"The reality of it all is that, for now, you need to be more of a blademaster. Learn how to use weapons while keeping well clear of magelords." The knight stared at Lindley and sighed before continuing. "At the least, wait until you've developed and learned how to control your own magical powers. If you can't, you're just knocking on heaven's door."
"How do you know I have magical powers?"
"You're a Stormfire of the empyrean bloodline. What do you think?"
"Hmm.."
"You should be able to survive more than one battle, when your enemies come looking for you. Although most of them would be hired mercenaries who aren't much in a fight, like yourself, they could easily kill you. So, go to the Ivory hills and offer the services of your blade to the renegades for at least two years to learn how to be a good survivor for what it takes."
"You want me to become a renegade?" Lindley asked in surprise, his mind on the greater risks associated with being an outlaw. "But don't they kill outlaws?"
"Yes, kid, they do. But what choice do you have? You see, In the cities and their outlets, everything is under the claws of the wizards who are affiliated to the pretenders, especially the ruling pretender. Evil rules, kid, and if good men like you want to stay alive, and not dead, they must become outlaws. So I advise you to become one, a really good one." He stared at Lindley grimly and added, "If you survive that ordeal, then travel all over Azmar and the lands beyond until you find a weapon powerful enough to kill an undying warlock. Once you have it, come back and face the undying dragonking."
"Face who?"
"The undying dragonking whose name I can't mention. He's probably the most powerful of the magic wielders. According to the legends, he was born with the draconian bloodline, and also received the sorcerer and paladin classes. Yet he learned the ways of the druids too. He became an ancient paladin, a divine sorcerer and a draconian. He combined them all to become an undying warlock. His draconian form has already reached the immortal stage."
"You said you don't know the names of magelords." Lindley eyed him with sudden glows in his eyes. "Then, how did you know of the undying dragonking? Is this what you call the the truth, sir knight?"
"Truth?!" Byram spat aside, into the darkness, and leaned forward. "Just what is the meaning of truth, boy?"
"Truth means truth?" Lindley frowned, and answered icily. "Is there any other hidden meanings to it?"
"Truth is a weapon, kid." Byram replied. "Don't forget that."
There was a long silence as the two of them were lost in thoughts, and then Lindley said, "How much else of all your words can I believe? About my bloodline and the pretenders?"
Byram hid a smile as he looked at Lindley whose voice then grew quiet. He could see deadly glitters in them that indicated desperation. The knight knew there was no ranting about this one. The boy deserved a straight answer which was fair enough.
"All of it. As far as I know." The knight simply answered. "And if you're still in need of the names to exert your revenge on, you may add the two names I'm about to give you to the list. They are abjurer Blagden the flame-shaper, and conjurer Calder the frozen-reaper. But I don't know their faces, even if I bumped into them inside a tavern or a brothel."
Lindley regarded the unshaven, roughly dressed man steadily. "You are not what I expected a knight who had served the court to be."
"Were you expecting a knight in a shining armor, sitting on a white horse as tall as a hut, well manners and noble ways?" Byram met the boy's gaze squarely. "I've left the royal service behind since the death of the queen of the moon hunts."
"Who?"
"I forget you know nothing of your own ancestral lineage and realm" Byram sighed and stared into distance. "Queen Avira, your grandmother and Godric's queen. She was the mistress of all his moon hunts, and the most beautiful lady I've ever seen."
"Okay." Suddenly, Lindley got up and dusted his attire. "Many thanks for your kindness, honoured knight. Let me be on my way before your fellow adventurers return from their plunder of Waterpond. If it's the will of the gods, we shall meet again."
The knight looked up at him. "I hope so, young one. I hope so. I look forward to the day when Azmar will be free of the evil in it. Then me and my fellows, the true knights of the kingdom of Azmar, can ride again."
"I look forward to the day too."
"Be careful not to be seen. Move at twilight, dusk and dawn. Keep to fields and forest, and beware of the armed patrol. Out there, they'll kill you first, then ask your corpse questions later." Byram held out his hands. The urn was in one, and a roasted rabbit leg in the other. "Remember, most of the armsmen the magic wielders hired are not knights of Azmar, they have no honor."
Lindley took the meat and the urn. Their eyes met, and he nodded his thanks.
"Remember," Byram said, "tell no one your true name, and don't go around asking foolish questions about pretenders or magelords. Be discreet until you're strong enough and better equipped."
Lindley gave a slight bow. "Thank you, Sir Knight. You have my trust." He turned and walked towards the mouth of the cavern.
"Wait..." The knight smiled and stopped Lindley. He reached into his bag of holding, brought out a steel sword and presented the hilt to the boy. "Here, take this sword. You'll need it on your journey. Keep the Harbinger blade out of sight, your life may depend on this."
Thank you, sir half-knight." Lindley stopped and turned, trying hard to contain his excitement to no avail. Any form of security is fine by him. Lindley smiled broadly and swung the longsword through the air with both hands. It felt reassuringly deadly. And with it in his hands, he felt assured to some degree.
He slashed the sword at a phantom enemy and followed it with a thrust. The stances he learnt from his father.
"Hmm." Byram gave him a fierce grin. "Alright, you can go now. May the gods watch over you, young prince of Azmar."
"And you too, sir knight." Lindley took a few steps out into the mountain's meadow and then spun around, grinning back at the knight. Then he turned again to the sunlit meadow, the sheathed sword carefully cradled in his hands, and ran.