I quicken my steps as I near my destination—the Galennus Workhouse. Usually, around this time, I would be practicing lute with Sir Isaac. I'd been hastily assigned to be under Sir Evan's tutelage for the time being, after the old knight was rendered temporarily bedridden. Fortunately I had the good sense to ask permission from Sir Evan to give me one afternoon off to recuperate. I think the head of the Knights of Elder sensed what I wanted to do during my spare time, and softened his heart to let me off easy.

"Excuse me, I'm looking for a certain Sir Isaac?" I asks the Galennus working at the reception area. She takes her glasses off, polishes it, coughs into the lenses, polishes it again, and puts it on; before deigning to check through the list of patients they have.

"He's been transferred into the common wards." She jabs a pencil towards a hallway on my left. "Go straight down there and take the first right turn. The common wards is the largest room we have. You can't miss it."

"My thanks, good Galennus." I give a quick bow and almost sprint towards the direction she pointed at. Sure enough, I find the common wards easily. The Galennus wasn't exaggerating when she said that it was the largest room they had.

With the width of almost three fallen oaks, the length of thousands of snakes arranged in a single line, and the height of a towering yew, it almost puts the dining hall—which is capable of seating up to a few hundred at a time—to shame. Rows upon rows of sickbeds are neatly arranged in undulating rows; pristine white sheets overlay the mattresses, lending a freshness to the atmosphere. At the moment, I count fifty-six patients groaning on separate beds, a fairly high number of casualties during peacetime. Yet the room seems sparsely populated, perhaps due to the fact that everything and everyone is so scattered around the area.

I stop a young assistant girl, who is balancing a tray of good strong tea on her hands. "My apologies for interrupting your work, but where can I find Sir Isaac?" The Galenni who work here are forced to memorise the names of every single patient in their grounds, just so that visitors can be easily directed when needed. A precious piece of information Father had divulged to me for no apparent reason.

"Third row, down centre," she replies briefly. She then rushes off with a blush creeping up her neck, not giving me a chance to thank her.

I shake my head as I follow her directions. Once again, the Galenni prove themselves to be highly reliable—I spot Sir Isaac with no noticeable difficulty. His eyes are wide open, and he's scolding a boy about his tea being too cold, making the apprentice red around the ears. A hint of a smile tinges my lips. Injured or no, it seems like the old knight would never give up his signature grumpiness.

"Sir Isaac," I greet him as I approach the bed. The knight's eyes bulge out in surprise, almost like a toad's. I stifle a laugh at the comparison. "I've come to see you."

"Well," he sniffs, "at least you didn't say 'I've come to pay my respects to you', unlike those who visited me this morning. Who said anything about me being dead? Damn the bastards! They just wanted to make my heart pound in furious excitement."

"I'm sure that they meant it in a jesting manner, sir," I say, rather worried at the knight's agitated veins drawn along his forehead.

"Of course I know that they were jesting," he snorts. "What do you think I am? Deaf and dumb? At least they brought a few gifts for me." He gestures at a handbasket lying on the table beside his bed. "Mostly imported food. So happened to be market day today, I think. Can't be sure when you never hardly leave the castle walls and have an aging memory like mine."

"My apologies, sir." I don't know what else I should say.

"For my age? Or for not bearing any gifts with your coming?" He waves an impatient hand. "It's no matter. I don't have the time—nor the strength—to care for all this nonsense anyway."

"Oh." I bite my lower lip for a while, wondering if it would be too insensitive of me to ask about what had actually happened yesterday. No, better now than never. "Sir, how did you wind up fighting Diomedes yesterday?"

Some of his surliness dissolves away, expression darkening at the memory I've invoked in him. "Those fools of the honour guard...I was escorting Baron Samareal, who so happened to be in a library below the hallway you found me in. Suddenly, I heard screaming from above.

"I asked Sir Evan—who was with me at the time—to take Baron Samareal out, while I would check on the ruckus. I rushed towards the screams. By the time I was there, Diomedes was finishing off the last Guard." He closes his eyes, reminiscing the horror. "I knew him—trained him, even," he breathes. "The last boy—Markus' head just rolled by my feet."

The corpses were immediately burnt this morning, accompanied by the proper funeral rites. I wasn't there, but I heard that even Captain Eldric looked close to tears. I now realise that these unnamed men—for me—were friends, brothers, and comrades. And Sir Isaac's case, protégé.

"Thank you for saving me back there, my boy. If you hadn't been there, I don't like to imagine what would have happened," he says softly.

"No need for thanks, sir," I reply hastily. No need for thanks, after what the old knight had gone through. He gives me a nod, and says no more.

Suddenly, I find myself at a loss for topics. Really, what had I been hoping to gain out of visiting Sir Isaac? True, I wanted to know about what happened during Diomedes' attack. I wanted to check up on how he's doing. His movements are rather slow and painful, but on the whole, he seems fine. In fact, he seems to be recovering rather quickly. Too quickly. I narrow my eyes in suspicion as I ponder on the thought.

"The assessment is only two days away, is it not?" asks Sir Isaac, breaking my train of thought.

"Aye, sir."

"I hope they haven't cancelled it in light of the...situation?"

"No, sir," I say mournfully. The old fools of the Knights of Elder—isn't wisdom supposed to come with age?

"I can see that you're not happy about it," Sir Isaac says accusingly.

I hesitate for a bit. "No, I'm not the least bit happy, sir."

"Pull that stool by the table over here first. Can't have you lording over me while I'm stuck in bed." Sir Isaac gestures at a three-legged stool. I immediately drag it to his bedside and sit on it. "Very good."

The knight gives me the most unnerving stare I've ever seen in my life.

"You're worried about something else." I nearly jump in my seat.

"No, I'm not." I can't help my haughty look.

"You are—don't you dare contradict me." His words are so fiercely spoken that I'm too intimidated to talk back. "Let me guess: it has something to do with everything that's happening now. The threat of the ghosts, Diomedes, that prophecy, and to top it off, when you could be focusing your attention upon all the above points, you have to go through this assessment."

I feel my jaw drop. I should deny it, retort him, but I can't find the proper words. So I settle for 'how?'

He gives me a wry smile. "I think I've mentioned it before, but I'll mention it again. I'm old, Constantine. So I know a troubled boy when I see one, one who has been forced to carry much more weight than he can handle. One of them was your father; seems appropriate that the burdens run in the family."

My tongue freezes up.

"I know that I don't say this very often, but you're a good squire, Constantine. One of the best squires under my tutelage in my many years, Champion or no. I just want you to know this: although the future may harbour whatever unknowns or regrets, I trust you. I trust you to lead all of us into victory; I trust you to become a true Champion." His eyes hold a look of defiance that makes me regard him with awe.

"I trust you to win the apprenticeship to Sir Kendrick."

His hand moves weakly; his speech starts to slur. Still, he's grasping for something in the air. It takes me a moment before I realise that he wants my hand. I give it to him, the texture of wrinkled skin feeling uneven and knobbly against the surface of my own. "I trust you, Constantine, as a devout follower of the Pietists. I have accepted you as Champion a long time ago."

Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. Something deep within me stirs, powerful and primeval. "Why are you saying this to me now?" My voice is choked with emotion. No, keep emotions in check. They won't do you any good here.

Another wry smile. "The world has been too hard on you already, lad. At this point, you definitely need that extra push to keep you going." He's tired, and very drowsy, but fights to keep his eyelids open. "Keep in mind though, that this won't be a regular occurrence. Appreciate my softness while you can."

"I will, sir," I say with a smile.

"Smile more often. Makes you seem less terrifying to others with that usual scowl of yours, and you'll look more appealing to the ladies." He relaxes, releasing his grip on my hand and snuggling under the sheets, ready to sleep. "Now leave me. I need a good nap. Be sure that you do well in the assessment—don't you bother to show your arse around here unless you do! I'll personally ask Sir Evan for a proper report!"

He's back to his old self. Strangely enough, prickly Sir Isaac makes my heart lighter. "You have my word, sir."

And I mean it.

******

A/N: Anyway, please remember to vote, comment, share and recommend!

House of Invention -- One of the three Houses within the Quinnei; its scholars are typically engineers and architects who are tasked with researching and inventing anything to do with the sciences.