“I’m told weapons from their world will hurt the mightiest of them.”
“You want me to find weapons from their world?
Ludar nodded.
Tracs didn’t like the idea. “And what will you do with them?”
“Transform them into holy objects. That way, we’ll have very powerful weapons that can actually hurt them.”
“And if you can’t transform them?”
“Don’t worry, I will.” Ludar reassured him.
“So let’s say I find these weapons, what happens if they corrupt me?”
“Your faith is strong, so I’m sure you’ll be fine.”
Tracs had always heard that if you held something from the demon’s world in your possession for too long, there was a risk that you will lose a piece of your soul.
“I don’t think this is the right path we should pursue.” He firmly said.
“Tracs, the human race is too few, and if we don’t find a way to tip the scales in our favor, we won’t survive.”
“You want me to risk everything, including my faith, on an idea that you will be able to change the very essence of these weapons?”
“Your faith is strong and we need you. If I didn’t have affairs to attend to here, I’d go myself.”
Tracs rubbed his smooth chin thinking it through. He was terrified about what might happen if the weapons were too powerful, and his faith wavered. To lose your soul was one of his worst fears in life.
“Well?” Ludar asked.
“I don’t believe you or anyone else can change the nature of a weapon from their world, but I will do this for you, because of my commitment to the Order. Please, pray for my soul every night.”
“I always do. Now fetch me the book of Mysterious Items off of the shelf.” Ludar said, stood up, and sat down at the table off to the side.
Tracs grabbed the book and joined him.
Ludar turned the pages until he found what he was looking for. “All of their items had one thing in common. They are forged from a very dark material called Gothic. Each weapon will give the wielder special powers to entice them to keep the weapon. You’re right about one thing, if the owner uses it for too long, they will become corrupt. There are a total of six items that we know of. A bow, spear, bastard sword, dagger, two-handed sword, and war hammer. If you find them, bless them first before touching them and whatever you do, do not fight with them.”
Tracs nodded.
“Also, if you should come across anyone that has them, do not attempt to take it away from them. They must give it to you freely.”
“Why is that?”
“If the wielder is already corrupt, then the weapon might feed on your beliefs and increase their power.”
“Where do I begin?” Tracs asked, thinking about the enormity of this quest.
“First, I’m going to teach the words that help sense the material if you’re within a few miles of it. After that, you’re on your own.”
“How long will I be searching for these items?”
“Return in six moon’s time.”
“Is anyone else looking for them?”
“Tarmac and Islag left a couple of months ago. I’ve already sent word for Agwar to return here. His faith is strong, so I want him to search as well. I’ll be sending two more out over the next few months. I just need to decide who.”
“Dayron would be a good candidate.”
“He might be. Let’s begin your lesson.”
Ludar spent the next hour teaching Tracs how to pray in order to sense for this particular material. Some outside of the Order would call this ritual a chant or a spell, but Tracs and the others leaned heavily on their deity Zerawen to guide them.
When they were through Tracs stood up, Ludar looked at him like a proud father. “I’ll pray to Zerawen to keep you safe.”
“She will, after all I’m one of her chosen.” Tracs smiled.
“Tracs I want you to leave right away and do not tell anyone of this mission unless you run into Tarmac and the others.”
“Leave now? I can’t say good-bye to my brother?”
“No. I will explain your absence.”
“Tell him that I am very proud of him.”
“I will.”
Tracs was about to turn. “Is he ready to become a member?”
Ludar opened another book sitting to his left and flipped through the pages until he found Var’s profile. “Not yet. He has three more tasks to complete and many more hours of praying. I want his faith to be as strong as yours.”
Tracs grinned. He couldn’t wait for the day when he and his brother would serve side by side.
On his way to his quarters, Tracs thought about his brother again. He wished that he was a full fledge member already, so that they could travel together on this journey. It would be something they could experience now that he was a man. After their father died, Tracs had been living with the guilt of not being there for Var when he was growing up. It was the biggest regret of his life, and the guilt will stay with him for a very long time. He vowed to broach the topic when he’d return in hopes it will alleviate the guilt.
He entered his room a few minutes later and began preparing for his trip. He grabbed a backpack from his closet, placed it on his bed, and then opened his footlocker. Staring down inside, he decided to take three holy symbols that would offer protection against evil. The first was his most cherished relic, the ankh. The silver cross-shape symbol with a loop at the top, was blessed five times over by different holy men of the highest ranking. It was a gift from Ludar when he graduated. He clasped the chain around his neck and tucked it beneath his shirt.
Next he picked up the ivory ring of his Order. The ring was carved from the tusk of the winter cat and was also blessed by a high priest. It would offer him protection against anything that might corrupt his soul. He thought back to when the ring proved its worth, when an evil priestess tried claiming his essence. Just when she thought, his faith had deserted him, Tracs seized the moment and drove his sword through her despicable heart. He was glad he ended her life. She had killed ten of his friends.
The last item he grabbed was his holy dagger. The blade was two-feet long, had a reinforced crossguard that would protect his hand and was so sharp it could slice through leather, pierce chainmail, and puncture low-grade steel. Etched along the blade was a picture of his goddess Zerawen in all her glory. Her hands were in front of her body holding flowers. Tracs marveled at the craftsmanship. It was simply remarkable. He moved his thumb over the tiny button near the crossguard and pushed it down causing a four-inch, ultrathin point to spring forth from the end of the pommel. Tracs remembered the first time he used it during a knife fight. He had just stabbed his assailant, when his foe’s friend snuck up behind him and grabbed his wrist trying to remove the dagger. What thug got instead was the point from the back of pommel right in his eye after he leaned in. Tracs grinned and closed the chest and went to his closet.
On the wall was his sheathed sword and the crossbow his father had given to him when he was eight. The one-of-a kind weapon, he named Recur, had a side chamber that could hold up to twelve bolts and was designed in such a way that once a round was fired, another bolt would quickly fall into place permitting him to shoot it again in rapid succession. Tracs removed it from the hook and studied it carefully to ensure the moving parts were oiled properly. Satisfied, he loaded the chamber with bolts until it reached its capacity. Before leaving the closet, he grabbed his sword and the quiver containing another twelve bolts. After placing his weapons on the bed, he knelt down and prayed to Zerawen to protect him in his travels and to bless his weapons.
When he was finished, Tracs selected his clothing and armor for his trip. Thick padded leggings, thigh-high leather boots, and a white shirt would go on first. A thin gambeson coat followed by a chainmail shirt, chest armor designed in such a way that arrows would deflect off of it, a gorget for his neck, spaulders for his shoulders, greaves for his legs, gauntlets, and finally
his horned helm. Tracs tested his movement and made adjustments to the lightweight armor where he deemed necessary, and took a looked in the long mirror to his right.
He gazed upon the steel pieces thinking about the blacksmith in Mirkin, who made it for him. Killington was his name, and he used a relatively new alloy called titanium from Yarn’s mine. He said it would enhance the armor’s protection two folds over. He remembered being skeptical at first, until Killington’s son Mekel put on another suit of armor crafted strictly from the material and allowed him to hit him repeatedly with a war hammer. Not only was Mekel uninjured, but the armor barely had any dents at all. It was a shame that he didn’t have the money to purchase the armor Mekel wore, so he’d settled for what he had on today. He would take another trip to Mirkin someday and pay Killington to make him a full suite of armor when he had the coin.
Tracs left his room and headed for the pantry to pack enough food and water to last him for three weeks. His next stop was the equipment room to get items that would allow him to construct warning traps, a few glow rocks, several lengths of rope, a tinderbox, and other essential items that would make his travels comfortable. His final stop was the prayer room to fill bottles with holy water, just in case he encountered the supernatural.
Tracs left the building and went around back to the stables. After saddling his horse and tucking away a small banner representing the Order, he tied the backpack to his saddle, mounted the horse, and left.
The afternoon sun was already setting as he took to the forest. He still didn’t have a clue as to which direction he wanted to begin searching, so he decided to ride northeast toward Repan’s castle to get a closer look at the battle he had with Paven.
By dusk, he was tired and decided to camp. Usually, he would raise the banner from his saddle, but since he was in a dangerous area with the giants to the north and Chatar and Hurnol roaming about, he decided not to. After building a small fire, he crafted several perimeter traps that would wake him if anyone got too close, and then sat down with Recur within reach and ate his supper of dried beef and fruit.
He thought about his mother and how it had been a half a year since he last saw her. She was good woman and a fantastic cook. He remembered growing up as a child, his extended family would always come over to eat with them. His mother would prepare an enormous feast consisting of different types of roasted meat, loaves of bread, freshly prepared olives, and wine crafted from the grapes in their vineyard. Licking his lips, he could almost taste the meal. Tracs yawned several minutes later and decided to go to sleep.
Tracs’ dreamt a lot on this night. He started off on the family's farm with his mother, father, brother, relatives from days past, and other people he recognized. At one point, they were picking fruits and vegetables, then he was in the Order’s training room practicing with Tarmac. No matter how many contests they had, Tarmac won every one. Next he was standing on a battlefield surrounded by hideous looking creatures that he could only surmise were demons. The creatures around him were dead, but the ones beyond them were bowing in a submissive posture. Still further away, many more of them stood by just looking at him. Tracs gazed down at the bloody two-handed weapon he was holding and noticed a greenish glow emitting from the blade. He knew it was evil.
The sky suddenly darkened and across the field, a petite human girl with long blonde hair, wearing a white gown approached. The creatures parted to allow her to pass, none of them raised a claw or weapon to strike her down. Tracs curiously watched her, and as she drew nearer, he could tell she was only a teenager.
When she finally stood before him, she spoke. “You have done well my brave warrior.”
“I don’t understand.” Tracs answered.
“Look around. You defeated the Overlord’s forces.”
Tracs did so and to his surprise, there were hundreds of bodies in every direction. His gaze finally rested upon an older demon wearing battle armor and clutching a staff in his hands. He was in the middle of the dead slump over. Tracs knew right away that he must be their leader.
“Tracs get me the staff.” The young girl said.
Tracs felt compelled to obey, and took two steps toward the staff and felt evil radiating from it. He paused.
“Bring me the staff.” The girl demanded.
Tracs took two more steps and turned facing the girl. Before he could say anything, she stretched out her arms and demons suddenly appeared by her side as if they were created out of thin air. They were at least ten feet tall, heavily muscled, and looked fierce with long claws and sharp fangs. She whispered something to them, and they fell on Tracs and began tearing his body apart and snapping his limbs in half.
Tracs woke with a startle. Nearby, he heard branches snapping to his left and regained his senses. In one swift motion, he grabbed Recur and pointed the crossbow in that direction. Another branch snapped, closer to his camp. Tracs unlocked the safety button and gripped the weapon tightly. When he heard leaves crunching nearby, he fired his weapon several times into the darkness, which produced grunts of pain from two different places and retreating footfalls.
Tracs quickly got to his feet and took up position behind a tree and remained poised while staring out in the darkness. When he was pretty sure that he was safe, he extinguished the fire and sat down in another location with his crossbow in hand and sword within reach.
When morning arrived, he surveyed the area where the intruders were and found a trail of blood leading north. He decided it wasn’t worth the effort looking for them, so he packed up and left.
By nightfall, Tracs came upon a small town. He could tell something was amiss when the people averted their eyes as he rode though. An inn on his left reminded Tracs that he was hungry and in need of a bath to wash away the grime from his travels. After tethering his horse in front of the building and attaching the banner of his Order to the saddle, Tracs grabbed Recur and entered.
There were only a handful of patrons scattered throughout the room. Tracs seated himself at the first table on his right with his back to the wall. A few seconds later, the serving wench came up to his table.
“Can I get you something?” She asked, barely making eye contact.
“Is there something wrong?” Tracs asked.
“Nothing my lord. Can I get you something to eat? We have a nice hearty stew and ale.”
“That would be nice.” Tracs relied and let the matter drop for now.
Tracs looked around the room and when he made eye contact with several people, they quickly turned away. He decided to find out what was going on and got up and approached a nearby table.
“Excuse me.” He said.
The man hesitated and then looked up.
“What’s wrong with everyone?”
“Stranger you don’t want to know, so just leave once you’re finished before…” The old man stopped talking when armed men come through the door.
Tracs followed his gaze and saw two men standing in the doorway. Both were wearing leather armor, carried swords sheathed at their sides, and daggers within reach. The taller man on the left looked much more opposing than his companion. When they saw Tracs they approached. Tracs faced them, realizing that he left his crossbow at the table.
“What do you want here knight of the blessed?” The taller man asked.
“What anyone wants when they come to an inn. A hot meal.”
“Don’t get wise with us.” The other man said and rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.
“Cut to the chase. What do you want with me?” Tracs asked.
“To make sure you leave when you’re through.”
“I’m not looking for trouble.”
“That’s good, so don’t cause any.” The tall man took a step forward. “You got that?”
Tracs nodded.
The smaller man looked over at Tracs' table. “That’s a nice crossbow. I’m sure you don’t mind if we take it as payment for passing through our town.” He said and began walking toward his table.
> Tracs intercepted him. “I do mind.” He said and stared into his eyes.
“It would be in your best interest to give it to him.” The taller man said and tapped his fingers on the pommel of his sword.
“If you want something, then I will give you coin.”
“How much do you have?”
Tracs unhooked his smaller pouch and tossed it over to the tall man. He felt the weight of the pouch and said. “Leave as soon as you’re through, or you’re going to wish that you had. Let’s go.” He said to the shorter man, who grinned and Tracs and followed his friend out the door.
“You should leave now before they return with more men.” The old man said.
“Who are they?” Tracs asked without taking his eyes off of the door.
“They arrived a few months ago and took over the town.”
“Did the town try to fight them off?”
“Yes, but there were too many, plus their leader is really tough.”
Tracs hated bullies and thugs, because they usually preyed on the weak and helpless. He was sure that if you killed the leader, the rest would leave. He decided that he would do something, but wasn’t sure what. The serving girl appeared with his meal. Tracs handed her a few copper pieces from his other pouch and took the bread.
“I’ll be back for the stew.” He said and grabbed his crossbow.
He was about to walk away, when the girl grabbed his arm. “Please help us.” She whispered. “They’re bad men.”
Tracs looked into her hazel eyes and nodded that he would.
Outside, Tracs’ banner lay on the ground, and the stick was broken in two. He looked around for the two men from the inn, but didn’t see them. Thinking that he might be ambushed leaving the town, he picked up his flag and grabbed the backpack, and walked back inside the building.
He approached the serving wench. “Can you help me?”
She nodded and led him to the backroom.
“Where are those men staying?” He asked.
“Some of the gang members are staying in town, but the leader is camped just north of here.” She said.
The Wayward Knight Page 2