The Origin Of Sir McCallen

Reads: 141  | Likes: 0  | Shelves: 0  | Comments: 0

More Details
Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fantasy  |  House: Booksie Classic
Sir Michael McCallen was a great knight from Allanon from the Order of the Titans' Swords. This is thetale of his origin, his family, and his master.

Submitted: February 16, 2012

A A A | A A A

Submitted: February 16, 2012

A A A

A A A


Ten years old: I sat in a bush waiting for Adrian. I saw him walk closely infront of me and stand still. He glanced around. He was wearing black shoes and brown pants. The very bottom of his red shirt could be seen through the leaves of the bush. His hands were at his sides. They were smaller and smoother than my large, callaced hands. I could not help but laugh, knowing he was so close to me but did not know where I was.

"Michael! Adrian!" Mother called to us from the house. We were out in the fields playing after we plowed them earlier. I stood up and surprised Adrian.

"Gah!" he yelled in shock. I could help but laugh even more. I was taller than Adrian by a foot. He was average height for a nine year old but I was tall for a ten year old.

"Boys! Come quickly! Supper!" Mother called to us again.I licked my lips and turned to Adrian. He smiled and took off in a sprint towards the house. I followed behind him but only barely. He was much faster than I but I had him beat in strength.

We arrived at the house to see two knights standing in front of the porch. One a large knight but only in his twenties. A smaller knight that was unrecogniseable. He was older, in his thirties and he was known in all of Allanon: Sir Erik Mazacon.

Known to the elders, the council and the people as the greatest knight to ever live. He was the Hero of Allanon. He looked at me. His face was stearn and his eyes were sharp.

"Michael McCallen," He began. "You have been selected by the Order of the Titans' Swords to go through the trials of being a knight. In your veins runs the blood of a hundred warriors before you, each better than the last.Do you accept your destiny?"

My heart pounded in my chest. Shock was on the face of myself and Adrian. Mother was proud. I could do notihng more than nod, my jaw dangling around my ankles.

?

?

Fifteen years old: I swung my longsword at Aaron. He moved his shield up cumbersomely, barely able to block my hit. He stumbled back but recovered his stance quickly. He swung his sword at me, aiming for my midsection. I moved my heavy shield of iron up. It clanged against it and put a small quake through my arm.

I was larger than Aaron in stature and in muscle. I was larger than all the squires and most people who came from Allanon. My father's family had come from a northern tribe of people centuries ago, giving a stature comparable to orcs. My true mother, although I never met her, was from Allanon and held a family of farmers.

I swung my sword over-head at Aaron. He blocked instinctively with his shield. Seeing an oppurtunity, a put my power behind my shield and thrust at his chest. I contacted with enough force to send him reeling backwards. All the air escaped him with the hit. The chainmail of us Squires did not do much against blunt force.

He stood, panting like a dog, out of breath. He grinned and nodded his head to me.

"Michael, you are the best squire in all of Allanon." He stated. "The head councilman will take you under his wing without second thought." I chuckled.

"I hope not." I said joking. "I am not suited for being a tactician or being withheld from a fight."

"Squires!" the call came from the balcony above the arena. We all looked up to see Master Terask standing in ceremonial armor. "Ready yourselves for selection. Be in the main hall in an hour's time." At that, all of us squires were silent. We looked at each other with smiles and looks of accomplishment on our faces.

We were gathered in the main hall now. We stood around the border of it in our chainmail and tunics. Our shileds were on our backs and our longsword sheathed at our sides. Squires wore no helmets nor metal boots. Our short hair was brushed on our heads. Our faces were clean and our backs straight. No one moved.

The doors of the hall opened. The councilmen walked in to specific, predetermined squires and whisped them away. Four squires were taken. The High Knights then entered. They were all of their seventies or eighties but still stood tall. They were mast tacticians or guardians of Duke Geoffrey.

Then the remainder of the knights entered. I saw him. Sir Mazacon, the knight who introduced me to the order. He walked to me, pride in each step. He looked me in the eyes and opened his mouth to speak.

"Michael McCallen," He began. "From this day forward, you will by apprentice in battle and student in martial combat. You will be the best knight to come from Allanon or you will die in the fiercest battle of man. Your Grandfather was my master, your father my friend and your brother my apprentice. They are all the decorated with the highest honors in Allanon. I challenge you to do better."

"Master Mazacon, I swear on the grave of my father, that I will not be the best knight in Allanon but the best knight this world plain of existence has ever seen." With that notion, Sir Mazacon smiled and lead me from the room.

?

Twenty-five years old: I ran up the mountain, following Master Mazacon. He was in pursuit of a barbarian from the village we attacked. The man was no ordinary barbaian. He wore silk robes and spoke in the language of the beasts of the underworld.

I lost my shield in the battle a few moments ago. I had only my chainmail and my longsword. Master Mazacon still had his shield and longsword but lost his helmet.

We followed the man to a cave lit by everburning torches. Deeper and deeper we went into the cave. It got colder and colder. We could hear chanting getting closer as we ran deeper into the cave.

The man lead us to a cavern. It was vast and lit by a basin of fire in the center. There stood a group of seven robed figures. A terrible explosion knocked me over.

I awoke to see Mazacon locked in a fight with a robed figure. The figure was using a scythe, cackling in black energy. The figure hissed something in a foul language and casted a surge of energy from it's scythe. Master Mazacon was reeled off his feet and landed twenty feet back.

"You shall die under the Wrath of Erdarask!" the robed figure yelled, magic in his voice. It was then that a spell colided with the ceiling of the cavern. A rock from above fell over Master Mazacon. A rock that was only the size of a human head, fell, sharpest I had ever seen and struck my master in the head. Master Erik Mazacon was now dead.

Rage overtook me. I stood and drew my longsword. I charged forward, fullspeed at the robed figure.

"In the name of Allanon and Master Mazacon, die!" I yelled, slashing at the figures midsection. My sword caught it's side and it hissed in pain. It disappeared in flash of black smoke.

?

I arrived in Allanon, now bearing a scar down my left cheek from the cavern collapsing. I removed Master Mazacon's body so he could have a proper burial. Duke Geoffrey knighted me and bore Master Mazcon's armor and crest in place of my own. Sir Michael McCallen was born and my vow was taken: I will eradicate all evil in the life and the next under the power of the Duke or under the power of my own will...


© Copyright 2019 Sir McCallen. All rights reserved.

Add Your Comments:

More Fantasy Short Stories