Child of Fate Page 3

  “I just came from the market,” Alto said. “It was near the gate.”

  “That’s just merchants and whores preying on travelers coming to town, not a proper market,” she said with a laugh.

  “Oh, um, okay. What are locks?”

  She giggled. “You really aren’t from around here. They’re a dug out section with walls that raise and lower to let boats pass from one river to the other.”

  “I’ll have to look at that; it sounds amazing,” Alto admitted. He couldn’t understand how such a thing could work; wouldn’t the water keep the walls open? He ran his hand through his hair and looked around again. “How do you live in a place like this? It’s so full and busy!”

  “Farm boy?” She giggled again.

  Alto’s cheeks reddened as he nodded. “I am. Or I was. I’m here to meet some people.”

  “Ooh, secrets,” she teased him. “I’m Aleena; this is the Foaming Mug.”

  Alto glanced up at the sign and laughed. He didn’t need to read when he could guess the name outright!

  “Something funny about that?”

  “Oh! No, nothing. I’m sorry. Just a fitting sign, is all. I’m Alto, sorry.”

  “You should come back after you meet your friends, Alto,” Aleena said. “We open at high sun and the ale’s always cold.”

  Alto slapped his mouth shut and nodded. “I’ll do that,” he managed to stammer. “If I can, I mean. Otherwise, another time? Do you, um, do you live here, too?”

  “My father owns the inn,” she said. “And he’ll probably threaten to tan my hide if I don’t sweep these boards proper.”

  “Oh! Right, of course. I wouldn’t want that.” Alto backed away and offered a wave to the laughing girl. His cheeks flaming redder than ever, Alto turned and let himself be swallowed up by the moving crowd again.

  He wandered, his height helping him see over the heads of most of the other morning travelers. It had taken him days to reach Portland, thanks in no small part to him needing to ask directions at every turn. He’d been so turned about at one point he doubted he could even find his way home. Crossing one road to the next, he began to wonder if he would become just as lost here.

  He followed a bend in the road and saw a wall that rose nearly twice as high as the outer gates. A portcullis was raised in the road ahead of him, but on this side of it he saw another bridge. Alto stopped in the middle of the road until someone bumped into him from behind. He hurried forward, excited to think that he’d found his destination at last.

  The ornate design he saw upon the massive building was not what he expected. Rather than a sword and axe, he saw only the sculpted metal of a blazing sun high above the entrance to the church. He frowned and started to turn away. He had to keep searching; no doubt there were other roads that crossed the Yelb.

  A figure emerging from the temple caught his eye. He turned his head back and believed that his luck might not be all bad after all. “Karthor!” Alto cried out.

  Seeing Alto, the man smiled and waved. “Well met,” Karthor said when he walked closer. “What brings you to Portland? You seem out of place.”

  Alto nodded emphatically. “Aye, this city is…large. And close!”

  Karthor chuckled. “It can be overwhelming, but it is small, as cities go.”

  Alto couldn’t imagine a larger city. He shook his head in awe. “Where is Tristam? I want to take him up on his offer.”

  Karthor smiled and turned to point back down the road they were on. “Take the next road to the right for two blocks. You will see the Yelb. The Blades stay there between jobs. Come, I will show you.”

  Karthor led the way, inquiring as they walked about Alto’s father and family. Alto found him easy to talk to and shared more than he expected. Their conversation was cut short when Karthor led him to a plain building next to an equally plain-looking tavern.

  “Head on in. I need to tend to some things but I’ll be back shortly,” the priest explained.

  Alto nodded and opened the door. Inside, the air smelled fresher than the outside, which surprised him. He found himself in a common area and saw William sitting on a bench and oiling his sword.

  “Ho there, lad,” William said. He recognized him a moment later. “Ah, you’d be the one from Monterose! The goblin-slayer,” he said, chuckling. “Are there more of them about that we missed?”

  “No, I…is Tristam here?” Alto asked nervously.

  William nodded and stood up, wiping his sword clean and sheathing it. He carried it and gestured for Alto to follow him.

  He led him through an open doorway and down a passage into a galley-style kitchen. On the far side of it, they walked down another hallway until William stopped at a door and knocked. A voice bid them to enter and William opened the door and gestured for Alto to head in.

  “Tristam, our young friend from Monterose has come calling,” he said, announcing Alto with a grin.

  “Is that right?” Tristam said, standing up from the desk he was sitting behind. He walked around it, gesturing for Alto to step into his office. Alto did so and Tristam reached out to shake his hand. “Change your mind already, son?”

  Alto nodded, embarrassed for some reason he couldn’t name. “Yes, sir, I did.”

  William chuckled and Tristam shook his head. “No calling me sir, Alto. Either Tristam or, well, Tristam. I’m not a noble and we’re not in an army.”

  Alto nodded. “Okay…Tristam.”

  “Much better!” he said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You get your horse squared away? Where’s your sword and armor?”

  “I had to leave Sebas at the stables near the gate,” Alto explained. He held up his arms and shrugged. “This is all I own. The sword and leather were my father’s but I’ve got my bow and a knife. I’ll work for anything I need. I don’t have any money.”

  Tristam nodded. “All right, you’re going to be an investment then. You listen good when the training starts, Alto; I’d not be happy having you killed off in your first fight and proving me wrong about you being worth the risk and money.”

  Alto blushed, embarrassed by his poverty. He’d never felt that way before. Indeed, he’d always been proud of what he and his family had. Now he realized that they were anything but well off.

  Alto nodded. “I’ll earn it,” he promised.

  Tristam chuckled and clapped him again on the shoulder. “That’s all I ask. Come on, let’s see what you can do and get you squared away.”

  Tristam led him out of the room and down the hallway. William followed behind to watch. He led them down a flight of stairs and into a cellar that had a higher ceiling and plenty of open room for sparring. Targets were set up against a far wall some thirty paces away for target practice. Racks of practice weapons lined one wall. In the midst of the room, Drefan and Gerald were sparring with practice swords.

  They stopped when they saw the others arrive. Wiping sweat from their brows, they racked their weapons and stood back to watch. Tristam walked along the row of weapons and picked out a longsword for himself and another for Alto. The lad accepted it and then took the round wooden shield Tristam offered him.

  Tristam lashed out, surprising Alto and catching him along the thigh. Alto grimaced at the painful smack and backed away. The onlookers chuckled, clearly unimpressed. Tristam beckoned him forward with a grin. Alto had no idea what he was doing; he was resolved to accept the beating like a man.

  Alto was uncertain how to react as Tristam scored several more painful stings. He’d sparred with Darren from time to time but they had only been two kids playing with sticks. Finally, angry at the slaps he was receiving from the dull metal blade, he stopped focusing on defense and instead began to launch his own clumsy attacks. Tristam blocked the first few and grunted with exertion at each parry. Alto noticed when Tristam started dodging his swings rather than blocking them.

  The farm boy adapted quickly. He learned that he did best when he didn’t invest all of his strength into a felling blow that the more experienced war
rior would slip away from. Those were the most unguided and easiest for Tristam to dodge, which brought a painful poke, slap, or cuff from the man. The sword still felt awkward in his hand, and before long Tristam called a halt and switched out weapons for the recruit, giving him a thicker and heavier broadsword that lacked the greater length of the longsword Tristam wielded.

  Before they could start again, the door opened and Kar and Karthor entered the room. Alto nodded to Karthor, and wondered why Kar was grinning as he puffed on his pipe.

  “The broadsword is the weapon of violence,” Kar said to him. “Few choose it, for it requires a strong arm and a sturdy chest to wield properly. Most prefer a finer blade, something more versatile, and something more able to be used to hold an opponent out of reach.”

  Alto nodded, understanding what the man said simply from the way the first sword had felt to him. The broadsword was heavier in his hand, and it felt more comfortable to him. He felt the weight behind it and knew he could use it to his advantage. Yet too much swinging of the heavy weapon would leave him winded and his arm tired.

  “Time enough for talk later. Alto, show me if you’re the one in fifty men that can use a weapon like that,” Tristam said.

  Alto nodded and, taking a lesson from Tristam, he launched an attack.

  Tristam ducked and stumbled backwards, barely avoiding the swing. He came up grinning, and stepped back into range, shield raised and sword held at the ready. Alto drove a couple of exploratory strikes at him, forcing Tristam to either parry them or take them on his shield. The speed and strength of Alto’s arm kept him on the defensive. He was able to launch an occasional thrust or riposte, though only two connected with the young man, and both were weak enough strikes that they would have done no damage in a real fight.

  “Stop holding back,” Kar said from the side.

  “I’m not!” Tristam said, breathing hard as he continued to wait for Alto to tire from swinging the heavier sword. Alto’s strength showed no signs of waning, much to Tristam’s chagrin.

  “I wasn’t talking to you,” Kar snapped.

  Alto hesitated a moment at the wizard’s advice, which cost him dearly. Tristam took advantage of the pause and jabbed the blunted longsword into Alto’s ribs. Alto felt the breath blasted from him and had to step back to block the next thrust with his shield. Alto caught the next sweeping cut with his sword, knocking Tristam’s blade out to the side.

  Alto growled and pushed forward, hammering his heavy blade into Tristam’s defenses. Tristam gave ground and found his sword beaten down from every parry he tried. To give his sword and arm a rest, he dropped his sword low and deflected a thrust with his shield. Alto’s sword went wide, giving Tristam what he thought was an opening since Alto’s shield was off to the opposite side.

  Tristam dropped low and thrust upwards in a move that would leave Alto with a bruising injury that would damage his pride as well as his flesh. Alto wasn’t nearly as defenseless or witless as he’d led the more seasoned warrior to believe. The farm boy’s foot lashed out, kicking the rising sword up and out of Tristam’s hand. Tristam’s eyes widened first in shock, and then in surprise as he saw Alto’s broadsword returning from where Tristam had last sent it.

  The veteran raised his shield to block and cringed at the impact he predicted. Alto’s training sword crashed into it so mightily that the shield broke and sent the older warrior stumbling back onto the ground.

  Alto pushed forward, stepping over him and pointing his sword at him. Tristam cradled his arm that still had a portion of the shield attached to it. He chuckled and held up his empty sword arm. “I yield!”

  He held out his hand, accepting defeat and showing camaraderie. Alto breathed heavily for a moment to clear the adrenaline from his mind and then tucked his training blade under his right arm so he could help Tristam to his feet. Tristam grimaced and held his arm once he was on his feet.

  “Saints, boy, you’re strong, all right!” he said. Turning to the others, who watched in shock, he said, “It seems our young friend has managed to break not only my shield, but also my arm! Karthor, care to have a look at it?”

  Karthor hurried forward, his eyes on the swelling at the midpoint of Tristam’s forearm. He grabbed his holy symbol and began to invoke the power of Leander.

  Kar walked forward and nodded respectfully at Alto. “I thought so,” he muttered, and then blew out a puff of smoke. “Never doubt yourself, my young friend. I see it in you; you are the aggressor. Fate has something in mind for you. I don’t know what it is but I can tell you this, the role of a defender is not for you.”

  Chapter 3

  Alto groaned when they passed the Foaming Mug. The groan wasn’t from his sore muscles or the heavy load of his pack that the others had weighed him down with in a hazing tradition as old as the earliest groupings of men. He groaned because the sight of the tavern reminded him of Aleena and her invitation.

  “Strength of an ox,” Drefan jibed.

  “It’s not the load; I just remembered something,” Alto said.

  “You’ve been training, eating, or asleep the last three days,” Tristam said with a laugh. “What could be so important on the eve of your first adventure?”

  Alto searched for an excuse, rather than admit the truth. He was spared the decision when Aleena emerged from the doors of the inn, broom in hand, and spied Alto walking with the others. She waved and called out, “Hi, Alto!”

  “Of course,” Tristam said with a grin. “A girl. Mark my words, boy, women are the most dangerous of foes!”

  “And they offer the greatest rewards,” Drefan added with a wry smile.

  Alto waved back as subtly as he could, which drew a round of chuckles from his new companions.

  Aleena was far enough away to be spared the verbal jabs the Blades levied on Alto. She watched them as they walked and called out again, “Don’t forget to stop by!”

  “I’ll make sure of it, my lady,” Tristam called back to her. “It’s been too long since I’ve enjoyed your father’s hospitality; we’ll all come!”

  In spite of the burning in his cheeks, Alto’s lips stretched in a smile. They crossed the Sadani and left Aleena and the Foaming Mug behind and then continued on to the eastern gate of Portland.

  They were bound to the northeast, north of Alto’s family farm. The frequency of the goblin raids were increasing. The short creatures had become bolder. Instead of attacking undefended farms, they were waylaying travelers and caravans.

  Alto’s load lessened when they reached the stables. The laden pack was distributed amongst the mounts. Sebas was the son of Gemini, a stout plow horse, and one of the two draft mares his father used to pull the wagons. He had size and strength to spare, but his training had never included the leather flaps he now wore as barding.

  Alto was trying to grow accustomed to the soft leather tunic and leggings he wore that fit tightly against him. The others wore chain shirts and greaves under their tabards, but none had fit Alto. Tristam promised him his own suit of chain if he survived his first adventure.

  “Now where’s that fool wizard?” Tristam muttered as they readied their mounts.

  “The fool wizard’s behind you,” Kar said, startling them all. “Who’s the fool now?”

  Tristam ignored him. “Did you secure the contracts?”

  “Would I be here otherwise?” Kar asked. He shook his head while grabbing his own steed, a gray stallion that looked too small to hold Alto, let alone a man in armor. Kar led his horse beside Alto and climbed into the saddle. He’d left the trademark robes advertising his profession behind and wore simple breeches and a loose shirt.

  “Let’s be off then. We’ve a couple days travel,” Tristam said. He led the procession through the gates and down the busy road.

  Alto stared at the signposts at the first junction, noting the arrows and the numbers, but uncertain of the words. He tried to remember the letters but soon gave up.

  “Seems you could use tutoring with more than just a blad
e,” Kar commented beside him.

  Alto jerked his head to look at the wizard and saw an easy smile on his bearded face. “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t read,” Kar stated. “You’re smart enough to know if the fight against Tristam had been real, you’d have been put down long before you knocked him on his arse. That means you’re smart enough to learn letters and numbers.”

  “My father taught them to me,” Alto said in defense. Tristam had yielded but it had been with training weapons. Had real blades been used, Alto would have bled out and unable to move from the critical cuts Tristam had landed.

  “A good man, your father,” Kar offered.

  Alto nodded. They lapsed into silence until Alto admitted, “It was years ago and I’ve forgotten much of what he learned me.”

  “You’ll go far, boy, if you can remember to keep the pointy end away from you,” Kar offered with a smile. The wizard pulled out his pipe and added a pinch of tobacco to it before igniting it with a jet of flame from his thumb.

  “Father, what sage advice are you offering now?” Karthor asked as he slowed his own horse from where’d he’d been riding nearer the front of their small party.

  Kar harrumphed. “The only pointy ends you’re likely to learn about are the ones the priests offer you!”

  Alto’s mouth fell open at the bold insult. Karthor shook his head while Drefan, just ahead of them, chuckled. “Ignore his jibes,” Karthor said as the wizard spurred his horse to ride ahead. “He’s a good man. He’s just never had much in the way of faith or respect for those who do.”

  “But he’s your father,” Alto blurted out without thinking.

  “Aye, and he loves me. He’s just had a hard time accepting my calling. He wanted me to become a wizard.”

  “I can’t imagine you like that,” Alto admitted.

  “Me either,” Karthor admitted. “All his lessons after my mother died about higher beings and different planes of existence only drove me to understand the divinity of it all. That was how I found Leander.”

  Alto grunted. “My father made sure we made a weekly devotion to Leander, with a greater one when it came time to plant and another as thanks during harvest.”