Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (11 page)

           
Father Wallin drew the attention of all the people now
present with a booming announcement once the adversaries had settled into their
appointed positions. “Now that we are all here, the rules of engagement are as
follows!" Father Wallin turned to face the combatants, shouting over the
heads of the acolytes below. "First and foremost, this is not a combat to
the death! Any combatants who draw blood are required to allow for submission
by their foe. Those participants who are wounded must acknowledge their wound and
either submit or continue in the melee at their discretion. Those sustaining
wounds that draw blood should bring their weapon to their chest before
reengaging. Those who determine their wounds are too severe to continue will
immediately drop their weapons and proceed to the nearest of the priests that
are scattered throughout the arena for healing. The aforementioned priests will
collect anyone unable to do so. Any combatants that are knocked to their backs
should use proper judgment and leave the combat area if they would not
reasonably be able to regain their feet. Once again, you will indicate
submission by disarming yourself. Master Firebeard has volunteered his services
for evacuation of those combatants rendered unconscious." Father Wallin
took a moment to acknowledge the giant smith before continuing to address the
waiting combatants. "Use of missile weapons or long range channeling of
any kind is strictly forbidden and will result in a forfeiture of payment to
those being compensated for their participation. If I find it necessary to
disarm or render unconscious any participants, all combat will immediately come
to a halt and the offender or offenders will be jailed. Divine powers will be
brought to bear without hesitation against anyone choosing to ignore these
rules. The acolytes are encouraged to channel divine powers for defense or
healing at their discretion and within the limitations of the aforementioned
rules. Additional coin has been allotted to reward any hired warriors for
exemplary acts of teamwork, and restoring your allies in the arena to combat is
encouraged. Please acknowledge your understanding of these rules with a bow,
and after a short blessing, we will begin."

           
The participants bowed as instructed, and a hush fell
over the audience as Father Wallin blessed all those assembled. The crowds of
people filling the stands sat quietly as coins changed hands, wagering on all
manner of possibilities. Who would fall first? Odds were high that one of the
acolytes would be mortally wounded while facing such large numbers, and even
Boremac was tempted to wager on the strength of that bet. He scribbled a note
to one of the arena’s turf accountants, placing a significant sum against the
staff-wielding sister. There were few among the onlookers that thought she
would survive, let alone get out of the melee without injury. The strength of
the two acolytes was known to most of the common residents of Nactium, though
Gregor was a complete unknown. The rogue weighted his wager against Sister
Noria with a vote of victory for Gregor. The odds makers may not have known his
skills, but Boremac had little doubt that the sword wielder would be the last
man standing, once the day was done. He recognized the two stave wielders
opposing the trio as well, though he had never encountered a pair of the
priests before. Their staves gave their affiliation away to one trained in
observation.
 
Boremac could not imagine
why two brothers of the Order of the Crimson Night would even be here. Perhaps
they had come at the invitation of the priest who was overseeing the event.
Additional healers would have been welcomed, Boremac reasoned, and he was
certain their skills would be necessary against the blade Gregor possessed.
They would be the ones to watch.

           
The two robed figures facing the acolytes had not escaped
Master Firebeard's notice. He was impressed with the craftsmanship of their
chosen weapons, though they seemed ill suited to priests, and the smith could
not imagine why wizards would have numbered among the challengers. The alloy
that composed their weapons was not readily discernible at this distance, but
Master Firebeard made a mental note to speak with the two men after the melee.
It was time to get ready for his part of the event, and Master Firebeard had no
doubt he would be busy. Many of the weapons and armor on the field were his
work, and Gregor was certain to give the smith much repair work after proving
his worth.

           
He had a fine blade, and was well trained in the martial
arts, and yet still he was terrified. It was Sister Noria who took the lead in
the trio, instructing her companions to spread out. "Allow enough space
for your weapons to swing free. I should be able to protect your backs, so stay
close to mine. Remember, they are only men." Sister Noria snickered in
spite of the dire situation they faced. "Brother Findal, strike their heads
and helmets, but remember to pull your strength. We only want to knock them
out, not crush their skulls. Short measured strokes, and for all that is good
and pure, do not over-extend. That has always been your weakness!"

           
Gregor felt strengthened by her faith in their abilities.
Her rapid instruction to him bolstered his own faith. "Gregor, remember
the shield, and wound the shoulders of your attackers when you can. Disarm
their weapon arm and focus on the softer targets. The ones that carry tower
shields will no doubt cause you the most trouble, so move away from them to
allow Brother Findal or myself to dispatch them. Keep moving in a circle, and
do not try to take more than two at once. Ready, and go!"

           
The trio spaced out as planned, and waited for the twenty
warriors to make the first move. The wait was brief. The opposing forces split
into three groups of six, taking up position around the three acolytes. It
appeared there had been some planning on their part as well, and the group
facing Sister Noria moved in first, rapidly closing the space between their
weapons and her staff. This was their first mistake. Sister Noria drove the
first ones rushing toward her to their knees with rapid twists of her staff. A
groan of sympathy escaped Brother Findal, even as he neatly knocked out the two
kneeling figures. "That was most unkind, Sister Noria. I know the fury of
that strike all too well. Better they are unconscious, I think."

           
The attackers were a bit more cautious as they more fully
took the measure of the acolytes. The men and women still moving toward Sister
Noria gestured to the other warriors facing Gregor and Brother Findal. Moments
later, the air was filled with the howls of rushing warriors. They must have
determined that attacking the holy warriors one at a time was not going to
work, and a full attack was the best course of action. This was their second
mistake.

           
Sister
Noria barked orders to her brothers, as the men and women encircled them.
'Spread out! Brother Findal, heads! Master Gregor, weapon-bearing shoulders,
and keep moving!"

           
Sister
Noria fought with a grace Gregor had never witnessed, and the stands
surrounding the arena swelled with the sound of the audience drawing a deep
breath as one. She used the staff as an extension of herself, and vaulted
behind the remaining four opponents who were charging where she had just been.
The ripple of hesitation she caused with this maneuver coursed through all the remaining
foes, giving Gregor and Brother Findal the opportunity they needed to strike.

           
Brother Findal lacked Sister Noria's grace and style, but
he more than made up for it with sheer strength. Three of the six that charged
him fell to rapid strikes that knocked them backward. Weapons littered the
ground from those that Master Firebeard had already carried away, and priests
ran out to tend other wounded and unconscious attackers as the melee charged
through the inside of the arena. While the other two acolytes were handling
their respective groups, Gregor discovered the gift bestowed by his sword; true
unhindered penetration. Gregor parried the weapon strikes brought against him,
and used the shield to block his undefended side, searching for opportunities
to strike. The aggressive pursuers were shocked as Gregor cut the handle of an
attacker's mace in half while deflecting the blow of another attacker's great
sword. Gregor was overwhelmed, and almost struck down, as he looked at the
remaining pieces of the handle in the large man's hand. A great gasp issued
from the crowd in the arena, as once more, all eyes seemed to focus on Gregor.
He had no time to feel the weight of their attention. The woman wielding the
sword that narrowly missed him had lost her footing as the sword completed its
arc, and she began to fall toward him. Gregor pointed his sword at her
reflexively. The black blade of his weapon passed through her chain mail armor
at the shoulder, cutting into her, as momentum carried her forward. Her body
temporarily blocked the remaining attackers, and Gregor pushed her off the
blade with his shield. Two of his three remaining foes fled as she dropped her
weapon and fell to her knees. Bile rose into Gregor's throat as blood streamed
through the fingers of the hand his victim had brought up, covering her wound.
 
A pool of blood formed around her, as the
priests hurried to her side, preparing regenerative prayers even as they ran
across the ground to aid her. The blade had gone all the way through, leaving a
large gouge in her shoulder at the front, and a clean tear also pouring out
blood at the back. None of the assembled witnesses had ever seen a wounding
such as this.

           
Brother Findal was still engaged in a desperate melee
with one seasoned attacker wielding a club and heavy shield. The two men
exchanged blows with fevered intensity, each trying to undo the other with the
heavy strikes. Sister Nadia had borne her attackers to the ground, delivering
stunning blows to each as they struck the hard dirt. She swiftly brought her
staff to bear on Brother Findal’s final opponent as her incapacitated victims
were dragged out of the arena. Even as she disarmed Brother Findal's attacker
she noted that two of the mercenaries who had been advancing toward Brother
Findal were now focusing on rapidly shortening the distance between Gregor and
themselves. The heavily armored warriors moved to join the remaining opponent
already advancing on Gregor. Three hardened fighters formed up as one, creating
a wall of tower shields with
 
just room
enough between them for the use of their deadly blades, intent upon forcing the
young warrior to submit.

           
Gregor would not submit. He knew he had to end the
contest before someone was killed. Gregor let his own shield fall from his hand
as he lowered himself into a sprinter's stance. His now freed fingers wrapped
tightly around the hilt of his sword as he launched himself across the distance
between himself and the three men approaching him. There was a pause as if time
had stopped. Every person in the arena seemed to be holding their collective
breath as they wondered what he could possibly be thinking. They would have
been even more astounded if they knew the truth of the matter. Gregor was not
thinking at all but acting as he had been trained, and on a much deeper level,
he was praying to the power that had saved him so long ago.

           
Reflexes stopped Gregor short with the mercenaries just
within reach of his blade. He pivoted on the tip of his boot with the art of a
trained dancer as his blade cut neatly across the tops of the tower shields
just at the level of the necks of the men bent on his defeat. Each man in his
turn dropped his sword and the remains of their shields, and knelt before
Gregor in submission to his prowess. The men then rose as one and lifted their
heads to the sky before nodding to Gregor. All three of them bore an open cut
that trickled blood down their throats. Gregor bowed his head before
genuflecting briefly to honor the combatants that had all performed so well in
the rite of combat. The acolytes assumed the trial was over. They were wrong.

***
   

           
Boremac watched the melee with interest. Despite his loss
when Sister Nadia had not been overcome, the contest held his attention until
the last. The rogue would make a healthy donation to the temple when the coins
were counted after his finder's fee was taken. Unlike the rest of the audience
who were following Gregor's every move, Boremac kept his eyes on the robed
figures he had noted earlier. Their movements had escaped notice once the
fighting had begun in earnest and the rogue doubted anyone else was paying any
attention as the pair positioned themselves behind the large boulder near where
Father Wallin perched. He knew shadowy tactics better than anyone, and those
two were definitely up to something.

***

           
Master Firebeard had a secret. He had planned on
returning the blade he could not repair to Gregor when this last test was
concluded. That wasn't the secret though and the large man practically hopped
from one foot to the other with excitement as the last combatants knelt before
Gregor. The smith had been commissioned several weeks ago, in anticipation of
this final test, to fashion the armor Gregor would wear when knighted. The
smith had scoffed at the head priest when Father Oregeth had asked him what
payment would be required. “You cannot price the honor bestowed upon me with
this commission, good Father. The sweat of this labor is given of love and
respect for the man that will wear it and the God that he serves.” The master
smith would hear no more talk of payment from the priest at the time and had
shooed him out of the shop with a smile while the contest progressed. Here in
the arena, Master Firebeard had imagined sunlight glinting off the armor
befitting the knight that Gregor would soon become. The twinkle few had ever
seen in the smithy's eyes turned into fire brighter than his hair when he was
roused from his reverie. His services were still needed within the fighting
grounds.