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Authors: Tim Waggoner
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mind was swirling.
“Can’t sleep?” Catriona asked.
“This is probably going to sound strange, but I’m not sure how to sleep,” Nearra said. She was so frustrated and frightened she thought she might cry. “I don’t remember ever falling asleep before. I can’t even remember where I spent last night.”
Nearra rolled over to face Catriona and saw that the warrior was lying on her side, head propped on her hand. “So you truly have no memories at all?”
“I have no personal memories beyond knowing my name. But I have many general ones.”
“Like how to speak, how to walk, and how to feed yourself?”
“Yes, things like that, but nothing about my past. It’s awful not knowing.”
Catriona was silent for a moment. “You might not believe this, Nearra, but in a way, I envy you.”
Nearra was shocked by the warrior’s words. “You’re right—I don’t believe it.”
“Tell me, Nearra, do you recall anything about the Solamnic. Knights?”
“The name sounds somewhat familiar, but—no, I don’t.”
“They are an ancient and revered order of fighting men and women dedicated to protecting the weak and downtrodden and upholding the highest standards of morality and chivalry. At least, that’s what they once were. After the Cataclysm—a time of great destruction throughout Ansalon—the Knights lost the respect of the people for not being able to, or as some said, being unwilling to do anything to prevent the Cataclysm. For centuries after, the Solamnic Knights were reviled by the folk of Ansalon, but then came the War of the Lance, and the Solamnic Knight known as Sturm Brightblade. It is mainly thanks to him that the knighthood regained its honor. Today the Solamnic Knights seek to restore their order to its former glory.”
“And … you are one of these Knights?” Nearra guessed.
“No!” Catriona practically shouted. Then, in a calmer voice, she said, “But I was in training to become one.”
Catriona fell silent, and Nearra thought the girl would say no more, but then Catriona took a deep breath and continued her story.
“I was a squire who served a Solamnic Knight named Leyana. She was also my aunt. One day we were patrolling the plains on horseback, searching for a group of bandits that had been harassing trading caravans. We found the bandits easily enough, or rather, they found us. They attacked, and I became frightened. I tried to flee, but as I started to ride away, the bandit leader caught my horse’s bridle and stopped me.
“He pulled me from my horse, disarmed me, and set me on hismount in front of his saddle. He pulled a dagger, pressed it to my throat, and ordered my aunt to surrender or else he would kill me. I wanted to shout for my aunt to ignore the bandit’s command, but I was too terrified to speak. My aunt didn’t hesitate; she dropped her sword—” Catriona reached out and patted her sword in its sheath lying beside her. “The same sword I carry today. My aunt then raised her hands and surrendered.”
Catriona stopped speaking, and even with the moonlight, it was too dim in the room for Nearra to tell for certain if her friend was crying. Nearra decided to pretend that she wasn’t, for the sake of the warrior’s dignity.
“What happened then?” Nearra asked in a soft voice.
“Two of the bandits killed my aunt before my eyes while the bandit leader laughed. I feared I was to be slain as well, but the surviving bandits, seeing how grief-stricken I was, thought it more amusing to let me live. The bandit leader threw me to the ground and they rode off laughing.
“I wept and cursed the bandits, though I knew it was my own cowardice that had caused my aunt’s death. After a time, I stopped crying. I draped my aunt’s body over her horse’s saddle, tied her securely so she wouldn’t slip off, and began the long ride back home. I told the other Knights what had happened, and after my aunt’s funeral service, I took her sword, an old chain mail vest
“Can’t sleep?” Catriona asked.
“This is probably going to sound strange, but I’m not sure how to sleep,” Nearra said. She was so frustrated and frightened she thought she might cry. “I don’t remember ever falling asleep before. I can’t even remember where I spent last night.”
Nearra rolled over to face Catriona and saw that the warrior was lying on her side, head propped on her hand. “So you truly have no memories at all?”
“I have no personal memories beyond knowing my name. But I have many general ones.”
“Like how to speak, how to walk, and how to feed yourself?”
“Yes, things like that, but nothing about my past. It’s awful not knowing.”
Catriona was silent for a moment. “You might not believe this, Nearra, but in a way, I envy you.”
Nearra was shocked by the warrior’s words. “You’re right—I don’t believe it.”
“Tell me, Nearra, do you recall anything about the Solamnic. Knights?”
“The name sounds somewhat familiar, but—no, I don’t.”
“They are an ancient and revered order of fighting men and women dedicated to protecting the weak and downtrodden and upholding the highest standards of morality and chivalry. At least, that’s what they once were. After the Cataclysm—a time of great destruction throughout Ansalon—the Knights lost the respect of the people for not being able to, or as some said, being unwilling to do anything to prevent the Cataclysm. For centuries after, the Solamnic Knights were reviled by the folk of Ansalon, but then came the War of the Lance, and the Solamnic Knight known as Sturm Brightblade. It is mainly thanks to him that the knighthood regained its honor. Today the Solamnic Knights seek to restore their order to its former glory.”
“And … you are one of these Knights?” Nearra guessed.
“No!” Catriona practically shouted. Then, in a calmer voice, she said, “But I was in training to become one.”
Catriona fell silent, and Nearra thought the girl would say no more, but then Catriona took a deep breath and continued her story.
“I was a squire who served a Solamnic Knight named Leyana. She was also my aunt. One day we were patrolling the plains on horseback, searching for a group of bandits that had been harassing trading caravans. We found the bandits easily enough, or rather, they found us. They attacked, and I became frightened. I tried to flee, but as I started to ride away, the bandit leader caught my horse’s bridle and stopped me.
“He pulled me from my horse, disarmed me, and set me on hismount in front of his saddle. He pulled a dagger, pressed it to my throat, and ordered my aunt to surrender or else he would kill me. I wanted to shout for my aunt to ignore the bandit’s command, but I was too terrified to speak. My aunt didn’t hesitate; she dropped her sword—” Catriona reached out and patted her sword in its sheath lying beside her. “The same sword I carry today. My aunt then raised her hands and surrendered.”
Catriona stopped speaking, and even with the moonlight, it was too dim in the room for Nearra to tell for certain if her friend was crying. Nearra decided to pretend that she wasn’t, for the sake of the warrior’s dignity.
“What happened then?” Nearra asked in a soft voice.
“Two of the bandits killed my aunt before my eyes while the bandit leader laughed. I feared I was to be slain as well, but the surviving bandits, seeing how grief-stricken I was, thought it more amusing to let me live. The bandit leader threw me to the ground and they rode off laughing.
“I wept and cursed the bandits, though I knew it was my own cowardice that had caused my aunt’s death. After a time, I stopped crying. I draped my aunt’s body over her horse’s saddle, tied her securely so she wouldn’t slip off, and began the long ride back home. I told the other Knights what had happened, and after my aunt’s funeral service, I took her sword, an old chain mail vest
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