The Lightning Knight

WHISKEY DANGER

WHISKEY DANGER

“So, what’s the verdict?” I asked, leaning against a window in full view of the Forest of Kel. The haunting forest sat on the southeast section of Starfall City, just beyond the boundaries of the Institute’s grounds. Rumors abounded that the forest was unending, the few adventurers courageous enough to explore her deep, dark mysteries rarely returning. At least, that’s what our professors threatened as an embellished punishment underneath the forest’s branches.

“Looks like I’m stuck in this place for at least one more year,” Roc answered as he emerged from the damp basement where the ledger-nerds kept the Institute’s financial records.

“Paid in full?”

“For the entire year.” He shook his head, clearly flabbergasted. “I don’t know how I get away with it sometimes.”

“You’re just lucky, I guess, and I’m lucky too. Because that means—”

“Don’t even say it,” Roc interrupted, threatening a punch.

The Institute was as old as Starfall, maybe even older, but I had never delved into its history. Yokel would know though. He loved this city more than anything and would undoubtedly have read up on the Institute years ago. But the Institute was mainly for the noble and wealthy, and a boy like Roc would never have been able to attend, if not for his luck.

We leaned against the wall, our attention drifting to the multitude of students filing in through the doors. Roc was a veritable celebrity. He may not have had the station of most of the other students, but he was by far the most popular. His jovial attitude along with his sheer size made him stand out. People just gravitated toward him, like a planet. It was something I admired, if not was outright envious of. It also probably helped that he was the reigning Homecoming Jousting Champion, which meant he was the most popular athlete in all the South. Just being associated with Roc as not only his best friend but also part of his jousting team meant I was afforded a modest amount of popularity as well. That, and being a Quartermaine helped, of course.

But after a series of hugs, hand slaps, and intricate handshakes with fellow students, I felt a jolt of pain along my ribcage that knocked me out of my internal roll call. I exaggeratedly recoiled as Roc began pointing toward a line of First Years.

He clapped his hands together and rubbed them back and forth proclaiming, “Ahhh, fresh meat.” Their faces displayed a range of emotions: some looked excited, some nervous, and some were attempting a false sense of bravery. One of them, a smaller-than-average freshie in the front of the line, looked up at Roc with his mouth agape.

I glanced at Roc, repaid the jab to the side, and motioned with my head toward the freshie, my eyebrows raised. Most if not every jousting team always had their own would-be squire— a bright-eyed and eager child who could do the tasks no one else wanted. Typically, we reserved that for Yokel, because he was Yokel. But after winning a bet against Roc in Kandaheart, we had agreed to find a freshie to join our team. The only question was, would this kid be up for it?

“Better close that hole in your face, freshie, before you catch flies,” Roc joked, walking over to crane his neck down.

“You’re... you’re... you’re Riley Roclan!” the freshie yelped. His excitement caused his whole body to vacillate back and forth, and I was confident his limbs had stopped listening to his head.

“That’s right, freshie, I am the great and mighty Riley Roclan. You may address me as ‘mister,’ or ‘sir,’” Roc trumpeted, puffing out his chest in a familiar fashion.

He was such an ass.

“You’re not a ‘sir,’” I corrected.

Roc murmured angrily, “I am to them.”

Returning his attention to the first-year, he continued, “And what’s your name, freshie?”

“Freshie? My name? Name? Who? Uh... Freshie?” This kid needed to calm down before he hurt himself, but I could tell right away he would be a perfect addition to our group.

“The freshie seems to have forgotten how to speak. See, you’re ‘fresh meat,’ but the professors don’t like that, so we call you ‘freshies,’” Roc explained.

I attempted to throw the kid a lifeline. “Your name, buddy. Like me, I’m Oliver, this here is Roc, and you are?” I motioned kindly, trying to save him from himself. He had an air of awestruck innocence, exactly the kind of squire we were looking for.

“His name is Hugo Pondarion,” a voice declared, and my heart threatened to leap from my chest. “He’s one of my summer students, so treat him well or you’ll be answering to me,” Iris commanded, slight amusement in her tone. Our eyes met, and I thought I caught a look of distress before it was quickly masked with a quiet smirk.

Hugo shifted from a shade of red I thought only occurred in tomatoes to ghostly white. The kid was going to have a stroke before he even made it to his first class. Meanwhile, Roc looked around at all the other students whose attention hadn’t wavered from their newly met hero.

“Hugo, is it?” Roc bent down to Hugo’s level. “That’s a good strong name. No doubt named for someone important?”

“My grandfather, sir,” Hugo replied with a timid grin that threatened to envelop his entire face. “But you can—”

“People are going to remember that name, and do you know why? Because you’re going to be my squire and join my team. What do you say?” Roc raised an eyebrow to wink at Iris while gesturing toward me and the fast-approaching Yokel.

“Hey guys, I just spoke to the clerk an—”

“Shut up, Yokel! Ahem, well, babe, how’s that for treating the freshie well?” Roc said to Iris, pointing his thumb at Hugo as Iris’s leg swung back unnoticed.

“I told you not to call me that,” Iris said, deftly making contact with Roc’s shin. He jumped back, yelped, and all the freshies giggled.

“And that, kids, is how you deal with a Roc.”

“I was joking!” Roc insisted, standing like an awkward flamingo.

“So how about it, Hugo, think you have what it takes to help Roc win the Tournament this year?” I asked deliberately so every one of the freshies clearly heard. If this kid didn’t faint from excitement, he would make a decent squire yet.

But my reasons weren’t entirely altruistic. I figured maybe this could win me some points with Iris. By the Nine she looked fantastic. A memory instantly shot to the front of my mind, clear as day. Iris was in the library, arranging books and scrolls back into their stacks. She hadn’t noticed me approach the end of an aisle. I lingered there, watching as she reached on tiptoe, stubbornly refusing a nearby ladder, her dark hair cascading well past her shoulders.

Nine Hells, I’m creepy.

“New hairstyle?” I asked her, snapping back out of my memory, still waiting for Hugo to start breathing again.

“Yes!” she exclaimed, smiling her wide smile that threatened to devour my entire being. “Do you like it? I’m trying something new for fifth year.” She swung her head back and forth as her hair danced lightly on her shoulders.

Damn, that’s cute.

“I love it,” I said immediately. Maybe too immediately. “Uh, uh, Hugo! So, what’ll it be, bud?”

After a moment’s thought, Hugo yelled out as loud as he could, “HELLS YES!”

The entire hall fell silent, and Roc smacked Hugo’s back, his hand encompassing almost a third of it. “Well then, Hugo, welcome to Whiskey Danger. We start training this afternoon. Don’t wear anything you like.” After eyeing Hugo up and down, he added jovially, “I suppose you can keep wearing that then!”

An onomatopoeic clicking announced an uninvited guest. “Tck-tck-tck, ah look, boys, the would-be hedgie is recruiting children because no one else will tie his boots. How utterly pathetic.”

Iris’s eyes closed slowly and her lips pursed together as Ridhan Shipwight and his Sharks pushed their way through the crowd.

My heart detached itself from my chest, entered my stomach, and shattered into a million tiny shards of disgust and revulsion when Ridhan pulled Iris in for a kiss on her cheek, all the while glaring at me.

Iris was courting Ridhan? Ridhan Shipwight?! This couldn’t be.... It had to be some sort of mistake. Yes, it was definitely a mistake. A ruse. A glib attempt at comedy and nothing else, because that was the only way to describe this tragedy.

Glib? Tragedy? I’d been hanging out with Yokel too much.

I couldn’t comprehend what I was witnessing. If I hadn’t seen it myself, I would never have believed it. A shared kiss months ago, the imagined future I had daydreamed, the fullness in my heart at the thought of her… it all began to crumble in an instant.

Iris tried to pull away, but Ridhan’s long arms ensnared his trophy.

“Oh, you didn’t know, Q? Lady Kentaro here is all mine. Isn’t that just, tck-tck-tck, wonderful?” A sinister look and a thin smile betrayed his true self, but Iris’s expression remained a puzzle to me. He pulled her in close for another vomit-inducing demonstration of affection; however, this time Iris resisted, driving Ridhan to instant fury.

“I thought I told you—” Ridhan began, raising his hand.

“Hey!” Roc exclaimed, lunging toward Ridhan without hesitation. This is what made Roc a legend. Beyond the bravado, the size, or any trophy he may have won on the field, he was fearless when it came to those in need. He was my hero, and in this instance, he needed to be Iris’s too. Caught by surprise, Ridhan let go of his prize and prepared to defend himself, but Iris intervened, keeping Roc at bay.

In my own mind, I moved swiftly, pinning Ridhan up against the wall by his throat, his feet barely scratching the floor below. I would threaten him with all the pain and anguish I could imagine, and he would vow to never look Iris’s way ever again. She would thank me and fall into my arms and everyone in the hall would clap at my heroism as we kissed.

But I merely stood there, paralyzed. The surprise of Ridhan and Iris, the anxiety about this last year at the Institute, and all the other troubles in my life weighed me down. I was supposed to be brave, but in this moment that mattered, I wasn’t.

Come on, Oliver. Move!

“How dare you try to touch me, you worthless sandeater!” Ridhan yelled as he spat on Roc. Ridhan was a high noble, and if there was one thing he hated in this world more than anything, it was people he deemed beneath himself. People from the Narrows who could barely afford a roof above their head. People like Roc.

A voice of some kind stirred deep within my mind, within the recesses of my very soul. It urged me to take action with a surge of energy. I had felt this fantastic feeling before, but I couldn’t quite place the memory.

A warm embrace. The tapping of water on stone.

As I contemplated the familiar sensation taking over my body, Roc’s courage won through as he escaped Iris’s grasp and landed a punch on Ridhan’s forehead. Our antagonist fell flat on his back and a chorus of groans sounded from the onlooking students gathered around the commotion. Iris shoved past me and down to her suitor, but an outraged Ridhan rebuffed her.

He hollered, “Get off me, you—” but before he could finish, my body took control of itself, pushing Roc aside. I tripped as I tried to defuse the situation and accidentally shoved Ridhan back to the ground.

“Oliver!” Iris wailed as she pushed me away.

“I didn’t mean to...” I apologized reactively. I don’t know what had come over me, but a more pressing question stuck in my head.

Why was she defending him?

“Just leave!” she cried, tears in her eyes as she reached toward Ridhan for forgiveness.

“Young lords!” The low voice boomed from the bottom of the stairs. The High Steward of the Institute approached in his gray suit, a vision of rules and order.

Fearful of his reputation, the crowd of students instantly dispersed at the first sound of the High Steward’s voice. Ridhan lay on the ground, a wild expression in his eyes as he looked at a ring he wore on his right hand. He withheld his Sharks from engaging further and I looked at Roc and Yokel, motioning that we should leave while we still could.

Turning my head back around, I caught Reagan and her friend Jocelyn carrying candied pears in a basket, walking in through the main doors. Reagan looked at Ridhan, still on the ground, now with his back to the wall and a trickle of blood tracing his head. A scowl of disappointment appeared on her face as she looked back to me. I shrugged.

I left, walking along the torch-lit and windowless hallway toward the fifth-year spire named after my family. Next to the sign that proclaimed my family’s status, a deep bellowing voice from under a bushy mustache bounced off every wall of the stairwell. It was my stout, diminutive, and intimidating instructor, Professor Lortho.

“Mr. Quartermaine, follow me.”

My shoulders dropped at the thought of a detention on my last first day. As I approached the first step, I felt a tap on my back. Turning around, I found Hugo waiting patiently for me to speak.

“Hey, Hugo, sorry about all… well, all of that. It usually isn’t like that on the first day.”

His eyes lit up and his mouth opened wide. “Are you kidding me? That was epic! That guy is a jerk. I can’t wait to be on your team. I mean, that is if you still want me?”

All the heartache I had felt earlier at the loss of Iris was subdued and my heart was full once more. Hugo’s earnest sincerity is what would set him apart.

This kid, this kid was special.

“Hugo, of course we want you on the team.”

Hugo smiled wide and skipped along toward his first-year tower. Just before he was out of sight, he turned and yelled back to me.

“Oh, and Oliver, you can call me Po!”