by Gil Hough
CHAPTER 14
THE ORDER
Rodregas blinked at the sunlight in his eyes and raised his hand to create some shade. Pain shot through his body at the movement. He felt his body, now without armor, for any serious wounds.
“The good news is that while the tip of the lance did slice into your chest a bit, it is almost healed thanks to what Jordaan did,” said Doi’van standing above him.
Rodregas realized he was lying on the ground over by where Doi’van had been keeping the lances and equipment. The spare lances were gone. He had lost. Doi’van was of course referring to the healing sigil. He wisely did not say it out loud as every squire there would have been asking about where they had gotten one.
Rodregas started to get up, but quickly decided it was smarter to stay lying down for now. “Where did we finish?” he asked.
“Actually we did pretty good. There were more than a few that cannot go on, even if you had won. You finished eighth overall in the tournament, with a second place white ribbon for the joust. Several of those who would now be higher are too injured to continue. So you are now in fourth place overall. Geriodon and Nordien were the top two finishers,” said Doi’van.
Rodregas nodded. The pain was easier to manage knowing that at least he was still in the running for the tournament championship.
Imeralda stepped into his sight shaking her head, “You men are crazy sometimes; you actually look pleased! If your armor had not held you would be dead now. And it is not like you are fighting someone who deserves to die. Most of these men are honorable warriors.”
Rodregas nodded. “True, hopefully another day of this though and we will be back to fighting those we should be fighting, and it will be far harder to stop me if I achieve a greater sigil.”
Imeralda crouched down, she had a very serious expression on her face, and Rodregas had a sense that he was not going to like what she said next. “Rodregas,” she said slowly, “we are not doing this for vanity right?”
Rodregas nodded, he sensed she knew the answer to the question but was going somewhere with the question. She looked around to make sure others in the arena could not overhear. “We attacked a slave caravan simply because there were children and innocents that needed rescuing though the odds were against us.” Rodregas nodded again.
“On the way here I passed the healers tent,” she continued. “The healers have cleaned the wounds and cast their healing chants and spells, but I think some of them won’t make it. I think we should use the minor Sigil of Healing on them, at least the most critical of them.” She paused at Rodregas’ surprised look and then quickly added, “I know it is illegal for anyone but the Immortalists or the Order to use sigils, but that is a law made by the Immortalists!”
“But Imeralda,” said Doi’van, “the final competition of the tournament is tomorrow and he is very close to earning knighthood and a greater sigil.” Though he spoke in opposition his tone was flat as if he simply weighed facts.
Rodregas froze for a moment, and then simply nodded. He had made this decision the moment he took on a body that was not his. He was either a monster now, or he was a warrior fighting for justice. He struggled up to his feet and said, “Go get the figurine out of my trunk, keep it hidden. Doi’van and I will meet you outside of the infirmary.”
Rodregas was pleased that neither Doi’van nor Imeralda actually looked surprised. He was not the only one who had decided that someone had to start doing the right thing and that they were those people.
As Rodregas and Doi’van met Imeralda outside the infirmary doors, he could hear the sound of people in pain coming through the doors. The sight inside was not pretty. It was not the warm and open space of the Nymph’s healing room, but full of crowded cots and kneeling chatting figures in the yellow robes of healers.
Rodregas was sore himself. Even walking shot pain up his shoulders and into his neck. But the men and women in the room looked like they had come off a battle field. The majority were covered in bandages stained red with blood. Splints holding together broken bones were also in clear evidence. At least the enchantment against flying insects seemed to be holding, otherwise it would have been even worse.
Imeralda led the two men over to a corner where a young man lay; he was unconscious and looked near death. From his wounds Rodregas guessed he had been injured during the sword and shield competition.
To Rodregas’ relief no one was paying them any attention, not even to Doi’van. Rodregas and Doi’van did their best to block the view of others as Imeralda gathered the limp pale hand that should have belonged to an old man, not a young one, and slipped the small frog figurine into it. Quickly she channeled the power. Rodregas could feel the instinctive rise of the young man’s own power. Then the squire started to squirm weakly in pain.
Both Doi’van and Rodregas reached out and steadied the young man until it was over. Imeralda straightened the sheets for the young squire. She then led Rodregas and Doi’van to the figure of a woman. She was short and muscular and older than average for the tournament. Her bed was more exposed and Rodregas could feel the attention of one of the healers. He seemed to be afraid to come over even when the body started to shake in pain.
After they stepped away from the female squire the healer came over to the other side of the bed from Rodregas and Doi’van and touched the woman’s neck. He looked reassured at her vital signs and said, “What did you do?” He looked nervous, though Rodregas was not sure why.
Imeralda spoke up, “I hope you are not offended, but I am part Nymph and our healing powers work differently than yours. She should heal faster for the next few days.” Rodregas hid his smile; it was a good cover story.
“Thank you,” said the healer. “Do you have the strength to heal a few others? I think we will lose several more otherwise.” Rodregas could not tell if the healer believed Imeralda’s story or recognized what was going on and was going along with it to save his patients.
“I would be happy to help them, but I have to do it as privately as possible,” said Imeralda. The healer did not seem to take the odd request as being unusual and simply stepped away after leading them to two more patients.
The healer thanked Imeralda for her healing work and the three were heading out the door when a frail voice called out, “Rodregas, may I speak to you?”
Rodregas turned around and noticed for the first time the tall shapely form of Karun who had defeated him with sword and shield. She had propped herself up now on the bed and waved them over. Her arm was clearly broken and her side was bandaged. She looked bad, but her complexion looked good and he did not think her seriously hurt. His heart froze though at her quiet whisper.
“You share a minor sigil very freely for being in the great Cathedral itself,” her voice was but a whisper, her eyes more curious then challenging.
“They would likely die without our aid,” said Imeralda. Doi’van nodded next to her. Rodregas thought that Doi’van was strangely silent. He guessed that the Hellborn was afraid to speak, even in a whisper. His voice was like granite breaking and traveled.
“So you risk your life to save strangers?” the female squire asked. Her voice actually sounded curious.
Rodregas said, “Yes, we do. You seem like an honorable squire, would you also like a minor Sigil of Healing?”
He thought she was going to laugh at his question at first, but then she simply whispered, “That simple?”
“Almost.” Rodregas said. “Promise to say nothing about this, and also promise that you will use your sigil wisely and that if you have a chance to help us you will do so.”
“You are creating your own little Shadow Order?” she asked. She was referring to stories of secrete orders of knighthood that lived in the ‘shadows.’
Rodregas started to say no but then thought the idea actually had some advantages, “Welcome to the Order of…,” he paused. He almost said “The Celestial Lions.” But while he might be filled with the essence of a Celestial animal, he stood with a bei
ng of elemental power and one of infernal power. “The Lion,” he simply finished. It was the only real symbol that he could think of.
“What of the others?” she asked.
Rodregas was confused by her question and asked, “What others?”
Karun answered, “There are a lot of very good squires here, honorable men and women who could benefit from the sigil.” Rodregas’ head was spinning at the idea. They were already being hunted by the Immortalists, and gaining some allies was not a bad idea. But their luck would only hold so far.
Doi’van spoke now, trying hard to be quiet, “Only men you would swear have a strong sense of honor and no one who would serve the Immortalists.”
Karun glanced around the room nervously at Doi’van’s voice; it was just not made for covert conversations and his words were very dangerous. Then she nodded thoughtfully and the four quickly agreed that they would share the sigil with anyone who were skilled, honorable and had no love for the Immortalist Guild.
They returned to their rooms that night tired; they had tracked down twelve more squires. All had at least two ribbons; and all swore secrecy at the source of their sigil. The biggest surprise was probably Geriodon, who had beaten Rodregas earlier that day. Rodregas could not argue against sharing the minor sigil as he clearly fit the description of a worthy candidate.
Geriodon was more than happy to swear that he had no love for the Guild and that Justice should be dealt to all equally. But before accepting the sigil he wanted to be sure that any Shadow Order he joined was mostly about secrecy to protect themselves, and that he would still be able to compete for true knighthood in the Order of the Soaring Heavens.
Rodregas dropped into his cot tired and exhausted. Even with his healing sigil he had needed a full night’s rest, but duty did not wait for what a man needed.
Imeralda woke him slightly after dawn, and Rodregas could tell that both she and Doi’van had spent the few hours left of the night working on what was left of their equipment. The tear in both his leather shirt and chain were sewn up, the first with thread the second with steel wire. For a mace, Doi’van had bought a piece of round solid steel from the smithy. It was a crude thing but of the proper size to qualify for the tournament. He dressed and ate quickly, and walked out to the sands of the arena. The arena smelled fresh. Sometime during the night it must have rained and young squires had raked the sands.
The final competition of the tournament was a true melee. Only the top ten finishers qualified. There was no taking turns. The ten were spread out in a circle. In the center of the arena was a shield painted with the seal of the knighthood, a winged sword in the clouds. The squire who claimed that shield and made it to the Cathedral’s main hall with it would be knighted on the spot by the Knight Commander of the Order.
This day would decide Rodregas’ fate. It was likely to end in defeat. He stood flexing his sore shoulders, waiting for the flag to drop. Across from him was Geriodon who was standing tall and ready in his Night Bronze armor. He looked to have gotten much more sleep than Rodregas, and of course, now he also had a minor Sigil of Healing. So what little advantage Rodregas might have had was no longer.
Directly to Rodregas’ left stood the tall graceful figure of Nordien, he was as tall as Rodregas if not quite as muscular and his armor was spectacular. Geriodon had a full suit of Night Bronze armor which was plain and serviceable looking. Nordien’s armor was a work of art. His great helm had a purple feather sticking out the top and he had a short, matching cape coming out the back.
Rodregas decided that he would go after Nordien first. He would make sure the favorite of Ambassador Van’dret would not win if nothing else. If Geriodon became a knight at least an honorable man had the day. Several of the squires were being seen to by attendants making sure everything was secure, and waiting for the start of the match.
Rodregas thought he was alone until he heard Imeralda speak from behind him, “Did you see who is watching from the Great Hall’s door?” she asked. Rodregas glanced over, it was Van’dret. He stood tall and handsome, young squires surrounding him ready to serve. Rodregas thought that the Immortalist was watching him. He would have to leave quickly after the tournament, as the man was growing suspicious of them. Rodregas would have loved to kill him, but Van’dret was a powerful sorcerer capable of magic that made him nearly impossible to kill.
“Do you remember The Lion?” asked Imeralda.
“What?” Rodregas asked. He sounded as confused as he felt.
“The Celestial Lion. Do you remember him? The way he walked; the way he moved,” she said.
“Of course,” he said. No one could forget seeing a Celestial animal of any kind much less a lion.
“You know the great beasts of the Celestial Realm are not just magical animals. They are more. They are the embodiment of magic, of ideas or concepts for the Celestials: The Great White Stag, The Moon Wolf, The Lion, The Stallion. Dire beasts are animals with magic and they are more powerful, smarter, and stronger because of their magic. Celestial Beasts are far more. You saw that for yourself didn’t you?” she asked softly. Rodregas simply nodded. It was interesting what she said, but he was not sure why she was bringing it up at this time.
“Only the Immortalist have ever taken on the essence of a Celestial Beast as they get ready to become gods,” Imeralda continued. Her eyes wandering around the arena, waiting. Her voice had a casual quality, but Rodregas sensed she thought this very important.
“When Doi’van sees you, he thinks of you as one of the blood, a noble in fact, if not by birth. Most of the men and women in this circle are that; faster, stronger because they descend from a Celestial god. But you are not that. The Celestial Beasts all represent something.”
She paused, looking at him for the first time. “What does The Lion represent, Rodregas?” she asked.
Rodregas was silent for a moment and then said, “Strength, the Hunter, and Protector of the Pride.” He spoke words that he knew he had learned as a child at temple.
Imeralda nodded, a smile starting to appear on her face. “And what would happen if this group of squires tried to take on a Celestial Lion?” she asked.
Rodregas started to laugh at the idea and then stopped cold. He nodded, he understood her point now. The two sat quietly for the remaining minutes. The dread in his heart was gone; it had no place in the heart of a lion.
While no speeches had started the other matches, for the first time Rodregas saw the Grand Marshal himself step forward. His name was Faurrenida. The Grand Marshal was an older man and not a pretty one; his face had more scars than anything else. He spoke with a rough voice like he was permanently hoarse from barking commands.
“Today,” he yelled out, “we have a match of men and women who are ready to become knights, to be the very Champions of the Gods on this world. They are all worthy, but there can be only one new knight this day.” Faurrenida looked around slowly catching each of them by the eye. Rodregas was caught up in the commanding presence of the man.
“To the Order and to the Celestials!” his voice was half command and half prayer.
Everyone including combatants and those watching from wall and window responded, so that the words swirled around the arena. “To the Order and to the Celestials!”
This time the Grand Marshal seemed to look around at all the spectators until finally he nodded, satisfied. Without another word he strode out. Imeralda followed him as did all the squire’s attendants. It was time for the final match.
Rodregas left his shield and mace relaxed at his side and strode over to Nordien, who stood with shield and mace at the ready. Instead of attacking he asked the big man, “So, are people right, do you plan to serve the Immortalists if you gain the greater sigil?” The squire looked around a little confused. He was clearly not expecting a conversation, but no one was near enough to hear.
“The Immortalists are the true power of the realm. To tie ones self to them is only smart,” Nordien responded.
“It is not to a squire that I am going to either admit or deny such claims. Now fight me.” His voice was smooth, but the end was more a growl than anything.
Rodregas laughed and let Nordien see his smile. “Well,” Rodregas said, “let us see how well you will do in battle against an Immortalist.” With that, Rodregas simply charged. He dropped his poor mace and slammed into Nordien with all his speed and strength.
Rodregas hit shield first, then instantly dropped his own shield, grabbed on to Nordien’s shield and ripped it out of his hands. Nordien’s mace was not just made of Night Bronze. It was clearly enchanted since the end glowed with an almost sick yellow color. It almost nailed him in the head. He dodged down and then in close and with his hands free simply grabbed the opposing squire from the top and bottom edges of his breast plate. He then heaved the armored man in the air, something even he could only do for a moment, and then slammed him down onto the smooth sands of the arena.
Nordien hit with such force that his arms and legs flew like a small doll’s. Rodregas fell on top of the armored form, grabbed the bottom of the helmet, and ripped it off. Unfortunately, it was firmly secured. When Rodregas ripped it off he took a good section of jaw with the helm. Rodregas then threw the helm aside and punched the man in the face, full strength, several times. His first hit smashed the front of Nordien’s face. The second blow shattered it. The third blow smashed the head to pulp.
Rodregas probably should have picked up Nordien’s mace and shield, but he also knew that without plate armor, he could not afford a long drawn out series of pounding matches. Rodregas would fight like a lion instead. He charged the next closest squire who was approaching another squire. His new opponent never knew he was coming. He was heavily covered in armor with little visibility so he never saw Rodregas jumping on him from behind. This opponent was smaller and crashed to the ground at the unexpected weight of the attack. Rodregas was more careful in ripping off this squire’s helm, and punched him in the face but once. It was enough.
He took out four other squires before anyone seemed to realize that he had changed the rules. Not to his surprise, it was Geriodon who was the first to face him and fend him off. Rodregas almost ran face into the squire’s mace, only throwing himself down barely in time to miss the blow.
Rodregas knew that if this was going to work he had to keep up the momentum. He spun around and started to run around his opponent, circle him at a breakneck speed. Geriodon responded perfectly. He kept one foot planted and spun tight to help counter Rodregas’ speed. It should have worked.
And it did work for several minutes. Rodregas simply kept running in a circle around Geriodon just outside the range of his mace. He dug into the sand with his feet and he ran, and kept running. Minutes went by before Geriodon’s own spin move went a little too fast as he tired. Then Rodregas simply threw himself into the man and wrestled him to the ground.
Even as Rodregas carefully ripped Geriodon’s helmet off the squire kept fighting. This man was a true fighter and Rodregas wished that he could also become a knight, but there could be only one winner today. Rodregas’ fist stopped the squire’s struggles.
He looked around and to his alarm he saw the last remaining squire running toward the hall with the shield. It was generally understood that you did not try to claim the shield until the last opponent was down. But, of course, the winner was simply the first to take the shield to the hall.
Rodregas jumped up and ran, his arms pumping. He was almost as surprised as the armored squire with how fast he caught him and knocked him to the ground. This squire, though, thrust the shield at him and collapsed to the ground. Rodregas looked around the arena to make sure no one was left to fight and then headed into the great hall, carrying the shield of the tournament champion.
As he walked the hallway into the main hearing chamber, knights stood along the walls. As Rodregas passed they all mumbled the same words to him, “Welcome to the Order my brother.” Several reached out and shook his hand or showed other signs of welcome. Others, though, looked at him strangely, clearly put off by the way he had won the melee. He felt a little unsteady, not sure what to make of both the welcome and the uncomfortable looks.
As he passed through the doors in the main hearing chamber, the Grand Marshal stood at the far end waiting. In the chamber were both knights and squires. Many smiled; he thought a few looked like the ones in the hall, not sure what to think of this new knight.
Rodregas was not surprised that when he started to kneel in front of the Grand Marshal, for Van’dret to step forward and speak. “Grand Marshal, you are not really thinking of knighting this fiend, are you? He killed a fellow squire out there. And he consorts with Nymphs and Infernals, not people of the Celestial Realm. You do the Order a disservice to make him a Knight of the Soaring Heavens.” Van’dret’s voice was slow and reasonable sounding and he spoke not so much to the Grand Marshal as to the audience.
“I but follow the rules of the Order as they have stood for unknown centuries, Ambassador. While there are many things that go into raising a squire to knighthood, the tournament is the exception. The rules are simple; win and you win knighthood. While undue bloodshed can disqualify you, a single death during the tournament is not unusual.” While the Grand Marshal spoke, he did not look at the audience. He looked at Van’dret and he did not look happy at the interruption.
“But clearly he already has a greater sigil; no man can fight like that who does not have one. He is an impostor. He steals this knighthood from more deserving squires,” Van’dret said. At this Rodregas saw many people nodding, but he remained silent. It was not his turn to answer any question other than from the Grand Marshal.
The Marshal Faurrenida voice made his displeasure and his dislike of arguing with a non-knight clear as he said, “While a knight has the full right to enter both the Lesser and Greater Sigil Chambers and take and sigil as his level of magic might allow, it is not a sigil he earns today. It is knighthood. Now, the discussion is over.” growled Marshal Faurrenida.
To forestall any further argument, the Grand Marshal stepped forward quickly and drew his sword. The sword gleamed of the highest quality blue steel and red fire seemed to run its length. Marshal Faurrenida laid the sword on Rodregas’ right shoulder and said, “Squire, you come to us this day. Think well and be sure on your decision to swear these oaths.” Faurrenida paused for a second and then slowly added. “Will you swear to uphold the Rules of Chivalry, to serve the Order of the Soaring Heavens with honor, and to serve as the Champion of the Celestials on this World if called to be a Paladin?”
“My Lord Grand Marshal, I so swear in the name of the Celestial Gods.” Strangely, instead of being excited, he felt tired. In some ways he was adding another burden and it was heavy.
“Arise, Sir Rodregas, Knight of the Soaring Heavens and be made welcome in the Cathedral of the Heavens.”
Applause filled the room, though it was muted. Rodregas looked for Doi’van and Imeralda and he was sad to see that they had not been there to share his moment. Van’dret at least had left. The next few hours went by quickly. He was introduced to many people. It was late as the other knights went to find sleep when both Doi’van and Imeralda suddenly both appeared. He could see from their body language that they were ready to do more than congratulate him.