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

by Reaves, Troy

  The first strike came from the rear, nearly knocking Gregor to his knees and causing him to stumble forward toward the beasts in front of him. He felt some small relief when the four wolves to the front of him did not immediately attack, choosing instead to gnash their great jaws at him and growl deep in their chests. It took him a moment to figure out what they were doing but it became apparent soon enough. He sidled quickly away from the stalking wolves nearest the priest but found he had been pushed away from the limited protection of the fire that had been at his back. Two pairs of wolves came around the fire, positioning themselves so that the animals were able to encircle him. They had shut down any means of escape with the efficiency of the pack hunters they were, and would begin their attack in earnest soon. For the moment, they seemed content measuring their victim and looking for the best place to strike. Gregor felt certain if one of the creatures struck him fully from the rear, he would be borne to the ground. He had no desire to rely on the mercy of the wolves if they knocked him down. Gregor turned with practiced skill, his eyes never coming to rest on any one beast, as he waited for them to make the next move.

  The wolves circled as Gregor turned in the opposite direction, matching their pace. The knight was fairly certain the animals would get the best of him if he were caught in a melee for too long. He decided the best course was a direct approach in hopes of scattering their number, even though that would mean exposing his flank. Gregor only hoped the steel plates covering his back could resist the claws of the wolves that would take advantage of the opening. The pack showed no sign of fear as he turned, his blade waving around the circle. There had to be a weak link in their formation, though all the predators seemed equal in size, and space between them was almost nonexistent. While making a third turn, Gregor spotted it. One of the wolves had only three full paws. It held as steady a pace as it could, but would just slightly miss a beat as it went around with the others, leaving just the room Gregor needed to break free of the trap. Gregor passed his eyes over the creature once more and knew what he had to do.

  As his target drew near where the circle passed closest to the fire, Gregor dropped to his knee without warning. His sword swept low, carving away the rear legs of the wolf positioned ahead of the limping wolf and arcing up, as Gregor used the counterbalance of the swing to roll him back to his feet outside the circle. The three-pawed wolf turned to snap at him and was cut off by the fire itself, its body forming a block in front of the wolves nearest it. The block being temporary, Gregor knew they would leap over the fire soon, and there were still three others that had no impediment. The wolves that had been moving behind Gregor when he struck were already charging around their downed companion. Gregor saw his advantage immediately and took it. He slipped fluidly around the wounded creature and stabbed at the great maw of the wolf at the front of the group nearest him. Even before the creature realized it was dead, its body ignited as the blade of the sword brightened, emerging from the back of its splintered skull. Gregor withdrew the bloody, shining sword and moved toward the next tainted wolf. Some survival instinct still lived in the minds of the creatures, and the next beast withdrew as Gregor brought the brightly lit sword to face it. Gregor was sick with the thought of killing the creature, and he threw his heavily booted leg out to make solid contact with its muzzle. The strike was answered with the sound of splintering bone and tearing flesh. The animal was turned away by the impact and stumbled out of Gregor's path. Only one more animal remained between the priest and himself; the priest realized the danger of his position only moments before was too late. Dark words began to flow from the priest's black tongue even as Gregor raised his sword over his head. Ignoring the last animals that were preparing to launch their grotesque forms at him, Gregor asked for one bit of aid from the God of Light he served. "Let my blade strike true and release these creatures from their binding." The sword leaped from Gregor's hands, spinning through the air as it closed the distance between the knight and the priest. As if in answer to Gregor's prayer, the blade's flight straightened as it struck through the priest's robes. The summoner’s words were silenced by the penetration of the blade, and blood ran over the hilt of the weapon as the man fell to his knees. "Pray now, priest, and hope there is time for a reply."

  Even as the priest fell to the ground, one of the demon wolves pounced. A glimmering white suffused its form, as a much smaller creature than the one that had jumped at Gregor glanced harmlessly against Gregor's chest plate. Upon finding themselves so near man and a fire in their normal state, the other remaining creatures fled into the woods. Only the body of the slain remained, or so Gregor thought at first. The wolf that had suffered the abuse of his boot emerged from the trees where it had retreated, its broken jaw dangling from its snout. A wave of pain swept over Gregor at the sight of it, and he moved to kneel in front of the wolf, laying his gauntlets to one side as the animal sniffed tentatively at Gregor's now bare hands. There was no threat in the wounded beast, and the knight spoke gently to him as he moved one hand to cradle the broken jaw. "Goddess save me. Tana would have my head if she could see such suffering. We will put you right." The wolf’s eyes stared into his own as Gregor drew energy into his hands, knitting the bone and restoring the flesh. The wolf barked loudly to show that its muzzle was quite functional, and ran off into the trees to join his remaining companions.

  A wet nose nuzzled the still kneeling knight’s back as Gregor watched the wolf go. It appeared he was not alone. The warrior turned slowly, not wanting to alarm his remaining companion, and once more extended his hands. Three-Paw, who it seemed had been watching over the healing of his pack mate, sniffed at the offered hand and sat on his haunches in front of the knight as if waiting for something. "My powers are not so great that I can restore your lost paw, my friend. Old wounds are beyond me. Still I owe you my life, I think, and though it is a poor payment for such a deed, let me see what I might have." Three-Paw cocked his head at Gregor and limped to the smoldering remains of the dead wolf, prodding it gently with his muzzle before sitting on his haunches again and turning his head to stare at the knight. "Ah, I think I understand now." Gregor rose and stood next to Three-Paw, offering a small prayer over the fallen wolf before carrying its body to the fire. This seemed to satisfy Three-Paw, and he took up a position near Gregor, lying down and watching the flames as the fire consumed his dead friend.

  ***

  The mood was light in the Grove after long days spent hunting. The rangers from various lands had blended well and no one could doubt their effectiveness. Tana's group included one of the mountain guardians as well as an Ardataure that was a very capable scout. The slight female remained high in the trees every night, keeping a constant vigil as the others slept. Sephia rarely spoke to the rest of the group and preferred to use simple hand signals that were readily understood by all. The scout's falcon companion had also proven invaluable.

  Dramor, the mountain warrior her group had drawn, had proven very aggressive in the pursuit of his duties. He definitely seemed to enjoy running headlong into every group of orcs they encountered. Tana had somehow fallen into the role of leader, and she felt this was in no small part due to her ability to explain tactics to the stout, broad-shouldered mountain man. "If I be in the middle of the bast... orcs, beggin' your pardon miss... Why can I not jus' tear em all new ones?" The puzzled look on his rough features made Tana smile, in spite of her mood.

  "If they have one of the demon bloods with them, Dramor, you would be killed. There is no reason to think they wouldn't have a leader with them, and you have not seen what those creatures can do." Tana kept her face deadly serious while Dramor turned her words over in his head.

  "Ya got me there, I must admit it. I hadn't laid me eyes to 'em biggun orcs and jus' got to trust those that had." He thought a bit longer, then his heavy, dark eyebrows shot up. "I gots an answer to the troubles I be thinkin'. I can make like runnin' to em and the rest all hold there in the trees. If’n I see a biggun in the bast... orcs, I mean..
. then I can drag ‘em chasin’ me up to ya here. Yup, that’ud work!"

  Tana had been unable to argue with him once his mind had been set. She cringed every time he shot out of the trees, bellowing like a grizzly bear, but she could not deny his effectiveness. For a person whose legs were so short, he was fast and no one in the group could match his strength. He had happily hollered out a warning when they encountered their first large group. "Got a bunch of em! Took two out on me turn! The biggun is mine!" Dramor was as good as his word and the demon blood orc had indeed fallen to his pick. Once all the orcs had been slain, the mountain man stood a long time staring at the ground where the demon blood had fallen. "Don' know what to make of it, Miss Tana. Drove me picks home and the darn thing just blew away like there weren't much to hold it together. Don' know what to make of it a’tall."

  Tana's group was in charge of patrolling the forest near the plains. The first few days brought them into contact with as many as two or three raiding parties, but the wood had grown quieter recently. Tana largely attributed this to the more concentrated efforts of the rangers. The reports that came in from other groups agreed with what her party was finding. The remaining orc war parties were larger and always had a demon blood leader with them. Once the leader was slain, the remaining orcs fled toward the plains. The forces that had drawn them together as one tribe were diminishing.

  Tana had chosen this evening to learn more about her companions. Many of the rangers and druids told stories similar to hers. There were a number of interesting animal companions in the group, though most of the local rangers and druids traveled with wolves like Fang. There were, however, exceptions like the large wildcat accompanying one of the other druids.

  One of the other rangers had been rescued, and subsequently befriended, by a weasel that reminded Tana a great deal of Filcher, Master Firebeard's pet. The ranger in question had been captured by a poacher whose knot tying ability had given him no end of trouble. The weasel had come along while the poacher slept, and gnawed away the ropes which bound the ranger. The ranger had fed the weasel and then had tried his best to gently shoo him away into the woods, but the little rodent had refused to leave him. The small, slender creature stayed mostly at his master's side, though it did have a tendency to explore other people's packs. Curiosity had almost been the end of it when it made the mistake of assuming Dramor's companion, a large reptilian creature, slept while it scurried over the reptile's back.

  "Dramor, is that beast of yours always so nasty?" Tana asked in a huff after the lizard snapped its jaws behind the frightened weasel several times. It never moved, it simply twisted its neck, tracking the rodent, before bringing its scaly head to rest again near the fire pit.

  Dramor turned to look at her, petting his creature lightly on its head as if he had not noticed. "Eh? You mean Carver? He wasn' gonna eat that stretched little rat. If he’d a’ been hungry, he would’ a caught’im. He was only funnin', weren' you, Carver. He didn' mean no harm. Just watchin’ the little bugger didn' get our stuff. No harm, Miss Tana. He wasn' meanin’ no harm. Carver jus' a bit away from his home and it's makin’ him a bit edgy. Know what I be meanin'?"

  “Yes, I do understand that. We are all a long way from home. We should be able to make our way back to our homes soon, if things keep going the way they are going. It won't be long until the trouble here is done." She was hoping as much as any of them for that to be true. The reply that came from just outside the light of the fire surprised them all.

  "We will be leaving these wild lands soon but not to go home, I fear." Sephia's soft voice emerged from the shadows as she stepped toward the fire. The large falcon she called Keen was perched at her shoulder, its eyes scanning the darkness beyond. "The demon blood leaders that remain have abandoned the orcs. They travel as one group to the north, to the lava mountains. Keen tells me the creatures move quickly. Their work here is done."

  Tana turned to address Sephia, "What do you mean, their work here is done?"

  "We have been distracted, as was the intention of the one who guides them. I cannot say what purpose was served when the demon bloods were sent here, but it is not their losses that make them leave now. Whatever power guides them is calling them home." Sephia's placid features remained unmarked by emotion as she continued. "There is something else. Keen has seen men moving through the forest. He cannot say how many. They are hiding their number."

  “Ah, prolly jus’ poachers or maybe robbers stayin' off the roads. The local militia have been jus' about all o'er the roads wit' the trouble." Dramor waved at Sephia dismissively. "You gettin' all in a twist o'er nothin’."

  "No, Dramor, these are hunters of men. They move like snakes in the night, hiding in the trees during the day. No broken branches or matted grass gives hints of the path they have taken. These hunters are watching and waiting for... someone. Some are near the road from the southwest. There are others in the wood but I know not where. They move constantly at night, searching."

  Tana's mind raced as she considered Sephia's words. Nactium, the killers were watching the road that came from Nactium, but why? First, Master Silverwing's weapons turn up with news of the demon trying to kill Gregor. Now assassins lay in wait on the road from Nactium. What was happening? The only thing in common was the city of Nactium. Tana realized there was only one person she cared about in that city who might leave it, Gregor. Gregor would leave to find his Master once he was knighted, and the same path that brought Master Silverwing his swords would lead the young knight to Zanthfar. Tana had to find the assassins before they found Gregor.

  12

  Heads or Tails

  It had been three days since Boremac’s meeting with Silverwing, time enough to start whetting his appetite for trouble. Tavern wenches to the left and alcohol to the right… what was a respectable scoundrel to do?

  He woke, if you could call it that, with a pounding head and teeth that felt like they were wearing dirty socks. The bed was shaking and seemed likely to splinter apart. Groggily, he reached out to the warm body next to him. “Mornin’, love,” he said thickly. “You feeling frisky again?” “BAAAAAAA,” was all the answer the rogue got before his bedmate resumed struggling.

  Boremac’s eyes popped open, coming fully awake. “What the hell???”

  Lurching out of bed, he took in the situation in an instant. The goat, unwilling as she had been to share his bed, was trussed at her front and hind legs and attempting unsuccessfully to escape. The animal protested loudly now, ignoring the bit of rag that had secured her muzzle and focusing on the leather lines binding her legs. He wondered how he had managed to sleep through any of it at all. Well, on second thought, since he had been more comatose than asleep, it was entirely possible.

  “Just wait ‘til I get my hands on that wench…she will pay for this!” he muttered darkly, as he clumsily attempted to untie the goat, dodging the nipping teeth intent on the same purpose. “Be still, you damned animal!” Finally, he managed to disentangle the leather bindings, receiving a startling knock to the head for his efforts. As if this indignity were not enough, the creature paused briefly to kick its rescuer squarely in his nether region before bolting out the open door to the rogue’s room. The distraught nanny charged out of the bedroom, down the inn steps and into the common room. There was a great commotion below filled with shouts from the afternoon’s patrons and the sounds of broken crockery. Boremac knelt hard on the wooden floor, gently checking his wounded pride for any permanent damage as the pulsing in his head continued to intensify. Another sound, this one all too familiar to the thief, brought him to his feet.

  Quick as a snake, Boremac’s hand shot around the corner toward the source of the shrill laughter penetrating his skull. Luck smiled on him as the offending female turned to flee, knowing she had been discovered, and he caught a full hand of her hair. The rogue was pleased with his first catch of the day despite his pain. “OWWWWWWW, stop that!!”

  “AH HA!” Boremac dragged the girl into the room to face him
and pushed her roughly up against the wall. “You better speak quick before I share the wealth of pain that nanny gave me,” he growled ominously from under lowered brows. The girl quailed under his hands, a pained look coloring her features. Boremac wondered at her response. He was sure he wasn’t holding her that hard, considering his current condition. His eyes swept around the scene of destruction that had been his room, and noticed that his blades were missing. Returning his gaze to the girl, he raised his eyebrows questioningly, “Well?”

  “It were just meant to be a bit of payback for ruinin’ me and me sister’s chances of getting’ out of this tavern. We made sure you had enough to drink and more before we brought you up here last night to tuck you in.” The girl wiggled as if she were trying to find a more comfortable position. Boremac pressed her a bit harder. “And? I am sure there is more you are not telling me.” The girl gave a little gasp as he pressed. “What’s the matter? Is there a nail poking your backside? Or maybe my blades?” He said with another abrupt push.