Truth of Magic (Soul of Magic Book 5)

THREE

Damien ducked as the wooden sword flashed past his head, reminding him that though it might just be training, he really could still get hurt.

All around the great kingdom of Cyrian's training ground, the sounds of sticks echoed through the air as knights trained with wooden swords and staves in duos and trios. 

For three years, they had had nothing to do, their everyday routine simply to enjoy the peace that had lasted a lot longer than any of them could have imagined possible before. But as most of them had already learnt in none too good ways in times past, peace could be quite the deceptive entity; leaning you in and then disappearing you just as you were rested. So, they continued to train, not in the hopes that war would come again, but that they'd be ready if it ever did.

Surprisingly though, unlike the other men on the ground, Damien wasn't actually a knight, at least not yet. He was a squire who had only a few days earlier begun his service under the tutelage of the man who was now sparring with him: Sir Henrik of the great house of Effair.

Henrik had actually insisted himself that he would mentor the skinny brunette Winchmore boy whom many knights more experienced than him had famously rejected in the Capital before. Even Damien's father warned that the boy wouldn’t make a very good squire for him.

But the young knight only smiled at them all.

Thing is, Henrik’s own father had actually said the same thing about him before he started his squirehood under the great King Richard the Slayer. But he had proven them all wrong and rewarded the king’s faith in him, which was exactly what he intended to help Damien do too. "He might not be a good squire to me, Lord Trent," he had said to Damien’s father, "but it’s my job to make him a great knight."

And making Damien a great knight was what Henrik strove towards every day since his arrival. Every morning, he brought the young boy to the training ground to learn and watch the other seasoned Cyriani knights train before he begun his own using whatever tips he might have gotten from the other men; and he never once berated him too harshly if he did anything wrong.

"Stop crouching so low before you move, Damien, or you'll give your opponent an unnecessary advantage over you in the fight," Henrik instructed as he walked around the squire, positioning his body so that he would know what proper stance to assume. "Do it wrong again and I'll roll you round the great kingdom like a barrel myself."

The words would have actually sounded threatening if the young knight hadn't smiled immediately after saying it and Damien wondered if his intention wasn't to make a joke all along. He returned the smile too before charging and the practice begun again.

Now, although Damien loved and admired his master very much, there was something that he couldn't quite yet reconcile in his head. It was the relationship between him and the witch Isidora the Dark.

It wasn’t that the squire hated magic or witches or anything of the sort; their art actually fascinated him, truth be told. It wasn’t that he disliked Isidora herself either; the dark witch was actually very likable when you spent time with her, not to mention the fact that he'd have to be blind not to notice her beauty.

But it was just that he couldn't see how the two could have mixed enough to fall in love, especially with Henrik's shy nature and the dark witch's almost terrifying attitude to anyone who wasn't her friend. But the two had somehow forged a strong bond which, if the rumours were true, might soon develop into marriage; and that perplexed the squire whenever he thought about it.

"Ow!" Damien returned back to the present as he suddenly felt Henrik’s wooden sword connect with his temple and a kick sent him sprawling on the ground.

"Most important rule of combat, Damien,” Henrik said as he helped him back on his feet, “never daydream about a damsel while in the middle of a fight. Believe me, it'll kill you faster than any weapon."

"Well, coming from you, that's definitely sound advice," he replied.

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Henrik’s face took on a serious look and Damien faltered in his response.

"Well, sire, it's just something I've been told," he finally replied after a while, still looking very unsure of what he was about to say. "About you and the dark witch Isidora, that you almost got killed on her behalf."

"Whoever told you that story has greatly exaggerated it," Henrik returned, his seriousness relaxing a bit although it didn't entirely vanished.

Truth be told, it wasn't anyone who had told Damien the story about Henrik and Isidora. He had actually overheard it one night when he mistakenly walked within an earshot of the two lovers’ conversation that steered towards the subject. Perhaps the master was just ashamed to think about it, he thought to himself, or maybe he just didn't like it coming from his squire.

But whatever it might be, Damien vowed to himself not to make mention of it to Henrik again. It was a private matter and would remain so.

Just then, the squire suddenly felt a shift in the atmosphere, almost as if something heavy had been added to it and he felt the air push itself upon his weight and his breath ceased a bit in his chest. "You feel it too, sire," he realised when he saw the worry crease on Henrik's forehead and the grimace on his face. "What is it?"

"I don't know," he replied, immediately passing his dagger to Damien and going for his own sword struck in the ground, "but whatever it is, it's not coming with a good feeling."

"Sorry for my entrance but it was necessary," the duo suddenly heard someone say from behind and they turned to see a woman appear in a flurry of flowers.

Damien gasped at the sight of her. The woman was putting on a white gown glowing in a strange manner; and with her hair silvery white and her eyes sparkling grey too, the squire felt fear suddenly wash over him. Whatever kind of witch she was- not that he knew that many, truth be told- it was obviously a powerful one.

Henrik, on the other hand however, wasn't as subdued by the strange woman’s appearance or power as Damien was and he pointed his sword squarely at her. "Who are you?” he asked, the look in his eyes that of a warrior ready for battle at a moment’s notice. “What do you want?"

"I didn't come here to fight, Sir Knight," she replied, "only to deliver a warning."

All of a sudden, a high pitched screech rent through the air and Henrik cried out in agony as he went down on his knees. Damien expected the knights to turn and attack the strange woman at what she’d done to his master but they never did; they didn’t even stop their training and chatting.

“By the Creator!” he realized what was happening.

Thing is, the strange woman had somehow managed to create a transparent magical barrier around the three of them between the time of her arrival and her attack on Henrik without either of them knowing. Now, the squire wasn’t that vast in magic but he knew enough to assume that she made the other knights oblivious to her presence and theirs too; almost as if they had suddenly been wiped from their consciousness.

"What kind of magic is this?" he asked. “Why are you doing this?”

But she only took a step forwards towards Damien and he raised his dagger in attack.

“Stop!” he commanded. "Stop everything now!"

"The warning has to be delivered," she returned.

"Not while I'm still standing here, Lady."

Committing all that his master had taught him to mind, Damien charged at the strange woman. But no sooner had he taken a step that he came against an invisible force and it stopped him in his tracks. It forced him down on his knees and the dagger out of his hands.

"You have the spirit, child," she said, her smile like a wolf before a kill sending a chill down the squire’s spine. "Good,” she remarked, “it'll be useful for what's to come."

Damien had never thought he could feel as much as terror as he felt in that moment. It paralysed every bit of him. Truth is, the strange woman was a representation of all that the squire had feared since he was a child: monsters that lurked in the shadow, powers that he couldn’t fight, forces that defied even his logic.

"Please," he begged when she reached him. "What do you want?"

"To deliver a warning," she replied, her hands suddenly becoming engulfed in a bright green energy as she put it to his chest and a searing pain shot through him. "A warning of what's to come."