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

by Reaves, Troy

  Once the two were alone in Tur'morival's chamber, the Master spoke. Father Ragone was amazed at how Father Tur'morival could sentence someone to death without even a minor change in tone or inflection. He had witnessed many such sentences in his time with the Master, but only now could he understand the paralyzing terror of being the victim of such a proclamation. “You serve two Masters, Father Ragone, and though I have known this for quite some time, I no longer have any use for your duplicity. Rest assured your years of faithful service are to be rewarded, and I will lengthen your agony no more than necessary. If you wish, feel free to charge this throne and perhaps I will kill you immediately. The Overseer did well in his choice of spies, and I would be interested in seeing just how strong one of the Black Hand really is. Do not dismay. Your brothers and sisters will be destroyed soon. Rogue assassins are trouble enough without a strong, organized band nipping at one's heels.” Father Tur'morival seemed distracted as he brought his clawed hand from beneath his sleeve and pressed it into the folds of his robes. Father Ragone wasted no breath or movement as he closed the distance between himself and Father Tur'morival. The Master rose so quickly he seemed to stand without actually moving, as both his staff-wielding arm and the arm that had disappeared beneath his robes came out in front of him. Father Tur'morival held his staff in his right hand and a smooth dark-red orb roughly the size of a fist in his outstretched left hand. The two items, staff and crimson orb, glowed brightly in the light of the flames, though the orb seemed to magnify the intensity of the light it reflected. Father Ragone came to an abrupt stop, staring at the orb, as blood began to trickle from his eyes and ears. The doomed priest tried to speak, but no words escaped him.

  Father Tur'morival smiled appreciatively. “Well done. You at least make an attempt at self-preservation, unlike the one who gave you over to me so long ago. Do you know that I placed your Master in his current position before your mother had given life to you? He has grown bold, but not wise. You would think one hundred years in service to me would make him smarter. You have the benefit of my personal touch on the way to oblivion; he will die in his sleep at the hand of his finest blade. I hope that brings you some measure of peace. Unfortunately, the entertainment I arranged for this evening has been delayed, so your suffering will have to suffice.” Father Tur'morival found his victim's screams very satisfying for the time it took the burning to burst from within him and ignite his body.

  15

  Preparations

  Tana's hunting party was gathered in the druid grove near Zanthfar. Gregor spoke with Mithrina nearby, gathering what news he could of Lord Silverwing and the group he had led into the mountains. “He would have made it deep into the lower mountains by now, Lord Lightsword, and should easily make his way to the source of the taint soon. Master Stonecutter knows the mountains as well as I know these lands, and the rangers and druids in Lord Silverwing's party were the best of those that gathered here.”

  “He is headed into a trap, Mistress Mithrina, and we must find a way to stop him before he reaches the Forsaken Mountains.” Gregor made no effort to hide his concern for his mentor. “Lord Silverwing does not know the full power of the threat he rushes to face.”

  “Do not underestimate the strength of your mentor, young knight. He is knowledgeable and wise in years of training and study. There is little that he could encounter and be unprepared to face. He will do what he is called to do, as will the others with him, with little concern for the sacrifices that are demanded.” Mithrina's words demonstrated her faith in the warrior knight even as Lord Silverwing drew closer to his fate.

  “Mistress Mithrina, you do not understand. He is being drawn toward an enemy that is beyond his abilities. The blade I bear is the key to the defeat of Father Tur'morival, and without it Lord Silverwing will be slain. We must get word to him before it is too late!” Gregor's voice rose with each word he uttered until he was nearly shouting.

  Mistress Mithrina seemed unaffected by the outburst, and maintained her calm bearing. “Accept his fate as he has, Lord Lightsword. We all commit our souls to the higher powers we serve. This is our calling. If he is to join the God of Light, Lord Silverwing will do so, and gladly, in service to his God. Do not belittle his role in a misplaced effort to save him. You will do what you are called to do, and so will he. “

  Gregor lowered his voice, bowing his head in reverence to the druid before him as if to the God of Light he served. “Yes, Mistress Mithrina, God's will be done. How best am I to serve?”

  “You will lead the remaining forces assembled in the near lands into the mountains, following the path taken by Lord Silverwing. Tana should be able to track him readily enough. If his enemy is drawing Lord Silverwing to him as you assume, you should have little difficulty in finding the evil that taints our world. The rangers and druids still patrolling the wild lands can be quickly recalled to join you. In a matter of a few days, you should be ready to go.” Mistress Mithrina cast her eyes over Gregor's shoulder as movement at the young knight's back caught her attention. “Yes?”

  Boremac appeared at Gregor's side, his face full of concern as he addressed the druid. “Begging your pardon, mistress, but I do not see the wisdom of sending in all the remaining protectors of the wood. The time we would lose in assembling the group would just give the advantage to the one we seek, by my way of thinking, and it seems he has advantage enough as it is. A small group of us would gain the element of surprise, and have a much better chance of getting in to Father Tur'morival's stronghold than an army of wood-keepers, no offense intended. They would see us coming from days away and the loss of good men and women could not justify the risk.”

  Mistress Mithrina cocked an eyebrow at the bold rogue's words. “What exactly do you propose, rogue?”

  Boremac grinned at the measure she had taken of him. The druid did not mince words. “Well, Father Tur'morival has gone to great efforts to ensure that Master Gregor is brought before him, so we do not want to disappoint him. The priest obviously needs the young knight alive for some purpose, or the assassins from whom we rescued him would have killed him. My dealings with the killers of the Black Hand, though minimal, have demonstrated their skills in the arts of death and shadow. They are rarely called upon to capture anyone they can kill.”

  Mistress Mithrina considered the rogue's words for a few moments before replying. “I see some wisdom in your words. Who do you choose to accompany the young knight into the Forsaken Mountains?”

  “I think the path should be clear since Lord Silverwing passed through the lands just a few days before us. The priest that has set the path before Lord Silverwing, this Father Tur'morival, would have placed only enough obstacles in his way to make him unaware of the trap that was laid. The huntress, Tana, would come as a tracker, and Mistress Sephia should accompany us as well to scout the lands ahead of us. This would ensure we do not alarm our target before we make his stronghold. The mountain man, Dramor, would be invaluable once we travel deep into the Forsaken Mountains, though I fear he would have trouble sneaking up on a blind, deaf man that was asleep.” Boremac's last words brought an angry grunt from Dramor, but the mountain man could not deny the truth of it, and quietly grumbled to himself. “Still, his knowledge of the mountains would make him worth the risk. I will complete the group and educate the unwieldy in the art of moving unseen.”

  The leader of the druids nodded her approval. “If Lord Lightsword has no complaint, we will go ahead with your plan. I will obtain horses for the chosen, and you may leave at nightfall. The horses can speed you as far as the lower mountains, and perhaps you can overtake Lord Silverwing. Does this please you, Lord Lightsword?”

  “I can find no error with the rogue's reasoning, and a smaller force should move more quickly.” Gregor held little hope that they would catch Lord Silverwing before he faced Father Tur'morival. “You may know, Mistress Mithrina, that if Lord Silverwing's spirit departs his body, we cannot bring him back into this world without violating the code of the Kn
ights of the Golden Dragon.”

  “Yes, Lord Lightsword, I am aware of the code you are bound by honor to keep. There is nothing I can do except pray that he is not sacrificed.” She lowered her head as if entering into prayer at that moment. “Have faith in the powers we serve, Gregor, and know they have not forsaken us.”

  Gregor spent the remainder of the day making sure everyone carried enough supplies to take them to the Forsaken Mountains with a minimal amount of unnecessary weight. As the sun began to lower behind the trees, the small group he would lead gathered to discuss the journey. Tana was engaged in a heated exchange with Fang, and though Gregor could only understand the words Tana spoke, it was easy to interpret the growling that served as Fang's reply.

  “You will remain here and I will hear no more of it!” Fang's snarl indicated her displeasure at leaving her companion's side. “Don't use that language with me. I will not have you eaten, or worse, because of misplaced concern for me. You know that I can take care of myself.” Fang raised her hackles as she barked out a rapid reply. “Don't bring that up again. Ancient history, pup, and I could have taken them without your help. There were only four, and they only stunned me momentarily.” Fang lowered her tail and turned away from Tana, obviously done with the discussion. “Turn away from me? Get yourself to the woods and guide the wolves here. I need you to protect those who remain.” Tana crossed her arms across her breast, watching as Fang lowered her head and slunk out of the glade. “Damn animal!”

  “Yeah, the wolf's head is as thick as her mistress', it would appear.” Boremac's snide grin disappeared as Tana turned on him with burning eyes.

  Tana pointed her blade at the rogue before speaking. “Watch your tongue, thief, or lose it.”

  Gregor shouted at the pair a little louder than he intended. “Enough! We serve the same purpose and it's time you all start acting like it! No one has been pressed into this company, and the paths that have brought us together were not of our own making. If anyone doubts the cause that brings us together, leave now before you jeopardize the others later. Faith will only carry us so far. Unity must take us the rest of the way.”

  “Well spoken, Lord Lightsword.” Mistress Mithrina's words turned Gregor away from the arguing pair. He bowed slightly in welcome to the leader of the grove. The druid nodded in reply and held out a small vial filled with cloudy liquid. “Take this draught. I pray you have no use for it. The liquid is a potent restorative that should only be used in the most desperate circumstances. It will heal even the direst wounds, though the imbiber will sleep deeply for some time. Should your own powers of healing fail, this will not.” She turned to face the horses that were waiting for the group. “These animals will take you as far as they can and will return to me once you have released them. Go with haste and know the Goddess and God travel with you.”

  “Thank you, Mistress Mithrina, for everything. I have faith we will overcome the evil in the Forsaken Mountains, but I do not know what will become of the demon bloods and tainted creatures once the deed is done. There are many priests in service to Father Tur'morival scattered throughout the lands, and they wield terrible power in their own right.”

  “The others will be dealt with.” The finality of Mistress Mithrina's words left no doubt in Gregor's mind that they would.

  16

  Fire and Fury

  Lord Silverwing stood near one of the stone homes at a mining village, quietly talking to the miners. It had been three days since the remainder of his group had buried their fallen kinsmen and women. The rangers and druids that followed him had moved rapidly toward the Forsaken Mountains, intent on their purpose. Food and water grew scarcer as they traveled into the higher elevations, and the kindness of the miners had been essential as the group moved forward. Lord Silverwing thanked the mountain men for their information and supplies, and went to join Fasurel. Master Stonecutter was gathering news concerning the mines in the hands of the orcs.

  Fasurel was scratching his head, clearly perplexed by what he heard from the scouts. “I don' get it an' I cannot say I much care fer it. Lookin' like the orcs done abandoned the mines all at one time.”

  Lord Silverwing paused to consider Fasurel's words. “That is strange after all the efforts they made to secure them. “

  “They still guardin' one road at the way up. Not many even there, though. Shouldn' take much ta make the entrance wit' even the few o' us we 'ave.” Fasurel tightened his grip at his double-bladed axe, ready to destroy more orcs and demon bloods.

  “How long will it take to reach the mine, Fasurel?”

  Fasurel scratched at his beard, forsaking his puzzled head for a moment. “No more 'an a day the way we been goin'. Could match arms wit' the bastards by nightfall if'n we push.”

  “Better we push forward, then. We can camp in the mines, if we need to, and move through to the far side by nightfall tomorrow with some luck. The sooner we find out where all the ore and orcs have been going, the better I will feel. Finish gathering our supplies and I will gather the others. Night comes quickly.” Fasurel shouted to some of the mountain men milling around the village as Lord Silverwing began to gather the last of their party.

  ***

  The archers stood on a ledge overlooking the mine's entrance several hours later, arrows nocked and easily tracking the movements of the scattered orcs in the camp. The large bonfire at the center of the camp had served as a beacon in the night, allowing the rangers and Lord Silverwing to find the best position from which to attack them at range. Fasurel positioned the remaining warriors that preferred melee to a place opposite the archer's location, allowing for rapid engagement of any remaining enemies once the bowmen fired. Lord Silvering tracked the one demon blood that moved through the camp, as it snapped orders to its orc brethren. The small number of creatures assembled troubled the knight. He had not forgotten the lesson learned when the two leaders assaulted the demon blooded orcs' encampment, allowing half the number that followed him to be slain. “We need to fire as one. These orcs have shields and weapons. They will not go down without a fight, and we need to thin as many as possible before Master Stonecutter charges. If you cannot take your target in the head, take them in the chest. Do not leave this spot without my call. I need you pouring arrows into their numbers.” The rangers nodded their understanding, their eyes never leaving their targets, and waited for their leader's call to fire.

  “Now!” The knight's word was little more than a whisper, but it was enough, and angry shafts appeared in the orcs below, piercing many of the creature's skulls as the boar-faced humanoids brought their massive shields up to block the next volley. The single demon blood burst into flame where he stood as Lord Silverwing's arrow bore into the beast's eye socket. Lord Silverwing wasted no time, sliding down the rocky wall that sloped away from the ledge where he had stood moments before. He ignored the orcs that drew massive swords and turned to pursue him, as he ran to cut off the mine entrance. If reinforcements were to join the orcs around the fire, Lord Silverwing reasoned, they would emerge from the mine itself.

  The sound of whistling arrows was everywhere at once as the archers at the ledge fired mercilessly at the backs of Lord Silverwing's pursuers. Fasurel's great bellow emerged from the far side of the encampment as he and his warriors engaged the remaining orcs. These orcs were not demon bloods, and were protected by their massive shields and thick plated armor, but the leader of the mountain men took their heads just the same. The great swords the orcs brought to bear against their attackers did them little good. Vengeance for the fallen fueled the strikes of all the masters of bow and blade, driving the rangers and druids alike into a fit of madness the orcs could not match or stand against.

  Lord Silverwing was almost disappointed as the last of the enemies fell. Fasurel made short work of all that he met, and the killing efficiency of the archers was unmatched, so that none of the orcs survived and only minimal wounds were sustained by the attackers. No reinforcements had presented themselves to face Lord Sil
verwing's blades. Fasurel's words drifted across the encampment. “I know wha' ya' thinkin', Lord Silverwing, an' I agree. They weren' meant ta hold this mine.”

  “No, Fasurel, they were not. There were far too few of them to stand against us. Someone prepared this path. The question is, do we gain anything in finding another way?” Lord Silverwing sheathed his blades, awaiting his friend's reply.

  “One way as good as t'other ta my reckonin'. Don' see findin' another way doin' much good. They know we comin'.” Fasurel took up a torch from near the mine entrance, moving to the fire to light it.

  Silverwing watched the mountain man light the torch and motioned a couple of the others to take up torches as well. “Yes, they know we are coming. I wish I were certain of who 'they' are. Might as well get moving. We don't want to disappoint whoever it is that has gone to such efforts to lead us here. “

  “Aye,” was Fasurel's only answer.

  ***

  Gregor found himself in darkness. The man before him was bathed in white light. The young warrior was dressed in armor similar to that worn by Gregor and bore the two blades of the holy warrior's mentor sheathed at his sides. “Master?” Gregor knelt before the man, certain the spirit of his mentor had left his body and was passing into the glory of the God of Light.