A sword shatters the silence as it plummets toward the ground. Faster and faster it falls as it passes through a white puffy cloud. A boom cracked the vermilion sky. Two circles appear behind the blade while it gains speed.
Silence.
The blade pierces the ground.
A colossal explosion erupts destroying everything around it. Trees become uprooted as they are flung dozens of feet away. Rocks crack as they soar crushing limbs, roots, and glass as they land. Dust forms from the pit into the shape of a mushroom. A golden gleam…
“Elyar! Terra to Elyar!”
“Sorry,” Elyar said while blinking multiple times trying to regain awareness. He had been…he couldn’t honestly remember where he had been. Elyar was sitting on a leather chair in front of a large wooden desk. The furniture in this room showed the use and love of generations. Every child, male or female, in his family had sat at this table leaning history, calligraphy, rhetoric, mathematics, and every other boring subject on Terra. There was a window to his left that opened up onto the Feud. A bird fluttered by as Elyar admired the scenery of his home. A small meadow usually full of flowers, bees, and small animals such as rabbits and squirrels surrounded his home his family called the Great Hall. At the moment, there were patches of snow and winter weary grass. Beyond the meadow began the forest. Evergreens and deciduous trees intermingled forming a lush multi-green tapestry during the summer. He never tired of letting his eyes wander over the canopy of green. One variation of green would merge into another which in turn formed a myriad. Sadly the deciduous trees were still baren leaving only the green needles. The forest, called Dasos, spread as far as the eye could see. Eventually it morphed into a haze of limb and stone merging with the Mountains of
Koryphe, a majestic granite megalith reaching for the heavens. The peak, Koryphe’s Head lay to the right of the windows view. Clouds obscured the top, which was normal except for rare days.
The window itself was made of lightly stained glass. Reds, yellows, and some blues danced through the pane cascading mini rainbows throughout the day. A wooden bench of intricate design merged with the wall. Deer, birds, and other peaceful forest dwellers played on the woods surface. Elyar used to trace his fingers on them when he was little. He still found himself doing so when he was reading something particularly boring. Following the outskirts of the room ran a floor to ceiling bookcase. Elyar had no idea how many books there were, what topics they covered, and how old they were. He enjoyed the smell of books, but that was about it. The only breaks in the bookcase wall were the door, also intricately carved, but with scenes of war and glory, and the desk at which Elyar and the scribe sat at.
“You are worse than your siblings were,” chastised the stern man sitting slightly behind Elyar. He turned to his tutor and looked at him with eyes that changed from that of a forest’s river to the deep glades within Dasos.
“Or you have gotten worse as an instructor,” retorted Elyar failing to conceal a mischievous smile trying its hardest to creep across his face.
The scribe’s eyes widened into full moons while his mouth looked
like he was trying to eat an entire head of broccoli. His mouth opened and closed for a moment as the fire in his cheeks grew hotter and hotter. Before Elyar could do anything, a hand shot out from within the brown robes the small man was wearing and smacked Elyar on the side of his head.
“Ouch!” Elyar yelled placing his hand on his wound.
“Stop your insolence and work!” Yelled the scribe, “there is much to learn. You play to much, talk to much, and daydream to much. If your father was not who he is I would quit. But I promised I would stay until your Triad ceremony, which may I remind you, is in two weeks!” Panting the tutor stared at Elyar who had not budged. Still nursing his head, Elyar didn’t take his eyes off the man beside him, defiance stealing into his eyes changing the color from that of moss under water to a dark woo ded cave.
“MOVE!” Screamed the scribe.
Jumping a little at the ferocity of his words, Elyar began to work on his lesson again. Eyes frantically darting back and forth, Elyar studied the rune they had been working on. The ever watchful eye of the scribe pierced Elyar’s soul as he studied every movement.
He had been working on the rune “to sharpen.” It went along with the other mundane runes Elyar had learned like “growth,” “dull,” and “soften.” Any incorrect motion was quickly caught and corrected. His desk was full of books on runes, calligraphy techniques, tactics, fighting stances, and other books useful for the son of a duke.
After an agonizingly long moment, Elyar began writing on the dull knife he had been holding. With a few strokes of his quill Elyar wrote the word . Nothing happened. Elyar dropped the pen and placed one hand on his face grinding his teeth. “Again.”
“Why?” I’ve done this a dozen times today. Nothing is happening.
Maybe I can’t do magic like my family!”
Scoffing at such a dumb statement the scribe retorted, “You can do magic. You have done magic before. Everyone in your family has done
magic since the founding of the empire. Do not be a foolish child.”
“You can do magic,” retorted Elyar. “Why aren’t you a lord?” Elyar was trying to bait his tutor again, but this time it failed.
“No, no, young master. You are not going to deviate from your study.
AGAIN!”
Elyar’s eyes narrowed and creases formed on his brow as he quickly glared at his mentor. But he obeyed and continued trying. This went on for another hour before Elyar, finishing the last stroke of the saw a shimmer of multicolored light ripple above and in the blade. He grabbed a sheet of loose paper resting near him, took the knife, and easily decapitated the paper. A grin appeared on Elyar’s face. The tutor’s face broke just a little as a small smile could be seen.
“We will be done for today.” Standing up both stretched. He stood about six feet tall with shaggy, obsidian black hair that sometimes looked like it absorbed light instead of bouncing it back. He was muscular, slim, with fair skin. He was the lightest in his family which his siblings never let him forget. Adorned from head to foot in a black cotton tunic comfortable to the touch, but strong of fiber, Elyar looked the part of a studi ous acolyte. But, looks can be deceiving.
Outside of their little squabbles, neither had moved much over the last few hours. Unless he was demonstrating or correcting, the scribe had remained a gargoyle.
The scribe, who Elyar only knew as “the scribe,” stood at Elyar’s shoulder. He wore a brown habit with black patterns on it that Elyar did not recognize. He was clean shaven, bald, and lighter skinned, though not as light as Elyar. His lack of hair was a sign of his religious order. Scribes were part of Kleros, the state religion in Korax. They were the only faction who cared about literacy outside of the nobility. Though many nobles let their knowledge lapse after their knighting. Most scribes prefered remaining anonomous wanting only to be remembered as serva nts of Theo, the one true diety worshiped in the empire.
“You will be pleased to know that today will be your last day with me. I am moving on to another fisc.”
Ripples of confusion passed over Elyar’s face, “but you said we had two more weeks of work.”
“That is true, but I will no longer stand your insolence. You are not worth my efforts.”
Trying to hide his glee, Elyar nodded and replied as respectfully as possible, “Thank you for your service to me and my family. I will honor you by passing my knighthood with the strongest mind, body, and soul this family has ever seen. My triad will be proof of your tutoring.” Though the words were respectful, every one of them dripped of sarcasm. The scribed gave one last glar and huffed out of the door and down the winding stairs.
Elyar started cleaning up the table after the scribe’s footsteps disappeared. He couldn’t get rid of his stupid roguish grin no matter how hard he tried. His studies were finally over. He could focus on what he enjoyed most, fighting and messing with his older brothers. The sound of footsteps echoed through the pass again. Elyar turned toward the door curious if the scribe had come back for one last remark. Creaking open the door started to swing toward the room. A muscular, slender hand cur led around the door as a man a little taller than Elyar emerged.
Standing just over six feet tall, Master Pyke was on the shorter size for a terran just like Elyar. The ceiling was tall to accommodate men bigger than them making both feel smaller than they actually were. They were shorter than the other men in Elyar’s family and stood closer to the smaller vassals who worked on the Feud. Pyke wore a dark red tunic and dark brown pants. Leather boots finished his ensemble along with his ever-present smile. He had medium long blond hair pulled in a short ponytail, piercing brown eyes that rarely missed a detail, and a tattoo on his left arm of what looked like circles of different widths and distances from each other. Elyar had asked what the tattoo meant when he was younger, but Pyke had waived him away. He never tried asking again.
“Why did the scribe leave in a huff this time?” asked Pyke.
“You know scribes. They are always full of themselves and their own importance.”
“Aye, that they might be. But you cannot go around angering all of Theo’s acolytes. They hold a key role in our society…and in your salvation.”
Feeling the stern gaze Pyke was now giving him, Elyar changed the
subject, “are you hungry? It’s late. We should go eat.”
Pyke let the subject lapse and replied, “you have beaten me to my message. The mistress of the hall has summoned you to dine with the family. She sent me before she knew the scribe had ended your session.
And apparently all your sessions.”
“Perfect. I am starving,” Elyar stopped for a moment before turning back toward Pyke and asked, “what did he say? He told me I was not worth his time anymore.”
“Is that what he told you? He told Mistress Eva that he could no long work with…how did he put it, ‘an ungrateful trickster welp who lac ked most forms of respect.’”
A fit of laughter racked Elyar’s body. Tears began to fill his eyes he laughed so hard. “Trickster welp? What creative insults they have at the temple.”
Chuckling with him for a moment, Pyke answered, “while I agree you can welpish. I think he was being a little harsh. Either way you are stuck with me for the next two weeks. Lord Edaam has decreed that I be
the one to finish your training and prepare you for knighthood. Even
though the scribe was supposed to complete it.”
Elyar slumped in the chair when he heard that Pyke would resume his lessons. The joy of the previous moment faded. Elyar loved Pyke like an uncle, but he could be the hardest tutor when he wanted. Looking up at him Elyar asked, “What lessons do you have planned?”
“No more writing exercises. You have had enough of that I suppose. We will work on your swordmanship. You will be needing that if we are summoned to a summer raid.”
Elyar’s spirits jumped again. He loved sparing with Pyke. He was the only man able to keep up with him. To be fair Elyar lost most of the time. But it was the only one who could give him that challenge. Except his father, Lord Edaam of course.
“Are you ready for dinner? I am famished.” Master Pyke said as he headed toward the door. Before he reached the door a soft gurgle erup ted from Pyke’s stomach. Instinctively he patted his hand on his belly.
“Was that a growl from your stomach?” teased Elyar as he stood. He quickly glanced over his desk double checking that it was organized eno ugh before following Pyke out the wooden door.
“No, that was the dogs at the door getting ready to eat your body if you disrespect your elders again.” he teased back.
Once through the door Elyar thought out loud, “I wonder what the cooks made for dinner tonight. Probably a vegetable stew. They love stews.”
Upon leaving the study Elyar was met with a familiar stone corridor.
It was a short, stone passage with no windows that ended with stairs that wound toward the first floor in a lazy fashion. Elyar never liked this part of his home. It always felt cramp and out of place. The Great Hall was large and spacious filled with life and love. The study also had plenty of room and it was full of books and light from the rainbow window. The walkway between the two was dark and always smelled damp. The only light came from a holographic flame emerging from a digitorch. Elyar liked to pass his hand threw the flame when he was a kid. Since it was a projection, it never hurt him. It actually didn’t feel like anything. He could never figure out how the torch produced light. He just knew that it worked.
They walked into the dining hall and Elyar was greeted by the familiar size of the room. Nearly forty feet tall and one hundred feet long the Great Hall, as his family always called it, was the main room of the house. There were some chambers spreading from the room, and of course the tower they had just come from. But, besides that, the Great Hall was the main room for communal life. It had wooden pillars finely designed about every ten feet and a fireplace in the middle. The fireplace was shaped like a square with four openings. People could sit or stand on any side and still relish in the warmth the fire provided.
There were carvings in the fireplace’s stonework from floor to ceiling.
In some areas they depicted scenes of wars, knights, and glory while in others they were of wild animals, hunts, and farming. The style and skill varied from scene to scene and Elyar always assumed different people over the ages had made their mark. Some were even made by Elyar and his brothers. At the base of the chimney the stone jutted out about two feet making for good seats or a nice place to set the firewood. On cold nights like tonight the family usually relaxed near the fire.
Between the fireplace and the back of the hall was the dining table. It was a long wooden table that could seat up to twenty people. Vissitors, extended family, or important men of the village would dine with Elyar’s family. As of yet, there were only a handful. His mother, Eva; two sisters, Lidya and Patricya; their young children, Hunter, Lavender, and Sage; his brother’s wives, Heather and Rose; their young children, Steel and Daisy; and a few vassals helping the cook prepare dinner. None of Elyar’s brothers nor their father had come in yet.
“Are we late for dinner?” asked Elyar once he was close enough. A bright digilier hung about five feet above the table. A silver chain held the chandelier in place and from the chain ten arms stretched out with little fingers curling off each one. Small flames flickered from each finger above the main table brightening the room.
Elyar was met with a merry scene between the crackle of the fireplace, the soft warm light from the digilier, and the merry conversation already happening. Eva looked up when she heard them coming and a smile spread over her face at seeing her baby son. She had been sitting at the head of the table talking with her daughters holding her youngest grandson, Steel. He was a pudgy baby who liked to laugh and pull on hair. She handed Steel to his mother, Heather, and stood up to approach Elyar. she stood tall at around Elyar’s height. Hair as dark as a raven, arms bare besides her usual golden jewelry and rune tattoos that elite terrans get once they mature, and a flowing red dress embroidered finely with gold thread in a subtle flame pattern.
With outstretched arms Eva walked up to Elyar and Pyke, “good Eve’ Elyar. How were your studies today? Did you master any runes?” There was a slight hint of sarcasm in her voice. She knew how his day had gone. If what Pyke had said was true, the scribe told his mother that he was quitting. They embraced and after a few heartbeats Eva pulled away, reached her strong hands to his face, and placed them both on
Elyar’s cheeks.
“You will be the death of me,” she jokingly chastised.
“Sorry mother,” Elyar said taking her hands in his. “I don’t try to be so frustrating.”
“But, you don’t try not to be.”
That brought a smile to Elyar’s face. He disengaged and walked over to the vassal holding a bowl of soup for him. He grabbed it, thanked her, and sat down besides his nieces and nephews. Elyar looked to his right at Sage, who was nearly eight, and stuck his tongue out at her. She giggled, stuck her tongue back at him and continued eating her stew.
Pyke had grabbed his bowl when Elyar and his mother embraced and was sitting down by the time Elyar was grabbing his bowl. As everyone settled in, the conversation drifted toward events in the Feud. The usual topics of politics, the economy, and when they thought the planting season would start. As they talked the large door at the front of the hall opened up with a thud. A large shadow covered deep into the hall
before another thud meant the door had closed. Thunk, thunk, thunk resounded across the walls as the newly arrived person, or persons, came closer.
“Is that you my lord or a murderous villain?”
“I am a villain who comes to steal, pillage, and destroy!” Boomed a deep voice. Though the words sounded aggressive the tone betrayed the jolly nature of the speaker. “But I do not see much to steal. Maybe a mor sel for a weary traveler instead?”
“Traveler you are not, but a meal I can provide to the lord of the hall.
Do you claim this hall?” Teased Elyar’s mother. She was usually a stoic woman, but she brightened up the second she heard her husband’s voice. Elyar was the youngest child, and his eldest brother was almost thirtyfive. The love between Eva and Lord Edaam has only grown warmer over the long years. Elyar squirmed in discomfort hearing his parents fl irt with each other.
“I gladly accept that title if it allows me to hold such a succulent morsel like you.” Lord Edaam said as he walked into the light of the digilier. He was nearly seven feet tall with strong arms, broad shoulders, and short wavy hair. Though he was nearing sixty-five passes around the sun, Edaam looked barely out of his forties. His smile stretched from corner to corner and the large brown beard never blocked the mirth that poured from him. He had a small belly, but that was be expected of an aged lord who feasted nightly. With him stood Elyar’s other brothers.
Yonn stood slightly shorter of their father. He was broader, with brown hair, and bore a long mustache. He was fit and looked like the spitting image of Edaam. The next brother’s name was Pitre. He was about six feet five inches, dark brown hair, with no facial hair. Unlike his older brother and father, Pitre had a slim frame and was a great runner. Unlike his father, he rarely smiled. Lastly, Andru stood behind the rest. He was a mix between Yonn and Petre. Tall, but not as tall, thick, but not compared to Yon and Edaam, with a mischievous smile always on his face. He was the closest to Elyar’s age at twenty-one. Their two sisters were between Andru and Pitre.
“You are too much, my Lord.” responded Eva. She couldn’t hide the smile his words had caused. “Did your ride across the Feud go as expected?”
“Everything is as it should be. The fields are thawing and will be ready for plowing soon. There were no buds on the trees, but the last frost is still on the ground. So that is to be expected. And the people look as healthy as they usually are this time.” Edaam sat while giving his report. Eva set a bowl of soup in front of him while the vassals placed one before each of her sons. She sat back down next to Edaam and continued eating while listening.
“Next week I will be in the village checking on any winter damage,” continued Edaam.
“I am glad to hear that the winter has not caused any damage to the fields. The winter three years past was devastating. These last few winters have caused me much anxiety.” Eva said placing her hand on her husband’s arm for reassurance. Though they were one fisc among many, a bad harvest could cause famine across the entire land. The Supreme has some options to alleviate famines, but they could be costly and slow. The Feud, along with other northern fiscs, learned a long time ago they were on their own.
“It will be fine, my wife. The land is healthy, our people are healthy, and it seems that our children are healthy.” Edaam replied resting his hand on his wife’s. He tried to hide it from his wife, but Elyar could see the creases of concern around his eyes. Years of work and war had taken its toll. Edaam raised his goblet to toast his family, “tonight, we eat and enjoy the company we have!” Those around the table raised theirs as well.
After a short pause they all took a draft.
The conversation turned back to lighter topics. The Great Hall was warm, and there was no need to darken a night already glazed in frost.
After awhile Elyar declared that it was time for bed.
“I don’t know about you, but my bed is calling my name. Master Pyke has threatened combat training tomorrow and after a day of calligraphy I am tired. Good night. I will see you in the morrow.” Elyar stood up and headed toward his room which lay across from the study. His family gave their good nights as Elyar walked away.
Elyar saw his familiar belongings as he entered his room. A wooden framed bed stood in the middle of the room against the far wall. A small nightstand was on the far side of the bed. There was a small window high on the wall. When a vassal didn’t wake him, it was his only way of knowing when morning had dawned. There was a wardrobe in the corner across from the window. Elyar only owned a few pairs of clothes. Out of the lot, he usually wore his training frock which was a one-piece cotton tunic that was perfect for combat. It had been handed down to every generation since time began. Or that is what his mother told him. Besides the pieces of furniture, Elyar had his sparing long sword resting in its sheath against the wall. It was next to his sparing armor. His room was sparse and meant for sleeping and changing. Family life happened in the Great Hall or out on the Feud.
Elyar sat on the bed and a wave of weariness overcame him. Maybe he was more tired than he thought that he was. Taking his shoes off bec ame a struggle he nearly lost.
One shoe off…two shoes off. Finally. Time to slide under the covers and not wake until I see the sun.
Elyar slowly climbed into bed and laid his head on the one pillow. Weariness came over him like a wave on the river Nyx. It surprised him how tired he was from tracing one rune on a knife. Shortly after Elyar laid in his bed he drifted into a slumber like no other. The cold covers slowly warmed into a paradise that only a hard day’s work could create.
Where am I? Elyar thought while standing in a field of Lillys. He looked around trying to find his bearings. He stood in the middle of a small field. Trees surrounded the meadow and beyond them a mountain range appeared in the distance.
Is that snow? Elyar squinted at the peaks, but darkness shrouded most of his view. A soft wind rustled the grass beneath his feet. A strand of hair blew over his eyes, and he brushed it out of his face. Swaying in the wind the trees did not look like any Elyar had known around the
Feud. They were lighter in color with broader leaves.
Why is there no snow around me? This can’t be home. This does not feel right. Elyar started looking around him frantically. His heart started to race, his chest rising faster as his heart rate increased.
“Elyar,” whispered a voice from the darkness.
“Elyar, come join me,” the voice seemed to come from nowhere. As if it surrounded Elyar and yet came from a single source. It was a shout and a whisper all at once. The hairs on Elyar’s neck pricked up every time the voice spoke.
“Join me Elyar,” whispered the voice again. It sounded like a snake whispering right next to his ear. Elyar spun around trying to find the source. Nothing.
“Elyar!” This time the voice sounded angry. As Elyar spun again, he did not see the voice, but he saw a sword that hadn’t been there before. It did not look like any sword Elyar had seen before. The blade seemed thinner than modern blades. Where it met the hilt a perfectly flat crossguard spread out in both directions. But it was the color that captivated Elyar most. Instead of the traditional metalic silver of blades Elyar had seen, this one had a gold tint to it. The longer he looked the more radi ant the blade became.
His eyes were transfixed on the grand weapon before him. Before he knew it, he had taken a step in its direction feeling it starting to pull at him. He shook his head trying to resist the urge to go toward it. He didn’t like this field nor did he like this weird sword sticking out of the ground. It wasn’t natural. But he couldn’t stop looking at it.
Why am I fixated on this sword? The thought fluttered through his mind before he felt the pull from the blade grow even stronger.
Was the voice coming from the blade? It was at that thought that the pull became too strong and curiosity got the better of him. Without thinking he took another step forward. One step became two. Two became three. The desire to grab the sword intensified with each step. foot by foot, step by step Elyar drew near the blade. Grass softly crunched under his feet as he moved through the meadow. The closer he got the windier the glen became. By time he was within five feet of his destination the breeze had turned into a whirlwind. Every step was like a conquest taking every ounce of strength Elyar possessed. He had to shield his eyes from the wind. Tears formed in the corners regardless of his efforts.
Three feet away. The wind felt like it didn’t want him to reach his destination but the pull from the sword was too strong to resist. The sword’s soft call was now an ear pitching scream. The desire to hold the blade had consumed every other thought or feeling. His muscles were aching from the exertion, sweat stuck to his hair. At least the sweat the wind hadn’t blown away. It had intensified from a whirlwind to a full hurricane. Wind screamed by his ears making a deafening roar. But
Elyar couldn’t tell which was louder, the wind or the sword’s scream.
Now that he was closer, Elyar could see more detail on the sword. It was definitely longer and more intricately detailed than any blade in the Feud. The first thing that caught his eye was the hilt. In both directions vines stretched from the blade toward the hilt’s tips. On the blade, starting from the hilt going along the blade ran runes that Elyar knew he shouldn’t be able to read. But none the less he could. It read, “Lay way to night and day, Until your hand to stay.”
Elyar also thought that it glowed red pulsing every few seconds.
Kind of like a heartbeat. He was now about a foot away.
A gold blade that pulses red? He thought as his world started to shimmer. Like a quiet pond disturbed by a stone far away. Little ripples appeared through the air which made Elyar feel queasy. He couldn’t see any trees anymore and the wind had actually quieted down though it wasn’t completely gone. One more step and he could grab the sword.
He could touch it. He did touch it. It felt cold like steel. Thrill coursed through his body. He had fought for this moment for what feels like an eternity. He knew that it could only have been a few minutes. The sky had not changed during his battle. But he felt exhausted. He had no idea what to expect. He wasn’t sure why he expected anything to happen.
Something should happen right? He didn’t have time to think because the second his fingers touched the blade the world changed. His sight was plunged into darkness. Like a light snuffed out unexpectedly. The wind was gone. Everything was gone. Even the sword. One second passed in the darkness. First there was nothing, but then Elyar started to hear his own breathing. It was louder than he thought, but in this dark, silent space he figured he could hear one of his mother’s hair pins drop.
“Elyar, join me,” he heard the voice from the void. But before he could think about it the world zoomed back toward him. Like a scene rushing toward him when racing on a horse. As the world quickly faded away, Elyar noticed a dark throne with a figure sitting. One leg was proped up on the seat with one arm resting on knee and his head resting on the other arm. He seemed very relaxed and unthreatening. The figures head snaped in his direction and two red eyes shone at him. Elyar suddenly felt like he was being watched. He knew that the eyes matched the voice calling to him.
“Elyar!” The figure leaped from his chair with an outstretched arm as everything went to black.
He shot up in bed drenched in sweat. He was in his room. The moon shone through the window like it did every night. His sword, his trusted sword, stood where he always put it. A quiet breeze could be heard outside which sent a small shiver through Elyar. Putting his head in his hands he took a deep breath and then moved to get out of bed.
His door was shut and he quietly opened it. Luckily the hinges were made of oiled leather and they rarely made any sounds. He stepped out into the intact Great Hall. Everything had been as it was. But Elyar could not not shake the feeling that what he had seen was real. A dream, maybe, but a dream with real consequences.
Elyar needed to walk. His mind was racing and he needed movem-
ent and fresh air. Quietly walking back to his room, Elyar threw on his clothes, strapped his sword to his waist, and headed for the side door of the Great Hall. The Great Door would make more noise than he wanted. Elyar didn’t want to talk right now. Only think.
Once outside his nerves started to calm. He always felt better when he was outdoors. The moon beamed down soft, silver light upon the world. The familiar trees swayed under the push of the breeze. Snow crunched under Elyar’s feet as he headed toward his destination: the training yard. He knew by the position of the moon that he would be train ing in a few hours.
Might as well get down there. Elyar thought as he slowly meandered toward a smoothed out square field of dirt. There were posts stuck every few feet wrapped in straw with a shield and sword that moved when hit. From a distance they looked like your run of the mill wooden training dummies. But Elyar knew better. When a red circle was pushed they would come alive and Elyar had yet to best one in a match. They couldn’t walk, but they knew how to fight.
Elyar sat under a tree for a while pondering his dream, no nightmare really. After an hour or so Elyar rested his head against the tree, wrapped himself tightly with his cloak, and surrendered to sleep.