“It’s time, Kylus,” a cold, emotionless voice said. “The Sword will see you now.”

  Kylus swallowed, but that didn’t seem to make the lump in his throat go away. He looked at Garvus the Green, the Serve-Sword commander who had been the drill instructor for Kylus’s squad of training cadets in the Barracks of the Order of the Servants of the Sword. Garvus wore a green cloak over his suit of iron armor; he wore his helmet over his head, but the visor was up, so that Kylus could see Garvus’s face: a middle-aged man’s face, scarred, weathered, leathery, and sporting a thin black beard and mustache with streaks of gray. Kylus’s young, watery blue eyes met the icy stare of the grizzled, veteran brown eyes of Garvus, and Kylus could see no mercy, no regard, nothing other than a thinly disguised sneer of contempt at someone whom Garvus regarded as weak.

  “Well, boy? What are we waiting for?” Garvus barked. “Sir, please give me one moment, Sir,” Kylus said. Kylus was still fighting to swallow the anxiety down his throat. He was not ready for this. You were my Commander, but after today you won’t be anymore, Kylus thought. Because today, now that the Sword has learned my dark secret, I am about to be expelled from the Soldier Training Program and kicked out of the Servants of the Sword. This audience I have been granted, to speak to the Sword face to face, is merely a formality. I already know the result. But maybe, if I beg and plead… If I cast pride aside and humble myself….

  Kylus tightened the strings that tied together the collar of the green jacket that he wore over his green vest, shirt, pants, and boots, all of them the same monochrome forest-green which was the precise shade of green of the leaves in the high sections of a forest when blessed by the first light of dawn shining down upon them. The green, combined with the blonde of his short-cut hair, the water-blue of his eyes, and his pink-white skin, made Kylus look clean and sharp, an image which had impressed the Serve-Sword recruiters enough to allow him to join their ranks. A mistake, Kylus thought, as Garvus led him out from the dormitory where he shared one bed among a hundred beds with ninety-nine other cadets in a vast, long dormitory room, out into the halls of the Barracks. But it is a mistake which I do not regret, and, given a second chance, I would try again.

  The dorm was co-ed, a mixture of boys and girls, and the other beds were full of young men and young women, asleep, only their heads of hair showing above sheets folded over them in the manner mandated by the military order. It was the proper time for them to be asleep; it was not yet the hour to report for morning drills and morning mess at the mess hall, and this was not the type of place where students snuck out of their beds at night: that would earn discipline such as a beating or a belt, public ridicule, or an expulsion. Kylus shared a dorm with other fourth-year students, and, by fourth year, only the ones who really wanted to be here remained.

  Kylus had no friends among the other cadets, so there was no one that he particularly wanted to see or to say goodbye to. The Serve-Sword Soldier Training Program was a dog-eat-dog world, where only the strong survived, so you never made a friend unless it was someone you could use or someone you could dominate. Kylus refused to let others dominate him, and he had no desire to “use” another human being, so he had been a loner who made no friends. He had lasted this long in the program, for four full years, due only to his talent as a sword-fighter, and the great work and effort he exerted every day to improve his swordsmanship and his ability to win fights with his sword.

  As the two men walked down the giant halls made of yellow-white sand-colored stone, Kylus did what he always did: he looked up, straining his neck back to take in the full sight of the enormous banners, the width and length of twenty men, that hung from the high vaulted ceilings of the Barracks. The banners were emblazoned in gold letters on a green background, with these phrases: We Serve! We Serve the Sword! We Protect the Kingdom! We Are the Heroes of History! Kylus hung his head, and his gaze shifted from almost straight up to very far down, staring at his two feet as one walked in front of the other, left right left right left right. I guess I’m no hero. I had wanted to become one. But I’m not. Now I’m nothing.

  The two men reached a tall cylindrical tower at the north end of the Barracks and began to walk up a long spiral staircase. Garvus’s armored boots made loud echoes as they banged against the stone stairs while he ascended the stairway, a bang bang bang that went up and up, but Kylus’s boots were made of a softer green leather material with hardened leather soles, and Kylus walked in silence. They arrived at a landing at the tower’s highest level, where a set of giant iron double-doors was guarded by ten soldiers, a mixture of men and women in shiny iron armor, with five soldiers standing at each side. At a signal from Garvus, the soldiers grabbed the iron rings of the two door handles and pulled them open. Even ten soldiers required several moments to pull open the gigantic, thick, heavy doors.

  “When you go in to face the Sword, you go alone, boy,” Garvus said. “I will not be there at your side to coddle you or hold your baby hand.”

  “Sir, Yes, Sir,” Kylus said. Kylus quickly trotted into the room, refusing to pause for even one second before entering, because any moment of hesitation would give time for his fear to build up, and then he might run away and never enter at all. If he were to stop and think, he feared that he would vomit his anxiety all over the floor.

  As soon as Kylus was in the chamber, the doors slammed shut behind him. It was just him and the Sword.

  Kylus stared in awe as soon as he saw the Sword. He was looking at something right out of the history books. The Sword, otherwise known as the Talking Sword, was a magical object created by wizards ten thousand years ago, imbued with the powers of a Mythical and Legendary Weapon and blessed with an enchantment giving it a mandate to protect the world. The Sword was the leader and founder of the Order of the Servants of the Sword, an Order of Green soldiers dedicated to defending the Kingdom, and every man and woman in this Barracks had taken a vow to give his or her life in service to it and to obey its every command, no matter what that command might be, with utmost and absolute loyalty.

  The Sword floated in midair in a column of magical glowing light at the center of the room, its handle up and blade pointed down. The Sword was a longsword whose blade and handle were both made of iron. Its blade was long, thin, sharp, and looked well-balanced. Its hilt curved around into a handguard surrounding its handle, which was capped by an iron pommel knob at its base, designed to counterweight the sword’s shaft when it was swung around. The blade tapered to a point for stabbing at its end but was sharp enough to also cut or chop with its shaft. A few ancient runes were forged into the iron along the center of its blade. Kylus did not try to read the runes: he had great difficulty reading letters written in the common human language, so reading something written in ancient runes was well beyond him. The Order of the Servants of the Sword had taught him the practical details of being a soldier; they had not taught him any academic or intellectual learning, such as how to read or write.

  Despite being polished to such an impeccable shine that the Sword’s metal almost glowed in the light and reflected the light around it like a sun, the Sword’s blade was nicked and dented and scratched, and its handle was weathered and worn down around where a hand would hold it, with the obvious marks and wear-and-tear of a weapon that had seen live combat many, many times. I was expecting a sword that was made of gold and silver and encrusted with diamonds and rubies, something fancy and ornamental like I might see in a Noble Manor House when I look in the window, Kylus thought. I bet I could wield that thing in combat and kill someone with it!

  Kylus glanced over at the windows behind the Sword. The four tall white towers of the Temple of Light rose up into the vivid blues of the blue sky above and the blue ocean below. The Serve-Swords Barracks was in the city of Imperia, positioned right next to the Temple of Light, and the two buildings were connected by one doorway that led between them. The White Wizard had given the Sword the distinct honor of providing guards and defenders to watch over the holy priests who dwelled and prayed inside the Temple, so the door between the Barracks and the Temple was highly convenient for both the priests and the Serve-Swords.

  “So you are the boy they told me about,” the Sword said. Kylus looked at the Sword, blinked his eyes, and looked again. This was his first time meeting the Sword, and he had not expected that it would speak with a deep, rich, sonorous, melodious woman’s voice, not a man’s voice.

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  “Yes,” Kylus said in a soft, humble voice.

  “You will address me as Sir. I am a commanding general in rank, as well as a great and mighty weapon.”

  “Sir, Yes Sir.”

  “And is it true? What I was told? The rumors that the other boys have said about you?”

  “Yes, Sir.”

  “You know that I do not approve of your kind. I do not approve of… that.”

  “I know, Sir.”

  “And you know that the penalty for that… behavior, is to be kicked out of my Order, banished, and expelled forever. You will be removed, and shown the front door, left with nothing other than the clothes on your back. We will take back the sword that we had given you.”

  Kylus said nothing. His sword, a short-sword that had a slight blue-gray tint to its metal when properly polished, was a gift he had been given by the Program on his first day as a fresh recruit. He kept his sword sharp, and it cut well, scoring him many marks in the grueling competitive exercises in which cadets competed. That sword had been his one and only true friend at the Barracks. Even that was to be taken from him.

  “They tell me that you are an orphan,” the Sword said, “and that you have no family. So, when you leave, you will have no one, and nothing.”

  “Sir, that is correct, Sir. I used to have a family, but my parents and I decided to go our separate ways after I reached age eighteen. That’s when I enlisted... to serve you.”

  “Although I morally disapprove of your existence and believe that your destiny waits in Hell, I am not without mercy,” the Sword said. “The training that I have given you will serve you well. A Servant of the Sword is tough and strong, iron of will and unbreakable in discipline. Alone, with nothing, you will still have the training and the knowledge and skills that I have provided. So, when you leave, I fully expect that you will be able to take care of yourself, and to survive on your own. We weeded out the weak among the strong in the first and second years; you, they tell me, are a fourth-year student, who only needed a fifth year to graduate and become a ranked and enlisted soldier. Now you will never get that fifth year. You will never graduate. You will never rank.

  “However, you did survive in my military order for four full years—and with good marks, too, from what your instructors told me. That means you are strong, and tough. I have every faith that you will live a long and happy life… just not as one of my Servants. I shall pray to God for you to live, and to repent from your wicked and evil sinner’s ways.”

  Not everyone in the Church feels as you do, Kylus thought, but he kept that thought to himself. You learned, early in the program, that talking back to a ranked officer could earn you a beating, fifty pushups, ten laps around the building, or maybe all three of those punishments combined.

  Should I beg and plead? Throw myself upon the mercy of the Sword and ask it to let me stay? But, just like that, Kylus’s moment in which to do so was there and gone. “I have said all that was needed,” the Sword said. “The formalities of your expulsion have been met. Be gone,” the Sword commanded.

  Kylus hung his head. “Sir, Yes Sir,” Kylus said. Kylus humbly bowed his head to the Sword. He turned, walked to the door, and knocked. It opened, and he walked out. Kylus held his head up, his vision high and locked directly forward, as he was led back to his dorm to gather his stuff.

  A single tear trickled down his cheek as he walked the halls. The banners of the Serve-Swords proudly waved from the ceilings of the halls, flying high above him: We Serve! We Serve the Sword! Kylus did not look up at the flags, although they were so large he caught sight of them anyway. He looked down and kept a careful watch on the green of his boots as he walked, determined not to look up.

  Kylus did not have any idea what lay ahead of him after he was expelled from his military training academy. He did not know what the future would hold. In fact, he had no idea where he would be sleeping that night, or how he would find food to eat for dinner this evening. You were a hunter and a lumberjack as a teenager in the rural woods, before you enlisted, Kylus thought. You know how to hunt. You can find your own food. You can cut, lift, and haul. You will find a job. You can take care of yourself. You are not made of glass to be shattered when dropped. You are iron, that they can kick with their feet without making a dent and, when kicked, you will fly through the air, landing so far away that you will never see them again. Kylus smiled.

  Kylus went to his bed in the dormitory, packed his meager belongings into a small green bag, and was led out to the outer front doors of the Barracks. Guards opened the doors for him. He walked out. The front doors slammed behind him. The doors literally hit him in the ass on his way out, leaving behind a purple bruise on his ass, which he knew would hurt him for days, and make it especially painful to sit down.

  Great, Kylus thought sarcastically. I’m free. No more condemnation from that self-righteous pompous stupid Sword. Oh my God, I can’t believe I just thought that about a ranked officer! Kylus never would have dared a disobedient thought, let alone a disobedient word or action, back when he was a Serve-Sword. But I’m not a cadet anymore. Remember that. I can break the rules, and not be beaten or whipped or belted for it. There are no rules. No more pushups, sit-ups, or running laps when Garvus commands it. There are no more punishments. Kylus’s lips curled up in a flicker of a smile, but it was very brief, and his mouth quickly flattened back down to a solid horizontal line. Now what? What should I do? I don’t know what to do.

  He wished he had some painkiller potion for his bottom. But he had no money to pay a Red wizard in return for a potion. He walked through the streets of Imperia, wandering aimlessly. He left the sparsely populated area in the north of Imperia where the Serve-Sword Barracks and the Temple of Light were built near the cliffs overlooking the ocean, and his feet brought him to the Central District, the area that sat in the triangle between the Poor District to the south, the Fancy District to the northeast, and the Royal Palace to the northwest, with the docks to the east.

  The Central District was the center of commerce where the marketplaces were, and it was a zone of constant chaos, with merchants haggling, shoppers buying, people working, and street urchins running around. People flew and ran around in every direction: nobles attended by servants, merchants, workers, beggars and the poor, parents with their children, the horses and donkeys of people who rode there, and there were even cats, dogs, monkeys, and colorful red parrots, all belonging to the people who had brought their pets to market with them to keep them company, so red feathers flew through the air, and barks, bird-squawks and monkey-noises joined the din of human shouts, cries, and constant loud talking and chatter that buzzed the air. The crowd was so thick that Kylus was slowed down to almost a crawl just to walk down the street.

  The thick masses of men, mostly dirty and unwashed, combined with the sewage and garbage and horse feces on the streets, to produce a thick disgusting smell, which mingled with the smell of spiced and garlicked fresh-roasted meats and fresh fruits sold from stands and stalls that lined the streets in a way which somehow made the smell even worse and more repulsive. Kylus’s nose wrinkled in revulsion. If not for the fresh cold wind that was blowing down from the ocean to the north and east, the smell might have killed him. Kylus, overwhelmed by the sights and the smell and the sounds, stopped and felt dizzy. He saw a nearby stoop of brick front steps at the front door of a building that no one seemed to be using or standing in front of. He sat down on the stoop.

  I can’t take this! Kylus thought. Another tear dripped from his eye and ran down his cheek. He did not reach up and wipe it away. It just dripped down slowly, and then vanished down his neck. What am I going to do? I need a job, and no one in the Kingdom is going to hire a disgraced Serve-Sword cadet who was dishonorably discharged and didn’t even complete his training. Kylus began to cry, and he hunched over on the steps, tucked his head under one of his arms, and just let himself cry. He cried for a few minutes.

  Suddenly Kylus saw a bright light, even with his head bent and tucked below his arm. Kylus looked up at the sky, where the sun shined an intense, vivid, warm, yellow light from behind a bank of heavenly clouds. The sun was positioned just right so that a beam of light was shining directly down at Kylus, so bright he was almost blinded. Maybe this is what God wants, Kylus thought. Maybe God wants me to find a place where I can have the freedom to be the real me. I was never going to be able to be myself under the watchful eye of the Sword. The Sword would not allow it. I need to find somewhere I belong. I need some place where I can live my life. And it’s not too soon to start looking for where that place is going to end up being.

  Then clouds briefly passed in front of the sun, creating a shadow that seemed to darken the entire city of Imperia. The sunlight was gone. Kylus sighed and got ready to cry again. But wind blew the clouds past, and the sunlight shined bright again, merely moments later. Kylus nodded to himself, and he stopped crying. I know what I’ll do: I’ll go home. Back to the woods, back to where I grew up, where I know how to survive on my own, where I know how to hunt and forage for food that costs no coins and only costs some hard work with a blade or an arrow. Back to where I belong. Maybe where I always belonged. I’m going home.

  I’m going back home, back to Leree. I will need some sort of job, obviously. I pray to God that someone will hire me. I am sure that someone will. I am a Green, after all. Everyone loves a Green!

  Kylus wiped the tears from his cheeks, stood up, picked up his belongings, and confidently marched through the bustling crowds of people, heading for the city gate at the south wall of Imperia. Although he was not aware of it, by instinct he held his left hand at his left hip with his palm open and fingers tense, ready to grab the sword that used to be there and to wield it at a moment’s notice.