Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (15 page)

           
“So
it was the blessing of the blade Gregor carried that destroyed the
creature?" Boremac puzzled over the memory briefly. "That would
explain why the beast took no care in its attacks, even as Gregor carved away
its head."

           
"The
demonic creatures that managed to infest this land fear nothing within it, even
the weapons that can destroy the shells they possess here. The only thing they
really fear is failure to cause appropriate amounts of chaos while they are
here. Lower demons answer to greater powers in the Abyss. My guess would be
that the Raukohaun that faced Gregor and failed to destroy him has had his form
reduced in the Abyss to that of an imp. The lords of the Abyss are not nearly
as forgiving as the God of Light and the Goddess of the Land." Master
Silverwing's features darkened. Memories of death flooded his mind. The Golden
Dragon’s history was tainted by failures of this kind, though they were rare.
"I have seen brave knights torn asunder by evil that you could not
imagine, Boremac. Skill at arms is no measure against demon kind where faith
lacks. I hope the greatest evils you face are those of mortal men."

           
Boremac
returned Silverwing's stark look with deep concentration painting his own
features. "The evil of mankind is trouble enough for me. I have
encountered it often in my line of work. It is the nature of the business, you
might say. I can't help but think my luck in the past brought me to this
present." Boremac stared intently into the depths of the ranger's eyes,
the rogue’s hands clasped as if in prayer before him. "You believe what
you like, Silverwing, but the time among the priests taught me a bit about
myself. Can't say I am proud of my past. I look to a different future
now."

           
"It
is not my place, nor my intention, to judge you. I will not bind you to any
path. You may go as you please with the blessing of the God of Light for your
service, if you choose." Silverwing’s eyes dropped to the contents of the
case, hidden from the rogue by the broad wooden lid. "Master Firebeard
seems to think there is work for you in service of the God of Light, judging
from the other items he sent."

           
Boremac
cocked an eyebrow at the ranger's words. "Master Firebeard must have been
very productive to take my needs into account. We hardly spoke and he made no
mention of anything in the case for me when I took possession of it."

           
"Well,
a man of your questionable nature would have been hard-pressed to deliver the
case without opening it if you knew its contents. Certainly you can understand
his desire to speed delivery without any unnecessary complications." The
ranger grinned at his own words, softening the affront to the thief. "He
does not know you nearly as well as I do, though the items he forged show he is
not against you, at least."

           
Boremac
looked hungrily at the case’s open lid, making no attempt to disguise his
interest. "I think you need to let me know what you're asking of me before
I go taking gifts from strangers. No doubt the price of the items within will
be paid in full for the trouble bearing them brings me. Since we met, I have
not had the chance to suffer from boredom in pursuit of your labors."

           
"I
cannot deny the truth of that. You have gone well beyond the limits of your
nature. The task before you is the same as it has been since you left for
Nactium. Wait here for Gregor and gather what information you can about the
powers that move against him. Your knowledge of the priests working to undo him
at his weapons trial will no doubt prove invaluable. The Order of the Crimson
Night obviously play some role in recent events. Their desire to acquire the
broken blade that Gregor carries is strange. The blade would serve them no
purpose if they are consorting with demon kind."

           
"What
is it that makes the blade so important anyway?" Boremac had thought about
the little information concerning the Order of the Crimson Night and could find
no connection.

           
"It
is half of the sacred sword always carried by the leader of the Golden Dragon.
It was broken in the body of the last remaining leader of our order, Lord
Clamine. Gregor witnessed the Tharnorsa, who killed Lord Clamine, wield the
blade against our old leader as if the God of Light had stripped the sword of
its power. The hilt disappeared with the demon when Lord Clamine gave up his
body to save Gregor." Master Silverwing frowned deep in thought for a
moment before continuing. "I know of nothing in my experience that would
allow such a demon to wield the weapon. It is terrible to think that such a
force exists. Even an Abysmal leader of demon kind should have been dismissed
from mere contact with that sword. It has been passed from one leader of the
Knights to the next for 400 years and never has it failed, until now."

           
Boremac
pointed at the ranger. "Who are you?" It seemed a simple question
that should have had a simple answer. The rogue felt he knew but he wanted to
be sure who this man was before he willingly pledged his life.

           
"I
am the last Knight of the Golden Dragon, save Gregor, once the chosen archer
and faithful servant of the God of Light." Lord Silverwing thought that
would be obvious to one as observant as the thief had proven himself to be.
"We were broken apart when our Captain failed in his faith many years ago.
Lord Clamine, the Knight who gave his life to save Gregor's, would have rebuilt
the order, given time. We both assumed there was time and we followed the paths
laid before us in service to our God. Often I have questioned the wisdom of our
parting, I left to learn the ways of the Goddess and Lord Clamine established
the Knights of Bella Grey."

           
Boremac
brought his hands together once more, as if in prayer. If he were to serve the God
of Light, he needed to understand why. "There is a good reason to question
the logic of the God you serve. Faith is one thing; foolhardy risk with little
profit is another entirely. I have relied on luck and skill with a sure gain in
sight, but what you're asking of me surely holds only death as its reward. A
blessed soul parted from a sinful body is still a fate that holds little value
for me."

           
"You
are not bound in body or spirit, master thief. The God of Light only offers the
path, our God does not force you to follow it." Lord Silverwing reached
into the case, placing two daggers and a belt of throwing blades before the
rogue. "These are one path. You may choose to take these gifts and go.
Master Firebeard had some insight into your nature, judging from the arms I lay
before you now." Four long hilts protruded from the belt and all of the
hilts were intricately carved in a fashion Boremac felt was familiar, but he
could not immediately place the runes. The two daggers were also decorated with
the same runic symbols, carved into gilded grips. The blades of the daggers
were formed of the same metal gracing the tips of the arrows that the master
smith had made for the ranger. The daggers’ hilts were mirror images of the
hilts of the throwing daggers in the belt, except for the distinctive pommels
that gave rise to Lord Silverwing's rub concerning the master smith's thoughts
on Boremac.

           
Boremac
had to smile in spite of the reference the pommels of the daggers conveyed. He
ran his fingers over the small heads in appreciation of the workmanship,
admiring the smith's jest at his expense. "Indeed, he appears to know more
of me than his limited exposure would allow. I think Father Oregeth might have
played some part in these little faces." The pommels were carved in the
form of two tiny jesters' heads with the three-pronged caps favored by court
fools. One bore a broad smile, while its companion possessed the exaggerated
frown of one conveying deep dramatic sadness. Each tip of the hat’s ears on the
miniature fool’s heads held a different tiny symbol. The sides were tipped with
a tiny moon and sun opposite each other, while the center held a slightly
larger star-burst shape with small spikes coming out as if it were glittering.
"Yes, I am a fool to take the path laid so neatly before me, but what is
the meaning of the symbols on the tiny hats?"

           
Lord
Silverwing laughed openly at the inquiry. "I would think it was obvious!
Those who choose to serve the God of Light are watched over by him day and
night. You are right to assume that Father Oregeth had some role to play in
their design. The runes are ancient carvings dating to the first Communion of
the first priest called to the God’s service. You are honored. I think the
fools show Father Oregeth’s sense of humor as well as Master Firebeard's desire
to make the weapons unique to you. The good Father was not always the leader of
the God of Light’s faith, and much of his wisdom comes in the form of a light
heart in even the darkest times." Boremac thoughts were lightened by the
knight’s laughter. He placed his own worn blades on the table and sheathed the
blessed daggers at his sides. The rogue drew one of the balanced daggers from
the belt alongside the other that had served him so well. "Is there some
ritual to be performed now that it seems I am to join this foolish
enterprise?"

           
"You
have completed the test set before you and in doing so have proven your worth.
There is no need of Communion for you. Only those chosen to bear the burden of
faith and carry the light into the darkest places must seek the touch of the God
of Light." Lord Silverwing ended their time abruptly, rising from the
table and beckoning Boremac to do the same. The rogue rose and secured the belt
of throwing knives to his waist. "I will be leaving soon. You will stay
within Zanthfar and await Gregor's arrival."

           
Boremac's
curiosity pushed him to keep the knight a bit longer. "Two questions I
have for you, though one might seem a simple boast. Why would I have need of so
many throwing daggers? One has always been ample in the past. More importantly,
what makes you think Gregor can make the journey here safely? He has increased
his skills since he faced the assassins on the road to Traveflor, but I doubt
he would pose much challenge to assassins of the Black Hand if they were to
find him alone."

           
A
strange smile bent the knight’s lips before he replied. "I will answer the
second question first. He will leave Nactium alone, but the God of Light, who
has prepared his path as well, guides him. Another will aid him should such aid
be required. There is another power that is served by his destiny. The Goddess
will keep him as she sees fit." The Ranger motioned toward the belt of
throwing daggers as Boremac reflexively placed his hands protectively on his
new implements. "I trust you have mastered your foes in the past before
releasing the single dagger you possessed. Service to the God of Light is not
always so readily prepared for, except to keep faith that the one that watches
over you will deliver you from evils. I cannot say where your path may lead,
but I am certain you will find use for all your skills, all your luck, and
doubtless all your weapons."

           
Boremac
wondered once more at the wisdom in following this man. Faith in powers outside
his own was not something he had experience with, and despite his time in the
Temple, it was not something on which he was ready to rely. Boremac shrugged
and turned to go, somewhat reassured that his luck would carry him through if
the God of Light should forget which side the thief was on.

10

Destinies Intertwined

           
"Yes,
I miss him too but there is nothing to be done about it." Tana patted Fang
lightly on her head as the pair sat near the campfire. They were well into
their month-long journey to the grove of druids that watched over the wild
lands near Zanthfar. Tana had regretted missing Gregor's weapons trial but she
had duties of her own to attend. Word had come to her mother's grove that all
available followers of the Goddess were being sent to Zanthfar. The creatures
within the lands had grown progressively more aggressive, and strange unnatural
predators were being reported as well. Great horned bears and massive wolves
with elongated fangs, clearly outside the Goddess of nature's realm of
creation, had been wreaking havoc among the villages scattered throughout the
wilds. The Lord of the local lands had sent his militia into the woods to
investigate and, after much loss of life, the few creatures they were able to
slay had been delivered to the druids for study. Fear held sway over the
villagers, and the people within Zanthfar, as one of the largest river bound
cities leading to the sea, were beginning to feel the loss of grain and fresh
meat from the outlying settlements. The Lord's personal coffers were being
drained by the cost of mercenaries hired to secure passage of the trade flowing
into the city gates.

***

           
Time had passed quickly, too quickly for Gregor to feel
he had learned enough from the library. There was nothing to be done about it.
And truth be told he had studied the demonic forces as completely as he could.
The holy warrior had gained many insights into the one called Tur'morival,
though what could have driven a priest so committed to his faith and his
brothers so far from the God of Light was still a mystery. His journal gave
little meaning to the fall from grace, and Tur'morival seemed so bent on his
own path to destruction that the death of the acolyte at his hands appeared to
have made no impression on him at all. What wicked taint could drive a man to
such madness? Gregor was certain Tur'morival was driven insane by the very
powers he proclaimed to have learned to control.