Do you remember...?

Dove, do you remember the training stalls?

A small imp, one of the messengers the Knights used within their ranks, finished whispering into the headmaster’s ear. The short, robust man sighed and raised a hand to silence his students.“Alright, young brothers, line up in formation.

Sage-Born’s are coming through,” The young Knights, all trained in the art of obedience early on, grumbled as they filed into line alphabetically, Omar stood straight between Iliad and Dash. The training master, his very expression one of sour disgust, stepped forward to greet the Sage-Born Master just as the magician walked in, her distinctive silver eyes flashing with haughty amusement at their disgruntlement.

“Thank you for your patience, Sir Knight. We only need use your equipment a moment,” she said just as another row of five years old Sage-Borns filed in between their two lines.

The magic users were giggling as they glanced around at the rest of them, born with none of the natural abilities of their magic. Omar glanced at his spear, settled in one hand, and suddenly tipped it down. One of the Sage-Born girls tripped over the weapon with a small yelp. The Knights around burst into raucous laughter.

The girl looked up at him with murder in her eyes, and suddenly a small golden ball of sorcery was glowing in her hands. Omar drew his sword, unafraid. “ENOUGH!” the two head masters roared in unison.

“Keep moving, you vengeful lot!” the magician bellowed sternly, and the girl picked herself up, the ball disintegrating. “I’ve got my eyes on you, Knight,” she hissed as she jogged away to join her mates. We’ll see about that, Sage, Omar thought back.

Dove, do you remember graduation day?

It was the only time in their lives that Knights and Sages would be required to remain in the same room and act civilly towards one another as they did. Any other time, Omar knew, they’d be practically at war.

The rivalry between the King’s two most trusted leagues of guards, one trained in the arts of discipline, skill and combat while the other was trained in the field of sorcery, charisma and negotiation was older than any in the room. Omar knelt at the altar, as far away from the Sage girl as possible as the king stood over them both. There was an equal amount of Sages and Knights that needed to be graduated in the room.

The King anointed them both in pairs of two. At nineteen years old, Omar glanced over at the girl with jet-black hair, and held back a sneer of loathing. “Do you pledge your honor, your lives, and all your skills to the protection of my crown and kingdom?” The king asked grandly. “I pledge it so,” he answered gravely, just as the girl chirped the same.

“Do you swear to act with courage, sincerity, duty and mercy as you protect the lives of your comrades and people?” Omar felt the tip of the sacred sword touch his right shoulder. He inhaled sharply. “I so swear,” he said strongly, as the girl did, her own shoulder touched. “Is your word true? Have you any doubts?” These words were traditional only. There had never been a time when anyone had replied no. Sage and Knight alike had never been given a choice, instead taken at birth to begin training. There was no other life they wished to live.

“My word is true,” he said softly as his left shoulder was lightly patted with the sword. “My doubts are none,” the girl whispered, and he was gratified that he was not the only one to feel awe as they stood to face their kind king. “Then I dub thee, Sage and Knight!”

Dove, do you remember the skirmish of Burdoon?

Omar gasped, holding the wound dripping a slow river of blood from his shoulder. He had never been in a real battle before, skirmish as it might have been, and at twenty-two years old, he had already seen enough of the start of real combat to know he never wanted to live through more.

“Sage-Born,” he greeted scornfully as he landed behind a fallen pillar at the side of one of the thrice cursed beings. The woman looked up from her fallen sister, for all Sages were woman as surely as Knights were men. Omar could feel no pity for the dead witch. He had lost many good brothers today. “Knight,” the woman with jet-back hair replied with equal disdain. Omar surged to his feet to clash towards with an enemy.

“I thought you Sages were supposed to handle the negotiations!” He gasped as he cut the battle hardened veteran down. “The negotiations didn’t want to be handled! Now move aside, I’ve no time for your glory-seeking crusade,” she growled as she pushed past him into the battle zone. With a growl, he followed her into the fracas.

“You should have thought of that before you started a war! May I remind you that we’re here to retrieve you all?” He hissed as she used whatever mad sorcery she had to dim the fires catching on the ostentatious curtains and majestic carpets underneath and around the fighting warriors.

“We were trying to stop the war, you idiot! And may I remind you that we’re the ones who managed to fight long enough to thwart the ambush that would have killed you all?” With that said, she ran into the battle to fight more, despite being no warrior at all.

Dove, do you remember our first mission?

“What do you mean you have to work with a Sage-Born?” Dash demanded as Omar grumpily sharpened his sword, thinking of all the ways he could use it against this new crisis. Why was it always her?

“It is the Kings command. I must leave at first light. That traitor Burdoon has been causing trouble again,” he growled. “The wannabe king? What does that have to do with anything?” Dash asked confusedly. “Because he has kidnapped Queen Delilah and Princess Nava. The King is afraid that they will be killed if he rallies forces against Burdoon and his blasted rebels. The King picked the best from both Knight and Sage to retrieve his kin without further bloodshed,” he stopped, thinking a moment.

“I finally learned the little witches’ name. She is called Doveana,” he replied with a sigh. Dash went silent, remembering the bright and cheery six-year-old Princess who learned the name of every Knight, and the Queen who took the time to sew them new trousers and pads to ease aching joints. “You must not fail,” Dash whispered at last after a thoughtful silence.

“That is what the King said,” Omar agreed neutrally. “And I will not fail, no matter the Sage-Born. The Queen and Princess will be returned, I swear it,” he said determinedly. Dash nodded; concern in his russet eyes. Omar looked up and smiled, reaching over to squeeze his best friend’s arm. “I will be careful, Dash,” he promised softly.

Dash nodded, biting his lower lip in a sure sign of anxiety that no one else ever saw from the warrior. He squeezed back. “You’d better. Honor to you,” a traditional goodbye. Omar smiled, eyes suddenly wet, wondering if he’d ever see his friend again, if he would die trying to save the Princess, or protect the unworthy Sage-born. “Honor to you too brother,” he intoned.

Dove, do you remember departure day?

Dash accompanied him to the stables, where he found his horse, and took his leave without word. A Knight said goodbye more often than ever would he say hello. Death was common for the warriors, trouble found them before they were ready for death, and thus they were prepared for trouble, unafraid to die.

Omar, riding out of the castle gates found the Sage-Born already saddled, studying the parchment that held their map. “These notes say that the King’s spies have confirmed that The Princess and Queen are inside of Burdoon’s prison cells. A dreadful place,” she said to him without looking up, long black locks tucked away in a single braid behind her head.

“The best entry points are at the kitchens Southwest. We can sneak in easily, and find our way from there,” with that said, she stowed the map away possessively, and looked up. Then she spoke, silver eyes undaunted. “The Queen has been a dear friend to me since I was a girl, and the Princess is a sweet child. That being said; let me be clear to you, Knight,” she leaned forward in her saddle. “You can have the credit, the fame, and your cherished glory, but I will not tolerate either mistresses to fare injury because of it. I do not take failure well,” her eyes flashed.

Omar, for a moment, was stunned into silence, and then nodded. He recognized a warrior’s warning when he saw it. “Then we have found our common ground,” he agreed solemnly. She snorted and spurred her horse contemptuously. “At long last. Let us be off, Knight, and bring those good women home,” she decided and they rode away, intent on success.

Dove, do you remember the prison cells?

“Well, this is going well!” Dove gasped at his side as she ducked against the barrage of arrows aimed at their heads. “Indeed, we really must do this again someday,” Omar agreed breathlessly, also ducking a flaming projectile. They had been caught.

“Where are the cells?” she asked, since he had memorized the map. “Down this passageway,” of flaming arrows which had somehow not already killed them. “Are you bewitching the arrows?” He demanded. She barked out a laugh. “Bewitching? How vulgar. No, I’ve only created a shield around us, so stuff your self-righteous tone and find the cells,” He wanted to roll his eyes at her impudence, but merely turned down a passage and thundered down the steps, sword unsheathed in a blinding shriek of adrenaline.

He clashed blades with the guards posted there. The door behind him locked with a final clang of benediction. Two arrows sliced through the air, missing his ears by centimeters and burrowed themselves into the warrior’s shoulders. Both men screamed, crumpling to the ground. “If you’re done playing around,” Dove called, already down the hall. “Don’t be vexing,” He knelt to cater to the wounds of the two fallen soldiers.

I’ll do as I please. What are you doing to those poor men?” She queried as she walked down the endless row of metal cages where Omar heard several moans and cries against the light of the torch rise. “Bandaging their wounds before they bleed to death, so stuff your self-righteous tone and find the Queen,” he commanded.

Before she could find a suitable retort for this comeback, she gasped. He looked up to see her standing outside of a far cell, mouth agape, face pale. “What is it?” his heart clenched. “I found the Queen,” Dove answered, her voice hollow. “She’s dead.”

Dove, do you remember the campfire?

Omar jabbed angrily at the embers of the fire. He glanced at the Princess asleep beside him, mumbling in torment. He glared across the fire at the Sage-Born, sitting in meditative posture, eyes closed. “Those monsters deserved to die for what they did. The Queen was a just woman,” he accused her furiously.

“Yes, but their lives were not ours to take,” was the calm answer. “How can you say such a thing, you, who you saw what horrors they wrought on her body? We should have avenged her!” he snapped irately. “Revenge is not the answer. Then we would have been no better than the men who killed her,” mournful silver eyes fluttered open to rest first on him then the Princess.

“We should have done it for the Princess then! No child should have to watch her own mother killed,” he growled, staring into the fire, rage burning in his heart. “I agree. Would seeing more cruelty have lessened her grief or increased her confusion, do you think?” he looked up, to see a small, sorrowful smile on the woman’s face. He gulped.

In the fire’s light, she was hauntingly beautiful. “You are wiser than I,” he sighed at last. “No, I am not. I have always supposed Knights fought for the glory and blood thirst of war. Yet I see compassion in you, not brutality. I was wrong,” the confession was not mumbled nor spoken untruly. He ducked his eyes, ashamed by her sincerity.

“I have always thought Sage-Born’s underhanded, cowardly thieves with no conception of honor or decency. I, too, was wrong,” he offered in turn. “We may have been wrong, Sir Knight, but we have not failed yet,” she mumbled.

He nodded. “We have another common ground,” he agreed. “Yes. Some might mistake us for actually liking one another if we continue.” He chuckled softly. “They would not be so mistaken, Lady Sage.”

“In here Princess!” Dove gasped as she and the small child ducked into the shed as if they were rabbits sliding into their hole to hide from wolves. Omar stood over them protectively, arrow after arrow flying to skim past their attackers.

Omar didn’t want to kill the mercenaries, but self-defense was not an foreign idea to him. “Inside!” Dove ordered. He wasted no time in sliding into the door, which closed. “Come out! Or we’ll set fire to drive you out like the heathens you are!” A gruff voice shouted from outside scathingly. Another chuckled as Omar pressed himself against the door, holding them at bay.

“People are so rude nowadays,” he told the Princess with a reassuring smile though the door was crumbling. “Indeed. I remember a time when men were chivalrous, wouldn’t you say sweetheart?” Dove queried the Princess pleasantly, as she peered out of the dust-caked window. She narrowed her eyes at the men bombarding the door.

“Any ideas?” Omar asked breathlessly. Ignoring him, she closed her eyes. “Mother Earth and Father Fire grant your servant this one desire, blank make their minds be, when next they awake, they shall not remember me,” she whispered with a wave of her hand. Instantly, the banging against the door ceased. Omar straightened and peaked out to see the two unconscious bounty hunters on the other side.

He scowled. “Did you kill them?” he asked, more sharp than he had intended. “Of course not. I merely cast a spell on their minds. They won’t remember me or any time in their lives when they had anything to do with me. I’ve erased it from their memories. They’ll wake up in an hour or so,” with that said she turned to the startled Princess. “Plenty of time to get you home.”

Dove, don’t you remember all the good we’ve done?

“Papa! Papa!” The Princess screamed as she raced across the square. The King had long abandoned dignity to sprint towards his child outside of the castle gates, royal cloak flailing behind him in the wind.

The king skidded to his knees and the two collided in a hug. Dove and Omar stood back, watching the reunion as Knights and Sages flanked the sovereigns, too eager to remember their habitual antipathy. “I could use a bath,” Dove sighed at last, smiling gently upon the reunion. “So could I. Have you a spell for that too?” Omar asked, exhausted, yet so accustomed to the presence at his side that he did not want to leave.

She snorted. “Do you mean bewitching? How vulgar. No, your best cure is a bath, Sir Knight,” she snickered. He did not respond, for then the King looked up, and, pushing aside all his attendants and guards flanking him, scrambled to face them with horror written on his face. “My wife?” he whispered. “I am sorry, sire. She was dead when we found her,” Dove explained somberly.

The silence that rang through the square were written in the historical texts as a plague. Without another word, the King turned and, child in his arms; turned and began walking to his throne. Omar bit his bottom lip, wishing that they had not failed. “Nava is home,” Dove whispered in thin consolation, squeezing his arm. He turned to her tenderly. “Yes. I would like to thank you for your help, Lady Sage. I couldn’t have done even that tiny favor if not for your help,” he said softly, not wanting to leave her.

She smiled up at him. “No, you couldn’t have,” she agreed magnanimously, then her eyes softened. “I owe you thanks as well…Omar. What is it you Knights say? Honor to you?” She reached out and he clasped her arm, warrior to warrior. “Honor to you too, Doveana,” he agreed.

Dove, do you remember the gardens?

“My brothers would skin me and then kill you if they caught us out here alone, Dove,” Omar reminded her as he followed submissively along. “I’m aware. I can almost imagine the fate that would befall you if one of my sisters saw you trailing me like a loyal pup,” Dove stated cheerily. Omar chuckled. “What is it you wish to show me?” he asked.

“I don’t wish to show you anything, I have an experiment I want to conduct,” she explained. He yawned theatrically. “It is nearly midnight,” he pointed out as they came upon the gardens. The beds of flowers were luminescent; each petal had a soft glow.

The royal garden was lit always by these special flora, tended during the day by the King in remembrance of his dead wife. “You will survive, I assure you,” came the dry response. “Don’t be so sure. Knight training is rigorous,” he told her as she halted before him. He looked up at black hair unbound and pert lips set to tease, stance akimbo, silver eyes valiant. He gulped and looked away, embarrassed by his train of thought.

“As is Sage-Born training,” suddenly, she reached back and he heard the sound of two swords being unsheathed. The long beautiful blades glinted in the night, silver as her eyes. “Do you know how to use them?” Omar asked cautiously.

She feigned hurt. “We are taught how to fight, Omar. Sometimes actions speak louder than words,” she told him, setting her feet in a defensive stance. Omar grinned and grabbed his own blade. “You want to know who the better fighter is,” he summed.

She grinned, white teeth sparkling in the dim light. “No,” she purred. “I want to know how long it will take before you surrender,” she informed him melodiously. He laughed. “Never.”

Dove, do you remember what I last asked you?

Dove was waiting impatiently on the outskirts of the other Sage-Borns, when Omar found her. “You’re late, Sir Knight,” she told him as the other Knights joined in the march on Pezza, where Burdoon’s forces readied themselves for battle.

Knights and Sages, both of the two parties staying as far as possible from the other, surrounded them. Glances were being thrown their way, yet seeing as how Omar and Dove were now the King’s favorite bodyguard pair since the daring rescue three years prior, spending almost every second together, the fact that they were conversing was of minimal suspicion.

Omar knew that if his brothers ever caught hear of what he was about to ask, they would not hesitate to kill Dove and flay him. Omar was unafraid; he did not want the past three years at Dove’s side to end. “Forgive me, I needed to stop and grab a gift for someone,” he said smoothly. “Don’t tell me you’ve begun courting the kitchen maids,” Dove muttered teasingly. “Those kitchen types are very nice, sadistic magic-maker,” he responded.

“I see. Did you say goodbye to whoever she is gently? We are going into war, you know,” Dove told him gravely. He nodded. “I know. That is why I grabbed the ring today. I will give it to her soon,” he explained. Dove’s eyes widened; and he saw a flash of despair, which quickly died away.“Oh. What is her name?” she asked quietly. Omar grinned and quickly, quietly, slipped the ring into her hands. “Her name is Doveana,” he whispered in her ear.

His heart hammered in his chest as he continued walking. Dove’s face gave nothing away, though she clutched the ring in one hand tightly. Her eyes sparkled with tears. Dove gave a fleeting grin of pure joy and whispered tearfully. “Yes. As soon as the battle ends, we will go.”

“Doveana, can you hear me?” Omar gasped; his forehead against hers, holding a body slowly and surely growing cold in his arms. Her silver eyes stared into his insipidly. Omar was unaware of the war still raging around him, of the screams of death, the sound of Sages crying out spells against the enemy.

No one saw as The Knight held his archenemy and best friend, the Sage-Born. “Stay awake. Don’t give up on me, Doveana,” he whispered, urgently stroking her black hair. “Hold on. We’re going to run away after the battle, remember? We’re going to be happy, Dove,” a sob escaped his throat. “Too late,” Dove gasped, breath rattling in her lungs.

“It is not! You can’t leave me like this!” he shouted, giving her body a violent shake. Her eyes merely continued to close, her heartbeat faint. The wretched creature had stabbed her through the stomach, had snuck upon her from behind like a coward. “Omar we’re retreating! Come on!” Dash’s voice cut through his grief. He felt a hand grab his shoulder.

He tightened his grip. “If it is too late, I will die with you,” he whispered to her. Her eyes widened infinitesimally.“N-no, Omar. You must live, forget me…” she faltered as Dash tried to pull him after them. “No!” he roared at his friend, shaking off the touch. “Omar, leave the witch! We must retreat; if you stay you’ll die!” Iliad added.

“No!” Omar yelled, not easing his grip. “I will not leave her!” This did not satisfy his brothers. Grabbing his arms, they began to haul him away. “NO!” he screamed frantically, as Dash struck Dove from his hands. She fell to the ground with a hiss of agony; tear filled eyes trained on his face. “What is wrong with you, man? Has she cursed you?” Iliad demanded furiously as Omar fought and wriggled in their grip.

“Bewitching? How vulgar…” Omar sobbed at the memory, losing all control of his emotions. “Let me go! I LOVE HER!” he hollered, hoping that the entire world heard it. Iliad and Dash halted a moment, stunned. “By the skies of Juniper, Omar, she’s a Sage-Born!” Dash finally gasped, revolted. “She’s my wife! Let me die with her!” he bellowed, irately. “Omar,” the weak and hoarse noise came from the aforementioned Sage-Born.

Omar met her eyes, struggling. She gave him a lopsided smile, tears running down a pallid cheek, and feebly raised a hand. “Mother Earth, Father Fire, grant your servant this last desire,” though he did not hear the words over the noise, he saw them on her lips, and struggled now to get away from her magic. “No! No, Dove, please!” he pleaded; he did not want to forget her or any moment when she had been in his life.

“Blank make his mind be; when next you awake,” she gulped. “You will not remember me.” Instantly, his eyelids drooped. “No,” he gasped as he felt himself topple down, eyes still trained on her. His vision blackened around the edges. He knew he would not remember her, or any time in his life when he had seen her, when he awoke.

He sobbed aloud, grief-stricken. “N-no,” he whispered again, barely registering Dash and Iliad dragging him away. “Doveana,” she favored him with a last dazzling smile before unconsciousness claimed him and death claimed her. Before the fog rolled in to snatch the memories from his mind, he heard a last goodbye. “Omar, I remember…”