Stillborn 1 - The Dark Kingdom: Chapter 9

 

9.

The following years were a lot easier for Aniceth to bear. Garaz's words had brought him comfort and emerged new hope for a better future. He would get a chance to find his place in the Sin'Garath society, and that was all he really wanted - a fair chance.

But a great disappointment was waiting for him just around the corner. When he asked about training from Shanna and Brend, he was told there would not be any until he was fifteen seasons old; a harsh sentence for a boy who finally had something to look forward to. He had been so excited about the possibility to do something else instead of the endless chores of dusting and cleaning. But like before, he swallowed his disappointment without protests. That was what he was trained to do.

Aniceth returned to his duties with a heavy heart, and even though he did not notice, Brend was truly sad for letting him down so harshly. He truly wanted to give him some good news after all the years he had suffered through, but the blind mystic's orders were clear and simple. Brend could not take the chance of acting against them for such behavior would bring a swift death upon him. The enslaved warrior was probably more eager to begin the training that Aniceth himself after witnessing how well he fought against Merina these days. The boy moved incredibly swiftly and smoothly for his age, and Brend wanted to teach him everything he knew about fighting. Secretly he was hoping to see one more beating after he was finished with the boy, even though that was very unlikely. Merina would never take a chance of getting humiliated in her own home. She was well aware of Aniceth's skills and recognised the great potential he had, but there was no way she would ever admit it to anyone. And like this would not have been enough, the old mystic had delivered more bad news for her. During his visit, Garaz had informed the family that Aniceth was developing perfectly in schedule, which effectively removed the option of slaying him.

Merina enjoyed every atrocity she did to the child. It was her reward for wasting fifteen years of her youth by looking after this filthy halfbreed. The Arathans can live up to four hundred years, but it is only the time right before the beginning of their long training, when they were completely free to enjoy the amusements that would be restricted for most of the time in the future. This careless and light-hearted era was considered important for developing social skills, and during those years the young Arathans learned to stand on their own, usually gaining their first intimate experiences as well. Merina had lost a big part of that, and not a single night passed without her being tormented by the lustful thoughts that kept her awake during the long and lonely hours of the night.

Everything had to come to an end, and Merina's years of discomfort were no exception. She could take a few months for herself before entering Gil'Endrath, where she would finally begin her advanced studies to learn the secret language.

Everybody noticed the change in her as Aniceth's fifteenth birthday came closer. She was actually in a good mood from time to time. The boy was most grateful for the lesser usage of her skin-cutting whip. The Gargoyle had not shown himself for more than maybe once or twice since Garaz had left Gelendras. This was partly because he was becoming too dangerous for Merina to torment him constantly, but also because of his iron self-discipline He was incredibly skilled for his age, even without the help of his dark side, like it was often called in the house. But once the beast was unleashed he became nearly unstoppable. Aniceth paid a high price for these outbreaks, but he was learning how to control it better with every new day.

In the morning of his fifteenth birthday, Brend knocked on his door and asked him to follow. Aniceth obeyed without questions and walked through the mansion behind him, rubbing his itching eyes to shake off the remnants of sleep. They headed toward the basement of the house, which made Aniceth curious about their destination, but Brend remained quiet, smiling mysteriously as he proceeded.

 

* * *

 

The boy followed him downstairs into the basement of the Bel'Derian mansion, until they stopped at the door of a large, empty hall. The floor was made from carelessly polished stone tiles, the walls were bare stone without decorations. There was only one large wooden cabinet standing alone at the back of the hall. One single candle burned on a small stand in every corner, creating a very comfortable and soft lighting, allowing them to see without thermal vision.

Aniceth gazed around curiously. ”What is this place?” he asked with his eyes wide open.

Brend smiled at the boy. ”This is an ancient training hall of the Bel'Derian family. Here you will be spending a lot of time during the next five years.”

”I will need my tools from upstairs if my task is to clean this hall,” Aniceth said while looking around.

”No, Aniceth, you will not clean this place, or any other place ever again. Come here.”

Brend walked toward the cabinet with an awfully confused boy following right behind him. He kept his eyes laid on the floor like he always did when working with his chores. Brend wanted him to snap out of his old ways as soon as possible, for years he had observed the slow rupture of the boy's confidence. All the violence might have been necessary to teach him discipline, but now that lost confidence had to be built up again fast. Five years would pass quickly, and there were many things the child needed to learn before he would be ready.

Digging through his pockets, Brend searched until he found an old copper key that matched the lock on the cabinet door. Aniceth's eyes spread wide open in pure amazement when the contents of the cabinet were revealed to his peculiar eyes. There were swords, daggers, sabers, and others, more exotic looking weapons the boy could not even recognise. They were all in perfect condition, shining the reflected dim light of the candles. Aniceth had never seen anything like that before.

”Pick a weapon of your choice,” Brend urged, ”and if you think that using two blades is the way to go for you, then pick two.”

”You cannot be serious!” Aniceth cried, staring at the blades with his eyes full of wonder. Their hypnotic shine seemed to fully capture his attention, and for a moment it seemed like he would be unable to turn his eyes away from them. He was completely mesmerized and overwhelmed by their sheer beauty.

”I will leave you alone for a few minutes, but when I return, you better have a weapon of your choice wielded in your hand. Consider your choice carefully, but do not think too long.”

Aniceth barely heard what the man said, for he was already going through the weapons, evaluating them quickly as he was told. Brend's steps echoed in the hall as he walked away, leaving Aniceth to stand alone in front of the cabinet.

During his entire life he had never held a real weapon in his hand, but it did not take him more than a few moments to decide. Without hesitation he picked up a mid-heavy sword, which seemed strange as his body structure was very slim and agile. It was a nicely decorated weapon with a dark sapphire mounted on the pommel, sparkling brightly in candlelight. The blade itself had a slight shade of red in it, which indicated that it was forged from brimidian, one of the most valuable, and most durable materials in the entire Falchrest. This blade would not shatter in battle.

The sword looked quite heavy, but was actually very light-weight. It was not a pure two-handed weapon as it lacked size to be that, but it could be wielded with both hands to gain more strength behind the strike.

”I can see you have made your choice, Aniceth,” Brend's voice echoed from behind the boy, startling him badly.

”Rather unusual choice for someone like yourself,” Brend noted once he saw the blade.

”It just felt most familiar,” Aniceth replied, his eyes glued to the glossy metal.

Brend smiled as he walked by him. ”It is a fine weapon, and like I said, very unusual for an Arathan. But perhaps it is the other side of you who feels attraction to a heavier blade like this one.”

”You are telling me that the beast picked this sword for me?” Aniceth sounded slightly skeptical.

Brend nodded firmly ignoring the boy's remark. ”The agility of an Arathan combined with the brutal strength of a Gargoyle could create a perfect balance in the battlefield. A larger and heavier weapon just adds to that destructive force.”

After closing the cabinet door and making sure it was locked, he walked toward the center of the hall.

”Come on then and bring your sword, it is time for you to learn how to use it.”

Aniceth followed him curiously. He was eager to try the sword, but before they were ready to begin, Brend stopped and handed a pair of black gloves to him.

”I do not wish to gain any injuries just because you get a little too excited,” he explained, smiling at his young apprentice.

Aniceth could have felt insulted by this, but he was actually relieved, gladly accepted them. These gloves offered him a perfect way to hide one of the features he hated the most: The claws that constantly reminded him about his origins, and the fact that he was like no other.

”Thank you, my master,” the boy said and pulled the gloves on, then he grasped the hilt of the sword and prepared himself for a lesson.

And indeed, for the next five years Brend would be his master, regardless of his position as a slave in the house.

 

* * *

 

Brend was wielding a pair of light-weight sabres he seemed to be using with a great skill. The blades made a spooky, humming noise as he was swinging them through the air to get a good feel of them before the fight.

”Come on, Aniceth. Raise your sword and fight me!” Brend encouraged the boy.

And so it began, the long and painful years of learning how to fight with and without the sword. Brend was a demanding teacher, but he never forgot the humor out of it. Often times Aniceth went to bed bleeding and full of bruises, but even with all the pain there was always a content smile on his face. Perhaps without them even realizing, Brend was becoming like some kind of a father figure for the boy. Whatever the truth was, Aniceth was enjoying his classes and he was learning fast.

At first, Aniceth was very clumsy with the big sword, and it looked like he had made a grave mistake by choosing such weapon. Even Brend found himself wondering if he should let the boy switch his weapon for something else, but after a few weeks of frustration, Aniceth finally began to catch up. His skill was improving at an astonishing speed, and was his strength.

Brimidian blades were singing their deadly song as two warriors were fighting against each other. One with two lethal sabres, and the other with a heavy sword. They both had such unique style that it soon became hard to say who was better. Brend's sabres were dancing swiftly in the air, seemingly appearing everywhere at the same time, but Aniceth was using his greater physical strength perfectly for his advantage. He was performing somersaults, swift twists and turns, and all the incredibly agile moves ended with a devastating strike of the sword.

 

* * *

 

”You are getting better,” Brend said one day, breathing heavily after the long fight. He admired the progression his young student was making, knowing now that all the potential he had seen was true. Aniceth was capitalizing his natural abilities faster than he could have ever dreamed of.

”I have a great teacher,” Aniceth replied, while wiping his wet, black hair out of his pale face. He was finding his identity fast, and he realized that all the boring chores and the cruel punishments given by Merina had taught him the discipline he was now using while fighting. He was controlling himself incredibly well for his young age.

They spent several hours practicing every single day throughout the entire five years, and during that time Aniceth grew from a skinny boy into a strong man. Whenever he was not training with Brend, he was studying the basics of Sul'Awen under the guidance of Shanna. Aniceth never learned why she was enslaved because she never really talked much outside of the lessons. Shanna did her job by teaching Aniceth, but she was not as eager to spend time with him as Brend.

The knowledge of Sul'Awen was extremely important for every warrior to learn, and he took full advantage of every lesson that was available. He enjoyed fencing more than anything, but the challenges for the mind offered a nice change in the pattern.

The time flew by unnoticed, he was having fun and did not pay much attention to it, and then, without a warning, the day he had feared most was suddenly upon him.

”Today is your last day here,” Brend announced as Aniceth entered the hall early in the morning when the Shine of Tel'Andril was just barely glowing over the waking Gelendras. ”Tomorrow you will enter the school of warriors, the great Sindh'Morrow!”

”Why I cannot continue my studies here?” Aniceth asked, hoping he could somehow avoid the school. He felt safe in the basement of the mansion with Brend. He was not ready, or willing to leave yet.

”Because there is nothing I can teach you anymore.” Brend said with a firm voice that pretty much ended the conversation right there, but then he smiled cunningly. ”However, there is one more thing to do before I can let you go.”

Aniceth raised an eyebrow and gazed at his master, looking slightly confused.

”The final fight!” Brend announced, smiling widely. ”You see, I don't think you have really shown me everything you are capable of doing, and it would be most embarrassing to give an incomplete report to Garaz the Blind.”

”A thousand curses,” Aniceth grunted angrily, ”I forgot he will arrive soon,” he said, smacking himself on the forehead.

”Actually, he arrives today,” Brend corrected, but this revelation did not shock the boy, for there was something that confused him in his master's words.

”What do you mean by incomplete report?” He wanted to know.

”You are an extremely skilled warrior, but I have never seen you using the power of the Gargoyle hidden within you. How good would you be if you harnessed it for your own advantage?”

The curiosity on his face was replaced by fear. ”Please, no. I do not want to do that. I do not want to hurt you.”

Brend laughed sarcastically. ”Hurt me! You?” he mocked, but Aniceth did not feel amused or provoked. He felt sick in his stomach to even think about calling out the might of the Gargoyle. What horrors it could cause together with his new skill?

”Well then, I can make this easy for you,” Brend said, glancing cunningly at his apprentice, but his eyes were cold and dark.

”This time we will not fight for practice,” he announced. ”We will fight until one of us is dead, and I can promise you that without your true might, you are the one to fall.”

Brend drew his sabers and approached Aniceth, who did nothing. He was staring at Brend's eyes, but the playful sparkle that was usually there was gone. This time he would not raise his weapons accompanied by a cheerful laughter. This fight would not end before blood was shed.

”Stop this madness, Brend. I refuse to fight you!” Aniceth cried, hoping his master would come back to his senses.

”You will fight or you will die!” Brend growled and delivered a strike that would have ended Aniceth's life instantly. A sharp clang echoed in the hall as Brend's sabers were parried by the brimidian blade, a battle between the two warriors had begun.

 

* * *

 

The walls disappeared and everything outside of the hall ceased to exist. Two warriors entered ithe deadly dance, and only one of them would walk out alive. Aniceth was more in the defensive stance, while Brend's every strike was aimed to kill. He had hard time to believe that his teacher was really trying to slay him, but the moves he was making were far from relaxed afternoon training. He was constantly forced to back off, dodging and parrying his master's furious attacks.

Aniceth knew he could not go on like this forever. Eventually he would make a wrong move and that is when Brend would defeat him. Reluctantly, he began to add counterattacks among his defensive moves, which forced Brend to take on more of a defensive stance. Aniceth's heavy sword was swinging dangerously, and slowly his aim began to focus on the vital parts of Brend's body. Stripped off of options, he focused on the battle with his heart and soul, enclosing everything else out but his enemy.

”Go ahead, feel the fear of death and unleash the beast in your heart!” Brend encouraged his student to do what he wanted. He knew Aniceth's fear was growing with every passing moment as he pressed on. Aniceth was good, but he was not quite as good as Brend yet. After all, his master used to be a warrior in the service before the unfortunate events that led him to his enslavement, and thus the plain experience from the battlefield granted him better position in this battle. Skillwise Aniceth was quite close to his master, for he had progressed with amazing speed over the five years in both, fighting and Sul'Awen, but was that enough to keep him alive through this?

The echoes of the brimidian blades mixed together with exhausted breathing of the warriors. Brend's attacks were slowly forcing Aniceth to retreat toward the corner. If he could do this successfully, the last seconds of Aniceth's life would be at hand. But Aniceth did not panic, for he knew that such reaction would drive him into worse position. All the training he had gone through was paying off now as an extension to his life.

The basement hall was very old, and it had never been properly repaired since the building was finished centuries ago. There were cracks and bumps on the stone tiling and one of them nearly sent Aniceth to his death while he was slowly retreating in front of his enemy. His boot slipped on a sandy bump and caused him to stagger for a second. Brend saw his chance and used it. He attacked with both sabres in order to distract Aniceth with one, while hitting him from the side with the other. Aniceth moved fast, but only managed to partially dodge the hit as the other blade sank deep, cutting a long, bleeding wound across his ribs.

That was the last straw. Aniceth's reptilian eyes flashed in red flames. Brend laughed as he saw the plan working, but Aniceth could not hear him anymore.

”Finally! Now, try to defeat me with all your strength!” Brend yelled over the clatter of their weapons.

Two things happened as the enraged beast finally emerged from the depths of his soul. The pain of the bleeding wound disappeared completely, and a new strength began to flow through him like an intoxicating wine, giving him an ability to strike harder while handling his large sword effortlessly, like the blade had suddenly become weightless.

Now it was Brend's turn to retreat away from the glow of the burning eyes. A low, bloodthirsty growl rose from Aniceth's chest as he attacked with an overwhelming rage. Every powerful bash of his sword made Brend's wrists hurt and Brend found himself concerned that he might drop his weapon as a result of one of these merciless strikes. Deciding it was time to try a little different tactic, he began to dodge more instead of parrying, but that did not help him either as Aniceth's extremely agile body followed his maneuvers with ease.

Brend was an experienced warrior and did not get scared for nothing, but there was a new, strange feeling in his chest, like a freezing cold hand enclosing its icy fingers around his heart. This sudden emotion sent chills running down on his spine, and he found himself hanging at the edge of panic. It was unnatural fear that made him hesitate like that, he felt it radiating from Aniceth like it was some kind of an aura around him.

”Cheap tricks!” he cried, voice shivering helplessly.

Aniceth smiled coldly and performed another powerful strike against his tutor, who just barely got one of his sabers in the way. The blow was strong enough to yank his weapon off his hand. Falling on to his knees before the approaching monster, he saw the sword rising high, preparing for another, final strike. The blade was aimed to decapitate Brend, who was now unable to defend himself.

”Enough!” a thundering voice declared, and suddenly all the walls were full of sparkling signs. A spell that was carved on them was activating fast. Brend sighed deeply, wiping some of the sweat off from his forehead. He was saved at the last moment as the spell forced the Gargoyle to retreat. The flames in Aniceth's eyes faded and died, leaving him peering around confusedly. His heavy sword dropped on the ground with a bright, metallic clang.

Garaz stepped out of the shadows, smirking at them. ”I think we all have learned something today,” he said.

He had not changed during his years of absence. Still wearing a dark red robe that covered his entire body, his face was the same with a finely trimmed black beard. The dreadful, milky eyes did not see the world around him, but seemed to penetrate through the souls of those he glared at. Only change was the staff he was now holding in his hand. A smooth wooden surface seemed plain, but upon closer observation the thin carvings that covered every inch of it revealed the strong enchantment. A small, clear crystal was mounted to the head of it. Nobody was able to tell if the crystal had secret language written all over it as well, but it probably did.

”Shall we have a cup of tea, or perhaps a glass of wine? It has been a long journey..”

Intentional or not, the mystic's words had more than one meaning.