Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (34 page)

           
She
did not turn to acknowledge the knight as she answered him. “No!” Her eyes met
Boremac's as she issued orders to the rogue. “Strip him! Hurry, damn you!”

           
Boremac
ran his hands across Gregor's armor, releasing the bindings and pulling away
the plates that covered his body. The burning pustules were everywhere, eating
through the cloth between the metal covering and Gregor's skin. Tana tore away
the remaining bits of silken cloth as she tossed the armor plating and leather
ties to one side, leaving Gregor's naked body exposed. Despite the weeping
sores covering his form, the holy warrior's chest still rose and fell
irregularly, as his lungs struggled to draw in air. Tana took a moment to look
at Gregor, swept by a wave of despair, before she spoke in a whisper to the
only one that could save him. “Goddess, I entreat you. In the years of my life
protecting the wilds over which you reign, I have never asked for anything. The
gifts I possess have always been used in service to you and for the glory of
the natural realm.” Tana reached out to take the tiny glowing light into her
hand, staring into it as she prayed. “You are the mistress of the natural
passage of all things. You have power over life and death of animals and
plants, including the natural passing of men. Please, I beg you to remove the
devourer from this servant of the God of Light. I have no power you do not
give, and I cannot remove the scourge within him.” Her prayer did not go
unanswered.

           
The
cavern filled with the bright colors of the wood in spring; the browns of tree
bark, the deep green of the grasses and leaves, the clear blues of the flowing
streams and still, deep lakes. The translucent female form that materialized
near Tana wore a long gown composed of all the beauty of nature and the scents
of thousands of flowers tingled in the nostrils of all those in the cavern.
Long golden hair fell down the avatar's back to the floor, shimmering as if
sunshine coursed through every strand. “Tana, my beautiful daughter and devoted
huntress, I could never deny you. He will be whole once more. Give me the
spirit of the warrior.”

           
As
Tana extended her hand, the tiny light that had emerged from Gregor drifted to
settle at the center of the Goddess's forehead. The translucent form merged
with Gregor's body, gently lowering itself into him. Gregor's eyes sprang open
immediately, as the acidic fluid covering his skin turned into water and pooled
around him, healing his wounds wherever it touched. The initial pain that
Gregor experienced forced him to fill his lungs with air, crying out as his
internal organs were made whole again. The young knight's features softened in
moments as his body was restored. Soft, deep breaths began to flow steadily
from his lips as Gregor fell into a deep sleep. Tana lowered her forehead to
touch the knight's, wanting to be close to him, and was rewarded with the most
beautiful smile she had ever seen, as Gregor's cheeks flushed with a healthy
pink glow.

           
Boremac
was first to break the silence, shifting uncomfortably under the holy warrior's
weight. “Well.....”

           
Tana
looked up at the rogue and smiled, bringing a finger to her lips. “We should
take him home.”

           
Boremac
only replied with a nod.

Epilogue

           
The
nightmares had ended and Gregor was glad. He had made it back to his village in
time for the planting season, and welcomed the simple smells of his father's
farm and the feel of earth in his rough hands again. Tana had grumbled only a
bit when she joined him in the fields, planting the seeds that would bring new
life to the lands that had been troubled for so long. The huntress was of the
feeling that the Goddess would provide, and she saw little need to dirty her
hands when the plants did fine on their own. Their union was only a few days
away and already the village's normally small population had swollen to the
point of encroaching on the surrounding woods. Traders and woodsmen from across
the lands had joined the many common people that had come to witness the
joining of Tana and Gregor, and pay their respects to all those who had
sacrificed their lives to restore the balance of this world.

           
Father
Wallin insisted upon performing the ceremony that would link the rest of Tana
and Gregor's lives together as they rebuilt the Order of the Knights of the
Golden Dragon. Mistress Mithrina would join the priest of the Temple of Light,
overseeing the rituals of devotion that were to be observed in honor of the Goddess
of Nature. Gregor could not help but wonder what the future held for him and
his bride. Peace reigned across the lands, and the bond between the Goddess of
Nature and the God of Light their union represented was only one of the signs
of the new strength of the protectors of the world. The new Knights of the
Golden Dragon were being drawn from the servants of both deities; an occurrence
unknown in all the history of the Order, and the new members would be trained
in the service of both before being knighted. Already the number of the knights
had grown by three: Dramor, the mountain ranger who had carried Fasurel to
safety and struck a powerful blow against the blood orcs in the wild lands of
Zanthfar, Tana the huntress, who had committed her life and ultimately her
faith to Gregor, and Nadia, the healer and mistress of the staff who had almost
been slain by the priests of the Order of the Crimson Night at Gregor's weapons
trial. Gregor felt a bit of regret that Lord Silverwing would not be traveling
through the lands with them, but the old knight that had been his first teacher
had earned the rest. Lord Silverwing would join the priests in Nactium and
oversee the final stages of training the knights that would fill the ranks of
the Golden Dragon, and Gregor knew that his presence would be felt in the skills
of each knight that the master of the blade and bow touched.

           
Master
Fasurel Stonecutter had made a nearly complete recovery from the wounds and
broken bones he had suffered, troubled only by a slight limp that hardly slowed
the stocky ranger at all. He had remained in his mountain home, training new
clan members to replace the terrible losses suffered by the guardians of the
mountains. The rough mountain man had insisted on joining the rangers and
druids in the woods with Mistress Mithrina after he was whole enough to take up
an axe. He said simply that those who protected the wilds knew no boundaries
when the lands were threatened. The threat of the barbarian orc tribes and
roving goblin war parties was swept away soon after their demonic brethren had
fallen along with their creator.

           
The
day of the festivities Gregor was troubled. Master Firebeard, the blacksmith
who had labored so hard at his forge for all the members of the group, was
nowhere to be seen. The huge man would have been difficult to miss, even among
all the milling strangers. Gregor had spent much of the day before, and the
morning of this one, making inquiries and searching for the master weapon
smith. Gregor reasoned that the man must have been delayed, and set to dressing
himself in the armor the smith had fashioned for him in preparation for the
binding ritual. Master Firebeard would not miss the union he predicted so long
ago.

           
Gregor
and Tana exchanged their vows of commitment, following the guidance of Father
Wallin and Mistress Mithrina each in their turn. As the last blessings were
offered, a path opened along the road to where the pair stood, and Master
Firebeard struggled toward the bride and groom carrying an immense chest that
was nearly as wide as the massive blacksmith was tall. The crowds grew quiet as
the smith dropped his heavy burden to the ground, sending a tremor through the
feet of all those near him. Master Firebeard raised his voice in exultation as
he addressed Tana and Gregor. “Praise the Goddess and God alike! I feared I
would miss the ceremony entirely. Looks like I have come at just the right
time. Master Gregor, do not keep your lady waiting on my account. Kiss the
bride!” Gregor embraced Tana, all too ready to intertwine his fate with hers.
Only one person noted the solitary howl that rose from the woods nearby as Tana
touched her lips to Gregor's.
 
“Yes, I am
truly happy at last,” was all the huntress whispered as she noted the call.

           
Master
Firebeard apologized for his delay, explaining he had found the great oaken
chest outside the door of his shop two days past and surmised that the box was
intended as a gift for the two, judging from the intertwined golden Dragons
that served as the centerpiece of the lid. It was a struggle to find pack
animals available to pull the wagon required for the delivery of it, delaying
the smith's arrival even more. “There was no sign to indicate who sent the
gift, or what it might contain, but the lock on the clasp is well beyond my
abilities to decipher. There is not even a key hole that I could find, though I
did not study it long.”

           
Boremac
appeared at the master weapon smith's side as if he had heard his name called,
with each of his hands filled with a goblet spilling amber liquid. The rogue
slid around to the front of the massive chest with grace that Filcher, Master
Firebeard's pet weasel, would have envied. He handed the two drinks in his
hands to Master Firebeard over the top of the chest, admiring the golden
Dragons that adorned the lid. “Ah, excellent workmanship in the release. Let me
see, there should be a pressure switch...” Boremac deftly probed at the shield
in the center of the lock with the tips of his fingers. A small round portion
near the middle retracted and set the tiny swords in motion, causing the two
blades at either side of the decorative coat of arms to curve upward as if in
salute. There was an audible click inside the mechanism, and Boremac smiled,
appearing to be satisfied. “May want to stand back a bit.” Without further
warning, Boremac slid a heavy long sword out of the sheath of a nearby
guardsman and wedged it between the lid and catch of the chest. The rogue
gently levered the lid open and, with practiced caution, peered through the
small crack he exposed. “Always best to check before you stick in your hand.
Could be any number of nasty surprises inside.”

           
Satisfied,
the rogue stuck his fingers under the lid and flipped it open. The gold and gems
within caused a great drawing of breath among all those who could see it. Among
the wealth was a small envelope, bearing a small black seal of wax securing the
top flap of parchment at the
back.
The front was
marked with a simple inscription reading, “Lord Gregor Lightsword, Knight of
the Golden Dragon.” Gregor recognized the seal immediately as he received the
letter from Boremac. There was no mistaking the mark of the Black Hand. The
parchment read simply as follows:

           
Lord Lightsword,

                       
It is with some pleasure that we inform you
that with the death of Father Tur'morival, the contractual obligation binding
the Black Hand to assist in determining your fate is no longer valid. Our
standard code of operation requires that the payment for said contract be
returned to the living heirs of the original contractor. In this case, there is
no such heir to receive the return of said payment, and thus we are obligated
to dispense the contracted amount of collected funds as we see fit. We do not
retain payment for contracts we are unable to complete to the satisfaction of
the contracting party.

           
In light of your actions and the consequences of said
actions, we have chosen to deliver said monies to you for dispersal, as you
deem appropriate. On a more personal note, we thank you for your part in
restoring balance to this world. Despite rumors to the contrary, the Order can
find no profit in the destruction of the world we serve.
 
Learn from the failure of your enemies and
choose your allies carefully, Lord Lightsword. Remember that there is never
light without darkness. We have chosen to accept no contracts that would bring
us into direct conflict with you or those who will bear your name in honor of
your sacrifice and noble deeds. The shadow of the Order of the Black Hand will
not darken your back again.

           
There
was no signature. Gregor folded the message carefully and waved Boremac over.
“Master Boremac, you have shown grace and commitment far beyond your calling.
Take the contents of this chest and do whatever you see fit with it. No one
will remove the coin from this chest without your leave.”

           
Lord
Silverwing nodded his approval, as Gregor glanced over to where the fellow
knight stood. The old Knight of the Golden Dragon, and soon to be mentor to those
that would be honored to join the Keepers of the Light, seemed pleased with
Gregor's faith in the rogue. Both reasoned Boremac was due some reward
befitting his prowess, and what better gift than trust and coin could they
offer?