Young Writers Society

Arryn

The School of Chivalry was a towering fortress of rock, prestige, and unwavering tradition. It was the impenetrable stronghold of honor placed firmly at the center of Dragonfield and Uthdore. Powerful, proud Knights galloped into the School on enormous battle horses, laughing boisterously at their latest exploits. Their meticulously polished suits of stolen Dwarven and Mer armor created a near angelic aura of light around the men, as if Vorad himself had blessed them with endless fame. Arryn Ankar could only smile dimly as he watched his former companions riding around the school with glee and swinging their mighty weapons with practiced respect. The Knights dared not look upon Arryn, his lack of armor only proof of his disrespect against a Baron of Uthdore. Those same Knights had once stared at his back and looked to him for leadership as Arryn led them into battle as the greatest of the Knights of the Golden Banner: the personal Knights of the King of Uthdore. However, his insolence had earned him the loss of all he had worked to achieve.

Arryn remembered when his grandfather, Avern Ankar, had shown him the School when he was a young boy. The sheer excitement of it all had stolen his breath away. He wanted to be a Knight and storm into battle swinging a sword and striking fear into the souls of his enemies. His grandfather told him that he would become a great Knight. Arryn sighed when he realized how much he had disappointed him.

“Arryn?” a shrill voice said behind him as he was admiring the School, “How long has it been since you have tasted the splendors of battle?”

Arryn’s gut twisted at the sound of the young man’s voice. Echbel Irar was a horrid man. Echbel had been in training with Arryn when he attended the School, however Arryn easily surpassed Echbel his first year. Echbel never forgot that fact.

“What do you want, Echbel?” Arryn asked.

Echbel removed his gloves, stepped towards Arryn and slapped him hard across the face. Arryn did not move a muscle or let out a whelp of pain. Arryn had endured much worse.

“I am a Knight of the kingdom of Uthdore,” Echbel said. “You will address me as such.”

“What would you like of me, sir?” Arryn feigned respect as best as he could.

“That’s better,” Echbel said with a smirk. “The Baron would like to speak with you in his quarters immediately.”

“Why?” Arryn said. “I mean, why sir?”

“He did not say.” Echbel said. “Maybe he wishes to take more away from you than he already has.”

No longer in the mood to respect his authority, Arryn turned from Echbel abruptly, despite his yelling, and walked towards the Baron’s Quarters in the center of the School. As he reached the doors of Oldver’s quarters, Arryn paused when he heard the yelling of Oldver and an unfamiliar voice. Just as Arryn tried to discern the nature of the heated conversation, the door swung open and a tall, brown haired woman stormed out of the room. Although she wore the crest of the Almos, Arryn could tell that she had the same blood as Baron Etmon. She had his grey, frightened eyes. The eyes of a coward. The woman gave Arryn one look; a horrible sneer of such disdain that Arryn was forced to step back.

“Bow your head in the presence of an Almos, boy.” The woman hissed.

“Sorry, ma’am.” Arryn said, bowing his head.

The woman narrowed her serpentine eyes at Arryn before turning and briskly walking away.

“Arryn, my boy!” Oldver’s booming voice shouted. “Come in!”

Arryn could not help but smile when he saw his greatest teacher and oldest friend. Baron Oldver Taimar was a monster of a man. He had fiery red hair, a common trait in Dragonfield, that he kept pulled out of his face and into a braid. He was a meaty, jolly soul who could fill a room with laughter after a single pint of ale. His arms were the size of most broadswords and the full strength of his handshake was said to be able to crush a man’s bones. Oldver crossed the grand room in three, giant strides and pulled Arryn into a crushing embrace. Arryn could not breathe, but he had never breathed when Oldver had him in a hug.

“How have you been, my boy?” Oldver said, releasing Arryn and allowing the young boy to breathe. “Hopefully the young ones aren’t too much to handle. Hopefully they are not a hassle as you were!”

Arryn had to laugh.

“It’s all quite well. Training them reminds me of my first days at the School.” Arryn said halfheartedly. “What was that Almos woman doing here?”

“Petty political business. You know Etmon. It seems the Almos have forgotten my original answer to their plea for help. They do not understand my position. I will not interfere, nor am I able to. I cannot simply threaten to declare war as I did when the Dwarves attacked Faymont; Sulryn is too intelligent for that. The Ice Beings would invade Uthdore if I moved my troops to the north. Sulryn is a master general. He chose Faymont to invade for a reason.” Oldver said.

“Why can you not cut off his supply of troops at Randvale’s River? Baron Hondoron would allow it.” Arryn said.

Arryn had always found the eyes of Draton Hondoron to be just and fair. During the Gathering, Draton always remained calm and collected in the face of such madness as Uskban and such villainy as Sulryn.

“Sulryn has stated that any attempt to cut off the river would be taken as a personal attack on Osfort. He would begin an invasion of Hollowvale. Besides, I do not want to make a decision that will bring harm to Draton or Hollowvale.” Oldver said.

“The Gathering of Dragonfield needs to come,” Arryn said. “These problems are getting out of hand.”

“I agree with you, but our problems may not be resolved with the Gathering. The King may want to appease Sulryn and allow his attacks to continue,” Oldver said. “Although I would disagree with such a decision, it is our task as Knights to enforce the King’s will.”

The mention of being a Knight caused Arryn’s eyes to wonder around the room and to all of the weapons and suits of armor that adorned it. Oldver caught him looking and sighed.

“I am so sorry, Arryn,” Oldver said. “But Uskban wanted retribution for your actions. I wanted to step down as Knight Superior in your place, but he demanded for you to be punished. I should have protected you. Uthdore lost a great Knight that day.”

“Do not blame yourself for my actions. I was foolish to break the Code of Chivalry and disrespect a Baron in the presence of the King.” Arryn said.

“How would you like a chance to come back to our ranks?” Oldver asked.

“What do you mean? I was expelled from the Golden Banner and the Knights.” Arryn said.

“The King is offering you a pardon,” Oldver said. “Which is why I have brought you here today.”

“Why in the name of Cerosust would the King pardon me?” Arryn asked.

“He sent word to Dragonfield that he was in need of the most experienced, young Knight that we could give him. I told Ordyn that we had no young Knights who could fill his request, except for you. When he discovered that, he offered to pardon your transgressions and institute you back into the Knights and the Golden Banner if you complete a mission for him.” Oldver said.

“Of course! Whatever the King requires, I will perform it without fail.” Arryn said.

“You would have to travel to Osfort and become one of the personal Knights of Sulryn.” Oldver said.

The smile faded from Arryn’s face.

“Sulryn is almost as horrible as Uskban.” Arryn said.

“I know, my boy,” Oldver said. “I know. However, it would only be for seven months.”

“Trapped with an evil, racist until the Gathering of Dragonfield?” Arryn asked.

“It’s the only way.” Oldver said.

“Of course I am going,” Arryn said. “I would never refuse an order from the King. What are my exact orders?”

“Tomorrow night, you and a Mage knowledgeable in the magic of death, will travel to the western outpost of Osfort at Valwick, state your purpose as a prospective Knight prepared to take the trials of the Order of Os, complete the trials, enter Sulryn’s inner circle, protect the Mage and learn what Sulryn plans to do.” Oldver said.

“The Order of Os?” Arryn asked. “Those Knights… they are coldblooded killers.”

“And you will have to be a killer as well,” Oldver said. “Can you take this responsibility?”

“I can.” Arryn said.

“Then let’s go meet your Mage.” Oldver said.

“No need to move so quickly, Oldver.” said a voice behind Arryn.

Arryn turned and saw an old man leaning against a long walking stick. His hair was grayish white and his eyes were tired, the tell tale sign of an experienced Mage. Arryn noticed that he was wearing the black robes worn by Osfort’s death Mages. If he was meant to fool Sulryn, he could pull it off quite easily.

“Rangorn, you old Elf!” Oldver said, striding across the room.

Arryn expected Oldver to crush the old man with one of his hugs, yet strangely, Oldver extended his arm and shook Rangorn’s hand. Arryn’s face twisted into a confused glare. Oldver only shook one man’s hand: the King’s.

“Your horse groomers have been working on me since I arrived this morning,” Rangorn said. “I haven’t been this clean for at least eight years.”

“I have missed you,” Oldver said. “Why did you not visit me? Dragonfield is always open to you while I’m around.”

“I would have, my friend,” Rangorn said. “But I got caught up with something after Dratia… passed.”

Arryn watched as a single tear fell down Oldver’s face. Arryn did not think he had ever seen Oldver cry. Who was this old man?

“A day does not pass when I do not miss her,” Oldver said. “She was a kind and true woman.”

“She was, indeed,” Rangorn said. “Now, where is my protection? I expect that you will leave me in the hands of someone capable.”

Oldver smiled and thrust his mighty hand towards Arryn.

“I do not think you have had the pleasure of meeting my old apprentice,” Oldver said. “Arryn Ankar.”

“An Ankar? I’ve always been impressed with the Ankar family. You have strong blood, my boy.” Rangorn said.

The old man walked across the room and stood in front of Arryn. Arryn immediately kneeled to the ground.

“It is an honor to meet a Son of Vorad.” Arryn said.

Arryn looked up at the old man and saw a light smile across his face.

“I am not a true Elf, Ankar. They would never do what I have done,” Rangorn said. “But thank you for such a grand greeting. It is nice to have something to fan your ego every once and a while.”

“What fief do you practice in?” Arryn asked.

“I don’t practice in any fief, Ankar,” Rangorn said. “I’m not a Mage anymore.”

“But you can do magic?” Arryn asked.

“Mages are not the only beings that can do magic.” Rangorn said.

“Now that you have been introduced to each other, you can leave for Osfort.” Oldver said.

“So soon?” Arryn asked.

“We cannot give Sulryn the chance to do anything while we sit around doing nothing.” Oldver said.

“Then let’s be off.” Rangorn said.

“Agreed,” Oldver said. “First, however, I think that Arryn will need some armor.”

Arryn face lit up with excitement at the mention of armor. Since he was expelled from the Knights of the Golden Banner, he had also been banned from all of his old armor. It had been locked away to keep him from his old life as a cruel punishment.

“I will let the Knight prepare then. I have not had the time to gather some of my own equipment yet, anyways.” Rangorn said.

Rangorn gave a small nod to Oldver before leaving the room. Oldver motioned for Arryn to follow him and the two Knights walked out of the room. Arryn knew that they were going to the Armory, yet he had never felt as excited as now. When Oldver reached into his pocket and pulled out the heavy key to the massive doors, Arryn’s heart almost burst. Oldver pushed the doors open and pushed Arryn inside.

“I’ll let you prepare on your own. Your suit of armor is over there.” Oldver said, pointing to the opposite end of the large armory.

Oldver pulled the doors shut and Arryn was alone. He looked across the mighty battle-axes and the powerful war hammers. They had all seen battle and had no doubt saved countless lives along with killing many. Arryn walked across the room and almost fainted when he saw the emblem for the Knights of the Golden Banner. It was his suit of armor. A thin layer of dust covered his suit from years of inactivity, but it still shined brightly to Arryn. Beside his suit of armor was his broad sword, engraved with the words, “Battle on.” He clutched the hilt of the sword and ripped it out of its sheath. This was where he belonged.