The Ranger (Book 1) (39 page)

Grabbing Lauren’s arm, he made for the Entry Hall of the abbey.  The number of bodies, both monster and Knight, littering the ground increased as they got closer to the doors. A thick column of smoke was gushing out of the open doors.

As they forced their way through the heaps of bodies, into the Entry Hall, they were met by a wall of flames exploding from the burning reception hall. Vincent quickly batted the flames aside with his token.

As the flames subsided a figure emerged, limping from the burning room, but seemingly unharmed by the flames. His body was misshapen, looking almost like a mix between a wolf and a man. His strangely extended face and glowing golden eyes gave Vincent no doubt as to what it was: a werewolf.

Vincent had never seen a werewolf before, even in his dreams. The beast smiled in a menacing way before advancing toward Vincent. A large gash ran across its face and it had no sword or armour, but the long claws on its hands and feet looked like they could do a lot of damage.

Pushing Lauren out of the path of the creature, Vincent charged forward. The werewolf growled in delight as it batted Vincent’s blade aside and swiped at his face. Vincent barely managed to dodge before kicking the beast in the chest, knocking it backward.

The werewolf was on its feet again in an instant, snarling as it charged again. Vincent was struggling to fend off the attacking claws.

An arrow blasted past the beast’s ear, catching its attention. He turned toward Lauren and lunged again. He was closing quickly, making arrows ineffective. Lauren dropped her bow and struggled to draw her blade, but it caught in its sheath.

Vincent acted quickly, throwing himself at the enraged creature. He hit hard, sending them both tumbling to the ground. The werewolf landed on top of the pile and immediately began to lash out against Vincent, cutting a deep gash in Vincent’s cheek and biting hard into his shoulder. The bite burned, sending waves of pain through Vincent’s body. He suddenly went limp, his arms falling useless to the ground.

The beast smiled in victory as he raised his claws for the final blow. Vincent still couldn’t move, he could only watch.

The claws started to fall; then a flash of silver followed by an agonized scream stopped its flight. Lauren had finally freed her blade and rushed at the werewolf, severing its arm.

Growling in pain the beast quickly backed away while Lauren helped Vincent sit up. His strength was quickly returning, but the pain was still shooting through him. Getting to his feet, Vincent picked up his blades once again.

The creature, which had moved to the far side of the room, glared at the two of them with a look of pure hatred. Screaming in rage once again, the werewolf charged at them. Vincent embraced his token, drawing the flames from the burning reception hall to his swords. With a flourish of his blades, he stabbed the charging creature through the chest.

A faint roar escaped the werewolf’s lips, but it quickly faded as Vincent allowed its body to slip from his blade. The pain was intensifying, and he was staring to have trouble holding his swords.

The werewolf started to transform before Vincent’s eyes, becoming human once again. A lump formed in Vincent’s throat as he recognized Jan Mazza, one of the initiates who had graduated with him from the academy. He lay motionless on the ground, half human, half wolf. Another victim of the Magi. With a grimace, he pushed onward.

A wave of his hand parted the flames in the reception hall, allowing them to pass through safely. Vincent stopped suddenly at the door to the cloister, the image from his dream months earlier cutting clearly through his mind. He moved to the door to the sanctuary and entered.

It was a sad scene inside the sanctuary. A group of priests lay dead just in front of the altar. He was too late. No one had been there to protect them. Vincent batted the flames away once again as they left sanctuary, moving into the cloister.

Bodies littered the ground here too. They were mostly Knights, but there were many minotaurs and gnolls mixed in. A troll had fallen and crushed the fountain, its massive corpse blocking the flow of the water.

As Vincent and Lauren moved to the back of the cloister, the number of bodies started to increase. More monsters littered the ground and fewer knights. There were at least three werewolves in the mix.

Vincent cautiously edged his way over the bodies and into the alcove. Auna sat, slumped against the door to the dome, his sword still in his hand. A steady stream of blood was pouring from a large gash on his forehead, and several arrows stuck out of his chest. The body of the Magi lay on the ground at his feet.

Vincent gingerly placed a hand on Auna’s shoulder as he removed his silver mask. Auna’s eyes fluttered open. He looked confused for a moment before recognizing Vincent’s face. He smiled weakly.

“I see the Goddess has chosen you as Guardian,” Auna said softly. “It seems that Abbot Markov was right about keeping you here. Without the leadership of the Guardian, we wouldn’t have lasted nearly as long as we did.”

Vincent had almost forgotten that he wore the golden mask. He smiled half-heartedly.

“Let’s get you some help,” Vincent said, changing the subject as he tried to help his friend into a more comfortable position, but Auna brushed him aside.

“Leave me here, my time is finished. It is up to you now, Vincent. The Order has fallen, her people are scattered. You must find them and rebuild. The future of this land depends on it.”

Auna could barely keep his eyes open as he tried to speak. He weakly grasped for Vincent’s hand.

“Here,” Auna said weakly, “take my sword, I no longer need it. Use it for as long as it is useful, and then cast it aside. May it guide you to safety.” He placed his sword in Vincent’s hand. The blade which had once been a brilliant white was already starting to dim as it turned black. The gold leaf work that formed the image of climbing vines was now barely visible. “I only wish I could have seen the glory of Pallà restored, but it seems the Goddess has other plans for me.” Auna started to cough, but it quickly subsided.

“Master Auna,” Vincent said, his voice trembling, “I don’t know that I can do it alone. There is still so much that I don’t know. All I can see for the future is darkness.”

“You will be fine,” Auna sighed, leaning back against the door again. “You are stronger than you know. I have lived in darkness since the fall of Pallà. Your father taught me long ago that when the darkness is too deep, and all hope seems lost, you must continue to kick against that darkness. If you do this, eventually it will bleed daylight. Always remember, you are the Chosen of Sandora, and she has great plans for you.” The words were coming more difficultly now. Slowly, Auna raised his hand and placed it on Vincent’s shoulder. “Goodbye my friend, until we meet again.” His hand slipped from Vincent’s shoulder as his eyes closed. Jerome Auna was dead.

The sounds of battle were growing fainter from outside the abbey, but Vincent didn’t notice. He couldn’t even feel the searing pain shooting through his arm. Master Auna had been his first friend in the abbey and his first teacher. An empty feeling was growing within him. There was so much death, and it was his fault.

Vincent couldn’t do anything but sit there, staring at the lifeless form on the ground in front of the Great Dome. Tears slipped down his soot covered cheek. Lauren placed an arm gently around him.

“It will be alright,” she whispered comfortingly.

“But what if it isn’t?” Vincent replied. “What if I’m not strong enough? All these people would have died in vain.”

“I don’t think that will happen,” Lauren replied. “You are the guardian, and I believe in you.”

The words encouraged him, the fact that someone still believed in him gave him strength. He gritted his teeth and stood. The pain in Vincent’s arm was intensifying as he and Lauren gently moved Auna’s lifeless body from in front of the door. Pushing the door open, they walked in.

The inside of the dome seemed untouched, and had it not been for the faint whimper he heard coming from behind the statue of the Goddess, Vincent wouldn’t have thought there was anyone there.

Vincent and Lauren quickly rounded the statue to where the large group of children cowered in fear, huddled around the priests and priestesses that cared for them.

“Thank the Goddess,” one of the priests sighed as Vincent came into view. “Is it over?”

“I don’t know,” Vincent replied, “But I doubt there are many of the Order left alive out there.” A sudden wave of pain shot from the bite mark in his shoulder. His body felt like it was trying to tear itself apart, and he fell to the ground.

“What’s wrong?” one of the priests asked, rushing over to Vincent.

“I was bitten by a werewolf.”

“What?” the priest cried, horror stricken. “Then we must act quickly to extract the poison. If it is not removed quickly, you will become as them.”

The priests quickly gathered around Vincent and the healing glow spread over him. The extraction of the poison was almost as painful as the original bite, but before long, he felt normal again.

“I’m going back out,” Vincent said as he got back to his feet, “but Lauren will stay here with you.”

“I will not,” Lauren replied angrily. “I’m going with you.”

“You will stay here,” Vincent asserted firmly. “Someone has to watch over them.”

“Very well,” Lauren grumbled, taking a post next to the door.

“I’ll be back soon,” Vincent said as he returned to the cloister. Lauren just grunted at him as he passed.

There was an eerie silence outside, broken only by the crackling flames of the still-burning abbey. Vincent walked through the reception hall, extinguishing the flames as he went, and emerged onto the abbey grounds. Kai had returned to his human form, but had several spears stuck in his arms and legs. One had gone straight through his belly.

Nothing else seemed to be moving. Vincent rushed to Kai. He was still breathing, but only just. After making sure that there were no other minotaurs lurking about, Vincent returned to the dome to get the priests and start a search for survivors. There were very few.

David had died in the battle, several werewolves dead at his feet. Weston sat on the ground not far from David’s body. His armour had been completely torn away, revealing the massive scars from his burns. His body was riddled with cuts and bruises. He seemed just barely conscious.

Trent was slumped against the abbey wall not far from the entrance to the great hall. The bodies of many of the refugees were strewn around him where they had stood to defend their families within. Not one of the refugees had survived, and Trent was at death’s door, with three arrows in his chest.

Six knights had survived, but they were all badly wounded. The healers worked long into the night and managed to save Kai. It took all of their skill to save Trent, but he was the shadow of the man he used to be. His body was wasted, and the finely honed muscles had disappeared.

It was after midnight when the ragged group of survivors finally met. Most of the children were huddled with them, unable to sleep. Vincent looked at the sad sight, but didn’t say a word. They stood in silence for a long time.

“It’s over,” one of the Knights said despairingly, “isn’t it.”

“No,” Vincent replied firmly, trying to show more confidence than he felt. “It’s not over as long as there is one of us drawing breath. It is up to us now to rebuild the Order; and we will do it, but it will take time. It is just beginning.”

“What do we do now?” one of the priests asked hesitantly.

“For now, we go into hiding,” Lauren said, putting a hand on Vincent’s shoulder. “The Eresians will be looking for anyone involved with the Order, so we must lay low. Families will need to be found for the children; unless you fancy raising them yourselves in some cave.” The priests shook their heads indicating that they did not think that sounded like a good idea. “As for the rest of us, we must be ever vigilant, looking for those who will support us in our cause. It may be years yet before we get our chance to rise again, but we must be ready when the time comes.”

“It would be unwise to stay together,” Vincent added. “It would be easier for them to find us that way. I say no more than two people together; and Kai,” Vincent said addressing his old friend, “I think it would be best if you rejoined your people for the time being. They need your leadership.”

“I agree,” Kai said mournfully.

“Weston, Trent” Vincent continued, “we’ve been a team and I want us to stay a team. I would be honoured if you would join Lauren and me.”

“We will always be a team,” Weston nodded, “but I can’t come with you. I have some unfinished business to attend to.”

“I would be a burden to the two of you,” Trent added. “I can barely stand, and it’s going to take some time to get my strength back. Weston will look after me for now.”

“As you wish. I will send a sign when the time is right for us to gather,” Vincent said. They all agreed and headed out into the night. It was cold, and the road was long; but there was hope, and that was all that mattered.

Epilogue

It was late in the day, and the sun was shining in Vincent’s eyes. A large group had gathered in the square of Senno. A column of smoke still rose from the burnt out shell of the sanctuary, despite the time that had passed since its destruction. A gallows had been constructed in the center of the square, and the crowd was directing its attention to the man standing on it.

“The Rebel, Vincent Alexander, has been found guilty of the following offences: high treason against his Majesty, the Emperor of the Great Eresian Empire; sedition; inciting war; leading the insurrection of the Draylor people, leading to their destruction;” the soldier reading the charges carried on in a monotonous drawl.

Vincent shook his head as he listened. The list seemed to be endless.

“From what he’s saying, it sounds like I’ve been convicted of every crime possible,” Vincent whispered in Lauren’s ear.

“The victors write history,” Lauren sighed. “Our efforts will likely go unnoticed by the ages.”