A-Viking (Betrayed by Faith Book 3)

by Paul C. Middleton

  The training with Grey went fairly well, showing he had significant skills. He traveled between the local cells as a weapon's trainer and had trained with swords when he was in early high school. He preferred a longer blade than Griffin and could use that extra reach effectively. Not that he, in any way, shape or form was a match for Griffin’s skill with a blade. Griffin's century and a half or more of experience outmatched Grey. Griffin’s expertise as a trainer, combined with experience in armed combat, meant that they made swift progress getting Grey to an acceptable skill level.

  Griffin also included Brianna in his training sessions with Grey. Between the two of them, they significantly improved her skill with a short sword. Rather than giving her a broad base of training with the different weapons, they focused solely on unarmed and short sword work. There wasn't enough time for any other approach to improve her ability to hold off an attacker, let alone enough to give her a fighting chance with a sword. Griffin was proud of the progress she made.

  Brianna had gone to bed weary and exhausted, with slight bruising covering most of her body from the training, every night that week. While they'd been waiting for Nin to return, Griffin had trained her hard. While they waited for their allied forces to gather, he pushed her harder still.

  After her return, while the South American and European Sisterhood was gathering forces, Nin had quietly slipped into Brianna’s room every night and showed her how to use the Earth plane to speed up her own healing. It was obvious to Brianna that Nin wanted no bad blood between them. After her first day of training with both Grey and Griffin, Nin had insisted on spending the night with her. Brianna hadn't been sure of how she felt about that, but having Nin's warm body cuddling up against hers had helped her sleep better than she had been recently. It seemed to relieve some of the frustration both of them felt at Griffin’s insistence on sleeping alone.

  What surprised Griffin most was hearing the South American cells reactions to his proposed target. The target was on the border between French Guiana and the Brazilian state of Amapa. It was not an Order fortress that Griffin had ever visited. He only knew it as a basic training camp for people from Spanish-speaking countries. He'd never been sent there to train or induct new recruits. It was obvious from the Sisterhood’s reaction that there were some strange happenings occurring around the training camp

  Joy had always been impressed at how Griffin detached his violence and duties as a Paladin from his religious beliefs. That attitude was only an asset to him, and now he depended on skill, rather than rage and fanaticism, for success. It did, however, seem to blind him somewhat. He didn't appear to realize the Sisterhood was as fanatical in their own beliefs as the Order.

  She could tell that Griffin was worried about the extra fire that their fanaticism would give the Order’s supporters when their fortresses were assaulted. Even with the advantages, they would gain from Nin cloaking their approach, he seemed to want at least a three to one advantage in numbers if possible. She couldn't fault him, as any battles would be fought with small arms and hand weapons. They would be attacking highly defensible positions, and their casualties their opponents would likely cause had to be a major concern.

  Griffin spent the evenings planning out approaches to the assault on the Monastery in the Tarpa mountains. It was secluded enough that rifle fire would probably not be heard by its neighbors. It never had been an issue when people trained with them in the past. His largest concern was, unlike the Monastery of St. Michael’s Sword, he could guarantee that the gates of this fortress would be locked. He hid his frustration at the extra time the project was taking from those around him. He’d been a leader far too long to make the mistake of adding to his subordinates’ uncertainty.

  The Tarpa fortress was not a Monastery in the traditional sense. It had been, for at least three centuries, a stronghold of the Order. It was also a key staging and resting area for the Order’s operations throughout Eastern Europe. Taking it out would mean the Order would have to divert resources from elsewhere to compensate.

  By crippling such a logistics and support site, they would hobble the Order’s operations in Europe. He was not willing to target any of the Order’s holdings in western or southern Europe, simply because that was where the major Conclaves were focused. The Order's outposts in the Middle East were already at risk from the jihadis. Removing them without taking out countervailing Order sites in eastern and southern Europe would strengthen the Ajeyptos, and he did not want to reinforce one major Conclave against the others.

  He had eventually come up with three separate assault plans for the Tarpa fortress depending on the numbers available to him. He felt he had prepared as well as possible for this attack, and before the destruction of the site, he would hopefully gain access to maps or plans of the fortress they plan to assault in Brazil. One peculiarity of the Order was that each fortress and Monastery was individual and unique, making it impossible to switch plans to attack one site onto another.

  They had started with a plan, and that plan was fast moving into action against the Order. They had a good chance of succeeding in the first set of goals, that being the disruption of the Order’s supply lines. Hopefully, that would be enough to set the Order on the defensive and give them some breathing room to create alliances that might defend all the Godsborn and Magi.

  Whether it did or not was yet to be seen. Despite his doubts, Griffin projected an air of confidence about the plan. In time and with the resources they had available, it was the best they could come up with. It would at least give them a fighting chance.

  William's Office, Order Secondary Base, Ontario, Canada, March 22, 2014.

  William sat at his spacious desk and looked at the reports on the attack of the Monastery in the Blue Mountains, Australia. With Griffin going missing everyone had been put on alert including the Order’s fortress Monasteries, the Monasteries of St. Michael and the Nunneries of St. Rita. He still couldn't understand how even Griffin could have moved a sufficient force to subdue or kill the forty odd monks present in the Monastery without leaving any sign of how.

  He paced the humble, functional office. Griffin was not his concern. He paused and ran his fingers along the spines of the books. Touching a crack-spined book, he withdrew it from the bookcase. The leaders of the Order for the last four hundred years had suspected the Council of having a motive at odds with the Order's stated goals. They had written their concerns in this book. Its presence added to the certainty of what he must do. The final piece had fallen into place for William when he had been told to kill Griffin, who he had known and admired his entire adult life, if he ever admitted to using his abilities on his own, rather than through God’s will.

  William’s larger concern right now was the sudden influx of support members and lay brothers that had been provided by the Council since the failure of Griffin's mission in Australia. Too many of them seem to be fanatics of a different stripe. He was used to dealing with religious fanaticism, and molding it into a form that could be utilized by the Order. These members seemed to be convinced that there was a force on the planet that needed to be eradicated. Many of them appeared to have no true religious faith at all.

  Besides, he already knew the full truth of the situation. He also knew he himself was of similar heritage to Griffin. He needed to plan somehow the extraction of those like himself and Griffin from within the Order, and those who might be more tolerant than would be acceptable soon. There was a storm on the horizon, and he didn't like the hate that was brewing.

  He also didn't want to face Griffin. Griffin would never understand why William had chosen to use him as a blunt instrument. William had regretted the necessity of placing Griffin against so many of the Demonspawn, but whenever someone else was sent far more casualties occurred. If William had wanted to maintain his leadership, he had had no choice.

  Luckily, there were four or five bases that William had been involved in setting up, that Griffin knew nothing about. This gave him several secure sites h
e could work from without risking any plan that Griffin may come up with eliminating him.

  William didn't like whatever the Council was up to. It wasn't just focused against the Demonspawn, Magi and similar, but seemed to have a deeper purpose. Many of the worst leaders of history had used hate to unite people under them. William didn't need Griffin to tell him that. He'd studied enough history to realize it himself. He hoped he could get the people worth saving clear of the Order before the storm hit. Otherwise, all the damage he had done, all the excuses he had made and especially how he'd used Griffin, were unforgivable.

  He put his hands over his face, the shame of what he had done over the past forty years washing through him. Thousands of deaths. Murders committed on his orders. Many of them normal humans who were simply in positions that obstructed the Council's goals.

  With a sigh, he rose from his seat. As much as he regretted those deaths, there would be hundreds of thousands if not millions more if he hadn’t played the long game. It was all well enough to think deaths could be avoided, but they were playing for keeps here. With his resolve renewed, he left the room. Plans wouldn’t make themselves.

  Near the Tarpa Mountains, Poland, March 25th.

  When they arrived in Poland, it was spring. The oaks and ashes were bursting into new, green spring life. Nin seemed to be enchanted by the surrounding greenery. Being in a country he was more familiar with Griffin found himself more relaxed. The familiar scent of Pine and deciduous forests in the air made him feel as if he was on his home ground. He'd always loved Europe’s sweeping mountains. They were tall enough to give him a feeling of their immensity without the unremitting harshness of the Himalayas. Australia, in his opinion, had no real mountains. The jungles in most of the mountains in South America were just as unremittingly harsh in his opinion.

  Brianna had never left Australia before now. Looking at her reaction of wonder caused Griffin to take another look, without his preconceptions on. The mountains were sweeping on the horizon. Their green slopes changed raggedly to black as the angle of the slope differed, then much more cleanly to white at the snowline. He breathed in the scent of pine and found its familiarity relaxing as they made their way to the rendezvous with the gathering Sisterhood and allied forces.

  When they reached it, Griffin scowled. He hadn’t been expecting a militarily ordered campsite, but he’d expected better than the chaos before him. Tents had been set up randomly across the area. He could spot several latrine sites, and some of them were too close to tents. One was way too close to the stream winding through the campsite. With as many people as were here he had concerns.

  Once he talked to the leaders of the groups, his concerns were allayed for a time. When he saw the reaction of some of their followers, those concerns grew like weeds.

  Overall Griffin found himself disappointed by the discipline and quality of the attack force that was assembling in Poland. Their skills were average, their ability to work as a team seemed well above average, but too many of them viewed this as a grudge fight. After explaining his issues to Joy, Grey, and the leader of the Eastern European Sisterhood, Magdalena, they made alternative plans. While they understood his concerns, as a group they were not entirely convinced that they were warranted.

  However, upon his insistence, they weeded out the most fanatical and formed them into a reserve troop. A primary concern was the possibility of an unwarranted atrocity, and placing them in the reserves reduced that risk. He also lectured them on the importance of giving quarter, while training with them in groups of twenty. Griffin moved those whose skill in hand to hand was lacking to the second rank that would be armed with pistols, bows or crossbows. He explained there were many like them within the Order, but they had been raised without the same knowledge of their heritage.

  Enmity and loathing would come soon enough in this conflict. Griffin wanted to limit the damage it would do to those who followed him. He’d stopped hating those he hunted more than a century ago. He wasn’t gonna hate people now. Wanting some of them dead with an entirely different matter. He didn’t despise them, but he saw the damage they could do.

  One man in his fourth group became particularly belligerent. Approaching Griffin angrily, the physically imposing man growled at him, "What that hell gives you the right to tell us how we should treat those in this fortress? You've never been hunted by these people. Hell, for all we know it's a trap you're leading us into! I challenge you to a fight for the leadership of this expedition."

  The man was huge, about half a foot taller than Griffin, and with at least twenty kilos on him. He was dark-skinned and had heavy scarring on one side of his face, possibly from a burn. He had a full beard which identified him as coming from one of the pagan groups that the Sisterhood nurtured and affiliated with. While some of these were professional, most were made up of resentful misfits.

  Griffin looked around and caught Joy's eye. With a raised eyebrow he eloquently asked her permission to accept the challenge. She shrugged and nodded. They had discussed the possibility of someone doing this before they'd left Australia. Both of them knew there could not be more than one overall leader of any operation. They'd seen too many incidents where someone had interfered in the efficient running of a group.

  "I accept your challenge. I choose knives and first blood. Do you accept my conditions?" The man seemed taken aback that Griffin, who was smaller than him, would so readily accept the challenge. The man could not back down without suffering a loss of face. Griffin felt a small burst of satisfaction at this man’s reaction.

  "I do," he ground out.

  Griffin whistled loudly, gaining everyone’s attention. He projected his voice loudly across the group, saying, "This man has challenged me to combat for leadership. I would have all who wish to fight beside me witness this. After this challenge, anyone else will have the opportunity to challenge me if they believe I am incapable or untrustworthy. This will be the last opportunity, as we need to prepare for the assault on the fortress. We will march out in the morning, and it will take us about a day to reach our destination. Then we'll stop and rest for several hours before we assault at night. We do not have time for this idiocy, but I will make time. Any who believe they have what it takes to best me, and thereby the leadership, seek out Joy or Grey."

  He divested himself of his sweater and T-shirt and continued. "Magdalena, find a matching pair of knives, so none can claim an unfair advantage. The rest of you form a circle. You have the right and duty to push either of us that reaches the edge back into the circle." This was not exactly protocol for a challenge, as the Sisterhood had never really had challenges before. However, it was fairly close to the Order's protocol.

  Slowly, with murmurings amongst the crowd, a challenge circle formed. Griffin performed a few limbering exercises to loosen his muscles for the challenge, while he was waiting for the knives. The tension in the crowd was so strong that could be felt. Anticipation, and a small measure of fear could be smelt in the air.

  When Magdalena arrived with a matching pair of long knives, each about a foot long Griffin left his opponent to pick first. After taking the remaining blade he walked ten steps away from Magdalena, he nodded to her to start the duel when she was ready.

  "This challenge is to the first blood. It is not to the death. The first blood drawn by either opponent shall end the match. Do you agree?" Magdalena said, both to the combatants and the crowd. Griffin nodded languidly, with his opponent giving a stiff, curt nod. Magdalena withdrew to the edge of the circle.

  At the edge of the crowd, he could see Nin shaking her head at this turn of events, with Brianna standing nervously next to her. Griffin tauntingly walked to the center of the circle. His opponent, however, was more experienced than David. He cautiously circled Griffin. Once Griffin was in the center of the circle, he threw his knife directly away from his opponent and stood there in a passive stance. He heard several gasps from the crowd. This was a fight to the first blood, how was he going to win it without a weap
on? The reaction gave him some satisfaction.

  Griffin just stood there not even turning to follow his opponent's movements. His contempt for his opponent was obvious. Nin, at the edge of the crowd, nodded her head slowly. By throwing away his knife, he would need to either use his opponent’s weapon against its wielder, or break his opponent's nose. By defeating the challenge without a weapon, while his opponent had one, he was making a statement. 'You disrespect me. I could kill you as soon as look at you, but I choose not to.'

  As his opponent kept circling him, the crowd grew restless. Mutters of cowardice could be heard from the crowd, not directed at Griffin but rather his opponent. His opponent flushed and closed in somewhat cautiously. When he was within five paces, he charged Griffin, the knife held low in an underhanded grip. At least the man knew how to fight with a knife. Time seemed to slow for Griffin. Once his opponent was close enough, he dodged within reach of the blade, grabbing the wrist that held it with one hand. Ducking his body down, he used the momentum of the man's charge to throw him onto his back. There was a thud as the challenger hit the ground, and Griffin was close enough to hear the air whooshing out of his lungs.

  Griffin didn't even bother to follow-up. The man rolled and came to his feet, and he fell into a low stance. Griffin continued to stand passively in the center of the circle. The challenger continued to go at him over the next five minutes, with Griffin throwing him, forcing him off balance, and making him seem to be completely unskilled in any martial art.