Laeryk Thorn
Nation of Birth: Valdaran
Gender: Male
Eye Color: Mixed; left eye is a sky-blue, while the right eye is an almost-black green.
Hair Color: Blonde
House: Thorn, but until recently Laeryk was a ward of House Frostwind.
Religion: Church of Alluman
Gift: Unidentified, but Laeryk shows signs of either the Saritar or Vordanitar Gifts.
Physical Characteristics: Laeyrk is taller than most Valdarans, making him tower over people from other nationalities. He stands at roughly 6'-10" and his height makes him seem very thin, though most of his body is covered in lean muscle. Laeryk's gaze has been described as both cold and intense, but those who know him best often remark about a simmering anger in his gaze. He never really smiles; at best, he smirks. A life of hardship has molded Laeryk's features so that he regularly appears grim and serious. "Mirth" and "Joy" are strangers on his face.
Personality Traits: Laeryk is a man of extremes. His dedication toward accomplishing his goals - becoming a Wyvern Knight and restoring House Thorn to what it was when Laeryk's father was alive - is absolute. When pursuing his goals, Laeryk allows nothing to stop him and refuses to accept defeat. At the same time, Laeryk's constant exposure to the cruel realities of life have left a deep-seated anger and fury inside of him, and Laeryk must constantly war with his own temper to avoid making a mistake that can be used against him. This requires a measure of self-control that most find unsettling, leaving Laeryk with almost no friends - not that Laeryk has much time for associations such as friendship. What friends Laeryk does have, he treasures and is quick to stand up for them, especially if they are getting in their own way. Laeryk's sense of humor can be described as cruel, picking up on personality quirks and weaknesses of others and turning them into sources of humor. Rarely is this meant maliciously, but for the target of Laeryk's humor it is often difficult to see Laeryk's jokes as anything short of cruel barbs. Needless to say, earning Laeryk's hatred makes a dangerous enemy who is controlled enough to bide his time until the moment is right to have his revenge, and clever enough to analyze his foe's weaknesses while he waits.
Quirks: Laeryk cannot abide the taste of mead or other alcohols, possibly as a result of seeing what drinking has done to his uncle. Laeryk prefers to exercise shirtless, enjoying the feeling of the crisp Valdaran wind on his bare skin. Laeryk's intelligence and seemingly effortless skill can make him overconfident, causing him to make assumptions that aren't always accurate. Though Laeryk is a follower of the Church of Alluman, he is not a very religious person, rarely praying; Laeryk would prefer to succeed on his own merits rather than from the benevolence of a higher power. Laeryk abhors the thought of fate and destiny, as it would require him to give up control of his own life.
Laeryk's mother died in childbirth, leaving only his father Derris Thorn to raise him. Derris was a Wyvern Knight of Steel Wing, but did his best to be present in his son's life, despite the duties his position required. Laeryk grew up in Thorn Manor, and had very few friends thanks to his father's protectiveness. So protective was Derris Thorn, he even forbade anyone to speak of Laeryk's mother to him, not even her name, and he covered any portraits or likenesses of her, leaving her a complete tabula rasa in Laeryk's life. While he lacked much family by blood, his father's best friends Penevyr Silverheart and Garon Wyvernclaw, the Wing Lord of Steel Wing visited regularly. Laeryk even took to referring to the Wing Lord as his uncle.
Derris Thorn was killed while away on a mission when Laeryk was eight. Laeryk was surprised to discover that his "uncle" Garon was not adopting him, instead sending Laeryk to live with his remaining blood relatives, his Aunt Dianay and her husband, Belok Frostwind, another knight of Steel Wing. Both his aunt and uncle resented Laeryk from the moment he was sent to live with him, presenting a hostility that perplexed the young boy. Things grew worse when Garon forced Belok to take Laeryk as his squire.
Belok trained Laeryk, but constantly derided and disparaged his charge, despite Laeryk's natural talent and penchant for understanding things very quickly. While it was clear to observers that Laeryk had considerable talent and was one of the best squires in the entire Wing, Belok constantly treated him as a failure, sometimes going so far as to sabotage his nephew. Laeryk watched as the Wyvern Knights of Steel Wing, his father's comrades and friends, turned their back on him, even Penevyr and the Wing Lord Garon. Realizing that he was on his own, the child buried his pain deep inside, growing cold to the world around him, and used the anger and fury he felt to drive him.
Laeryk quickly became rivals with two other squires, Arngrim Icehart and Gavain Whiterose. Gavain was the squire Laeryk despised the most, as he had been taken as a squire by Penevyr, a position that Laeryk was certain would have been his had Derris Thorn still lived. The three competed for everything constantly looking for ways to show the others up. This rivalry served to hone all three squires' skills even faster than their fellows, and Laeryk most of all.
One day there was an impromptu archery tournament. Laeryk was poised to win against both Arngrim and Gavain, when he accidentally missed his shot, causing Gavain to win. Belok observed the tournament and struck his nephew for his "incompetence" in front of Gavain, who was taken aback by Belok's casual mistreatment of Laeryk. When he demanded answers, Laeryk coldly explained that had Belok not been forced to take Laeryk as a squire, he would likely have been offered Gavain instead, and been offered gifts of wealth from House Whiterose. Gavain was horrified to learn that he was in any way responsible for Belok's mistreatment of Laeryk, but Laeryk refused to allow Gavain to take the blame, placing it squarely on his uncle's shoulders.
A Valdaran guardsman, Lutano, had observed the exchange between Laeryk and his uncle, and had noticed the dangerous look in Laeryk's eyes. Deciding that the boy needed a mentor, Lutano offered to train Laeryk to fight with a sword - real training, not the token training offered to most Wyvern Knights who favored crossbows while fighting on the backs of their wyverns. Laeryk accepted the offer, but discovered that he needed to find a sparring partner. He asked Gavain to be his sparring partner, claiming that learning swordplay would set Gavain apart from the copious amount of knights in House Whiterose, all vying to be more impressive than the last. In reality, Laeryk wanted the opportunity to trounce Gavain on the practice field. Despite his intentions, the secret morning sparring sessions quickly developed a friendship between the two squires. After years of feeling abandoned and alone, Laeryk had found himself a friend - one that he would kill for, if necessary.
Despite friendship and skill, Laeryk has come to realize that he is quickly running out of time. If he is unable to convince Belok to offer him a Proving before he turns twenty-one, Laeryk will be cast out from the ranks of the Wyvern Knights forever. But when told that he is to accompany his uncle and half of Steel Wing on a mission to the city-state of Haddar, Laeryk begins to believe that perhaps he will have the chance to show that he deserves a Proving before it is too late...
Laeryk's Proving - Chapter One
A bead of sweat trickled down Laeryk's neck, running down
his spine. He swallowed hard, and took a deep, steadying breath. Another.
Around him, Laeryk could feel the shifting discomfort of the militia members.
These were men trained to defend their homes and flocks from wild animals. They
were not meant to fight other men, except perhaps to break up brawls in the
streets and taverns. Laeryk had more military training than half these men put
together, maybe more than all of them. Any Wyvern Knight did.
Of course, Laeryk Thorn was only a squire, even though he
was already older than most squires were when they were Chosen by their wyverns
to become knights. Too old. The deadline of his twenty-first birthday was fast
approaching, only a few short months away. The thought of never becoming a
Wyvern Knight just because he had turned twenty-one without earning a Proving
was terrifying. More terrifying than even the approaching bandits.
This would be Laeryk's first battle. He couldn't decide if
he was more nervous than excited. He had waited most of his life for this
moment, this chance to prove his uncle's words to be nothing but lies. He took
a quick stock of his equipment. His armor was hardened leather lined with metal
studs, with steel bracers covering his forearms, meant to be used in the place
of a shield. His longbow was a comfortable weight in his hand, metal shod at
the ends and center of the wood. His quiver hung at his waist, angled so that
he could quickly draw a new arrow from it. He keenly missed his sword. Most
Wyvern Knights had no use for swords; they were useless while the knights rode
their wyverns, flying high above where they might strike any foe. Instead,
Wyvern Knights had crossbows mounted onto their right gauntlets, raining deadly
quarrels down upon their foes. While he was an excellent archer, Laeryk loved
swords. Matching blades with an opponent felt more personal, more a true test
of skill than shooting them full of arrows.
Forget the sword,
Laeryk chided himself. It's gone. Belok
saw to that.
A spark of anger came to life in Laeyrk as he remembered
what his uncle had done, but Laeryk pushed the anger down as he always did,
feeding it to the raging inferno of fury that blazed inside of him. One day
that inferno would become uncontrollable and lash out at someone, but today was
not that day. Going into his first fight angry was only going to get Laeryk
killed.
Laeryk looked at the approaching bandits. They were a
ragtag group, brazenly walking toward the gathered militia force. Little wonder, Laeryk thought. They've faced these men before, and always
set them to running.
Once, the fields of outside of the city-state of Hadar had
been golden with wheat, green with grass, and white with sheep. Now it smelled
of smoke, roast mutton, and death. The Nadyssian bandits were ruthless,
bloodthirsty men, who left nothing behind for those they pillaged. They were
more organized than they had been in the past, several bands of bandits joining
together to form a larger horde. Hadar had lacked the troops to defend both the
city and its fields but its alliance with Valdaran had allowed it to call on
the northern kingdom for aid, and Valdaran had responded by dispatching half of
the Wyvern Knights making up Steel Wing to defend Hadar and wipe out the
bandits. Today, Wing Lord Garon, Wing Lord of Steel Wing, planned to complete
their mission and deliver a death blow to this bandit horde that would scatter
it so far and wide it would never dare threaten Hadar again.
Laeryk should have been with the Wyvern Knights now,
participating from the back of his uncle's wyvern. Belok had sneered at the
thought, loudly declaring in front of everyone that Laeryk was too incompetent
to shoot from the back of a wyvern, and that the only reason Belok had even
brought his worthless squire with him was because Wing Lord Garon had demanded
an evaluation of Laeryk in the field.
It had been humiliating, and infuriating, and the rage Belok's
words had ignited in Laeryk was already burning with the rest of the inferno
inside of him. Taking Laeryk's sword had been a further insult, and one that
might cost the squire his life. Considering how much Laeryk's uncle and aunt
had always hated him, Laeryk's death on the battlefield might have been their
plan all along.
Stop it! You aren't
going to die today, Laeryk snapped at himself.
"Get ready!" Laeryk called to the militia. They
had nominated Laeryk as their commander for this battle when they'd learned
that the squire would stand with them during the battle. The militia's original
commander had been killed in an earlier bandit raid. The men tensed in
anticipation, though Laeryk couldn't tell if they were ready to stand their
ground or turn tail and flee. Laeryk nocked an arrow and pulled back the
string, selecting the bandit he would shoot at first. Some of the militia men
did the same, but there were too few men with bows in the militia. The rest
readied their spears, axes, and whatever other weaponry they'd had. One man had
only brought out a hoe from his fields.
The bandits seemed unperturbed by this show of force from
the militia, and why not? They had routed these same men before. What could
possibly make the difference this time?
Laeryk waited for them to get closer. They were well within
range of his arrow now, but he couldn't set the militia to charging too soon,
or the bowmen would be useless. Just a little closer...
"Now!" Laeryk roared, letting the arrow slip
through his fingers. It flew straight and true, killing the bandit Laeryk had
aimed at before the man had even known that he was in danger. The other archers
were just loosing their shots when Laeryk had already readied his second shot.
The rest of the militia surged forward as a second bandit died from one of
Laeryk's arrows, and they met with the bandit force as Laeryk's third shot
killed yet another of the raiders.
Laeryk paused to survey the battle. They didn't need to
hold the bandits for long. Wing Lord Garon had never counted on the militia to
defeat the bandits, only to draw the bulk of their horde out into the open. At
first it looked as though the Wing Lord's plan had worked, but Laeryk's eyes
narrowed as he considered the battlefield. The reports they'd heard of the bandits'
numbers were far vaster than the force on the field today. Truthfully, the
horde should have washed over the militia and Laeryk without pause, but this
force was only half the size they'd estimated...
So where were the other bandits?
A snarl drew his attention, and Laeryk stared in horror at
the approaching force of bandits riding creatures that Laeryk had only ever
heard stories of in Valdaran. Nadyssian clawfiends had the basic form of a
mountain lion, but were two or three times the size, with brown scales where
fur should have been, and half-foot long claws on each foot. Their heads were
more avian than feline, with eyes placed on either side of the head, and a
sharp beak hiding their long teeth. The stories some of the older Wyvern
Knights told about clawfiends said that a single Clawfiend could rip a man
apart in seconds, and their scales were said to be as good as any armor ever
made by man.
There were at least ten of the clawfiends and their riders.
Most of the militia had little better than boiled leather armor. The clawfiends
would rip them apart as if they were nude on the field that day, if Laeryk
didn't do something.
Acting on instinct, Laeryk nocked an arrow and aimed at the
nearest clawfiend, drawing a new arrow automatically as he released the first
one, and firing on the Clawfiend's rider. Both arrows struck their targets. The
bandit fell from his saddle as he clutched at the arrow that had punctured his
throat. The clawfiend looked at the arrow curiously as it bounced off of its
scaled hide. It turned its attention to Laeryk and gave a menacing shriek.
Wonderful. I have its
attention.
Laeryk's eyes widened as two more clawfiends answered the
shriek and turned to face him. Their riders tried to turn their fierce mounts
around, but the clawfiends ignored them and stalked toward Laeryk, who nocked
an arrow but didn't bother aiming. He needed to think this through. The
clawfiends were armored, fast, and they outnumbered Laeryk, but he could
probably get off two arrows before they got within range to pounce on Laeryk.
Then they would turn him into a small pile of gore and viscera.
Damn you to the
Hells, uncle! If you wanted me dead,
couldn't you have just drowned me when I was younger?
Laeryk felt the surge of anger again and tried to feed it
the fire inside of him as he had before, but the inferno had grown too large
for Laeryk to contain it anymore. Memories of his uncle's lies about Laeryk,
and the cold hatefulness of Laeryk's aunt Dianay boiled to the surface. They'd
always resented the need to take care of Laeryk since his father's death. It
hadn't been Laeryk's fault his father had died; Derris Thorn had been killed
while fighting bandit forces when Laeryk was eight. Laeryk hadn't forced Belok
to take him as a squire, denying Belok the option of squires whose Houses would
pay lucrative stipends to support their scions' training. All Laeryk had ever
wanted was to follow his father's footsteps and become a Wyvern Knight, and to
restore House Thorn to the former glory it had held before his father's death.
He'd done his best to please his uncle. He was the best
squire Steel Wing had seen since Wing Lord Garon himself. He was a better
archer than most of the full knights. He had taken the shoddy, cheap equipment
Belok had bought and restored it to a respectable, if not pretty, condition. He
had cared for Belok's wyvern, had attended to every chore his aunt and uncle
had set, every additional demand and rule they'd placed on him, and for what?
All Belok and Dianay had ever done was call Laeryk worthless
and undeserving of Derris Thorn's legacy. They'd sullied Laeryk's name with
every knight in Steel Wing, and doubtless knights in the other four Wings as
well. He'd suffered through it all in silence, never protesting, never acting
out in rage against his oppressors, bottling it all up inside himself instead.
That fury exploded inside of Laeryk now, and the inferno
surged forth through his veins, filling him with heat and power. The world
seemed to slow down, or perhaps Laeryk simply moved faster. Regardless, pulled
the string back and let his arrow fly, readying and shooting a second and then
a third before he even had time to think of what he was doing. The arrows
seemed to shimmer with heat as they flew. The first imbedded itself into the
eye of one clawfiend, piercing all the way to its brain. It fell over, crushing
its rider beneath it. The second arrow pierced the soft roof of another
clawfiend's mouth as it let out a shriek, killing that clawfiend as well. The
third arrow found the soft spot between the riderless clawfiend's torso and
foreleg, causing it to buckle forward, but failing to stop its advance.
Understanding that he would never get another shot off in
time, Laeryk instead held his bow like a club and readied himself to meet the
clawfiend's charge. Even with its injury, the clawfiend should have been moving
far too quickly for Laeryk to have a hope of stopping it before he was torn to
pieces, but instead it seemed as if Laeryk had all the time in the world. Just
as the clawfiend was almost upon him, Laeryk swung his bow, connecting with the
side of the clawfiend's head. The bow shattered from the force of the blow and
the clawfiend was tossed to the side. It quickly recovered and advanced at
Laeryk again. Laeryk threw the ruined bow to the side and roared in challenge
at the clawfiend. The sound of Laeryk's battle cry hit the reptilian beast like
a solid force, throwing it to the side.
A rush of wind and a hail of quarrels announced the arrival
of Steel Wing. Bandits fell by the score to the Wyvern Knights' crossbows, and
the wyverns swooped down to attack the clawfiends with poisoned stingers and
claws.
"Militia, fall back!" Laeryk yelled, and by some
miracle the men of the militia heard Laeryk. They quickly pulled back so that
the Wyvern Knights wouldn't need to worry about friendly casualties as they
rained a barrage of missiles upon the bandits.
Issuing the command had distracted Laeryk, and he failed to
notice that the clawfiend had recovered until it was almost too late. He
watched helplessly as it charged, that feeling of invincible fury suddenly
gone, leaving only a cold exhaustion that seeped into Laeryk's bones. Unarmed
and too tired to dodge, Laeryk gritted his teeth as the clawfiend raced toward
him, murder in its eyes.
A wyvern's stinger easily penetrated through the
clawfiend's scales, pumping the paralytic venom into the clawfiend's
bloodstream. The clawfiend's body went rigid, and the wyvern pulled its stinger
out and snatched the clawfiend in its talons. The wyvern flew high into the sky
and released the clawfiend. It landed hard on the ground, and Laeryk could hear
its bones shatter. It did not rise.
He held up a hand in thanks and thought he spotted a flash
of white teeth as Gavain Whiterose, Laeryk's best and only friend, saluted him
back. Gavain signaled his wyvern, and they returned to the main body of the
fray.
A hoarse scream drew Laeryk's attention, and he watched as
one of the clawfiend riders ran toward him, sword raised above his head to cut
Laeryk down. Though he was exhausted, Laeryk's training took over, and he
parried the strike with his gauntlet, falling to one knee from the force of the
blow. The bandit swung wildly at Laeryk, clearly in a frenzy, and Laeryk was
hard pressed to block them all. He waited for an opening, and when the bandit
rose his sword of his head for another fierce blow, Laeryk lept forward,
clipping the bandit below the knees and forcing him to the ground. Laeryk
pulled himself on top of the bandit and punched the Nadyssian in the face, but
the Nadyssian managed to throw Laeryk off, leaving Laeryk prone. The bandit
sneered as he readied a thrust that would take Laeryk's life when a quarrel
exploded from the bandit's throat and he collapsed with a gurgle.
Laeryk's eyes rose to watch as his uncle set his wyvern
down and dismounted. Sir Belok Frostwind staggered toward his nephew, and
Laeryk wrinkled his nose at the foul stench of beer and ale that wafted from
Belok.
Incredible! He's
still drunk from last night! Laeryk thought in amazement. He should have
expected it, given his uncle's condition, but right before a battle...
Then again, how badly
would his hands have shook without the alcohol, Laeryk wondered. There was
no way to know what, or who, Belok might have shot if he hadn't been drunk.
"Always needing me to do everything for you,"
Belok sneered. There was no trace of a slur in Belok's speech. "I don't
know why you ever thought you could be one of us, if a simple bandit could best
you!"
"
I," Laeryk started, but stopped as Belok cut him
off.
"Shut up, boy! Don't you dare argue with me!"
Belok's bulk shook with rage as he towered over his nephew.
"Where's your
bow? Where's your sword? What sort of man, squire or not, goes into a battle without a damned weapon?"
Laeryk's eyes flickered to the ruined remnant of his bow,
then over to the sword sheathed at Belok's waist. Laeryk's sword. The anger
burned in Laeryk's eyes, but he tried not to let it show. His reputation was
bad enough; he didn't need to let his temper ruin it any further.
"What in the Hells do you think you're doing,
Belok?" demanded a voice from behind Laeryk.
Laeryk tilted his head so that he could watch the Wing Lord
approach. Wing Lord Garon Wyvernclaw had changed little from the days of
Laeryk's childhood when Laeryk had called him "Uncle Garon" and
ridden on the Wing Lord's shoulders during his frequent visits to Thorn Manor.
The Wing Lord had been squired to Laeryk's grandfather at the same time that
Derris Thorn had been squired to the head of House Silverheart. They had formed
a friendship that had made them as close as brothers. After Derris Thorn's
death, however, the Wing Lord had all but vanished from Laeryk's life,
abandoning him to the cruel whims of his aunt and uncle. Laeryk had never
learned why the Wing Lord had turned his back on his best friend's son.
"I think I am disciplining my squire," Belok
snarled, obviously outraged at being challenged. "I believe that I am well
within my right to do so, my lord."
If the Wing Lord was bothered by the condescension in those
last words of Belok's, he didn't show it. "Disciplining is something to be
done back at the Waystation, not on the field of battle."
"Battle? This massacre is long since over," Belok
snorted.
"Still, we have other things to attend to. There are
wounded, and I want to question some of these bandits to see if we took out the
leaders, or perhaps confirm whether Markov had anything to do with these
attacks."
"It is my right to train my squire however and
whenever I see fit!" Belok screamed in fury. "Would you deny our oldest
traditions? You may command Steel Wing but even you must obey the traditions
set down by the first Wyvern Knights!"
"I'm not telling you how to train your squire,"
the Wing Lord snapped, "I'm giving you a direct command, on the field of
battle, and you had damned well better follow it!"
Both men drew themselves up to their full heights.
Valdarans were taller than any of the men from the southern kingdoms. Wing Lord
Garon was short for a Valdaran, but stood at a height equal to the tallest of
the Hadaran militia men. Belok towered over the Wing Lord by a full head and a
half. He was easily one of the tallest men in Steel Wing. Only Laeryk was
taller, standing just over seven feet tall.
Sensing that he needed to do something to stop this
confrontation, Laeryk rose and knelt before his uncle contritely. "My
thanks, Sir Belok, for saving my life from that bandit," Laeryk said, his
eyes cast to the ground. "I lost my bow fighting the clawfiend. If you
hadn't stopped the bandit when you did —"
"Fighting the clawfiend?" Belok sneered
disbelievingly. "How can you even attempt such lies in front of the Wing
Lord? If you had fought a clawfiend, you'd be dead." Belok shook his head
in mock disappointment. "That is just like you, Thorn. Always lying to
cover up what a failure you are, and —"
Rage filled Laeryk again and a snarl escaped his lips
before he comes suppress it. He rose and met his uncle's eyes, sky-blue like
most Valdarans. "I am not
lying," he hissed. "I killed two clawfiends, held off a third, and
managed to kill multiple bandits before the clawfiends arrived. Check the
fletching on the arrows if you don't believe me."
His eyes bored into his uncle's, and Belok was forced to
look away. Not many could meet Laeryk's gaze for long. His mismatched eyes
quickly disconcerted most who tried. His left eye was the same sky-blue as his
father's had been, but Laeryk's right eye was a green so dark you could hardly
tell the iris and the pupil apart. Gavain had once said that when Laeryk was
angry, his dark green eye seemed to swallow all the light in the room. Laeryk
had always supposed that he must have gotten his green eye from his mother.
Derris Thorn's eyes had been as blue as any Valdaran, but Laeryk had no idea
what color his mother's eyes were. She had died giving birth to him, and
Laeryk's father had ordered that any portraits of Laeryk's mother be covered
and that no one should ever speak to Laeryk about his mother, so as to spare
the boy any pain from her absence. Laeryk didn't even know what his mother's
name had been.
"He's right," called Sir Jarrot as he knelt
beside the clawfiend Laeryk had shot in the eye. "Both arrows have
Valdaran fletching."
Wing Lord Garon whistled appreciatively. "Two
clawfiends," he said in wonder. "Nearly a third. I don't know of any
Wyvern Knight who can say that they killed a single clawfiend on foot, let
alone as a squire."
"The boy was lucky," Belok snorted.
"Alluman grant me that same sort of luck in every
battle," the Wing Lord said. He rubbed his bearded chin as he considered
Laeryk thoughtfully. "Could you imagine what sort of reaction a squire
would receive if they passed a Proving by killing two clawfiends?"
A Proving!
Laeryk's heart raced, his anger melting away. The Proving was the final test a
Wyvern Knight presented to his squire before sending the squire to the wyverns
to see if he would be Chosen by one of them. It was almost a foregone
conclusion that any squire who passed his Proving would be Chosen by the
wyverns. The few squires who hadn't been Chosen had met gruesome ends at the
talons of the wyverns, and their Provings had always been revealed to have been
earned through bribes or other coercion, rather than merit.
Belok had been denying Laeryk his Proving for years, always
saying that Laeryk wasn't ready, or was too incompetent, or some other excuse.
Laeryk had hoped that this mission would afford him the opportunity to show
Wing Lord Garon and the rest of Steel Wing that he deserved a Proving, leaving
Belok no avenue to deny his squire any longer — but he had never dreamed the
Wing Lord would suggest that the battle itself be considered Laeryk's Proving!
"It would be an impressive feat," Belok admitted,
"but Laeryk isn't ready for his Proving. I still say his kills were luck,
not skill, and he's done nothing to prove to me that the Wyverns won't rend him
limb from limb if he goes to them."
"If every squire had to do better than killing two
clawfiends, lucky or no, to earn their Provings, we'd have no Wyvern Knights at
all," Wing Lord Garon said with a chuckle. "You should reconsider
your opinion of your squire." Belok opened his mouth to protest, but the
Wing Lord stopped him with a glower. "I'm not telling you what to
do," he snapped, "only offering my opinion."
Laeryk's heart sank. The Wing Lord's opinion wasn't worth
much against Belok's hatred for Laeryk. Without another word, the Wing Lord
left them to tend to the cleanup of the battlefield. Laeryk waited for his
uncle to say something.
"Are you finally getting a backbone, Thorn?"
Belok laughed cruelly. "Not much good it will do you now," he
whispered to his nephew so that Sir Jarrot, still watching the both of them,
would not hear. "What do you have, three more months? I don't think I've
ever cared enough to bother remembering your birthday. Doesn't matter. I want
you to listen carefully to me. I'll die before I give you a Proving. Doesn't
matter what you do."
Laeryk glared at his uncle, but said nothing, fighting to
keep his fury in check. The temptation to attack his uncle was tremendous, but
some cold, rational part of Laeryk's brain forced him to hold himself back,
knowing that Belok was goading him so that Laeryk would look bad in front of
Sir Jarrot.
"For losing your bow on the battlefield, and your
sword before the battle even started, you'll tend to every wyvern in the Wing
every time we stop, until we're back in Valdaran. Do you understand?"
Laeryk nodded, aware that Jarrot was watching him
carefully. Belok smirked at Laeryk before turning away from him to stagger back
to his own wyvern, no doubt in search of a flask in his saddlebags. Laeryk
watched his uncle walk away. The inferno of his rage burned as hot as ever once
again.
He thinks he's won,
but I won't stop. I'll never give up. Before we return to
Valdaran, I will find a way to force Belok to give me my Proving! The fires
of Laeryk's rage roared in approval at the thought. Nothing will stop me, he swore to those fires. Nothing!
[To read more of Laeryk's Proving, read the sample provided on this page, or purchase the book from one of the retailers listed above.]
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