The Divided Knight - Chapter One

The cell should have been pitch dark, but when Thaddeus Alvarem opened his eyes, it was lit by a soft, white glow.

“Ah, Brother Thaddeus! You're awake at last.”

Sitting up and swinging his legs off the stone slab that, for the last month, had been his bed, Thaddeus was met by the sight of an ethereal figure – which was also the source of the glow – hanging in mid-air just inside the door of the cell. The figure was that of an elderly man dressed in a long, voluminous robe, and Thaddeus knew at once that he was looking at the spirit presence of a mage long since dead. I'll be joining you in death, soon, my Lord, Thaddeus thought.

“Who says I was actually asleep?” Thaddeus asked.

The spirit presence smiled. “I do, for I was the one who helped you to get there.” The smile broadened. “And my spell lasted precisely as long as I meant it to.”

Thaddeus, who, up until he'd been locked in this cell a month ago, had spent the better part of his adult life as a Holy Knight of the Conclave – the order of warriors sworn to defend the kingdom's mages – had always found most mages to be full of themselves, and it didn't surprise him that they stayed that way even after they were dead. Maybe I'll stay the way I am after I'm gone, too. “What brings you to visit the cell of a condemned man, my Lord?” Thaddeus asked.

The spirit presence's smile grew mischievous. “Perhaps to inform you that you are not as condemned as you have been led to believe. You see, as you slept, I took the liberty of unlocking the cell door.”

Thaddeus stared at the mage's spirit in confusion. “You did what?”

“Unlocked the door so you can escape. I also took care of the guard outside. You see, I need you to find someone for me.”

“Find someone for you? Who?”

“Perhaps the only one who can restore hope to these lands. Have you heard tell of the Wanderer?”

Thaddeus had heard tell of the Wanderer, before. There were few in the kingdom who hadn't. The Wanderer was a mysterious, cloaked stranger who, according to the stories, gave aid to travelers who found themselves in need while on the sometimes treacherous roads of the kingdom's eastern outskirts. The stories all agreed that the Wanderer was a fierce warrior who was also skilled in the use of magic – a rarity in the world, these days – and that few foes could best him. No details of who the Wanderer was or where he had come from were known, and not everyone agreed that he was even real.

“I've heard of him,” Thaddeus said. “I don't think anyone can find him, though.”

“And why is that?”

“Because I don't believe he's real. It's nice to think there might be someone out there, looking out for the helpless, but, after twenty years, I can't accept that we know nothing more about him than we did when the stories about him began. No one stays that well hidden. Not even on the eastern outskirts.”

The spirit presence raised an eyebrow. “Not even there, eh? What about the Shadow Brotherhood? They terrorized the eastern marches for forty years before their hiding places were all rooted out, and, for most of that time, little to nothing was known about them. If a group of bandits like those could stay hidden and evade capture for forty years, who's to say a single man couldn't do likewise for half that span? Besides, Brother Thaddeus, I know the Wanderer is real. I've sensed him.”

Thaddeus frowned. “You've sensed him?”

“Oh, yes. His presence is a strong one. Stronger than I've sensed in a long while.”

Suddenly, Thaddeus was struck by the idea that he'd met the spirit presence he now spoke to before. But when? “Forgive me, my Lord, but have we met before? I was just struck by the strangest feeling that we have.”

Again, the spirit presence's smile was mischievous. “Many have met me, Brother Thaddeus. Few, however, ever have any memory of it. Not even the splinter of a memory you seem to have.”

Thaddeus pondered the spirit's words for a moment, trying to make sense of them. Then his eyes went wide. “That's impossible!” he said. “You can't be!”

“I can, and I am. The Soul of the Conclave. Something else you used to think wasn't real.”

The Soul of the Conclave was supposed to be a manifestation of the Conclave's power, an entity conjured into existence and given sentience by the residual energies of all the spells that had been cast over the five hundred years of the Conclave's existence. As Thaddeus had been taught, the Soul watched over the Conclave – much as the Wanderer was supposed to watch over the eastern roads – and helped guide it, making sure the kingdom's mages never strayed too far from the Path of Light. No confirmed contact with the Soul had ever been made, but every member of the Conclave had sworn that it existed. Thaddeus had always shrugged the idea of the Soul off, thinking it just another mage superstition, and now, here he was, having a conversation with it. And, suddenly, he found himself feeling more than a little angry.

“All this time, you've been real?” Thaddeus asked.

The Soul frowned in confusion. “Yes.”

“Why didn't you do something, then, when the Conclave was being destroyed? Why did you let those monsters slaughter all the other mages and all of my brothers? Where were you when we needed you the most?”

The Soul didn't answer immediately, and its expression grew sad and faraway. “I am not all powerful, Brother Thaddeus, and the powers being wielded by those who did this to the Conclave were beyond me. I doubt anyone has seen their like since before the Conclave was founded.” The Soul looked at Thaddeus. “I did what I could, however. I saved you. And now I've given you the means to escape, the means to go and find the Wanderer and tell him what has happened. Maybe you won't find him. Maybe he will refuse to help. But I tell you this, he is the only chance the kingdom, and perhaps even the world, has left.”

For a long moment, Thaddeus said nothing. The words of the Soul had blunted his anger, and it had been foolish of him to think that the Soul could have done anything to stop the forces that had torn the Conclave apart – he had, after all, been forced to watch as the mages and his fellow Knights were killed, with none of them having been given anything close to a fighting chance to defend themselves. His anger was only blunted, however, and, as he sat in silence, its nature changed.

“You should have let me die with them,” Thaddeus said at last.

“To what end, Brother Thaddeus?” the Soul asked. “Haven't I made it clear that you are still needed?”

“Another can find the Wanderer as well as I. My place was dying beside my brothers, dying to defend what I swore an oath to protect. You had no right to intervene.”

“No right? No right? Brother Thaddeus, do you know what I am without the Conclave? Do you?”

Thaddeus, surprised by the Soul's sudden outburst, didn't answer.

“I'll tell you what I am. Nothing. Without the mages and their spells, I will diminish. Oh, it won't happen all at once – me being here and speaking to you should be proof of that – but it will happen. And, once I am gone, there will be nothing of the Conclave left. Everything it ever stood for will be forgotten. As the Soul of the Conclave, and as, perhaps, the lone entity in the entire kingdom certain of the Wanderer's existence, I could not allow that. And so I spared you, the last of the Holy Knights, in the hopes that everything will not be forgotten.” The Soul grew quiet, studying Thaddeus with eyes that Thaddeus only just then realized glowed with a piercing blue light. “Will you do what I ask, Brother Thaddeus? Will you find the Wanderer? Or should I lock the door of this cell and leave you to rot, waiting for an execution that may never come?”

An execution that may never come. The dark powers that had destroyed the Conclave and seized control of the kingdom – demonic magic users who called themselves the Order of the Crimson Serpent – had had a month, now, to execute Thaddeus, and they never had. They hadn't forgotten about him completely – he was still given food and water, and there was always a guard posted outside his cell – but it was clear that his death had ceased to be a priority for them. Leaving him to rot would serve the same ends for them as a public execution, particularly if they had encountered little resistance following the fall of the Conclave. If I don't go, the deaths of the others will be meaningless. I owe it to them to at least try and do as the Soul asks.

“I'll do it,” Thaddeus said. “I'll go.”

The Soul smiled. “I knew you would.”

“Where should I go once I leave here?”

“Head east, perhaps back to the village where you were born. From there, I cannot say.”

“How long will I have?”

“That's anyone's guess. Not even I can predict what the Order of the Crimson Serpent's next move will be. Be as quick in your search as you can, but also be thorough. No credible lead should be ignored, no matter how small.”

“That could take me months.”

“It could. Let's just pray that it doesn't.”

Thaddeus stood and moved toward the door of the cell. When he nudged it, it swung outward slightly, creaking on its hinges. Outside, he could hear the guard snoring. Turning back for a moment, he said, “I've never been much for prayer, you know.”

“Well,” the Soul said, “it's never too late to start. Good luck, Brother Thaddeus.”

Thaddeus smiled. “Luck,” he said. “Now there's something I've always had faith in.” He turned to go.

“Wait,” the Soul said.

Thaddeus looked back.

“Make your way to the armory on your way out. I left something for you there that may prove invaluable.”

“Like what?”

The Soul gave its mischievous smile. “You'll know it when you see it.” And, with that, the Soul vanished.