by Reaves, Troy
Boremac smiled in spite of himself. He hated not being in control when his hide was on the line, but it appeared he had no choice. "So, I am to travel with a mercenary merchant and impersonate a priest to protect a fledgling warrior from a highly organized band of assassins. What could possibly go wrong? Let's not forget that I am supposed to do this for an indefinite amount of time, while trying to find out who hired them to kill all three of us, if I understand you correctly. Anything else I should know while you are being so forthcoming?"
Master Silverwing returned the thief’s grin, and spoke with a softer tone. "Well, I am glad you understand your dire position."
The travel down the river was uneventful, and Boremac was glad to see the town of Nactium grow larger on the horizon. The river men had shown little interest in him except when he joined them in the games of chance that served to pass their free time. Boremac had acquired a small sum of coins from distant lands with only a minor exercise of his considerable skill at slight-of-hand. None of the river men begrudged him his winnings once he got word around that he would be supplying drink at the first tavern they could find. Boremac never cared for travel on the water, and the humid air wreaked havoc on his leathers. A proper tanner would be a first priority before he would be able to move fluidly again.
Boremac found the captain to be very accommodating as they neared the town. The rogue changed into clothes more suitable to the rest of the crew, proceeding to the shadowy inn nearest the docks with his new companions. The fact that the men were obliged to seek strong drink and soft women did not bother him at all. In spite of Silverwing’s orders, he was about to enter the priesthood for a time, and he did not know when he might find opportunity for either of his favored vices again. Several days of shore leave ended with a rowdy brawl, indicating it was time for Boremac to move on to his assignment. He doubted it would serve him much to end up in the stocks. Boremac dodged a mug flung across the tavern, and slipped out into the streets of his new home and his new faith.
7
Books and Blades
Gregor took to his training with a conviction that was noted by all his teachers within the Temple of Light. His commitment was thought to be a great compliment to Master Silverwing. No one marveled at his studious behavior more than Father Havet, the tutor of languages both spoken and written, within the library. Gregor learned his basic reading and writing very quickly, and progressed into the ancient languages of the runic writings with unexpected grace. The more difficult scriptures took some time, as was expected, but Gregor's thirst for knowledge was unquenchable. It did not escape Father Havet's attention that even before Gregor had mastered the basic structure of language, he was captivated by the tapestries within the library and throughout the special temples of worship. These tapestries spoke of the miracles of the God of Light and the holy warriors of old who had destroyed demons by God's grace. Many of the statues and tapestries depicted the Knights of the Golden Dragon. Their greatest heroes and most terrible trials had earned sacred places in the blessed halls and sanctuaries throughout the temple grounds.
Gregor found a purpose he had not known before among the priests. Their knowledge and teachings extended well beyond his expectations. He learned the healing arts, and how to channel the divine powers of the God of Light to knit the wounds of the people that seemed to constantly find their way to the temple's infirmary. He became a favorite among the sick and wounded, due to his story of coming to study at the temple and his simple nature, so much like the farmers he aided. The farmers from outlying villages had stories of their own to tell, and Gregor listened intently as they spoke of the ever-increasing goblin raids. Some spoke of the increased activity of wolves in the forests surrounding their homesteads as well, and Gregor found himself worrying about Tana with each new report. Even though the wolves were staying well away from the small farming communities, woodsmen who dared the forest to ply their trade found goblin corpses littering the woods as they trod carefully through the trees. The killing wounds on the goblin bodies were clearly inflicted by large wolves, although arrows were found in the corpses as well. The farmers had taken to leaving offerings in the forest to thank their unlikely aide, giving praise to the Goddess of Nature for her protection. With each bit of news concerning the strange happenings Gregor was glad to hear that Tana appeared to be well, but he wondered how long she would be safe.
***
Gregor was surprised to find his lessons included training with blunt weapons. He found an even larger surprise waiting for him at his first class in the form of the portly priest who was directing other acolytes. He was crowned with a ring of white hair, and wore his wrinkled features proudly. He shouted encouragement to the various young men and women who sparred with maces and staves, and he was even handed with criticism to those not paying attention. "Strike as though your lives depended on it! We may not seek the blood of those who strike at us today, but do not think the ones you will someday face will be subdued with the kindness of gentle swings." He harried one particular young man who was wielding a mace in a contest against a young woman swinging a staff. "She will knock you senseless if you do not parry her blows more energetically," the Father chided.
Father Wallin called to each of the remaining pairs, lining them shoulder-to-shoulder to present Gregor to the assembled students. Gregor was surprised to note that the number of male and female participants was roughly equal in the class. Obviously the God of Light made no distinction where the sex of his servants was concerned, and both men and women were called to serve as equals, or so Gregor assumed from the skills Sister Noria had demonstrated.
Gregor was taken aback with his introduction to the class. "Students, this is Master Gregor, who is to be a warrior of the God of Light. Those of you who have not had the opportunity to train with him in the library should take note, and study with him when you can. One can only marvel at his devotion to the study of our scriptures. He is a symbol of what one can accomplish with hard work and commitment to the faith we all serve." Father Wallin turned toward Gregor and bowed deeply. The class mirrored their tutor's gesture as one, and Gregor was overwhelmed with the show of respect.
"You all honor me too much. I wish only to reach my full potential in service to the God of Light, as do all of you that are assembled here and study within these blessed walls. My faith and understanding is only a spark when compared to the great fires that burn in the hearts of the priests and students that came before me." Gregor returned the bow of each of the people assembled in turn, noting the open faces of the acolytes as he did. He wondered briefly if he were up to the task that was before him.
"A knight of the God of Light transcends the powers of even the most studied priests, Gregor. You will become the first to stand against the great evil that threatens these lands in your time, and you will wield divine power in ways we cannot begin to comprehend. That is your destiny. That is why you are here." Father Wallin dismissed the class before turning to address Gregor again. "We should begin your blunt weapons training. You may favor the sword in battle, but one never knows when the weapon at hand may not be the weapon of choice."
Gregor found his weapon training with Father Wallin educational and painful. He had many opportunities to practice his healing skills and channeling on his own bruised body after each sparring session with the Master. Gregor mastered the heavy mace readily enough, and was able to best Sister Noria with the staff after multiple floggings at her capable hands. The weapon that perplexed Gregor the most was composed of a stout wooden handle with three iron chains extending from it. Each chain was capped with a weighty iron ball. This flail was unique to Gregor's experience with weapons, and the dexterity required to wield it effectively seemed outside his grasp. Father Wallin preferred the flail above all others, and demonstrated its disarming capability often, much to Gregor's dismay. The spinning balls could readily rip any weapon from his grasp, and the impact to his mailed hands caused Gregor to hold Father Wallin and the flail in high regard.
"Don't concern yourself overmuch with it, Gregor." Father Wallin smiled as Gregor rubbed his bare hands together. The latest flailing had proven most effective, and Gregor was practicing the healing touch of his shield hand on his bruised weapon hand. The mace he had been using hung from Father Wallin's flail, swinging gently as the priest moved to place it back in the practice rack. "I have a surprise for you tomorrow that does not involve stripping your defenses. You should take your rest early this evening. I took the liberty of canceling your class with Father Havet. He and I both know you are spending a great deal of time with books from the library when you should be resting, and Father Havet is very pleased with your progress, however you will need all your strength tomorrow. I have arranged for some special guests to assist in measuring your weapon prowess."
Father Wallin's difficult training classes had honed Gregor's abilities, and the warrior found he favored the larger bastard sword, with its ability to be wielded with either one hand or two, over the shorter long swords with which he had originally trained. The weight of the weapon gave him stronger use of his cleaving attacks, and still allowed him to thrust effectively when needed. Gregor would normally have been very excited at the chance to test his mettle as well as his skill with his newfound weapon of choice, but he suffered some trepidation as Father Wallin turned to leave, chuckling to himself. Gregor was thinking a rest would certainly be welcome, as he walked to the main temple in order to pray for the focus he would no doubt need the following day.
***
The thief knelt before the great altar dedicated to the God of Light and wondered once more what exactly he had gotten himself into, or what Master Silverwing had gotten him into, anyway. Boremac had met with Father Oregeth, as Silverwing had instructed, and things had gone downhill rapidly from there. The good Father insisted that Boremac undergo the standard ritual of purification that all acolytes endured before being allowed into the temple grounds, assuring Boremac that he had nothing to fear. "Nothing to fear?" Boremac thought, as he said his own version of the priests' prayers to the God of Light. Father Oregeth took a count of the sins that weighed on the rogue, and had determined a vow of silence was in order as penance. He explained this was as much to protect the sisters and brothers of the temple as to reconcile Boremac's eternal soul. So Boremac had spent the last several weeks in silence, except for speaking when called upon by the teachers in charge of his training. Father Oregeth had conveniently decided that Boremac should watch over Gregor as a fellow student and Boremac had learned a great deal about the holy swordsman. The thief was adept at listening through years of practice, and felt he knew as much about Gregor as the warrior knew himself, perhaps even more. Boremac was intrigued by rumors of a trial that would test Gregor's skill at arms. He had been impressed with the boy who had faced the two assassins a mere two cycles of the moon before now, but the word was that the final stages of his weapon training were nearing. If rumors were to be believed, Father Wallin had organized a special test befitting a fully capable holy warrior. More than skills with the shield and sword would be required, no doubt. Boremac wanted to contact Gregor more directly and open a dialogue with him, but that would wait for now. Tomorrow all the brothers and sisters were going to assemble at the city's arena to witness what Boremac was certain would be quite a show. "God of Light, please bless your humble servant, and allow him a draft most potent to slake his thirst once he is allowed to visit a most improper tavern again. Praise be to your Holy Presence."
***
Firebeard weighed the sword he had completed for Master Gregor and smiled with pride. It was a Masterwork of the Elenondo metal, that shining black metal that had fallen from the heavens as if it were a gift from the God of Light himself, and a perfect replica of the swords wielded by the Knights of the Golden Dragon he had once served. The weapon was forged as one piece, and bore the markings of Gregor's Master, lacking only the crystal centerpieces of Lord Silverwing's swords. The forge over which he labored to shape it had barely withstood the mystical fires that were needed to mold it, and it had cost him a fair amount of coin to recruit a mage capable of generating the flames, not to mention the diamond file and finely tipped chisel that had been needed for the detail work in the hilt, but it was worth it.
Father Wallin had noted that Gregor was favoring a bastard sword in his training, and the smith would be sure Gregor would have the finest blade the master weapon-smith could forge. Firebeard was unable to fashion a hilt for the blade Gregor had left with him. It would accept none other than its own original grip, the smith had reasoned, after many tries to seat it in a new handle. He could only assume that the divine power once present in the weapon as a whole was still retained, despite the nature of the creature that had torn it asunder. The master of the forge trembled, imagining what great evil could do such a thing.
Firebeard would have to hurry if he were to deliver the blade to Gregor before his weapons trial. The city was buzzing with the rumors of a holy warrior to be tested tomorrow at Nactium arena. Firebeard would be certain that Gregor would have a weapon befitting his station, though a proper shield would have to wait. The large smith hefted the blade, testing its balance, and giving more than one person in the lanes leading to the temple a moment's pause and a bit of a scare, as he trotted briskly through the city streets.
***
The aforementioned holy warrior received the weapon Firebeard had made with silence. Gregor was overwhelmed with the gift from the master of the forge. Sleep could not overtake him that night before his trial, as he weighed the sword in his hand and swept it about himself, taking care not to disturb the sleeping brothers near him. It felt like an extension of his arm, and Gregor marveled at its balance. The keen blade left no mark of its passage, as he inadvertently cut a nearby candelabrum neatly in two, scattering candles across the floor. He heard amused laughter quietly echoing nearby, and saw that his handiwork had not gone unnoticed.
Gregor realized the bald observer standing just inside the light cast by his scattered candles was a fellow acolyte from one of his many lessons. This particular brother stood out due to the close cut beard on his chin. More remarkably, the individual in question never spoke to anyone but the priests giving lessons, and spent a great deal of time in quiet prayer. Gregor had seen the man frequently when he was offering his own praise to the God of Light, and the mysterious figure was often in the main temple kneeling quietly as Gregor walked through the adjoining halls on his way to his other studies. Gregor hastily gathered up and extinguished the candles that had fallen to the floor, pausing briefly to wave in greeting to his observer. The acolyte only nodded, and disappeared into the shadows at the far end of the room.
***
Father Wallin stood on a large boulder at the center of the arena, wearing his battle armor, a pristine suit of chain mail bearing a prominent golden sun emblem on the chest. He held his preferred weapon, the oaken handled flail that Gregor had grown so wary of in his lessons, as he turned to the crowd of onlookers that filled the seats of the observation area. Gregor stood at the base of the great stone, flanked at his left by Sister Noria and at his right by Brother Findal, the three acolytes each clothed in suits of fine chain mail and bearing their weapons of choice. Gregor noted Brother Findal held a round wooden shield similar to the one he had been given in addition to carrying his mace. He found it curious that Brother Findal and Sister Noria were within the arena at all, and assumed they were present as protectors or healers if something went wrong, but he had no time to dwell on the development, as Father Wallin raised his voice to carry over the noise of the crowd. The audience packed into the arena seats quieted almost immediately, as the priest began speaking.
Gregor thought Father Wallin carried himself with remarkable grace, as he announced the event and named the participants, nodding to each in turn for the benefit of the audience. "I present for your approval the defenders of the God of Light in today's tournament! Sister Noria, master wielder of the staff, whose skills
are unmatched among her brothers and sisters in the felling of foes. Her blessed hands turn the ash long arm with grace and precision. Brother Findal, master wielder of the mace, whose weapon of choice brings new meaning to the word dazed." The audience rippled with low laughter at the Father's jest. "Finally, the master of the bastard sword, Master Gregor, holy warrior and devout student of the faith. His skills in combat are untested, and so we have assembled here today. These three warriors of the God of Light will face overwhelming odds in the form of volunteers drawn from the finest veterans Nactium has to offer…battle hardened warriors who know no fear and give no quarter!"
On cue, great doors were opened at the far wall of the arena by priests dressed in the same manner as Father Wallin. A score of warriors poured from the dark passageway beyond the great doors and lined up shoulder-to-shoulder facing the acolytes in a rough semi-circle. Gregor noted the men and women assembled themselves with military precision, although they seemed to be drawn from a wide range of organizations. Few of the adversaries had any insignia on their armor or shields, and there was a broad range of weapons mingled within the group. Some of the warriors bore tall metal shields bearing ornate carvings dented in places, showing they had seen their share of battles. Great swords numbered among the weapons, as tall as the men and women who held them at the ready. Armor plating ranged from simple suits of studded leather to complex plates of interlocking steel. Most remarkable were the two robed figures that stood at the farthest ends of the formation. The pair held long metal staves capped with orbs roughly the size of a fist. Two short, thin blades extended near the top of each staff, angled away from the orb cap. Gregor thought the formation resembled a figure with arms outstretched as if in supplication to the orb. He found the image unsettling, though nothing in the robed figures’ demeanor seemed more threatening than the rest of the warriors assembled. In fact, the two men appeared disinterested in the whole proceeding.