Chapter six The Knight's Contract
The next day had come, and the ache in my side was a dull, rhythmic throb, a bruised but manageable reminder of yesterday's violence. I rose from my thin mattress, with two objectives settled into my mind.
First, I had to understand the sensation in my gauntlet. The feeling during the duel, the seamless fusion of will and action, was more than just normal control. It was a fundamental shift as if the catalyst was holding it back while also spurring on the reaction, and I needed to know its nature before I relied on it again.
Second, I had to meet with Sira Theryn. Arren was now the official head, but the court saw me as the force that had toppled a pillar of their world. House Dravoryn needed allies to survive the coming storm, and Sira's support could be the thing that saves our family. Well, as long as Arren can hold it together.
---
I took the less-traveled servant corridors to the old west tower forge. The air inside was cool and still, thick with the lingering scent of cold metal and soot. After sealing the iron door, the quiet was absolute. This was my sanctuary. Here, there were no whispers, no alliances, only the unwavering truth of the elements.
I stood in the center of the chamber and extended my gauntleted arm. I had not slotted a catalyst into my hand. During the duel, I had performed a synthesis immediately after creating a void, which is when I felt the odd feeling. Like I was missing something.
My hypothesis was a dangerous one: that the void wasn't an act of erasure. It was an act of gathering. It left something behind, a residual energy, a potential stored within the gauntlet itself. Like a battery. Like I did when I made the catalyst stable enough to be used.
I had to replicate it.
I used a void in the air around me. A cold, sharp sensation jolted up my arm. The Auris crystal gave off a low, hungry hum, and I could feel a strange energy coiling within the metal plates of my gauntlet. A static prickling against the dead skin under the gauntlet. It felt... Primed.
This was the feeling from the duel.
Now for the second step. I cleared my mind and began the mental sequence for magnesium. It was a more complex synthesis, demanding greater focus. I followed the steps precisely until I reached the final stage, the point where the catalyst would normally engage and complete the reaction.
Instead of a catalyst, I drew upon the stored energy in the gauntlet. I released the charge.
The result was violent and immediate. A high-pitched whine screamed from the gauntlet, and the Auris crystal flared erratically, its light pulsing like a panicked heart. In the air before me, a pinpoint of white light ripped itself into existence. It was a malformed, twitching thing, and it died with a sharp crackle and pop almost as soon as it was born.
A wave of vertigo washed over me. The whine in my ears faded to a dull roar. The stone floor tilted sharply.
The last thing I heard was the dull thud of my own body hitting the stone.
---
A sharp poke to my bruised ribs jolted me from my deep sleep. Instinct kicked in, and I attempted to summon a hydrogen flame, but the gauntlet remained inert. I then noticed I couldn't feel my right arm. Panic kicked in, cold and sharp. It flooded my veins. My left hand swung out in a blind arc toward the source of the prod.
My fist met empty air. A familiar voice, laced with a wry amusement, could be heard.
"Careful, Theren. You'll strain something."
My eyes snapped into focus. Lira stood next to me, her arms crossed, her expression a mixture of wryness and genuine concern.
She looked at me and said, "Are you okay? It is not good to push yourself so hard. I heard what happened, and I understand you are going through a lot, but you can lean on other people, too."
Her directness was disarming. There was no political angle, no hidden meaning, just a straightforward offer of support. It was a language I was no longer used to speaking. I pushed myself into a sitting position, the movement awkward and one-sided. The dead weight of my right arm was a terrifying, hollow sensation.
I responded after a few seconds, my voice carefully neutral. "I am fine. Just strained my mental load." The lie felt thin, but it was the only shield I had.
Then the implications of the light filtering through the high window hit me. "What time is it?"
"It is about midday."
I have been out for a few hours, that's not good.
I need to leave now.
"Thank you for waking me up, but I must go."
She watched me push myself upright with my left hand, her lips parting as if to speak, before she shook her head. As I reached for the door, her eyes found mine, steady and unflinching.
"Remember," she said softly, "if you need help, you can lean on someone… like me."
I gave a slow nod and left, closing the iron door behind me.
As I walked away, I attempted to make a fist but was unable to even move my shoulder. The arm felt dead, as if the mental strain of the experiment had severed some vital connection between mind and muscle.
---
I entered the mail room, a small, cluttered chamber filled with scrolls and parchments sorted into wooden cubbies for each of the Great Houses. The air smelled of ink, wax, and the dry dust of official correspondence. I had to maintain the illusion of normalcy, and checking for communications was a part of that.
My gaze scanned the Dravoryn alcove. Among the expected missives and logistical notices was a single, elegant envelope of fine vellum that stood out immediately. It was sealed not with wax, but with a small, pressed golden feather. Sira Theryn.
I picked it up, my movements careful to betray nothing of my physical state. The scribe on duty barely glanced at me, for which I was grateful. I broke the delicate seal with my left thumb and unfolded the note. The script within was as precise and elegant as she was.
It said to meet her in the main Garden Theryn at the fourth bell.
That was only an hour and a half from now. She must have sent it last night. The meeting was critical; to refuse or postpone would be to admit weakness. I had no choice.
"Have a carriage prepared immediately for the Theryn Estate," I ordered the steward at the main door of the Dravoryn manor, my voice firm, betraying none of the cold dread coiling in my stomach. I then rushed upstairs to get dressed.
The process was a frustrating ordeal. Buttons were a trial for my left hand, and the fine silks of courtly attire refused to settle properly with my one-sided movements. I chose a dark, high-collared tunic of Dravoryn blue, hoping the severe cut would help conceal the unnatural stillness of my right arm. I let the gauntlet rest at my side, a dead weight of polished, scarred metal. My reflection in the mirror was a study in controlled deception: a pale but composed nobleman, not a crippled mage on the verge of collapse.
The carriage ride was tense. With every jolt and sway, I was reminded of my inert arm. Sira had grown to be a sharp observer. She read people like she read balance sheets, searching for inconsistencies and leveraging them. This meeting wasn't just a negotiation; it was a performance. And the slightest misstep could bring everything crashing down.
When I arrived, the Theryn Estate's Main Garden was an oasis of calculated beauty. Unlike the wild, overgrown Sunken Garden, this was a place of perfect symmetry. Hedges were trimmed into sharp geometric shapes, and flowerbeds were arranged in spirals that mimicked the golden ratio. It was a garden that reflected the Theryn philosophy: control, precision, and profitable beauty.
Sira stood by a white marble fountain, its water flowing with a soft, melodic rhythm. She wore a gown of emerald green that contrasted sharply with the garden's order, a deliberate choice that made her the undeniable center of attention.
"Theren," she greeted me with a polite, practiced smile. "Punctual. I appreciate that."
Her eyes swept over me, and for a terrifying second, I felt like a flawed ledger under her scrutiny. I gave a slight bow, a movement I had practiced to perform with one side of my body.
"Lady Sira. Thank you for accepting my meeting proposal on such short notice," I kept my posture rigid, my right arm pinned to my side as if by choice.
"Of course," she said, her voice soft. "When an old friend returns from the grave and upends the world, one makes time." She gestured elegantly toward a small, white wrought-iron table nearby.
"Come. Let's not stand on ceremony."
We moved toward the table, falling into the easy rhythm of old conversation.
I looked at her. "How is your father? I am sure he must be busy with all that is happening at the moment."
"Yes, he very much is, he has also been putting more work on me as well, which has been difficult, but I am getting better at it. You must also be very busy after your explosive entrance back to the capital."
We reached the table, and I deliberately waited for her to sit first. As I took my seat, I used my left hand to pull the chair out, a slightly awkward motion I was not used to, and I watched her eyes and hoped she would attribute my movements to courtly manners.
I sat up straight and replied softly, "Busy is an understatement; exposing the head of the family is not easy. And as you can assume, today's meeting is linked to that event."
"You want our support. A shield against Caelthorn and the others. I understand. "She leaned forward, her voice dropping, becoming more earnest. "But a quiet word in the council isn't enough anymore, Theren. The damage is too public. To protect your house, we need a public, undeniable declaration of strength. An alliance that no one can question."
"And how do you propose we do that?"
"The Grand Melee is in a week. Due to some old charter, House Theryn is obligated to enter a champion this year, a fact Lord Caelthorn was all too happy to remind my father of this morning." She looked at him, her gaze intense. "Our usual champions are solid, but predictable. They won't make a statement. You, on the other hand... You are nothing but."
Her proposal landed in the quiet garden, audacious and terrifying.
"I want you to enter the tournament," she said, her voice a silken command. "Not as Theren Dravoryn. But as my champion. My chosen knight."
The air grew still. The melodic splash of the fountain seemed to fade into the background. She was not just asking for my skill; she was asking for a public, binding declaration. My victory would be her victory. My failure would be her humiliation. But a gamble she seemed confident in.
"You would tie your House's honor to mine?" I asked, my voice carefully neutral, betraying none of the cold panic gripping me. "To the man, the court, I am sure, is calling a kinslaying monster?"
"I would tie my House's honor to the man who defeated a Caelthorn champion without breaking a sweat," she corrected smoothly. "Politics is perception, Theren. Stand for House Theryn. Show the entire court the power that I am aligning myself with. Let them whisper. Your strength will silence them."
Her faith in my power was absolute, a cruel irony given the dead, useless weight of the very arm that held that power. I had one week to somehow heal a severed neural connection and prepare for a tournament of swords and magic against the most skilled fighters in the kingdom. Is that possible?
And it was my only choice. To refuse was to admit weakness, to prove I was a broken asset not worth her investment. House Dravoryn would stand alone at the trial. I won't let all the planning and work be ruined. I refuse to let that happen.
I forced myself to meet her intense gaze. I let a slow, confident smile spread across my face, a mask of the predator she believed me to be.
"An interesting proposal," I said, my voice a low murmur. "To stand as champion for the most beautiful lady in the court." I leaned forward, as if sharing a secret. "Tell me, Sira. What is the grand prize this year? Besides, of course, the pleasure of your company."
She laughed, a genuine, relieved sound. The tension broke. She believed she had me.
"A large sum of money, the Emperor's favor, and an exceptionally pure, refined Auris crystal, which is something that I want for myself."
I locked eyes with her and gave a slight bow with my left hand, "Then you have your champion, my lady," I said, sealing the pact. "I would be honored to fight for you."
Had I just agreed to an impossible duel. But for the first time since waking up on the forge floor, I felt a flicker of something other than despair. It was the desperate, terrifying thrill of a man with absolutely nothing left to lose. And everything to gain.