The Supreme Warrior *2014 ABNA Contest 2nd Round*

CHAPTER 19: The Aftermath

The men in the room laughed while their women frowned, even though Othon had lost his wife over three years ago. Sir Calidon did not have the heart to tell them that his clothes felt ugly to him now, as if he proudly strutted in headsman’s garb at the funeral of his victims.

I really need to give up the self-indulgent guilt.

The slave brought another mini-barrel of beer into the main room and tapped it. Cal supposed they celebrated because they were both together and alive on a day when many families were not. He participated in the merriment for a short while, but soon drifted off to Saknoti’s rooftop garden.

Cal retrieved a chisel from his mentor’s tool shed and sat down cross-legged on the stone patio. He detached the scabbard from his back and pulled out his blade. One by one, he began to pry the jewels from the greatsword’s hilt.

Saknoti found him thirty minutes later, when he had almost completed the task.

“Why you do that, Cal-li-don?”

The young knight looked up at his mentor. “I do not wish to spend the rest of my life indebted to a man like Corel Mycelere.”

The older man nodded. He spoke with care, “I think you are wise, Cal-li-don. He thinks he can cleanse dishonest deeds by transforming them into gold.”

Calidon laughed. “So, he’s an Alchemist.”

The sailor grinned. “Perhaps. I only work for him; but I do not know him. I do not want to.”

When his protégé had pried the last jewel from his sword, Saknoti said, “Come. Leave sword here where it belongs. Your real friends miss you.”

Cal propped the blade against the garden wall and followed his mentor back down the stairs.

                                                               *    *     *

The next day, Sir Calidon rode out to Riorlon’s town on the edge of Aginadus’s holdings. His sole purpose was to see Kallia. He was clad in a simple tunic and breeches; but around his waist, he wore the knight’s belt he had received the night of his vigil.

Nothing seemed amiss until he emerged from the tree-lined broken country that lay between the City and Aginadus’s fief. As he rode across the narrow plain that lay before the town, Cal could see wisps of smoke rising from smoldering remains. Alarmed, he hurried Goldenrod into a gallop.

Why would the priests attack here? It goes against everything they preach.

Hurtling through the town, Cal only peripherally noted the ravaged corpses that lay strewn in the streets and outside broken buildings. Not bothering to seek tidings from the weary souls beginning to gather their salvage from the town’s ruin, he focused his entire attention on finding Riorlon’s shop as fast as he could.

She’s young, active, and alert. Her brothers and father would have fought to protect her. She must be safe.

Yet, as he hurried to the armiger’s smithy, he saw the scene he most dreaded: a knot of people gathered in the nearby field surrounding a bier. Riorlon. Wife. Mallor. Krista. Griorg, Kalkos, Fretegan.

No Kallia.

Gods no!

Mamma’s now ancient visage crumpled as she turned and saw Cal dismount and approach the group. “You!” she accused. “You did it. You and your kind. Fine, proud Lords. Too busy strutting an’ fighting to pay any mind to the folk you’re sworn to protect!”