"I've got to get you prepared," said Brelth. "Meet me by the East Docks this evening, just after the sun goes down. My boat should be in by then, and you can meet my crew. Then, you can begin tomorrow at sunrise."
"I'll be there," said Timlin.
Brelth grinned. "You will have no regrets."
***
The sun had gone down across the water, and many stars were visible in the sky, as Timlin sat on a crate and waited. Several fishing boats had already docked and unloaded, and now the area stood silent and empty save for an occasional splash of some fish or other water creature. The smell of wood smoke drifted to his nostrils, as he shivered in the chill night air.
Timlin wasn't fond of the prospect of working a common job, for that wasn't why he'd left Dremlock. He realized he could get caught up in an endless cycle of working and spending whatever money he earned-until he grew old and feeble and any hope for a better life was gone. Poverty seemed like trap that few could escape, the reality of always having to worry about one's next meal. Timlin possessed fantastic skills, yet he seemed unable to find a use for them beyond petty theft. No one seemed to listen to him when he bragged of his abilities, and when he spoke of his desire to join the Blood Legion, people quickly changed the subject or moved away from him. Finding a good career-even in crime-was very difficult. It seemed a lucky break was required to even get someone to notice you.
This line of thought made Timlin realize how fortunate he'd been to be chosen as a Squire by Dremlock. He'd been given a chance to be a Divine Knight and make his fortune-and had thrown it away, firmly believing he would instantly be taken in by the Blood Legion. He wondered how he could have been so foolish, considering he'd grown up in poverty and knew how difficult it was to escape its hold.
Timlin was lucky to have survived childhood-the long years of torment. In his nightmares, he found himself again facing the cruel whip and endless hours imprisoned beneath the cold ground. The torture and loss he'd endured had left him cynical and bitter toward life. Yet life had tried to redeem itself in his eyes, giving him a chance to ride with the Divine Knights-giving him unique skills to secure his future at Dremlock. But the bitter shadows of the past had managed to tear him down once again. He hated himself more than he hated the Knights of Dremlock-the Knights who had failed miserably to protect him when he was a child. Timlin knew that hating all Knights for the actions of a few was not logical. He'd tried to forgive them and even to become one of them, but somehow his mind and soul had never escaped the dark pit in the ground he'd once called home.
Regardless, Timlin needed a job if he wanted to eat. And so he continued to sit and wait. The area was growing very dark, and still no boat appeared. Timlin began to feel uneasy, wondering if he'd been tricked. It made no sense, considering he had no money. Still, he sat and waited.
Just when he was about to give up, he caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of his eye. He leapt up, hand on his Flayer. A tall figure stood on the dock, concealed by the evening shadows.
"Is that you, Brelth?" said Timlin, chills creeping over his flesh. "I was starting to think you weren't going to show up. Where's your boat?"
A quiet laugh greeted Timlin's ears. "Whoever you were hoping to meet has not come." The man lit a torch, revealing a large figure in dark clothing. A black hood covered his face and he held a gleaming, curved sword. Timlin could tell it was a man by the tone of his voice and the look of his hands.
'What do you want?" said Timlin. "If you're here to rob me, you're wasting your time. I have no money."
"Maybe I just want to kill you," said the stranger.
Rage surged through Timlin, diminishing his fear. "Go ahead and try it. I want you to. You obviously don't know who you're dealing with."
"You want me to attack you?" said the man.
His good sense overcome by anger, Timlin nodded.
"Then defend yourself!" snarled the man. With that, he lunged toward Timlin, swinging his sword at the boy's neck.
Timlin easily evaded the stroke and darted in, slashing the man's face and slicing it open through the hood. The stranger took a step backwards.
"You want to try that again?" said Timlin, trembling with rage. "Next time it will be your throat that gets cut."
"I can't believe you landed a blow!" the stranger muttered, shaking his head. "You're going to pay dearly for that!"
The stranger swung at Timlin again, and Timlin blocked with his Flayer. The curved blades were locked together for a moment, and then the stranger shoved Timlin down. Timlin rolled over smoothly and stood up.
"Well done," said the stranger. "You fight with great skill. But now I must put an end to this." He whistled, and two more large men, wearing hoods, appeared in the torchlight. The three of them charged at Timlin.
Timlin slashed out with his Flayer, but the stroke was deflected by a sword. He struck again and caught one man in the shoulder, ripping it open. But the other two men overpowered him and seized his arms.
The man with the wounded shoulder touched the gash, his hand coming away covered in blood. "I'm impressed. You're quite the dangerous little devil, as you could have cut off my head had I been a bit slower in evading. As it is, I'm feeling the sting from your blade."
"I said I have no money!" Timlin yelled. "So let go of me!"
The man with the hurt shoulder leaned close to Timlin. "Money? Who cares about that? Maybe we like to kill for pleasure."
Timlin spit at him. "You're all cowards for fighting three against one."
"You wanted to find the Blood Legion," said the stranger. "And so you have. Now what?"
Timlin's mouth dropped open. "You're from the Blood Legion?"
The man yanked off his hood, revealing a black beard and scarred face. It was Brelth, the supposed fisherman. He smiled.
"But why did you attack me?" Timlin asked.
"Just a minor test," said Brelth. "We know who you are, but we are still required to test potential recruits. But I must say that we were not expecting you to be that skilled, considering you're a Squire. Your speed is extraordinary, and you could easily have killed one or more of us. And we are very well-trained fighters."
"What should I do now?" said Timlin, his heart pounding with excitement. It seemed his fortune was about to take a huge turn for the better.
"We will guide you to a hideout," said Brelth, "where Legion Soldiers will be waiting. From there, the Legion Masters will decide how your skills will be used and what training you shall receive. But based on what I've seen, you can expect good things in your future." He smiled. "I must say-I'm very excited about finding such a fine prospect."
"Thank you," said Timlin. "I will do my best to serve."
"You will go far," said Brelth. "The dark path will open wide before you, Timlin Woodmaster. You have found your destiny."
Chapter 12: The Festival of Fire
After the grim events in the mines, the search party regrouped at Dremlock. The Temple of Oracles had indeed led Lannon and his defenders out of the mountain, and from there, they encountered no more trouble on the winding road back to the kingdom. They were delighted to find that the others had survived the grasp of the Dark Mothers, but the celebration was diminished by the news that Willan had not reported back from the mines. Several search parties were sent-without Lannon and his Divine Shield, in spite of Lannon's request to join the search-but they could find no trace of him. After a week had passed, they concluded Willan was dead and held a funeral for him in the Sacred Temple.
Spring was giving way to the warmth of summer, and Dremlock was in a festive mood in spite of the recent happenings. Grim events were always taking place at Dremlock and didn't stop the periodic celebrations. The kingdom was hard at work preparing for the Festival of Fire, which was designed to honor the Birlotes who had lent support to Dremlock. The Festival consisted of a great feast held outdoors on the West Tower Training Grounds, where the Color Trials and other important events usually took place. The table-filled courtyard would be lit by Birlote torches, which had given the Festival its name. Birlote archers and sorcerers would perform tricks for the crowd.