Arcadia's Ignoble Knight: The Sorceress Of Ashtown Chapter 6

"Are you sure it's a good idea to keep using Sol to deliver such important doc.u.mentation? I would like to trust your judgment on this matter, master, but we both know how unreliable that boy is. There is no telling what kind of trouble he will get up to out there."

Headmaster Strettelo sighed as his a.s.sistant complained about their resident problem child... again. How many times did this make now? Ten? Twenty? Try one-hundred and fifty. The man was one of Caspian's most ardent detractors. Soren had been questioning his decision to let Caspian enter the academy ever since the boy had first enrolled... no, even before then. From the moment Caspian first stepped foot into Arcadia's Knight Academy, Soren had disliked him, probably because of how much trouble the boy had caused back then.

Soren Castello was a very severe looking man who, despite being quite young, held an almost aged demeanor about him. His youthful face was tempered with worry lines, and while his hair didn't have an ounce of gray in it, the brown color it possessed had long since lost its l.u.s.ter. Even his green eyes held a brittleness usually found on people several decades older. The rectangular spectacles on his face did not help his appearance much either.

As the headmaster's aid, Soren was dressed in the standard attire for someone of his station. His black butler uniform, complete with long penguin tails that rustled against the floor, made him look every bit the severe servant. They seemed to add several more years to his already aged appearance.

"Are you sure you're not allowing your biased perceptions of him to color your judgment?" Strattelo asked in an even, if slightly stern, voice. "Caspian has been doing these missions for the past four years, ever since becoming a student of this academy, and he has done an admirable job thus far. He has yet to fail an a.s.signment I've given him, and I doubt he'll be failing any time soon."

"That's not the point," Soren argued, bringing up his hand and gesturing wildly, as if to emphasise his point. Whatever that was. "Ever since he arrived at Arcadia's Knight Academy, the balance of this inst.i.tution has been broken. Caspian Ignis del Sol is one of the most ill-mannered ruffians I have ever met! He's crude, sarcastic, disrespectful and rarely displays any kind of enthusiasm when it comes to learning our curriculum. Having him attend is bringing down the moral backbone of this academy."

"All valid points," the headmaster agreed. Soren looked smug. It was a look that didn't last long. "However, you forgot to mention that he's also strong, skilled with a blade, ahead of his peers both academically and physically, and is currently ranked second among the Knight candidates."

Had he been a less serious man, Strattelo might have smiled at the way his aid flinched with each admirable trait of Caspian's that he listed. The dark-haired butler looked almost like he was getting shot with invisible arrows.

As things stood, the headmaster was not the type to smile even though he was amused, so he didn't, instead keeping a flat expression on his face. "Despite his lackadaisical and disrespectful att.i.tude, Caspian Ignis del Sol is one of the best students attending this academy."

He knew what Soren's real problem with the boy was, and it wasn't his disrespectful att.i.tude or anything of the sort. The reason was much simpler.

Caspian was a peasant. He did not come from a n.o.ble lineage. He was an orphan that had been found in the wreckage of a cottage after the town he lived in was razed to the ground. In the words of Soren and many other people at the academy, both student and staff alike, he was of an ign.o.ble breed.

And therein lie the problem. Arcadia's Knight Academy was available only to n.o.bles. Or, it was supposed to be. This was partly because the tuition required was far higher than anything a peasant could afford (even many members of the lesser n.o.bility could not afford entrance into this premiere inst.i.tute of education) but also because of the delicate balance of power that existed between the n.o.bility and the Sorceress Council.

Entrance into this esteemed academy was a concession given to the n.o.bles by the Sorceress Council as a means of placating them. A peasant being allowed entrance was akin to spitting in the face of the n.o.bility, like telling them it no longer mattered what their ancestry was, that anyone, regardless of their status, could now become a Sorceress's Knight.

Caspian's entrance into the academy had disrupted everything and sent ripples throughout the school and beyond. Students hated him because he wasn't a n.o.ble, and the staff hated him because he was a peasant who'd somehow been enrolled at an academy they would never be able to attend as anything other than servants. Strettelo had even started getting complaints from parents about letting a peasant enter the academy as something other than a servant.

Yes, the headmaster could see why everyone wanted Caspian gone. However...

"Whether you and everyone else desire him gone matters little," Strattelo began firmly. "Such a decision is not my call to make."

"E-excuse me?"

"You and the others seem to be under the impression that it was I who allowed him to enter this academy."

Soren actually needed a moment to comprehend those words. "Is that not the case?"

"It is not." Strattelo turned to look out his window, but he could still see Soren's reflection gazing at him on the clear surface. "While it is true that, if given the chance to make such a decision, I would have allowed him to enroll regardless of his status, I was not the one who made this choice. That honor belongs to another, one who ranks far higher in the Arcadian hierarchy, nay, on the entire continent of Terraria than I."

"B-but wait!" Soren stared at his master, his wide eyes blinking, as if not quite sure what to make of that statement. It took the much younger man several seconds to respond, in which time, he scrunched up his face like a warthog being prodded with a branding iron. "Are you telling me that you weren't the one who allowed Sol to enter this academy?"

Strettelo's response was to turn around and give the younger man a smirk. "That is exactly what I'm telling you."

***

Caspian eventually got bored of watching the landscape pa.s.s by and decided to get some shut eye. It would take at least twelve more hours before he arrived in Ashtown. He wanted to be well-rested for when he met the Sorceress, or whoever she sent to receive the headmaster's letter.

Maybe after delivering it, he could take a bit of downtime for himself and see the sites before going back to the academy. That would certainly be a lovely break from his monotonously bleak existence.

Unfortunately for him, sleep refused to come. It felt like he had barely closed his eyes before the loud squealing of wheels against the train track startled him awake. Not long after the ear-splitting squeal nearly blew out his eardrums, the entire train started to shake with an intensity that reminded him of an earthquake. Worse still, because he wasn't secured to anything and had been dozing off, Caspian was thrown from the cushioned seat and sent to the floor with a loud crash.

"Owch! What the heck?!"

Sitting up, he rubbed the back of his head, where he felt a large lump forming. It felt like someone had smacked him with a mason hammer; there was a loud ringing in his ears, and the staccato burst of a thousand war drums beat a constant rhythm of pain inside his skull.

This was the second time he'd been sent to the floor in the last couple of hours. If this kept up, he might actually suffer some kind of mental damage. Which would suck, because he rather enjoyed having full use of his mental faculties.

"What in the name of the spirit forsaken undercity is going on now?"

Pushing himself to his feet and walking over to the edge of the compartment, Caspian took a gander out the window to see if he could make anything of the situation.

He didn't know how long he'd slept, but it had clearly been several hours since his run in with Ca.s.sidy. The cracked and dry desert landscape of the Dystian/Ruudon border had been replaced by craggy cliff faces and large canyons on all sides. The cliffs, looming over the train like humans over ants, blocked out much of the sunlight, which was beginning to set. This did not help him ascertain why the train had suddenly decided to put on the emergency brakes, but it was a start.

He then looked up, and in doing so, discovered something interesting. Alarming, too, but mostly interesting.

"Are those people?"

Staring at the surrounding land with narrow, squinted eyes, Caspian pushed his red hair out of his face to get a better look at what might be the reason for the train's abrupt stop, or at least what he suspected was a symptom of the true cause.

Standing on top of the cliff nearest him were several figures. Their forms were shrouded by tattered cloaks with high collars that concealed much of their face from view. A hood hid the rest, casting their features in a darkness that even his enhanced eyesight couldn't penetrate. He couldn't make out any details that would help him ascertain their ident.i.ties, but then, there weren't that many details to be made out anyway, since they were cloaked from head to toe.

He also didn't particularly care to know what they looked like or who they were. It was pretty clear to him that these people were responsible for stopping the train somehow. Equally clear was the fact that, if the train had been forcibly stopped by these individuals wreathed in concealing cloaks, then they obviously wanted to retrieve something, or someone, on this train.

Did that mean they were bandits? Highwaymen? Or were they a simple gang looking to cause trouble? He didn't know, but suspected he would find out soon enough.

"This doesn't look like a very good situation." Despite the words spoken, his eyes sharpened and a small, feral smile crossed his face. While most people would probably be frightened by this situation, all he could feel was exhilaration at the possibility of testing his skills in a real battle. Blood pumped through his body at an accelerated pace. He could feel his heart as it worked overtime, could feel the adrenaline rushing through his body like a tumultuous storm smashing into a small hamlet. He felt primed and ready for action.

This was his chance to see how well he could do against real opponents, to see how much he'd learned. A test. Yes, this would be a good test for himself.

He picked up his sword, sheath and all, and proceeded to strap it across his back. After making sure the straps were secured and adjusting the handle so he could draw it quickly, Caspian left the compartment.

It was time to see if all those hours of practice he put into his swordsmanship truly meant anything.