The Warder

by D K Williamson

  A guard led him down the stairs on the other side of the gallows to a gate. As someone locked his wrists together behind his back, the gate opened and he could see a priest and two knights of the order awaiting him.

  Before he passed through, he looked back at the woman. She smiled and wiped tears from her face, then waved at him. He smiled back and lifted his hands as high as he could with his arms bound behind him and feebly waved in return.

  “It's time,” someone said with a tug on his arm.

  As he was pulled through the gate, he once again looked back to the woman.

  She blew him a kiss and smiled encouragingly just before the gate slammed closed.

  Dech sucked in a deep breath and bolted upright from his bedroll.

  That was the last time I saw her, outside of dreams at least, he thought, wiping sweat away from his brow. He looked over the camp and saw all was still save for the three knights who performed sentry duties. He reclined and looked at the night sky for some time before he returned to sleep.

  . . .

  Chapter 3

  The train crested a roll in the land and passed clear of a grove of trees. One of the contrition knights pointed and yelled, “Behold, the Fortress of the Order.”

  Every prisoner in the wagons looked beyond the undulating terrain and saw a high-walled fortress atop a mesa called Creator’s Rock. A strange land feature, the Rock was a protrusion of dense stone in the middle of a rolling plain and well suited to be the site of a protective complex like the fortress.

  Rising beyond the high dark grey walls were more structures made of the same kind of stone. As much prison as fortress; as much monastery as military headquarters, the Fortress of the Order appeared unassailable. Since its completion more than a century before, it had proven to be exactly that for those foolish enough to try the position.

  The only visible route to the fortress was a long winding road requiring many switchbacks to scale the mesa. At the bottom of the road was Refuge, a small yet bustling town dominated by a priory with numerous support buildings, shops, plus a trading and market area to serve the merchant traffic that traveled the numerous routes that passed near Creator’s Rock.

  The train split at an intersection with most of the knights and wagons heading for the Rock, the rest continuing with Abbess Dealan to Cashel Abbey some five miles away.

  The switchback route up Creator’s Rock was an assaulter’s nightmare and a defender’s dream. Fortifications and emplacements provided points for those within them to wreak constant havoc on any force making its way up the inclined road with little danger to the defenders. King Malig learned this the hard way years before when his half-brother Harold sought shelter within the walls and in his haste to destroy the usurper, Malig threw away much of his force in a vain attempt to take the fortress.

  Facing no arbalest, catapult, or trebuchet shots, the journey up was still a stressful one for the prisoners aboard the wagons. They’d all faced the gallows and been spared, but what challenges lie within the high grey walls was an unknown.

  A large round silver plaque set in a stone obelisk stood out in the large flat area leading to the fortress entrance. The plaque held a representation of the shield emblem of the order with the words THE ORDYRE OF KNYGHT-BROTHERS OF THE CONTRYCIOUN HOUS rounding the top, Middle Common Speech for THE ORDER OF KNIGHT-BROTHERS OF THE CONTRITION HOUSE, which graced the bottom arc the plaque.

  The great gates into the fortress were open as they always were save for times of conflict, the gateway appearing as if intended for giants. As fearsome as the prospect of taking the fortress seemed from afar, standing near the base of the thick walls made it seem an impossibility.

  Past the gatehouse was a complex of further defensive works, an intimidating and bewildering passage of butchery should attackers penetrate that far.

  Beyond this was a large bailey, a grassy courtyard that spread to another formidable wall festooned with defenses. Another expansive bailey presented itself past this, with the massive Great Keep looming over another line of defenses beyond.

  Within this second bailey were numerous buildings and training grounds where veteran knights kept their skills honed and those newer to the order acquired the abilities that might keep them alive. A separate enclave housed the center for training supplicants, those recently spared execution and now training to meet the standards necessary to take the oath and become members of the Order of Brothers of the Contrition House.

  The wagons came to a stop within this enclave, a half dozen knights closing from nearby buildings.

  One knight stood before the others, “Line up here,” he said gesturing at the ground in front of him. When most hesitated, he repeated the same order in a near-deafening voice, prompting several to flinch and even more to wince.

  “Line up!” he repeated. “Side-by-side. Never mind my tone. It takes such a voice to get through your thick skulls.”

  Within a few minutes, the twenty-three men aboard the wagons found themselves standing in a ragged line, shoulder-to-shoulder, centered on and facing the knight. He looked to Dech. “Permission to proceed, Warder?”

  “This is your domain, Bilden,” he said using the rank for a lead knight-instructor. “I am here solely to lend what aid I might.”

  The Bilden dipped his head crisply. “You humble me, Sir Knight.” He looked left and right at his latest charges. “I am Bilden Daniel. Those behind me are knight-instructors. Welcome to the Fortress of the Order. For better or worse, this will be your home for some time. How long that time may be depends upon you, your instructors, and the Creator.

  “Each of you petitioned for admittance prior to your execution. You went to the place of execution not knowing the status of this request. You were placed upon an apparatus of demise without knowing as well. You stood upon the brink of oblivion.

  “Remember the strike of the headsman’s axe upon a vacant block. Remember the dropping door of the gallows. Remember what was to be your fate and was not. Remember that you were spared and why.

  “Nearly all of us within the order faced death in the same manner. We stood where you stand now. The Creator brought you here. You have been given the opportunity few of your sort receive… a chance at redemption. Who you were before today matters little. This course you are on is a test, a test to find those that are worthy. Know this—only two kinds leave this place: the worthy and the dead.”

  The Bilden gestured and four of those behind him moved forward to flank him, two per side, keys in hand.

  “When we remove the shackles you become supplicants. You shall take an oath to serve and obey. Break your word and you shall revisit the gallows. Should you be injured or become ill enough that you cannot finish the course, you shall revisit the gallows. You may decline and be taken for execution now if you wish. Any takers? Speak or step forward.”

  None of the men moved or spoke.

  “Then we proceed. Remove their bonds.”

  The four knight-instructors moved forward, unlocking and removing shackles. Most of the prisoners rubbed their wrists once they were free as the knights moved on to the next. In little time, the task was complete.

  “Raise your right hands,” the Bilden said.

  All twenty-three brought their hands up, some swiftly, others tentatively.

  “Repeat after me, I swear in the sight of the Creator—that I will faithfully and honorably follow—the instructions of those charged to train me—to serve the Order of Contrition Knights.”

  The twenty-three did, and at the conclusion the Bilden said, “You are now supplicants and under the jurisdiction and protection of the Order of Brothers of the Contrition House. You are not knights. That is something you must earn. There are many rumors, many stories about the order. Few are true.

  “Contrition Knights are not priests or monks. Contrition Knights have a sacred duty to perform, a duty as sacred as that of priests or monks.

  “Priests and monks serve through the conduct of rituals, evangelizing,
education, feeding the poor, treating the infirm and injured with care along with the creation of medicaments, and other service. They are ministers. Contrition knights serve by protecting the land from threat and most importantly, aiding those of the races that cannot defend themselves. We are a military order staffed by knights.

  “You will learn to protect using the tools of knighthood: the sword, the axe, hammer, mace, and shield. You’ll learn to ride the horse. You’ll learn the art of the lance and bow. You’ll learn magic if you are able, and whether you are or not you’ll learn to ward off the attacks of magickers that might do harm.

  “You will face that which others shrink from. Alone if need be. By this, you perform your acts of contrition. By this, you cleanse yourself.

  “Your first steps begin now. A trip to the barber-surgeons and mages to rid you of vermin and—”

  “To have us gelded?” one of the supplicants said.

  “Ask to speak unless spoken to first. Do not interrupt. No one is going to be gelded. Sterilized, yes. By mages. The knife is used only if necessary. Same goes for any maladies you may carry. You will be checked for physical fitness. Those of you lacking the required fitness level to start training will be sent to another unit where you will be worked into shape. After this, your record. Personal information, skills, and whatnot. Clothing and equipment issuance follows, then barracks and unit assignments. By then it will be mealtime and then bed. Training begins on the morrow before dawn.”

  The Bilden pointed to one of the knight-instructors. “Knight-Instructor James will lead you. Turn right and stay in line.”

  In relative order, the men filed toward a nearby building, the other knight-instructors accompanying them.

  Bilden Daniel approached Dech and said, “Seems like a calm bunch this time.”

  “Calmer than ours,” Dech replied with a smile.

  Daniel smiled in return. “Ah, ours was a pack of trouble to be sure, but I’ve seen worse since.”

  “No doubt. You’re more than able to deal with such problems.”

  “Blowing sunshine up my hauberk?” Daniel said with a laugh. “Not trying to escape your offer of aid, are you?”

  Dech smiled and shook his head. “I’m yours until I’m told otherwise. Point me where you need me.”

  Daniel pointed past Dech’s right shoulder to a group across the training ground. “Bilden Kurt’s group. Has some men with rocks betwixt their ears where it comes to sword and shield. They’re past the worst and it would be shameful to have them meet their end at this point. They head to the Brem Forest within days, so you know what that holds. That’s where you’d do the most good.”

  “Then that is where I will go if I’m not welcome here,” Dech replied straight-faced.

  Daniel chuckled. “No knight-instructor wants a warder looking over their shoulder. I wouldn’t mind swapping tales over at the mess if you do not mind eating early.”

  “I do not. I’ll see you there.”

  The two men parted ways, the bilden going to see to his new charges, the warder to see what aid he might provide.

  Based on Daniel’s information, he knew the men had developed the fitness and discipline needed to wield two of the primary tools of the knight, the sword and shield. Later would come other weapons: the war sword; the lance; the mace, axe, and hammer; the poll-axe, halberd, and bill to name but a few. Having survived thus far meant the men were past the portion of training that tended to consume supplicants and Dech was in agreement with Daniel’s opinion, they’d come too far to die now.

  A test was soon coming for Bilden Kurt’s supplicants, a trip to the Brem Forest where they would seek one of the vicious denizens of the trees, the fierce spere boar. Averaging two-hundred pounds and capable of great speed, they were a frightening thing to face and should a supplicant fail to fend off and kill the beast, they faced mortal peril.

  Today’s drills consisted of defending and defeating spear armed opponents. They were just commencing a rest and water break when Dech approached. Bilden Kurt smiled and walked toward him.

  “Creator be praised,” he said. “You might be just what this inept instructor needs. I have a half dozen men who’ll die in a few days if they do not improve. Three in particular will need to trust solely in the Creator’s grace for their shield skills are near hopeless. I’m short two of my instructors as it is and cannot devote time to deal with them individually.”

  “Do you have a helm I can use?” Dech asked.

  “So you’ll do it?” Kurt said with relief. “They’re decent enough lads and have earned the chance to progress. You might give it to them. I’ll get you the necessary gear, come with me.”

  . . .

  “Too soon,” Dech chided as the supplicant regained his feet after his third toppling by the warder. “Until you know where the attack is headed, keep the shield in position. You are guessing where I’ll strike. React, do not guess.”

  The young man Dech was working with nodded. “But I lack the speed to react swiftly enough, Warder.”

  Dech smiled and shook his head. “You have all the time you need and more. You simply have not grasped that fact yet. You have all of the advantage. The shield is a fortress and you’re trying to sally forth into a charging enemy.”

  It was clear the young man didn’t understand.

  “Stay behind the shield until you know where the attack is going. Unless I try for your head or legs, you cannot be harmed. If I do try for either, you already know the counters, yes?”

  “I do.”

  “If I bury my spear in your shield, who has the advantage?”

  “I do.”

  “If my spear rebounds or I pull it free, where do we stand?”

  “On the same ground as we started.”

  “Correct. Focus on the point of the spear and my two hands. The point is where the danger lies. The hands direct the point. As long as the shield is between the point and your body, no harm comes to you. It takes but a small turn of the shield to deflect a thrust spear, and if you can manage that, you strike with your sword. You are swinging the shield as if there is an angry beehive behind it with you.”

  Dech’s comment brought a laugh from the six supplicants with him.

  “Do not panic. Do not fear. Stay within yourself and the fight will seem to slow and give you time to think. Let us try once again.”

  The warder stepped back and pulled the barrel-like helm over the padded cap and mail coif that covered his head. Lifting the training spear—a shaft with leather covered padding rather than a steel point at the business end—he strode forward, shifting the shield that hung from his neck and covered his left side from the hard strikes of the trainees. The young man squared his shield and held the weighted wooden drill sword at the ready.

  “Remember, a small turn,” Dech said in a loud voice.

  The warder thrust once, the padding connecting squarely and the supplicant taking the strike well. He sidestepped and thrust again, and then again, the young man pivoting and keeping the shield facing the threat.

  Dech stepped back and closed again, thrusting at the middle of the shield, the supplicant angling the surface a bit too much, but by far the best he’d done this day. Dech went with the move, his spear sliding across the surface past the young man’s left shoulder. The supplicant pushed the shield out, forcing the spear away and stepped forward bringing the sword blade around in an arc. The wooden blade banged solidly on the protection that hung from the warder’s neck.

  Dech stepped back and pulled the helm from his head with a smile on his face. “Was that so hard? You need much work with the shield, but what you just did says you’ll master it if you apply yourself. Your sword strike was excellent. Let us see that again.”

  The warder worked with the six men for the rest of the day and felt confident they would acquire the skills they needed to survive the test in the Brem Forest. The test was more than simply an evaluation of skill though; it was a test of fortitude and courage. This was something he h
oped all of the instructors could impress upon the supplicants over the next few days.

  . . .

  Dech was finished early enough to wash, dress, and meet Bilden Daniel at the mess. After an enjoyable time catching up, the warder walked the distance to the Great Keep and went to one of the many subterranean chambers under the massive structure, in this case, an alchemy works and storage area operated by order mages.

  Digging the pendant he had taken from one of the Hydell Road bandits, he brought it to Sir Terrence, a crafter of similar objects the order knights used.

  “What’s this?” the mage asked. “Collecting magical items now?”

  Dech smiled. “Its previous owner was no longer in need of it. It seemed odd to me.”

  Terrence placed the pendant on a wood slab and held a contorted hand over it, a scrying sign.

  “A suppression device for certain. Not of the quality we produce here, but produced by a mage of some skill. It appears well worn, but the enchantment is recent. Where did you say you found this?”

  “The Hydell Road.”

  “I heard about that. Highwaymen, yes?”

  Dech nodded in response.

  “They might have acquired it by ill-gotten means then, rather than purchasing it from a mage. Do you need this?”

  “No. I thought it might be of interest to you.”

  “It is. Further scrying might reveal the mages involved or maybe its place of origin. Keeping abreast of such things can be of use. Is your medallion still functional?”

  “It is intact.”

  “Let me see it.”

  Dech reached into the neckline of his gambeson and pulled out a chain with an attached and covered medallion. Lifting it past his head, he handed it to Terrence.

  “Ah, this is old tidings, Dech,” he said after pulling the cover free.

  Made to ward off magic cast by their opponents, most contrition knights equipped such medallions. While not proof against all spells, they were often helpful. Keeping them sheathed when not needed was standard practice as mages often worked with order knights and such wards could hinder their casting. Paired with mental disciplines contrition knights learned, the medallions were an important, if passive, tool in the arsenal.