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

by Reaves, Troy

  White light enveloped Gregor's body as he fell forward with his head resting on the hot floor of the cavern. For the second time in his life, he lay before the towering form of the Tharnorsa that had slain the Knights of Bella Grey. Siniamadrau shifted into his true form, standing as high as the massive throne behind him. The demon's thoughts pierced Gregor's mind as the knight lay unmoving on the floor. As you command, Master. I await the killing blow of your blessed weapon.

  As quickly as the pulsing heat of the demon had infused Gregor's body, it was replaced by the cool touch of divinity. Rest, my young warrior. Your work here is done.

  Boremac sat up, staring at the immense form of the Tharnorsa whose shadow fell over the rogue and Lord Lightsword. He moved to Gregor's prone form, gently turning the warrior over and taking the knight into his lap as he knelt beside him. A tear trickled down his face as he examined the young sword master's withering body. Green tainted fluid replaced the blood in Gregor's pulsing veins as small pustules emerged from the knight's exposed flesh, breaking open and burning the surrounding skin. Boremac brought his hand to his mouth, wetting two of his fingers to check the knight's breathing, sensing only a shallow flow of air. He moved his hand over Gregor's open, staring eyes, and drew the warrior's lids closed. There was no reason for him to see any more death in this world. The rogue doubted Gregor could feel anything at all. A tiny shimmering point of light rose from the knight's chest, hovering over Gregor's body as if it were waiting for something.

  The rolling thunder of a voice filled with rage flooded the cavern in the next moment and drew Boremac's attention away from the knight he held and the light hovering above Gregor's chest. “He who swears fealty to the God of Light as a Keeper of the Light remains a Knight of the Golden Dragon until the last breath passes from him in this world! Taste the blades that struck true so long ago, Siniamadrau, once again blessed with the divine power of the faith of a servant of the God of Light!” The Tharnorsa raged even as its body turned to stone, blackened by the holy force delivered into it by Lord Silverwing. The demon's body was rapidly enveloped with a surge of white light, turning to cracking stone as the energy traveled up and down its entire form. The demonic head shattered and the burnt stone it had become scattered across the ground at its feet. Silverwing appeared on the statue's shoulder and rode to the ground, jumping from one spot to the other as the pile of broken stone grew below him. All was silent for a moment, as the last of the demon's remains settled into a pile of small shiny rocks.

  “NO!” Tana's voice broke as she watched the tiny light hovering over Gregor's chest plate glide through the air into the crimson cloud that now hovered over the pile of stones that had been the Tharnorsa, brightening momentarily as it absorbed the crimson mist. Once the mist was gone, the tiny light moved slowly in the direction of the young dying knight's body. “No!” the huntress repeated, running to kneel at Gregor's side.

  Lord Silverwing came up behind Tana, offering what words of comfort he could. “Let him go, Tana. The God of Light has seen fit to release his spirit and destroy the demon for all time. Gregor feels no more pain and he will pass into the glory of the Light. His spirit will join the God of Light soon.” Silverwing gestured toward the light hovering over Gregor's still form and made a sign of blessing to honor his student. “There is nothing we can do to prevent it. Let him go.”

  She did not turn to acknowledge the knight as she answered him. “No!” Her eyes met Boremac's as she issued orders to the rogue. “Strip him! Hurry, damn you!”

  Boremac ran his hands across Gregor's armor, releasing the bindings and pulling away the plates that covered his body. The burning pustules were everywhere, eating through the cloth between the metal covering and Gregor's skin. Tana tore away the remaining bits of silken cloth as she tossed the armor plating and leather ties to one side, leaving Gregor's naked body exposed. Despite the weeping sores covering his form, the holy warrior's chest still rose and fell irregularly, as his lungs struggled to draw in air. Tana took a moment to look at Gregor, swept by a wave of despair, before she spoke in a whisper to the only one that could save him. “Goddess, I entreat you. In the years of my life protecting the wilds over which you reign, I have never asked for anything. The gifts I possess have always been used in service to you and for the glory of the natural realm.” Tana reached out to take the tiny glowing light into her hand, staring into it as she prayed. “You are the mistress of the natural passage of all things. You have power over life and death of animals and plants, including the natural passing of men. Please, I beg you to remove the devourer from this servant of the God of Light. I have no power you do not give, and I cannot remove the scourge within him.” Her prayer did not go unanswered.

  The cavern filled with the bright colors of the wood in spring; the browns of tree bark, the deep green of the grasses and leaves, the clear blues of the flowing streams and still, deep lakes. The translucent female form that materialized near Tana wore a long gown composed of all the beauty of nature and the scents of thousands of flowers tingled in the nostrils of all those in the cavern. Long golden hair fell down the avatar's back to the floor, shimmering as if sunshine coursed through every strand. “Tana, my beautiful daughter and devoted huntress, I could never deny you. He will be whole once more. Give me the spirit of the warrior.”

  As Tana extended her hand, the tiny light that had emerged from Gregor drifted to settle at the center of the Goddess's forehead. The translucent form merged with Gregor's body, gently lowering itself into him. Gregor's eyes sprang open immediately, as the acidic fluid covering his skin turned into water and pooled around him, healing his wounds wherever it touched. The initial pain that Gregor experienced forced him to fill his lungs with air, crying out as his internal organs were made whole again. The young knight's features softened in moments as his body was restored. Soft, deep breaths began to flow steadily from his lips as Gregor fell into a deep sleep. Tana lowered her forehead to touch the knight's, wanting to be close to him, and was rewarded with the most beautiful smile she had ever seen, as Gregor's cheeks flushed with a healthy pink glow.

  Boremac was first to break the silence, shifting uncomfortably under the holy warrior's weight. “Well.....”

  Tana looked up at the rogue and smiled, bringing a finger to her lips. “We should take him home.”

  Boremac only replied with a nod.

  Epilogue

  The nightmares had ended and Gregor was glad. He had made it back to his village in time for the planting season, and welcomed the simple smells of his father's farm and the feel of earth in his rough hands again. Tana had grumbled only a bit when she joined him in the fields, planting the seeds that would bring new life to the lands that had been troubled for so long. The huntress was of the feeling that the Goddess would provide, and she saw little need to dirty her hands when the plants did fine on their own. Their union was only a few days away and already the village's normally small population had swollen to the point of encroaching on the surrounding woods. Traders and woodsmen from across the lands had joined the many common people that had come to witness the joining of Tana and Gregor, and pay their respects to all those who had sacrificed their lives to restore the balance of this world.

  Father Wallin insisted upon performing the ceremony that would link the rest of Tana and Gregor's lives together as they rebuilt the Order of the Knights of the Golden Dragon. Mistress Mithrina would join the priest of the Temple of Light, overseeing the rituals of devotion that were to be observed in honor of the Goddess of Nature. Gregor could not help but wonder what the future held for him and his bride. Peace reigned across the lands, and the bond between the Goddess of Nature and the God of Light their union represented was only one of the signs of the new strength of the protectors of the world. The new Knights of the Golden Dragon were being drawn from the servants of both deities; an occurrence unknown in all the history of the Order, and the new members would be trained in the service of both before being knighted. Already the number
of the knights had grown by three: Dramor, the mountain ranger who had carried Fasurel to safety and struck a powerful blow against the blood orcs in the wild lands of Zanthfar, Tana the huntress, who had committed her life and ultimately her faith to Gregor, and Nadia, the healer and mistress of the staff who had almost been slain by the priests of the Order of the Crimson Night at Gregor's weapons trial. Gregor felt a bit of regret that Lord Silverwing would not be traveling through the lands with them, but the old knight that had been his first teacher had earned the rest. Lord Silverwing would join the priests in Nactium and oversee the final stages of training the knights that would fill the ranks of the Golden Dragon, and Gregor knew that his presence would be felt in the skills of each knight that the master of the blade and bow touched.

  Master Fasurel Stonecutter had made a nearly complete recovery from the wounds and broken bones he had suffered, troubled only by a slight limp that hardly slowed the stocky ranger at all. He had remained in his mountain home, training new clan members to replace the terrible losses suffered by the guardians of the mountains. The rough mountain man had insisted on joining the rangers and druids in the woods with Mistress Mithrina after he was whole enough to take up an axe. He said simply that those who protected the wilds knew no boundaries when the lands were threatened. The threat of the barbarian orc tribes and roving goblin war parties was swept away soon after their demonic brethren had fallen along with their creator.

  The day of the festivities Gregor was troubled. Master Firebeard, the blacksmith who had labored so hard at his forge for all the members of the group, was nowhere to be seen. The huge man would have been difficult to miss, even among all the milling strangers. Gregor had spent much of the day before, and the morning of this one, making inquiries and searching for the master weapon smith. Gregor reasoned that the man must have been delayed, and set to dressing himself in the armor the smith had fashioned for him in preparation for the binding ritual. Master Firebeard would not miss the union he predicted so long ago.

  Gregor and Tana exchanged their vows of commitment, following the guidance of Father Wallin and Mistress Mithrina each in their turn. As the last blessings were offered, a path opened along the road to where the pair stood, and Master Firebeard struggled toward the bride and groom carrying an immense chest that was nearly as wide as the massive blacksmith was tall. The crowds grew quiet as the smith dropped his heavy burden to the ground, sending a tremor through the feet of all those near him. Master Firebeard raised his voice in exultation as he addressed Tana and Gregor. “Praise the Goddess and God alike! I feared I would miss the ceremony entirely. Looks like I have come at just the right time. Master Gregor, do not keep your lady waiting on my account. Kiss the bride!” Gregor embraced Tana, all too ready to intertwine his fate with hers. Only one person noted the solitary howl that rose from the woods nearby as Tana touched her lips to Gregor's. “Yes, I am truly happy at last,” was all the huntress whispered as she noted the call.

  Master Firebeard apologized for his delay, explaining he had found the great oaken chest outside the door of his shop two days past and surmised that the box was intended as a gift for the two, judging from the intertwined golden Dragons that served as the centerpiece of the lid. It was a struggle to find pack animals available to pull the wagon required for the delivery of it, delaying the smith's arrival even more. “There was no sign to indicate who sent the gift, or what it might contain, but the lock on the clasp is well beyond my abilities to decipher. There is not even a key hole that I could find, though I did not study it long.”

  Boremac appeared at the master weapon smith's side as if he had heard his name called, with each of his hands filled with a goblet spilling amber liquid. The rogue slid around to the front of the massive chest with grace that Filcher, Master Firebeard's pet weasel, would have envied. He handed the two drinks in his hands to Master Firebeard over the top of the chest, admiring the golden Dragons that adorned the lid. “Ah, excellent workmanship in the release. Let me see, there should be a pressure switch...” Boremac deftly probed at the shield in the center of the lock with the tips of his fingers. A small round portion near the middle retracted and set the tiny swords in motion, causing the two blades at either side of the decorative coat of arms to curve upward as if in salute. There was an audible click inside the mechanism, and Boremac smiled, appearing to be satisfied. “May want to stand back a bit.” Without further warning, Boremac slid a heavy long sword out of the sheath of a nearby guardsman and wedged it between the lid and catch of the chest. The rogue gently levered the lid open and, with practiced caution, peered through the small crack he exposed. “Always best to check before you stick in your hand. Could be any number of nasty surprises inside.”

  Satisfied, the rogue stuck his fingers under the lid and flipped it open. The gold and gems within caused a great drawing of breath among all those who could see it. Among the wealth was a small envelope, bearing a small black seal of wax securing the top flap of parchment at the back. The front was marked with a simple inscription reading, “Lord Gregor Lightsword, Knight of the Golden Dragon.” Gregor recognized the seal immediately as he received the letter from Boremac. There was no mistaking the mark of the Black Hand. The parchment read simply as follows:

  Lord Lightsword,

  It is with some pleasure that we inform you that with the death of Father Tur'morival, the contractual obligation binding the Black Hand to assist in determining your fate is no longer valid. Our standard code of operation requires that the payment for said contract be returned to the living heirs of the original contractor. In this case, there is no such heir to receive the return of said payment, and thus we are obligated to dispense the contracted amount of collected funds as we see fit. We do not retain payment for contracts we are unable to complete to the satisfaction of the contracting party.

  In light of your actions and the consequences of said actions, we have chosen to deliver said monies to you for dispersal, as you deem appropriate. On a more personal note, we thank you for your part in restoring balance to this world. Despite rumors to the contrary, the Order can find no profit in the destruction of the world we serve. Learn from the failure of your enemies and choose your allies carefully, Lord Lightsword. Remember that there is never light without darkness. We have chosen to accept no contracts that would bring us into direct conflict with you or those who will bear your name in honor of your sacrifice and noble deeds. The shadow of the Order of the Black Hand will not darken your back again.

  There was no signature. Gregor folded the message carefully and waved Boremac over. “Master Boremac, you have shown grace and commitment far beyond your calling. Take the contents of this chest and do whatever you see fit with it. No one will remove the coin from this chest without your leave.”

  Lord Silverwing nodded his approval, as Gregor glanced over to where the fellow knight stood. The old Knight of the Golden Dragon, and soon to be mentor to those that would be honored to join the Keepers of the Light, seemed pleased with Gregor's faith in the rogue. Both reasoned Boremac was due some reward befitting his prowess, and what better gift than trust and coin could they offer?

  For days after that eventful union, Boremac passed much of the coins and gems from the chest into the hands of the common people that had suffered so much in recent times, withholding only so much as the rogue could carry in his coin purses. The rumors that originated at the union of Gregor and Tana became stories and the stories became legends that grew and changed with each telling.

  In time bards across the lands related the legend of the alliance of the God of Light and the Goddess of Nature who had joined to travel into the Abyss itself to destroy the Unnamed One, the Lord of the Abyss. The two divine forces had fallen in love, and their union had been blessed with a gift from the Dragon King, delivered by the great leader of the fire giants living in the Forsaken Mountains. Years later, Gregor smiled as he listened to the telling of the tale, he and Tana resting at an inn far from their home, and thought to hi
mself....Some things will never change.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are too many people… family, friends and acquaintances, that have made this book a reality to try to list them all here, but I want to thank some individuals who pushed me, inspired me and made me realize that I had a story worth telling.

  My partner and loving wife, Dian, who edited this entire book, and parts of it, more times than I can count. She also drove me to write the initial manuscript and worked to create a beautiful tribute to the Knights of the Golden Dragon in the cover art with little more than my initial description.