by Reaves, Troy
***
Boremac held out his hands as the two guards came to collect him. The priests of the God of Light chanted as they rose from their seats around the rock. His work here was done, and he was prepared to pay the cost of his actions, unwilling to flee. Even as the demonic form emerged from the flames at the boulder, the guards remained focused on apprehending the man of the cloth who had slain the robed figure. Boremac did not blame them. They had a responsibility to the people in the arena, though they could do nothing to protect them from the hideous creature that had appeared. This was the province of divine powers, and though Boremac was immediately concerned with his own predicament, he knew that Gregor would be the one to pay most dearly for the rogue's actions. The thrown dagger was guided by skills well-honed in a life spent committed to self-preservation, but the motivation behind it went against everything the thief had ever done. Boremac brought his eyes to meet the two guards as he spoke," I submit to the will of the God of Light. I trust in the wisdom of the power that guided my actions and will deliver us from this evil." Boremac allowed the guards to take him, quietly adding his voice to the chanting of the men and women of the faith. It was then the rogue discovered peace he had never known, even as the jailers led him out of the arena.
***
The creature had flesh the color of obsidian covered in a fine coat of fur. A thick white mane dominated its head and back. Four grotesquely powerful arms that were layered with muscle sprouted from its torso, the top pair tipped with pincers instead of hands and the lower pair ending in razor-sharp claws. Its head was a blending of a humanoid skull with an elongated muzzle similar to a giant wolf. Although many people in the arena viewing area fled at the sight of it, most were mesmerized by its smooth animal grace as it charged from the flames toward Gregor.
Gregor planted the balls of his feet, ready to receive the beast’s attack. Moments stretched into hours as the demon closed the distance between them, efficiently pumping clawed arms and legs to increase the speed of its bounding gait. The pincers extending toward the warrior snapped repeatedly as if anticipating cutting Gregor's flesh. The swordsman realized too late that he had tossed away his shield during the previous melee and would be sorely pressed to face all four appendages with only his sword. At the last moment, Gregor moved toward the demon. He dodged to one side as his black blade swept in a downward arc, severing one of the vile pincers. The creature ignored the wound as it pivoted to face him, digging the razor-sharp claws of its undamaged appendage into the dirt as the beast came to its full height within arm’s reach of Gregor, drawing back its remaining limbs and pointing its muzzle down at the warrior. The demon seemed to take real notice of the warrior for the first time, rapidly barking at him and snapping his remaining pincer in a warding gesture. The wounded arm was already regenerating, and Gregor had to wonder what exactly this creature was capable of as a soft growth of flesh began to harden. He moved backwards out of reach and tried to think. In the brief time the demon was replacing its lost limb, Gregor heard a soft chanting start in the seats of the arena.
The twilight enclosing the arena was filled with white light emanating from the followers of the God of Light. It was a sign of faith that would conquer the darkness, and Gregor felt his despair leave him. He knew what he needed to do. Gregor turned from the creature and fled toward the boulder. The beast pursued him immediately as the reforming pincer became fully functional once more. The game was over, and the beast moved with remarkable skill, ready to devour its prey. Gregor leapt into the air to take the high ground the boulder provided and turned to meet his attacker. A small prayer was all he could recite as he threw his legs out over the shoulder of the beast and extended his sword to his side. As Gregor felt the tug of the earth, the creature's head fell from his shoulders, but the struggle was not over yet. The demon flailed its arms, blindly seeking the holy warrior who had removed its head, which was already beginning to reform. Gregor had precious little time as he moved to strike the final blow.
“The God of Light will endure you no longer, and as his sword and protector, I banish you to the Abyss from which you came!" As Gregor spoke these words, the blade of his black sword absorbed the white light in the arena and burned with the divinity of the God of Light. Gregor plunged the sword into the center of the thrashing arms, causing the demon's body to convulse and shoot its limbs outward to the sides of its torso. The form dissolved into a cloud of acrid smoke that smelled of brimstone, and the beast was gone. Gregor fell to his knees and wept.
Chaos swept the arena as the unnatural darkness gave way to the return of the sun’s light. The brothers and sisters of the God of Light moved into the arena grounds where the battle had taken place, rushing to tend the fallen. Divine healing knitted the weeping wounds sustained by Father Wallin as the priests stripped away his damaged armor, inspecting his body. Remarkably, only his leg had been broken by the fall from the boulder, and the minor bruises would heal in time. Sister Nadia and Brother Findal were unaffected by the magic that rendered them unconscious, though they could not be awakened. Father Wallin was also trapped in unnatural sleep, marked by shallow breathing and the slow beating of his heart. None of these three figures could be roused and were gently carried to the infirmary at the Temple.
Firebeard moved to the top of the boulder, intent upon examining the pool of metal that formed where the priest’s staff melted. The metal had hardened where it lay and still glowed with the same the deep red that had suffused the staff as it had struck Father Wallin. "Strange. I should chip away some of the stone and examine it if I can." Firebeard mumbled to himself, his curiosity and professional interests held in check only by his good sense. Too many unknown powers had been revealed to risk touching the metal directly, and it would be some time before the smith could determine anything about the alloy's creation.
Channeling the forces that Gregor had used against the demon had taken its toll on the holy warrior. He remained on his knees, offering thanks to the God of Light for the power to overcome the creature. Slowly, Gregor felt a measure of strength return to his limbs and was able to shakily regain his feet. His eyesight had darkened, and even as he stood the area around him appeared to be no more than a brightening haze filled with shadows of movement. He felt hands take his arms to steady him as he swayed on wobbly legs, wondering where his weapon had fallen. "We have you, Gregor." Gentle words touched his ears. "Are you all right?"
"I think I will be fine. The power has taken my eyesight but light returns. I cannot see much more than a bright blur." Gregor blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision.
A light chuckle came with the reply. "It is a wonder you can see at all, Master Gregor. The prayers of at least a hundred brothers and sisters poured through you. I would not be surprised if the God of Light himself empowered your weapon. The power that flowed into the sword you wield certainly appeared to be a direct intervention."
"We should get him to the infirmary before he gets any heavier, brother. It will take more than the two of us to bear his weight if his legs give out. Walk as much as you can, Master Gregor, but we will carry you if we must."
Gregor did as he was told and focused his concentration on remaining conscious and upright as he was led to the Temple grounds. He barely heard the cheers that filled the arena as the priests led him out the great doors. Word spread through Nactium, and the streets were lined with people struggling to catch sight of the new champion. Such a blessed warrior had not been seen in the streets of Nactium for quite some time. No one could know the true destiny of this young squire who was yet to receive knighthood, but many of them, while recounting his victories in the arena, could not help but think he would be the one to rebuild the Knights of the Golden Dragon, those chosen Knights of the God of Light whose order had been wiped out so long ago.
8
New Assignments
Boremac had spent an interesting night in the confines of Nactium's jail. Numerous visitors had stopped in to share words of suppo
rt and reassure him that the merit of his deed would grant his release once his actions were weighed at trial. Only one visitor had caused the rogue to reevaluate his actions, and this man had given Boremac a great amount of food for thought.
The man had been clothed as a myriad of other commoners that had filed through the rest of the day and into the evening. The first words this newcomer shared let Boremac know this man was here on business. "We don't take to assassins coming within the walls of Nactium without paying proper respect, brother. Don't know how you got yourself into the Temple but I doubt you'll find much sanctuary there now. Won't take much to have you dangling from the gallows by sunset tomorrow. Anyone who tosses a dagger so well is probably traveling with a hefty price on his head. I would advise you to take advantage of the time you have and make peace with whichever God you follow. One way or another, you will be meeting them in person by the time night falls."
Boremac kept his tone even and low as he answered the man's threats." My reasons for being here are my own and the killing of that priest held no profit for me, at least not in coin. You would do well to choose your enemies with more care."
"You speak boldly for a dead man. If you find a way out of the cell and beyond the walls of the city, don't let your shadow darken these streets again. Sounds like there might be a bit of brains in that shiny head of yours. Heed my words, brother, because the next time you know we have found you, you will be dead." The man turned away with a quick word to the guards watching Boremac's cell, "better keep a close watch on this one, gentlemen. Never know what those shady types might try." And he was gone.
***
The visitors at dawn took Boremac unaware as a guard banged on the bars of his cell. The thief rubbed the sleep from his eyes and turned to address the offending jailer, only to have harsh words resting behind his lips quickly swallowed. "Father Oregeth and the robust smith from yesterday's event, Master Firebeard if I recall correctly. What brings you to visit this humble servant of the God of Light? Imminent release for me, I hope. I received word yesterday that I have pressing business to attend to in another city far from this one."
Father Oregeth frowned deeply before speaking, "It gives me no great pleasure to speed your release as I am certain any time spent here would be well-earned for past sins. That is not an immediate concern to me, and you have been called upon to serve Master Silverwing more directly at this time. Arrangements have been made for your immediate discharge into our care until local constables are able to sort everything out. It is difficult to hold a man on the charge of murder when there is no body or weapon to be found. As I explained to the governor, there are far more terrible forces at work here as indicated by the demon's manifestation in the arena yesterday. You will accompany Master Firebeard and myself to the Temple grounds." As Father Oregeth turned to speak with one of the nearby guards, Boremac noted that the huge smith carried a long wooden case roughly the length of a great sword and two hands wide. The rogue's curiosity was piqued, especially after the role the master smith had played in yesterday's events. “The papers should be in order, guardsman. Please verify the governor's seal and release the prisoner into my custody.” Boremac thanked the God as the cell door swung open and the three men left for the Temple of Light.
***
Gregor followed as Father Havet led him into the part of the library forbidden to all but the most senior priests within the Temple of Light. The books within contained all of the acquired knowledge the library held of the darkest Powers identified and cataloged over the centuries by the servants of the God of Light. Father Havet was explaining that the books were kept from most eyes to prevent possible misuse, but Gregor's attention had been immediately drawn to an ornate tapestry hanging at the far end of the room. "Who is he?" Gregor cut Father Havet off to make inquiry, never taking his eyes off the figure pictured in the tapestry. The man represented wore dark crimson robes and held his hands out before him as if he were receiving a gift of some kind. The figure’s deep eyes were set amid a narrow face that was framed by long black hair. Something in the way the priest stood called to memories deep in Gregor's mind.
"That is Father Tur'morival, Master Gregor, and once he was known as the greatest demonologist to ever study within the Temples of Light. Father Tur'morival gathered many of the books in this room, and authored some of them as well, with the knowledge he collected. It was a sad day when he left the Temple, but the head of the church at the time had been left no choice. Father Tur'morival held the belief that the only means to defeat the powers of the abyss was to find a way to control them. The church has very strict guidelines in place regarding the use of knowledge concerning demons and their progeny. When encountered, they are destroyed, and if a person suffers from possession by these forces, the spirit is cleansed and the evil driven out, but Father Tur'morival argued against these practices. He felt the church was limiting its ability to fight the creatures and would ultimately be unprepared when the Crimson Night came to pass."
“What is this Crimson Night, Father?" Gregor’s head swam as Father Havet related the divine prophecies predicting the night of the Blood Moon. The more he learned, the more certain Gregor became that this was the same man that had invaded his sleeping mind that night in Dakin's cabin.
“It was predicted over 1000 years ago that a blood red moon would rise in the night sky, and a gateway to the Abyss would stand open until the dawn. Chaos would pour out of this gateway, and mankind would either be enslaved or destroyed by the legions that would come forth. Father Tur'morival argued that controlled summoning of the demons would allow the brothers and sisters of the Temple of Light to undo the armies of demons and seal them in the Abyss for eternity. You see, Gregor, the manifestations of the demons we encounter in this world are only shells, physical forms assumed by the creatures from the Abyss when they make their way here. That is why when you cut away the limbs of the demon you faced in the arena, it was able to reconstruct itself so rapidly. Pieces of these manifestations can be damaged by cold iron and blessed silver, and some minor creatures can even be destroyed by these weapons as well as other alloys created for that purpose, but the demonic soul remains in the Abyss, and only the physical form is dismissed. Father Tur'morival committed the later years of his life to studying means of a more complete summoning, wishing to draw the souls of the demons into their physical manifestations to destroy them utterly."
"He secret experiments resulted in the death of one of our adepts and he was expelled from the Temple. The story is that Father Tur'morival had gained a great deal of support among the priests closest to him, and began minor trials summoning imps and other diminutive demons in an old tomb the families of the city no longer used. Once he had mastered the smaller creatures, he graduated to summoning larger beasts. There is much debate to this day as to what exactly went wrong, but it appears that some more intelligent and infinitely more powerful demon in the Abyss had taken note of Father Tur'morival's experiments. All that is known, largely from the books Father Tur'morival wrote and the journal that was found secreted in the tomb where he worked, is that Father Tur'morival had decided to contact an infernal broker of a sort. Certain demons called Wethrin'draug sometimes act as intermediaries between summoners and the powerful Tharnorsa, who are the main powers within the Abyss below their Princes and Kings. With the information he had gathered, Father Tur'morival reasoned a Wethrin’draug would be an excellent test of his theories regarding the demon’s soul paired with the flesh in this world. Somehow the demon was aware of Father Tur'morival's manipulations and escaped the restraining divine powers that had been prepared for the experiment. One of the first acolytes to arrive when the demon was clawing its way from the tomb where Father Tur'morival performed his experiments was slain immediately, and several other priests were wounded before the Wethrin'draug could be banished. Father Tur'morival was later found in the tomb, clutching his journal to his chest within the confines of a protective circle composed of runes and wards, having narrowly es
caped death himself. The journal was seized for evidence, and Father Tur'morival was excommunicated after his trial. Several of his stalwart supporters left with him and formed the Temple of the Order of the Crimson Night. There is a book here written by Father Tur'morival himself detailing their founding principles and the requirements for the priests to join their number, many of whom were very well thought of demonologists in their own religious orders. It was established not so much as a religious group but more as an information collective, where members with a variety of religious backgrounds could take advantage of the focused collective’s libraries and knowledge. I have visited their Temple here in Nactium on numerous occasions."
Gregor absorbed all that Father Havet had said before speaking." I have seen this man, or at least I believe I have. It was a dream, a nightmare really, but I'm sure it was Father Tur'morival."
Father Havet cocked an eyebrow and frowned. "Master Gregor, I assure you that is quite impossible. Father Tur'morival left the Temple over 200 years ago."
***
Boremac took only enough time to suit up in his leathers and secrete his weapons on his person before joining Father Oregeth and Master Firebeard in the main Temple. He could not help feeling a bit out of place garbed in his usual attire, and the sour look Father Oregeth wore as the rogue approached did nothing to ease his mind. "I see you have made yourself ready. It gives me no peace of mind to entrust you with the task set before you, Boremac, but I must believe Lord Silverwing's faith is not misplaced. There is to be a gathering in the woods of Zanthfar. Lord Silverwing is making his way to the druid's grove there as we speak and has requested his weapons be delivered to the city with haste. Master Firebeard has readied the weapons and will escort you to the stables where a fast horse is waiting. You are familiar with the city of Zanthfar?"
