The Wandering Sword

"Several days passed until I finally regained my determination. It was today. Today, I took my first step on the journey that, according to my code, will lead me to perfect my martial arts; to transcend the limitations of my body and spirit. The 'End of the Way.'"

Mavros concluded the tale of his past to Janpelan of Salamandera, his attentive listener. They were in a small office, occupying opposite seats in front of a desk. The solemnity and melancholy on their faces were enhanced by the dim light of the room's only shining stone. The only window there allowed them to glimpse the sky: a canvas of white dots in gloomy oceans of black and dark blue.

"Well... I don't know what to say," Ser Janpelan lowered his head. He needed time to control the various emotions that had surfaced within him. "That you lived through all of that as a youngster.., that, apparently, King Sincer could be behind a conspiracy of such gravity."

The wandering knight observed him with renewed circumspection. "Upon reaching the 'End of the Way'..., I hope that all the mistakes, all the misfortunes that I couldn't prevent due to my weakness and foolishness, will never happen again," he summarized with conviction what he hoped to achieve.

Janpelan nodded. His respect for Mavros had turned into admiration after hearing his story.

"At least Amina was there. Lord Monteros will be glad to receive news from her," he commented, forcing a slight smile. "We can count on her to set things right in the meantime, and she won't rest until she gets to the bottom of this. Her principles stand above her loyalty to her king."

He stood up slowly. He was more than satisfied—and sufficiently alarmed—with the information he had gathered.

"I can't lie to you. If the worst is confirmed, this could be terrible; it's much more serious than I imagined," he said. "I'll travel to Hezaran right now to warn my Lord... The corsair's interrogation can wait until tomorrow."

He passed by the desk and stopped just to the right of the knight.

"Mavros... I entrust you with the favor of watching over my daughter in my absence. She has the charm, intelligence, and talent for her mother's sophisticated arts, but at the same time, she's as reckless and hot-headed as I am. She inherited the best and worst of both worlds," he said. "We barely know each other, and I may be asking too much of you... but I wish you could convince her to abandon her idea of becoming a Holy Warrior. I don't want her to follow in my footsteps."

"Why... Why do you want so much to prevent her from becoming a Holy Warrior?" Mavros inquired. "She's skilled in controlling the nefesh. Her potential is undeniable."

The veteran turned his head slightly.

"During the war, I was fortunate not to lose any of my loved ones," he recounted. "But I saw how other comrades went through that misfortune, some died with them. It wasn't pleasant to witness," he locked eyes with Mavros. "I don't want to tempt that fate; I don't want Luciara to take that risk by following that path. No matter how much she denies it, she has no idea of the things she might face... Do you understand?"

"I... I understand perfectly, Ser," Mavros replied without being condescending. He identified with Janpelan's feelings and those of his teenage daughter, whom he cared so much for and wanted to guide. "I'll try to enlighten her with my experience, but I can't promise it will be enough to change her mind," he agreed. "When someone has sincerely chosen a passion, a purpose to live for, there's nothing one can do to stop that will."

"I know... that's why I haven't had any other choice but to let her continue. No matter how much I've tried to dissuade her with all sorts of obstacles and denials, it has been impossible," Janpelan smiled bitterly. "But I hope an external voice, wiser than mine, will make her reconsider."

Both remained silent for a brief moment, serenely wandering through the valleys of contemplation.

Mavros stood up from his seat.

"Now that we've talked about that... I already have some ideas for your daughter's journey itinerary," Mavros commented, resuming the conversation. "Would you like to hear them?"

"Sure," Janpelan agreed, showing visible interest.

Suddenly, the image of the black armor of the knight brought back vague memories of the war. Memories rushed in like drops of drizzle.

"But before that…" The Holy Warrior was about to bring up a new topic in the conversation, but he choked it back just as it was about to come out. His inner voice stopped him, persuading him it was better to refrain.

"Yes? Ser Janpelan?"

"Oh... forget it, it's nothing important," he lied, feigning nonchalance. "So, what do you have in mind for Luciara's journey?"

***

Maskirio... Am I doing the right thing? Should I have accepted that request?

The amethyst irises of Mavros were directed at the patterns on a tongue-and-groove ceiling. Their markings were ominous specters under the ever-present cloak of darkness. A vision that, nevertheless, didn't bother the wandering knight in the least, as he was preoccupied with real concerns. He lay on his back on the bed of a small guest room.

Should I leave them while they sleep? This question kept him from sleeping. His desire to get to know and form bonds with people like them conflicted with his sense of caution, born from his murky experiences.

No, he entrusted me with this responsibility... I've given my word as a knight to both of them. It would be disrespectful to break it in such a cowardly manner. However, his most prioritized sense: that of honor, led him to stick to his decision. I'll fulfill the deal, I must do it. I need her to carry out this journey without complications, and she needs me to test if her path truly leads to the Way. I will protect her without fail, even if it means risking my life.

Once fully convinced, his eyes closed, surrendering to the enchantments of the gods of sleep.

***

KNOCK KNOCK

Luciara tapped on the closed door of a room. She was wearing a crimson dress with long sleeves and matching pants, both adorned with white lines, among which the patterns on her dress stood out, forming floral motifs on both sides of her chest.

"Ser Mavros... Are you awake?" she asked.

The thunderous roar of a tiger was the response she received.

"Mavros?!" Alarmed by such an unsettling sound, she decided to open the door and enter without asking for permission. "What?"

Astounded, she found the knight still asleep in bed. The "roar" had been nothing more than one of his intermittent snores. Like demons touched by holy water, the darkness of his room had been dispersed by the morning light. The sheaths of his weapons and tools, hung on hooks of a coat rack, shone like jewels. However, the helmet prevented the rays from reaching his eyes, which was why he had not yet awakened from his slumber. Precisely that fact left the young woman more astonished: the knight had slept without removing a single piece of his armor.

"Aaah…"

By the sounds she caused, Mavros woke up. He raised his neck, driven by the instinct to find out its source.

"Ah!"

Both he and she jumped when their eyes met.

"Lu... Lady Luciara?" he called, still showing signs of drowsiness. "What art thou doing here? Hath some mishap befallen? ?"

"It's already morning. I just came to see if you were ready because I hadn't seen you," the girl explained.

"Oh!" Mavros felt embarrassed to have been awakened in such a way. “Verily, I beg thy pardon, forsooth, I should have been up before thou. I should not have made thee come ," he excused himself. "I had trouble sleeping yesternight."

"It's okay," she reassured him, offering a kind smile that faded as she examined him from head to toe with perplexity. "Do you wear that armor to sleep too? Could that be what disrupted your sleep?"

"Huh?" Mavros glanced briefly at his body, understanding what she meant by her bewilderment. "Yes, that’s right. I ever slumber with it," he assured her. "As I did tell thee yestermorn, I bear it with me at any chance. I knoweth it may seemeth mad, but 'tis become a second skin unto me. It doth not vex me in the least."

"I see..." Luciara commented, unable to hide her lack of conviction. However intrigued she was, she preferred not to delve into the background of such eccentricity. "Well..." She turned, looking over her shoulder. "I'll leave you to get ready. I'll wait for you downstairs for breakfast. Maybe my father left something prepared before going to work."

***

"Aaah…"

Mavros let out a long exhalation, cold and refreshing like the wind of an alpine mountain. Nothing like a splash of cold water and a mint cream to start the day, he thought to himself as he descended the wooden stairs of the house, with all his weapons and tools arranged on his body.

"Uh?"

As he reached the bottom steps, he spotted Luciara by the living room table. She was completely absorbed in reading something held in both hands. By its shape and appearance, he assumed it must be a letter. It had to be the same letter he had seen being written the previous night. The knight finished descending the stairs and approached her with calm steps.

"This has to be... it must be a joke."

He heard her murmur with wide-eyed disbelief, directed at the letters traced in black ink:

“You don't need to know the details since you're not a Holy Warrior, daughter, but I've been forced to use the 'mirror' due to a matter of utmost urgency. Therefore, by the time you read this letter, I must already be in Hezaran.

“Furthermore, you should know that I have ordered to deny you access to any fast means of transportation from the city for your journey. So, forget about reaching Hezaran by carriage or horse.

“Five leagues are all that separate you from Hezaran, five leagues that any Holy Warrior should be able to walk in a matter of hours, without complaint. I hope you enjoy the walk; it will be a good exercise for your body and spirit. Your mother and I will be waiting for you for lunch.

“Sincerely, your beloved father.”

Those were the words it comprised. Words that made Luciara bite her lower lip in a grimace of disgust.

"Damn it!" she exclaimed. Small sparks erupted from her fingers, scorching the paper. "Why does he always have to pull this crap on me?!"

Upon that reaction, Mavros wasn't sure whether to laugh in amusement or put his hand to his helmet in second-hand embarrassment.

"It is not unto him thou shouldst complain to. The counsel was of my own making," he asserted.

"Eh?!" Luciara turned around, finding Mavros right in front of her.

"I did proffer the notion of subjecting thee to that little trial. He merely granted his approbation," Mavros reiterated.

"What?! You came up with it?!"

"Yes."

The paper turned into charcoal and fell to the ground. The sparks in Luciara's hands transformed into charged flames.

"Imbecile! What were you thinking, you moron?!" she protested, restraining her urge to squeeze his neck in scorching strangulation. "Do you know what it's like to walk five leagues?! Do you even know what a league is?!"

"Three miles," he stated, making a correct conversion. "Fifteen in this case, for there are five leagues. I know it full well, for I have trod that path and much more in fewer than a day."

"And what made you think I want to do it too?!" Luciara demanded. "Couldn't you have asked me?!"

Mavros averted his gaze, disappointed and bored by her childish outburst.

"Mayhaps thy father wert not entirely mistaken. Thou dost dream of something which thou dost verily not comprehend," he replied with unwavering disapproval. "If a task as trivial as this doth overwhelm thee, then so doth the path of a Holy Warrior."

Is this too much for me? Is becoming a Holy Warrior too much for me?

Those comments managed to pinch her pride, making her feel underestimated. The girl focused on controlling her still heated mood.

"As much as thou may be a Lady, a Holy Warrior must be prepared to take such discomforts as ordinary," argued Mavros, maintaining his composure. "Thou never knowest when thou won't have quick transportation."

The flames gradually subsided. Luciara lowered her arms, and her fragile serenity returned.

"You're right... I'm acting like a spoiled brat over nothing. I apologize," she acknowledged, with clear embarrassment, before lifting her face again with renewed confidence. "This will be nothing compared to what awaits me at the university."

"Apologies accepted; I excuse thee, as thou art but an aspirant. The first step toward personal growth is being aware of thine own flaws," Mavros told her, delighted by her rectification. "If thou truly wantest what thou want, over time, thou shalt correct thine attitude to the one thou needest to have to achieve thy goals."

Luciara offered him a friendly smile. "You speak more like a monk than a knight, you know."

Like a monk... Mavros felt a slight shiver. She didn't know it yet, but she had struck a chord from his youth with that simple joke. As the knight looked at her, she turned toward a wall; the wall behind which the kitchen was located.

"I'm sorry to say that we'll have to improvise for breakfast," she looked at Mavros. "Would cereal porridge be fine with you?"

***

A couple of bowls with scattered crumbs were placed almost simultaneously on the edge of a stone sink.

"I can wash mine if thee want," Mavros offered to Luciara, watching as she prepared to wash the dishes from what had been their simple but hearty breakfast.

"Don't be ridiculous, you're our guest," she playfully declined.

She picked up an ochre, natural sponge soaked in an overflowing cup of water, foamy thanks to a soap slowly dissolving in it. Then, she scrubbed the sponge along the surface of the first plate and its spoon, rinsing off the soapy water. The young woman turned on the faucet, from which a constant stream of water flowed, with which she rinsed the dishes, eliminating their last traces of dirt. Once they were sufficiently gleaming, she placed the plate and spoon on a raised flat surface to the left of the sink basin.

The facilities in this region are far superior to those in Tiberland, just as I read, Mavros judged, contemplating how the girl moved on to wash the second plate. Although he had already seen this type of sink since the night before, he was still impressed by the practicality and sophistication of its plumbing, something unheard of even in the most affluent properties in his homeland.

Luciara finished cleaning and putting away the last dish, then turned around to address Mavros.

"Before we leave, I must show you something," she informed him. With a gesture, she invited him to follow her. "Come, it's quite important."

Curious and expectant, he obliged and followed her. She led him up the stairs and down the hallway that housed the personal rooms, eventually opening the door to one of them.

"Is this...?" the knight murmured, admiring the decoration and furniture. "Is this thine room?"

"Yes," she nodded, shifting her attention to a chest in the corner. "Wait a moment."

The girl moved to the chest and crouched to open it, taking some time to find what she was looking for as she rummaged through it.

Why would she lead me to her room? Mavros wondered as he watched her, feeling a bit nervous. What does she have to show me here?

Finally, Luciara pulled out and placed on the floor what she was searching for: a metal box with straps similar to those of a backpack. As she removed the lid, it revealed a jumble of various small jars and tools. From that disorderly pile, she took a particular jar. Standing up, she returned to Mavros, stopping less than a meter away from him. With her right hand, she carefully twisted the lid to remove it and dipped her fingers into its contents: a transparent substance, thick and smooth like cream, but as radiant as a diamond. Once satisfied with the amount on her fingers, Luciara picked it up, placed the jar on the ground, and clasped both hands together to rub it between her palms.

"Don't move," she instructed.

"What?" Mavros blurted out. His nerves trembled as he saw her apply the mysterious substance to his breastplate with both hands, delicately caressing it. His helmet conveniently concealed his face, now as red as hot iron. "Wha, what art thou doing?" he stammered. "What is this?"

"I'm painting your armor with dinachrome," Luciara responded matter-of-factly as she finished covering his legs, implying that it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“Dinachrome?” Mavros whispered.

Luciara dipped her fingers into the strange gel once more and stood up to spread it over his arms.

"Now you'll see what I'll do with it," she informed him. "Lean down a bit."

Mavros obeyed the new command, allowing the young woman to work more comfortably on his helmet, the last component of his armor that she had yet to treat.

"Alright…"

Luciara murmured in appreciation of the layer she had created over the armor. She turned around and, from her travel backpack resting on a chair near a small desk, she took out her staff, directing its crystal tip to the center of his dark breastplate.

Art of Ramij: manipulation of dinachrome.

The crystal glowed faintly. Multicolored and dynamic points aligned in an intricate pattern that connected with straight lines to form a geometric constellation. The mental sequence had been achieved; the cause led to the effect.

"Eh?"

Mavros watched in wonder as the omnipresent black of his armor slowly, like a chameleon, turned into a more ordinary dull gray.

"Perfect," Luciara judged, more than pleased with the result.

"What hast thou done?" Mavros asked in amazement, repeatedly examining the new color of his pieces.

"I manipulated the particles of the dinachrome. By ordering and vibrating them at different frequencies, they change the color of the surface they cover," she explained. "It's one of the most basic techniques of Ramij: the nefeshic art of retouching and restoring objects."

"Ramij? It's the first time I've heard of such an art," Mavros commented, genuinely intrigued. "So, thou dost master it?"

The young woman nodded.

"My mother's lineage has been practicing it for centuries. She belongs to one of the few clans in the world that knows it," she revealed. "This is the first nefeshic art I learned, and the only one my father didn't object to," she diverted her gaze. "How could he not want me to fix his armor for free, besides scratching his back and removing his shoes after work?" she said with sarcastic irony. Her eyes met Mavros's. "But I can't complain; it's been very useful to me. Thanks to it, I could take on several jobs that gave me enough money to embark on this journey... and create this simple disguise for you now."

A disguise?

The aspiring sorceress positioned herself behind him and placed her hands on his shoulders.

"Just one more thing to remove."

In an instant, she unfastened the clasps of his cape and took it off, folding it carefully and holding it in her arms. She then returned to face the still disoriented knight.

"With this appearance, you'll blend in as a low-ranking Elvirean knight," she clarified. "You'll still draw attention – a knight always does, no matter how modest their reputation may be – but at least no one will mistake you for an Abiyr."

A broad smile appeared beneath Mavros's helmet.

"Brilliant! This doth surpass my humble expectations," Mavros expressed his pleasant surprise at her idea. "Nay wonder thy father spake of thy needful presence. I give thee mine heartfelt gratitude, Lady Luciara."

"You're welcome," she replied, equally delighted by his compliments. "And please, you can simply call me Luciara from now on. We can talk without adhering strictly to those exaggerated formalities."

"As you wish," the knight cordially complied with her request. "I have one last question for you, Luciara."

She watched him expectantly, noticing a hint of concern in his irises.

"Is this color change... permanent?" his simple and fearful inquiry came. "Will my armor stay gray forever?"

"No," Luciara shook her head. "The dinachrome fades after a few weeks, and besides, you can always change its color while it remains intact. So you don't have to worry about that."

"Good," Mavros murmured, relieved. Despite the circumstances calling for it, he didn't want that black color he had grown accustomed to be lost.

Luciara went to her backpack to stow away her staff and the cloak of the wandering knight. Then, she returned to where Mavros was standing to pick up the dinachrome jar and place it back into its box, which she sealed shut again.

"Now we are ready," she informed him, gesturing towards the box. "Please carry this for me. Most likely, we'll need it again."

The final preparations had been made. They only had to take the first step.

However, unbeknownst to them, conspiracies were materializing in the shadows—both at home and far away from it.