Chapter 2
Tristan had hardly had time to return to his chambers and clean up before the clang of the meeting bell summoned all of the Brethren to a General Assembly. The Lady stood in the middle of the floor of the Great Hall, waiting for all to assemble and quiet to ensue. Silence engulfed the room and the old woman began, “a member of the self-proclaimed Order of the Unicorn appeared before me today offering his protection from the coming evil.” Laughter echoed through the Hall. She continued, “of course I sent him packing, but the fact that he comes into the very heart of our land and has no idea who or what we are was worrying enough that I roused all of you from your beds and called this meeting. Apparently, we are all but forgotten in the minds of other men, great or small! What has happened to our mission? We are afraid of what? Death? What hold has death on any of us? It is an honor to die for the cause.
How many are dying because we are afraid to die? I call upon each of you, from the least to the greatest, to put aside your fear and grasp firmly to our purpose and spread the Truth to all people and all lands. Evil is rampant in the world. Despair haunts the steps of the common people. Power, corruption, and greed rule in all lands. Justice and mercy are forgotten. I command you to go forth boldly and proclaim the Truth, and if necessary die in the process. ‘Tis better to die doing our duty than to be found safely hiding within these walls as the world perishes around us. I do not mean to face the Master one day and have to explain to Him why we have been caught sleeping. We have each taken an Oath and now I am calling upon you to fulfill it. Secrecy may be needed at times, but now is not the time. Get out there and do your duty. Quit hiding in the shadows and jumping at mice. Go out and shake the foundations of the world as we were created to do. And may the Master ride with you.” With that, she withdrew and the crowd broke into an excited uproar.
The Council of Six was shortly thereafter summoned to a meeting with the Lady. As her closest advisors, she needed their insight into how to waken this sleeping giant. “You heard my speech,” she stated dryly, “now what?”
The Council consisted of two members of each major sect of the Brethren: the Warriors, the Philosophers, and the Teachers, and were accounted the wisest and most experienced of the Brethren. They debated and discussed late into the morning and as the sun reached its noon peak, they emerged from the chamber tired but firm in their purpose and excited about their plans, as they had not been in years beyond memory. Over the years, the Brethren had fallen into complacency, as had every other corner of civilization. Hopefully, they had not been roused too late to face the utter darkness that again was threatening to consume the world. It had been decided that the Teaching sect would ride forth immediately with as many as could be spared from teaching the students and apprentices, and word would be sent to those already in the field that the time for secrecy was over and they should speak wherever they found an audience or receptive ear.
Perhaps a message of hope in a world of despair would again reach the hearts of the masses as it had in the glory days of Astoria. The Philosopher sect was to send its advisors to all known kings, princes, lords, generals, and leaders. Those already placed were to come out of the shadows and openly advise the rulers of the dangers lurking ahead. The Warrior sect was to openly pursue criminals within the bounds of kingdoms and principalities, as well as maintaining their defense of the Northern borders to keep evil things of the wild from wandering into civilized lands. They were also to advise any ruler that requested it, in the defense of their country from external threats. It was a call joyfully received and enacted by all, for this is what they had been born to do.
Amidst all this commotion the boy felt lost in the confusion. Everyone seemed to be running around preparing for some great event or journey. Horses were saddled. Bags were packed. Supplies were loaded. Goodbyes were said. The boy felt very small and alone amidst the chaos. The frenzy continued well into the evening and the boy felt he had been completely forgotten when a firm hand gripped his shoulder and he looked hopefully up into the eyes of Tristan. He smiled down at the boy and said, “you are not forgotten.”
Together they walked into the dining hall for supper. In the chaos of the day, almost a quarter of the population had left on one errand or another and another third was to leave on the morrow. The boy asked what all the fuss was about and the man mentioned something about a stirred anthill. The boy laughed and the man smiled. After they had eaten, they retreated to the boy’s small room.
“I have traveled abroad for almost a year,” said the man, “so I am allowed a brief respite before my next assignment. But time grows short, evening is falling, and night comes. A great darkness is lurking beyond sight or hearing but it hungers to plunge the world into utter desolation. It was driven back once, long ago. But its malevolence and strength have grown with the years and its time is drawing nigh. We have ever been heralds of that darkness, trying to turn the hearts of men to justice and light, but over the years our power has waned and our messengers have gone unheeded. What you saw today was the rousing of all our strength in one last, great push for Truth. The time is coming when all mortal hearts must decide on whose side they stand.”
“On whose side?” asked the boy.
Continued the man, “on the side of darkness, evil, and the Enemy, or on the side of goodness, light, and the Master.”
The boy looked askance at the man as if he were sitting with a grown man who truly believed in monsters under the bed. All his life he had heard fairy tales about the Master of All and how he had driven away evil for a time and about the Brethren, men who rode unicorns and spread the Truth and fought evil. But he had never seen anything to suggest that such tales could possibly be true. The man looked down at the boy with a knowing light in his eyes. He understood the boy’s doubts.
“You doubt there is any such thing as the Master or the Brethren I think,” said the man. The boy looked at the man with awe, as if he could read minds. “I thought that once too,” said the man. “As a boy, my mother took ill and died and my father went mad with grief and took his own life. I was left alone without friend, family, or protection in a dark and dangerous world. If I had ever believed in the Master, I then decided that in a world of such pain and injustice there could be no being that is truly love incarnate. I became a petty thief, stealing what I could just to survive. One day I was caught and brought before a magistrate who sentenced me to a prison camp where I would spend the rest of my days quarrying stone. But then a man seated next to the magistrate whispered in his ear. The magistrate turned his gaze upon me and spoke, “this man will take full responsibility for you and spare you the horrors of the quarry, but you must go with him and do as you are told. If you disobey or runaway, you will be tossed into the quarry and there will toil away the rest of your miserable life.”
I was taken from that place and brought here where I learned many things. Including, that even in the midst of tragedy and horror, there is still goodness and love and mercy. Evil happens not because the Master is not real or absent but because He has given men the choice of whether to do evil or good and there are those who choose evil. Good survives and love exists because the Master is both. Without Him the world would quickly succumb to darkness. The Master offers us the choice to escape from evil and to fight for good. Here I learned that while tragedy and suffering happen to all, the Master gives us strength, patience, and hope to endure them and through suffering and trials we grow stronger and closer to Him. Here you will learn many useful things, even if you choose not to join us. I will be checking in on you every now and then over the next few weeks, but soon I must leave on another journey and may not see you for some time.”
“But I am going with you,” said the boy.
“I am sorry,” said the man, “but it is forbidden for any to travel with me on such a dangerous mission save another of the Brethren. Tomorrow you may leave and go wherever it is you feel you must, or
you can stay and learn for a time and eventually make a decision as to whether to take your Oath and join the Brethren or to leave at a time of your choosing. A servant will wake you early tomorrow and at that time you must decide what to do. Now goodnight and I will see you soon.” He blew out the lamp and left the room.
The man checked in frequently with the boy who had decided to stay for at least a time. He was learning much and quite enjoying himself, though some of the history and grammar were not as exciting as the swordplay and riding lessons. He even enjoyed running errands and working in the kitchens or the gardens which were considered a vital part of his training. The boy seemed to be thriving in his new surroundings and for the first time in a long time felt truly happy. Tristan was quite busy in his own right. He had many people with whom he needed to discuss a multitude of issues. He had equipment to mend or replace, and he had some specific things he needed to learn quickly before his next mission. The few weeks of his ‘respite’ passed very quickly, too quickly for his liking. His next assignment was not one to which he was looking forward, but the Lady had bidden so he would fulfill his mission or die trying.
“I am off tomorrow Pallin,” he said to the boy, “I do not know how soon I shall be able to see you again, but I will write when I get the chance. Which I guess will give you a good excuse to practice your reading.” The boy did not know whether to laugh or cry and seemed to be doing a bit of both. They embraced one last time and then the man walked off, a tall lonely figure retreating into the night towards an uncertain future.
Early the next morning, Tristan climbed back into the saddle he had vacated far too short a time ago. The mare frisked, eager to be on the road once more; she did not take kindly to a sedentary life. The Lady stood at his stirrup and bid him farewell, “I know this is not something you like doing, but I think you are the best man for the job. Take care of yourself and let me know if you learn anything that may be of use. May the Master ride with you!” With that, she slapped the mare on the rump and the pair galloped off into the darkness.
Galloping in the dark before dawn is a good way to get oneself killed, so he quickly reined in the mare though she slowed only reluctantly and gave him a resentful look over her shoulder as they continued at a fast walk. To be on the road again did hold some excitement for him as well as for the mare, but his destination was far from pleasing. He hated the uncertainty of his latest assignment but it was vital to the Lady and any course of action the Brethren might take in the near future. He enjoyed every moment of the ride to Waymeet, or at least as much as he could with the future looming before him dark and uncertain. The Order of the Unicorn was going to hold a recruiting session there in a few days and he was going to sign up! This had to be the craziest thing he had ever attempted in over a century of impossible quests. But the Lady knew what she was doing so he had to trust her. The mare was not all that excited about it, but she had done crazier things in her life and she was committed to keeping her rider out of as much trouble as she possibly could, someone had to. It still amused her that she was a unicorn pretending to be a horse who might one day pretend to be a unicorn if the Lady‘s plan was successful. It was certainly a mess but she did enjoy the irony.
They arrived in Waymeet in time for the evening meal at the inn. The inn itself was packed with prospective Order recruits and the best Tristan could do was to bed down in the hayloft. The mare would have had to be tied to a tree because the stable was packed with horses. She was left to find her own shelter for the night, which was much more to her liking than any cramped stall with moldy straw for bedding. Near the edge of town he dismounted, removed her tack which he hid under a handy brush pile, and shouldered the saddlebags. It would arouse too many questions if he was seen to loose his horse into the woods or if anyone saw him carrying around a saddle with no horse to go with it. It was much better that people assumed he had come in on foot; in the throng he would hardly be noticed. He scavenged a hunk of cheese and a bit of stale bread for the evening meal, which was apparently all the inn had left. They were hardly expecting such a crowd. The Order was not in particular favor with the common people, but there were those who saw it as their chance to become rich and powerful, though perhaps not respected by too many people. Men had traveled for over a hundred miles to take part in the trials the following day. Tristan climbed into the loft and tried not to bump any of the half dozen other men trying to sleep in the dusty hay.
The morning dawned crisp and clear as only an autumn morning can. Tristan snuck down to the river and washed the dust from his face and hands. He made a breakfast of cold water and provisions from his saddlebag; he was not about to risk breakfast at the inn after such a dismal supper. When he had eaten and cleaned-up, he found and saddled the mare who had had a much better night than he did; he never knew a man could snore like that, he had met quieter bears. He led the mare out into the meadow that was to host the day’s trials; there was already a line of men waiting to register with a rather portly fellow sitting under a striped canopy. He led the mare over to the copse of trees that was the unofficial hitching post. He left her there, though she laid her ears back when he told her to be a good girl and stay put. He got in line and waited for his turn to register.
“Name?” asked the bored looking registrar.
“Tristan,” said the man.
“Age?”
“Umm…35, give or take a century,” said Tristan. He was one hundred and thirty five but that would be difficult to explain. The man raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
“Occupation?”
“Mercenary?” said Tristan.
The registrar looked at him with complete disbelief. “You do not know your own occupation?” he asked.
“I am just not sure how to boil it down into a one word answer,” he replied.
“Home?”
“Rune’s Ford on the border of the Wilds,” said Tristan. Once upon a time, it had actually been his home, but not in well over a century.
“Reasons for joining the Order?”
“I would like to dedicate my life and skills to a worthy cause rather than renting them out to the highest bidder,” he said. The registrar raised an eyebrow but did not laugh, though he might have smirked a bit. Tristan was quite proud of that answer; it had taken him the better part of two days to come up with it. The smirk hurt.
“You are number 57, you may proceed to the next station.” He took the sheet of paper handed to him by the clerk and walked towards the line of men waiting their turn halfway across the field.
The trials consisted of various physical disciples (archery, riding, fencing, hand-to-hand combat) and a written test that covered everything from basic reading and writing skills to mathematics, history, literature, philosophy, logic, and geography. The applicants were divided into five groups, each of which would rotate through each exercise. His first area would be archery, which simply involved shooting five arrows and receiving a score for how close each one came to the center of the target. The written test was next, but that did not prove too difficult for someone of his background. During the swordplay he faced off with first one and then another of the applicants and then with one of the supervising members of the Order. He did the same with the hand-to-hand combat. The score of each was based on how well the three observing judges thought he excelled in the areas of balance, footing, defense, attack, and overall technique; winning was not so much the goal as showcasing one’s skills. The equestrian trial was last. Horses were provided for those without a suitable mount (which was the majority of the recruits who had wandered in on foot or borrowed their father’s plow or carthorse). The mare was frisking excitedly as he led her towards the starting point. This session would judge how well he could ride in a variety of situations.
First, the judges examined the mare head to foot to make sure she was sound and also inspected his tack to make sure he was not somehow planning to cheat
. She put up with the inspection as best she could, but her tail swished in obvious irritation and she rolled her eyes dramatically as each foot was lifted and inspected. Once she had passed inspection, he was given the signal to begin. The trial would be timed and points given or taken for how well he responded to the variety of obstacles along the way. The first part was simply a gallop across the meadow to see if he could keep his seat at full speed. On the far side of the field he entered a small wooded area that climbed steeply uphill and then down along a trail that snaked through overhanging branches and fallen logs. Then he had to swim his mount across a river flowing swift and cold. The final leg brought him back through the meadow where a dead snake on a string pulled by a hidden handler moved across the path and was meant to test his ability to handle a panicked horse. The mare simply snorted with disgust at the dead reptile and quickly finished the course.
If they miraculously got through all the recruits today they would still have to tabulate everyone’s score, which could take days. Not everyone who applied to join the Order was accepted. They wanted the most intelligent and skilled individuals they could lay hands on. Some of the unskilled recruits that showed obvious promise either in the physical and/or the mental disciplines would be taken under consideration for further training depending on the current needs of the Order. Those who excelled at both or either would quickly be snatched up and put into a rigorous training program and would soon be on their way to becoming active members of the organization. Now all they had to do was wait.
As it turned out, they were able to finish by nightfall, though just barely. The participants were tired, but exhilarated and no one could sleep because of their excitement so the innkeeper rolled out several kegs of the local ale and brought out what food he had left and a celebration was soon underway. A few of the men even broke out their instruments and started to play, which tempted some of the locals to come out and join the fray, and very soon a full-fledged dance was underway in the meadow. A bonfire was lit nearby just to enliven things and a good time was had by all. Tristan was content to sit on the edge of the woods and watch the goings-on with a mug of ale and a hunk of bread. The mare grazed contentedly nearby. A couple of would-be Knights wandered in his direction and sat down.
“Why are you not joining the party?” asked a short freckled man.
“This may be all you get out of this whole thing,” laughed the other, a tall bearded fellow.
“I am content just to watch,” said Tristan.
“Too bad,” said freckles, “some of the local girls are not too bad looking.”
“At least in the dark,” laughed his friend. “
If I was interested in girls I would not be trying out for the Order,” said Tristan.
“No fun at all is he Otis?” said the freckled man to his friend.
“No he aren’t,” said Otis.
“Sorry to disappoint you,” said Tristan.
“You seemed to do fairly well on all the tests,” said freckles more conversationally.
“Fair enough I suppose,” said Tristan, “we will know tomorrow I hope.”
Otis shrugged noncommittally and freckles nodded, then both headed back to the party. Tristan watched them go and wondered if either would make it in, Otis at least probably had not passed the written test.
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