1
He stood alongside his fellow cadets, awaiting their promotion to knighthood. As always, the ceremony was being performed on the most severe day of summer, a day most people in the valley stayed at home to exercise their arms fanning themselves. The heat assaulted all exposed skin, and the formal armor they were forced to wear acted as an oven. It was well known that any cadet that fell from heat stroke during the proceedings would not receive the honors they had worked seven years for, but no survivor of the academy had any reason to worry.
The academy’s commander took his time delivering his address before going through the ranks, giving each cadet the signet of knighthood. Those in the first rank, who had the pleasure of securing their prize before the rest, were the top graduates of their class. The ones who stood to get their signet last were those who deserved it least – and so paid for their presumption by suffering the longest. Grateful for the hard work that placed him in the eighth column of the first rank, he watched as the commander and his attaché approached.
“State your name,” the attaché ordered.
“Alevan Tayron,” he answered smartly.
“Tayron?” the commander asked with a jolt, as his attaché checked the list and nodded. “The noble family Tayron?”
“Yes, sir!”
The commander stood wide-eyed. “The family of the trickster god. And you managed to get this far in the academy without getting yourself killed?”
Tayron went immediately from overwhelming confidence to curious uncertainty. The commander was certainly being inappropriately blunt. “Yes, sir,” Tayron confirmed in a more subdued tone.
“Interesting” was all the commander said as he handed the signet to Tayron and moved on to the next cadet.
It was not often that Tayron met a man so well versed in the nobility. His family, after all, had been minor nobility at best. By some ancient king’s grace, they had the patronage of the god Tayl, who was more likely to offer disaster than protection. The Tayron family was no wealthier than a simple merchant one, and it lived far away from the capitol and other centers of power. How the family had attained nobility in the first place was a mystery, and it was considered a cruel joke to the Tayrons. The young knight assumed that, as he grew closer to the centers of power, there would be more people acquainted with the nobility, and eager to keep them sorted out right. He prepared himself for more offhand comments about his family’s misfortunes.
The knights were dismissed rank by rank, so once everyone in the first rank had received their signet, they marched off to the deployment tent. The tent was not a foot larger than it needed to be. It allowed for a desk, a man seated behind that desk, and the knight that was receiving his orders. The rest stood outside in mild anticipation.
Tayron was a bit more excited than the rest. He had a great deal to prove, as his commander had just reminded him. His family had not produced a knight in as many generations as they could trace their lineage back. Most family members who made an attempt at knighthood had met with unexpected accidents in their first week of training. Alevan’s own uncle, Sylvan, fell off of his web-winged breka during in-flight riding lessons and was skewered by a particularly sharp branch on a tree. The riding harness was found to be in perfect condition, and the flight instructor assured the academy that he had checked that Sylvan was properly secured.
Alevan’s parents had predictably warned starkly against risky undertakings, concerned with his life. They had suggested that he continue in the family tradition and seek a job as a clerk in the tax assessor’s office.
And now, after a great deal of worries and wrangling, patience and perseverance, and injuries, he had made it through. He did not know how long he would last as a knight, but since he had successfully reached this summit, there was no reason to believe that he would meet some disaster while enjoying the view.
He quickly found himself inside the tent and pressed up against the almost solid air inside. It was a miracle that the scrawny mustached man behind the desk was still alive, having to breathe this soupy substance.
“Name? Family name first if you’re a noble.” the man said, seemingly unaware of the suffocating environment.
“Tayron, Alevan,” Tayron said promptly.
“Very well, Sir Tayron. It seems as if you will join the troops heading to the capital. Unless, of course, you wish to waive the assignment and take another, or go independent, which you will not wish to do, so lets just move on. Congratulations,” the man said with a friendly smile that Tayron could never have expected, especially after the spitfire delivery of the orders. “You might get a cushy palace job,” the man continued. “It sure beats the mess on the border patrols, I can tell you. See?”
The man lifted up the stub that was all that remained of his left leg. “Blasted amputators. If there isn’t a wizard handy, they just chop things right off.” He grinned as he saw the dismay on Tayron’s face. “Yes, they have a wizard for every cadet in the academy, so you never had to fret over broken limbs. Anyway, you are to head for the north gate, where the train that will take you to the capitol will leave in two hours.”
“Yes, sir!” Tayron said, saluted, and left as quickly as possible. Deciding not to think about the odd encounter, he instead focused on the journey ahead. He did not have much to pack, so the two-hour departure time would be easy to make. He headed for his quarters to get out of the ceremonial armor, and get into lighter wear. The ceremonial was thankfully less cumbersome to remove than full armor would have been. Once he was done, he debated whether to get a meal before packing, and decided against it. The academy’s meals were deadly. Tayron suspected that, as with everything else in the academy, the food was meant to test the mettle of the cadets. With any luck, the train would have better food, since it was reserved only for knights.
So, Tayron packed swiftly and lugged his sacks, to the train. He hoped to get a window seat so that he could admire the scenery during the trip. He did not think there would be much else to do.
“You off to the capital, too?” an eager knight in the boarding line ahead of him asked Tayron.
“That’s where the train is headed, isn’t it?” Tayron replied, a bit more caustically than he intended. Social interaction had been strictly limited at the academy, so he was out of practice when it came to a civil tone. His fellow knight was just a bit shorter than him, and seemed to be a lot younger even though they had to be of the same age. The energetic graduate had brownish-black hair that was tousled haphazardly in sharp contrast to Tayron’s respectably sorted grayish brown. Tayron recognized the youthful knight as the top graduate – the first one to receive his signet – but had never noticed him in all the years in the academy. The knight must have been in one of the two other units at the academy.
“So, you wager that we’ll get to protect the king and all? I’d sure like just to see him. I hear he’s really old and all, but my mother says he’s the best king in the world. The king of Rath’rainol is really brutal to his people, and Memzar doesn’t even have a king, they have a council of some sort,” the boyish knight said with disarmingly eloquent swiftness.
Tayron could not help himself. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-one. Aren’t we all? I mean, you’ve just graduated, right? You’re not a veteran or anything?” Tayron was about to answer when his new acquaintance continued. “Oh, I know! Haven’t talked to many people in a while and at home no one’s surprised, so I forgot. I probably seem very young and all to you. I used to get that a lot, and I guess I will again now that I’m out of the academy and’ll actually get to talk to people. I’m from the noble family Yunas, and we’re protected by the god of youth, Yunel. I guess it shows, huh?”
Tayron nodded vigorously. While there had been hundreds of nobles at the academy, and he had met dozens more outside of the school, none of them had revealed the nature of their god to him. Then again, it was typically not so obvious. Tayron was eager to learn more, since knowledge of the gods was bound to be helpful in the capitol. Yunas seemed eager to educate him – eager to have any conversation, to be exact. Tayron gathered that, throughout the years of imposed limits on interaction, the youthful knight had been set to burst on the first opportunity for unmitigated conversation.
“Well, it’s not as helpful as you’d think,” Yunas went on. “We’re not high nobility or anything like that. It’s hard to be taken seriously, you understand. We don’t have longer life, either. We just look younger on the outside. My family’s always had trouble getting served at bars and all. Even the commander gave me a weird look when he gave me my signet. I’d completely forgotten about how I looked, so I wondered what made him stare. Thought I had a stain on my armor, or something. Should’ve known right away that that was why you asked my age. Say, what’s your name?”
Concerned that Yunas, who would likely be knowledgeable about nobility, would react in an unfavorable way to his name, Tayron hesitated a moment. Within a second, though, Tayron decided that he felt far less self-conscious considering Yunas’ own odd divine protection. “Tayron. Alevan Tayron,” Tayron said tentatively, dreading that he would be telling people his name all day.
“Mine’s Draiser Yunas, nice to meet you.” Yunas extended his wrist and Tayron grasped it firmly. Yunas returned the greeting and Tayron found to his surprise that Yunas’ grip was fairly strong as well.
Yunas guessed what Tayron was thinking. “My father always insisted that his sons should have a strong grip. He says that a solid welcome is the best indication of trustworthiness and is the key to a good first impression,” he said in a way that made clear he was quoting his father’s often repeated advice word for word.
“Your father’s probably right,” was all Tayron could think to say.
“Say, did you say you were of family Tayron?”
Tayron had been waiting for this. “Yes.”
“Wow. And you’re still alive. Amazing. You must be really intelligent.”
Tayron was beginning to think that he could get along with Yunas, despite the youthful knight’s constant flow of words. “I’d like to think so.”
“Tayl. Wow. I don’t mean to be rude or anything, but that must be rough. It could be worse, of course, but still . . . .”
Tayron shrugged. “I haven’t had any big problems myself, but my family history’s full of fluke accidents. I hope you don’t mind if I don’t talk about them. They’re really depressing.”
“Not at all. Look! We might be boarding.”
The line was indeed finally moving. Tayron could see that dozens of knights stood behind him, making him glad that he arrived early.
“Be sure to store your luggage in the overhead bins once you board. I don’t want to see anything in the aisles,” a man whose clothing identified him as the train operator but whose face was a shade of criminal shouted to the boarding line. “I’ll be walking through the train before we start out, and anybody with baggage outside of the overhead bins will be thrown off. This is my train, and I have final say on who’s allowed on it.”
Tayron took the message to heart. With misfortune building up, ready to pounce, he could not afford to disregard any warnings.
Yunas seemed to be thinking along the same lines. “You think he’s serious? I brought quite a bit,” he said. Tayron noticed for the first time the sacks standing in front of the youthful knight, threatening to dwarf him. “Don’t know if those overhead bins are going to be big enough.”
“They’ll be, I’m sure,” Tayron reassured. He ascended the steps from the platform into the train, avoiding the malicious stare of the train operator. As he entered the train car, the fresh breeze of air conditioning greeted him.
“Ah!” Yunas breathed. “That feels good. It gets so hot this far south. The capital won’t be this hot, but I wouldn’t mind more coolers at the height of summer.”
Tayron nodded vigorously. The interior of the train, besides being quite cool, was remarkably clean and elegantly decorated. Arranged with booths with four maroon plush seats, it gave the impression of inviting comfort. The seats in each booth were placed on either side of a table that Tayron hoped would soon be filled with food. The windows were panoramic, and framed in ornamental woodwork. It was a sharp contrast to the welcome the train operator had offered, but the train operator had good reason to be protective of this pristine train.
Stowing his luggage in the bin above it, Tayron took the first window seat at an empty booth he could find. He wanted to avoid the ritual of inspecting a booth’s occupants to see if they would be acceptable. Even among the knights, there were plenty of people Tayron, given a choice, avoided. Many knights were from elite families, and Tayron could not stand the pretentiousness plastered on their faces.
To the somber knight’s surprise, Yunas stopped in his progress along the aisle, turned around, and, after hefting his sacks into the bin above, took the seat opposite Tayron. Yunas shrugged and said by way of explanation “I really don’t know anybody else. I’d like to know at least one person at the palace. It was tough enough going through training alone in a crowd.”
“Absolutely,” Tayron agreed. While he doubted that he was as ardent a conversationalist as Yunas, he had definitely felt the oppression of isolation at the academy. It was likely that he was now beginning a career that would end only late in his life. He had no intention of living his life in self-imposed seclusion.
Two other knights took the seats beside Tayron and Yunas. They introduced themselves immediately. The knight sitting next to Tayron was Pereli Bathis, and Zever Karitan sat in the aisle seat on Yunas’ side. There was an odd pause after the introductions as each of the four considered how to strike up a conversation, or whether to start one at all. Yunas, naturally, was the first to speak up.
“So . . . heard about the border conflicts with Rath’rainol? They say the fighting’s vicious.”
“My father’s fighting on the Rath’rainol border,” the formidably built Karitan said with a trace of worry. Yunas faltered, and decided not to continue that line of discussion. Karitan’s warrior build, dark hair, and sunken eyes gave him the traditional figure of a brooding knight. He also noticeably dwarfed Yunas, who struck Tayron as even more unusual when seated next to Karitan.
Bathis was not as wary as Yunas. He decided to plunge right ahead. “Well, I heard that it isn’t much of a trouble at all. Rath’rainol is demoralized - its people have neither the guts to fight us nor any real reason. They’d do better to defect,” he said in an offhand way. He had Tayron’s more average knightly form, but shrewd eyes. The way he spoke, he seemed to expect someone to contradict him the second his voice rested.
Karitan obliged him. “My father says the fighting’s hard. The Rathi outnumber our forces, and that gives them all the morale they need,” he said mildly, but with a gruff voice that said very clearly that he would not accept any more of Bathis’ spurious claims.
Bathis, for some indecipherable reason, pressed on. “Your father can’t have seen much battle, then.”
“He is the veteran of a dozen campaigns,” Karitan replied dangerously.
“Whatever,” Bathis said in a uniquely rude way that Tayron doubted anyone else in the train could have matched. Tayron, for his part, kept on his guard while putting some distance between himself and Bathis – a difficult task since they were sitting next to each other. Yunas was oddly mute, but looked on in great interest. He might have thought that Bathis had something up his sleeves. Tayron found this doubtful, deciding that Bathis was one of the all-too-numerous people who ran their mouths constantly, impervious to the consequences of the words. The academy had a strange effect on people, and a few of them ended up like powder kegs, so a fight on a train full of knights was really tempting fate.
Karitan was fighting a bitter internal struggle, with one half of his psyche trying to come up with something to say in response to Bathis’ insolence, and the other half preparing to bring the violence his father faced on a daily basis right down upon Bathis’ useless skull. He was clearly of the powder keg variety, with just enough control over himself to allow him to pass the academy tests.
On sudden inspiration, Tayron addressed Karitan, asking “are you from a noble family?”
“Why is that always so important?” Karitan replied sharply. The question did seem to catch him slightly off guard, so the full ferocity with which he had faced Bathis was now diminished to irritation as he turned to Tayron. “No, I’m not, if it matters. I’m a knight, after all. It’s the only way us common people can get up in the world. Why? Are you?”
Tayron felt mildly relieved that Karitan had not exploded. He had no idea whether he could win a battle against the giant knight, but he was not in the mood to find out. “Yes, I am. Nothing high and mighty. My family did some service ages ago that we can’t even remember, got the title, and it really hasn’t done us much good since. There’s not much to it really.”
“But the title gives you the protection of a family god,” Karitan said, suddenly interested. Tayron was astounded at how quickly Karitan’s aspect changed, but was also pleased to see that his attempt to diffuse the situation had worked. At the same time, he had an ill foreboding about where this conversation was leading.
“My father’s been trying to earn our family the title and divine protection as well,” Karitan continued. “What’s your family god?”
Bathis, who had been biding his time, now leaped into the talk. “You uneducated oaf, don’t you even know your gods? Tayron is the family of Tayl, the trickster god. Better not have a god at all, if you ask me. Though, with your sorry state, Karitan, practically any god would do.”
Karitan was tensed up to tackle Bathis, who would likely not survive long enough to make use of his knightly training, and said “Why you little . . .”
But Karitan was cut off by what could only have been called divine intervention. The train operator came into the car to check the aisles in preparation for departure. Even though the operator looked the part of a weak middle-aged man, it was easy to see by his stride, manner, and especially by his menacing face, that he could quickly muster the strength to throw even a knight of Karitan’s girth off the train. Karitan showed his respect for the operator’s presence by sitting down fully in his seat. He kept his fists clenched.
The operator continued his trek to the back of the train, and in his temporary absence Karitan did not make a move. When the operator returned to their car, hastily striding his way to the control booth, he hollered to the occupants “we’ll be leaving in a minute. You’d better all have pissed, there aren’t many toilets and I don’t want people lining up for ‘em. It’s a three-hour trip to the capital. You should be able to keep out of trouble for that much time, knights that you are. If you can’t, I’ll see on the monitors up front. The train stops. You’re off on your ass on the grass outside. We’re all the happier for it.”
As he completed his progression he eyed a few faces that he found particularly mischievous, including Bathis’, then exited the car.
Yunas could not contain himself. “You must have the protection of a god, Bathis. No one is that lucky all on his own. You were about to be pummeled.”
Karitan had regained his composure, and chose to sit in silent hatred of Bathis. At Yunas’ words, his eyes widened and he waited for Bathis’ answer.
“Well,” Bathis started, unable to keep the pride out of his voice, “my family likes to keep it quiet, but there’s no point for that here, really. Our family had been protected by Bat, the god of insults, for millennia. Even scholars have mostly forgotten about us, since we rarely involve ourselves in great historical troubles, and aren’t as prone to get into weird situations like Tayron’s family. Bat allows us to hurl insults without retribution. You see, if everyone knew that, it’d be no fun at all. They would keep control of their temper around us. Even now, if Karitan tried to sock me, some odd coincidence would stop him.”
“So that’s how you’ve been doing it,” Karitan growled. “This idiot has been following me around saying every nasty thing he could think of every chance he got. Every few months, I’d see him again, he’d do it again, I’d try to get at him, then I’d trip over something, bump into someone, or any number of other things. One time I almost punched the academy commander. It’s been driving me nuts.”
Tayron interjected. “You two ’ve known each other for long?”
Bathis chuckled. “Only a few minutes every few months. You know how the academy was. I’m the fly that Karitan’s been longing to swat. I buzz him in the night, he turns on his light, and spends an hour trying to crush me. But I’m too fast for him. And on top of it all, Yunas here caught on in a second when the oaf couldn’t understand after months.”
Karitan sneered. “Well, I’ve got your number now. You’re not getting me again. You’re not getting anyone again. I’ll tell everyone in the palace.”
“You so much as try, and you’ll find your time in the palace very uncomfortable. You might not survive it. My family has dozens of people at the palace – servants and the like, you see - people who don’t stand out. There’re so many assassinations at the palace, nobody will notice the loss of a knight. We’re supposed to protect the court, after all, not the other way around. Since that plan probably won’t work, Karitan, how will you retaliate against me? Your ready wit?” Bathis said with thick sarcasm.
“I’m not going to fall for it,” Karitan finalized.
“A note to the casual observer,” Bathis said, “always know about as many families as you can. You never know when one will use their protection against you.”
Tayron pondered those words. Little of note passed Bathis’ lips, but these seemed to be tested wisdom. While he hated to take advice from someone like Bathis, Tayron did not want to be made a fool of at the palace.
The journey itself was pleasantly quiet once the train got underway. The roar of the engines made conversation difficult, and most of the knights reverted to their traditional reclusion. Yunas questioned Bathis concerning some interesting families of nobility he had always wanted to know more about, and Bathis was more than eager to parade his knowledge. Tayron kept one ear open to hear any details of value. Every so often, Yunas would also point out landmarks. Bathis made snide remarks about the political affairs of the day.
Tayron was thankful that they did not pull him into the conversation. After the drought of social interaction that had marked his life for the past few years, the recent flood was overwhelming. He needed to readjust to it all, and would be slower at it than Bathis and Yunas seemed to be, but perhaps quicker than Karitan. He felt contented, though. Once he had consumed the onboard meal, he had almost reached a state of happiness. He had met some interesting people. He was headed with them to the capital – the center of the land’s activity. He was going there to reclaim his family’s dignity. He had made it.