The Ranger (Book 1) (6 page)

“Very well,” Abbot Markov said quietly, “if this is the path you have chosen to follow, then so be it. May the Goddess watch over the three of you. I commend you for your wisdom Kai.”

Vincent looked down the line in shock; only Kai had not stepped forward.

“The remaining three will advance to the final round; Kai, you may be seated.” The Abbot waited as Kai took his seat before continuing. “Due to the nature of the event you will each be required to compete individually. So, to be fair, the details will not be explained until it is your turn to compete. Thomas, you will be first, Peter and Vincent, you shall wait in the academy hall until you are called.”

At a wave of Abbot Markov’s hand, one of the Valkyrie standing behind the abbots marched up to Vincent and Peter.

“You will come with me,” she said bluntly from behind the lowered visor of her winged helmet. She had a light, musical voice that stood in stark contrast to the heavy plate-mail worn by all Valkyrie.

She turned and marched off toward the entrance of the academy. Peter and Vincent followed. She stopped at the door, opened it and pointed down the stairs without saying a word. They obediently walked through the door and down the stairs. The Valkyrie remained outside and closed the door behind them.

The academy was lit by the same orbs which lit the abbey. The narrow stairs ended at a large but plain wooden door. Vincent walked through first, entering the vast room that was the academy hall. In ages past, the room had held three hundred students at different stages in their training; as masters demonstrated fighting techniques and explained war tactics. Now, however, the academy had fewer than fifty students. The storage rooms attached to the main hall were filled with equipment that went unused.

Vincent drew his swords and started practicing the forms he had performed many times. The blades flowed smoothly from one form to another. He had come a long way from where he was only a year earlier. Thomas had always been a natural with any weapon he touched; it always seemed that he had used them for years, even with the most obscure weapon. Vincent had not been so fortunate. Hours of practice had changed that. He now stood as one of the more proficient weapon masters in the academy.

“What do you think the event is?” Peter asked, pulling Vincent from his trance.

“I really don’t know,” Vincent said thinking. “Abbot Markov said it would test our mind, body and spirit. It will probably be some type of combat, as that’s the primary calling of knights, to be warriors, but beyond that I really couldn’t say.” In reality, he just didn’t want to think about what it could be. The flow of the blades was all that was keeping him from breaking down under the pressure.

An ear-splitting boom echoed through the hall, startling Vincent and putting a stop to his training once again. Both Peter and Vincent stood listening silently, trying to discern what had happened outside.

The sound of someone pounding their way down the stairs broke the silence after what seemed like an eternity. The door slammed open. The Valkyrie who had escorted them stood in the doorway.

“Peter shall compete next.” She said in a very cold, emotionless way. “Follow me.”

She turned and marched back up the stairs. Peter followed like a man condemned, waving solemnly to Vincent as he went. The door slammed behind them with an ominous thud, leaving Vincent alone.

Again he started the forms; but now, with his turn rapidly approaching, his hands trembled. He couldn’t tell if it was fear or excitement, but it had gripped him thoroughly.

He knelt down, laying his swords on the ground on either side of him, and tried to calm his troubled nerves. The meditation techniques they had taught him as a child seemed to work, but they took time.

Just as he was achieving a measure of peace once again, the ground shook violently sending Vincent tumbling over, barely missing his swords. He was just picking himself up when the door slammed open again.

“Vincent,” the familiar figure said, “your time has come.” She led him back to the field, where she left him standing alone.

“Vincent, you are the last to compete,” Abbot Markov said somberly, breaking the eerie silence that hung over the assembly. “Be it known that neither of your peers have completed the challenge.” A sudden fear swept over Vincent as he remembered the warning given before that failure to complete the challenge could result in death.

“Sadly,” the abbot continued, “the Goddess saw fit to claim the life of one of your colleagues, and she may yet claim the other.” Vincent trembled as he forced himself to look as Abbot Markov indicated the side of the field where a congregation of priests and priestesses huddled around the two motionless forms. Thomas had large burns on his face and hands and was gasping for air. The orange glow of healing was thick around him. Vincent heaved a sigh of relief; but it was short lived. His eyes soon fell on Peter. Peter’s legs were distorted and looked as though they had been crushed. To Vincent’s horror, Peter’s right arm had been torn clean off. The sick feeling he had felt earlier returned.

“My warning has gone unheeded thus far. However, I say it again. The challenge will push you beyond your limits; and you may not be so fortunate as your friend. Facing this challenge may kill you.” The Abbot paused, looking mournfully at Peter before continuing. “One last time; if you wish to withdraw, you may do so now.”

Vincent glanced once again at Thomas, lying on the ground with a grimace of pain painted on his pale face. Doubt filled his mind. He scanned the faces of his fellow initiates; each had a look of complete horror and disbelief on their faces. There’s no way he could win.

“I will...” Vincent began, determined to withdraw; but he stopped midsentence. His eye caught Master Auna, next to the Abbot. He was smiling. There was something special about this smile. It radiated encouragement. The doubt melted from him, replaced with a new found confidence. He smiled back at Master Auna.

“I will take the challenge,” He said firmly. “I’m ready for whatever comes.”

“Very well,” Abbot Markov said quietly, almost sounding disappointed. “We pray the Goddess will smile upon you.” The Abbot’s whisper cut through the silence. “The challenge is nothing like you have ever faced,” he said resuming his normal, energetic tone. “Your skills are unquestioned, but the placement that will come with your victory requires that you be in full control of your body and your token. For this reason, we have arranged an encounter that will test both. You will challenge an elemental.”

The words echoed through Vincent’s mind as his stomach dropped and the smile fell from his face. His confidence was gone once again. Elementals were immortal beings; the personal servants of the Goddess herself. Fighting one was suicide at best.

“It is not necessary to kill your foe, you need only have him acknowledge your power,” the Abbot continued. “You may now embrace your token before we call it forth.”

Vincent drew his blades, and then embraced his token. Warmth flooded his body, flowing from the mark on his back. His hands started to glow. It had a calming effect on him.

“I am ready,” Vincent said softly, his voice trembling as he tried to suppress his fear.

The Abbot nodded. Without saying a word, he rose and walked toward Vincent, stopping a few paces away. He pulled a scroll and four stones from his pocket. He unrolled the scroll carefully and placed it on the ground with the stones on the corners to hold it flat. The symbol of fire, a circle with a single flame in the middle, the same symbol that was burned into Vincent’s back, was drawn on the scroll. The Abbot nodded to Master Auna who in turn nodded to the man in black.

They both walked to the page on the ground, rolling up their right sleeves as they went, and removed their gloves. To Vincent’s surprise, they both had identical tattoos covering their right arms. The tattoos depicted rolling flames that seemed to move up and down their arms as they walked. The man Vincent thought he knew well became more and more mysterious as the night wore on.

Auna and the other man stood on opposite sides of the parchment and extended their exposed arms above the page, their palms pressing flat together. Their arms started to glow with the token of fire, but much more intensely than Vincent had ever seen; the light almost seemed liquid as it moved like fire on their arms, making the tattoos seem even more life-like.

Slowly, they pulled their hands apart, revealing a small ball of fire floating in the air. The ball hovered motionless in the air for a minute before dropping to the earth, consuming the parchment instantly and sending a massive column of fire shooting into the air.

The flames receded as rapidly as they had appeared, revealing the figure of a man made entirely of fire. The figure looked around before tentatively stretching its limbs. After establishing its range of movement, it briskly walked to the Abbot and took a knee, bowing down before him.

“I am Mayberry,” the creature stated, his voice like roaring fire. “It has been many years since I last stood in the mortal plain. What is it that you desire of me?”

“I am Théoden Markov, Grand Abbot of Pallà,” the Abbot replied. “You have been summoned to test the strength of a Knight of the Order of Sandora. You may test him as you see fit; his objective, however, is to have you acknowledge his power.”

A broad smile slid across Mayberry’s face. “This pleases me,” he purred. Mayberry turned to face Auna. “Is this the man I am to test?”

“My power was proven long ago. I no longer need to prove myself, nor does Jason for that matter,” Auna replied calmly. “Your opponent will be Sir Vincent Alexander.”

Mayberry turned his gaze upon Vincent. The smile disappeared from his face, replaced by an expression of shock.

“So
you
are the human I am to test,” he said uncertainly. “It may be less entertaining than I had hoped. However, if it is the will of the Grand Abbot, then I have no choice but to obey.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Vincent growled as he tightened his grip on his swords, enraged by the contempt of his foe. Any fear he had been feeling was swallowed by the anger he now felt.

Vincent summoned fire to himself and was immediately enveloped in flames. He flourished his blades before taking a fighting stance.

Master Auna and his companion left the field as six priestesses took positions in front of the crowd, creating a magical barrier.

Mayberry looked at the drawn blades in Vincent’s hands with distain.

“Your mortal weapons cannot harm me,” he said smugly. “But, if combat is truly what you desire, boy, I will show you no mercy.” Mayberry smiled cruelly as a great flaming sword grew from his hand. “Prepare yourself.” He stepped forward and dissolved into millions of little sparks that spread across the field.

Vincent watched the sparks intently, trying to find something that would indicate where the attack would come from, or even what type of attack it would be. The sparks flew randomly around him, but did not come close. Then, in the blink of an eye all the sparks flew at him, reforming into their true form. Mayberry appeared, sword already in motion, striking at Vincent.

Vincent jumped back to avoid the blow, his foe’s blade passing just a hair from Vincent’s chest. He could feel the intense heat from the blade. He stumbled as he tried to regain his footing. Mayberry just laughed as he dissolved once again.

Vincent closed his eyes, hoping that his token would give some insight as to the movement of his opponent. To Vincent’s horror, there was nothing, only darkness. This creature was not made of normal fire.

He watched the sparks more frantically now. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and dodged just in time to avoid another slash. The attacks were coming more frequently. Vincent, who was barely managing to avoid the blows, was tiring fast.

A blow came from above. Vincent raised his left blade in a desperate attempt to stop the onslaught. The blades collided. The flames around Vincent’s sword flashed blue for an instant, stopping the approaching blade. But, as the light faded, Mayberry’s blade continued its downward path, ignoring both blade and armor, and cut deep into Vincent’s shoulder.

“I told you,” the voice of Mayberry echoed from the cloud of sparks, “your mortal weapons cannot harm me, my sword is made of flames from the high plane. One who lacks concentration, like you, will never be able to stop my blade.”

Vincent’s left arm now hung limp at his side, and he was breathing heavily. The onslaught started again, blades appearing from all sides. He was powerless to block them and had to dodge with all his energy. They were getting closer now. Vincent’s body was covered in small cuts and burns as his movements began to slow.

“It ends here!” Mayberry shouted as his blade appeared once again, striking from above.

In desperation, Vincent raised his sword in a hopeless attempt to block the blow that was promising death. He concentrated everything he had left into that blade.

The sword collided again in a flash of blue, but this time the light didn’t fade. Vincent’s sword continued to burn with the strange blue flame, stopping his foe’s sword. Mayberry stared in disbelief.

Exerting as much strength as he could muster, Vincent knocked Mayberry’s sword wide of its mark and quickly sent a counter blow at his opponent. The blade cut cleanly across Mayberry’s exposed chest. Mayberry let out an agonized cry then glared at Vincent, an amused smile on his face.

“It may be interesting after all.”

He disappeared. The attacks came again, faster now. Vincent managed to get his sword, with its strange blue flames, up every time to block the attacks. He sensed more than saw where the blade would appear.

Something had changed in Vincent. Where before there had been a confusing mass of sparks, he could now see the faintest shadow of Mayberry darting to and fro. The attacks continued, but with each blow the shadow became clearer and clearer, and Vincent’s movements became sharper and sharper. His blade was now already in motion to block when Mayberry’s sword materialized.

Vincent knocked Mayberry’s blade aside and took the offensive, grazing his foe as Mayberry tried to regain his footing.