Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (10 page)

           
Father
Wallin called to each of the remaining pairs, lining them shoulder-to-shoulder
to present Gregor to the assembled students. Gregor was surprised to note that
the number of male and female participants was roughly equal in the class.
Obviously the God of Light made no distinction where the sex of his servants
was concerned, and both men and women were called to serve as equals, or so
Gregor assumed from the skills Sister Noria had demonstrated.

           
Gregor
was taken aback with his introduction to the class. "Students, this is
Master Gregor, who is to be a warrior of the God of Light. Those of you who
have not had the opportunity to train with him in the library should take note,
and study with him when you can. One can only marvel at his devotion to the
study of our scriptures. He is a symbol of what one can accomplish with hard
work and commitment to the faith we all serve." Father Wallin turned
toward Gregor and bowed deeply. The class mirrored their tutor's gesture as
one, and Gregor was overwhelmed with the show of respect.

           
"You
all honor me too much. I wish only to reach my full potential in service to the
God of Light, as do all of you that are assembled here and study within these
blessed walls. My faith and understanding is only a spark when compared to the
great fires that burn in the hearts of the priests and students that came
before me." Gregor returned the bow of each of the people assembled in
turn, noting the open faces of the acolytes as he did. He wondered briefly if
he were up to the task that was before him.

           
"A
knight of the God of Light transcends the powers of even the most studied
priests, Gregor. You will become the first to stand against the great evil that
threatens these lands in your time, and you will wield divine power in ways we
cannot begin to comprehend. That is your destiny. That is why you are
here." Father Wallin dismissed the class before turning to address Gregor
again. "We should begin your blunt weapons training. You may favor the
sword in battle, but one never knows when the weapon at hand may not be the
weapon of choice."

           
Gregor
found his weapon training with Father Wallin educational and painful. He had
many opportunities to practice his healing skills and channeling on his own
bruised body after each sparring session with the Master. Gregor mastered the
heavy mace readily enough, and was able to best Sister Noria with the staff
after multiple floggings at her capable hands. The weapon that perplexed Gregor
the most was composed of a stout wooden handle with three iron chains extending
from it. Each chain was capped with a weighty iron ball. This flail was unique
to Gregor's experience with weapons, and the dexterity required to wield it
effectively seemed outside his grasp. Father Wallin preferred the flail above
all others, and demonstrated its disarming capability often, much to Gregor's
dismay. The spinning balls could readily rip any weapon from his grasp, and the
impact to his mailed hands caused Gregor to hold Father Wallin and the flail in
high regard.

           
"Don't
concern yourself overmuch with it, Gregor." Father Wallin smiled as Gregor
rubbed his bare hands together. The latest flailing had proven most effective,
and Gregor was practicing the healing touch of his shield hand on his bruised
weapon hand. The mace he had been using hung from Father Wallin's flail,
swinging gently as the priest moved to place it back in the practice rack.
"I have a surprise for you tomorrow that does not involve stripping your
defenses. You should take your rest early this evening. I took the liberty of
canceling your class with Father Havet. He and I both know you are spending a
great deal of time with books from the library when you should be resting, and
Father Havet is very pleased with your progress, however you will need all your
strength tomorrow. I have arranged for some special guests to assist in
measuring your weapon prowess."

Father Wallin's difficult training
classes had honed Gregor's abilities, and the warrior found he favored the
larger bastard sword, with its ability to be wielded with either one hand or
two, over the shorter long swords with which he had originally trained. The
weight of the weapon gave him stronger use of his cleaving attacks, and still
allowed him to thrust effectively when needed. Gregor would normally have been
very excited at the chance to test his mettle as well as his skill with his
newfound weapon of choice, but he suffered some trepidation as Father Wallin
turned to leave, chuckling to himself. Gregor was thinking a rest would
certainly be welcome, as he walked to the main temple in order to pray for the
focus he would no doubt need the following day.

 
***

The thief knelt before the great
altar dedicated to the God of Light and wondered once more what exactly he had
gotten himself into, or what Master Silverwing had gotten him into, anyway.
Boremac had met with Father Oregeth, as Silverwing had instructed, and things
had gone downhill rapidly from there. The good Father insisted that Boremac
undergo the standard ritual of purification that all acolytes endured before
being allowed into the temple grounds, assuring Boremac that he had nothing to
fear. "Nothing to fear?" Boremac thought, as he said his own version
of the priests' prayers to the God of Light. Father Oregeth took a count of the
sins that weighed on the rogue, and had determined a vow of silence was in order
as penance. He explained this was as much to protect the sisters and brothers
of the temple as to reconcile Boremac's eternal soul. So Boremac had spent the
last several weeks in silence, except for speaking when called upon by the
teachers in charge of his training. Father Oregeth had conveniently decided
that Boremac should watch over Gregor as a fellow student and Boremac had
learned a great deal about the holy swordsman. The thief was adept at listening
through years of practice, and felt he knew as much about Gregor as the warrior
knew himself, perhaps even more. Boremac was intrigued by rumors of a trial
that would test Gregor's skill at arms. He had been impressed with the boy who
had faced the two assassins
a mere two cycles of the
moon before now, but the word was that the final stages of his weapon training
were nearing. If rumors were to be believed, Father Wallin had organized a
special test befitting a fully capable holy warrior. More than skills with the
shield and sword would be required, no doubt. Boremac wanted to contact Gregor
more directly and open a dialogue with him, but that would wait for now.
Tomorrow all the brothers and sisters were going to assemble at the city's
arena to witness what Boremac was certain would be quite a show. "God of
Light, please bless your humble servant, and allow him a draft most potent to
slake his thirst once he is allowed to visit a most improper tavern again.
Praise be to your Holy Presence."

***

Firebeard weighed the
sword he had completed for Master Gregor and smiled with pride. It was a
Masterwork of the Elenondo metal, that shining black metal that had fallen from
the heavens as if it were a gift from the God of Light himself, and a perfect
replica of the swords wielded by the Knights of the Golden Dragon he had once
served. The weapon was forged as one piece, and bore the markings of Gregor's
Master, lacking only the crystal centerpieces of Lord Silverwing's swords. The
forge over which he labored to shape it had barely withstood the mystical fires
that were needed to mold it, and it had cost him a fair amount of coin to
recruit a mage capable of generating the flames, not to mention the diamond
file and finely tipped chisel that had been needed for the detail work in the
hilt, but it was worth it.
 

           
Father Wallin had noted that Gregor was favoring a
bastard sword in his training, and the smith would be sure Gregor would have
the finest blade the master weapon-smith could forge. Firebeard was unable to
fashion a hilt for the blade Gregor had left with him. It would accept none
other than its own original grip, the smith had reasoned, after many tries to
seat it in a new handle. He could only assume that the divine power once
present in the weapon as a whole was still retained, despite the nature of the
creature that had torn it asunder. The master of the forge trembled, imagining
what great evil could do such a thing.

           
Firebeard would have to hurry if he were to deliver the
blade to Gregor before his weapons trial. The city was buzzing with the rumors
of a holy warrior to be tested tomorrow at Nactium arena. Firebeard would be
certain that Gregor would have a weapon befitting his station, though a proper
shield would have to wait. The large smith hefted the blade, testing its
balance, and giving more than one person in the lanes leading to the temple a
moment's pause and a bit of a scare, as he trotted briskly through the city
streets.

***

The aforementioned holy
warrior received the weapon Firebeard had made with silence. Gregor was
overwhelmed with the gift from the master of the forge. Sleep could not
overtake him that night before his trial, as he weighed the sword in his hand
and swept it about himself, taking care not to disturb the sleeping brothers
near him. It felt like an extension of his arm, and Gregor marveled at its
balance. The keen blade left no mark of its passage, as he inadvertently cut a
nearby candelabrum neatly in two, scattering candles across the floor. He heard
amused laughter quietly echoing nearby, and saw that his handiwork had not gone
unnoticed.

           
Gregor realized the bald observer standing just inside
the light cast by his scattered candles was a fellow acolyte from one of his
many lessons. This particular brother stood out due to the close cut beard on
his chin. More remarkably, the individual in question never spoke to anyone but
the priests giving lessons, and spent a great deal of time in quiet prayer.
Gregor had seen the man frequently when he was offering his own praise to the God
of Light, and the mysterious figure was often in the main temple kneeling
quietly as Gregor walked through the adjoining halls on his way to his other
studies. Gregor hastily gathered up and extinguished the candles that had
fallen to the floor, pausing briefly to wave in greeting to his observer. The
acolyte only nodded, and disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the
room.

***

           
Father Wallin stood on a large boulder at the center of
the arena, wearing his battle armor, a pristine suit of chain mail bearing a
prominent golden sun emblem on the chest. He held his preferred weapon, the
oaken handled flail that Gregor had grown so wary of in his lessons, as he
turned to the crowd of onlookers that filled the seats of the observation
area.
 
Gregor stood at the base of the
great stone, flanked at his left by Sister Noria and at his right by Brother
Findal, the three acolytes each clothed in suits of fine chain mail and bearing
their weapons of choice. Gregor noted Brother Findal held a round wooden shield
similar to the one he had been given in addition to carrying his mace. He found
it curious that Brother Findal and Sister Noria were within the arena at all,
and assumed they were present as protectors or healers if something went wrong,
but he had no time to dwell on the development, as Father Wallin raised his
voice to carry over the noise of the crowd. The audience packed into the arena
seats quieted almost immediately, as the priest began speaking.

           
Gregor thought Father Wallin carried himself with
remarkable grace, as he announced the event and named the participants, nodding
to each in turn for the benefit of the audience. "I present for your
approval the defenders of the God of Light in today's tournament! Sister Noria,
master wielder of the staff, whose skills are unmatched among her brothers and
sisters in the felling of foes.
 
Her
blessed hands turn the ash long arm with grace and precision. Brother Findal,
master wielder of the mace, whose weapon of choice brings new meaning to the
word dazed." The audience rippled with low laughter at the Father's jest.
"Finally, the master of the bastard sword, Master Gregor, holy warrior and
devout student of the faith. His skills in combat are untested, and so we have
assembled here today. These three warriors of the God of Light will face
overwhelming odds in the form of volunteers drawn from the finest veterans
Nactium has to offer…battle hardened warriors who know no fear and give no
quarter!"

           
On cue, great doors were opened at the far wall of the
arena by priests dressed in the same manner as Father Wallin. A score of
warriors poured from the dark passageway beyond the great doors and lined up
shoulder-to-shoulder facing the acolytes in a rough semi-circle. Gregor noted
the men and women assembled themselves with military precision, although they
seemed to be drawn from a wide range of organizations. Few of the adversaries
had any insignia on their armor or shields, and there was a broad range of
weapons mingled within the group. Some of the warriors bore tall metal shields
bearing ornate carvings dented in places, showing they had seen their share of
battles. Great swords numbered among the weapons, as tall as the men and women
who held them at the ready. Armor plating ranged from simple suits of studded
leather to complex plates of interlocking steel. Most remarkable were the two
robed figures that stood at the farthest ends of the formation. The pair held
long metal staves capped with orbs roughly the size of a fist. Two short, thin
blades extended near the top of each staff, angled away from the orb cap.
Gregor thought the formation resembled a figure with arms outstretched as if in
supplication to the orb. He found the image unsettling, though nothing in the
robed figures’ demeanor seemed more threatening than the rest of the warriors
assembled. In fact, the two men appeared disinterested in the whole proceeding.