From Apalon - Chapters 3 & 4

Note: 7/18/14 This is a rather old piece now. I just have not had time to get back around to it. It has been edited some since the original posting. Thank you. :)

Chapter 3

Staring out at the faces lined up under the cloister it appeared that most everyone in the monastery was here to watch the match. Neophytes Enan and Bran stood together apart from the main group of onlookers, and Warrior Hoel leaned against one of the many columns that held up the roof of the cloister. Warrior Pellinos and Balfor were in the midst of what appeared to be a heated conversation on the opposite side of the garden. It appeared that Pellinos might be losing the battle.

The Seer arrived through the doorway that served as the back entrance to the armory. Several wooden training weapons were clutched in his arms. Another man followed behind the Seer, a man that I did not recognize. However, the markings on his breastplate identified him as a very important individual. His breastplate was clearly of the finest make. Engravings shown across the most of the polished metal surface, and the blue stripes ran down the middle of the metal carapace. This man, whoever he was, was an Elite. Voices in the crowd grew quieter and heads began to turn towards the arrival of the two men. Some leaned and whispered to the person next to them, some pointed at the monk, and many just stared. This was my first time to see an Elite in person, and pictures of them did little to convey the sense of awe I felt standing here, looking at this man who has been personally blessed by the Guardians.

Tossing the wooden training weapons onto the grass of the garden the Seer cleared his throat. “I am pleased to see such a turnout, and I am equally pleased to see that all of you now recognize our guest of honor,” he motioned to Elite. “This is Elite Sariphos, and he will be staying here at Apalon for a short period. I trust you will act hospitably towards him, and I am sure he will return the favor.” The Seer turned to the man.

Elite Sariphos was a mountain of a man. He had to have been close to seven feet tall, and I had never seen a breastplate as large as his. Short white hair cropped the top of his head, and his face was filled with deep wrinkles from too much time in the sun. His smile touched his mouth, but his eyes conveyed no such emotion. He moved ahead of the Seer. “I am pleased to be here, and to meet all of you. It has been many, many years since I was last able to walk in the garden here at Apalon,” he said, motioning to Mempo and I. “Now, let us see what these two have in them!”

“Very good!” the Seer said, walking in between us. “Normally I like to give everyone notice before I plan a match, but these two have a task ahead of them, so I thought they could use the practice before they leave.” A few cheers from our audience echoed through the columns. “Now you two know the rules by now.” He turned his head to look at me. “Pricion, what will be your tool of choice?”

“Staff,”

He turned to Mempo. “And you?”

“Staff,” the other man said.

Mempo’s face was just as bleak as I felt mine was. He stood in the same stance as I did, his feet staggered with his left leading the way. Making friends here had been challenging. Monks lived together for much of their younger years, but we were still taught that solidarity was important and it was a lifestyle that many monks lived outside of monasteries. Mempo was one of my few friends here. He stared back at me, shifting his eyes to watch the rest of my body periodically. What is his plan?

“Begin,” the Seer said.

I watched his weapon as I ran at him, my piece stone wood raised overhead. I was on him and striking a moment later. Blow after blow fell upon Mempo as I continued my assault. I could hear the crowd cheering around us, hoping for one of us to draw blood from the other. Mempo smiled through his obvious determination.

He blocked another of my blows, and pressed against me, forcing me to choose a defensive role. The air whistled around us, our staffs moving in a constant blur, and our training the only thing allowing us to keep track of each other’s weapon. Each hit hurt my hands as my bones felt the full force of the impacts. I rolled backwards, planted a foot when I came upright again, and thrust the end of the spear at my opponent. A risky move should it hit him in the wrong spot. Dodging the strike, Mempo grabbed the shaft and pulled me towards him, swinging his staff in from the side opposite of where he had a hold of mine. I attempted to block the incoming hit, but Mempo saw the move in enough time to dodge my vambrace and gauntlet, his staff crashed into the side of my torso. An instant, stinging pain shot through my entire body.

I heard the Seer yell above the crowd, “Hit,” and Mempo released his grip on my staff. I was still racked with pain. During these matches we wore some armor, but our torsos and upper legs were left bare.

“Not this time, Pricion,” Mempo said. He stared at me with a smile on his face, a smile that struck me as one of friendship, and not as a smug gesture. That did not help me accept the defeat any better though. I nodded to Mempo, holding the side of my body with a gauntleted hand.

Walking between us, the Seer began to clap his hands. “I am pleased with what I have seen from the both of you,” he let out a little laugh, “but it might do you better to block such a hit next time, Pricion.” The crowd laughed around us. It was normal for the Seer to give us helpful, but obvious, hints after a match, and it was usually the audience who benefited the most from the Seer’s humor. The Seer turned to our audience, “Now off you go,” he said as he waved his hands, “the match is over. Return to your studies.” Everyone started to disperse, except for Elite Sariphos who still had his feet planted in the same spot. Turning back to us, the Seer said, “This will be the last time I will see the both of you for some time. Good luck on your assignment and be safe in your travels.” He left the two of us standing there in the garden while he joined the Elite again. We watched as the two men walked away.

“See you in the morning,” I said, as I left toward my room.

Chapter 4

I awoke the next morning to the sound of rain and thunder. It was another day on the shores of Salt Lake. Rolling out of bed, I clothed myself in a gray tunic that was easily wearable under my armor. I turned to put my armor on. My armor, where is it? It was not on the wooden mannequin where I had placed it before I had went to sleep last night. I grabbed my pack, opened the door, and went to find my armor.

Mempo opened his door as I neared his room. “Is your armor missing?” he asked me with an almost frantic tone. “I know where I put my armor, and now it is gone.” I watched as he stumbled around his small room that matched mine in size, he seemed to be confused as to what was going on.

“Calm down,” I said to him. “Mine is also gone, and I’m sure it is around here somewhere.” It was rare, but at times our armor would be removed for cleaning by the blacksmiths in the armory. This could be one of those times, but it was unexpected, especially when we are supposed to be wearing it. “Just slow down a bit, Mempo.”

He spun on his heels towards me, “You are probably right,” he said energetically. “Maybe the armory has it. Let us go see… after breakfast.” I stepped aside to make room for him as he left his room and closed the door behind him. “Unless you would like to head straight for the armory,” he said, looking back at me.

I had forgotten all about breakfast before we left due to my own worries about my missing armor. “Breakfast first, armor second,” I said, following him.

The cooks must have known that the two of us must have been heading out in a short time, because the breakfast was unusually large. Fresh eggs, ham, bread, beef, and wine all sat in front of us. The kitchen assistants kept bringing out trays of it until we finally had to tell them we have had enough. Normally, morning meals consisted of little more than bread dipped in wine, if we were lucky cheese was also included. Foss came in just as the both of us were leaving.

“Pricion, Mempo, have you seen your-“

“Armor?” I cut in. Foss nodded. “Come to the armory after you have eaten something.” We left the man standing there in the dining area without filling him in on our situation.

The armory was on the opposite side of the monastery. We crossed through the library, and through the garden. As I lead the way into the darkened armor the smell of fire, coal, and sweat hit my nostrils. This is where the smiths of Apalon perfected their craft. Forging weapons that allowed us to do what we are trained for.

Norik Palo, the master smith, met us a few feet in the doorway. While monks had free domain over where we could go in Apalon, Norik still tried to act like the armory was his own home, and that you could only enter with his permission.

“My two favorite Neophytes! How is your morning so far?” Norik said, clapping both of us on the shoulder. Norik was a short man compared to most of us here, but he must have been close to half as wide as he was tall. His shaved head glistened with sweat from a morning of hard labor. His massive arms dripped sweat onto the floor in front of us. “Come this way you two, I have something to show you.” He turned and began to walk away.

Catching up to him in a few strides, I said, “I hope it is our armor that has gone missing from our rooms.” I looked back at Mempo, he was following along behind us.

“Aye, it does concern your armor, I am afraid I have had to make some changes to it.” He turned, looking at me with a look of concern on his face. “Orders from the Seer, you see.”

Mempo hopped a few steps in order to make himself known to the blacksmith once again. “What sort of changes? I authorized no such work on my armor.” I could tell Mempo was heating up, and not from the furnaces in the room.

Norik looked at him. “Well Neophyte, as I said, the Seer himself ordered this work done, and because of that, you have no such say in the matter.” We walked a bit further, and I noticed a workbench with two linen sheets covering something up on the tabletop. Norik approached the table and took a piece of linen in each hand. “I hope you approve of my work.” He yanked the cloth away.

Two breastplates sat atop of the table. The surrounding fires made the metal seem to glow. In the center of each armor piece a red line ran almost the entire length of the armor. The smith looked pleased by our reactions. “I polished them up a good bit,” he said, “and made some obvious changes as you can see.”

By the Guardians! I have received a promotion. Neophyte was a rank that many monks retained for many, many years. I was no different. But now, all my hard work has paid off. Mempo and I walked to the edge of the table almost simultaneously, both of us taken aback by what we saw.

“Norik, did you do this?” I asked with a dry throat. My hands trembled as a reached out and grabbed the armor.

“Aye, it took me a few days, but I did it all,” he said, watching us with a smile on his face. Clearly proud of the work he had done.

Mempo cleared his throat, still seemingly at a loss for words. “Norik… it is… thank you,” he finally managed.

“Yes, Norik,” I said, “thank you.”

The sound of someone running alerted the three of us. We all spun to the doorway to meet whoever it was. “Did I miss it?” I heard a voice shout.” Foss came sliding into the armory from the dew soaked garden grass.

I looked at Norik, who had a look of disdain on his face. “Stop right there, Foss!” Norik shouted. “What has you in such a rush, and rushing into my armory.”

Foss’ face paled slightly at the sight of Norik. He began to stutter. “I am... extremely sorry… Norik… I just…” His eyes shifted to the work table, and color immediately returned to his face. “I was right!” he said excitedly. “I had a feeling something special was going to happen this morning when all three of us were missing our armor.” He sounded giddy. “Promotions to Proselyte I see, and where is mine, Nor-“

“Where is yours, Foss? Is that what you were wondering?” The smith had his elbow on the tabletop, and his chin resting in his hand. “Yours is right over there,” he said, pointing to another table with the same linen covering up another object.
Foss rushed over, yanking the linen away.

Norik cut in before Foss could get a word out. “I had no orders for any work to your armor, Foss. But, I suspected a polish was in order when I went to retrieve their armor,” he said, pointing to Mempo and I. “Do remember lad, that you have not spent as many years here at Apalon as Pricion and Mempo have.”

It was clear that Foss was upset at the lack of new markings of his armor. He picked his breastplate up off of the table, inspecting it. “Well thank you for having this cleaned up all the same, Norik.”

“You are very welcome,” Norik said, “but next time, don’t allow it to get so dirty in the first place.”

The three of us helped one another suit up after we spent some more time inspecting the smith’s handy work. It was very good, even the etching was superb, and Norik never spoke of his etching much since we had an etcher that also worked in the armory.

A few people said goodbye and good luck to us as we made our way towards the main entrance to Apalon. One or two tried to stop us and congratulate us on our promotion, but we explained that we were already behind in our leave. Davina, one of the cooks, did manage to hand off some bread and salted pork to Foss.