1 Abandoned at the gate

The group draped by mist the day was swept by the strong steps of the mount, Elaire heard his father mumble something' under his breath.

'But what?'

Elaire rode in front, his hands grasping the saddle's pommel, his face blossomed as enjoyed the chill wind against his face as a treat. He then glanced behind his shoulder to his father and asked: "Where are we going, father?"

The man gave no replies. Elaire frowned, he asked the same question when his father led him to the stable. The tall man said nothing after he held a long pause before he hoisted the saddle onto one of his chargers. Elaire's attention moved from it to the joy of the ride, accustomed to this behaviour his father displays once in a while.

'He rarely took me riding anyways. Better just keep your mouth shut, Elaire.'

The charger's iron shoes clattered on the cobbles as the steed changed phase. After a while, they passed through the large gate of iron and stone; where decaying pale bodies hung in cages from the gibbet.

'Don't look.'

Elaire covered his nose and mouth with his hands after his nose made contact with the sickening rancid scent, he tightly shut his eyes after a glimpse of morbid staring unmoving pale cold faces like flesh masks; bloodless, torn dried flesh with dead hollow eyes. Some decayed so far that they were mostly bones.

'Don't open your eyes, Elaire.'

He shifted back closer to his father's chest for support. His father gave no reaction to the sight, he knew why they are punished for. It one of the few questions father gave willingly without much persuading, the stories he told then left Elaire sweating and sent a chill run down his spine. Elaire whimpered at every noise that came from beyond the window. He would stay awake for nights in fear if he was unable to run in case some thieves, rebels or tainted would escape their cages and hop into the room through the window.

"Open your eyes, boy."

Elaire heard his father's rough voice. He obeyed and slowly removed his hands and opened his eyes. The stench of death and rotting corpses were gone, so was the grim sight. The chill wind that he enjoyed was back but then he felt ashamed of enjoying it any further. He glanced back at the gloomy man holding the horse's rein. His father's sorrow hung like dark clouds over the household, it made the servants frightened and the visitors rare. This is what became of his father after his mother's death.

Elaire was but ten years old: he missed his mother but her passing was a mystery, the ultimate secret of the adult world and although he cried, cried a lot at times, he didn't know why, and he still stole pastries from the cook and played with his wooden swords in the yard.

They galloped for several minutes before his father reined in, to Elaire it was too brief, he wanted to ride more. They had stopped before a large dark iron gate. The railings were tall, taller than three men set end to end, each topped with a wicked spike. At the apex of the gate's arch stood a figure made of iron, a warrior, sword held in front of his chest, pointing downwards, the face a withered skull. The walls on either side were almost as tall as the gate. To the left, a brass bell hung from a wooden crossbeam.

Elaire's father dismounted then lifted him from the saddle.

"What is this place, my lord?" he asked. His voice felt as loud as a shout but he spoke in a whisper. There was an unease of silence amidst the blinding mist, he didn't like the dark gate and the figure which sat atop it. The figure's blank socket was a lie and a trick . It was watching them, waiting.

His father didn't reply, walking over to the bell he took his dagger from his belt and struck it with the pommel. The noise an outrage in the silence. Elaire put his hands over his ears until it died away. When he looked up his father was standing over him.

"Elaire," father said in his coarse, warrior's voice. "Do you remember the motto I taught you? Our House creed."

"Yes my lord."

"Tell me."

"Loyalty has its own sworn reward."

"Yes. Loyalty has its own sworn reward. Remember it. Remember that you are my son and that I want you to stay here. In this place you will learn many things, you will become a brother of the Warrior Order. But you will always be my son, and you will honour my wishes."

There was a scrape of gravel beyond the gate and Elaire started, seeing a tall, cloaked figure standing behind the railings. He had been waiting for them. His face was hidden by the mist but Elaire squirmed in the knowledge of being studied, appraised. He looked up at his father seeing a large, strong-featured man with a greying beard and deep lines on his face and forehead.

There was something new in his expression, something Elaire had never seen before and couldn't name. In later years he would see it in the faces of a thousand men and know it as an old friend: fear. It struck him that his father's eyes were unusually dark, much darker than his mother's; few days before her death.

'Is- Is... Is he leaving me here?'

The Battle Lord, the First sword, the hero of Ivinada, King's Saviour, the one who possessed so many grand honourary titles was leaving his son here. His father leaving him here. Abandoning him at the gate of the Warrior Order.

He felt his father's large hand pressing against his back. "Go now, Elaire. Go to him. He will not hurt you."

'LIAR!'

Elaire thought loudly in his mind, his eyes tearful, his feet dragging on the soil as he was pushed toward the gate. The cloaked figure's face became clearer as they neared, long and narrow with thin lips with pale grey eyes. Elaire found himself staring into them with teary eyes. The long-faced man stared back, ignoring his father.

"What is your name, boy?" The voice was soft, a sigh in the mist.

Elaire wiped the tears flowing down his cheek with a first. Never did he like crying in front of people not close to him. His voice trembled as he answered: "E-Elaire, my lord... Elaire Dí Sálem."

The thin lips formed a smile. "I am not a lord, boy. I am Mellis Slyte, master of the Warrior Order." Vaelin voice stopped trembling, a quality forged into him many lessons in etiquette. His mind was still in chaos.

"My apologies, master." There was a snort behind him. Elaire turned to see his father riding away, the charger quickly swallowed by the mist, hooves drumming on the soft earth, fading to silence.

"He will not be coming back, Elaire," said the long-faced man, the master, his smile gone. Tears appeared again and Elaire wiped them.

"You know why he brought you here?"

"To... To. learn many things and---- be a brother of the Warrior Order."

"Yes. But no one may enter except by their own choice, be they, man or boy."

Amidst the chaos, a sudden desire to run emerged in Elaire's mind.

'Maybe some outlaws may take me in or I could pretend to be an orphan.'

Then the images of decaying corpses in hanging iron cages flashed in his mind.

'What if I end up like them?'

The thought of running away was chained away by fear and the words his father ingrained into him: 'Loyalty has its own sworn reward.'

"I wish to come in, please," he told the master. There were tears in his eyes again but he blinked them away. "I wish to learn many things."

The master reached out to unlock the gate. Elaire noticed his hands bore many scars. He beckoned Elaire inside as the gate swung open. "Come, little Raven. You are our brother now."

Elaire quickly realised that the house of the Order was not truly a house, it was a fortress. Stone walls rose like cliffs above him as the master led him to the main gate. Cloaked figures patrolled the battlements, longbow in hand, glancing down at him with blank, shrouded in mist. The entrance was an arched doorway, portcullis raised to allow them entry, the two spearmen on guard, both senior students of seventeen, bowed in respect as the master passed through. He barely acknowledged them, leading Elaire through the courtyard where other students swept straw from the cobblestone. What awaited for the boy abandoned at the gate?