Druid Knights 02: Knight of Rapture

by Ruth A. Casie

It was good to know the men had taken the threat seriously. Very good. The major gave the order and the soldiers wheeled into position and started off at a jog. He watched the tight line disappear down the road.

  “If the men are going to train, we better find them weapons,” Arik said. He and George continued on.

  “They’ll need to be repaired. We had them all rebated,” George said. Faith. He hadn’t anticipated the points and edges would be filed flat. “They were all high-quality pieces. Once you review them we can decide what to do. I know a few artisans who can do the work.” Arik nodded. Another obstacle.

  They entered the museum and headed for the weapons room. Swords and claymores hung from the museum walls in a deadly mosaic pattern. There were battle-axes, throwing axes, long bows and halberds. Taking care, Arik hefted the claymore to judge its weight. He didn’t have to touch the edges. He could see George was right, all the points and edges had been filed flat.

  “As weapons, these are useless.”

  George made notes on his tablet. “I’ll make a few calls when we’re done.”

  “It will take a smithy months to restore all these.” He gestured to the wall.

  George flashed him a smile. “The first building we’ll restore will be the smithy, then the bakery. We’ll get a team together. There are techniques and machines that we can use behind the scenes to move this along. For the other weapons, we can put on demonstrations for our visitors.”

  He glanced at George. For a moment he saw Logan. He would have enjoyed this adventure. But as much as he enjoyed George, Cora, the major and the men he didn’t waver in his desire to return home. But not until he and Rebeka were finished here.

  “Done here,” George said as he turned off his tablet.

  “There is one other place where we’ll find weapons.” They left the garden house and headed toward the garrison. He hoped the weapons there hadn’t been tampered with.

  Arik opened the sanctuary. Once inside the cavern, with a nod, he indicated the correct tunnel and headed to the armory.

  The gate stood solid and secure. He touched the lock, released the spring and entered. His eyes followed the light as it revealed the accumulation of weapons and chests. He cleared his mind and centered himself. Beneath his shirt his runes warmed and glowed. An envelope, with his name scrawled in his brother’s hand, rested atop a velvet cloth that sat on the large table in the center of the room.

  Brother,

  As I promised, Rapture will always belong to its rightful knight and leader, as will your ring. Doward and I sit a nightly vigil in your tower awaiting your return.

  Logan

  He removed the cloth. The sheen of oil on the blade made it gleam in the flickering light. He touched Rapture’s hilt and sensed his brother’s presence. He wiped the blade with his hand and knew Logan hadn’t used it. He removed his hand and the visions faded. Now he understood Louise’s words. The sword hadn’t been lost. Logan had locked it away.

  Its magick was intact.

  He held his signet ring and he felt the connection to his past. He saw each Grand Master’s face and heard each voice. “To hearth and home,” he murmured to the shadows and detected their reply.

  He handed the blade to George and watched his eyes widen with respect as he turned it over.

  “Amazing.” He turned to Arik. “I can feel the touch of each Grand Master.” He examined the blade. “It’s an honor.”

  Arik took the sword from him, returned Rapture to the table then covered it with the cloth. He and George turned to the racks of weapons that lined the walls. “These are battle ready. They’ve been oiled and preserved with care.” George checked the edges of a nearby axe. Arik surveyed the bows as well as fletching and arrowheads on the cache of arrows. He thumbed the edges of the halberds, swords and claymores.

  “You’re right. They’ve been well preserved.” He let out a sigh of relief. There were enough weapons for half a legion, twenty-four hundred men.

  “Our men don’t know how to fight with these weapons.” George shook the halberd in his hand. “This is a large undertaking.” He returned the long two-handed spear to its place.

  “I know it takes men years to learn the blade but half the work is done. Each of these men are battle tested. What they don’t have in years they’ll make up in heart.”

  “You make it sound so simple.” They left the armory. Arik locked the gate behind him.

  “It’s a simple solution but one that entails a lot of hard work,” he said over his shoulder. “I didn’t say it would be easy. Come, I want to see the men training.” George followed him out of the sanctuary.

  The grunts of the men on the practice field were a familiar sound. He joined the major and watched the men for several minutes as they practiced hand-to-hand combat. Any doubts he’d had vanished when he watched the exercise.

  There wasn’t one among them that wasn’t working with a full heart.

  “Do any of the men know how to use a sword?” Arik asked. He was already evaluating the men for which weapon would be best for them.

  “Some have fencing experience.” The major turned to him. “Will they be fighting with broadswords?”

  “The men will be training during the day, with visitors watching. Dr. Tyler tells me that’s what they want to see.”

  The major let out a snort and turned back to his men. “It’ll be a good disguise.” He added straightforward to the major’s list of leadership qualities. He was more like Marcus than Arik first believed.

  “I’d like to see who has the most promise. Put the men into groups of fifteen. Each will have a sword master to lead them.” He was already planning the training sessions. They’d have to start with the basics but hoped they would excel quickly.

  “Sword master? How will we find sword masters?” He wasn’t surprised by the doubt in the major’s voice. George told him it was a dying art.

  “The same way Mr. Hughes and Dr. Tyler found the others for the reenactment—they’ll audition.” Arik smiled. “We’ll show them a sword fight then see who has an interest.”

  It was a crisp and clear afternoon. Invigorating. The turf covered practice area was a flat open meadow next to the planted field. It was a patchwork of beaten down areas, some scrubbed down to the bare earth from the men’s war games.

  The ring of steel hitting steel echoed across the field. Arik rallied to George’s aggressive attack as their blades flashed in the sun. He was impressed with George’s ability and technique. In a well-planned maneuver, George had bested him sending him to the ground much to his surprise. For a few moments, Arik was himself, a seventeenth century knight and lord, filled with relief and satisfaction. He had his Rebeka and soon they would return home.

  “It looks like we’ve got quite a crowd,” Arik said to George as they continued to parry.

  One barrage from Arik caught Hughes off guard and sent him on his ass. Arik immediately brought up his blade. “That makes us even.” Arik extended his hand to George. “You fight well. I would have you on my side of an argument. Perhaps you should’ve been a knight instead of a barrister.”

  “That’s high praise coming from you.” George pounded Arik on the back. “Again? Tomorrow?”

  “I look forward to it.” George was better than he had anticipated. He’d enjoyed sparring with him.

  George stood close to Arik. “Do you think this worked?” he asked in a hushed tone.

  Arik scanned the onlookers. “It seems to have piqued their interest.”

  “This was a good idea. Let the men want to learn how to use the sword. I’ll teach them what I know. I’ll meet you in the garrison. I think you’ve made a good decision. The major has handpicked each man. They are a loyal lot and trustworthy.” George gave Arik his sword and left.

  “Lord Arik?”

  “Yes?” He turned to see Joan standing in front of him with a towel and bottle of water.

  “I thought…” her voice was a whisper. “I thought you would need these.” She laid
her hand lightly on his knotted forearm then quickly pulled it away.

  “Thank you, m’lady.” He tilted his head in acknowledgment. He looped the towel around his neck and drank the water.

  Several of the men gathered around him. Arik watched them and followed their eyes. They were glued to the two swords.

  He reviewed the men and picked Steven, one of the men with the best potential. His movements during training reminded him of Logan.

  Stamina was another issue.

  He handed the man the sword.

  “It’s heavy. You and Mr. Hughes made them look light.” The man hefted it—judging its weight, evaluating it. A man had to know his weapon in order to command it. This man showed a lot of promise.

  “How does it feel?” his friend Jaxon asked.

  “It’s odd but it feels right.”

  “That’s because of the balance. Most men have swords made for them. The weight and balance make all the difference.” Arik gave the towel and bottle back to his admirer. “Take your position,” he said to the soldier.

  A broad smile spread over Steven’s face. The others moved back to their circle. The crowd hushed and waited.

  Arik took the defensive position. He let Steven lead the attack while he evaluated each step and move. Steven’s movements were labored. He forced the sword through the air, putting unnecessary stress on his body. His movements weren’t smooth and he hadn’t found his rhythm, but that would come with practice. However, if he didn’t change his tactic he would tire quickly.

  “No, don’t aim at my sword.” Arik took the offensive. “Either block it or aim at me. I’m a much bigger target.”

  The immediate barrage ended. “But don’t I want to stop your sword?” Steven asked, struggling for breath. He stood bent over, the sword across his thighs.

  “There are two ways to fight. Both are correct and depend on your style. You can drive the initiative and keep your opponent on the defensive, or you can wait for an opportunity for a sound counterattack, fight defensively. Most good swordsmen strive to be skilled at both. In field fighting the strategy is offense. The objective is to hit your opponent fast and hard—disable or kill him—then move on to the next.” Arik tapped his shoulder. “Now try again.”

  “That isn’t much different than how we fight today.” Arik caught what one of the onlookers said. Hundreds of years later and combat hadn’t changed. The weapons may change but the intent is the same.

  “Relax your shoulders. They’re too tight.” Arik continued the sparring. “Tension is your enemy. Staying flexible will allow you to keep a wide stance and that is where your strength is. Don’t keep your feet parallel. Put one back and turn it out.”

  His student made the quick adjustment.

  “Yes, that’s right. Can you feel the difference?” Arik pushed forward but Steven didn’t budge. “Good. I can’t push you off balance.”

  “Hold,” the major shouted.

  Arik held up his sword. Steven was out of breath. Sweat covered his face. His shirt stuck to him as if he’d been out in a rainstorm. His sword arm appeared to have long gone limp but he had kept going.

  Arik had continued the barrage to see how long he would stand. He didn’t stop. Quite impressive. Exhausted, the soldier was clumsy and let his sword brush across his forearm, slicing it open. Steven ripped off his shirt.

  Arik grabbed it from him and wrapped the arm tightly. “It appears worse than it is,” he said. “Leave the cloth and have the major see to it.” Arik didn’t need to ask the man about the battles he’d been through. Arik had his share of battle wounds but he was humbled by the scars on Steven’s chest and back.

  “I didn’t feel the cut.” Steven looked astonished.

  “When the edge is sharp you don’t feel it.” Arik sheathed his sword.

  “These aren’t practice blades,” another soldier said. “He could’ve killed you,” he said to Arik.

  “It was my job to make certain that didn’t happen.” Arik turned to the others. “Tell me, when you were in service and practiced with your weapons, did you practice with real ones?”

  “Well, yes we did,” all the men responded.

  “And we marched with real packs, too,” called out another. The men rumbled in agreement.

  “Of course. You must learn to respect your weapon. Work with it until it becomes part of you, an extension of your arm, before it will do what you want. In that way a sword is no different than any other weapon.” Arik saw the respect in each man’s eyes.

  “Mr. Hughes and I will teach you to be swordsmen once your bodies are ready. The principles of the sword require you to be strong, flexible and quick. The blade is large and heavy. You must command it. It can never command you. That’s enough for today.”

  The men rushed around Steven.

  “Jeez, he wasn’t even breathing heavy. And after fighting with Mr. Hughes. Are you alright?” Frank asked.

  “I’m fine,” Steven panted. “The movies have it all wrong. No one can fight for any length of time with a broadsword.”

  “It seems Lord Arik and Mr. Hughes can.”

  Steven gathered his things and got into place. His exhaustion was evident but so was the satisfaction anyone could see on his face.

  “Everyone to the garrison,” the major commanded.

  Steven learned quickly. Arik hoped the others would, too. There wasn’t any time to lose. Enthusiasm ran through the men. That was encouraging. Training would be tiring and difficult but these were strong men. They would do well.

  Arik greeted the men as they entered the garrison. The major was already taking care of Steven’s injury.

  “Stand easy, men,” Arik instructed. George closed the door behind him.

  “You all appear tired. Has the major been working you hard?”

  A rumble ran through the crowed. “Nothing we can’t handle,” Brian, one of the engineers, shouted. The others agreed. “We’re looking forward to our turn with the blade,” he added.

  Arik smiled. “It seems every boy wants to play the knight. I remember playing knight, with my brothers and sister.”

  “Defending the manor?” Frank asked. A soft laugh filled the room.

  “Yes, defending the manor. The manor has a long history. Eleven centuries, to be more precise. Much has happened during that time.” He searched the men’s faces. He held their interest. “People were born. Couples were wed. Wars were fought. People died. It’s a long and illustrious history. I’m pleased you’re proud to be a part of it.” The men stood straighter.

  “In the seventeenth century, the land was in conflict and our manor survived but only through the hard work and efforts of their men at arms.” Arik stepped to the hearth then turned to the men. “There are many hidden secrets in old manors and castles. Fayne Manor has its own, as well. This is between each of you and me. No one else. Do I have you word? Your honor?”

  The men looked at each other.

  “Sir, on my honor whatever you have to say or show me is between you and me,” the major said, standing at attention.

  “Thank you, Major.” One by one each man in the room made the same pledge.

  Arik faced the hearth. He had already tripped the mechanism and left the large stone ajar. Now he pushed it open, exposing the tunnel.

  A gasp rolled through the men along with various curses.

  “There is something I’d like to show you. Who will come with me?” The men gathered around him. Within minutes, every man stood with him. He led them into the tunnel deep into the ground. The torches flared to life as they passed. He never doubted George when he said these men were loyal and trustworthy. He was surprised when George suggested bringing them to the sanctuary. But he was right. He needed to demonstrate his loyalty and trust to them.

  “This is like a theme park,” muttered one of the men. The others around him shook their heads. Finally, they arrived in a large cavern. The torches ignited around the room.

  “How’d he do that?”

  �
��It must be by remote control or by sensors when you enter the area,” assured another. “Pretty cool.”

  Arik and George made certain there were no stragglers. “Fayne Manor was successful. Its very success made it a target. Some men wanted to ruin it and others wanted to own it. But each time the master of the manor rallied his men. He defended and protected all who lived here. His men and their kinfolk were as important to him as his own family. They worked, drank, played games and fought side by side. All a man had to do is see the talisman to come to the aid of his comrades.”

  “A talisman?” A soft buzzed echoed in the cavern.

  “Yes, a trinket that identified the men of Fayne Manor,” Arik said.

  “Ah, like the patch on our uniform. That would be nice. Something to hold on to,” someone said quietly.

  Arik scanned the men. These were men who wanted to belong to something bigger than themselves. That was something he could give them. “Follow me.”

  He took them into the tunnel. He stood in front of the weaponry gate, silently worked the lock then opened the door. The men entered and stood at the edge of the darkness and waited. One torch, lit against the wall, revealed a chest. Arik knelt by the chest and pulled out a handful of medallions. “This is the Fayne talisman. Each man believed it protected him.” He didn’t tell them that it was a magical druid symbol. There was plenty of time for that later.

  Jaxon investigated the disk. “Did the men carry it?”

  “When they joined the ranks, each man received the disk. Before they went into their first battle the symbol was marked on their arm.” Arik raised the edge of his sleeve to reveal his Fayne mark.

  “There is one more thing.” He stepped to the far end of the long table. The torches on that side of the room flared into life. In front of him was the real Sword of Rapture. It glistened in the torchlight and held each man’s attention.

  “This is the symbol and the strength of Fayne Manor. No one has seen the true sword for hundreds of years. Let it be a beacon for you as it was for the men who preceded you.

  “Last night I fought to save the mill next to loyal and courageous men. Those are ideals I treasure highly. They are ideals that not all men have. It’s what separates you from others.” He let that idea stew for a few seconds. This is between you and me,” he said, his voice deep and resonant. “No other. I pledge I will protect and defend you and your families to the best of my ability. So let it be.”