Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One)

by Reaves, Troy

  Gregor felt a grudging respect for the assassins, for surely they must be trained in the arts of death, as they toyed with his defenses. He didn't know how long he could last without being mortally struck, and he knew full well, as the melee progressed, that they could slay him with ease. Master Silverwing was firm at his back, and Gregor resolved to hold as long as his mentor required. The only reassurance the young warrior had was a near constant clang of metal at his rear along with grunts of disgust and pain that were not Master Galant's. The fight seemed to go on for hours, when all at once everything changed. Silverwing shifted to one side and turned, bringing his shoulder to meet Gregor's on his weaker side.

  "This youngster is not worthy of your skills, dark ones. Flee into the night or face the fate of your companions." There was a soft thud behind Gregor and Master Silverwing, emphasizing his words as the last of the four assassins he had faced struck the ground. Gregor did not dare to look away from the two men before him, though he could sense by his mentor's tone that Lord Silverwing was smiling. The pair considered the offer momentarily before slashing violently at the ranger and the student, but the killers could not match Lord Silverwing's skilled blades. The ranger's blades extended expertly and in one smooth motion stabbed through the leathers they wore, burying a sword to its hilt into each of the attackers.

  "As you wish," Silverwing uttered the words almost conversationally. He pulled the blades free and shoved Gregor back, driving an elbow into his student's chest. The movement, intended to protect the young warrior, cost the ranger some amount of his own protection. The men swung their vile daggers in a final act of defiance. Silverwing's thrusting elbow forced Gregor beyond the reach of the killer directly in front of him, but the other facing Master Silverwing drove his dagger into its intended target, burying the jagged blade in Silverwing's shoulder. The dagger remained where it had pierced Silverwing's leather shoulder guard as the last of the assassins fell dead, joining their fallen companions.

  "What are we going to do with the bodies, Master Silverwing?" Gregor felt no remorse for those slain, but he did not feel it was right to leave them in the road. "We have to get aid for your wound as well. Your shoulder; should I remove the blade? It seems the jagged edge might tear it apart and I am no healer."

  "Hold, Gregor," Master Silverwing spoke through gritted teeth as once more he retrieved his bow. The ranger sighted carefully before loosing a single arrow into the darkness with a whoosh of breath and a curse. A flapping of leathery wings was the only indication that he had come close to his intended target, and the curse that escaped him told Gregor that his mentor had missed. "There will be the hells themselves to pay for the lack of aim in that shot! We are exposed every moment we remain here. Do not trouble yourself about my wounds. Our God serves us as we serve him, and I can bind myself readily enough. Cut the shoulder guard away from the blade, and I will mend the wound. Apply as little pressure to the dagger as possible."

  Gregor removed the shoulder guard as instructed, casting aside the ruined chunks of hardened leather as he cut them away. The wound bled grievously, no longer restricted by the padding beneath the leathers. Master Silverwing removed his leather glove from the hand opposite his wounded shoulder, focusing his strength as he prayed in a whisper for the divine power he required. A gentle blue and silver light enveloped the huntsman's hand as he moved his palm over the wound. "I will need you to remove the blade, Gregor, so I can heal the wound properly." The open flesh began to knit almost immediately as Gregor drew out the jagged dagger, covering the wound in fresh pink skin. As the bleeding stopped, Master Silverwing set about cleaning his leathers with a cloth from his pack. "It is not the worst I have had, but it will take time to heal completely. The priests will be knitting bone in my shoulder and curing the wound for some time. It is time for you and me to part company, Gregor. It is far later that I would have thought, and the price on my head must be great. The services of the Brotherhood of the Black Hand are much too expensive to be wasted hunting travelers on the roads." Master Silverwing examined the dagger closely, pointing out the tell-tale markings on it as he did. "The obsidian handle and the fist carved on the hilt are unique to each blade. The owners form them when they become initiates of the Brotherhood. Each weapon leaves a signature mark as it pierces the flesh. They rarely group into bands of more than two, and I have never heard of this many working as one before. It is too hard to cover their tracks in so large a group. Most of the people within these lands never encounter more than rumors of their existence. These are black times indeed, Gregor, and you must be constantly on your guard. The mark of the Overseer of the Brotherhood himself appears to be on me. The bat I failed to slay that flew from the trees is his servant, and will bring word of the failure. Such interest is curious. Look here, “Master Silverwing knelt beside the body of the one who wounded him. “See the ring, here? This man was no novice. Few bear this bit of jewelry outside the proven members of the evil Brotherhood. Curious that he should lead a band of so many that were untested. I assume we were to be their final trial before the rite of passage into the Black Hand. This one must have fallen out of favor somehow and been seeking to redeem himself. Yes, dark times for us all. The Overseer is the one who slew one of my students long ago and disappeared into the darkness. The bastard was little more than the leader of common brigands at that time. I have spent much coin and many years looking for him. Tales of his ascension into the higher ranks of the Brotherhood of the Black Hand were obviously accurate, and it would appear my inquiries have not gone unnoticed. Gregor, you must take my swords to the Temple of the God of Light in Nactium. The priests there will recognize them and will complete your training." With this, Silverwing handed Gregor his swords and took Gregor’s in return.

  Gregor was overwhelmed by the words of his mentor. He was honored and confused by the implications of Silverwing's trust, with the giving of the ranger's sacred swords into his care. "There must be some other way to send word to the priests at Nactium. You honor me with your suggestion that I am fit to bear your weapons, but I feel your faith in my abilities is misplaced. What if you are mistaken about the target of these killers? Would they not have struck you down long ago if that were their intention? Even with the final strikes they made against us, as your blades pierced them, they did not appear to attempt to kill us. Cutting our throats would have served them better."

  Silverwing met the young warrior's eyes before taking Gregor's wounded hand in his own. "You assume too much, Gregor. Trust my knowledge and I will trust my faith. There is no time to send word to the priests ahead of you, even if I reach Travelflor by tomorrow. Let me heal your hand. It seems the dread spikes have bitten you deeply. You are lucky that they were meant to slow instead of cripple you." It took only moments for Master Silverwing to restore his flesh.

  "How am I to find the city without you? These roads are no paths I know." Gregor felt the fear that was becoming his near constant companion return. He marveled at his bare hand that had only moments before been punctured and bleeding. Gregor flexed it several times, curling his fingers into a tentative fist. A slight tingling sensation slowly worked its way out of his joints. He marveled at the divine healing wielded by his mentor. The stories of great deeds and acts of healing were one thing; it was very different to experience it.

  His mentor's answer came gently. "Gregor, our God will guide you through this night to safety, and it will take time for others to be sent. With any luck, they will be tracking me. Stay off the road and keep a straight path. Travel in that direction as straight as you can until the sun rises, then follow the sun across the sky for at least a day before you rest." Silverwing paused to orient Gregor in the proper direction before continuing. "That should take you deep enough into the forest to elude any that might follow. You should come upon huntsmen as your travel these woods, or more likely they will find you. Mention my name and they will keep you safe, but do not tell them where you are going. Those who live off the bounty of the forest can be trust
ed, but there is no way to know to what lengths the Black Hand might go should they discover who you really are. I will send word to the Temple once I know what must be done. Guard yourself against the wild predators in the wood. The can be vicious, but if you are noisy enough the animals should stay away. I doubt they would find the smell of you appealing in any case." Master Silverwing paused for a moment, drawing two leather pouches from his belt, one appearing to be empty, while the other was heavy with coin. He deftly transferred a few coins and gems to the empty pouch before tossing a few coins to the ground where the corpses lay. Silverwing handed the lighter bag of coins and gems to Gregor. "This, and the gifts of the woodsmen, should take you to Nactium with enough for a proper inn and a donation to the temple once you arrive. The coin I have left here should be ample to make sure our friend disposes of the bodies and follows me." Master Silverwing raised his voice enough to be heard in the trees as he spoke of the "friend." This time the arrow sighted flew true, as an unidentified watcher fell from his perch among the branches. "Don't worry, Gregor, he is not dead, just startled. The blessings of our God have many faces, and I have little doubt this man serves some purpose yet to be seen. He won't be following you in any case." Master Silverwing's smile was infectious, and Gregor found his heart was lighter for seeing it. "We have no time to waste. Take my swords and go into the wood, my brother, and know that the spirit guides you. Do not stop until sunset tomorrow. You should be out of harm's reach for now. Just follow your feet west until you make it to the walls of Nactium." The two parted ways, Silverwing continuing down to the road as Gregor moved off into the forest.

  The shadow that had been hiding in the tree dropped to the ground with a volley of curses that would have burned a sailor’s ears. “He is a reasonable shot maybe, but I take orders from no one. I will, however, take the coins and cover these as I see fit.” Boremac mumbled more curses as he kicked some fallen leaves and debris over the bodies of the assassins. “Amateurs. Better off dead than stupid.” He took just a moment to think over his options. Obviously the Hand wanted one of those two dead instead of him. Even with Boremac’s skills, he had to admit this bunch would have been difficult to slay alone. As it was, he had been watching the group of assassins’ movements for two days without drawing their attention, no mean feat.

  “So the sloppy young warrior would have required no effort to take which means they must be after the ranger. So capture the ranger…that will be fun, to be sure, and give me a chance to trade with the Hand for my life. No honor among thieves, but the Hand, they are something else altogether. My handsome life for a scraggy ranger? Works for me.” Boremac took to the shadows he had known so well all his life and set out after Silverwing.

  4

  Strange Relations

  "I can do this. I grew up with the woods all around me. I trained with the great Lord Silverwing. How could I possibly go wrong?" Gregor spoke aloud in the dark night for the first time since leaving his mentor. Another howl pierced the darkness, and Gregor's hands went instinctively to his mentor's blades. "Master Silverwing entrusted me with his weapons and I have no right to end up lost and eaten in this forest. Follow my feet. Yes, well, my feet have found every root and rabbit hole this forest has to offer. What next, Master Galant?" Gregor knew all too well what was next, as another wolf answered the first. He couldn't be sure, but the calls seemed to draw closer each time the throaty howls broke the silence. Gregor doubted there were any deer near to distract the pack. He was quite sure he knew who was on the menu tonight. He longed for a fire, but knew better. The killers they had defeated may not have been alone, and the woods could host any number of poachers or rogues. He had no desire to draw any more attention to himself than necessary, and he dared not stop tonight.

  The rising sun was little comfort as it broke the horizon, but at least the wolves had not found him. Gregor prayed his luck would hold for another day. The passage through the wood wearied him to the bone, and he could not rest again until nightfall. His aching legs reminded him of this unpleasant fact with each step. "Keep the sun at my back until it carries over me at midday, then follow it. Simple enough. A bit of luck may even bring me a path for a while. It seems strange how the trees take ones voice. Should be glad of it I guess. Surely the woodsmen would think I was quite cracked wandering out here in full chain mail talking to myself."

  "I would have to agree with you. Of course, any hunter worth his bow would have heard you clattering through his wood soon enough to avoid you altogether." The hunter in question rounded a tree in front of Gregor, a grin breaking his weathered features. "You have cleared this bit of wood of game. It seems my only recourse will be to get you out of my hunting grounds and hope the deer return in a day or two. Come. I have a cabin near here. Let's see if we can get you somewhere else. I am called Dakin. You must be lost."

  "Thank you, Master Dakin; I am in your debt. I am Gregor, student of Master Silverwing, sent on an errand in his service. He has graced me with some skill and a bit of direction, but little else, I fear." Gregor felt himself flush as he bowed before the huntsman. "He said the hunters of the wood were kind and would lend me aid. I am glad to see it is true."

  "No need to honor me with titles, sir. Dakin will suffice, and anyone possessing merit enough to train with Master Silverwing has my deepest admiration, and no small amount of pity, besides." Dakin laughed at his own jest. "I understand he is a terror to poachers and brigands alike that happen into the forest under his protection. I can only shudder to think of the trials he must have put you through as his pupil." He punctuated his words with a hearty clap on Gregor's back as he began to go deeper into the wood. "It is good to keep the sun at our backs and the breeze in our faces. Let's be off."

  Dakin spoke little as they made their way deeper into the forest, and Gregor was glad. The hunter kept a quick pace, and talking would have wasted Gregor's breath. Dakin shared bits of lore concerning the local flora and fauna, and Gregor found he was as modest as he was knowledgeable. Dakin had spent all his life in these woods, with his parents at first, until they had died, taking up the safe-keeping of the land as his father had done. He seemed somewhat sorrowful that no brave pup from the local villages bordering the forest had been sent to learn the hunter's ways. The keeper of the wood had no son or daughter to train, and feared he might be the last guardian of this forest once he died. Gregor was surprised to learn that Dakin's fate was shared by many of the roving hunters, since there just weren't many fair maids that would choose the forest over the farm. Many of the young men and women that might have taken up the call were fleeing the villages for the promise of wealth in the cities.

  "Can't really blame the young ones. The merchants come out all showy and full of tales of this hero or that. This life is a hard one, but no less fulfilling. The woods are getting more dangerous all the time, though, with the incursions of poachers and worse. Goblins been sighted, I hear. Small groups for now, but the mountains and hillocks don't suit them so much since the hired blades and adventurers been going after them. Someone is making ready for war, I imagine, and those warriors that drive the goblins from their caves control who mines the mountains. Yes, times are getting tough for man and beast in the forests."

  Gregor couldn't help but wonder at Dakin's words. He had heard some rumors of such things, but had mostly dismissed them as tales of bluff from the far traveling tradesmen. The only goblins mentioned in his village had been the ones that come and take naughty children away when they stray from their beds at night. He resolved to ask for more information once they reached Dakin's home, deciding to keep in step with him for now.

  Dakin's home was a sight to behold. The cottage was nearly indistinguishable from its surroundings. The walls were supported at the four corners by trees of considerable diameter, creating a natural camouflage for the roof angling gently upward inside the cover of their boughs. Greenery of various sorts seemed to grow out of the walls themselves, as vines had traced patterns up and over every surface. The doo
rway itself was the only sign of man-made intervention; intricately carved with runic symbols Gregor could not begin to decipher. He could make out forms of trees, flowers and a few animals, seemingly scattered at random, with strange symbols forming pictures at nearly every exposed surface. The arched entrance was just a hand taller than he was, and bore the same runes etched into it. Only the top of the doorway remained in its original form, stripped of bark and worn smooth.

  "Do you like it?" Dakin's pride could be heard in his voice, as Gregor marveled at the entrance. "My great grandfather found the trees and built this family home, oh, a hundred years ago, for my great grandmother. A woman can't much see rearing children in a cave. The forest seems to have taken to our line quite nicely. Haven't had to do much in the way of directing the plants, not that they would have much let us anyway. Those older markings at the base of the archway there are from my great grandfather’s own hands. He asked the Goddess of the wood to protect his kin, and devoted his line to protect the wood in return. Each man of the family has made his own mark in his time, reaffirming the commitment and asking for his own blessings." Dakin sighed, tracing his fingers across what Gregor assumed were the hunter's own markings. "Haven't had mine answered yet, and I am not getting any younger. I am sure the Goddess will send a new protector when she sees fit. Come inside and let’s get you some food. Looks like you been traveling through the night and this day is nearly gone."