by Reaves, Troy
"I cannot deny the truth of that. You have gone well beyond the limits of your nature. The task before you is the same as it has been since you left for Nactium. Wait here for Gregor and gather what information you can about the powers that move against him. Your knowledge of the priests working to undo him at his weapons trial will no doubt prove invaluable. The Order of the Crimson Night obviously play some role in recent events. Their desire to acquire the broken blade that Gregor carries is strange. The blade would serve them no purpose if they are consorting with demon kind."
"What is it that makes the blade so important anyway?" Boremac had thought about the little information concerning the Order of the Crimson Night and could find no connection.
"It is half of the sacred sword always carried by the leader of the Golden Dragon. It was broken in the body of the last remaining leader of our order, Lord Clamine. Gregor witnessed the Tharnorsa, who killed Lord Clamine, wield the blade against our old leader as if the God of Light had stripped the sword of its power. The hilt disappeared with the demon when Lord Clamine gave up his body to save Gregor." Master Silverwing frowned deep in thought for a moment before continuing. "I know of nothing in my experience that would allow such a demon to wield the weapon. It is terrible to think that such a force exists. Even an Abysmal leader of demon kind should have been dismissed from mere contact with that sword. It has been passed from one leader of the Knights to the next for 400 years and never has it failed, until now."
Boremac pointed at the ranger. "Who are you?" It seemed a simple question that should have had a simple answer. The rogue felt he knew but he wanted to be sure who this man was before he willingly pledged his life.
"I am the last Knight of the Golden Dragon, save Gregor, once the chosen archer and faithful servant of the God of Light." Lord Silverwing thought that would be obvious to one as observant as the thief had proven himself to be. "We were broken apart when our Captain failed in his faith many years ago. Lord Clamine, the Knight who gave his life to save Gregor's, would have rebuilt the order, given time. We both assumed there was time and we followed the paths laid before us in service to our God. Often I have questioned the wisdom of our parting, I left to learn the ways of the Goddess and Lord Clamine established the Knights of Bella Grey."
Boremac brought his hands together once more, as if in prayer. If he were to serve the God of Light, he needed to understand why. "There is a good reason to question the logic of the God you serve. Faith is one thing; foolhardy risk with little profit is another entirely. I have relied on luck and skill with a sure gain in sight, but what you're asking of me surely holds only death as its reward. A blessed soul parted from a sinful body is still a fate that holds little value for me."
"You are not bound in body or spirit, master thief. The God of Light only offers the path, our God does not force you to follow it." Lord Silverwing reached into the case, placing two daggers and a belt of throwing blades before the rogue. "These are one path. You may choose to take these gifts and go. Master Firebeard had some insight into your nature, judging from the arms I lay before you now." Four long hilts protruded from the belt and all of the hilts were intricately carved in a fashion Boremac felt was familiar, but he could not immediately place the runes. The two daggers were also decorated with the same runic symbols, carved into gilded grips. The blades of the daggers were formed of the same metal gracing the tips of the arrows that the master smith had made for the ranger. The daggers’ hilts were mirror images of the hilts of the throwing daggers in the belt, except for the distinctive pommels that gave rise to Lord Silverwing's rub concerning the master smith's thoughts on Boremac.
Boremac had to smile in spite of the reference the pommels of the daggers conveyed. He ran his fingers over the small heads in appreciation of the workmanship, admiring the smith's jest at his expense. "Indeed, he appears to know more of me than his limited exposure would allow. I think Father Oregeth might have played some part in these little faces." The pommels were carved in the form of two tiny jesters' heads with the three-pronged caps favored by court fools. One bore a broad smile, while its companion possessed the exaggerated frown of one conveying deep dramatic sadness. Each tip of the hat’s ears on the miniature fool’s heads held a different tiny symbol. The sides were tipped with a tiny moon and sun opposite each other, while the center held a slightly larger star-burst shape with small spikes coming out as if it were glittering. "Yes, I am a fool to take the path laid so neatly before me, but what is the meaning of the symbols on the tiny hats?"
Lord Silverwing laughed openly at the inquiry. "I would think it was obvious! Those who choose to serve the God of Light are watched over by him day and night. You are right to assume that Father Oregeth had some role to play in their design. The runes are ancient carvings dating to the first Communion of the first priest called to the God’s service. You are honored. I think the fools show Father Oregeth’s sense of humor as well as Master Firebeard's desire to make the weapons unique to you. The good Father was not always the leader of the God of Light’s faith, and much of his wisdom comes in the form of a light heart in even the darkest times." Boremac thoughts were lightened by the knight’s laughter. He placed his own worn blades on the table and sheathed the blessed daggers at his sides. The rogue drew one of the balanced daggers from the belt alongside the other that had served him so well. "Is there some ritual to be performed now that it seems I am to join this foolish enterprise?"
"You have completed the test set before you and in doing so have proven your worth. There is no need of Communion for you. Only those chosen to bear the burden of faith and carry the light into the darkest places must seek the touch of the God of Light." Lord Silverwing ended their time abruptly, rising from the table and beckoning Boremac to do the same. The rogue rose and secured the belt of throwing knives to his waist. "I will be leaving soon. You will stay within Zanthfar and await Gregor's arrival."
Boremac's curiosity pushed him to keep the knight a bit longer. "Two questions I have for you, though one might seem a simple boast. Why would I have need of so many throwing daggers? One has always been ample in the past. More importantly, what makes you think Gregor can make the journey here safely? He has increased his skills since he faced the assassins on the road to Traveflor, but I doubt he would pose much challenge to assassins of the Black Hand if they were to find him alone."
A strange smile bent the knight’s lips before he replied. "I will answer the second question first. He will leave Nactium alone, but the God of Light, who has prepared his path as well, guides him. Another will aid him should such aid be required. There is another power that is served by his destiny. The Goddess will keep him as she sees fit." The Ranger motioned toward the belt of throwing daggers as Boremac reflexively placed his hands protectively on his new implements. "I trust you have mastered your foes in the past before releasing the single dagger you possessed. Service to the God of Light is not always so readily prepared for, except to keep faith that the one that watches over you will deliver you from evils. I cannot say where your path may lead, but I am certain you will find use for all your skills, all your luck, and doubtless all your weapons."
Boremac wondered once more at the wisdom in following this man. Faith in powers outside his own was not something he had experience with, and despite his time in the Temple, it was not something on which he was ready to rely. Boremac shrugged and turned to go, somewhat reassured that his luck would carry him through if the God of Light should forget which side the thief was on.
10
Destinies Intertwined
"Yes, I miss him too but there is nothing to be done about it." Tana patted Fang lightly on her head as the pair sat near the campfire. They were well into their month-long journey to the grove of druids that watched over the wild lands near Zanthfar. Tana had regretted missing Gregor's weapons trial but she had duties of her own to attend. Word had come to her mother's grove that all available followers of the Goddess were being sent to Zanthfar. The creatu
res within the lands had grown progressively more aggressive, and strange unnatural predators were being reported as well. Great horned bears and massive wolves with elongated fangs, clearly outside the Goddess of nature's realm of creation, had been wreaking havoc among the villages scattered throughout the wilds. The Lord of the local lands had sent his militia into the woods to investigate and, after much loss of life, the few creatures they were able to slay had been delivered to the druids for study. Fear held sway over the villagers, and the people within Zanthfar, as one of the largest river bound cities leading to the sea, were beginning to feel the loss of grain and fresh meat from the outlying settlements. The Lord's personal coffers were being drained by the cost of mercenaries hired to secure passage of the trade flowing into the city gates.
***
Time had passed quickly, too quickly for Gregor to feel he had learned enough from the library. There was nothing to be done about it. And truth be told he had studied the demonic forces as completely as he could. The holy warrior had gained many insights into the one called Tur'morival, though what could have driven a priest so committed to his faith and his brothers so far from the God of Light was still a mystery. His journal gave little meaning to the fall from grace, and Tur'morival seemed so bent on his own path to destruction that the death of the acolyte at his hands appeared to have made no impression on him at all. What wicked taint could drive a man to such madness? Gregor was certain Tur'morival was driven insane by the very powers he proclaimed to have learned to control.
The creatures of the Abyss were ruled by chaos and madness, that much Gregor was sure of, and in that lay their greatest weakness. Demons were so driven to cause destruction and havoc that they felt no remorse. There was no honor, nor even a hint of organization, in the actions of such creatures. They gave their power over readily enough to those who foolishly summoned them to this world, all the time seeking to break free of the bonds of their masters. Gregor could not fathom the minds of those sorcerers who would risk their lives, and worse still, their souls, to bargain with the infernal creatures.
Tur’morival had to be the one responsible for the demons that had infested the home of the Knights of Bella Grey, of that Gregor was certain. No other being could have harnessed such power and so willfully sought the destruction of the knights Gregor had served. Why? It did not make any sense. The Knights were committed to peace. There had been no open effort by Lord Clamine to rebuild the Knights of the Golden Dragon, and those warriors who chose to train with him and the small group of standing regulars with him were dispersed to the four winds once they were considered capable. They kept the roads safe within their homelands, using the knowledge they had gained and the aid of the local priests to combat infrequent incursions by Abysmal evils. The Knights of Bella Grey did not even maintain an altar to the God of Light within their stronghold. The sanctuary there was open to the practice and worship of all faiths of the training Knights. The answer to his questions was right in front of him; Gregor was sure if he had more time he could find it. Unfortunately, his time within the great shelves of books was over.
Father Oregeth personally came to escort Gregor from the tomes collected for demonic research. "Gregor, you have devoted yourself to these books long enough, and it is time for you to make the last step into the light of our God." Gregor could not help but sense there was sadness in the Father's tone despite his gentle smile. "You will take your Vigil with the God of Light tonight in the Great Temple. I have no doubt our Master will favor you and elevate you to knighthood. Master Firebeard has fashioned a wondrous suit of plate mail for you for your communion that will serve you well in your travels as a symbol of your rank. The brothers and sisters of the Temple, and throughout the lands in service to our God, look forward to His divine grace accepting you into the place that is your destiny."
Gregor accepted the words though his mind was clouded with his own thoughts. "I accept the call and welcome it. Only by moving forward in faith can I accomplish the deeds that the God of Light has had the wisdom to set before me. Will I be alone in the Vigil, Father Oregeth?"
Father Oregeth smiled at the earnest question as if he had anticipated it. "No, my son, you will not be alone in the Vigil and you will truly never be alone again though no footsteps will mark the passage of the company you keep. Three have been chosen to witness your induction into knighthood. I believe you will be pleased with my selections. Come to the main Temple with me where you are to make your communion. The others await our arrival."
Gregor's heart leaped at the sight of the three that waited near the altar. Joy overtook his good sense as he spread his arms wide to embrace the three figures as one. "You are alive! God of Light be blessed and save us all, you are alive!" Father Wallin chortled at Gregor's display and announcement of the obvious while Sister Noria and Brother Findal flushed deeply at the open affection. "You slept so deeply. Forgive me for not visiting you. I've been so caught up in my own studies. It is a sin that I was not present when you arose." Gregor dropped his hands to his side and stepped back as he lowered his chin, clearly ashamed for forgetting his friends. "I beg your forgiveness. I cannot believe I've been so poor a servant to you in your time of need."
Father Wallin was the first to speak, causing Gregor’s eyes to meet his own. “There is nothing to forgive, my son. You were doing what you must to prepare. Only death would have kept me from witnessing this day, and the God of Light has more time allotted for me yet.” Brother Findal and Sister Noria nodded their agreement. “Nothing you could have done anyway, Gregor. The priests in the infirmary kept us as comfortable as they could and prayers swept our unconscious forms day and night.”
Brother Findal laughed now as he spoke. "We must have put quite a scare into them. When we did awaken, they were clucking around us like mother hens. I doubt you could have seen us anyway with the crowds of brothers and sisters coming in constantly to see if we were really awake."
“I was longing for my staff to sweep them away so that we could come to you, but Father Oregeth forbade it. He said we needed to rest so we would be ready for the Vigil." Sister Noria did appear ill at ease without her trusted staff.
Father Wallin's face became serious as he looked at the holy warrior before him. "I would be honored to suit you personally for the vigil if you would allow me, Gregor. Master Firebeard has outdone himself in fashioning the armor that you are to wear, though I do not envy anyone kneeling in it for the hours of the night to come."
Gregor answered without a moment's hesitation. “The honor would be mine, Father.” He lowered himself to his knees before the companions he had thought were lost.
Father Oregeth touched the bowed figure, bringing Gregor again to his feet. “Make ready and prepare your body and soul for the Vigil. Father Wallin will prove an appropriate guide. He has prepared many that have come before you. Brother Findal and Sister Noria, prepare the altar. Gregor, I look forward to seeing the Knight you have become in the morning. There will be a great feast to celebrate you becoming a Knight of the Golden Dragon in the main Hall tomorrow. It has been too long since such a celebration has taken place, but I have faith it will not be the last."
Father Wallin presented the plate mail with the grace and respect befitting the master smith that had fashioned it. The armor shone like a glimmering sun in the candlelit quarters where it rested on a post in the center of the room. Gregor's time as a weapons page gave him a full appreciation of the steel plates intricately layered that would cover him from shoulder to boot. Master Firebeard had duplicated the twisted dragons that formed the hilts of the swords of the Knights of the Golden Dragon, the heads forming a “T” at the breastplate under the chin guard. The shoulder guard at the right was adorned with a black sun formed of the same material as his personal blade, and a full moon made of highly polished silver shimmered at the left shoulder guard. The center held a shining golden orb that radiated small slivers of light, slender fingers of gold, that at the bottom of the orb almost touched the he
ads of the dragons carved below them. The spine of the armor held the broken blade that was Gregor's charge in a gilded sheath befitting its importance. As Father Wallin dressed him in the armor, Gregor noted it was much lighter than he would have expected. He flexed his metal gloves easily and was able to bend the elbows and knees unimpeded. The plates allowed for a certain amount of air to pass through them as he moved around the room and the supple leather straps that held the plates in place allowed him to move as fluidly as if he wore no armor at all. Gregor found the arming doublet beneath the armor was a thin but sturdy material unlike any he had ever felt, and said as much to Father Wallin.
Father Wallin laughed at Gregor's observation before forming a delicate reply regarding the nature of the cloth. "Few men ever feel the touch of such fine linens without the leave of a noble born woman. The arming doublet is made of silks of the highest quality. Air must pass freely through the cloth to cool the skin it protects. You see, Gregor, a woman of quality simply cannot sweat. You will find this particular silk cloth does not tear easily, which is why the noble houses that prize the wedding dresses made of it are able to pass them from one bride to the next. The men of nobility are not known for their patience after a long courtship and a trying wedding. Gowns of this material enclose the treasures of the bride, much like the complex locks that protect the valuables of the noble families in their vaults, serving to dampen the fires of men and teach them appreciation for the gifts women bestow.”
Gregor turned crimson as the question he posed to Father Wallin rushed past his lips. "Are Knights in the service of the God of Light allowed to wed?" He bowed his head even as his hand moved to touch the heart that beat rapidly beneath his breastplate.
Father Wallin weighed his answer to the question carefully before replying. He was certain there was more than idle curiosity at work. He thought to himself that young men were incorrigible. "It is an interesting inquiry for one about to become a Knight, Master Gregor, and unexpected to say the least. The holy warriors are not restricted from taking a mate should they choose to do so, though it is a rare occurrence. Men and women who serve the various Gods and Goddesses as weapons bearers have wed one another, and even taken partners outside the orders they serve. It is a rare companion that can devote their life to those who stand so close to death so often. More often than not the one who would wed the servant of the God of Light suffers long years of anguish until the object of their affection retires, or passes into their final rest." Father Wallin's voice took on a solemn tone that seemed out of place with his nature. "It is not a burden one should place on those whom we might love without much meditation."
