Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (2 page)

           
***

           
Galant's
concerns about the foaming sickness were unmerited. The ranger had said that
the natural balance would be maintained, and the forest had looked after itself
where the disease was concerned. The small rodents who had carried the
infection died within a few days. Gregor and the ranger became close
companions, tracking through the forest day after day. The rigors of the trail
strengthened the young man and it was not long before his constitution matched
that of his new Master. The woodsman insisted that Gregor learn to escape
danger before he would train him in the martial art forms. The student
complimented the teacher with the patience and perseverance he demonstrated
every day.

***

Gregor caught his wind as Silverwing
stopped abruptly in front of him as the pair completed their morning patrol of
the forest. “When you face an overwhelming opponent, it can be far more
advantageous to stay away from the threat you have spotted. I teach you
avoidance, and the art of measuring a threat, so that you can know when to
engage and when to flee.” Gregor nodded with understanding as the ranger
continued. “See there?” Silverwing pointed toward a small copse of trees where
there was a glint of metal as the sun filtered into the clearing ahead. Gregor
crouched as Silverwing's hand waved him down, though he could hear no movement
from the clearing. Silverwing's voice dropped to a whisper. “The one we see is
no indication that there are no more present. Poachers are cowards and travel
in packs like wild dogs. I leave these to you, Gregor. What is your plan?”

           
Gregor
took a moment to take stock of the ranger's words and his own weapons. The
short swords at his sides gave him little comfort as he considered facing
organized bandits. “Plan? The best plan would be to quietly circle around the
clearing and see what it is I face.” Sweat dripped down his cheek and Gregor
could only hope his mentor did not hear the trembling in his voice.

           
“A
valid thought and a serviceable plan, I suppose. Go on then and I will watch
for anyone sneaking around the campsite. It is quiet so be aware of where you
place your feet. These scoundrels will surely hear you if you break a stick as
you move.” Silverwing drew his bow into his hand and pointed toward the outer
edge of the trees.

           
Gregor
grasped his short swords and moved as quietly as possible, keeping the metal
gleam Silverwing had noted between himself and the trees as best he could. He
was beginning to feel a bit confident in his careful movements as he rounded
the far side of the grove, daring to move in closer. Only the sound of a slight
breeze disturbed the leaves of the trees, but it was enough. Gregor sighted the
shield hanging from the tree in the center of the clearing that had reflected
the morning sun's light. Someone was hunting, but it appeared that they were
not hunting animals. Gregor rose to shout a warning to Silverwing, nearly
having an arrow pierce his throat for the effort. “Down, Gregor! Now!”
 
Silverwing's yell sent birds into the air
from all the nearby trees as yet another arrow flew at the boy, sinking into
the tree which Gregor had shifted behind for cover. Another arrow narrowly
missed imbedding itself in Gregor's shoulder, its fletching whispering in
Gregor's ear as the boy dove into the trees behind him. Silverwing's pupil lay
in the underbrush, drawing each breath as if it were to be his last. He could
still hear nothing, yet another well-placed arrow struck near his head.

           
As
quickly as it had begun, the lesson was over. Silverwing moved blithely into
the clearing, calling for Gregor with the unmistakable sound of laughter in his
voice as he chastised his student. “Well, so much for the 'Let us see how many
there are and take them' approach! Come on then, Gregor, and bring my arrows
with you! Reflect on what you have learned while you dust off your clothes!”

           
The
initial swell of anger that surged through Gregor gave way to his own laughter
soon enough. Silverwing was a cunning mentor, that much was certain, and even
when suffering the man's twisted sense of humor the boy could not deny the
effectiveness of his training. “You are an evil Master, Silverwing! One day I
will get the better of you!”

           
Silverwing
waved a greeting as Gregor entered the clearing where the shield hung, the boy
noting the worn symbol of the Knights of Bella Grey at its center. “Good luck
in that pursuit, Gregor. Many have issued such a challenge and no single enemy
can claim that victory.” Silverwing held out his hand and replaced the arrows
in his quiver as Gregor passed them to him. “One day, with time and training,
you will be able to stand at my side as an equal. It will be interesting to see
who can outdo whom when that time comes.” Silverwing's smile shifted into the
studied look of a mentor once more before he continued. “So, tell me what you
have learned.”

           
Gregor
adopted his mentor's serious look before forming his reply. “What is behind you
can kill you just as easily as that which is in front of you.”

           
“And?”

           
This
time Gregor could not restrain his own smile. “Never underestimate your
opponent, never think the enemy is going to engage you honorably, and never
trust a ranger! You could have killed me!”

           
“Any
reasonable archer could have killed you several times, I assure you. You move
like a cow bearing a calf in her belly. I guess stealthy movements will never
be your strength. Good thing you can drop quickly.” Silverwing grinned as a
fiery flush colored the boy's cheeks.

“Damn you, Master Silverwing! I grow
tired of dodging through trees, nipping at your heels. When are you going to
train me to fight?” Gregor regretted the anger in his tone, but Silverwing
chose to ignore it.

           
Silverwing
cocked an eyebrow at his pupil. “Good! We begin your bow training tomorrow.
Remember,
Gregor, that
each lesson builds on the last
and you will do well.”

           
***

           
Galant
Silverwing rarely spoke of anything outside the woods and his training was
rigorous enough that Gregor had little time to be concerned about his mentor's
past. Most of the pair's time was spent running through the thick woods with
Gregor dodging low branches and slipping on protruding roots. When the ranger
was off on errands beyond Gregor's ability, the young boy that was quickly
developing into a man of some strength spent his time in the woods, taking what
peace he could from the thick scents of the wild flowers and the cleansing mist
that formed a nearly constant blanket over the forest floor.

***

When Master Silverwing began teaching
Gregor the art of weapon handling, he insisted that they focus on the bow
before the sword. His reasoning was this; Gregor was marked by a lack of
dexterity, and Silverwing felt the bow would improve his hand-eye coordination
while also adding an amount of control to the boy's choppy movements.

Gregor listened intently as
Silverwing expounded the virtues of the bow on the fine clear morning the day
after he had been taught the value of flight. It had been a full season since
the pair had met. As the crops in the fields grew heavy with their bounty, so
the young man had grown.

Gregor was more than ready to take a
weapon, any weapon, into his hands, knowing that each day brought him closer to
matching swords with his mentor. “We learn the bow before the blade because if
your enemy becomes aware of us, then a wounding or crippling shot from a
distance better serves us. It is rarely necessary to kill the woodland
creatures, except for food, and small game can be trapped with snares when the
need arises. Even the interlopers from the cities that come to hunt for
sport
,” the ranger spat out the last
word with vitriolic scorn, “make better messengers to other would-be sportsmen
with an arrow in their thigh. I personally enjoy shooting them in the leg and
whooping like a madman.”

           
Silverwing
let out a gibbering howl and flapped his arms wildly to demonstrate the proper
execution of this technique, making Gregor take a few rapid steps back. “If I
am particularly annoyed, or if they are repeat offenders, then an arrow or two
in the buttocks usually prevents another incursion. There are some pleasures to
be taken in the performance of one's duties.” He smiled, full of mischief, no
doubt thinking of Gregor's trials the day before. “It is my personal feeling
that all should find some amount of happiness in whatever they choose to do,
except for those who perpetuate evil. Evil should be summarily destroyed once
it is discovered.”

The last words seemed to Gregor to be
out of place. These statements would have been more appropriate coming from one
of the Knights of Bella Grey than the rough-cut Galant. This wasn't the first
time the woodsman had let slip glimpses into his beliefs. Gregor had wondered
about Master Silverwing's past from their very first encounter. There was the
curious nature of his name as well as the odd thought the man sometimes
voiced.
 
Silverwing made some sense when
taken with the longbow being the hunter's weapon of choice. Still, there was an
unspoken amount of weight that the name carried. Gregor considered it a title rather
than a given name, which only served to confuse the issue more.

***

           
Gregor's
targeting with the bow could only be termed random at best, even while he
attempted to fire on the still targets Silverwing had fashioned of cloth sacks.
Galant often had to subdue laughter, although just as often the ranger could
not restrain it. Silverwing had some time ago assembled a pulley system, to
teach tracking and leading moving enemies, and the ranger's dismay only
deepened with each day the boy left the targets untouched. After being driven
from nearby trees by the random shots Gregor unleashed, birds watching this
curious development in their forest got in the habit of perching directly on
the slow-moving targets. This seemed to give them the best advantage, because
no creature was safe in front of or behind the path of the target itself.

           
“The
best I can say of your skills with that bow, Gregor, is that there might be
some level of intimidation involved in the delivery of your misfires.
 
Anyone who would see the amount of intensity
you have in your eyes before you release the shaft would be certain to
attribute a great deal of skill to you. It would stand to reason that your
enemy might think you are missing on purpose as a warning.” Silverwing wiped
away tears of laughter before delivering the words Gregor had longed to hear
since his training had begun. “My young one, I feel that you have no more to
gain continuing your training with the bow. Despite the strength of your arms,
your trembling hands will never master the steady hold required to sight with
the bow properly. We will begin your blade training immediately, before any
innocent forest dwellers can be harmed by your pitiful aim. I can only hope the
long hours committed to the bow have bestowed some amount of dexterity and,
more importantly, balance, as we take up the blades. I fear, if this is not the
case, you will be relegated to using a heavy mace or club that might benefit
from your strength.”

           
Gregor
still bore the twin short swords from his previous home with the Knights of
Bella Grey, and his infrequent practice sessions when Silverwing had left him
in the forest while on unknown errands were still marked by a lack of
dexterity, but the power behind his thrusts and slashes was increasing. The bow
training had served to increase his ability to weigh his strikes as he wielded
the two short blades, and Gregor felt certain his mentor would be surprised at
his skills.

When he announced that the blade
training would begin, Galant had taken the young man to the village smith to
fit him for proper chain mail. Galant had explained that it would do no good to
train without the interference of armor. Considering the ranger wore only
leather armor, Gregor had found this strange, but he could find no reason to question
Silverwing at the time. More curious was the warm reception the ranger received
from the blacksmith, who was notoriously ill-mannered to everyone. Gregor was
amazed once more by how little he actually knew the man who had mentored him the
past season, and, as the harvest neared, Gregor could not help but wonder where
the road with this mysterious ranger might lead.

           
Then
there was the matter of the long swords that the smithy had kept maintained for
Master Galant. “I was wondering when you would pop in to check on your weapons,
Lord Silverwing. I take it the bow I acquired has been serving you well, as you
aren't dead from being alone in those woods.” The smith had said with a rough
chuckle.

           
“The
longbow has proven more than adequate. Few poachers leave the wood without
feeling its sting,” Silverwing assured him.

           
The
smith moved into the rear of his shop to retrieve a long package wrapped in
silk cloth. The man laid the package on the counter in front of Gregor and
Silverwing with the kind of reverence one would normally reserve for a holy
artifact. “They are a beautiful pair of swords, Lord Silverwing, and I admit I
would be happy to inherit them if you should pass on into the realm of the God
of Light.” As the blacksmith spoke and slowly began opening the package, it was
all the young man could do not to spout out the numerous questions that flooded
his mind. One thing he knew without asking; Galant Silverwing had been a knight
of some merit in years past. This knowledge answered none of the riddles
concerning the ranger and only created more unanswered questions. Gregor was
stunned to silence with admiration as Master Galant drew the weapons from their
simple leather sheaths, with the blacksmith grinning broadly at the wonder
reflected in the boy's eyes. Gregor's time with the Knights of Bella Grey had
given him great appreciation of properly crafted and well-balanced weapons, and
the two blades that lay before him were exquisite, crafted of an alloy he could
not recognize, and ornately carved with gilded hilts. Each of the hilts of the
twin blades was decorated with golden dragons intertwining their serpentine
forms down the full length of the handle, their long necks curving outward to
form the branches of the guard. The dragons’ bodies were woven around nearly
identical intricately cut crystals in the center of the grips. Golden claws
appeared to suspend each crystal at the top and bottom within the handle. The
crystals showered every surface near them with a spray of multicolored light,
reflecting the fiery glow from the forge. Gregor could only imagine how
beautiful they would appear in full sunlight. He thought he would faint if Sir
Galant passed these blades to him even for training.