Published: 10 Jun 2019

Of Light and Darkness

Breakfast had been cleared. All the tweens had donned tabards and swords, and left for the market where they would perform duty. The younger boys were cleaning weapons and equipment in the arms room. Payolo had done all the necessary shopping the day before. He was free until supper.

Rather, he was free only until Will stuck his head into the kitchen. “Hay-low, Pay-low,” the boy grinned. “Someone at the gate to see you.” The boy was gone almost before his words reached Payolo.

Meeka? Payolo wondered. Or Lucas, he guessed.

Payolo did not recognize the figure at the gate. However, the boy’s vest bore a familiar badge. The cartouche showed three stacked bales and a wagon. Ah, Payolo thought, from Master Margulis.

“I’m Payolo,” he said to the boy. “Did Master Margulis send you?”

“Yes, if you please,” the elven boy said. “He asks that you visit him immediately. I will show you the way.”

“Thank you,” Payolo replied, “I know the way but would be glad of your company. Did Master Margulis say why he summoned me?” Master Margulis still held what to Payolo was a great deal of money: his share of the caravan’s profits up to the time that he’d been dismissed. Payolo didn’t need the money. Well, not now, anyway, he thought. But still, it was something he might need in the future.

“No,” the boy said. He skipped beside Payolo, either in exuberance of being away from the warehouse on such a nice day, or merely to keep up with the tall human boy’s long stride.

“Payolo!” Master Margulis called as he saw the boy enter the warehouse. “Here’s someone for you to greet again.” The man gestured to a human tween standing beside him.

“Stephan!” Payolo said as he walked to embrace the boy. “I am so happy to see you. How is your father? How is everyone?” Stephan was the son of the master of the caravan for which Payolo had been the cook’s helper. They had been of the same age, and despite Payolo’s station as cook’s assistance, had been friends.

“My father is in excellent health, as is everyone you knew. We’ve been going back and forth between Willows and the port at Piraeus. We haven’t been attacked but once, and profits have been good,” the boy said. “That’s why I’m here.”

Thoughts of going back on the road as a cook’s assistant flashed through Payolo’s mind. He compared them to his current station, with its freedom of action – not to mention hot water and a warm, dry bed. Before he could speak, however, Stephan took his arm. “Master Margulis said we could use this room. It’s safe to talk here.”

Safe to talk? About what? Payolo wondered.

A Mercenary guard stood outside the door. He looked closely at Payolo, and nodded to Stephan. Stephan closed the door behind them. On a table was a satchel. “Father has sold the caravan,” Stephan said. “This is your share. There’s 50 guineas here, and a letter of credit that Master Margulis will honor for another 200.”

Payolo’s ears buzzed and the edges of his vision seemed to darken. He took a deep breath and held himself up by the edge of the table. “My share? But I was paid my share when I left the caravan, here, in Barbicana.”

“That was just your share of the profits for the most recent legs. You know your parents owned a fifth part of the caravan, didn’t you?”

“Yes, but it accrued to your father when they died!”

“But,” Stephan said, “for only as long as he operated the caravan. Upon his death or sale of the caravan, it reverted to you. Here’s an accounting of the last years’ profits and the value of the caravan. The cleric who oversaw and recorded the sale allowed these expenses to be charged to you, including the cost of the guard who has been with me on the trip from Elvenhold.”

Payolo sat in the corner of the kitchen, thinking. Centurion’s wife wants to return to the kitchen. It’s her seat of power as mistress of the house. She likes having me here, though, especially since her daughter wishes to spend more time with her friends. There are six? No, there are seven new students. Centurion can easily afford my services … but, not at 2 shillings a day … not if I’m to be at the temple in the afternoon. But I must stay at the school!

The solution became obvious to Payolo, and was easily proposed to the centurion. Payolo was to prepare and clean after breakfast, and assist with preparation of lunch. He would be free in the afternoons, but would clean after supper. His salary would be reduced to its original level of room and board plus one shilling per day. Both Payolo and the centurion felt they’d made a good bargain.

“It is unusual for someone to receive temple training without being sworn as a Probationer; however, your character and firmness of belief as a Valarian have impressed even the senior, and we are pleased to accept you as a student,” Polonius said. “I will endeavor to help you understand and channel your talent as an empath. On your next visit, you will meet others who will instruct you in the knowledge needed by a healer”

Kyrie came down from his tower, slowly and reluctantly, and found himself lying in the darkness. He felt warmth beside him and knew it was Payolo, but still was startled when the boy spoke. “What did you see?”

Both Payolo and Kyrie knew that Payolo could see anything that was in the forefront of Kyrie’s mind; both knew that Payolo tried very hard not to do so, even though Kyrie accepted Payolo’s talent as an essential ingredient of Payolo’s friendship.

Payolo had long ago seen the tower Kyrie built in his mind to escape the reality he faced in Barbicana. He knew that Kyrie ascended that tower often to search. For what is he searching? Payolo wondered. That question, Payolo could not answer. Indeed, he wondered if Kyrie himself knew. But Payolo knew that the older boy was searching for something. Payolo had come to feel, to know, when Kyrie retreated into his tower. What does he see? Payolo wondered, and, is it real or is it imagination? Payolo sensed that Kyrie had returned. “What did you see,” he asked again.

Kyrie hugged Payolo closely, and whispered in his ear, “Oh, Payolo, I’m afraid of what I saw! The tower has always been a place of peace, for me. It’s a place where I can dream good dreams, and hope good hopes, and think good thoughts. But there’s something black over the mountains to the south. It’s black, and it calls to me!”

Payolo felt the older boy’s tears dripping on his cheek, and reached up to wipe them gently away. “Kyrie, I am here. The Light is here. No darkness can hurt you so long as that is true.”

Kyrie felt calm wash over him. He kissed Payolo, and the boys fell asleep.

“Do you remember what I said last night?” Kyrie asked Payolo as they pulled the slops wagon toward the gate.

“Yes,” Payolo replied, “that there was darkness over the mountains and that something called to you.”

“Not just something. It was the darkness that called,” Kyrie said, firmly.

“Not darkness, but something,” Payolo replied, just as firmly. “Rather, someone. Remember that Darkness has no substance save within a person’s mind and actions. Besides, even if you hear a call, nothing Dark cannot summon you as long as you are of the Light.”

“I’m going there,” Kyrie said, softly, sadly. “I must know.”

“And I am going with you,” Payolo said.

Kyrie stopped suddenly. Just as suddenly, the weight of the slops wagon brought Payolo to a halt.

“What do you mean, you’re going with me?” Kyrie asked.

Payolo took a deep breath. “I shall go with you forever,” he said. He spoke in Old Elvish, the language of magic and of oaths.

Payolo watched as emotions played over Kyrie’s face. The older boy turned to the younger. “Payolo, I shall go with you forever,” he said.

There was no more that needed to be said, nor was there need for witnesses or recording. The boys were sealed by their own words, their own desire, and their own pledge. Their futures, their destinies, and their lives were inexorably linked. Only death could part them, and that only until a future life.

“We’ll have to walk, unless we can get a place in a caravan. I might be able to get hired as a guard, even though I’m not in the Guild,” Kyrie said. “Don’t know if anyone would hire a guard who doesn’t have a horse, though.”

“We don’t have to walk,” Payolo said, “and you shall have a horse. So will I. And we’ll buy our place in a caravan and sleep in a wagon and eat food that someone else has prepared.”

“Um, I’m the dreamer,” Kyrie teased, “and even I have never dreamed that big.” He looked at the younger boy. “You’re serious, aren’t you? How is this going to happen?”

“I never told you. I never told anyone. Not that it was a secret, but it just didn’t seem important until now,” Payolo said. “Kyrie, we have a great deal of money. My parents owned a share of a caravan. I inherited it when the caravan was sold. We can buy two of the finest horses in Barbicana, and still have money.”

“But … why are you working for a shilling a day in the kitchen!”

“Because Centurion would not let me stay near you, otherwise,” the boy said softly.

“There is a strong prejudice against elves in Paxunt,” Master Margulis said, “It’s not dangerous, but it can be unpleasant. You’d be better bypassing that town.”

The boys had gone to Master Margulis for advice. They wanted to know which caravaneers he considered reputable and with whom they should travel. Now, he gave them advice that was unwelcome. Payolo interrupted, “Please, Master Margulis. Paxunt is our destination.”

The man pursed his lips. “There are few elven caravaneers that travel to Paxunt, and you’d be better off traveling with a human caravan master – as long as he isn’t from Paxunt.” He turned to his table and leafed through a stack of paper.

“Ah, thought so,” he said. “Oh! This is better than I remembered. Messenger from Dundee came a few days ago. I’d not paid much attention, but within a tenday, we can expect Master Baum’s caravan to stop here on the way to Arcadia. Master Baum’s caravaneers are human, but he always hires elven guards to take him through the Gray Mountains and back. So … humans and elves, and neither of you will stand out.

“Now, for horses. I know a couple of people I’d trust to sell you horses, but, you’d better ask your centurion to go with you if you know as little about horses as I think.

“Payolo, it would be foolish to travel with the gold that will remain after you buy horses. It’s bulky and it’s heavy. I could issue a letter of credit, but it would be good only in Elvenhold … and most definitely not in Paxunt. Hmmm.”

The man reached for a dagger he was accustomed to using as a paper knife, to open seals on letters and manifests. As the boys watched, he turned the haft around and around, until it came apart from the blade. Showing the boys the hollow haft, he suggested that if Payolo’s gold were converted into gems, it could be more easily concealed and carried, hidden perhaps in something like the dagger. Payolo looked at Kyrie, who nodded.

“Centurion?” Kyrie and Payolo had climbed the stairs to the gallery, and stood outside the armory. The centurion was in the middle of the room, surveying the weapons as if deciding what next to train his students.

“Yes, Kyrie,” he replied, “come in.”

Kyrie stepped into the room followed closely by Payolo. The centurion folded his arms and waited.

“Centurion, Payolo and I have pledged to one another, and we have to leave the school and travel to Paxunt where my mother’s family was from,” Kyrie said. He continued almost without pause. “I hope you’re not angry and we both appreciate the opportunities and help you have given us and we’re not leaving because we don’t like it here but I have to know…” The boy ran out of breath.

As Kyrie paused for air, the centurion spoke. “Kyrie, I knew this would happen, someday. Your father’s friends told me, in confidence, that your mother was from Paxunt. They intimated more, but would say nothing else. I knew that someday you would have to leave. I’m a little surprised that day did not come earlier. But now I see why. You were waiting for Payolo.”

“How did he know I was coming?” Payolo asked, bewildered.

“He didn’t know, Payolo,” the centurion said gently. “That’s why he was waiting. He could not leave until he was complete. You have made him so.”

“Horses? Yes, I would help you select horses, but do you have any idea what they cost?” The centurion was puzzled.

“The horses we want would cost 30 to 40 guineas each,” Kyrie said.

“Master Margulis is holding more than twice that for me,” Payolo said.

The two horses the centurion selected were of elven stock, but their common grandsire was a quarter horse imported from Arcadia. “It’s a good idea to bring in some new blood every few generations,” the Master Hyperion said. “The quarter horse is a stocky, sturdy breed. They’re bred for strength, not endurance. But add two generations of elven horses, and the result will take you anywhere you want to go. Some people don’t like what it does to the color, though.”

Both mares were brindled: light gray with darker streaks and spots. Payolo sensed the intelligence behind their black eyes. The centurion approved, and a deal was struck.

“They’re perfect,” Payolo said. “No one who doesn’t know would ever know they were of elven stock. We’ll blend in…”

“I’d rather have mithral shoes,” Kyrie said. “But Centurion was right. Iron will draw fewer questions in Arcadia.”

“And be easier to maintain,” Payolo added.

Meeka and Lucas had joined Dodger and Will to wish Kyrie and Payolo farewell. The centurion had relaxed his rules “Just this once,” and allowed them to stay the night, even though the next day was a training day.

The caravan had encamped beside the southern road a quarter mile beyond the city walls. When the gates opened at dawn, Master Margulis and one of his apprentices, along with Kyrie and Payolo were the first to leave the city. Master Baum and the Decurion who commanded the caravan guards were waiting for them. They had met Kyrie and Payolo the evening before, and greeted them warmly. Master Margulis’s apprentice gave several small packages he had carried to one of the wagoners. Master Margulis gave a packet of letters to Master Baum, and wished him a safe journey.

The caravan stopped at twilight. Kyrie and Payolo withdrew a little way from the others. They sat on a log and watched the caravaneers prepare for the night. The guards had established pickets at key points. Those who would perform night duty were napping under a wagon. The cook and his assistant had set up the kitchen, and were preparing supper.

“Paolo,” Kyrie began. “You know I have placed myself under the command of the Decurion. By custom, any armed traveler would do so—”

“Of course,” Payolo interrupted. “Do you forget that not long ago my entire world was a caravan?”

Kyrie’s blush was hidden in the gloaming. “I had not,” he said. “But I’d forgotten what that really meant.”

Kyrie continued after a pause. “He saw that you did not have a sword. I told him you were a healer. I didn’t know what to say about—”

“About my being a Valarian?” Payolo interrupted, “It’s what I am. Nor is it a secret. It is as much a part of me as are you.”

The first several evenings of the journey, Kyrie had drilled and sparred with the soldiers, but, because he’d paid for his place in the caravan, he was not expected to stand watches. Master Baum was pleased to learn that Payolo had skill and experience as a healer. The guards were especially watchful as the caravan entered the Gray Mountains. The mountains harbored brigands and trolls and – if rumor were to be believed – even greater dangers. This was why the mercenary guards had been hired; this was why they were paid guild rates as well as a share of the caravan’s profits.

The pass narrowed. Outriders were withdrawn from the rear and interspersed among the wagons. The brigands’ favorite tactic of late was to attack a convoy in a flurry of activity from many points while a small band slipped past confused defenses to grab what they could from one or two pack mules or wagons. “Centurion told us about this,” Kyrie had said when Kyrie described his role in defense. “Said they changed tactics every few years, and that the hardest part of being a caravan guard was guessing when they’d change next, and what they’d switch to.”

The decision was nearby and overheard this. “He has that right. They’ve got a hand or so of favored tactics, and each one needs a different defense. But we have one thing they haven’t. We have discipline. No soldier of mine has ever been pulled from his position by a distraction, and some kind of distraction is always part of the brigands’ attack.” The man looked at Kyrie.

Kyrie knew the centurion was speaking to him. “I understand.”

The distraction this time was to be fire. Two flaming arrows arced from behind boulders. One struck the lead wagon; the other fell harmlessly to the ground. The arrows were immediately followed by a hand or two of riders, brandishing torches. The riders came from the road ahead of the caravan. They did not hesitate, but rode pell-mell toward the four lead guards.

“There are more behind us!” Payolo hissed to Kyrie, who rode at his right.

Kyrie drew his sword. “The ones in front, probably a distraction; the ones in back will try to take something. Hold your place, Payolo. I will hold mine.”

Payolo relaxed slightly. By now, the caravan had halted. Drivers had tied reins to their wagons, set brakes, and drawn swords or taken bows in hand. Even they were well trained, Kyrie thought.

At the front, eight attackers had ridden into a trap. The four mercenary guards at the front had moved quickly to the side of the pass. The charging brigands, meeting no resistance, rode past the guards, who immediately closed ranks and turned on the brigands from the rear. Bowmen sprang from the lead wagon, firing over the head of the driver, and felled three of the brigands. Caught between the wagons and the guards, the five remaining brigands were easy prey for the guards and the wagoneers.

Payolo’s attention was on the drama before him, and he didn’t sense the three brigands to his right boil from a gulley in the side of the canyon. Kyrie’s sword clashed against the pike wielded by one of the men. The sound alerted Payolo who turned to see his friend about to be overwhelmed by his attackers. “No!” the boy cried, throwing his hands out as if to push the men away from Kyrie.

Payolo watched as Kyrie’s sword swept down onto his first attacker, crunching through his shoulder and into his chest. At that same instant, Payolo completed the pushing movement of his hand. The second brigand threw out his arms as he flew backward, bowling over the third. Both fell heavily. A hollow thump marked one brigand’s unarmored head striking a boulder. The third brigand, seeing Kyrie raise his sword and turn his horse’s head toward the man fled back into the gulley. A rattle of falling scree followed his ascent and escape.

Kyrie turned back to Payolo in time to catch the boy as he fell, unconscious, from his saddle. Kyrie looked around. The battle was over. He heard cheering from the front and rear of the caravan. A legionnaire rode up and saw the bodies of the two brigands. His grim smile was wiped out when he saw that Kyrie held a motionless Payolo.

“Your friend? What’s wrong?” the legionnaire asked.

Kyrie prevaricated. “Just a bump on the head; he’ll be okay. Was anyone injured?”

“No one in the rear,” the legionnaire answered. “I’m riding to the front. Will he be able to heal if we need him?”

“I’ll bring him as soon … oh, he’s coming around, now,” Kyrie said. “As soon as he can.”

The legionnaire nodded, and rode away.

We hope that you are enjoying this tale of World. David appreciates all comments to his stories. David dot Mcleod at CastleRoland dot Net.