Blood Of The Righteous

by J. E. Sandoval

  Outside, the midday bells rang. Gabriel’s Test of Combat would be in an hour. She was confident he would have no problems, in spite of how well he had trained his three charges over the past two years. Four years prior, he had struck his mentor when he was an initiate, but the only way for him to be struck would be out of his own carelessness.

  Gabriel had asked her if she would be attending, but she had avoided giving him an answer. Today and tomorrow, she would be spending the afternoon with Janelle and Holle once her rounds in the infirmary were complete. While over the past few years he had stopped pestering her about her friendship with the two, he would still cast a disapproving glance her way when she mentioned a visit. He had been hurt by her not promising to be at his Test of Combat, but the truth of the matter was that after tomorrow, as a full Knight, he could be sent away on church matters and forever be out of her life. As her last remaining immediate family member, the thought pained her deeply. So deeply, she didn’t want to be part of the ancient ceremonies that could tear them apart.

  She sat back down on the hard bench as other thoughts crossed her mind. He could always fail the Test of the Angelic Blade. If that were the case, he would be exiled to Coldar’s Spring for “penance,” although none that failed the test ever returned to Avonshire.

  None of the Holy Defenders were allowed to talk about the Test of the Angelic Blade, and not knowing what was involved burned away at her as any unsolved mystery did. Perhaps she could coax it out of Gabriel after he passed the test.

  She blew out the two lamps she had put upon the table earlier. It was time for her to make her rounds.

  * * * * * *

  The Hellfire blade cleaved straight through the swamper’s crude leather armor, biting viciously into the flesh beneath, through his shoulder and down into his chest cavity, puncturing his lung. The grimy man couldn’t even let loose his death cry as his blood spewed downward to mingle with the filthy mire.

  Sagaroth placed his boot against his opponent’s gut and pushed him over backwards, dislodging his sword. The man landed with a splat.

  All around, the sounds of swords striking swords rang out as the swamper raiding party was repelled. Another attacker, shoulder padding bright with crimson dye, lunged at the large general, leading with his rusted sword. Sagaroth cleaved the old blade at the hilt, grabbed the raider, and using his momentum, launched him into the air. The smaller man smashed against a tree, the sound of his backbone splintering echoing above the din of battle.

  Upon seeing the death of their tribal leader, the other raiders disengaged and ran back towards the heart of the swamp. The Aragil soldiers took final swipes at their opponents as they raised a hearty cheer of victory.

  Sagaroth sheathed his evil blade, disappointed at the lack of further opponents. Such raids were common along Aragil’s western border. The tribal dwellers of the Devon Swamp often raided the border towns when starvation provoked them to desperation. Aragil’s former monarch, King Tyral, had considered the slaughter of the swampers a necessary evil. Sagaroth considered it sport.

  “Lord General,” said a panting young soldier, trotting up to his side. “We managed to capture five of the raiders. What shall we do with them?”

  The edges of Sagaroth’s mustache turned upward. “Kill them one by one and place their heads upon pikes. That should discourage any more raids for a while.”

  A look of shock came upon the young soldier’s face as he hesitated at the command. “Are you serious, Lord General?” he asked quizzically.

  An armored gauntlet backhanded the soldier across the face, knocking out several teeth and sending him sprawling into the mud. “How dare you question my orders, boy!” He beckoned to two other soldiers who were tending the minor wounds of a few of their comrades. “You two, take him back to Daggermount and deliver him to Chancellor Dameus. I’ll not be disrespected by my own men.”

  The two soldiers picked up the dazed young man by either arm and brought him to his feet. They quickly stripped him of his weapons and began to take off his armor when the young soldier came to his senses.

  “Lord General!” he protested, “Please forgive me, sir! I meant no disrespect!” He tried to struggle to get free, but a knee to his newly unarmored gut by one of the soldiers on his flank silenced him, causing him to buckle over in pain.

  “Enough out of you, boy. The General has spoken. You’re as good as dead… or worse,” said the soldier who had kneed him. The other began to snicker.

  The young soldier’s cries for forgiveness faded as they dragged him away to be put at the whim of the evil necromancer, causing Sagaroth to smirk. He didn’t care one bit for Dameus, arrogant bastard that he was, and he was sure the feeling was mutual. However, giving him the soldier not only kept the other men of Aragil’s army in line, it also would get Dameus out of the way for a time while he performed his vile experiments on the lad.

  Dameus had become a minor annoyance. While the little weasel’s ego had grown far beyond its merit with his being appointed Chancellor, his lust for knowledge kept him generally out of the way.

  Sagaroth, on the other hand, had become a national icon, a living symbol of Aragil’s might. Peasants would point and whisper with glee when Lord General Lexar Sagaroth graced their villages with his presence. Courtiers would bow and beg his pardon at his passing, often offering up their charms. King Dorian himself saw him as larger than life, and bards from the Devon Swamps to the Decian Sea would sing songs of his glory for decades to come.

  Still, he wanted more.

  While he could easily fill his days with adoration, and his nights with female company, he knew from experience that he would grow weary of it all. Sagaroth was a conqueror, and conquerors needed enemies. These pitiful swampers, while fulfilling his lust for battle and glory in the past, now paled in comparison to his battles in the east. Two noble families destroyed, three cities captured, and leagues of countryside battles had showed him the taste of true conquest.

  Why had King Dorian stopped? Elgannan’s southern border was defenseless, and her forces severely weakened from the years of warfare. They could have marched northward, razing Port Cirill and Avonshire, then pushing into Caledonia, also weakened. Drive them all into the Highland Mountains, he had suggested to the king. His advice had met with condescending laughter from Dameus, followed by a patronizing series of sarcastic questions and remarks. The fool. He would die for that one day.

  The screams of the swamper pulled Sagaroth out of his thoughts. His soldiers, trying to follow his example, were showing no mercy to the terrified tribals. The other four raiders watched in horror as their kinsman was tied down to a makeshift chopping block.

  Sagaroth turned away and looked back into the swamps. While an execution would have filled him with vile pleasure in the past, it now provoked no feelings from him whatsoever.

  No, there had to be more.

  * * * * * *

  Gabriel stood in full battle armor in the Defender’s Courtyard, shield and wooden sword in hand. It was time for his Test of Combat. Facing him were the three initiates he had been training for the last two years. The one standing on the left, Brother James, was by far the most skilled of the three. He was raised as nobility, his father being Lord Lancaster of Gillingham. The one in the center, Brother Samuel, could also be a problem for him. While Brother Samuel wasn’t quite as skilled as Brother James, he was the only left-handed one of the lot. On the right was Brother Cornelius. He was by far the most rash, in spite of Gabriel’s best attempts to mollify his attacks during their training.

  “Brother Gabriel,” said Father Alexis, “You must defeat the three before you in a timely manner. Your skills in combat will be tested, as also will your skill as an instructor. Initiates, are you prepared?”

  “Yes, Father Alexis,” they all answered in unison.

 
; “Brother Gabriel, are you prepared?”

  Gabriel turned his armored head from side to side and peered about the courtyard for Eleenia. Her absence filled him with sadness. In spite of his pressing for a reason, she remained silent about her motivation for missing his Test of Combat; the only of the three tests outsiders were permitted to attend. However, he was heartened by the presence of Brothers Tobias, Jonathan, and Demetrius, his former mentor and two classmates respectively. Liam Branvold was also present, although standing away from the others.

  “Brother Gabriel, are you prepared?” repeated the well-muscled priest.

  Gabriel snapped his attention back to the matters at hand. “Yes, Father Alexis,” he replied.

  “I suggest you focus yourself. Your future in the order depends upon this test.”

  “I am ready, Father Alexis,” Gabriel replied.

  “Good. Begin!” Father Alexis jumped back out of the way of the four combatants.

  Gabriel quickly moved to his right as the three initiates tried to surround him, placing Cornelius between him and the two more dangerous opponents.

  Predictably, Cornelius charged.

  Gabriel dodged further to the right, as quickly as his armored body would permit. He swung in with a low back swing, attempting to take Cornelius out of the battle quickly. However, his wooden sword was blocked with the initiate’s shield. He barely had enough time to get his own shield up to deflect the counterstrike.

  Cornelius pressed him hard, driving him back several steps, causing Gabriel to concentrate strictly on defense. He quickly took note of the positions of his other two opponents, who were holding their ground behind their more rash teammate, hoping Cornelius would tire their mentor out.

  Amidst the vicious but straightforward blows, Gabriel feigned a high attack. As Cornelius raised his shield and wooden sword to protect himself from the supposed attack, Gabriel kicked him in the side of his calf muscle. Cornelius immediately lowered his guard to protect his legs and Gabriel tapped him on the side of his head with the flat of his wooden sword.

  “Brother Cornelius,” Father Alexis called out, “You are dead. Please lie still for the remainder of the fight.”

  Gabriel moved back to his left, leaving his fallen foe out of his way. It was difficult to move as freely as he liked with the extra weight of full plate armor, and he was beginning to feel the first twinges of fatigue.

  James and Samuel moved in as one, both holding their swords to their outside and keeping their shields locked in front of them. In doing so, they protected one another’s flanks; an advantage two fighters with opposing sword arms could capitalize upon. Once they were within reach, their attacks became a blur.

  Gabriel managed to deflect their blows, although not without difficulty. It occurred to him that he might have trained his charges too well. With James trying his best to get around his shield, Samuel could alternate between offense and defense when Gabriel was able to attempt a strike. As he took steps back, the two initiates pressed in.

  The stalemate continued for several minutes. Gabriel’s breathing started to become labored in the hot air of his armored helmet. The muscles of his shield arm were beginning to cramp, but still, James and Samuel continued their patient attacks, not meant to end the fight, but to tire him. They knew he couldn’t hold out much longer.

  Gabriel stepped back with his left foot one more time, then pulled his shield back and swung it in James’ direction. The swing caught the initiate off guard, and he stumbled backwards. Seizing the advantage, Gabriel barreled forward into Samuel, their shield clashing. He swung his sword around in a back swing, but James had recovered and blocked it. The seemingly desperate attack had been deflected, however Gabriel had managed to force himself between the two initiates. They now faced him with their sword arms on the inside.

  Their attacks and lunges had little chance of getting through Gabriel’s defenses now, as their arms got in the way of the other’s strikes. Gabriel stepped quickly to Samuel’s side, and forcing his shield up with his own, brought his sword in on the initiate’s ribs. Before Father Alexis could call the strike, Gabriel shoved Samuel into James and followed through with a thrust that caught the final initiate in the solar plexus.

  Father Alexis clapped his hands. “Brother Gabriel, you have achieved victory! And a fine fight it was. Well done. You receive full marks for both your swordsmanship and your training of your charges. Tomorrow at sunset, report to the Tribunal room for the Test of the Angelic Blade.”

  Letting his sword and shield drop, Gabriel pulled off his helmet, gasping for air. He managed a beleaguered salute. “Yes, Father Alexis,” he said through ragged breaths.

  “Brothers James and Samuel, you have both proven yourselves in your duties. You are hereby both advanced to the rank of high initiate.”

  A relieved smile crossed their faces as they panted for breath. “Yes, Father Alexis,” they said, saluting.

  “Brother Cornelius,” Father Alexis said as Cornelius was dusting the dirt from his white tunic.

  The initiate snapped to attention.

  “While your display of swordsmanship was impressive for your rank, you must learn temperance. You shall spend the next month doing so. Report to the Master at Arms at once for your new assignment.”

  “Yes, Father Alexis,” the dejected initiate said with his salute.

  “Brothers James and Samuel, you are excused from your duties until the Sabbath. Well done, gentlemen.

  “Now, if you will excuse me, I have other duties to attend to.” Father Alexis turned and headed off across the muddy courtyard towards the cathedral.

  Samuel smiled and clapped his mentor on the shoulder. “Congratulations, Brother Gabriel. That victory was well earned.”

  “Indeed,” said James, rubbing his chest.

  A young junker approached the group and began collecting the weapons.

  “You two are also due congratulations,” said Gabriel, handing his wooden sword and shield to the junker. “I remember when I was promoted to high initiate. What a relief!”

  Cornelius plodded over to the group. “Brother Gabriel, thank you for your restraint in the test. I apologize for my rash actions. I made you look bad,” he said as he began to sulk.

  “Nonsense, Brother. You performed your duty adequately. The only one your rashness reflects on is yourself.” Gabriel began to remove his breastplate. “Samuel, would you lend me some assistance?”

  “Of course,” Samuel said, moving to unfasten the armor buckles.

  Tobias, Jonathan, and Demetrius joined the group.

  “That was quite impressive, gentlemen,” said Tobias with a proud, beaming smile. “I’m thankful I didn’t have to fight you three in my test of combat.”

  Demetrius gasped in feigned shock. “What are you on about, Brother Tobias? We worked our jewels off for you and worked you over something awful!”

  Jonathan began to snicker.

  “Don’t let him fool you, initiates. I was pitted against these three here,” Tobias said, pointing in turn to his three former charges. “Brother Gabriel here actually struck me in the leg before I finished him off.”

  “Struck your mentor?” Cornelius asked. “That must have been quite the feat! I don’t feel so bad now.”

  “You shouldn’t,” said Tobias. “Brother Gabriel is one of the finest swordsmen in the order. You did well to hold your own against him for so long. And what was your extension as low initiate? A month? Jonathan and Demetrius here were given three months.”

  “Don’t remind us,” said Jonathan, recalling the extra privy cleaning duties.

  Gabriel finished removing his leggings, the last remnants of his battle gear. Two more junkers collected the pieces of armor and dragged them off towards the armory.

  “Your praise is too kind, Brother Tobias,” Gabriel said.

  “Nonsense. I may have bested you four years ago, but I wouldn’t want to fight you now with
anything less than the Angelic Blade itself in my hands.”

  “Speaking of which,” interjected Jonathan, “we three have to take the test tomorrow. I think I’ll head off to confession before spending the afternoon in meditation.”

  “Aye, I had better go, too,” stated Demetrius. “It’d be a shame to throw away seven years of hard work only to be sent off to Coldar’s Springs.”

  Gabriel nodded. “I should join you. Although I’ll be along a bit later,” he said, looking over to Liam Branvold, standing by himself, staring blankly at the group.

  Gabriel left the group to approach the boy. Liam had spent the last four years at the university studying Law and Administration at his aunt’s insistence. That was the area of study all young men who were one day to rule were assigned. Liam hadn’t seen any reason to do so, but Mother Superior often told him that he was now the rightful Lord of Kheog.

  Liam, while leaving behind his catatonic state that he had arrived in, was still tormented by the events at castle Ki Kalendeen. He was still sullen, and had an air of depression about him that nothing could penetrate. Rarely smiling, Liam merely lived day to day, eating, sleeping, studying, and going to class, but not interacting with anyone unless forced to.

  This current condition cut a stark contrast with the Liam Branvold that he remembered, charging through the castles with David, playing at war games, and conspiring with Eleenia to make Gabriel look the fool. What he wouldn’t give to have that Liam back.

  “Congratulations, Gabriel,” Liam said as Gabriel approached him. “You shall be a knight of quality and a credit to the order, I am sure.” The slightest suggestion of a smile briefly crossed Liam’s lips.

  “Come over and join us,” Gabriel said, motioning over to Tobias and the remaining initiates. “You are always welcome among my friends. As far as I am concerned, you are family.”

  Liam looked away and dismissed the notion with a wave of his hand. “No, I have very little to say to them. I am not of their world, and if I were to speak they would show no interest.”