"Who can blame Her for it? They left at a critical moment when the River might have been changed by the eldar. I wasn't even there, but I see it as Cor'tanos' memories and visions and the doctrine of it, it hurts to see. In our terms, it'd be the greatest act of treason imaginable."
Rojo nodded, "And this all means of course, that the prophecy draws nigh. I wonder if Bomoki is out there, looking for that gate in Bloodstone."
"You know he is. It's what he is damned to seek for all eternity," Kell said and turned to leave.
The prophecy had been recorded by the emperor after the last undead war. In that vision, Alerius had seen a human mage, Bomoki most likely, exploring in the Bloodstone Valley. There he had crafted a portal when the Abyss was still young. As Chaos often did, it reacted to creation by spawning around the portal, and hell had come to Tehra. Though Chaos had failed to destroy creation, the jade god had vowed to destroy the sapphire jewel of this world; this one world where creation spawned limitless potential and free will. The emperor had seen the jaden god rise up from a pool of dead heroes and rampage from Bloodstone to the very gates of the capitol. For this, the emperor had prepared Tania’s three greatest weapons: the Temple, the Mages, and the Knights. And their northern neighbor Taysor had been poked and prodded by this trident until it too had become at last a shield for Tania.
For hundreds of years, the dragon emperor had nurtured his trident and augmented it with recruited and hard-won allies so that no magic, no weapon, no skill, no talent would be absent when the day came. “Do you think Daryx will break the boy?” Kell wondered.
“No, the boy will not break. I have seen his mettle. He has everything the prophecy requires. More will come with experience and wisdom. For now, I suggest we preserve his bloodline, and watch the sister-candidate, Klara."
Chapter Thirteen - Order of Water
Malcor had been walking for some time into the chambers carved into the mountain beneath the Temple. The lady knight from the Temple walked with him and explained the Order's name. “Water, when calm, reflects everything. No dragon breathes pure water as a breath weapon. Steam, frost, gas, venom… all of these almost-liquids, but not water. Even fire can have a liquid component to it when it burns hotly enough. Water, in nature, is one of the most destructive yet enduring elements. It is also one of the most difficult to control with magic as it cannot be created from component parts. For these and other reasons, we have named ourselves this Order.
"As an initiate, you must become like Water. Ahead of you, is our chapel, our sacred place of meditation. While there, none shall disturb you. You may find visions and you are commanded to record them. Our scribe holds these in a library.
"Your initiation will not be public like the others, though you will participate in those to be seen by the King's order. Tomorrow is a big day for you. You will either become a paladin, or you will die and be lost in the River. Yes, we discuss it openly here. Instructions have come to hasten your training.”
Up ahead, Malcor could see an area of light, bright by contrast to their passageway. "Hastened in this case, means what exactly?" he asked.
"It means that where a normal initiate might take months or even years, you are to do it in weeks. As fast as your constitution and health can tolerate. There are normal rites, the ones you have heard of. For Water, the rites are far more intense. We accept only the best."
They entered the chapel and Malcor instantly felt a prickly heat dance along his skin as he crossed its threshold. Stained glass capturing daylight from mirrors above illuminated the dragon emperor’s story and his pivotal role creating the religion of the Goddess. Malcor stared at the stories he had grown up to illustrated here in daylight and grinned.
Gray stone benches rose up like a bowl around the large center stage on which a small gold and bejeweled representation of Takhissis stood, the Goddess’ human form wrapped about by her many-headed dragon form. She looked rapturous. They walked down steps to the center stage and Malcor noted the stage had written runes all around its edges.
“A combat rune. It allows us to simulate and fight illusions for training purposes. You are welcome to use it. The Order of Water, while not obvious about it, is the best. We serve as the King’s and Priestess’ honor guard and tend to the dread lords when called on. We have a sacred calling to intervene directly against the empire’s greatest enemies. And, I'm not referring to some nation-state like Taysor. Think enemies on the god-level, like necromancy. As such, we watch but are not often seen within Tania. Do not expect the Order of Water, as a name, to bring you fortune and fame. Only you will bring yourself those things.
"And Malcor, while every other Order no doubt tells their initiates the same thing, for us, it is real. You are not to hold yourself to their lower standards.”
She stepped into the combat rune and tapped a giant red jewel gleaming opalescent in the room’s light. The runes all around flamed into light and a bell rang. “Come, show me what you have. Our fight here will not be illusionary but I have summoned healers to tend you as we fight.”
Like a panther with prey, she attacked - her gauntlet slamming into his chest. He imagined he felt ribs crack and then worse when he slammed into the stone benches around the stage. He could not breathe and then a hand touched his face and healing warmth spread through him. His vision cleared and R’Dar Ora smiled at him. “You’ll need to be on your guard Mal. The Order of Water is tough and they don’t train or play by rules or a code. To die here, is to actually die. No knighthood easy out if you fail.”
He drew his sword and re-entered the stage. “You know, I don’t know your name yet,” he said as he made a defensive thrust to test her guard.
“Wound me and I’ll tell you.” Her sword ignited with a brilliant ochre fire. The heat washed over him burning his hair and then another strike as the flat of her blade crashed into his collarbone, breaking it. The force knocked him to his knees and as he fell her knee caught his chin. His head cracked back and then healing warmth restored the shattered face, neck and collarbone. “You’re dead twice now boy. Come on, show me why you’re so special."
Malcor held his blade trying to breathe through the pain and healing and disorientation it all caused. I must focus. He began the scripture reference that empowered his sword and felt it respond. At the same time, his opponent began a prayer and the crimson fire along her sword snapped and pulsed and coiled like a ribbon. He charged and stabbed, and her sword struck like a viper wrapping itself around his sword and then his arms and then down into his neck and chest cavity. Instantly, the healing surged holding him on the brink of death as the fire viper of her sword uncoiled and retreated. “Another death,” and Mal noted that Ora had been joined by 5 other healers all chanting and directing healing at him. He had yet to even scratch her.
He struggled through the dizziness and fell back into the River. As he lifted his face from the River, he saw her standing there, like darkness in shadows at twilight. The facial scars and signs of age gone, she stood as a twenty-something woman armored in power and wielding an elemental sword that appeared to shift from water to fire to air to earth faster than he could see. From the River’s banks, she smiled at him and then struck her aura igniting that place in a rainbow of color that blinded him after that initial dark.
Only vaguely aware of the healers drowning in the River alongside him, Malcor barely parried her attack this time rolling far from her deadly sword, and attempted a counterstrike. She blocked it with a second sword that materialized in her hand and then skewered him with both blades and threw him back into the River.
Life and sound exploded as he laying seizing against both blades, one spearing through his sternum and the other his pelvis. Slowly, he slid down the blades to the stage floor. The flood of healing energy flickered as a priestess collapsed unconscious. And then another. The knight pulled her swords out and took his face. He saw her lips move and then healing from her hands brought him safely back. His first breath of air had never felt so good. Hi
s senses were all tangled up between pain, terror, anger, and the ecstasy of healing.
Ora staggered to the stage, scowling at the knight. “No wonder you haven’t had an initiate in years!” She took Malcor’s body and held it relieved to see he was okay. Blood drool oozed from his mouth and he tried to smile.
“You see the River. Your sword is powerful. But you are not trained. We will correct that.” She looked at Ora, “We train like this all the time. To the very brink of death. You must lose your fear of death and replace it with a healthy respect. We stop when the clerics can’t keep up with the damage. He’s all yours, for tonight at least. My orders are to have him through first rites by tomorrow. Daryx will be coming for him as well. Soon.”
Ora's eyes widened. "Daryx? Why – oh, I see. So, he truly is Dar Kell's son?" The lady nodded. "But that means – "
"Yes, time is short and the first rite is, as you know, brutal. More so than perhaps what you have seen as a priestess. Ready yourself."
One of the lady healers lay on the ground still seizing from trying to keep Mal alive. She was carried out by the other four. Ora helped Mal stand. “I’ve never been asked to heal under these circumstances, but those were battle healers. I must have done well to keep up.” She laughed. “Come on Malcor, let’s get you cleaned up.” Her voice had an excited tone of anticipation.
The hallway leaving the Shrine was huge and decorated with portraits of knights starting with its founding centuries ago. Ora recognized Malcor's opponent as the most recent addition to the gallery. As head of the Order of Water, her name stood out as Dar Kendra of Kell. Kell's sister? Malcor focused on keeping his footing. "What happens now?" he asked.
"We clean you up and ensure you go into the knighthood with a clear head and no regrets." She hugged him close to her for emphasis.
The portraits told the story of civilization and refinement as well as the life stories summarized for the honored dead. Doors opened off to either side and Malcor could hear a restaurant or dining hall at the end, brightly lit. At last, Ora stopped and opened a door. “Your room,” she pointed. Though spartan, the quality and craftsmanship stood out. A raised bed platform against the far wall sat near a large table. A bathing pool in the corner and a small pantry full of food all caught his eye.
Ora led him past these to the bathing pool. “Tomorrow you become the Queen’s. Tonight, you must recover. And tonight you are mine.” Seeing his look, she added with a seductive grin, “Don’t worry, the Queen won’t mind…” and kissed his forehead. She eased him into the bathing pool, which immediately clouded with blood and then went clear. Placing a platter of food and drink next to it, she urged him to eat. After checking that the room had everything needed, she turned to see him looking glassy-eyed and exhausted. The gashes and wounds, though healed, mixed in with the wounds of his youth. She joined him.
Being underground, Malcor had no idea what time it was when he startled awake to Ora’s gentle tapping on his arm. Their time had passed in a blur and at some point, he must have dozed off. “Mal, they’re coming for you. For the first rite. This one will be difficult, but I have faith in you. If they let me, I will greet you at sunrise.”
Outside, Mal heard soft footsteps of people trying to be quiet. Then, the entire room went magically dark. A sack found its way over his head, but overall except for a whispered apology for disturbing R’Dar Ora, no noise and no clue as to who had come for him. Suddenly, a cold gush of air hit him and he was pushed. He fell, into snow. Gasping, he ripped the sack off his head.
The hooded man they’d met just a day before, from the estate of Daryx, stood before him in knee deep snow. The cold air and snow immediately hit him almost taking his breath away. The starless night masked by clouds failed to tell him where he had been taken. Five others stood around him and a dark black rectangular slice hanging in the air swirled and then vanished. The hooded man, he had originally guessed to be a servant, turned out to be Daryx, the man they'd met on the Great East-West Highway just two days ago, or was it longer?, before.
“Good evening son of Kell,” he said. Dark shimmering purple gleamed in his eyes shaded by an oversized cloak. Five others stood in silence around them. Daryx pulled back his cowl and shook his silvery hair. He had more than a few feathers tied there. His jet black skin framed his dark eyes except for dancing purple fire therein. Some kind of leather armor covered his entire body. He smiled and Malcor noted the brilliant white fanged teeth. Malcor remembered that Daryx was a dark elf serving the empire long enough that the name "Daryx" had entered myth and legend.
The others remained hooded. “I’m Daryx. You probably have questions. What you need to know, for now, is that you are on the northern slopes of the emperor’s mountain. If you do not reach the summit by sunrise, you will die. You will face dragonterror.”
He pointed towards the summit. Something massive moved through the clouds above him. The cold hit him again and he felt keenly aware of his nakedness. His teeth had started chattering and his body shook in the snow. Daryx prompted, “What would you like to ask?”
Malcor looked at them and took his first step up the mountain. A scripture came to mind and he spoke it as he took his next. “By my love, I guard those that are Mine. By their love, shall they be guarded for Mine are precious and I know every one.” He started shaking and not knowing what else to do, took another step. His bare foot sank to his knee in the snow.
The five figures touched the glowing feathers by their ears and one by one, they vanished. The massive form hidden in the night’s clouds above suddenly felt more dangerous. Daryx opened his hand to wave farewell and called out, “Malcor, run.”
And, Malcor ran. Each step sank to his knees or worse, gave way to things masked by the snow. Sharp rocks, branches, soft grasses and leaves, all sensation faded as his feet froze. When he could no longer run, he stumbled and then crawled. The lady's words ran through his mind about replacing a fear of death with a respect for it. The faster he went, the warmer he felt but the growing presence above pressed him down threatening to steal his courage. Fragments of memory, of his night with R’Dar Ora came unbidden to his mind as did a strong desire to stop and sit still.
The summit taunted him, above but hidden and then something swooped down and battered the snow into a drift that washed over him. He clawed his way out of the drift choking on snow. It had to be a white dragon. Supposedly, white dragons were the dumbest and most ferocious of the Queen’s kin. Their breath could manifest in any form of winter weather, but – Malcor realized – the dragon's color mattered not at all. I'm alone, naked, freezing to death, and a dragon is hunting me.
He felt that massive shape looming near again and for the first time in his life, dragonfear washed over him. He had heard about it, but after spending time with the dread lords and feeling only awe, had dismissed it as rumor maybe even propaganda. Now he realized that the dragon’s intent governed that fear. This meant for Malcor to feel it, to be paralyzed by fear and to freeze, the dragon's intent was to kill him. He choked almost laughing at what this would feel like were Armageddon to hunt him. Would it be the same as this white dragon? He looked up blinking into the snow cast by the dragon’s flight but could only sense the massive beast somewhere nearby.
He wondered, how many knights had faced this trial? Surely, most – some had made it. How? Out of nowhere a cold wind came rushing down the mountain with a torrent of snow. As cold as it felt, Malcor shivered uncontrollably and realized it felt warm. I’m freezing to death. They say you feel warm as you die.
When the blast of ice ended, the clouds tore apart to reveal a white dragon hovering in the sky looking down at Malcor. The dragon gleamed white like Daryx’s teeth, or white like the whitest thing he could imagine. His thoughts felt sluggish. Unlike the red dragons, this one (maybe all whites?) looked more serpentine and less blocky and ponderous. Its wings beat to hold it there and then it pointed at Malcor with its fore claws and shrieked. What the dragon lacked in mass, its oversized and dispro
portionate claws made up. Mal could not guess the distance, but the claws definitely appeared to be as long as the dragon’s head. Its wings were also disproportionately huge. The dragon, framed by clouds and illuminated by moonlight, appeared beautiful.
The claws closed one at a time till just one remained pointed at Malcor. Its mouth appeared to move and then a single line of ice shot from that finger towards Malcor. Held by fear and paralyzed by cold, Malcor knew he would die. “How, how did they make it?”
Chapter Fourteen – Malcor's First Rite
With that question barely crossing his cold mind, Daryx appeared out of nowhere and touched Malcor. At that touch, Malcor stood on the River’s banks. Daryx looked the same but more vibrant. Malcor could tell that Daryx worshipped some other god, but held respect and positive intent to Tania and the Goddess. He, by comparison, looked horrible. He saw his life’s thread flickering and though murky in the River’s flood, he saw the white spear of ice reaching out slowly towards him.
Daryx shook his head. “You never asked even a single question. Many fail and die in this test. The normal test, you do this with your entire class with some preparation. If you are to survive, you must wrap yourself in the Queen’s love. Look at yourself in the River. Do you really think there is any difference between cold, fire, blades, electricity, poison, whatever it is that changes the Queen’s appointed time for your life to end? Your life flickers and what holds you here in this place? Hope, fear, fear of failure, fascination with your own death maybe? It isn’t you! It is the Queen’s place to decide when you die, not some sickly monster. Your scripture is correct, but you must take it literally. As Her Paladin, you must Love your Queen, or die. She does not want you to die. She wants you to live and love Her, and serve Her with your life, not your death.” Daryx stepped forward and touched his hand to Malcor’s heart. “You must do more than believe. You must know - here. You. Are. Your. Queen’s. Knight.”
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