She turned and marched back up the stairs. Peter followed like a man condemned, waving solemnly to Vincent as he went. The door slammed behind them with an ominous thud, leaving Vincent alone.
Again he started the forms; but now, with his turn rapidly approaching, his hands trembled. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement, but it had gripped him thoroughly.
He knelt down, laying his swords on the ground on either side of him, and tried to calm his troubled nerves. The meditation techniques they had taught him as a child seemed to work, but they took time.
Just as he was achieving a measure of peace once again, the ground shook violently sending Vincent tumbling over, barely missing his swords. He was just picking himself up when the door slammed open again.
“Vincent,” the familiar figure said, “your time has come.” She led him back to the field, where she left him standing alone.
“Vincent, you are the last to compete,” Abbot Markov said somberly, breaking the eerie silence that hung over the assembly. “Be it known that neither of your peers have completed the challenge.” A sudden fear swept over Vincent as he remembered the warning given before that failure to complete the challenge could result in death.
“Sadly,” the abbot continued, “the Goddess saw fit to claim the life of one of your colleagues, and she may yet claim the other.” Vincent trembled as he forced himself to look as Abbot Markov indicated the side of the field where a congregation of priests and priestesses huddled around the two motionless forms. Thomas had large burns on his face and hands and was gasping for air. The orange glow of healing was thick around him. Vincent heaved a sigh of relief; but it was short lived. His eyes soon fell on Peter. Peter’s legs were distorted and looked as though they had been crushed. To Vincent’s horror, Peter’s right arm had been torn clean off. The sick feeling he had felt earlier returned.
“My warning has gone unheeded thus far. However, I say it again. The challenge will push you beyond your limits; and you may not be so fortunate as your friend. Facing this challenge may kill you.” The Abbot paused, looking mournfully at Peter before continuing. “One last time; if you wish to withdraw, you may do so now.”
Vincent glanced once again at Thomas, lying on the ground with a grimace of pain painted on his pale face. Doubt filled his mind. He scanned the faces of his fellow initiates; each had a look of complete horror and disbelief on their faces. There’s no way he could win.
“I will...” Vincent began, determined to withdraw; but he stopped midsentence. His eye caught Master Auna, next to the Abbot. He was smiling. There was something special about this smile. It radiated encouragement. The doubt melted from him, replaced with a new found confidence. He smiled back at Master Auna.
“I will take the challenge,” He said firmly. “I’m ready for whatever comes.”
“Very well,” Abbot Markov said quietly, almost sounding disappointed. “We pray the Goddess will smile upon you.” The Abbot’s whisper cut through the silence. “The challenge is nothing like you have ever faced,” he said resuming his normal, energetic tone. “Your skills are unquestioned, but the placement that will come with your victory requires that you be in full control of your body and your token. For this reason, we have arranged an encounter that will test both. You will challenge an elemental.”
The words echoed through Vincent’s mind as his stomach dropped and the smile fell from his face. His confidence was gone once again. Elementals were immortal beings; the personal servants of the Goddess herself. Fighting one was suicide at best.
“It is not necessary to kill your foe, you need only have him acknowledge your power,” the Abbot continued. “You may now embrace your token before we call it forth.”
Vincent drew his blades, and then embraced his token. Warmth flooded his body, flowing from the mark on his back. His hands started to glow. It had a calming effect on him.
“I am ready,” Vincent said softly, his voice trembling as he tried to suppress his fear.
The Abbot nodded. Without saying a word, he rose and walked toward Vincent, stopping a few paces away. He pulled a scroll and four stones from his pocket. He unrolled the scroll carefully and placed it on the ground with the stones on the corners to hold it flat. The symbol of fire, a circle with a single flame in the middle, the same symbol that was burned into Vincent’s back, was drawn on the scroll. The Abbot nodded to Master Auna who in turn nodded to the man in black.
They both walked to the page on the ground, rolling up their right sleeves as they went, and removed their gloves. To Vincent’s surprise, they both had identical tattoos covering their right arms. The tattoos depicted rolling flames that seemed to move up and down their arms as they walked. The man Vincent thought he knew well became more and more mysterious as the night wore on.
Auna and the other man stood on opposite sides of the parchment and extended their exposed arms above the page, their palms pressing flat together. Their arms started to glow with the token of fire, but much more intensely than Vincent had ever seen; the light almost seemed liquid as it moved like fire on their arms, making the tattoos seem even more life-like.
Slowly, they pulled their hands apart, revealing a small ball of fire floating in the air. The ball hovered motionless in the air for a minute before dropping to the earth, consuming the parchment instantly and sending a massive column of fire shooting into the air.
The flames receded as rapidly as they had appeared, revealing the figure of a man made entirely of fire. The figure looked around before tentatively stretching its limbs. After establishing its range of movement, it briskly walked to the Abbot and took a knee, bowing down before him.
“I am Mayberry,” the creature stated, his voice like roaring fire. “It has been many years since I last stood in the mortal plain. What is it that you desire of me?”
“I am Théoden Markov, Grand Abbot of Pallà,” the Abbot replied. “You have been summoned to test the strength of a Knight of the Order of Sandora. You may test him as you see fit; his objective, however, is to have you acknowledge his power.”
A broad smile slid across Mayberry’s face. “This pleases me,” he purred. Mayberry turned to face Auna. “Is this the man I am to test?”
“My power was proven long ago. I no longer need to prove myself, nor does Jason for that matter,” Auna replied calmly. “Your opponent will be Sir Vincent Alexander.”
Mayberry turned his gaze upon Vincent. The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by an expression of shock.
“So you are the human I am to test,” he said uncertainly. “It may be less entertaining than I had hoped. However, if it is the will of the Grand Abbot, then I have no choice but to obey.”
“Don’t underestimate me,” Vincent growled as he tightened his grip on his swords, enraged by the contempt of his foe. Any fear he had been feeling was swallowed by the anger he now felt.
Vincent summoned fire to himself and was immediately enveloped in flames. He flourished his blades before taking a fighting stance.
Master Auna and his companion left the field as six priestesses took positions in front of the crowd, creating a magical barrier.
Mayberry looked at the drawn blades in Vincent’s hands with distain.
“Your mortal weapons cannot harm me,” he said smugly. “But, if combat is truly what you desire, boy, I will show you no mercy.” Mayberry smiled cruelly as a great flaming sword grew from his hand. “Prepare yourself.” He stepped forward and dissolved into millions of little sparks that spread across the field.
Vincent watched the sparks intently, trying to find something that would indicate where the attack would come from, or even what type of attack it would be. The sparks flew randomly around him, but did not come close. Then, in the blink of an eye all the sparks flew at him, reforming into their true form. Mayberry appeared, sword already in motion, striking at Vincent.
Vincent jumped back to avoid the blow, his foe’s blade passing just a hair from Vincent’s chest. He could feel
the intense heat from the blade. He stumbled as he tried to regain his footing. Mayberry just laughed as he dissolved once again.
Vincent closed his eyes, hoping that his token would give some insight as to the movement of his opponent. To Vincent’s horror, there was nothing, only darkness. This creature was not made of normal fire.
He watched the sparks more frantically now. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and dodged just in time to avoid another slash. The attacks were coming more frequently. Vincent, who was barely managing to avoid the blows, was tiring fast.
A blow came from above. Vincent raised his left blade in a desperate attempt to stop the onslaught. The blades collided. The flames around Vincent’s sword flashed blue for an instant, stopping the approaching blade. But, as the light faded, Mayberry’s blade continued its downward path, ignoring both blade and armor, and cut deep into Vincent’s shoulder.
“I told you,” the voice of Mayberry echoed from the cloud of sparks, “your mortal weapons cannot harm me, my sword is made of flames from the high plane. One who lacks concentration, like you, will never be able to stop my blade.”
Vincent’s left arm now hung limp at his side, and he was breathing heavily. The onslaught started again, blades appearing from all sides. He was powerless to block them and had to dodge with all his energy. They were getting closer now. Vincent’s body was covered in small cuts and burns as his movements began to slow.
“It ends here!” Mayberry shouted as his blade appeared once again, striking from above.
In desperation, Vincent raised his sword in a hopeless attempt to block the blow that was promising death. He concentrated everything he had left into that blade.
The sword collided again in a flash of blue, but this time the light didn’t fade. Vincent’s sword continued to burn with the strange blue flame, stopping his foe’s sword. Mayberry stared in disbelief.
Exerting as much strength as he could muster, Vincent knocked Mayberry’s sword wide of its mark and quickly sent a counter blow at his opponent. The blade cut cleanly across Mayberry’s exposed chest. Mayberry let out an agonized cry then glared at Vincent, an amused smile on his face.
“It may be interesting after all.”
He disappeared. The attacks came again, faster now. Vincent managed to get his sword, with its strange blue flames, up every time to block the attacks. He sensed more than saw where the blade would appear.
Something had changed in Vincent. Where before there had been a confusing mass of sparks, he could now see the faintest shadow of Mayberry darting to and fro. The attacks continued, but with each blow the shadow became clearer and clearer, and Vincent’s movements became sharper and sharper. His blade was now already in motion to block when Mayberry’s sword materialized.
Vincent knocked Mayberry’s blade aside and took the offensive, grazing his foe as Mayberry tried to regain his footing.
Vincent’s movements became more fluid as he used the techniques he had practiced so many times. He was now in full control of the battle as Mayberry struggled to defend.
Once again, Vincent knocked Mayberry’s blade wide, but this time he turned his blade, striking at his opponent. His blade cut nothing but a cloud of sparks. Mayberry had disappeared again.
Confused, Vincent looked around to locate his foe, only to find three balls of fire hurtling towards him.
He narrowly dodged the first two, but the third hit him cleanly in the chest. The force of the blow knocked the wind from him, but did little else as his fiery armor quickly absorbed the blow.
Before Vincent had a chance to catch his breath, another volley flew at him. This time all three hit their mark. Vincent cried in pain as they blasted through his armour, burning great holes in his tunic, melting his chain mail, and hitting the flesh below.
Vincent closed his eyes, hoping to find the balls as they flew at him. To his relief, they appeared as little white lights as they flew at him. He quickly grabbed them with his token and sent them flying wide; smashing into the magical barrier.
A steady stream of balls followed. Vincent had to use all his concentration to knock them aside as he had the others. Exhaustion was setting in; he wasn’t used to using his token this much.
Suddenly, at the source of the flying lights, a small red light appeared that started to grow slowly. Vincent focused on this new light, trying to eliminate it before it too flew at him.
The light was growing steadily, but it seemed just out of his reach. Vincent struggled, frantically trying to grasp at this new threat with his token. More balls flew at him, but he dodged them, focusing his token on the new light; which was still growing.
It was huge now, almost as big as Vincent. Fear was taking over again. Desperately, he reached for it. To his relief, this time he felt it fall into the control of his token.
Surprisingly, as soon as he took hold of the new light, all the other lights vanished. He opened his eyes. In the place of the red light, was Mayberry, standing rigidly with his arms pressed tightly to his side; a look of pure satisfaction on his face.
Vincent stared for a moment, trying to understand what was happening. A smile slid across his face as it dawned on him.
“Bow to me,” Vincent commanded quietly. In a very stiff movement, the elemental complied.
“I acknowledge your strength,” Mayberry said, his voice trembling.
“You may release him,” called the voice of Abbot Markov. “The challenge is over.”
Vincent released his hold on Mayberry before sending the flames surrounding him back to their torches and releasing his token. Mayberry moved in the blink of an eye to stand behind Vincent.
“I would like to meet you again,” Mayberry whispered in Vincent’s ear as he placed his hand over Vincent’s token, “perhaps when the Lord Abbot has removed his limitations on my powers.”
Vincent cried out in pain as Mayberry pressed down on the token, the flames of his hands burning into Vincent’s back through both tunic and chain mail.
“I see great things in store for you, Chosen One. You may yet be the hope of many.” Mayberry whispered as he moved away from Vincent.
“You are dismissed,” the Abbot called, “Return to your Lady.”
Mayberry bowed once more to the Abbot. He disappeared into a pillar of fire and was gone. The crowd was deathly silent.
“We have our winner,” the Abbot said softly.
Slowly, the crowd started cheering until it was a deafening roar. Vincent basked in the glory. The other knights formed a line on either side of Vincent. Thomas was once again on his feet and full of energy. He smiled excitedly at Vincent as he took his place in line next to him.
Abbot Markov rose to his feet, silencing the excited crowd. A broad smile graced his face. “Congratulations, all of you,” he exclaimed. “Hence forth, you are no longer initiates, but full brothers with the Knights of the Order of Sandora. Tomorrow you will all go your separate ways to fulfill your assignments at the placements you will receive shortly. I hope that you will all remember fondly your time here in the academy. So, without further ado, I shall give you your assignments.”
Vincent stiffened with a wince. The adrenaline was wearing off and the cuts and burns covering his body, along with the large gash in his shoulder, were all taking their toll. Exhaustion was taking over. He couldn’t even focus as the Abbot read out the assignments of the others.
“Thomas Honson…,” The abbot called, catching Vincent’s attention. He could see Thomas straighten as his name was called. “You have been assigned to the Abbey of Spacco under Abbot Foster.” Thomas deflated as the assignment was announced, clearly disappointed.
“Looks like there’s only you left to get the post here,” Thomas whispered to Vincent.
“That leaves us only with our champion remaining to be assigned.” The abbot paused, smiling. “I would gladly take you into my garrison here Vincent. Unfortunately for me, there is the matter of the special placement that needs filling; and you have earned the ri
ght to fill it. I will allow Master Jason Silva to explain it.” The Abbot indicated the man with the black tunic.
Master Silva rose and walked over to stand next to Vincent. He put his hand on Vincent’s uninjured shoulder. His face was just as expressionless as ever.
“As Lord Abbot Markov has already said, I am Jason Silva. It has been a pleasure to assist in the presentation this year. It has been a long time since I’ve had this opportunity. It seems only fitting that I attend this year, given the nature of this new assignment. For you see, I am the Master of the Rangers.”
Vincent’s heart leapt, not daring to believe what was happening.
“Your assignment, Vincent, is with me. Starting tomorrow, you will be a Ranger. When you return to your chamber your new uniform will be waiting for you.” With that, Master Silva walked away. “Be ready to leave at first light,” he called over his shoulder as he left.
“Well,” Abbot Markov said, breaking the awed silence, “We’ve had an exciting evening. Congratulations once again to all of you. However, the hour is late, and tomorrow many of us must start the long road home. I recommend that we all find our beds quickly. May Sandora smile upon you all.”
The Abbot waved to the crowd. He then returned to the abbey followed by the other abbots, their Valkyrie escorts and Master Auna. The crowd slowly filed after.
“I knew you’d get the best post,” Thomas said with a smile as he clapped Vincent on the back. The smile seemed forced. “I’ll see you later tonight,” he muttered as he slowly walked off, following the crowd.
The other knights swarmed him, all congratulating him, but Vincent didn’t even notice. He was completely lost as he tried to grasp what had just happened. His greatest dream had just been handed to him. He was a Ranger.
By the time the events of the evening had finally sunk in, he was standing alone on the field. Fortunately, one of the priests had seen fit to heal him before returning to the abbey. A cool wind was blowing and he was getting cold. He started walking back to the abbey as quickly as his remaining strength would allow. He walked through the gate and followed the path that led to the main entrance.
The Ranger (Book 1) Page 5
