom Across the Sea for many years. Kasilite is an extremely rare crystal that grows only along the shores of the crystal sea near the King’s palace. It allows one to see the radiation of the Life Spice emanating from the bodies of those who have ingested it. Shadow Warriors have been without the Life Spice for so long that it is fading within them, causing the light to shift from violet to green and eventually to black.”

“Are there other kasilite medallions?” Quinlan asked.

“Not that I’m aware of,” Taras replied. “The one you have is unique, crafted by the Prince himself specifically for the Swords of Valor. We
thought the Shadow Warriors had taken it from Sir Baylor. It is a great relief to know Lucius does not have it.”

Quinlan now understood why Baylor had been so intent on making sure the crystal didn’t fall into Shadow Warrior hands. He reached for the medallion and gazed at it, at last fully appreciating the beauty and the power that it represented.

He held it out for Taras to take. “It was meant for the commander of the Swords of Valor … not for me.”

Taras reached out and took it from him. “Lesson one—know who you are.”

Quinlan took another deep breath and felt like he was almost ready to move on. “What’s lesson two?”

Taras looked at him. “Know who you want to become.”

BECOMING

Quinlan traveled with Taras for many days. They skirted the Vale of the Dragons and crossed the western edge of the Banteen Desert into the region of Nyland. They crossed the western portion of the Red Canyon where its river spills into the Great Sea, then traveled north across the great plains until they reached the foothills of the Tara Hills mountain range.

Throughout the long journey, Taras was careful to avoid all contact with civilization. Quinlan had been raised to hunt and fish, so living off the land was easy for him, but Taras was teaching much more than mere survival. He began instructing Quinlan in the ways of the Silent Warriors, honed over many centuries—how to hide, discover, attack, and disappear, and how to strengthen the body by tearing it down, then building it back up.

In the first two weeks, Quinlan wondered if he could physically endure the grueling regimen Taras set for him, but he did not complain. He forced himself to rise each day despite the screaming protests of his mind and muscles. At night, Taras taught him the lessons of weaponry—especially of the sword—and Quinlan was awestruck by his tutor’s mastery.

By the fourth week, Quinlan had begun to feel the benefits of the extreme physical conditioning, and his skill with the sword had improved drastically. Then Taras took him to the next level and pushed him further. Quinlan focused on the fruit of his earlier pain to find the
encouragement to keep going. His body grew stronger every day, and though his physique would never match that of Drake or Kessler, Quinlan reveled in his new sense of mastery.

One early morning after six weeks of travel and training, Quinlan stood on a knoll beside Taras, gazing up at the western face of the majestic Tara Hills. This close to the massive towers of rock, soil, and trees, they would not see the sun for several hours.

Taras scrutinized the mountain range and seemed deep in thought.

“What is it, Taras?” Quinlan asked. “What is on your mind?”

In spite of spending every moment of the last six weeks with this Silent Warrior, Quinlan could not say that he knew Taras well. The warrior was guarded in his ways and not given to explanation.

Taras dropped his gaze from the mountains. “Now your training begins.”

Quinlan smiled, but Taras did not.

“Begins?” Quinlan asked.

“Yes. These past weeks you have been transitioning into the world of warriors. Without the preparatory conditioning and training you would die within the first day of living here. Now you are ready to learn. If you survive your time in these hills and are able to reenter the world of men, you will know how to help them as a knight
and
as a warrior.”

Quinlan’s heart sank at Taras’s words. He had thought he’d endured the worst part of his training, but now there was much more to come. It was a shock for him to realize how weak and protected he had been his whole life. This kingdom was a hard place, and the ways of it even harder. Every step he took toward understanding that truth took him further and further away from his comfortable life in Burkfield, and he realized he could never go back, not even if he wanted to. It would be like trying to unlearn how to ride a horse. This was a one-way journey.

Taras reached into a pocket and removed the crystal coin Quinlan had given him six weeks earlier. He handed it to Quinlan.

“You will need it in this world.” He pointed to a peaceful-looking valley not far away, in the shadows of the mountain range. “Look there.”

Quinlan slowly brought the crystal coin up to his eye and looked through it. By holding it at different distances he found he could cause
the image to shrink or magnify. He looked toward the valley Taras pointed to, and the air nearly left his lungs. The entire valley glowed a faint green, and many hundreds of individual green glimmers showed in the hills surrounding the valley.

He swallowed hard and fought the fear that swelled within him. He quickly scanned other regions of the mountain and then the plains to the west. Every so often he caught both individual green glimmers and clusters of them. To see farther, he held the crystal coin further away from him, but the image became too blurry to discern anything.

He slowly lowered the crystal coin and stared back at the seemingly peaceful valley. He had just seen what was not supposed to be seen by Arrethtraen eyes, and it shook him.

Is the entire kingdom like this?
he wondered.

Quinlan stood in silence, trying to decide if he really wanted to be part of this terrifying world, then realized that everyone in the kingdom already was—they just didn’t know it.

“You didn’t look through the crystal? How did you know they were there?” he asked Taras.

“I cannot see as clearly as you can through the crystal, but I have learned to see my enemy just the same.” Taras finally broke his gaze from the valley and looked at Quinlan. “It is a matter of survival.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“Remember lesson two—know who you want to become,” Taras interrupted. “The Prince sees you not for who you think you are, but for who He knows you are. The truth is that when He died for you on that tree long ago and when you accepted Him as the Son of the King, you already became that which you hope you will become.”

“I don’t understand,” Quinlan said. Taras’s words seemed like a convoluted riddle.

Taras took a deep breath, apparently frustrated at trying to explain the significant to the simple.

“Who are you?” he asked.

Quinlan hesitated, confused by the question. “I am Quinlan of Burkfield.”

“No!” Taras’s eyes glowered. “You are a Knight of the Prince—royal son of the King, heir to the kingdom of Arrethtrae and beyond!”

Taras paced in agitation as he continued. “I and my brothers live and die in service to the King, protecting the Knights of the Prince from the plots and deceptions of Lucius, and yet most of the knights don’t even understand who they are in the Prince. We will never be what you already are!”

Quinlan looked up at the mighty warrior in fearful wonder, unnerved by the depth of Taras’s emotion. And Taras was not through. “When you believe the truth about who you are in the Prince,” he said, “you will be that which you want to become. You cannot add anything to that which the Prince made perfect. All you can do is believe Him who made it so. Then and only then will you be ready.”

“Ready for what?” Quinlan asked.

“The Swords of Valor. They need you.”

Quinlan froze, stared, then finally shook his head. “I’ll never be the knight that Kessler, Drake, or Purcell is.”

“I trained Baylor,” Taras said bluntly. “I can train you.”

“I am no Baylor,” Quinlan retorted. “And I never will be.”

“You’re not supposed to be,” Taras replied angrily. “You’re supposed to be Quinlan.” He strode to the far edge of the knoll.

“Where are you going?”

“Over here, so I don’t strike you,” Taras replied with his back to Quinlan.

Quinlan’s eyes widened, and he stayed silent. Evidently even a Silent Warrior could be pushed too far, and Taras was closer to the edge than Quinlan had realized.

After a few moments Taras walked back across the knoll. He stared at Quinlan for a long while.

“I’m sorry, Taras,” Quinlan said, “but the thought of my becoming a true knight of the Swords of Valor seems … far-fetched. Kessler, Drake, and Purcell would never fight with me now. If that is what this is for, then—”

“You were chosen for this training, Quinlan.”

Quinlan was confused until he realized his meeting with Taras had not been a coincidence after all.

“Why?” he asked. “Kessler, Drake, or Purcell would do so much better with your training. Why not choose one of them?”

“I do not choose. The Prince chooses.”

Quinlan looked at Taras in disbelief, then turned away, overwhelmed by the thought.

“Besides,” Taras said, “the others cannot see through the crystal as you do.”

Quinlan recovered himself and turned back to Taras, a question on his face. “Not everyone can see the glowing green and violet?”

“No. Only those chosen by the Prince. Do you remember the fire that killed your parents?”

Quinlan nodded, wondering what that long-ago tragedy had to do with the crystal coin.

“Do you remember how the smoke and heat burned in your eyes?” Taras continued.

“Yes.” Quinlan winced at the painful memory. “When I awoke that night, the fire was raging everywhere. I screamed for my mother and father, but … it was already too late. The heat and the smoke were so intense I knew I was going to die. I could hardly see—everything was a blur, and my eyes hurt so much. A man carried me out of our house and set me beside a tree. He rubbed some kind of ointment into my eyes. I started to scream, but he told me to be calm. Slowly the pain diminished, but I couldn’t see anything. I thought I’d gone blind.”