Failed Rituals

The blade flew out of my hands for the umpteenth time, leaving me wondering if I was ever fit to be a knight. For a man in his late fifties, Sir Michael was as vibrant and springy as ever.

He never went easy on me, but today he seemed much more aggressive than usual. If we weren't sparring with straw swords, I would have thought he was trying to kill me.

We had gone down to a small stretch of grass behind the castle to spar, as we usually did. He had wanted to do so in the courtyard, but I didn't want the princess to see me getting embarrassed. It was a good thing I had chosen not to. His unusual aggressiveness would have made me look like a jester.

I hung my head low and went to pick up the weapon, but he grabbed my arm, stopping me. Like before, he had a look of worry on his face, like there was something he wanted to say but couldn't. I frowned, tilting my head as if to ask what was going on.

"Let's cease training for now," he said. "I have a few things I want to tell you before we start for the city square." His eyes seemed to harden on the last part.

"And what would that be?" I was eager to listen, hopeful he was finally about to pour out what hadn't and clear my mind once and for all.

Sir Michael sat down on the ground, stretching out across the grass. I sat beside him, silently wondering how he could feel comfortable lying down in full armor.

"It's not," he grunted, shifting positions.

I blinked, confused. "Not what?"

"It's not comfortable. That's what you were wondering, wasn't it?"

I nodded but said nothing.

"Quite infuriating. I only get to take off this blasted armor when the King is comfortably snuggled in bed." He shifted positions again, this time turning to his right side, facing Miles. "Has to be the most discouraging thing about this job."

"But it's honorable," I said.

"Bah. It's only honorable when we fight!" He slammed his fist against the ground. "Parading about a King who only does what's best for himself isn't as honorable as you'd think."

I looked around instinctively, like someone would hear us. Just like Grandmother, Sir Michael shared the same sentiments about the King. And it wasn't just him. His entire king's guard, as well as servants and knights under his employ, whispered about his decline.

It wasn't just his lavish spending that caused most people to lose respect for him. It was the numerous deaths he had brought upon people simply for committing the littlest of offenses. There was a servant of his who bumped into him once while coming out of a corner. He was charged with a public execution the next day, his head chopped off for such a slight mistake.

More of that happened whenever the King was around, which caused major unrest among most people. I thought about what would happen when his actions overshadowed the legacy he had built. Lahore was a powerful nation thanks to his efforts, which was why nobody had decided to make an attempt to overthrow him yet.

"What are you thinking about this time?" Sir Michael cut off my train of thought. "Don't let me discourage you from becoming a knight. Just prepare yourself for years without a single taste of the action."

"At least my grandmother would be happy," I shrugged, to which he laughed.

"True." His eyes then lit up. "Now, to what I wanted to talk to you about."

I leaned forward, eager to listen. He let silence fill the air as he built up tension and anticipation in a dramatic manner. He smiled, watching as I stiffened up, my face scrunching up in concentration.

"There have been reports of a mass massacre of a cult somewhere north of Kasavia," he said, finally breaking the silence. "It's currently a rumor among the common folk, but it will soon become a reality."

"The queen was talking to Grandmother about this." I looked down, trying to recall what they said. "They sent me off while discussing, but I think the queen said something about the bodies."

"She sent you off for a good reason," he nodded. "It was supposedly a sight of nightmares."

I remained silent, wondering how horrible it must have been to have been causing panic.

"Trying to open a gateway to another world, they said. A bunch of rubbish if you ask me." Sir Michael spat on the ground in annoyance. "What could they possibly gain from such?"

"More space for humanity?" I suggested, but he waved me off.

"There are thousands of places we're yet to explore," he said, looking slightly agitated now. "I do not want to believe in such nonsense, but it makes me wonder. What would happen if they succeeded?"

The thought hadn't crossed my mind as well, but that was because I was firmly rooted in the belief that it was impossible for such to happen in the first place.

"Creatures from another world would take over?" I said, unconvinced. It sounded like utter nonsense.

"You need to open your mind up more, Miles." Sir Michael had noticed my doubtful demeanor. "Never say never," he added with a wink.

I rolled my eyes. "Maybe they succeeded, and they were torn apart by the creatures."

Smiling, he patted me on the shoulder. "See? Doesn't hurt to let your imagination run wild, aye?"

"Nonetheless," he was serious again, "it is quite problematic having something like this happen nearly six months ago and we're just hearing about it now."

"Six months?"

"I'm as surprised as you are," he said. "Either the people from Kasavia intentionally withheld the information from us, or they simply didn't find out about it till now."

"Why would they withhold information?" I asked, confused.

Kasavia always kept us well-informed on various matters. Lahore traded with them freely, and they did the same to us. The King had formed a close bond with the King of Kasavia, having been close comrades when war raged across the lands. They had never once kept anything from us, and we had never done the same.

"I can only assume their King was also involved with the ritual," Sir Michael grumbled. "But don't say anything about this to anyone. The King won't have anyone speaking ill of his friend."

"I won't say a thing," I promised him.

It wasn't like I intended to in the first place. I hardly had any friends to speak to because most of the people my age thought I was stuck since I went to the castle every day. I guess I did come across as snobbish, so I wasn't bothered about it much.

Sir Michael struggled to his feet, dusting off dirt from his armor. "Come on, then. We'll be heading for the town square in a bit."

I got to my feet, dusting dirt off my clothes. Grandmother would be angry if she spotted the smallest stain, but that wasn't what was running through my mind at the moment.

I had chosen to dismiss it before, but now it was stuck in my mind.

What if the ritual hadn't failed?