humbled. So he shut his mouth, listened, and obeyed.
Over the next two hours, Mister Sejus instructed Dalton on the fine points of swordsman’s stances. Slowly Dalton’s mind opened to the fact that this old hermit was well versed in the techniques of advanced sword fighting.
When they stopped, Dalton lowered his sword and stared at Mister Sejus. He was certain this was not the same man who had nursed him back from the dead, for the man seemed twice his former self in mind, stature, and strength.
“Once again you have surprised me, Mister Sejus,” Dalton said as he laid the sword back on the workbench. “You have shown me forms that not even my instructors knew. How much more do you know?”
Mister Sejus lifted the sword and wiped it with a rag as he inspected the handle. “When you have finished polishing the handle, I can show you one or two more things,” he said with a quick grin. “Tell me, young Dalton, what directs the thoughts and actions of a Knight of the Prince such as yourself?”
“I suppose it is the training we receive from our instructors.”
“I see,” Mister Sejus said as he returned the sword to the workbench. “And what if an instructor is incompetent or misdirected himself? What then happens to his students?”
Dalton had no answer.
“Would it be safe to assume that his students might become incompetent or misdirected?”
“I suppose so,” Dalton replied, once again uncomfortable.
“Men are flawed, Dalton. What has the King given us to guard against such a thing?” Mister Sejus asked. “What
should
direct the thoughts and actions of a Knight of the Prince?”
Dalton knew this answer from his training. “The Code and the life of the Prince.”
Mister Sejus penetrated Dalton’s soul with his eyes once again. “Your words are true, but do you
believe
them, Dalton?”
Dalton wanted to say yes just to stop this dialogue, but this confounded hermit seemed to read his heart like an open book. He would take nothing short of a truthful answer.
“I was taught that the Code is an archaic document that our kingdom has outgrown—a relic from the past that is only a rough guide.” Dalton bent over, put his elbows on the workbench, and rested his fingers on the sword. “Some even said that it was not given by the King but written by the hands of mere men. Deep inside I know it is more than that, but most of the kingdom has rejected it—including many men of great learning.” Dalton turned his head and looked at his peculiar mentor. “So how does one truly know what to believe or follow?”
Mister Sejus looked on Dalton as a father would, patiently teaching a son through his years of experience.
“The Code is timeless, Dalton. It was not given to one man in secret for a particular time, but to all people openly for all time. It is not a parchment in the inner chambers of the palace of Chessington, but a living creed written on the fleshly tablets of the hearts of men and women who serve and love the King. The Prince is the personification of the Code. By Him the kingdom lives or dies. Do not let the vain teachings of wayward instructors cause you to wander from the resilient truth of the Code and the Prince! Test it, Dalton, and see if it is not true.”
Dalton looked at Mister Sejus and knew he spoke the truth. Whyhad it taken him so long to see it? This is what his friend Koen believed, and it was the reason he was a knight of authority.
At the haven in Salisburg, Koen and Carliss had stood firm by the Code in spite of ridicule. Dalton had not. Now he turned away and knelt to the floor on one knee, crushed by the weight of his past compromise. He lowered his head.
“I hardly know the Code,” he said softly. “How can I live by it?”
Dalton felt the gentle hand of Mister Sejus on his shoulder.
“Honor the King with your life. Swear allegiance to Him and to Him only,” the confident voice of his mentor spoke over him. Dalton lifted his eyes and joined his voice with
Over the next two hours, Mister Sejus instructed Dalton on the fine points of swordsman’s stances. Slowly Dalton’s mind opened to the fact that this old hermit was well versed in the techniques of advanced sword fighting.
When they stopped, Dalton lowered his sword and stared at Mister Sejus. He was certain this was not the same man who had nursed him back from the dead, for the man seemed twice his former self in mind, stature, and strength.
“Once again you have surprised me, Mister Sejus,” Dalton said as he laid the sword back on the workbench. “You have shown me forms that not even my instructors knew. How much more do you know?”
Mister Sejus lifted the sword and wiped it with a rag as he inspected the handle. “When you have finished polishing the handle, I can show you one or two more things,” he said with a quick grin. “Tell me, young Dalton, what directs the thoughts and actions of a Knight of the Prince such as yourself?”
“I suppose it is the training we receive from our instructors.”
“I see,” Mister Sejus said as he returned the sword to the workbench. “And what if an instructor is incompetent or misdirected himself? What then happens to his students?”
Dalton had no answer.
“Would it be safe to assume that his students might become incompetent or misdirected?”
“I suppose so,” Dalton replied, once again uncomfortable.
“Men are flawed, Dalton. What has the King given us to guard against such a thing?” Mister Sejus asked. “What
should
direct the thoughts and actions of a Knight of the Prince?”
Dalton knew this answer from his training. “The Code and the life of the Prince.”
Mister Sejus penetrated Dalton’s soul with his eyes once again. “Your words are true, but do you
believe
them, Dalton?”
Dalton wanted to say yes just to stop this dialogue, but this confounded hermit seemed to read his heart like an open book. He would take nothing short of a truthful answer.
“I was taught that the Code is an archaic document that our kingdom has outgrown—a relic from the past that is only a rough guide.” Dalton bent over, put his elbows on the workbench, and rested his fingers on the sword. “Some even said that it was not given by the King but written by the hands of mere men. Deep inside I know it is more than that, but most of the kingdom has rejected it—including many men of great learning.” Dalton turned his head and looked at his peculiar mentor. “So how does one truly know what to believe or follow?”
Mister Sejus looked on Dalton as a father would, patiently teaching a son through his years of experience.
“The Code is timeless, Dalton. It was not given to one man in secret for a particular time, but to all people openly for all time. It is not a parchment in the inner chambers of the palace of Chessington, but a living creed written on the fleshly tablets of the hearts of men and women who serve and love the King. The Prince is the personification of the Code. By Him the kingdom lives or dies. Do not let the vain teachings of wayward instructors cause you to wander from the resilient truth of the Code and the Prince! Test it, Dalton, and see if it is not true.”
Dalton looked at Mister Sejus and knew he spoke the truth. Whyhad it taken him so long to see it? This is what his friend Koen believed, and it was the reason he was a knight of authority.
At the haven in Salisburg, Koen and Carliss had stood firm by the Code in spite of ridicule. Dalton had not. Now he turned away and knelt to the floor on one knee, crushed by the weight of his past compromise. He lowered his head.
“I hardly know the Code,” he said softly. “How can I live by it?”
Dalton felt the gentle hand of Mister Sejus on his shoulder.
“Honor the King with your life. Swear allegiance to Him and to Him only,” the confident voice of his mentor spoke over him. Dalton lifted his eyes and joined his voice with
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