The Sword of Stone - Sworn Honours

Chapter 8: Words of A Time Gone

Time seemed to pass so slowly in these dungeons, with the same faces coming to visit him. Cath, coming by after a few days to check on his wound, Haisley giving food. Guards came down one night and offered the paladin a change of clothing and to clean his armour. Despite his mistrust of these people, he agreed, as his garments were beginning to reek from his sweat. 

Matthew came down more often than before now, and Rolan obliged him with a conversation and a few tales of his time as a paladin. Telling the lad all about his years as he travelled the kingdom and beyond in search of witches and wizards. Often hiding the grimmer details of those tales. 

His squire was on his mind increasingly as the days turned into weeks, and the weeks soon turned into a month. Rolan worried for him, hoping that he somehow got out of the woods alive. Father, give me hope, he prayed. 

The door into the dungeon opened later than usual, with night still on them. Rolan heard Matthew's soft, slow footsteps as he came down the stairs and then approached the paladin. He had a long, sad face, his eyes sheepishly dotting the ground. Seating himself next to the paladin and leaning on the wall beside him, he sighed heavily. Through the torch's reflection, Rolan noticed how wet his eyes were, having cried about something.

'What's the matter?' Rolan asked him with a comforting tone.

Matthew hesitates to answer the paladin, staring ahead in a long, sombre thought. 'It didn't work,' he mumbled. 

'What didn't?' 

'The thing,' he pulled his hands up, waved them around frantically, then pointed to Rolan's leg. 'The thing, the touch, whatever it is.' Rolan realised he was meaning the magic. 'Someone, a hunter, he got hurt. He had a cut across his belly from something. I thought I would help him by touching it, but...' the boy began to quiver as the tears returned. 'It didn't work, he died. I thought I was special I thought I can save people....I thought...I...' he began to sob softly, pulling his knees up and pressing his head between his legs. 

Rolan let the boy weep for a moment. Despite having been around so much grief in his life, he was never good with people in grief. It wasn't for a cold heart but rather a simple misunderstanding of how to deal with such a situation. Often, he found words to be faulty in such moments, as the person in grief was looking for something more than simple promises of "It'll be okay."

'It's not easy,' the Paladin said when the boy calmed. 'Feeling responsible for someone and failing them...' he reflected on Lucan at those words, starting to feel he failed him now. I should've just left him at the capital, he thought grimly. 'We always wish to go back and change it, fix it, make it better somehow. It's a pain we have to burden on our shoulders as we press on.'

'But I let someone die. You don't understand what that's like,' Matthew said sadly.

Rolan gave him a melancholic smirk. 'That's where you're wrong. I understand it more than most.' 

The boy seemed to calm more as Rolan spoke, his sobs turning into light sniffles. They sat together a while longer, in sombre silence as the lad gathered his thoughts and calmed himself down. 

'Do you have any stories?' Matthew asked meekly, leaning on his knees and looking up at Rolan with wet eyes. 

The Paladin knew just the tale to tell him. 'In fact, I know one story that might interest you. Of the first knight,' that caught the boy's attention as he perked his head up like a sparrow. 

'First knight?'

'Sir Matthew of Pentarium, the first knight of Farikesh,' Rolan said with amusement, seeing the boy's sadness turn to curiosity.

'He has my name,' he said excitedly.

'That's right. That name holds much meaning in our order. You see, sir Matthew founded the paladin order during the hour of the Black Prince.'

The boy turned himself. 'Who's the Black Prince?'

'A child of Farikesh, like you and I, except he wasn't satisfied with being just that. He felt he was owed something, that the world was his by right, and that the father had overstayed his welcome on the throne. The black prince harnessed the powers of old, when elves, orcs and fairies were real, and ruled the world with magic, a power lost when the age of man took over,' Rolan remembered the tales of the redwoods that the baron priest told of, how red elves ruled here once. 'Yet he failed to understand what the elves mastered. Magic. It wasn't something to play with, or that man should be allowed to have. It's a corrupting power that changes even the softest souls into a malignant entity dedicated to ruling the world.' All except you, Rolan thought, glancing at the lad, curious yet cautiously. 

'So magic is evil?'

'Yes,' Rolan told him calmly, noticing the boy's face falling back into sadness. 'It's easy to be absorbed by the lust of power that so many desire even without magic.' The words sounded hollow in his voice, having heard it said thousands of times. He wished he could lie and tell the boy that not all magic is evil; there is good in it. Yet he couldn't, as he knew that magic was far too corrupting. Whilst the lad may not be affected by it, he still guarded his words closely, ensuring he wasn't giving too many details on magic. 'Magic may be evil, lad, but this world has more good than evil.'

 The boy smiled half at the paladin, somewhat eased at that. 'I always thought magic was a good thing. But you're better than all those stories of magic I heard, sir knight.'

Rolan chuckled and went to rustle the lad's hair, his chains chinging along his wrist as he did so. 'You're a good lad, Matthew. I know what happened was bad, but don't blame yourself. Go on, it's too late for you to be down here.'

The boy seemed to realise how tired he was, yawning and nodding. 'Goodnight, sir.' He got up and ran away to the exit, his steps fading as he got further from Rolan. 

The Paladin stared into the darkness, thinking about his duties again. Why has the father shown me the purist soul, yet with the darkest of secrets? He reflected. Rolan was about to close his eyes to sleep when he heard the doors into the cells open again. Then, he heard the clattering of hard boots, with chainmail ringing around the room as the person drew closer. He emerged from the shadows, a hard-faced guard who took his armour from him to clean. 

'His lordship has commanded me to escort you to him, sir,' the man said harshly. He was pulling out the key to the chains that bound him.

'It's about time,' Rolan told the guard, sceptical.