“No, I haven’t.”
“Good, you’ll enjoy this.”
While they were waiting, Brother Pien described the Order’s skills in both arts of healing and warfare. Torhan was surprised to learn that they never used sharp weapons, and the theory behind the decision was that wooden ones were cheaper, easier to find, and you didn’t have to kill your opponent. Torhan was about to ask him a question when the monk cut him off by holding up his hand and saying the exercise was about to start.
A door opened and in walked twelve monks, wearing brown robes and pants, and black boots. They lined up in three rows with their hands by their sides, waiting and as still as statues. Torhan noticed that each one had their heads shaven like Brother Pien.
A few minutes later, another monk wearing yellow-colored robes and carrying a large staff entered the room and walked in front of the others. In unison, the students in brown robes bowed to the teacher. The monk in yellow told them to begin, and the trainees obeyed by doing a series of movements, or as some Orders called them, forms. They blocked, punched, and kicked with amazing speed and accuracy, then they began tumbling, flipping, and throwing each other around. The exercises went on until the instructor ordered them to stop, then he walked over and lifted a lever. From the ceiling, round bags, attached by ropes, dropped down in front of each student. They were ordered to begin the exercise, and they did by using their open palms. Under the barrage of strikes, the tough canvas lasted a short time before it ripped apart, sending stuffing in all directions. When they were finished, they took a short break. This allowed Torhan and his host time to discuss their routine.
“I’m impressed. I haven’t seen such training techniques since I toured…” Torhan couldn’t remember. “I’m sorry. I bumped my head a few days ago and can’t remember some things.”
“Brother Facnor might be able to help you regain your memories.”
“How?”
“He creates special brews. We’ll stop by later. They’re about to begin again.”
The students returned to their original positions and began training again. This time the drill consisted of sparring, and all the fights were done without weapons and were, by Torhan’s standards, brutal.
When Brother Pien saw his guest’s expression, he smiled and said, “Our philosophy is simple. If you learn to fight with the open hand, then you’ll never be without a weapon. Tell me, Torhan, what would happen if one of my students decided to attack you right now? Could you stop him?”
“Maybe.”
“Would you like to try?” Brother Pien bluntly asked.
“Not today. I’ve been traveling and need to rest.”
“I see. How disappointing. We always welcome the viable chance to compete with different Orders. Maybe you’ll honor us some other time.”
Torhan suddenly wondered if he was in danger, but after glancing at the scabbard, he was relieved that it wasn’t glowing.
The teacher struck a gong. The students stopped fighting and sat down in a wide circle, leaving one path open to the center.
“You’re going to like this,” Brother Pien commented.
In the next instant, a lone, unarmed monk, dressed in orange robes, walked through the crowd and stopped when he reached the middle of the circle. He proceeded to blindfold himself. When he was finished, three monks, dressed in brown robes and carrying staffs, walked in and surrounded him. The tam-tam was struck again, and all four men readied themselves. The three staff-wielding monks circled the blindfolded man for several rotations until they thought they had an opening and attacked. One by one, they tried to strike him with various attacks, all of which were easily parried by the monk in orange. Then the blindfolded monk went on the offense by moving forward and delivering a flurry of open-handed strikes, until he found one of his opponents and hit him in the chest, sending him flying into the wall, knocking him unconscious. The monk continued, performing a series of movements that made him appear as if he was attacking and defending at once. The other two monks tried their best to find the right opportunity to strike, but every time they did, the orange-robed monk moved out of the way or blocked their attacks. Eventually, he feinted a few movements, which drew them out of position, then he jumped into the air, and kicked both men in their heads simultaneously, sending them sprawling to the ground unconscious. Sensing his victory, the monk removed his blindfold, bowed to the group, and left.
“Did you enjoy that?” Brother Pien asked Torhan.
“Very impressive, I must say.”
“Good, now let’s proceed to our Order’s other talents, shall we?”
They walked to another chamber in the west wing of the building and were met by a fat, elderly monk named Facnor. He was dressed identical to Brother Pien, except for the red beads around his neck. After a brief introduction, and the basis for their visit, Brother Facnor led them into a larger chamber, which resembled a witch’s den as opposed to a place of healing. He had a variety of herbs, dead animals, and other unrecognizable items dangling from the ceiling. Shelves on the left contained glass canisters filled to the brim with strange-colored liquid, and the ones on the right had many books. In the very back was a medium-sized hearth with a small pot simmering inside over the flames. To the right of the hearth was a large table with a lot of items scattered about.
Brother Facnor closed the door and then spoke. “So you bumped your head and can’t remember some things, right?”
Torhan nodded. The monk walked over to the shelves and grabbed the blue liquid canister and a small vial. He filled the vial with the liquid and handed it to Torhan.
“Drink this before you go to bed. It should help in regaining your memories.”
“Will it work right away?”
“No. It could take up to a week.”
“Brother, why don’t you tell our guest about some of your accomplishments and what you’re working on?” Brother Pien interrupted.
Brother Facnor began rubbing his chin, trying to decide on what to say. “A couple of years ago, we came up with an ointment that cured many townsfolk of a rare and deadly skin disease. We also developed a way to mend injuries that would be otherwise fatal.”
“Torhan, Brother Facnor is the leading healer throughout the land. He works tirelessly to be the best,” Pien said proudly.
“Thank you for the honorable mention, brother,” Facnor said.
“Why don’t you show Torhan what’s in the canisters.”
Brother Facnor’s eyes lit up, and he waddled over to the table. “Well, that one,” Brother Facnor pointed to the red canister on the far left, “it can heal any wound within minutes, no matter how deep. The one next to it,” he pointed to the purple canister, “can cure any kind of persistent soreness that ails your muscles, and that one,” he pointed to the orange canister, “can cure just about any disease. My latest creation is over there.” He pointed at the pot in the hearth. “I call it, ‘Relife,’ and when I am finished I will be able to bring back the dead.”
“That’s impossible,” Torhan said.
“No, it isn’t. Do you want to see a test?”
Both men nodded. Brother Facnor looked around until he saw a bug and killed the critter with a quick swat of his hand. After picking up and placing the creepy-crawly onto the table, he went over to the hearth, grabbed an empty canister, and carefully ladled the black liquid into the cylinder. He walked back to the table.
“Here goes,” Facnor announced and poured a few drops onto the insect. A few seconds later, the bug wriggled back to life, got up, walked a few inches, and fell dead. “I am so close.”
“Nicely done, Facnor, keep up the good work. Torhan, let’s move to a more private chamber, so we can talk.”
Torhan thanked Brother Facnor and followed Brother Pien out of the room.
They walked to a secluded area in the far rear of the building. The cozy room had several windows, a fireplace along the back wall, a large table and chairs, and three caskets sitting on a shelf. After Torhan was seate
d, Brother Pien walked over to the caskets and poured wine into two goblets. He returned to his seat and handed one of the goblets to him.
Together, they sipped the contents and halfway through, Brother Pien spoke. “Torhan, I think fate brought you to our Order.”
“How so?”
“We’re interested in Priest Abiathar as well. What do you think the chances are that you came here looking for information about the same person?”
“Why are you interested in him?”
“We heard rumors of his sect doing strange things, like sacrificing humans to their god. I wonder if you are on the same mission?”
“I wish I knew.”
“Can you do something for me?”
“It depends on what it is.”
“Since you’re going to Mirkin, can you deliver a note to someone? I’ll make it worth your while.”
“I can.”
“Good. There’s a female healer from my Order named Katara. Whatever you do, do not show the letter to anyone else, and no one must find out about her connection to us. If she is discovered there is no telling what they will do to her, let alone my Order.”
“It sounds serious. What is she doing there?”
“She’s gathering intelligence about Priest Abiathar and his sect. Hopefully, we can expose them and bring them to justice.”
“I will do my best.”
“Good. I’ll be right back.” Brother Pien got up and left.
He returned a short time later with a sealed envelope and a pouch and gave both to Torhan.
“What’s the pouch for?”
“It’s not much, but I wanted you to have it.”
“Thanks.”
“Please guard the note with your life.”
“I will,” Torhan sincerely said. Even though he was a man of his word, he knew, deep down inside, if his life was in danger, he would do whatever it took to save himself.
“It’s a long and dangerous trip to Mirkin, would you like two of my brothers to escort you there?”
“That sounds good.”
“Just remember they won’t be entering the town.” Brother Pien clapped his hands three times.
Two monks entered the room seconds later. The short, muscular monk was introduced as Brother Sao and the tall, lanky man went by the name Brother Leas. They wore average-looking clothes and carried wooden staffs.
“You may stay the evening if you’d like,” Brother Pien offered.
Torhan agreed and was led to his room, where he went to sleep right away.
When morning arrived, Torhan was escorted to the dining hall to eat with the monks. The meal consisted of rice, vegetables, beans, some kind of white food called bean curd, and a very tasty tea. It was a simple meal but very satisfying, he thought. When they were finished, Brother Pien led him to retrieve his weapons and then to the door where his escorts were waiting. The monks were identically dressed in dark, thick-padded clothing, insulated boots, and cloaks. They were holding staves and carried a backpack strapped across their backs.
“Torhan, be careful when engaging that Order, it is unlike any other you’ll ever encounter,” Brother Pien warned and handed him his own backpack. “Inside, you have enough provisions to last you for two weeks, some healing herbs and ointments, a full tinder box, a few flasks of oil, and bedding.”
Torhan thanked the man and left with the monks in tow.
The streets were crowded with people enjoying the day, which hindered their progress. Torhan decided to take a short cut down a small street and knew it was a mistake right away when a group of suspicious-looking men blocked their passage at the far end. His scabbard confirmed his suspicions and glowed brightly in warning. Three more men entered the alleyway behind them.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” one of the dirty looking thugs directly in front, said.
They look like a rough bunch, Torhan thought as he looked at them.
“We have two holy men and a traveler with a pouch full of coin,” a thug in the rear said.
The thieves, numbering seven, began pulling out their weapons. The monks readied their staffs in unison and Torhan unsheathed his sword.
“There’s no need for violence, so we’ll make you a deal. Hand over all your items, including that glowing scabbard of yours, and we’ll let you leave.”
“Hmm, let me think about it.” Torhan looked skyward with his hand rubbing his chin.
“Well?” the thief barked.
“I’ve decided to give you the same deal.”
“That will be the day. Get them boys.”
The thieves closed in on their victims.
As soon as they were close enough, Torhan’s dagger took flight and killed the closest thief. Torhan would kill another in time, while the monks showed the rest of the group why they made a mistake. The two brothers moved around and worked as a single unit, with Brother Sao defending their position, swinging his staff in an arcing motion, and Brother Leas attacking, thrusting and swinging his staff back and forth. Their maneuvers confused and surprised their opponents while keeping them at bay. One after the other the thieves fell until only one remained. He dropped his weapon and begged for his life. Torhan granted him his request if he promised to stop his ways, to which he complied.
Torhan gathered anything of value. He found a few vials of healing ointment, which the monks gladly accepted, fifty pieces of gold, and an item of jewelry most likely worth a few hundred gold coins. In need of armor, Torhan stripped one of the corpses of his leather armor, gauntlets, and greaves, then put them on. As they were leaving the alleyway, some people came out of hiding.
“Thank you, sir,” one of them said.
“Those thugs were robbing people for a very long time, and now they finally got what they deserved,” another added.
“Doesn’t the law try to stop them?” Torhan asked.
“No, because their Order runs the town and even the law is terrified to do anything.”
“Maybe it’s time to get some real law in this town.” Torhan said and gave them some of the gold.
“Thank you, kind sir. Can you stay and help us restore order?”
“I wish that I could, but I must be going,” Torhan said and left.
After they were away from the others, Torhan stopped and addressed his companions. “How come your Order doesn’t do anything?”
“Their numbers are too great. They outnumber us three to one,” Brother Sao said.
“So you just stand by and let them rape the town?” Torhan’s words clearly expressed anger.
“We only get involved if they directly offend one of our students,” Brother Leas added.
“Let me get this straight. Your Order stays out of their way as long as they don’t do anything directly to you?”
Both monks nodded in unison.
“Let’s get going,” Torhan said and walked away, feeling they would never understand his point.
Chapter 6: The Lair
The day was mild as the trio headed east toward Mirkin. Along the way, the temperature dropped and snow started to fall, light at first, then heavier with each passing hour.
The monks noticed that Torhan was unaffected by the elements, which they thought was odd, and asked him if they could stop to rest and eat some food. Torhan agreed, and they found a grove of trees that would protect them from the storm.
After lighting a fire, they dined on dried beef and raw vegetables and washed it down with hot tea. During the meal, Brother Sao inquired about Torhan’s odd resistance to the weather and the scabbard’s ability to protect him. Torhan responded by telling the monks that he grew up further north where this type of wintry climate was common. He addressed the question about the scabbard by telling them it was enchanted and explaining how it worked. He also mentioned that it was passed down from his father’s father. He felt the need to lie to them because he really didn’t know them.
During their brief rest, the weather worsened when sleet and hail began falling from the sky
, prompting them to move on.
****
A few hours later, an intense storm, with snowflakes the size of small sling bullets and freezing rain that turned the ground icy, came upon them. With their movements slowed and their clothes wet, Torhan looked at both men and realized if they didn’t find shelter soon and dry off, they would probably freeze to death. Plus, his ring was beginning to lose its warming abilities, and if that happened, he’d be in trouble as well.
Changing direction toward the mountainous range, they heard the roar of a Snow Lion over the howling wind, which indicated the beast was nearby and probably looking for food. They continued their journey, stumbling on sheer will alone, until finally, a large cave came into view.
The men found the energy to race forward. They collapsed against the cold earth floor as soon as they entered. The monks, shivering uncontrollably, were in no condition to do anything except take out their blankets and wrap them around their bodies, trying to get warm. Torhan used all the kindle he had to light a fire, then he searched the cave for more wood, which he only remember waiting for Jacko in his room. Frustrated, and unable to sleep, he got up, walked around the cave, and noticed that it sloped downward beyond where he’d found the wood. With nothing else to do, he woke Brother Sao, informing him that he wanted to go below. The monk, still groggy, acknowledged his request and went back to sleep. Torhan grabbed his backpack, one of the burning branches from the fire, and proceeded into the unknown.
The pungent smell of damp, moldy earth filled his nostrils the further down he walked. By the time he reached the circular landing with multiple passageways, the smell overpowered him, causing him to heave his last meal.
After his stomach settled, Torhan cut a strip of cloth from his cloak and covered his mouth and nose. After scribbling a mark in the wall, he proceeded down the passageway on his left. The corridor led him through a series of twists and turns and ended in a large triangular-shaped chamber. The smell wasn’t as pungent here, prompting him to remove the cloth. The room contained the remains of a fire, which burned out a long time ago, and a couple of dirty backpacks sitting neatly next to it. It appeared to him the travelers must have left in a hurry. He rummaged through the sacks and found several flasks of oil, flint, a half-full lantern, and a book titled “Flame Arrow”. The book was a nice find, he thought. As he was about to scan through its pages, he was hampered by an eerie feeling. Heeding his instincts, he placed the items into his backpack, wrapped the cloth securely around his mouth, and left the room.
A Demon's Quest the Beginning of the End the Trilogy Box Set Page 13
