Choose Your Knight Mentor

At the Red Scarf Restaurant, Aaron sat across from Carthness. Though there were only two of them, sixteen dishes covered the table.

Baldur's Gate gin filled their chilled crystal glasses. Duke Carthness took out an envelope, pressed it to the table, and slid it toward Aaron. "Take it."

"This is..." Aaron opened the envelope, and his eyes widened slightly.

Inside was a gleaming gold note!

With it, he could redeem 1,000 gold coins at any church of the Lady of Wealth, the Lady of Joy, or the God of Craft anywhere in the Realms!

Currency in the Realms was exceedingly complicated. Even in the northern Realms alone, there were six kinds of coins.

Platinum coins—gold coins—gold-and-silver coins—silver coins—silver-and-copper coins—copper coins.

Their exchange rates weren't entirely fixed, either.

In Cormyr, the local names and rates were: one Three Crowns platinum coin equaled ten Gold Lion gold coins, twenty Blue Eye gold-and-silver coins, one hundred Falcon silver coins, or one thousand Thumb copper coins. The country did not mint silver-and-copper coins.

Coins varied in purity from place to place, and so did their exchange rates. Silverymoon often added to the chaos by minting unusual high-denomination coins. The northern Realms' currency system was a mess, and large transactions inevitably involved hauling around a great deal of coin.

That ran counter to the Lady of Wealth's vision: breaking down every barrier to trade and letting commerce flow freely throughout the Realms.

So the Lady of Wealth had invented gold notes. Each carried a trace of her divine power. Using them made goods far easier for merchants to transport and transactions simpler to conduct, benefiting trade and the circulation of money throughout the Realms.

So where had the Lady of Wealth gone?

"Your Grace, this..." Aaron looked to the duke, trying to gauge what he intended.

One thousand gold coins!

Not a fortune, but hardly a small sum.

That was exactly the reaction Carthness wanted. The duke smiled with satisfaction. "I knew both your grandfather and your father. Back then... I didn't do much. This is just a little gift from me, so don't refuse it. Keep it safe. I know there should still be some wealth in the Sallyan residence—antiques, paintings, calligraphy, armor, weapons—but you're about to undertake something important. I imagine you need cash."

"Thank you very much, Your Grace. May the Lady of Silver bless you." Aaron immediately rose, tucked the note inside his coat, and thanked him earnestly.

He did need cash.

If he still couldn't see what Duke Carthness meant by this, he wouldn't be sitting here.

"Use it well." Carthness was even more pleased that Aaron had accepted without hesitation.

Manuel had raised a fine son.

Carthness could have given Aaron a note worth ten thousand gold coins if he'd wanted. But there was no need. A measured favor was enough; what mattered was that Aaron remembered him.

As the meal drew to a close, Aaron remembered that all his former kinsmen had been exiled to the Great Swamp, the very region under Duke Carthness's command. He asked, seemingly in passing, "Your Grace, may I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." Carthness was a soldier, after all. He cut his steak with knife and fork and motioned for Aaron to speak.

"What exactly caused my family to lose its earldom?" Aaron finally voiced the question that had troubled him for so long.

"Your father never told you?"

"No. He wouldn't even let me bring it up. But I want to know," Aaron said quietly. "A man can't spend his whole life carrying that burden."

Duke Carthness set down his knife and fork. A flicker of memory and displeasure crossed his lionlike amber eyes. Seeing Aaron's resolve, he nodded.

"Your grandfather, Earl Sallyan, fled a battle."

"What?" Aaron stared at him.

"To be precise, he rushed in recklessly in pursuit of glory, underestimated the enemy, and then fled in fear." Duke Carthness began recounting the Tuigan Invasion.

"Our forces fought the Tuigan nomad army. The Sallyan and Spoleto families were responsible for the northwestern front. Earl Sallyan held back from the start, unwilling to commit his full strength. Brave, loyal Earl Spoleto saw that your grandfather feared battle and proposed going out to engage the nomads first. The Sallyan troops would lie in ambush at the mouth of a valley and strike from both sides."

"Your grandfather agreed. Earl Spoleto attacked, and the nomad vanguard saw at once that he meant to fight to the death. Their nerve failed them. After an unfavorable first clash, they withdrew, giving Earl Spoleto a small victory."

"Earl Sallyan, waiting in ambush at the valley entrance, heard that Spoleto had won with his forces alone. Desperate to claim a share of the glory, he threw the plan aside and immediately ordered his troops to advance."

"But Earl Spoleto had only defeated the Tuigan vanguard. The main nomad army soon arrived. Outmatched, Spoleto withdrew, intending to lure the Tuigan into the valley as planned."

"Then your grandfather heard that Spoleto had been defeated and the nomad army was closing in. Already out of the valley, Earl Sallyan panicked and fled with his troops, abandoning Spoleto to the nomads."

"Earl Spoleto fell back to the valley entrance and found it empty. Surrounded by the Tuigan, his entire force of more than 3,800 fought for eight hours before every last one fell. The dead included the earl, his three sons, his two daughters, and almost all their collateral relatives. An eight-hundred-year-old family ended there."

Aaron: "..."

Thank you. I'm already furious.

"You probably can't imagine how angry His Late Majesty was when he heard. It was the first time I'd ever seen him like that." Duke Carthness looked away, turning his silver knife and fork in his hands. "Only your father was spared punishment. He had been attending His Majesty as a Purple Dragon Knight and had played no part in it, so His Majesty left your branch of the family alone."

"So did my grandfather end up on the chopping block?" Aaron was speechless. No wonder his father refused to discuss it.

What a disaster that man was.

"He was stripped of his title and hanged, though his body was left intact. Every Sallyan except you and your father was exiled to the Great Swamp and stripped of the family name. His Majesty's exact words were, 'They don't deserve it.'"

Duke Carthness toyed with his cutlery, his amber gaze gradually softening. "I'm telling you this because I hope you'll learn from it. The past is past, and Earl Sallyan's family received its due punishment. You are Viscount Sallyan. You shouldn't have to carry their deeds on your shoulders."

"Your Grace, I have a request."

"Let's hear it."

"The Great Swamp is under your command now. Could you give me a list of the kinsmen who were exiled there?"

"...I'll have someone send it to you." Duke Carthness gave Aaron a long look. "But you mustn't tell anyone!"

"And in three days, I'll leave Suzail and return to my territory. Last of the Sallyans, this is as far as I can—and will—help you."

"You're eighteen. For either a spellcaster or a Purple Dragon Knight, that's a little old to be starting out. It's time to make good on your talent, boy."

"If a young eagle never learns to spread its wings, it will never fly."

Aaron's recent assassination attempt had thrown the Upper City into turmoil. Duke Carthness sent three guards to escort him all the way home.

More guards patrolled the streets now, and the Queen's Blade was searching everywhere.

At home, only his aunt and cousin were in. His aunt had just bought several cod at the market and planned to make cod soup for dinner. Yuta was playing happily. When she saw Aaron return, she called out, "Cousin! Cousin!" and asked whether he'd brought her a present.

Aaron didn't know whether to laugh or groan. He'd gone to meet the princess, not shopping!

The thought that he had only six months left dampened his mood, and he gave Yuta a distracted answer.

"Eleanor came by," Yuta said suddenly.

"Oh? When?" Aaron perked up at once.

"This morning, while you were out. She asked if you'd been hurt. I told her you were fine, and she stayed a little while before leaving." Yuta counted on her fingers. "Oh, and she asked me to tell you she's taken an assignment from the church. She won't be back for three or four weeks, and she said you should take care of yourself."

"Got it." Aaron realized Eleanor had come to say goodbye, but he'd missed her. It would be at least three weeks before they met again.

"Cousin, when are you going to invite Eleanor over again?" Yuta asked, looking up at him.

"When she gets back, I'll invite her myself." Aaron smiled and patted Yuta's head. "Go play. I have things to do."

Back in his study, Aaron sat down and took out three parchment scrolls.

It was time to choose a mentor.

According to the information the princess had given him, three members of the Purple Dragons at or above the rank of knight captain were willing to mentor him.

The first was Knight Captain Grafni, a female Purple Dragon Banneret in her thirties. She had apparently seen Aaron when he went to the order's fortress to write his report, and she had expressed interest in becoming his mentor.

Aaron took one look and ruled her out.

The information said she had just divorced her husband...

He was joining the Purple Dragons to improve his skills, grow stronger, and temper himself—not to trade on his looks for connections! The last thing he wanted was a muddled relationship between mentor and student that ended in a mess.

Besides, she's not quite my type~

He tossed the parchment aside.

That left only two real candidates.

The first was Banneret Lucian Bachmann, an old friend of his father's who had visited once before. He was a master-level fighter.

But Lucian was an extremely strict man. More than half the trainee knights under him failed their assessments. Lucian paid no heed to the official standards: if he thought someone wasn't good enough, they failed.

Sir Reynard, the twenty-one-year-old Paladin who had saved Aaron and could unleash such a powerful Divine Smite, still hadn't passed Lucian's test to become a full knight.

Aaron had only six months and one chance. Could he do it?

He twisted his lips and set Lucian's information aside for the moment.

The second candidate was another familiar face: Ian Hartson, Grand Master and chief inspector of the Purple Dragons.

Yes, Ian had mocked him mercilessly that day. Yet the Grand Master and chief inspector had also volunteered to mentor him, confirming Aaron's suspicion: Ian's biting remarks had been a deliberate test to see whether Aaron bore any psychological scars.

Should he choose Ian Hartson as his mentor?

Ian had many advantages over Lucian.

First, his rank was higher. Grand Master and chief inspector were among the few posts in the order below the supreme grand master. Higher rank meant more resources.

Second, Ian was stronger. Though both men were masters, Ian was certainly one or two levels above Lucian.

Finally, Ian was consistently lenient with assessments. Only around twenty percent of his trainees failed; if they met the standard, he passed them.

But the man's personality was awful.

As chief inspector, Ian also oversaw logistics and property. The long years had left him with a severe occupational habit.

When a Purple Dragon Knight died in battle, some people mourned, some wept, and some secretly rejoiced.

Ian Hartson's first thought was how much compensation would be owed and where he could trim the payout.

When a beautiful woman in high heels passed by, some people admired her, some whistled, and some pretended not to look.

Ian Hartson's first thought was: Her ankles are so fragile. A little extra force would break one. Grade-ten disability, twenty-five percent risk of severance—what would the payout be, and how could I deny the claim?

Thinking that way for so long had warped how Ian thought and spoke. Venomous words poured from his mouth. He assessed everything through the logic of insurance claims, calculating its value and belittling every person and every thing whenever he could. To hear him tell it, nothing was worth a damn. The only distinction was between rubbish with some value and rubbish with none.

Aaron knew Ian might sometimes genuinely mean well. But with that way of speaking, Aaron could endure a few days. Six months together? He was afraid he'd lose control, fight his mentor, and get beaten into the ground.

He was a Sorcerer! A Sorcerer was supposed to have some fire in him!

After sitting quietly for a while, Aaron finally made his decision.

I'll take the challenge!

Six months, then. Six months!

I'm the Child of Chaos, aren't I? If I shrink from every challenge, how will I reach legendary heights? How will I ascend to godhood?

If I can't pass one little test from the princess, what right do I have to be a Warlock's Patron? What right do I have to face those four dear brothers of mine?

If all I want is a passing grade instead of learning something real, what does that make me?

Let's do it! Aaron slapped his palm against the wall.

He wasted no time. The next morning, Aaron took the official letter and returned to the Purple Dragons' fortress.

As before, the main gate was shut. A guard told him that shooting practice was underway inside and directed him to the side entrance.

"You there, boy! Don't move!"

As soon as Aaron entered, he found his position from memory and stopped. Someone shouted at him from one side of the gate. He turned and saw a Purple Dragon Knight in an armored vest aiming a Hand Crossbow straight at him!

"Don't move!" the man shouted again.

Aaron ignored him. He deliberately swayed from side to side, his Extraordinary Charisma making him particularly hard to overlook.

"I said don't move!" the shooter roared in frustration. But Aaron acted as though the fighting on the training ground had caught his attention and kept shifting around.

"Damn it!" The shooter lost his temper and pulled the trigger. A short bolt sliced through the air and grazed Aaron's head. The viscount felt it brush his hair. He instinctively ducked back and tucked his neck in, then pitched forward to keep his balance, nearly falling over in the process.

The shooter paid Aaron no mind. He reloaded and cocked the weapon with astonishing speed, then aimed the Hand Crossbow at him again, as though Aaron were his prey.

Around the shooter, a group of apprentices burst out laughing at Aaron's awkward scramble.

As the Child of Chaos, how could Aaron stomach that humiliation? He sprang up, angrily pushed through the crowd, and marched toward the shooter. The apprentices took one look at his expression and cleared a path.

A straw stem hung from the shooter's mouth. Seeing Aaron storm over, he lowered the Hand Crossbow with obvious reluctance. "I told you not to move. Didn't you hear me?"

Aaron sized him up. The man had tousled, short red hair and dead-fish eyes that seemed to look down on everyone. He faced Aaron with a defiant expression, arms folded, as though asking, Are you an idiot?

He wore only a scale-studded warrior's vest, leaving his strong arms and lean muscles bare. His close-fitting, calf-length trousers were made of cheap linen and worn in several places.

"Hey! That was attempted murder!" Aaron seized his collar and shouted in his face. "In the name of the Lady of Silver, does the Purple Dragons' shooting practice use living people as targets?"

"Murder? What the hell are you talking about? You new here?" The shooter grabbed Aaron's collar in return. "Didn't I tell you to stand still? Are you deaf? Why were you wandering around while I was aiming? If you want to die, just say so! Go stand over there, and I'll put a bolt through that head of yours. It's dumber than a groundhog's anyway!"

Aaron didn't need to turn. He remembered the targets hanging from the fortress wall about thirty meters behind him, studded with crossbow bolts.

Nearly all were bull's-eyes. Only a few bolts had hit the eight- or nine-point rings.

"Still don't believe you're dumber than a groundhog, newbie? If I'd been aiming at you, there'd already be a hole through your head. I told you not to move!" The shooter spat out the straw stem and a mouthful of spit onto the ground. "You're an idiot. Now get lost, newbie, before I decide to kill you."

He shoved Aaron away, turned, and raised the Hand Crossbow toward the targets behind him.

Yes. That's it. Aaron nodded to himself. Not the friendliest fellow, is he? Good. You're the one!

"Wonderful. So that's your excuse for firing live bolts whenever you please?" Aaron reached for the sword at his waist and challenged him. "Sir, you've committed first-degree murder. How do you plead? Oh, no, I was only shooting at a target! He walked between me and it!"

Aaron's imitation was vivid.

Fire blazed in the shooter's dead-fish eyes. This time, he looked Aaron straight in the face. "Viscount, tell me your name."

"Aaron Sallyan." Aaron closed his hand around his sword hilt.

"Disma." The shooter finally lowered the Hand Crossbow and reached to his hips, where a one-handed sword and a knife hung on either side. "I know you. The last Sallyan. You'll be kissing my boots soon enough. Otherwise, I don't reckon you'll leave here alive."

"I'm much more merciful." Aaron displayed Red Conrad's Ring on his right index finger. "You only have to kiss my ring."

At the same instant, blades flashed free of their sheaths!

Battle was about to erupt!