70THE CHRONICLES OF KLANE OMENDETH
Part 1
Klane trudged along the road on foot. His walk was still a bit uneasy; his legs were not yet used to land. The two-day ship ride that had brought his troop, with others, to Mezedona had been his first experience of seafaring ways. The Othles, though pirates, went in scores of canoes, never in a ship. The high mast and the many rooms of the ship fascinated Klane, though he hid his fascination among the Ilenthian soldiers, who nonchalantly boarded the ship. It was difficult at first but he had learned quickly how to walk on the ship without tipping over, and so spent much time at the railing. Once on land again, however, he found that his legs had grown accustomed to the unsteady floors of the ship.
The Ilenthian men of whom his troop was comprised acted very aloof to the young Othle expatriate. He had attempted conversation with a few of them, only to be met with coldness.
"Damn freemen, cannot they see I am on their side?" he muttered. His blood felt hot when thinking of the coldness he was shown, and so he put those thoughts away as he now walked on dry land. He glanced about him, and saw the sergeant step forward in front of the men, in an attempt to stop them.
"We are ten minutes from our base," the sergeant announced. "There, at the fortress of Langithorn, we will meet our commanding major."
The soldiers, most of them, young and inexperienced like Klane, murmured in acknowledgment of his words, and continued on. The road was rough, and the northeastern weather of Mezedona was both humid and warm. The air was thick, and after a few minutes of the nonstop walking, Klane found himself gasping for breath. Beads of perspiration anointed the brows of the soldiers and no breeze came to replenish their spirits.
When at length they arrived at the fortress, they were greeted by their commanding officer, Major Gaeton Mainly. Handsomely built with classic, chiseled facial features, he had no doubt recently reached middle age. He looked his troops over sharply as he stood before them, taller by a feather's width than the tallest of them.
"We march to Domefield tomorrow," he said in an almost curt, commanding voice. "There we will meet in battle the rebels of the Mezedonan tribes who seek to prevent government from being established. They are clever fighters with spear, arrow, and their famous trained hawks. Two preceding battles have already been fought against them in the last fortnight to no avail. You, men, and five troops from other isles who arrived a few days ago, will fight this battle. My troop will be at the front. Mezedona depends on our help, and Ilenthia calls for its troops to come home. It is up to you – every individual of you – to finish this battle. Now you may go eat your dinner."
And he ended his speech abruptly as he had begun it.
Klane sat out on the edge of the fortress wall, looking out into the stars. His arms were wrapped around his knees upon which his chin rested in a boyish fashion of contentment. The soldiers had all finished their training and had their last meal for the day and now all sat, awaiting the morrow. As Klane sat there so still another young soldier, blond and lanky, sitting coiled up nearby his weaponry, attempted to make conversation.
"This your first assignment?" he asked.
"Yes," Klane replied, his eyes flickering for an instant from the sky towards the youth.
"Mine, too." The youth paused for a moment, waiting for Klane to speak, and then said,
"I always imagined Mezedona to be a green place, overgrown, like the Southern half of Ilenthia. Now I see it is all craggy rocks. So lonesome. It's disappointing."
"It is lonesome," Klane replied, "but I think that's half its beauty."
The youth looked at him, intrigued.
"Say, you have a queer accent," he said. "Are you one of the soldiers from Burgona, or Lines-Isle? I thought I recognized you from my troop, from the Great Island."
"I am an immigrant," Klane explained. "I joined the Ilenthian army not two weeks ago."
"What is your nationality? I don't recognize your accent."
"I am from the western wilds, as you call it."
"You are an Othle?" the look of incredulity on the youth's face could be discerned by the dim light of the torches. Klane nodded. What could he say in response to such words? The half-witted exclamation maddened him, and almost forced words to flow from his tongue.
"I am Othle. I have left my country because I uphold the virtues of Ilenthia," he said with forced patience. The other looked at him uncomfortably, but responded to his words.
"There aren't many of your kind, that is sure," he said hastily. "But I suppose it's a good thing," he continued, as if trying to convince himself. "Whether or not you can fight, that's all that matters in the military," he finally declared. Klane nodded. The youth, apparently none too eager to resume the conversation, started another with the man next to him. Klane, still sitting with his knees drawn up, kicked at the dusty bricks with his toes. His feet slipped and as he drew them up he jostled his chin, succeeding in nothing more than to vent his emotions. He sighed.
The sun was high; the air was thick; troops were assembled, facing their combatants; the battle was about to begin.
The rebels of Mezedona, clad in dark drab colors and foreboding with masses of bowmen and spear-weilding warriors stood in the field about an acre across from the Ilenthian soldiers, poised and ready with swords drawn. Major Gaeton's troop, at the front, formed an orderly line. Klane stood within ten men's span from the major, eyeing him testily as he awaited the bugle call to begin the battle. Finally it sounded, its feathery notes, to Klane's ears, too light and winsome to mark the beginning of a battle. But mark it it did, for the masses began to move directly it called the last note. Within ten minutes the first blow had been struck, and the battle had begun in full. The men swayed and pitched in one great mass; yet more wildly individual a battle was never witnessed. The Mezedonian men were clever fighters, and there were many of them, so that whilst one man combated the other with a sword, a bowman from the back would strike him down. The Ilenthian troops were brave, however; and the lieutenant called out directions prudently, so that they wrestled well for about twenty minutes.
Then, suddenly, from the treetops behind the enemy encampment, there appeared a shadowy in the sky; it swayed and circled above the soldiers, who at once identified it as a hawk. It screeched in its familiar call. It swept down fiercely, startling the men from their formation. Landing on the head of the lieutenant, it scratched his eyes out with its great claws and bit his neck with its curved beak. As the hawk held him in this suspension, an arrow pierced him through, leaving the lieutenant dead upon the ground. An Ilenthian soldier drew his sword quickly, hacking the bird in two. Gaeton looked upon the dead body with horror in his eyes but a resolute and self-aware attitude. Spurring his horse, he moved closer to the front.
Bit at that moment at second hawk appeared from the opposite side. It was bigger and more terrible than the last, and its cruel eyes turned keenly on Gaeton. It plunged towards him, frightening and dreadful as any fell beast. The noon sun glinted on its smooth shiny feathers. Its claws extended towards Gaeton's eyes and it seemed ready to attack. The men scattered.
Klane's eyes narrowed at the hawk, steadily moving towards Gaeton. The hawk was large and monstrous and its claws were gigantic. Klane felt his belt, and pulled out the dagger he kept there at his side. It was light, and small. Standing stiffly, perfectly balanced, he hurled the knife at the hawk, killing it in mid-air. The onlookers gaped for a moment at such an unexpected movement.
Gaeton, not a little surprised, blinked for a moment. Klane bent down, and taking his knife up, wiped it on the grass. Then, looking from the shocked Gaeton to the dead body of the lieutenant, he knew what he must do. Putting the dagger back into its sheath, he took charge right then and there. He spoke, and his tone was commanding.
"Formation; order!" he shouted, coming in front of the troops. "Up with your shields. Arrows, quickly – while the enemy is still off guard."
His voice continued to resonate through the field as the battle began again in full. As the sun rose higher and the air got thicker, the Mezedonans were pushed back. The chagrin on the faces of their officers was impressive. For three-quarters of an hour longer the battle went on, until the rebel captain was slain. As the retreat sounded for the rebels, the Ilenthian army roared in victory. The general was slain; the rebels had surrendered; Mezedona was won.
"You are a fine lad," said Major Gaeton. Klnae looked up, surprised, from where he sat, cleaning his sword. He rose as Gaeton continued, "You fought well. I am indebted to you for your quickness this afternoon." Klane bowed, glancing up with his dusky brows, but did not utter a response. Major Gaeton turned to the sergeant who awaited to escort him to the general's quarters. There he was to give a report to the general concerning the battle. He spoke to the sergeant as they left.
"Who is that dark-haired youth? What is his name?" he queried.
"Him, sir?" the sergeant glanced back at Klane, and lowered his voice. "His name is Klane Omendeth, sir. A turn-back from the Othle tribe. Doesn't speak much…he seems afraid his accent will betray him. Those green eyes of his tell everything, though."
"I thought he seemed…exotic," said Gaeton thoughtfully. "He fights well."
"He is an expert at everything, it seems. You won't hear it said oft, but I'd be deceiving you if I didn't tell you that he excels far beyond most of our men."
By now the two had reached the quarters, and the sergeant entered, announcing Major Gaeton's presence to the general. Then he stood against the wall beside a few other officers as Major Gaeton entered. He bowed to the general, who beckoned him closer.
"Come in, major," he said with both familiarity and respect. "I must congratulate you on the victory. I had faith that you would do it."
"It was not I, sir, but the men. The Ilenthian army is a good one," Gaeton said with less modesty than honesty.
"True, true…but tell me, Major Gaeton, where is your lieutenant? He has not reported back since your return."
A shadow fell across Gaeton's brow, and he spoke in a mild tone.
"I lost my lieutenant in battle, sir."
"Oh," the general looked up, a little perturbed. "I'm terribly sorry. Liuetenant Dresden was a good man. However, it will be taken care of. You will soon have another lieutenant."
"I have a request to make in that matter," Gaeton put forth boldly. A bit awkwardly, he continued, "You see, I have seen a man display such valor in this last battle as is worthy of the rank of lieutenant. If I may make such a request…"
"Tell me of whom you speak, and we shall see whether he is considered worthy by Major Noreth, who has overseen all military activity on this base for the last three months," the general said. Major Noreth saluted.
"His name is Klane Omendeth," Gaeton said. "I have observed him acutely during my stay here. Today in battle he prevented a fell blow that could have caused me great damage, if not my life; and afterwards showed great bravery and valor."
"Klane Omendeth," the major repeated. "But sir, he is not a native citizen – he is an Othle, very recently come to our lands."
"An Othle?" the general repeated in surprise.
"And he is only just nineteen," the major added.
"He is very young, but he has shown remarkable promise for his age," Gaeton insisted, and proceeded to narrate the day's events. The men listened with interest. "He may be a native Othle, but you cannot deny such loyalty," Gaeton ended, looking squarely at the general.
"You have demonstrated his abilities and perhaps his loyalties, I will concede," the general said, slowly and weightily, once Gaeton had finished. "But if he is an Othle, this does present a problem. His extreme youth, too, may be a bad factor here. I understand your case, Gaeton, but the boy cannot be trusted yet. In five years, perhaps…yes, I think that is a reasonable bargain. If in five years he has shown much valor and loyalty, then he may be considered to be promoted as your lieutenant. But until then we cannot have Othles – or new soldiers – in military ranks."
Gaeton bowed.
"Thank you for your consideration, sir," he said. And the interview was soon ended.
The ship was soon filled with the soldiers on their way back to Ilenthia. Gaeton was on it as well as Klane, and one day as Klane stood by the railing, alone and quiet, Gaeton approached him.
"Master Omendeth," Gaeton said. Klane looked up, startled and surprised. "I commended your work to the general," Gaton said.
"I owe you much for that, sir," Klane replied. The two exchanged a manly salute, and then Gaeton, after a moment of silence, went on.
"You are a good lad," he said in an unpatronizing tone. "I hope you don't mind my asking, but tell me if I do not see your situation correctly. You are fresh from the Othle island. After joining the Ilenthian army, you put all your eggs in that basket, and sought after no other employment. Now that the battles have subsided perhaps you are wondering what happens next."
Klane normally would have been insulted by such a prod into his personal life; but Gaeton was his superior – and the manner in which he spoke of it was, after all, quite respectful.
"That is somewhat true, sir," Klane admitted. "I suppose I am rather a pauper."
"Then listen to me for a minute. I am in need of a young man like you. I am a knight as well as a major; I have my duties beyond the call of the government, and I need a good sword-bearer – a squire, so to speak. As an Othle, you are perhaps not familiar with this concept. You would work for me, and I would train you, like an apprentice…teach you the ways of the Ilenthian people. For this position I am willing to exchange room and board. Are you interested in this offer?"
Klane, surprised by this offer, replied humbly but slowly.
"Sir," he said, "I would be honored to serve you. A more valuable mentor could not be found. And yet…" his voice trailed off as he looked past Major Gaeton and up at the wide sky beyond. Gaeton glanced up at the sky as well, and smiled, Klane thought, a little wryly.
"I know, I know," Gaeton said softly. "Your youthful blood longs for adventure and excitement. Polishing swords is not your idea of adventure. You wish for higher things. But take comfort, my boy. I am not so old that I stay at home every day. What does a knight such as me do but wander? And as a squire I could teach you many things…many things which you have no idea you need to learn."
Klane's mind tasted a little bitterness at these words, for he impatiently awaited laud and recognition. But he would take what was offered him. For such an offer he was extremely fortunate, after all.
"I accept, and humbly thank you, sir," he said to Gaeton.
"Then ready yourself, and come with me after the ship docks in the village. I will bring you with me to my home up North."
Klane bowed, and in a moment Gaeton had gone. Klane looked out at the vast sea – already the Great Island was in sight. Its shores were busy, its buildings tall, its foliage green. It was inviting him to its shores. It had been awaiting him – him and his master.
Author's notes: Thank you to everyone who reviewed this...I appreciate it so very much. In response to Ice Flyer's review:In the prologue (7th paragraph from the end) I stated that Klane "introduced himself as Klane Omendeth, omitting the first syllable of his surname in an attempt to change the association with his family." This was the only mention I made of it, so I understand how you could miss it. As for your advice on cutting down on the history and such:I will definatelywork on that. I have so much figured out in this little world of mine it's hard to keep myself from cramming it all in at the expense of the readers! :P ...Again, thanks for your feedback.