FARIX’S TALE

Ah, ha!” bellowed Mallik, wiping trickles of Golden Tear from his red beard. “Top that.” His belch had been so deep and loud that the conversation stopped even at the far end of the long table in Queen Illaria’s dining hall. Kaliam, as Sentinel of Alleble, felt obligated to maintain his composure, but it was all he could to keep from spraying his mouthful of Golden Tear all over the table. And it didn’t help that Lady Merewen was laughing merrily at his side. The queen, austere ruler of Yewland, wore an expression of annoyance, but a hint of amusement played on her brow. All eyes turned to Sir Rogan.

The Glimpse warrior from Yewland stroked his thin blond goatee. “I will answer . . . the challenge,” he grunted. The candle flame flickered in his eyes. He flexed the thick muscles of his arms and cracked his knuckles.

“Oh brother,” said Aelic. He turned to say something to Antoinette, but she was no longer in her chair. He stared at the chamber door and wondered, Now where has she wandered off to?

Ordinarily, Aelic might have joined the festivities. But the events of the last two days—the nearly fatal venture into the Blackwood and the discovery of Paragor’s servant, Kearn, in Yewland—weighed heavily on his mind. Aelic left the dining hall in search of Antoinette.

Great, crackling flames burned in two fireplaces, and smoke rose to the top of the arched ceiling and escaped through oval venting windows. The gathering below was indeed merry, for Queen Illaria’s hospitality was as great in variety as it was in quantity. Soon the table was laden with all sorts of fare. Dozens of roasted chickens, each garnished with wild onions and garlic, racks of beef from prize blackhorne steer, loaves of hearty, spice-crusted bread, and massive wheels of cheese were within reach of all.

Kaliam, Merewen, Gabriel, and Tobias held counsel with Queen Illaria and her advisors at one end of the table. At the other end, Mallik—still vexed by the results of the belching contest—held a different sort of counsel with the warriors gathered there.

“. . . the filthy creature tried to escape the cave,” Mallik was saying. “But I held on tight to its tail. Eventually, it grew so weary from trying to take flight that I was able to harness it and deliver it on time to King Brower!”

Boldoak shook with laughter. “You mean to say that you actually caught a dragon by its tail?”

“Yes!” Mallik cried.

“Ah, it was just a yearling, like as not,” said Sir Rogan with a dismissive wave of the hand. “No bigger than a whoosel!” That brought on new rounds of whoops and guffaws. Only Farix did not laugh aloud. He was clearly too focused on the roasted chicken before him.

Having spent little time outside of Yewland, Boldoak found himself entranced by these knights of Alleble and their exotic adventures all over The Realm. “Another tale!” he cried. “Sir Rogan has spoken, as have Mallik and Os, what about you, Nock? Surely you have some exploit, some quest of note?”

Nock sat very still. He thought of Bolt and the battle at Mithegard. It was a worthy story, but the pain was far too close. “Yewland has heard enough of my voice today,” he said. “I will defer to my friends.”

“Who then?” Boldoak asked, looking face to face. Then, he spied one who had not said much of anything at all. “Master Farix, have you a story to liven this glad evening?”

“Do not waste your time,” said Mallik, biting a massive hunk of beef off of a long rib bone. “Close-lipped, that one. Why I do not thi—”

“I will speak,” said Farix quietly. Mallik stopped chewing. The room went silent. A burning log popped. “Before I came to Alleble, my home was in the Western Realm, in Frostland where few Glimpses’ eyes glint blue. The winters there are hard and long, so the folk of that city cherish the glad warmth of every summer day. We celebrate Midsummer’s Eve with a special festival at night. There is much feasting. Bards and minstrels abound. The children go from cottage to cottage collecting blossoms for great wreathes to be hung from the castle towers. But the best part of the evening is a contest for Frostland’s greatest warriors. We call it the Trial of Ten Fires.”

Boldoak rubbed the scar on his cheek and nodded. He liked where this was going.

Farix continued, “The Trial is held in the great courtyard of Frostland’s Royal Castle. It began hundreds of years ago when King Soren the Strong devised a way to stock his army with the most gifted knights of the kingdom. He had erected ten stone pillars, each varying in height between fifteen and twenty feet. Upon these pillars would wait ten brave Glimpse combatants. Should any Glimpse attempt this challenge, he—or she—must leap from a platform and battle the Glimpse warrior established upon the first pillar. If the challenger succeeds in knocking his opponent from his perch, the king would then douse the first of ten torches kindled by his throne.”

“That is harsh,” said Sir Rogan.

Farix nodded. “One who has fallen will regain his position if one of the other nine can knock the challenger off. But, if a Glimpse could defeat all ten opponents and stand unassailed on the last pillar, victory would be proclaimed, and the last torch snuffed. Initially, King Soren rewarded victorious knights with a commission in his private army. But years later, when King Cyric took the throne, he had fashioned a marvelous wood carving, a dragon spiraling up the tenth pillar. Spectacular detail had been etched into that wood—right down to the creature’s scales—and then he had it overlaid with pure gold. The winner of the trial each year obtained this trophy, the Dragon’s Perch!”

“A worthy prize,” said Sir Rogan.

Farix raised an eyebrow. “Is it? At one time, I certainly thought so. For as I reached my twenty-fourth summer, I fancied myself ready to try the competition. I did not go first; I waited and watched what others did. It was not a pretty sight. The ten warriors upon the ten pillars had not been beaten in three years. There was Tredan the Bear wearing his clawed gauntlets, Gaedarian the Grim and his two hammers.”

“Hammers?” Mallik exclaimed.

“Yes,” said Farix. “But not like yours. Gaedarian’s hammers were small. He swung them fast and at all angles to knock his opponent off his pillar.”

“Sounds painful,” said Boldoak.

“Yes,” Farix replied. “And these two formidable knights were only the first two pillars. There was Ulf the One-Handed and his mace, and sisters Lady Becklann, Hincael, and Donitha—whips for those three. Brynag the Tall with his heavy club came next. Then Hopgar with his whistling sword, and Skrim with his daggers. But standing on the last pillar defying all with his wide-bladed axe was Konrath the Black.”

“He does not sound friendly,” said Kaliam, who, when he had seen from across the table that Farix was telling a story, pulled up a chair to listen.

“No, Konrath was not someone to be trifled with, but neither were the other nine. I watched them bludgeon, batter, and bash each challenger who tried to get past them.”

Boldoak’s eyes were wide. “You mean, they just killed the poor knights who attempted the Trial?”

“No,” said Farix. “ . . . at least, not usually. Any Glimpse who makes the attempt must be padded and then armored up. And the floor is cushioned with two feet of straw. Still, accidents did happen.” Mallik whistled.

“As I said, I watched as many brave warriors tested their skills and fell. The farthest I saw anyone get was the fourth pillar, but then Lady Becklann and her sisters took their whips to him, and it was all over. At last, I deemed it my turn. I had learned much from watching, and I had a few advantages. You see, the knights who attempted to win through before me were suited in very cumbersome pads and armor. Even though they were skilled fighters, their reactions were slower and they easily lost their balance. As you know, I use no weapon except for my body. And I never wear armor—not even chain mail.”

“You do not mean you attempted that gauntlet in naught but a tunic?” asked Sir Gabriel, who had also just come over to hear.

“Yes,” said Farix. “And it was fortunate that I did.”

“You must have been mad.”

“Nay, loremaster, I was in my right mind for the battle, but, peace . . . please as I finish the story.” Sir Gabriel motioned for Farix to carry on.

“By the time I stepped to the edge of the platform, a huge crowd had gathered in the courtyard. The throng was anxious and noisy. I waited until Tredan took his eyes off me for just a second. I leaped and planted both of my boots in the center of his chest. He and his claws sailed off the pillar, and I landed where he once stood. I lingered not even a moment, but dove for Gaedarian’s legs. He tried to bat me out of the air with his hammers, but missed. He started to turn, but it was too late. I had slid through the gap in his legs. I simply punched him in the hollows behind his knees. He crumpled and I had won the second pillar.

“Before I could even turn round, I heard a ferocious yell. I sensed movement on my right and dropped flat onto my pillar. Ulf’s mace sailed just inches over my prone form. But Ulf overextended himself. His long swing caused him to teeter on the edge for two heartbeats. By the second beat, I had him by the arm and threw him into the straw. The crowd cheered. I had no time for glory, for Becklann’s whip stung my shoulder. Hincael’s, the small of my back. But the most dangerous strike was Donitha’s. Her whip curled around my ankle. When she pulled, I fell hard to the third pillar. She underestimated my leg strength though, and I was able to break free.

“I sprang to my feet and faced the three of them: Becklann on the left, Hincael in the middle, and Donitha to my right. Their whips sizzled in the air, and I could find no opening to leap through. It was all I could do to duck, dodge, and leap their strikes. That is when I understood that my strategy was all wrong. I was playing right into their strengths instead of relying on my own. I watched for Becklann’s whip. It snapped several times above my head. Then, as I had hoped, she hit me. Her whip wrapped around my left arm. Donitha’s coiled around my right arm. I took a chance then. Normally when someone attempts to pull something out of your hand, you pull back. So, I jumped off my pedestal and swung by my enemies’ whips. They could have just let go, and I would have dropped like a stone. But they pulled, and I swung. In fact, I swung with such force that I bowled Hincael right off the middle pillar.

“Oh, how the two remaining sisters screamed, but I was not finished. My right arm is stronger, so planting my feet, I yanked Donitha’s whip with all my might. I dragged her off her pillar and swung her through the air in a wide arc, eventually smashing her into Becklann. They both plummeted. Brynag roared and banged his massive club against the seventh pillar. Then, he took a mighty swing. What a vast reach he had! The whips still dangling from my arms, I flipped back and forth between the three pillars I had just cleared. Brynag actually laughed. ‘Stand and fight!’ he jeered. That was the last thing he said until he groaned in the straw below. I wrapped the whips around the giant’s ankles and heaved. I let the whips fall with him and turned for my next challenge.

“At this point, the crowd was in a frenzy. King Cyric was on his feet. Three torches remained lit. A strange, high-pitched sound came to my ear. Instinctively, I ducked, and Hopgar’s whistling blade sliced the air—and thankfully not my head. His pillar was so close I could almost step across, but Hopgar meant business. He had studied my movements and stayed on the offensive. His slashes were controlled and precise—never overextending, never missing by much. But I had trick that I had not revealed. I waited for a backhanded stroke—less force behind it. I timed it perfectly. He slashed high, and I raised my hands palms out. His sword carved into the flesh of my palms. But I was born, you see, with especially dense skin on my hands, feet, and neck. It would take someone repeated blows to draw blood from these areas, and I never give my opponent a second chance.

“Hopgar was stunned. He no doubt expected to see my severed fingers scatter into the air. So did the crowd. They groaned when the sword hit my palms. I simply took the blade right out of Hopgar’s hand and shoved him off his pillar. Apparently, my unusual victory over Hopgar had somewhat disheartened Skrim. He resorted to throwing every one of his daggers at me. I dodged them with little effort. All out of weapons, Skrim shrugged and stepped off his pillar.”

“Ha, ha!” bellowed Mallik. “He just walked off?”

“Do be quiet, Mallik,” said Kaliam. “I want to find out what happened with Konrath the Black.” Ordinarily, Mallik would have grumbled, but he too wanted Farix to finish his tale.

“Konrath the Black was the most formidable opponent. Smoldering black eyes that never left his prey—yes, prey, for that is how Konrath treated his opponents. He took the trial more seriously than any of the others, and consequently, he had more accidents in defending his pillar. And he wielded his axe better than any Glimpse alive, save perhaps Sir Rogan here. So, from the onset, I had planned my attack against Konrath. For it to succeed, I needed him tired. But to tire out Konrath was dangerous business. His shoulders were massive, his forearms thick as tree boughs, and he had seen enough combat to be ready for a long battle.

“I began taking a few pokes at him with Hopgar’s whistling sword. Each time, he swept his wide axe toward me. I must admit, the few times he connected with the sword, I felt a tremor all the way to my bones. The man had savage strength. Still, I kept him swinging, and his axe was heavy. I ducked and dodged—I even jumped back to the previous pillar a few times. As Konrath grew angry, he also grew tired. His strokes became less controlled. My first plan was to get the axe out of his hands, and I might have been able to do it. But that really would not solve my problem. He was such a large man that I could not possibly land on the pillar next to him. And if I tried, he might crush me in a great bear hug. I knew my only shot was to wear him out and then do something unexpected.

“I let him take a few more swipes at me, blocking with the sword when I could. I sensed it was time. His last stroke was wild, almost desperate. But I wanted him to swing one more time. He did, and his axe sent Hopgar’s sword flying from my hand. Now weaponless again, I looked Konrath in the eye. He smiled fiendishly and raised his axe. At that moment, I dove off my pillar. Dove as if my only choice was to fall or be killed. I dove down. I heard the gasp of the crowd. But I never hit the straw below. I smacked into the pillar upon which Konrath stood and clutched it with all my strength. Then, like a spider, I clambered up the back of the pillar and yanked Konrath’s feet out from under him. He fell, but only to his knees. I saw him raise the axe. I leaped up to the pillar behind him. He swung the axe, but I rotated inside his stroke and slammed my elbow into the back of his head. He toppled over the edge like a sack of flour.

“King Cyric snuffed the final torch and handed me the Dragon’s Perch. I stood atop the last pillar, held my prize aloft, and let the roar of the crowd wash over me.”

“Yes!” exclaimed Boldoak.

“Unbelievable!” cried out Mallik.

Nock and many gathered there clapped. Queen Illaria, who had heard the latter half of the story said, “You are a valiant warrior, and that tale is the fodder of legends.”

“With all due respect, Your Majesty,” said Farix, “my story is not finished. You see, I chose to speak tonight, not to boast of my exploits—but to pay homage to the one who led me for the first time to see real valor. After winning the Trial of Ten Fires, I was summoned to speak with King Cyric. He congratulated me and asked me to sup with him on the morrow . . . a matter of becoming a commander in Frostland’s army. It was a meeting I would never make. For as I left the king’s chambers and pushed through the crowds still gathered in the courtyard, a firm hand took me by the shoulder and spun me around with such a jolt that I nearly lost my balance.

“I thought at first that it might be Konrath seeking revenge. But lo, the Glimpse who stood before me was much taller. He had a smooth mane of silver hair and a long mustache and beard turning silver as well. His eyes glinted blue, and do you know what he said to me? He said, ‘How would you like to fight for something far greater than a gilded block of wood?’”

Nock’s eyes opened wide. “Was that . . . ?”

“Captain Valithor,” Farix answered. “He brought me to Alleble. He introduced me to the one true King of all this Realm.” Farix raised his goblet of Golden Tear. The others gathered at the table raised their glasses as well. “I give you Captain Valithor, a greater warrior The Realm has not seen.”

“To Captain Valithor!” they all exclaimed. Then, the room fell silent, and all levity vanished. The enemy had left his mark upon many places in The Realm. And each Glimpse in that fire-lit hall felt a burden that the mission to stop Paragor must not fail.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Farix is one of my favorite characters. How fun it is to know some of his backstory. But now I wonder, where did he learn all those moves?