Pattern

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Though labyrinthine end draws near
No time for joy, don't shed a tear
Hold your resolve and tight to skill
Banish the daemon known as fear

Chaos closes round and round
Malfeasance and temptation bound
Your weapon, shield, and banner: Will
Hold the line and give no ground

Let inspiration be your light
When time has come to stand, to fight
With faith you pray, with sword you drill
And none can touch that burgeoning might

Lock step with those who came before
In time of peace prepare for war
The space for compromise is nil
Be ready with the Lion's roar

All that may ever lie in you
Is forfeit for your mission true
In sacrifice pay butcher's bill
No room for less in all you do

Through turbulent youth and closing dark
Did lessons come to light your spark
Of confusion drink your fill
And fulfill the story's arc

The young man chooses right and wrong
Bow, Tank, Chill, make weak, make strong
Entangled feelings can thou kill
Jewel, Flame, and Sight, verses in song

Some friends, some foes, some share both tints
Too swirled, can’t tell, howe’er one squints
‘Ware those who rashness do instill
Though met with duel or Junior Mints

No experience e’er a waste
Each a spice, exotic taste
Though sometimes seems a bitter pill
To be digested not in haste

Or mayhap logarithmic ride
With variables piled side-by-side
Computations for your quill
From which never can you hide

So through gauntlet of school’s trials
Passed with words, or steel, or wiles
Like grain passed through grinding mill
Tests remembered, oft with smiles

Fond remembrance, blue, white, gold
Shout the cry of Flyers bold
Over ocean, over hill
Let those memories be told

All those things are with us still.

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Para su cielo

The castle was old; the cracked walls, windowsills, and ledges were practically a ladder up what was ostensibly its first line of defense: the guard tower. Once up high enough that the arrow slits became actual windows, the intruder waited, pressed up against the warm stone as the sun set. Finally, twilight set in, with the low sun providing heavily shadowed light, but more than enough to keep guards from thinking to light the torches. It was time.

He waited until he heard footsteps moving away from the window, then put his toes spaced just so on the ledge he had to work with. When the cadence of the footsteps altered, bunched muscle launched him forward. He catapulted into the back of the off-balanced guard and they went tumbling. As the guard sprawled, the intruder rolled and sprung up, hand already drawing his blade. It found the chin of the sputtering guard before he had time to really cry out, its sharp point drawing his eyes before they traveled the length of the steel leveled against him to the man wielding it. The intruder was caped and cowled, but there was something familiar, and that mask…

The stranger put a finger to his lips, admonishing the guard to keep his silence. Unfortunately, the guard was more loyal than wise, and the stranger made an unseen sour face as a simple shift of his weight drove the point home into the now-gurgling throat before the guard more than half drew the breath that he would have used to call for help. With a sigh, he wiped his sword on the guard's tunic and slipped out onto the parapet. He stood in the shadow of the doorway, surveying his route. The intruder had been to this castle before. He knew the layout. Knew his path. But now was the time to see any last-minute obstacles before he was committed. There were none, or at least none he hadn't expected to some degree. He sprung into action.

A sprint a third of the way along the wall, and a leap off…landing and instinctively rolling to bleed momentum onto the stable roof, sliding to a stop. A crouching rush to the edge, careful of the old shingles, and then off the roof the stranger slipped, deftly grabbing a rope hanging from the hayloft and touching down lightly. Deserted streets; the banquet at the central keep would occupy most, and the rest would be taking advantage of the deserted streets created by those occupied by the banquet. People were what they were, and he thanked the Lord even as he apologized. Still, he drew his cape tightly around him, pulled his cowl down low, and moved through the deepening shadows.

The next part would be the simplest and trickiest. What he had to do would be simple, but the chances for it to go all wrong…

He slipped off the cowl, and his mask, and walked straight for the kitchens entrance and well shed. A multitude of servants milled about, taking time to commiserate and share gossip while out of view of their masters. He strode into the scene, and before most had glanced up bellowed "Garcia! Garcia, lazy good-for-nothing I will have you flogged!" The bellow was more than loud enough to have been heard across the chaos of battle; many of the servants jumped. He wasn't surprised, however, that many were inured enough to such treatment that they barely looked up.

"I know you are all hiding him, and I will report this to your masters if you do not bring him out right this moment."
One of the servants, long-suffering look turning to a frozen mask of polite helpfulness, figured he'd better take care of this and approached the intruder before things got out of hand and their haven was ruined. The stranger had counted on this. "Milord, we do not know where your…Garcia?...is, but I would be glad to help-"

"A likely story. And now you will take me on a wild goose chase around the whole of the keep, while that slugabout takes advantage of my forbearance. I'll not have it!"

"Milord, if you could just-"

"Not have it I tell you! Where do you commons have your low gambling games? I know they are here somewhere, so do not try to obfuscate me!"

"Well, I…"

"Feh. Must be waiting till the serving maids ply and intelligent conversation keeps us more occupied before starting on your petty gambling. Fine. Take me to the upper level. If he is not wasting his money as well as my time, he is probably hiding in one of the alcoves sleeping his time away."

"Uh…I…"

"Just take me, fool!"

"Sir, if you'll follow me…"

The servant took him through the crowded rear hallways as servants scurried to and fro on myriad errands. After a trip up the poorly lit servant's stairway, the servant who had sacrificed himself to get rid of the loud interloper waved at the upper level, bowed, and after a curt nod from the stranger hurried away. The intruder smiled; now he could use the cover of the large alcoves set into the walls of this upper level which overlooked the main hall. First, though, he surveyed the situation.

One guard was on this level, leaning on a railing and mostly keeping himself occupied by watching the proceedings below. He seemed to not even have noticed the stranger's presence. Looking down himself, the stranger noted a few other guards, most visibly annoyed at not being able to partake of the festivities. All the better. The tables were arranged in a fairly traditional manner, and it didn't take him long to spot the important players in this night's work: the lord of the keep, the lord's brother, and last but not least the lady whose rescue had driven him here to begin with. He took a moment to linger on her jet-black hair, olive skin, piercing crystal blue eyes, and then retreated to a shadowy alcove to await the proper moment for the next stage.

Guests arrived, were seated. Music played, though the focus at this stage was still conversation, trading of news and rumor. He was sure a lot of it would turn towards the lord's captive, and himself for that matter, but he couldn't make out much more than the random word or boisterous declaration. The overall noise was too great. Finally, though, the conversation became more muted, the music came to a close. When only murmurs were left, he could hear the Lord begin to deliver the welcome.

"Thank you all for your attendance to this small celebration. I hope you all find my hospitality worthy of your august personages. You honor my hall tonight. We shall celebrate our victory over the Queen's lackey, as I so dub it, for without the support of you all I could not have achieved what I have done. So," a pause, "to our present victory, and further victory to come! Salud!"

A loud chorus of "Salud" rang out, as the guests partook of the toast. The time was nearly ripe, and the sun well set. The intruder glanced at the guard. Still focused on the festivities, though he did absently glance about now and again. He would have to go.

"Excuse me, my good man, but do you know where the privy is? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with the layout here."

The guard stiffened in surprise, but then endeavored to cover it. By his quickly adopted ingratiating smile, he seemed to believe he was about to be delivered from his boredom, perhaps even given an excuse to grab some of the feast. He was right on the first point…the second would be vastly disappointed.

Once within the guard's reach, the intruder drew his blade. The guard squawked in surprise, but far from loud enough to be audible down on the main floor. The conversation had started up again in the wake of the toast. He undoubtedly would have raised a louder cry, but a flash of cold steel ended that possibility. One more thing before the final phase and the intruder had no intention of being discovered before that occurred.

He went around the level, slicing several ropes so that it would take but a sharp tug to complete their severing. A couple of others he simply untied, or tied together in a chain. Finally, he removed a small bundle of gunpowder from where it had been secured around his waist and put it in an alcove, running the long fuse to the railing. He secured it there. Nodding, he looked down at the feast from behind the railing, again taking a moment to gaze at the lady of the jet-black hair, who appeared both angry and bored, before re-familiarizing himself with the location of the guards and major players. Finally, moving back to the alcove he had hid in earlier, he pulled off his travel-stained cape and took out the small bundle in the large interior pocket. After untying the bundle, he put on the pristine white tabard with the large red lion blazoned on the front which had been inside, then donned once more his mask. He threw the cape into the alcove and pulled out the torch he had left there. He lit it, and grabbed one of the loose ropes; it was time for the end-game, and the time for secrecy was finally past.

He jumped up onto the railing, torch held high, and its light granted his golden hair a red glow. It made his face appear to be surrounded by a red-gold halo, as if out of a painting of a saint. "I hate to interrupt the second course," he bellowed. "I hear the cooks have been fretting over the sauces for quite a while."

There were several auditory gasps or cries of surprise. A number of servants, in the midst of serving that second course, dropped their trays in shock, splashing the sauces on the diners. All eyes quickly turned to the intruder, still standing perfectly poised on the railing, haloed and torch held high, with both his tabard and mask proclaiming his identity to all. Murmurs proclaiming "El Diestro!" and "He's here!" carried throughout the hall. The lord of the keep first paled, then flushed red; his brother already had a sword to hand, though most of the guards were still unmoving in their surprise. Finally the lord yelled "Stop him, kill him!", and the spell was broken.

El Diestro laughed lightly (though loud enough to carry) as the room exploded into activity like a anthill kicked. Guards pulled swords and made for the stairs; a few brandished pikes and made to block the way to the table where the lord and his party were. When guards reached the middle of the stairs, El Diestro pulled on the rope in his hand, and the tapestries hanging on the stairway jerked forward and entangled them; one of the guards lost his balance and they all went tumbling in a mass back down the stairs, landing brutally hard. He then touched the torch he was carrying to the railing, before throwing it towards the pike-men. One raised his pike and another ducked, and several guests scurried with outraged cries, but even before they could fully complete their reactions El Diestro leapt, hands outstretched. He grasped the large iron chandelier hovering over the revelry, and the heavy mass of metal and wax groaned for a split second before several of the prepared ropes severed and other slid in their new knots. The entire mass swung down and forward with the momentum, and at this even the pike-men scurried out of the way.

The lord had the presence to grab the lady at his left by her jet-black hair and hold his knife to her as he scrambled back to the rear of the hall. El Diestro let go of the chandelier, landing easily on a table below as the chandelier continued its forward progress and crashed directly on the table the lord and his party had been at, spraying splinters, food, melted wax, and bits of candles, some still stubbornly lit, in every direction. He surveyed his handiwork. Not bad at all, his approving nod seemed to say, and then he reached down and picked up a miraculously untouched leg of quail and took a hearty bite.

As the dust settled, some guards decided they had found their courage, mostly at the behest of the lord's brother. El Diestro shrugged and drew his rapier, taking a last bite of the quail. Two guards swung their blades at his legs, and he jumped up and over, somersaulting behind them. As he got his footing he stabbed into the gut of the third guard running into the fray, then spun in time to deflect one of the first two guards as they themselves turned.

As the second guard tried another slash, El Diestro blocked the blow, sliding his blade along the other until the hand-guards locked together. Then he grinned as he threw the quail bone at the first guard, who instinctively beat at it contemptuously, granting el Diestro a second to move a half-step and grip the arm of the guard with whom he'd locked swords. Using grip and locked sword, he spun the second guard as the first tried a stab, and el Diestro "tsk-ed" as the first guard's sword drove through the second guard. "Hope you two weren't close." The remaining guard raised his sword in a rage, leaving himself wide open for a diagonal-step quick stroke by El Diestro that sent his weapon flying across the room. He paled, but El Diestro simply close the distance and pummeled his face with his sword's hand-guard, dropping him quickly.

The next group of guards was coming en masse, three pike-men and the lord's brother among them, obviously intending to simply overrun him by weight of numbers. Just then, however, a massive boom shook the entirety of the hall, felt as much as heard, causing bits of masonry and dust to cover the room and everyone in it. El Diestro laughed long and loud.

"Seems like the keep is under attack. How many cannon can the wall withstand? Some of you might want to go out and take care of that."

He could see them do the math in their heads; stopping one intruder, even such as he, surely couldn't take all of them, not when the keep itself might be in danger of falling. The lord's brother made the call: "Pike-men, to the wall! You and you and you as well. The rest of us will stop him here." The men went as ordered, and the three swordsmen left with the lord's brother, also obviously his captain of the guard, moved to surround him through the debris. They tread cautiously, obviously according him a great deal of respect.

El Diestro began to laugh again; it really was funny how well the gunpowder decoy he had placed in the alcove then lit with the torch had worked. In a moment, though, the laughter took a more dark tone, more sinister. "You are fools to face a Diestro. You know this, yes? How many have died crossing blades with one? Only God may count as high. Perhaps when you meet him he will let you know. If you have been good. If not…well, the Devil would know most of those who have fallen to a Diestro's blade personally, so he too might well have a good idea."

El Diestro brandished his blade, holding it straight forward at shoulder level, tilting it to and fro. An imperceptible nod and the Souls of the Diestros lent their force of will to his own. A wave of abject terror spread in a circle from el Diestro: to all there, he was suddenly supremely imperturbable, unfailing perfection of man and sword, the one who could be counted to sweep his foes before him like chaff. Who could face him? What misbegotten fool would even try? Two guards bolted outright. The other shook so badly his weapon dropped from his hand. The captain of the guard grit his teeth and looked like he might brave a fight anyway, and then El Diestro turned his masked face directly towards him. For the rest of his days he would shudder at the memory of the dire gaze now full force upon him. The eyes both blank and seeming to contain multitudes, the certainty crushing his soul that only cold, sharp, hard steel plunging into his flesh would be the result of a confrontation. He stood frozen, unmoving. El Diestro, seeing this was so, took off at a run for the back of the Hall, towards the passage the lord had taken with the dark-haired lady he sought.

Once in the passage he passed a way back to the kitches, a way out, but when he spied the guarded stair leading up, he knew that was the way. Knew instinctively the lord would have fled to his personal chambers, there to mount a stand as best he could. Perhaps attempt to bargain using the life of the lady. The keep was in abject chaos, and as he climbed the stairs El Diestro encountered but one guard. He slid past the guard's clumsy stroke and pierced him through the hand, causing him to drop his weapon. The guard fell down upon the stairs and raised his hands in supplication, and El Diestro obligingly ran past; time was of the essence.

He finally reached the sturdy, reinforced door which led to the main chambers; the doorway was a classic bottleneck, and this would have been near impossible if not for the spate of distractions El Diestro had prearranged. Those distractions wouldn't last forever, however, so he had to get in that door and out of the castle. He sheathed his sword and tensed, preparing to test the door's strength directly, hoping it wasn't barred, when something made him pause. A noise? What was that? Had the door just…moved inward?

Not one to question opportunity, he barreled into the door, and it gave easily. The sight which greeted El Diestro brought him skidding to a halt. The lord lay on the floor, spilling his life's blood. He looked up, and there stood the object of this night's work, the reason he had penetrated into the heart of his enemy's lair. Her lustrous jet-black hair shone by the light of the torches and candles, partially covered in a shawl though it was. Several already had noted the stark contrast with his own golden locks. Her shockingly clear blue eyes held a thread of clear defiance, her already-dark complexion flushed, and she wrung her hands…at least, until it struck her who he was. As the events of the scene began to dawn on him, his arrival finally dawned on her. Her eyes immediately glimmered in unshed tears; she bit her ruby lip to restrain a cry of relief.

"M'lady, what…are you alright? How did this happen?"

She drew a shuddering breath, quickly composing herself. "He…he had a loose grip on the knife. I suppose he didn't think me capable of anything, locked in this room. Once I took it…", she shrugged one shoulder, a gesture of hers that had grown so familiar and dear to him that finally El Diestro let decorum slip and rushed to her. He grasped her fiercely in his arms, and with a relieved sigh she crushed her face into his breast. "You're here…"

"Of course. It was my fault you were taken. I wouldn't let him…I couldn't…" He sighed; he'd departed from propriety already anyway, no sense in holding back now. "For you this is a trifle, and if I could raze this place and leave not one stone atop another, so would it be. You are my purpose, Aleluzca. You…you are the woman I love."

A guard burst in then, much too late to save his lord, but timed unfortunately nonetheless. El Diestro reached for his sword, but though it was drawn and leveled with blinding speed, it was beaten to the punch by a knife flashing and burying itself in the guard's heart. He looked down at the hilt protruding from his chest, had time to gaze upon his own blood seep, and then fell. El Diestro looked in surprise at Aleluzca. "What-"

"Well, that flatulent pig who took me actually had several knives handy, and I thought I was going to have to fight a bevy of guards to reach you downstairs, if you…if you hadn't…" Suddenly she jerked in his arms, staring ahead sightlessly, yet Seeing…Seeing. "We must go and ride. Our son will be this morning, a rough mattress in a little inn. He will have many after him. Your journeys are so many, but oh, the glory…so…so bright…so…you are…" She shook her head, as if waking, or clearing errant thoughts.

"Aleluzca? Did you just, was that-- no, I know. I have see it before; it is why we found ourselves together. You have had a vision?"

She looked down, shy almost for a second, then again looked boldly into his eyes. "I think I did, yes. It feels like I did."

"Then…then we should go, now. We really have taken altogether too much time already, but oh, the relief to have you."

She smiled at him, eyes sharp, shining. "Eres mi Sol."

He raised a hand softly to her cheek, wiping a stray tear. "Eres mi cielo. Pero vamos; el destino nos llama." He took her hands, then led her from the chamber, out of the keep, into the night, into the future…

[El Nuevo Diestro]

Despues de Trotamundos

The Mask lay there, taunting her, staring at her. She couldn't turn away. It would be so easy; it would be the last easy thing she ever did. Her hand hesitated..."¿Te atrevas?" a voice asked...

It had taunted her more than once. Had, in fact, taunted her for what seemed her whole life. Her father had been saved by the old Diestro, so he had pledged loyalty and aid because of it. In consequence, the ships he owned had been used by and come to the Diestro's aid repeatedly. Her father and el Diestro had come to be friends, and Diestro had been a figure of awe to her as she had grown up.

El Diestro's son, on the other hand, had been a target. A rival, or so she had always thought of it. For reasons she had never cared to explore too closely, she had felt compelled to seek him out, test him, best him if she could, though those times never proved as numerous as she would have liked. Whatever he did, whichever training or learning he received, she was there, irresistibly drawn. Despite the many unladylike situations this put her in, she was allowed; after all, her father was one of the Diestro's closest confidants, and she was of good blood …

She smiled, even as the memories stung, as she remembered how embarrassed and furious she had been when she realized why everyone smiled and indulged her always wanting to be with the Diestro's son.

That was one reason she had taken her trek around the world. She was no one's besotted puppy, and she would prove it. The second reason had been to test the very skills she had acquired alongside the Diestro's son. The third…well, she had been testing him their whole lives, too, when it came down to it.

All three goals had been accomplished. It had been a glorious jaunt, and then when she thought it had been over, he had proven himself more than she had hoped. On the first quest which inevitably came his way, he found an excuse for her to have to accompany him. Then, on the next, he did the same. Finally, no one even questioned it: they were a team, and woe to any who dared cross them.

But it had been too brief. Fate had been cruel. The old Diestro had had a long, distinguished career, before passing the torch to his fully-trained son and heir. But her Diestro, her companion, her beloved, the twin of her soul, had not. He had not even seen his nineteenth birthday. Their son was even now no doubt squalling in the nursery; already a contentious little thing, he would be raised never knowing his father. She hadn't even been there at her beloved's end, having been too near giving birth to accompany him even in a perfunctory role on his latest, last, call to duty. And now the Mask, which returned as it always did, would pass on to a cousin; perhaps one of the Tabuadas. Unless…

She reached her hand out again, but still didn't touch it. She wasn't sure what would happen if she dared what she contemplated. Her husband, for all their brief time as partners, had told her everything he knew of it, what was required for it. He had never held anything back, even the general displeasure of his ancestors at the nature of their relationship, not that that had ever fazed her. This was something else altogether, though. That Mask was the focus, the conduit, of the souls of all those who had been members of the family order, been Diestros each in their turn. Their disapproval wouldn't be a vague, ghostly thing; it would be all too real, in her head, in her soul. And when her time came, she would spend eternity with them.

But that was it, wasn't it? She wouldn't just spend eternity with them; she would also have eternity with him. What good was her immortal soul with a part of it missing, bound to duty generation after generation without her? And then there was their son. If she did this, if she succeeded (and somehow, in all her contemplations, that never seemed in doubt), she could secure the succession for her son.

She sighed and picked up the Mask. It was warm to the touch, as if its last wearer had just removed it.

She began to pray. The Pater Nostrum; a series of Ave Marias. An Act of Contrition, which technically should have been done with a priest, but exceptions for extenuating circumstances, had been made in the past. Exceptions seemed the rule where this Mask was concerned. And more specialized prayers, to patrons saints: to Santiago, to her own patron saint, to that of her lost beloved. Then the prayers of the Diestros, with the oaths they swore, the service they promised. The duties they agreed to and the pledges to God, to the Order, to the Church, to the Crown.

Her heart hammered in her ears. She swore she could hear a keening, or a disapproving moan. She did her best to keep her focus, to stay steady, to not let thoughts of what was rumored to happen to one who improperly prepared for this or did it without rightful claim distract her. Focus, will, honed to singularity of purpose. All in the aim of sacrifice of self till the end times, to the death and beyond.

She felt as if floating, as if she were hovering over herself, detached. An observer in the moment. And they began to appear. Men of many forms, of many aspects, different garb. Some resembled each other, others seemed apart, but all bore swords, and all shared a cast to their face, a steady gaze that penetrated. The body below that was her raised the Mask, as some of the men floating all around scowled, and some seemed confused, and others seemed merely impassive. Finally, the hand that was hers but seemed another's placed the Mask upon her face, bound it to her, and sealed the bargain her prayers had promised.

"How dare you," a voice said.

She saw them all clearly now, but seemed to be in some other place, a featureless grey nothingness.

"What have you done." The tone demanded explanation without really being a question somehow.

"I am the next. I have trained…trained forever. My whole life. This is mine now, and I am the next."

"You have no right!"

"I have every right! In blood and sweat and tears, so many tears, shed for this family."

"You aren't even of our family. You are-"

"I…was his wife. Marriage is a Holy Sacrament before God, binding me to him and his. Or so the Church would have us believe. Would you say different?"

"No, of course not, but that doesn't mean-"

"It doesn't matter what you think it means. What matters is I had a right, and I am here. Work with what you have, for you will not get far trying to work with what you wish you had." She delivered the last line, a proverb of the Diestros her husband had oft been taught, with as sweet a smile as she could muster.

"And what do you have to say for this?" The steely eyes met the clear blue of Trotamundos.

"That I never…I wouldn't…that this is completely unexpected." Despite a slight hesitation, Trotamundos' gaze didn't waver. "But nothing she said was untrue in any way. That this can turn to our advantage, and that she has what she needs. Make her a squire, and she will show herself a knight. You've all watched her through my father, through me. Now you will see her for herself directly. You will not be disappointed."

Though obviously unhappy with the answer, the deed was clearly done, though it was likely the discussion would continue in the future. For now, the Diestro let it be and faded away. Trotamundos turned towards her. "Why?"

"I was born for it. I've always known. It was meant to be. Besides…there wasn't enough time. Now, we have forever."

His mouth quirked. "Isn't it supposed to be till death do us part?"

She narrowed her eyes in a raptor glare at him in response. He held up his hands, both as if to ward her off and in surrender. "Esta bien, Esposa. Ven te. Para siempre empieza hoy."