Chapter 7: The Squire of Teh’Bvera

  "This is madness! It’s a blatant trap!" Aeron nearly shouted outside the Great Hall, which was now swarming with servants rushing to douse the remaining flames.

  Groups of nobles huddled nearby, trembling with fear and shouting curses at the arsonists—curses they surely wouldn't dare utter to their faces. The commotion only subsided when Prince Aravirel appeared to restore order. His face was pale, strained by a sudden bout of asthma. Despite his frailty, he stepped forward to lead in his father's stead.

  "Are you unharmed, Chiryl?" Aravirel asked, embracing his sister. "The knights told me of our father's abduction. You cannot go! It is an obvious trap!"

  "That’s exactly what I told her!" Aeron blurted out, interrupting. The unrefined habits of a commoner were not so easily shed.

  "And you are...?" The Prince peered at Aeron, his finger trembling with indignation.

  "He is my friend," the Princess answered. "Aravirel, I know you want what’s best for me. But our father is being held. They want me! If I go, we might at least have a chance to save him."

  "I will not sacrifice my sister in such a futile manner!" the Prince snapped. "Our father would never permit it!"

  "But I cannot let that assassin harm him!" Chiryl protested.

  "Even if the worst should happen!" the Prince roared in fury.

  Aeron couldn't believe his ears. The surrounding knights stood frozen, stunned to hear such words from the esteemed Prince. Realizing his outburst had drawn stares of suspicion, Aravirel quickly added: "Even if he falls, you are not permitted to endanger yourself. This is a plot to incite war. If your wedding does not proceed, the death of the envoy will drag us into conflict. I cannot let that happen. You stay here, Chiryl!"

  "Wait a moment... Princess," Aeron cut in, his voice tight. "You... you are to be married off to Mantorias?"

  Something bitter and cold lodged in the young man's throat. Chiryl met his gaze with a look of pained silence.

  "Know your place, peasant!" The Prince, fueled by rage, seized Aeron by the collar and shook him.

  Chiryl gasped and pulled the Prince’s hand away. "This is his first time in the palace; he knows nothing of your etiquette! And he saved my life. Do not treat him like a common servant!"

  Prince Aravirel shook his head and sighed, his face flushed. He turned away toward the Royal Gardens, where Queen Matharine and the young Prince Fastinga stood in a daze.

  "You heard the Prince, Your Highness," Sir Sar’Gour said. "Leave His Majesty to us. The Knights and Sir Richard’s guards will handle the mage at Vearo’tiz Forest."

  "If you go, they will kill my father," Chiryl said, voicing the truth. "Your presence would be for vengeance, not a rescue."

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  "But the Prince commanded—" Sar’Gour wavered.

  "Let me try this once," the Princess insisted. "If you try to stop me, I will find a way to escape without you."

  Sar’Gour of Bard sighed. "You have the same stubborn spirit as the late Queen. Very well. We shall go with you."

  "No! You must remain at the forest's edge. Once my father is safe, I will leave signs for you to follow."

  "That is far too dangerous," Sir Richard remarked. "If he intends to harm you..."

  "Then I’ll go to protect her!" Aeron stepped forward, accepting the burden.

  "Didn't you see what he wrote?" Chiryl argued.

  "...'No crown soldiers are to follow'!" Aeron finished. "But I’m not a crown soldier. I’m a free man."

  Chiryl was momentarily speechless. Perhaps with him, her hope felt a little more real. "Are you not afraid he may kill you?" she asked.

  "Terrified!" Aeron replied. "But to have my king kidnapped—it wounds my pride. I have an obligation to find the man who embarrassed me and teach him a lesson."

  Sir Richard laughed and clapped Aeron on the shoulder. "Hah! This lad has fire in him!"

  "Stop calling me a lad!" Aeron grunted.

  "Fine," Richard replied, before whispering to Sar’Gour. The Knight-Commander scrutinized Aeron, catching the hawklike brightness in the youth’s eyes.

  "Kneel, young man," Sar’Gour said solemnly.

  "Why should I kneel? You’re not the King!" Aeron retorted.

  Chiryl quietly stepped behind Aeron and kicked the back of his knees, forcing him down. As Aeron turned to protest, Sar’Gour’s blade was resting against his neck.

  "Easy now, Sir Knight!" Aeron turned pale. "Everything is negotiable..."

  "What is your full name?"

  "Aeron... just Aeron. I'm an orphan."

  "Very well. Then I shall grant you a name. For the heroic quality within a man of loyalty, henceforth you shall be known as Aeron Teh’Bvera!"

  "Fool! Teh’Bvera is the ancient tongue!" Chiryl explained. "It means Aeron 'The Brave'."

  "I... you all..." Aeron stammered. "I am being dubbed a knight?"

  Sar’Gour smiled. He tapped the blade once on each shoulder. "I, Sir Sar’Gour of Bard, by the authority of the Knight-Commander and in the glory of Lorencine, do dub thee Aeron Teh’Bvera! Sir Aeron, do you swear to live and die by the honor of your name?"

  Aeron was stunned. "I swear!" he replied firmly.

  Richard led Aeron back to the ancient Kroneous Tower. He approached the massive stone table and traced a strange circular symbol. "This is the Signer’s Mark," Richard explained. "Legend says those who bear this mark upon their left arm possess infinite power. The Holy Sword, Tonga, lies beneath this very table."

  "How do we get it out?" Aeron asked.

  "The inscription says: 'The stone table shall open when the blood of a true knight falls upon the Mark.'"

  Aeron leaned in, looking at the ancient script. "Right... I don't understand a thing. I can't read this."

  Richard staggered in disbelief. "It means what I just told you! Every knight has tried. They perform rituals. You are the first exception in a millennium."

  "You want me to cut myself?" Aeron sweated. "Don't whimper like a maiden," Richard snapped.

  Aeron grimaced and nicked his palm. Blood flowed into the symbol. A minute passed. The table didn't budge.

  "Looks like I'm not the chosen one," Aeron sighed with relief and leaned back against the table. "Perhaps I expected too much," Richard said, his disappointment clear.

  Aeron shrugged. He wiped the sweat from his brow and leaned on the table to hop down. But the moment his sweat-stained palm touched the Mark, he was stuck.

  "I can't let go!" Aeron cried. "Something is holding me!"

  Suddenly, the Mark erupted in light. Aeron’s sweat was being absorbed by the symbol.

  "The 'Blood of a Knight'!" Richard roared with laughter. "I understand now! It is not the ritual blood, but the sweat shed in struggle, in hardship, in a life unshielded by ceremony! You, who came without pride or ritual—you were chosen!"

  "How do I get out of this?!" Aeron screamed.

  "Don't fight it! Accept the power!"

  Aeron collapsed into the surging energy. The tower erupted in a thunderous explosion. A beam of blue light shot from the spire, piercing the sky and scattering the palace smoke.

  When the haze finally cleared, a figure emerged. On the shattered stone table, a man knelt, holding a small sword. Upon his left arm, a shimmering, radiant mark sat perfectly—a circle of leaf-like patterns. Before Richard stood not merely a boy, but a Signer...