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A Question of Honor: A tale of Velitrium
Teloran Dantarean's background
By Jesse O'Reilly (everydaymick)

    Thwack! Thwack! The sound of wooden swords rang through the cold morning air. Teloran Dantarean watched as his thirteen-year-old brother Nalean attacked once, twice, thrice, but Master Barton, the brothers’ tutor and weapons instructor, easily parried each thrust. White-haired now, Barton moved more slowly than he had in the past, but he was still quick enough to dodge the younger Dantarean. “Stop attacking so blindly, Nalean,” Barton ordered. “Don’t force your sword to strike where you want it to strike. Relax, and let your instincts guide you.”
    Nalean lunged again, and Barton took a step back. Then, with a quick twist of his wrist, he sent Nalean’s sword flying across the practice yard. Panting, Nalean bent over and placed his hands on his knees, then, catching his breath, he straightened and bowed to his instructor. “Thank you, sir,” Nalean said, and walked over to retrieve his sword and return it to the weapons rack. As he did so, Nalean saw his brother; Nalean grinned, sprinted over, and wrapped his brother in a bear hug.
    “It’s so good to see you, Teloran!” Nalean said. “How much of our practice did you observe? Did you see me force Master Barton back a step?”
    “That’s because I was preparing to disarm you, Nalean,” Barton said, coming up to the two brothers. His lined face broke into a broad smile as he inspected Teloran in his officer’s uniform. “It’s good to see you back again at Crossreed. Well, well, aren’t you handsome in your blues? You cut quite a figure, Master Teloran. I only regret that your mother isn’t alive to see you now. You remind me very much of her.”
    “Thank you, sir,” Teloran said, bowing.
    “So when do you see action, then?”
    “Almost immediately, sir. We’ve been ordered to join a guard detail for the Lord Athamar. And there’s talk of some sort of monster. I don’t know much about it, but word of it was enough to attach another company of men to Athamar’s escort. Still, monster or no monster, we’re sure to have enough to do to keep pace with Athamar, never fear.”
    “Indeed?” Barton’s eyebrow rose. “Lord Athamar, eh? And a monster? Mitra preserve us! Still, given Lord Athamar’s reputation, this monster may be the least of the enemies arrayed against you. Take care, Teloran. May your vigilance never cease until Velitrium is again at peace.”
    “Now, by your leave, I must attend to your sisters’ harp lessons. They do make a terrible fuss if I am not there to hear them in all their discordance. If you will excuse me,” and nodding to each, Barton withdrew to the manor house.
    Teloran looked at his brother. Nalean was tall for thirteen, lean but with a subtle strength in his limbs. His short-cropped black hair was less a boy’s cut, and more a man’s. Nalean seemed to stand straighter, and his face, though dominated by an ear-to-ear grin, looked much more serious than Teloran remembered. “Nalean, you’ve gained a good two inches while I’ve been away training. Soon you’ll be as tall as I, if not taller!”
    Nalean laughed, and blushed. “Father says I won’t be nearly as strong as you, Teloran. He seldom lets me practice my swordplay with Master Barton, only an hour or two a week, if I’m fortunate. I don’t understand why he’d rather me go over ancient languages and history when I still have so much to learn about iron and steel.”
    Teloran glanced up at the house, and thought he saw movement in the window of his father’s study. “He who masters both sword and pen may one day make even kings given pause, Nalean. Since I’ve joined the army, we need someone around here with other things inside his head besides tactics and strategy. Besides, you’re as strong as I was at your age, perhaps stronger. And I was watching. You did force Master Barton to yield a step back there!”
    Laughing, the brothers returned to the manor house. Nalean took his leave of his brother and went to listen to the music lessons while Teloran reported to his father’s antechamber. Finally, after some minutes outside his father’s study, his father bade him enter.
    Lord Gabriel Danterean’s study was airy and well-lit, yet only modestly decorated. One large window looked out on the drive leading up to the manor, and another window overlooked the practice yard where Nalean and Barton had been sparring earlier. A fire burned in the hearth, providing warmth against the chill air. On one wall hung a portrait of Judith, Teloran’s mother, a fair young woman with bright blue eyes and a sunny smile. She had died when Teloran was a small child, and Teloran could barely remember anything of her other than the touch of her hand on his cheek. On the opposite wall hung a portrait of Semarra, Teloran’s late stepmother, the mother of Teloran’s three sisters and the youngest sibling, Nalean. Semarra had been a small, nervous woman, but there was a kindness in her face that Teloran missed. Just as he had grown up without his birth mother, so had Nalean. Semarra had died soon after giving birth to her only son.
    “Have a seat, Teloran,” Lord Gabriel said, indicating an armchair by the fire, and he himself took a chair opposite Teloran’s. “So I hear you won’t be gracing us with your presence for long.”
    “No sir. We leave on our mission with Lord Athamar in a fortnight.”
    Gabriel’s gaze was fixed on the fire. “You’re not nervous, are you? Lord Athamar is a peculiar man. He seems to draw danger to himself like a lodestone does iron. I’m sure that I could arrange for a less . . . demanding post for you, if you’re so inclined.”
    Teloran tightened his grip on his chair’s arms. “No, of course not, sir. You and I both know that the strife that for now seethes just below Velitrium’s surface could well fan into an inferno before the year is out, and Athamar may very well be the eye of that maelstrom. War is for the young, and since you’ve already proven your valor during the Rebellion these many years ago, it’s only fair for your son to prove his own worth.”
    “Hmm.” Gabriel remained fixated on the flames before him. “Interesting that you reference infernos and storms. You know, this fire contains a great many echoes of the past, present, and future. There, a village burns. Here, crops fail. And if you look closely in the center, you can almost see a woman’s face gazing out at us.”
    “Teloran . . .I’ve been thinking a lot lately about our past. Yours and mine. There are some things I haven’t ever told you. Some things about your late mother. I don’t know if I should tell you even now, but perhaps your actions in the coming months might be a step towards . . . redeeming her name.” Gabriel turned his head slightly to glance at Teloran, then returned to the fire.
    “Father?” Teloran’s face was blank. Redeeming her name? What does he mean by that?
    “When you were but a wee child, only just weaned from your wet nurse, you and I traveled to visit family near Drunmore. Unfortunately, you took cold, and rather than leaving you for an interminable time with our relations, we returned early to Crossreed.” Gabriel paused. With his finger, he traced a line along his sleeve.
    “No servants were home to greet us when we arrived, so, disembarking, you ran ahead of me to find your mother. Just as you threw open our bedchambers’ door, I saw . . .” Gabriel blanches. “I saw your . . . mother . . . and one of our groundskeepers . . . together.”
    Teloran sat still. His eyes were carefully trained on his father’s face, but Gabriel still concentrated on the flames. “And then?”
    “I moved in front of you and barred the door in your face. You beat on the door, begging me to let you enter, but I ignored your bleats. I wanted to face your unfaithful whore of a mother and her wretch of a paramour alone. A heavy poker was handy by the fireplace; brandishing it, I struck at the base coward. He cried out, backed away, and like the craven that he was, jumped out of the window to the ground below. Your mother screamed, and I . . .” Gabriel slumped back in his chair. “We later said she had fallen in a riding accident. No one ever knew what had actually transpired.”
    “What, you mean you killed her? What kind of a monster are you? I don’t believe what I’m hearing! You just killed her? Killed her?” Teloran’s face was ashen, and he jumped to his feet, his voice and hands shaking.
    “Yes, I killed her, and I think you’d do the same in my situation.” Lord Gabriel remained seated. His voice came from somewhere very deep inside of him. “I’ve often wondered if her defects carried over to you. I suppose we’ll see after this mission, eh?” He looked over Teloran, then returned his gaze to the fire. “Yes, the flames show us many things – past, present, and future. If we’re not careful, we can be easily misled.”
    Teloran’s mouth remained open. If he had had his sword by his side, he would have been tempted to run his father through. Teloran lifted a hand, then dropped it. Without a word, he spun on his heel and strode from the room. His father remained motionless before the fire.

    Teloran caught up with Master Barton as the latter was walking back to his study. As well as tutoring the children, Barton also served as Crossreed’s steward, and he was in a state of constant motion. “Master Barton, if I may have a word with you?”
    “Certainly, Teloran. Come, step into my parlor.”
    Inside, Teloran related to Barton everything his father had said, and Barton listened in rapt attention. “And then he claimed that he killed your mother?”
    “Master Barton, I don’t remember much from those days, but I do remember pounding and pounding at a door I couldn’t open. That had to have been that day that he . . . found them.”
    “Impossible, Teloran.” Barton leaned back in his chair and brushed his hair back from his forehead. “Your mother did die from a riding accident. I was there. As your father, your mother, and I were riding in the fields one day, a rabbit startled your mother’s horse. The horse reared, and she fell from her saddle. Her head struck a rock, and although your father sent for a physician, by the time he arrived, it was too late. Your mother was already dead.”
    “I don’t understand. Why would he claim to have killed her when she died of natural causes?”
    “I have no idea, Teloran. You are as perplexed as I.”
    “The door I remember pounding on?”
    “Yes, that did happen. We did not want you to see your mother as the life slowly eked out of her.”
    “What about the groundskeeper?”
    “The only male hauscarls your father employed at that time were, as now, as old as I, if not older. And I was never a young man, Teloran.”
    “This doesn’t make sense, Master Barton.”
    “No, it doesn’t. It seems like madness, but . . . your family line is distinguished by good sense, if nothing else. Even so, we must keep him under close surveillance. If this is only the beginning . . .”
    “And I’m off to escort Athamar when I should be protecting our own family.” Teloran tossed his hands up in frustration. “I don’t know what to do, Barton. Perhaps I should just go shake the old man into sanity.”
    “That would be ill-advised, Teloran, and you know that. Fear not. In your absence, I will keep an eye on Lord Gabriel, and upon the rest of your family as well. If your father continues to exhibit such bizarre behavior, we will consult with the local priest or our family’s physician. If Lord Gabriel needs help, we will provide it for him.”
    “Of course, Barton. My thanks could never be enough.” Teloran took the older man’s hand in his own. “You’ve been faithful to our family in more ways that I can ever enumerate. I only hope that one day our family will be able to reward you as richly as you deserve.”
    “Thank you, Teloran. I continue to serve, as always.”
    Teloran left Barton’s study deep in thought. As he made preparations for his return journey to Velitrium City, he replayed in his mind his conversation with his father. He uttered a prayer to Mitra for his family’s safety and his father’s sanity. His family needed Teloran now more than ever, but he had never felt so helpless.