Malcor's Story

by Eric K. Barnum

  Without another word, the mage slapped it to the old man’s head and grabbed the man firmly, skin to skin. The daimo and others cried out and several monks leapt forward. The mage touched the old man’s fingers to the disk and then both of them vanished. The leaping monks fell to where the Apprentice had just stood moments before. The daimo whirled on Dar Kendra, “You will answer for this! Ori does not view its citizens as tools and experiments!” and stormed out.

  Dar Kendra looked at the tense and uncertain looks from the monks and samurai guards turning to follow their daimo. She stood and bowed, “Daimo, how long can Ori afford to pay tribute?”

  The daimo whirled, anger in his eyes. A samurai at his elbow swept his hand to his katana. “As long as it takes!” He turned but Kendra called out.

  “And how long can Ori afford to have its southern borders tied up by a rising army? And an eldar walk its streets, challenging your god?”

  “You speak heresy…! If you were mine…”

  “I am not yours, but am here as a friend. My scouts have not yet returned nor sent word. The mage operated on his own, and so the risks are his own. I did not condone nor forbid this brash action. Turn and face me daimo!”

  The daimo whirled and drew his katana. It pulsed brightly with the golden light of Imperius. Dar Kendra’s holy avenger ripped into existence as if retrieved through the tearing fabric of space itself. Malcor had never seen it this way before. Her sword roared out a challenge that was part metal grinding on metal and part dragon cry. “We are here to help. There were no restrictions!”

  One of the samurai stepped between her and the daimo but the daimo ordered him to move. “You draw steel against me, in my own house! You should all be killed for such insult.” He stepped towards Dar Kendra death gleaming in his eyes.

  Behind her, Dar Itain materialized and asked, “Kendra, this is not our mission. Sheathe your blade.”

  Malcor saw pride and anger and intelligence burning through her face, but with the daimo’s sword crackling for battle, she could hardly be the first to back down. “I cannot leave this challenge unmet.”

  Itain said, “Of course not. The Mage’s Guild does not answer to you the way the rest of us do. You do not have to defend such reckless behavior.” He paused. The daimo did not retreat and made no sign of backing down. He stepped between Kendra and the daimo. Facing the daimo he said, “We will withdraw lord. Should the mage not bring your man back, I will honor our alliance and provide restitution, such as is allowed.” The ambassador put his hand on Kendra’s blade hand and pushed it back towards her sheathe.

  The daimo finally moved. In a blink, his sword rested against Itain’s chin the tip fractions from Kendra’s face. “I accept your withdraw. Take your shameful selves out of my city.”

  Chapter Twenty Nine – The Camp along the River

  And, just like that, their stay in Ori ended. Less than an hour later, all of them stepped from a gate in the barracks onto a windswept plain near a flowing river. The mage and the old man both sat against a fallen tree. As Malcor stepped through and saw them, he noticed how much cooler the air felt here. A small camp had been set up. Small game roasted on the fire and one of the thieves stood chatting with Dar Kendra. Malcor started to ask about it but Tembri pulled him aside.

  “The Tanian alliance with Ori is mainly one of trade. The people of this country are obsessed with honor, etiquette, and keeping their word. In some ways they are no different from Tania except that we are not so patient. Later tonight, Itain will tell Ori that we have withdrawn to pursue our own solution to the lich and that they can wait on the Sorians’ arrival. This will give them time to cool down and time for us to do our own thing.”

  “So, Tania considered a successful outcome the same as honorable conduct, where the Imperics feel that honor is all aspects of the work…”

  “…is the only thing that matters. Life or death, they don’t care so long as it is conducted and achieved honorably.”

  Within an hour, the entire camp stood ready. Malcor noted the temporary nature of the setup and then walked over to join a conversation Dar Kendra had with the mages and the thieves. One of the thieves spoke, “There is a western facing chasm that dead ends in a box canyon. We found a series of barely-crawl-able caves that lead into what appears to be the main fortress. Like Bloodstone, there are undead… true undead, not just these eldar variants.”

  “So, we have an entrance.” She looked to the mage, “The disk, what happened?”

  “It would have taken the old man to the lich. I redirected it elsewhere but the lich scried us. I know he saw me. He seemed amused? I took us several places before Daryx arranged a diversion. The old man is of no more use to us. I erased his memory. He will remember that he travelled with me back to Tania where we asked him questions about the lich, gave him some food, and promised to restore his eyesight should he pilgrimage to the Temple at Morbatten and convert. Dar Itain can take him back whenever you are ready.”

  “Relatively, how strong is the lich? Can you tell?” Kendra fingered her sword hilt.

  Apprentice thought about it for a moment and then replied, “No. The weakest eldar we have ever encountered was so completely different that you can’t really get a sense. Then, you have the dragon emperor and others – we have no foundation to measure their power. Consider Alerius; one of the strongest. We also have Lord Marshal Jisandra. She has helped us understand some aspects of the eldar, but she herself is so far removed from her eldar self that she is not that good of a gauge. Still, I have no doubt Jisandra could best any of the Order in single combat, even you Dar Kendra. But, from what we see, I’d put the lich somewhere below Jisandra as a fighter and perhaps near myself for magic, at least the way I use it. The difference being, of course, that my magic stems from study and talent where the lich – well, his comes from the fabric of creation itself. The eldar, they are magic. They are really only limited by their imagination. The fact he manifests as a “he” and as a “lich” suggests that he found his own identity and his own solution to the River long ago.”

  She kicked a rock by her feet and sucked air through her teeth. The wind blew chill and she caught sight of Malcor. “Big changes from working at a forge eh? What do you think of all this?”

  He paused before asking, “It seems like a lot of effort for me to face off against a lich. I do not want to risk my fellow knights and their teams for some accelerated training protocol.”

  The Apprentice bowed and stepped away, leaving Kendra and Malcor alone. Kendra walked towards the creek and indicated he should follow. “What is happening here, is how each of us came into the Order. The simple truth is that this Order cares far less about individual honor and glory than other orders do, certainly less than the myths and stories tell. While I did not fight a lich, I faced an enemy far above my abilities. The Order saw me through. We will help you. We will judge you. We will teach you to trust us and, as an Order, we are all stronger for that trust. Look at the water flowing. What do you see in this creek?”

  Malcor looked noting its difference but similar features to the River of Time. He saw the swell and fall of water as it moved over and around rocks, some above and others below the surface. He described it.

  “You have the River on your brain too much,” Kendra laughed. “This river, right here, is like the Order. We go where the emperor commands. We fight as a single unit. We have never been defeated in battle. While wars have been lost around our Order, we have never failed in our objectives. Like water, the emperor uses divine and magical power to lift us up and place us where needed. Like this river, our Order flows over and around our objectives and leaves behind a smoothly flowing current. With enough time, we level mountains and divide the land. Everything about “us” has been refined by the emperor and the Queen to be the epitome of Tanian warrior culture. You’re not just another paladin Malcor. You are also a priest, a healer, a missionary, a dragon, a shield, and a weapon for your faith. Where we pass, we leave either cleanliness or dest
ruction.”

  She skipped a stone across the river and reached for another. It struck Malcor as odd that so mighty a warrior would do something so mundane. “This Order, you, continually surprise me,” he said.

  Another stone went sailing across the river. “Kaia blessed you with wisdom,” Kendra stated. “Why are you here?”

  He looked towards the mountain where the lich supposedly waited. “It is odd to think that right now, the lich is viewing a wrestling tournament. On top of that, no doubt, “heroes” from all over Ori are scrambling into teams to claim the lich’s treasure. Our Order stands here already having found an entrance. I am here to be part of the Order’s legend.”

  Another stone danced across the river. “And what is that legend Sir Malcor?”

  “What else can it be but to see the Queen take this place as Her throneplane?”

  A long silence ensued. At last Kendra broke it. “A good, wise, and safe answer Malcor. Doctrinally correct. Certainly the kind of answer any proctor would be pleased to hear her student say. About Tania, Alerius, about the paladins in general. Not the Order though. What is the Order’s legend and your role here?”

  Malcor shifted uncomfortably and picked up a stone to skip as well. After more time had passed, he finally admitted, “I don’t know. Until I met you, I had never heard of the Order of Water. Knights always passed through Klenna, but I don’t remember even a single knight, priest, or healer from the Order coming through.”

  She nodded. “We usually don’t travel openly like other Orders. The emperor prefers us to be like this water – here, flowing, appreciated, necessary, but not necessarily something our enemies are aware of. We do have a legend though Malcor. When you figure it out, come to me.” She put her hand on his shoulder and looked him in the eye. “It may take a while but it’s right here all around you.”

  She walked off leaving Malcor by the river’s bank. He stared into the water as they swirled by and realized how profoundly hungry he felt. He tried to ignore it. Like magic, Tembri appeared with food and drink. “You’re fleshing back out quite well Sir Malcor. I was talking with some of the other priests and there is talk of another group going after the lich’s soul gem. Are you okay to talk?”

  Malcor said, “Yes, I’m feeling stretched out though. Dar Kendra was talking to me about the Order’s legend. I guess I gave her the wrong answer.” He held some dried meat in his mouth and sent a rock skipping across the river. “I never felt the soul gem to be our priority Tembri.”

  “The Order’s legend? Hmmm, I have not heard of that one before. She, her predecessors, usually ask similar questions. I spoke with one of the thieves – Marcello – he and I served in Bloodstone together for a time.” Seeing Malcor’s expression, he added, “Don’t let the term “thief” throw you. The Temple, the Mages, even the knighthood all have a vested interest in the skills our “thieves” bring to us. Don’t confuse an official “thief” with the pickpockets you’ll find running away from the city guard.”

  “We support them? I don’t get it. Klenna had thieves. Every once in a while, we’d even have a thief executed.”

  Tembri sent one of his own rocks skipping. “By the emperor’s decree, thieves are tolerated. The ones who get caught, are of no consequence. However, the official Thieves’ Guild monitors those people of special skill, daring, agility, or intelligence. Like the rites here, the thieves are eventually guided to a test. The ones who pass are recruited and put into specialized training. The ones who do not pass, continue their thieving ways until captured by the civil authorities or join adventurer groups. This way, the guild always has a new generation of candidates coming in. By comparison, the knighthood and the Temple are at a disadvantage. Thieves can demonstrate their proficiency at any age. We have to wait and therefore run the risk of marriage, accidents, or other distractions.”

  “I get it. It’s like when I first started dreaming of becoming a knight. I was maybe eight years old, but did not know what it meant. I had not even started at the forge yet. How would anyone have known that I’d be here, today. With the Order of Water. Tembri…”

  “Yes Sir Malcor.”

  “Why is that I have never heard of the Order of Water?”

  Chapter Thirty - Calvin's First Rite

  “In preparing for your first rite, you must approach it with the utmost level of faith and devotion. Many initiates fail because they are unable to adapt to the extreme environment, or they forget – in the face of dragonfear – that they serve the dragons. The dragon is not going to eat you, though it will feel that way. Yes Sir Calvin, you have a question?”

  “Since we and the dragons worship the Queen, why are we affected by the dragonfear at all?”

  “Remember that dragons began as an eldar race. While some have diminished, like the “monster” or “wild” dragons you hear about from time to time, the ones you will encounter here in the Isles are all either aligned with our Queen, or with the immortal dragon Bahamut. As such, they have an aura of majesty. They predate our own creation and so we, as mortals, feel their aura. We were their food. We have some primal instinct that the dragons touch in us. Any other questions? Paladins, to your point, are immune to dragonfear at a certain level of faith and experience.”

  A young lady next to Calvin asked, “So, when the dragon emperor and the other dread lords fly over the city, or the villages… why do we not feel dragonfear?”

  “Excellent question,” the priest teaching the class noted. “Would anyone like to answer?”

  A few answers were voiced here and there in the class room. At last the instructor said, “All good attempts, but the real answer is that the dread lords have so mastered every aspect of their being in this world that, in the absence of anything they deem threatening, they hold that fear back. There are a few dragons on the emperor’s mountain though that have not yet reached that level of control. Now, tomorrow, a dread lord will be coming by to meet you all. I have not yet been told who, but remember, all of you. Best behavior. The dread lord may expect you to ask questions. All questions must be approved in advance. We do not want to risk angering the dread lords nor do we want any of you to come across as unworthy. I will be in the dining hall tomorrow morning, bring me a question – each of you. You are dismissed.”

  Calvin stood and quickly joined a group of friends he had made. They spoke about their studies, the things they were learning, the rumors they had all heard about Bloodstone and some threat south against Ori. Calvin’s master was leaning against a column down the hallway and stood at attention as Calvin approached. The other sponsors of Calvin’s friends came forward as well. Their next course, combat training, would be starting soon.

  Arriving at the arena, Calvin saw an old man stood in the arena, bright sun streaming down around. In the late summer sun, it made them all sweat. The old man introduced himself as a retired paladin. “I served in Bloodstone for three campaigns. I fought in two foreign wars. I served in the Order of the Lance, heavy cavalry for those of you who do not yet know, for three decades. In my last Bloodstone campaign, I was wounded beyond divine healing and now work here as a teacher. You will each face me and receive a grade. The grade will determine the level of intensity and training you receive towards the Rite of Pain. Who can say – what is the Rite of Pain?”

  An initiate immediately replied, “It is a test for how much pain a knight can endure Sir!”

  The instructor looked around letting his face turn increasingly grim before asking, “Is that correct?” Silence answered him. “If true, you would expect the Rite of Pain to be one of… torture? Pray tell, how would we measure an initiate’s passing or failing? Do we torture each of you the same, or just jump to the level of what we might think is agonizable? Oh, sorry. You died during that. You failed. Oh, look, this one survived and remained conscious. You pass? You think that is the Rite of Pain?”

  Calvin’s mentor said, “The Rite of Pain is an endurance test through combat. It is a test of how many times a knight can be heal
ed before their spirit, their souls, and their flesh itself collapses. It is called the Rite of Pain because the healers must keep the knight alive, and the knight must continue fighting through dire, fatal, and maiming wounds the like of which any of us might expect in total battle. The healers must know, and the knight must know, at what point continuing the fight would result in permanent death.”

  Calvin felt his mentor touch his shoulder. “My squire here, Calvin, volunteers to go first.” He shoved Calvin hard and propelled him down to the stage’s edge.

  The instructor nodded and without missing a beat continued, “The Rite of Pain. You are each worthy to have been sent here as a candidate for the knighthood. However, if you cannot endure at least five hours, then you will be sent to the military for officer evaluation. You will not continue as a paladin. You must last five hours to stay as an initiate. Sir Calvin, draw your weapon and attack me.”

  Calvin leapt to the stage and attacked. The old man easily dodged and began counterstriking back at Calvin. From all around, priests and priestesses began entering the arena. Calvin thought he heard one of the Dar priestesses say, “Healer initiates, the ability to heal is a basic divine gift from Takhissis. If you cannot be counted on to successfully pray for this, you are not fit to serve. Today, knights are being evaluated. You will be called upon to heal the knight until you can no longer sustain it. Form a line here by the stage.”

  As he spoke, the instructor cut deep into Calvin’s leg, crippling him. He had never suffered such a grave wound before and he felt his vision swim. The instructor jeered at him, “Come now, a dragon claw would inflict far more damage than this! If your first serious wound takes you out of the picture…”

  Calvin steeled his will and tried to defend against the instructor’s next attack. Steel raged against his blade and then the instructor’s foot slammed into his face. Bone crunched and teeth flew as the force lifted Calvin up into the air to land on his back. The instructor paused a moment, maybe to give Calvin time to recover his breath. The instructor appeared to be speaking but the words came slowly to Calvin. “…the basic signal for healing is this. Are the healers ready?”