CALLEREO

Chapter 1

Year 6024

“You got in some really good punches at me today,” Brutus said rolling his arm, his other hand over his shoulder.

Captain Silver, a young eighteen year old knight, approached the table with a tray of cups and set it down in the center before handing one to both Brutus and Rosco. Silver took a seat between the two and took the last cup. Though Silver was four years older then Brutus and Rosco the three of them were inseparable.

“Someone has to give you a challenge,” Silver said.

“But did you have to hit me so hard?” Brutus groaned, taking his hand from his shoulder and reaching for his cup.

Rosco sat watching his cousin Brutus, a prince of Balkanos, and Silver, their friend and Brutus’s personal guard, continue squabbling over the practices they had moved through earlier.

“I hope they give us a break tomorrow,” Rosco said and put his head in his hands with a sigh. They were sitting in the Lodge, one of the common areas where the knights-in-training went to relax after the day had finished.

“You two are weak,” Silver mumbled and took a sip of his ale.

“Weak?” Brutus turned to Silver with a narrowed look.

“The truth hurts, doesn’t it Brutus?”

Rosco’s cousin Brutus was one of the five princes of the royal family and could be arrogant and impulsive. His father, King Cecero, had sent him to receive training in the army, thinking it would change Brutus, but they’d been there for three years and Rosco hadn’t seen any difference in Brutus’s thinking or attitude. He could be brash and violent when angry, which sometimes worked in their favor to get them out of practices, but not always. At the moment, Brutus’s temper was docile while he spoke with Silver about different sword maneuvers.

The Lodge was one of the more busier buildings in the Von Durkham Compound, the area on the lord’s estate where the royal army trained. Many knights-in-training would come after the long day of practices and training drills to relax by the large fire and tell stories into the night on lighter training days. The main house of the Von Durkham’s, a long, large structure of elaborate architecture, stood some horse lengths away and could cast a shadow over the rows of barracks during the daylight.

“I think I want to work with the sword tomorrow,” Brutus said.

“You may not have a choice if they decide to make us run laps again,” Rosco said.

Brutus clicked his tongue in agitation. “We’ll see.”

It was the end of a long day of running through the hills around the Von Durkham’s Estate and Rosco, like Brutus, did not want to have to do it all again tomorrow. At his father;s request, Rosco had joined the army to accompany Brutus and at first had been hesitant, but over the last twenty-seven months Rosco had found hardship and pain but even at times, excitement, of training with his cousin, the two of them growing close like they were brothers. When they had met Silver Von Durkham, a cousin to the main family who owned the Estate, Silver just fell in with them like he had been their companion all along.

The three of them went silent as voices at a nearby table rose with intrigue.

“…they said it was a weapon of the gods, that he used.”

“Really?”

Brutus leaned across the table and whispered to Rosco and Silver, “What do you think they’re talking about?”

Rosco shrugged and they continued to listen.

“Where did you hear this?” one said.

“Darren was talking about it the other day.”

“And he said it was a weapon of the gods?”

“Yes. He didn’t know what it did, but he swore it was said to be magical.”

“I wonder what it does.”

Brutus leaned over and tapped the knight who had spoken about it initially.

The knight turned and exclaimed, “My prince!” He quickly made a fist over his heart. The other three at the table with him repeated the gesture. It was the salute to a royal.

“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but what were you saying about a magical weapon?”

“Oh, we were talking about a knife called Callereo.”

“Callereo?” Brutus repeated, almost tasting the word.

“Could you tell us more about it?” Rosco asked, interested after hearing what the knight had said about it.

“Sure,” the knight nodded and shuffled his chair to see them better. “It’s a myth about a man named Laszlo, and it’s not a very long tale, I am going to say. This man had this knife in his possession, no one knows how it came to his person, but he was traveling when he encountered a group of bandits who attacked him. It’s said he used the knife to fend them off, I don’t know how much of this is true. The only other thing is the man swore the knife was from the gods, but there isn’t anything to prove that what he said was true.” The knight fell silent, faced with three pairs of anticipating eyes staring back. He added, “That’s all I have for you.”

“There wasn’t anything magical in that tale,” Brutus said pointing a finger and downing the rest of his drink.

“Yes, my prince. I know,” the man looked nervous, as if talking to Brutus could get him in trouble.

Rosco’s cousin wasn’t a bad person, or a scary person, Brutus only being fourteen of age, and the man they spoke with had to be in his forties, but Brutus was a prince. And his father was known for his irrational behavior. The king had been known to strike a man down with his own hand just for looking at him the wrong way.

The men didn’t know that Brutus’s father, King Cecero, may not have cared that they spoke with his son, but most agreed it was best not to do anything, even so simple, to take that chance. As it were, Brutus was usually not approached unless it was unavoidable, or they would speak with Silver first, or even Rosco, before attempting conversation with Brutus. They were always polite enough, meek usually, but respectful. Brutus would often keep to himself only speaking with Rosco and Silver due to it, also not wanting to anger his father for any reason.

“I just thought I should point that out,” Brutus said and looked at Rosco with a shrug.

“Is there anything you know of that describes how it is magical? Besides being from the gods?” Rosco asked.

“I am afraid not, my lord,” the knight said addressing Rosco. “But, Darren,” the knight pointed to the larger knight a few tables down. “He was the one who told me about it. He may know more. I was only repeating what I overheard from him.”

Rosco nodded and thanked the knight and turned back to Brutus and Silver.

“Interesting thing to think about. A magical weapon, said to be from the gods, floating around somewhere,” Brutus said.

“I wish he knew more about it but I am really curious to know if Darren knows anything else.”

“You can go ask him if you want,” Brutus said. “I will stay here though. Let me know what you find out.”

Rosco considered passing on the idea but the thought lingered in his mind and its claws had attached. He wanted to know more.

“Okay, I will be back,” Rosco said with hardly contained excitement. He pushed his chair in as he stood and walked over to the large knight.

The man was a whole head taller than him, even already being taller than average himself. The man also seemed to double Rosco in size and it was all muscle.

“Excuse me, Sir Darren?”

It took one of the knights who faced Darren to notice Rosco and finally waved to Darren who had been laughing loudly at something one of them had said before he turned around.

“High Evening, my lord,” Darren said and the other two with him nodded and mumbled greetings.

Rosco rubbed his hands together a giddy nervousness about him all of a sudden. “I apologize for intruding but I heard something rather intriguing and I heard that you may know more about it. A magical knife called Callereo?”

“Ah yes! But I honestly don’t know that much about it. I heard it from an old man passing through the town the other night and he didn’t have too much to say on it either. He’d been muttering to himself and sat down at my table and just started talking. So everything I heard from him is what I know. What the old man said was, there was a man named Laszlo who encountered a group of bandits. He fought them off using a special knife said to be from the gods. When he struck the bandits the blade would sparkle with something Laszlo could only describe as magic.” Darren fell silent.

Rosco waited a few seconds and was about to speak when Darren cut him off.

“Sorry, my lord, but that was all the old man said. It’s all I know.”

“That’s alright!” Rosco put up both of his hands. “Thank you for telling me what you know!” He left and returned to the table.

“Did you learn anything else?” Brutus asked. At some point, during the few minutes Rosco had been speaking with Darren, another tray of drinks had been served to the table.

“Just some magical lights.” Rosco quickly told Brutus and Silver what Darren had said.

“An old man just walks into town and mumbles about a magical weapon?” Silver Shrugged. “I guess it’s possible.”

Rosco took his seat and the night continued, the three of them barely talking about the knife again.

The next morning as Rosco pushed the sheets off him he heard Silver move around their room over to Brutus’s bed to wake him. It was almost thirty minutes before the three of them were outside standing with the other knights in training. And they couldn’t have been happier to hear the words they were going to be sparring that day with swords.

The wooden weapons were handed out to each and Rosco was paired up with a knight named Tristan.

The two of them faced off, slowly circling the other, keeping their eyes locked on the other. Rosco waited for Tristan to make the first move.

Tristan was around Rosco’s height and weight, a tall, thin man, and only few years older than him. Tristan shifted his feet and rushed forward with a yell. He had his sword over his shoulder getting ready to hit Rosco with a downward strike. Rosco moved to meet him and easily barred the attack, meeting it head on. Rosco could see from the corner of his eye, Brutus and Silver trading strikes with rapid swiftness. Tristan pulled away, his attention also caught by Brutus and Silver’s displays of swordsmanship. It was something only seen with seasoned knights. Strikes that were fast and hard. Loud knocks from the wooden weapons echoed in each direction as one struck and the other blocked the swing.

Tristan’s sword dipped, his attention fully on Rosco’s cousin and he too stopped to watch the exciting display of attacks.

Brutus swung the blade down and Silver stepped to the side bringing his up in hopes to catch Brutus off guard, but Brutus had anticipated Silver’s feint. He let his sword carry for just a moment longer, making Silver think he’d fallen for it, but then shifted with one foot and brought the blade back in a quick up cut.

Rosco could see other pairs stopping to watch as well. He even saw a group far off by the house and imagined one of the three generals, Ilian Von Durham might be among the them. Ilian Von Durkham was head of the main Von Durkham branch and lord of the compound they trained on. But the group of three were too far away and Rosco couldn’t discern who the men were.

Silver danced away from Brutus who easily loped along right behind him. He swung with every other step, Silver now on the defense as Brutus’s attacks became even quicker. At fourteen his cousin was amazing at sword fighting. But he had been trained by one of the best swordmasters before the man had been brutally killed by Brutus’s own father when he had learned Brutus was treating him more of a father than he did his real father. Cecero put an end to that very quickly and it had damaged Brutus. Brutus began to close himself off and only kept to a very select few, mostly just his brothers, his three cousins, and one or two friends he had outside of the castle.

Sand shifted under their feet from their wild dance. Rosco heard a couple of cheers as Silver managed an offensive strike. It was surprising to hear the men were gambling on who would win the bout. Rosco snickered to himself already knowing the outcome. There was no way someone would beat Brutus. Silver was good, but he wasn’t good enough to beat Brutus.

Brutus hammered Silver with a barrage of attacks. Silver whirled around and hopped backwards but Brutus kept pace with him.

Rosco watched as Brutus moved his free hand to grip the handle with both. He knew Brutus was getting ready for his finishing strike.

Brutus whipped his sword to the side and sprang forward all seeming like one fluid move. He drove his sword at Silver who parried each sharp thrust just barely, until Brutus, using all his strength, the muscles in his arms bulging, threw his whole being into the wide strike. His sword caught Silver’s and the speed and force behind it threw the blade clean from Silver’s hands.

Brutus leveled the tip of the sword with Silver’s chest, both of them panting heavily from the exertion.

A roar of clapping hands ran through the knights watching. Brutus clapped a hand in Silver’s, the two of them grinning. Silver turned to search for where his sword flew off to.

As the knights around them began returning to their duels Rosco turned back to continue his with Tristan. His mind was only partially on the fight in front of him. A part of him, after seeing Brutus and Silver spar he couldn’t stop imagining a knife, sparkling with magic as it was swung.

They were given a break a few hours later and Rosco found Brutus and Silver by one of the water barrels.

“Rosco, you know what I’ve been thinking about,” Brutus said as Rosco reached for a spoon of the cool water. Rosco watched a bead of persperation drip down his temple.

“What’s that?”

“If I ever got the chance, I would love to go on a quest. It wouldn’t matter what kind of quest, I just want to go on a quest. Some kind of journey. Something really epic.”

“What kind of quest are you thinking about?”

With a dangerous gleam in his eyes Brutus said, “Wouldn’t it be a story if we were to have to rescue a princess from certain death?”