Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (14 page)

           
Firebeard
stared at the thief in disbelief. "How would you know that and why would
priests committed to protecting the lands from demonic forces have reason to
bring one against brothers and sisters of the Temple of Light?"

           
"That
would be the riddle, wouldn't it?” Boremac paused before continuing, measuring
his words. "I know who bear the staves because there is a man with only
one hand on my list of acquaintances who had both before he tried to acquire
one. Where my information comes from doesn't matter. It is more important what
is done with it. Father Oregeth needs some priests and guards to hit the place
where the students of the order gather now. It is probably too late, but go and
make Father Oregeth aware so some guardsmen can be rounded up." Boremac
pulled the long narrow wooden case from Master Firebeard's hands and turned to
secure the package to the horse's saddle. He jumped up onto the horse with the
practiced grace of a man used to mounting walls quickly and smiled as he
watched the smith’s large form disappear around the corner. "That might
have bought me time for a few drinks. What do you think, boy?"

           
The
horse shook his head by way of reply and cantered rapidly toward the city gates
nearby. It appeared this steed knew where he was going and Boremac would have a
dry throat until they got there. "Water it is then, I suppose." He
dropped his hand to the water skin hanging at his leg and held the horse's
reins with the other as the pair raced down the road to Zanthfar.

***

Gregor made a home among the books in
the secured area of the library Father Havet had shown him. There was less than
a week until he would be keeping Vigil in the main temple, awaiting the touch
of his God. Gregor absorbed as much as he could from the most complete
manuscripts. Father Tur’morival’s personal works were as educational as they
were obscure, filled with a great deal of theories and assumptions that seemed
to be contradictory to most of the other assembled works. Father Havet lent his
assistance when Gregor needed help translating some of the dark passages found
in Father Tur’morival’s personal journal, although the priest was loathe to do
so. Gregor could not imagine what could possess any man, let alone a servant of
the God of Light, to perform the rituals detailed throughout the priest’s
personal text. The certainty Gregor felt when he first saw the tapestry only
deepened. Father Tur’morival was the figure that had wanted the broken blade
despite Father Havet’s insistence the priest had died long ago. What possible
use he had for it, Gregor could not imagine. The holy warrior refused to think
of the apparition as a man, though he was at a loss to define the creature that
had stood before him in his dream.

                                    
9

Drunkards and Fools

Boremac's trip to Zanthfar had been
uneventful, which was a pleasant turn of events for a change. The roads were
thick with the cities’ militia along his route. The rogue took a measure of
comfort in this, despite his usual feelings for peacekeepers. He was happy to
stable the horse and carry the heavy wooden case for Master Silverwing to the
nearest inn. He felt his relief diminish only slightly as he entered the tavern
proper. The ranger was waiting at one of the tables in the tavern, and Boremac
could not even secure much-needed refreshment before Master Silverwing motioned
to him. "So, Silverwing, you will be buying the rounds this evening? Your
kindness is noted and appreciated."

"All you need should be well
provided for with the winnings from Gregor's challenge." Silverwing's
furrowed brow told the thief all he needed to know about the ranger's feelings
concerning those events. "You can tell me exactly what happened later.
Right now we will relax and share a cup."

Boremac waved over one of the
barmaids, placing an order for the strongest brew they had and instructing her
to keep his mug full. He dropped a few coins in her outstretched hand, turning
his attention back to Silverwing. "No need to get upset. You knew who I
was soon after we met, and I did save the boy a bit of trouble in the process
of protecting my own interests. I would think a bit of betting would be the
least of your concerns."

           
"Yes,
your talent is put to good use even though I must wonder at your intent. Still,
Father Oregeth sees something in you that I cannot. His faith in you is the
only reason you're here now. You would be wise not to forget that." Master
Silverwing's words stung the thief, but Boremac could not deny the truth of
them. "He chose to release you from the jailers in Nactium for his own
reasons. Reasons that disagree with what I know of you, although it appears you
gave the church at least a nodding respect while you were there. Father Oregeth
said you spent a great deal of time at the main altar communing while you were
maintaining a vow of silence. Your prayers never fall on deaf ears, so I hope
you were not too flagrant in your language." Master Silverwing smiled.

           
Boremac
returned the smile with a grin of his own. "My prayers are between me and
the God whose service I have been pressed into. I am sure you can respect that.
You should open the package. Truth of it is, I've been wanting to know what was
so important to worry my butt for so long on that horse."

           
"You
know the blades I wield from the encounter in the wood where you discovered
Gregor and me. Is there more here than that?"

           
"Yes,
the fine blades will bite all the deeper for the care of Master Firebeard. He
sent along something more to win your favor, as if his name were not enough.
Come on now and open it."

           
"Master
Firebeard; there is a man I've not seen in too many years to count. Did you
have time and chance to visit his great forge? The skilled hands of that smith
forge many of the lands' greatest weapons and armor. It is a sin to see Nactium
and not see that giant of a man at work." Master Silverwing rested his
hands on the case as he spoke, taking pleasure in Boremac's discomfort. "The
stories that man could tell. Many heroes known throughout this land would have
fallen without the labors of that smith. No other smithy served the Knights of
the Golden Dragon within the walls of Nactium as well, or as long. I wonder
what possible gift he would have sent. You know, the last time I was in his
humble establishment, he offered a shining suit of plate armor befitting a
king. Perhaps we should drink his honor before opening the case." Boremac
felt as though he were watching from the shadows as brave adventurers fought
against terrible creatures, waiting for the great treasures that would be his
should they fall. Silverwing’s fingers drummed lightly on the wooden box before
him as the ranger lost himself in thought.

           
Boremac's
reaction was immediate and abrupt. "Drink, wench! Get over here and bring
my friend a mug! What kind of place is this where man has to lose himself in
thought, instead of drink? Come on and be quick lest old sorrows take his
tongue before we can drown them!"

           
The
barmaid bringing the ranger’s drink took her time going to get a mug of stout
ale. Something appeared to be in the works as the first server passed a mug
intended for Silverwing to one of the other barmaids. A decidedly unpleasant
smirk appeared on the new server’s full lips as her eyes met those of the
rogue, and Boremac could not help but think he should remember her. The mug
sloshed as she slammed it on the table near Boremac's hand, a bit too near, he
thought." Been right nice to be serving your friend.
 
You, we could do without. Don't go making
trouble for yourself. You'll find you and that mouth of yours out the door
before you can wiggle that tongue." Her finger was wagging in time as she
spoke, a sneer bending her lips. "Do not go thinking I don't remember the
last time you was here, Boremac. You best tip better this time, you rotten
scoundrel, and be glad
me
sister isn't working."

           
Boremac
was caught off guard by her words, but not for long. He had thought there was
something familiar about her face. "Aye, I see the resemblance now. She
was a fair one, to be sure, with quick hands." The rogue smiled, lost in
memories of his previous visit. The barmaid returned his grin with an innocent
upturn of her own mouth. Her hand swept tightly in a practiced motion, raising
a warm welt on his cheek.

           
"Red
suits you, Boremac." She tapped his bald head as she spoke, admiring her
hand-print where she had slapped him. "It wasn't my sister that you gave
that pitiful purse, it was me. All she got was the pleasure of your
company." The barmaid turned on her heel with a quick, "begging your
pardon, sir," to Master Silverwing as she moved to see the other patrons.
A low rumble of laughter coursed through the tavern, with a number of patrons
rubbing their cheeks in sympathy, as she sauntered away.

           
Boremac's
features reddened deeply as she moved away from their table, as if to disguise
the new mark on his cheek. "A man meets all sorts of lasses when he gets
in his cups. Seems I made quite an impression on two of the ladies of this
house last time I passed through."

           
Silverwing
cocked an amused eyebrow at the thief. "Well, it would appear age has not
affected your abilities in this area, at least. Pity the drink clouded your
mind or you would have remembered her sooner. You might have saved your pride a
wound, at least."

           
The
rogue rubbed the marked side of his face gently. He was grinning as the thief
realized Silverwing's mistake. "I think you read too much in the lady’s
words. She came upon her sister and me while we were sharing some time."
Boremac dragged his hand over his face as if trying to clear the memory of some
unpleasantness. "The tumble she gave me was not of the same kind as her
sister, if you follow. She caught me unaware with a clubbing and when I came to
consciousness, half my gear and all my coins were gone! I later learned that
the lady who had shared my bed was supposed to be wed soon to a noble of some
wealth. Well, needless to say, rumors of her involvement with myself and some
other patrons were not well-received by her suitor, despite his desire for her
hand."

           
"Sounds
like she is still serving tavern patrons. You probably saved the man trouble
down the road."

           
"That's
the rub, Ranger! I tried to explain that to the men he sent around to collect
me, but they were hearing none of it. That sot was really taken with her. Can't
say I blame him. She was definitely not hard on the eyes." Boremac rubbed
his shoulder as if tending to an old wound just remembered. "Took me a
time to heal up after that trouble. Good to know he left her to tend her own
bed, so to speak, for all the suffering I had on her account."

           
"It
is a shame you haven't learned anything from borrowing others' troubles, though
I should be glad of that to some extent." Silverwing lowered his eyes to
the case in front of him. "Let us tip our mug to Master Firebeard, the
greatest smith in all the lands, and take a look at what his latest labors have
wrought."

           
The
two men clinked their mugs in honor and at last Master Silverwing revealed the
contents of the long wooden case. The twin swords, masterfully crafted works of
the descendant of the original smith who served the Knights of the Golden
Dragon so skillfully, were no surprise. Their keen edges and glimmering hilts
had been restored to the condition they had possessed when these weapons first
left the forge. The additional space within the case was nearly full with other
gifts as well. There was a fine leather quiver nearly filled with arrows that at
first glance seemed unremarkable, though the nocks were formed of some metal
unknown to Boremac. The rogue noted the fletching as Master Silverwing drew his
fingers lightly across each bit of feather. The Ranger drew forth one of the
arrows and admired the workmanship of the shaft and point. "Magnificent
work! He once again combines form and function as art in order to maximize
potential."

           
Boremac
looked at the arrow, wondering what was so special about it. "Forgive me,
Ranger, but it's an arrow."

           
"Yes,
a wasp and a bee are both insects with wings and stingers, but the wasp brings
the anger of its sting many times while the bee may strike but once. These fine
arrows are wasps, my friend, and are a most damaging kind to the demons that
roam these lands." Silverwing handed one of the arrows across the table to
the rogue. "See the twisted head? The Smith has grooved them slightly so
they bite deep. These are no ordinary metal tips. They are silver and steel
alloy, not unlike the blade of my sword."

           
"Seems
to be a waste of precious metal to me." Boremac could admire the
penetration potential of the points but saw little use of the softer silver
alloy.

           
“Yes,
I can see that it would be to one unfamiliar with battling demons. Silver
weapons are the most potent against the inhabitants of the Abyss. Mere contact
with unblessed silver boils the blood in their earthly forms. Metal that has
felt the infusion of the light carries a much greater threat, as you witnessed
in the arena where Gregor faced the Raukohaun. No such creature can stand
before the power of the God of Light, or weapons suffused with said
power."