Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (4 page)

3

Divided
Highways

Something in the darkness of the
nearly moonless night set Gregor's teeth on edge. Silverwing and Gregor were a
little over halfway to the city of Nactium after three days’ hard travel, and
there was no reason to think anything would keep them from entering the city in
a couple more days at their current pace. Still, this deep night caused a
tightening in the chest of the young swordsman that he had not ever experienced.
Gregor had learned not to dismiss the warnings his instincts offered, and he
brought both his blades from their sheaths even before Silverwing's voice broke
the silence of the night.

           
"Stop,"
Lord Galant's bow appeared in his practiced hands as if by magic. "Ready
your weapons and put your back against mine. Bring them up but not too high.
There are two at my back and four more at either side, moving in pairs. If you
strike to kill, you will expose yourself. Parry and feint as best you can, and
for God's sake stay at my back. I can't help you if you move away from
me."

           
Gregor
moved as instructed and two forms clothed in shadow appeared from the trees
near the road. He was steady at his mentor's back though he wanted desperately
to charge his attackers. A droplet of sweat trickled down his cheek slowly as
the figures approached. He could barely discern their forms in the night that
held only a sliver of moon. They had obviously planned their ambush carefully.
"Watch their feet and remember our training. These are professionals, not
mere road thugs. They must have been following us for some time." Gregor
was amazed at how calmly his mentor was considering the current state of
affairs. The first arrow Master Silverwing loosed was whisper quiet, and the
only indication it had struck true was a ragged moan followed by a soft thud to
Gregor's rear. There was the sound of rapid movement in the direction
Silverwing faced, indicating the ranger's attackers had grown bolder, or more
desperate, at the loss of one of their number. A rush of footsteps sounded as
Master Silverwing drew his blades, dropping his trusted bow to his side. Gregor
took no time to check who his mentor faced, bringing his blades up as he
snarled deep in his throat at the approaching pair of brigands.

           
The
hooded figures moved cautiously toward him, taking the measure of their
victim.
 
Each bore a vile dagger in their
right hands, with a jagged edge made for tearing. There were wicked spiked
balls, roughly a quarter stone's weight to Gregor's trained eyes, which were
hanging from the left hand of each attacker, attached to one another by thin
metal links of chain. Gregor could only guess at the purpose of these strange
weapons. His enemies paused as they entered the road, planting their feet and slowly
spinning the odd weapons in their left hands as if the killers were a matched
pair of jugglers. Gregor brought up his blades defensively as the pair pivoted
onto their boot tips to release, and the missiles flew from their hands in
unison. Gregor realized the purpose of the missiles too late as the thin iron
chains between the spiked orbs encircled his blades and moved down toward the
hilts of the swords. He managed to drop the blade of his stronger arm quickly
enough to shed one of the vicious missiles, but the other stuck true to its
purpose.
 
His weaker hand took the full
impact of the spikes and the weight of the metal balls buried the spurs in his
hand. He had no time to dwell on the excruciating pain. The work of their
initial attack complete, the killers moved to engage him. The first strikes
were easily parried as Gregor gave himself over to his training and the
protection of his swords. The pair before him moved into and out of his reach
with cunning and patience, as if he were a mouse cornered in a barn when the
cats had come to play. The blood dripping from his left hand told them all they
needed to know of his wound, and they seemed to be enjoying wearing him down.

           
Gregor
felt a grudging respect for the assassins, for surely they must be trained in
the arts of death, as they toyed with his defenses. He didn't know how long he
could last without being mortally struck, and he knew full well, as the melee
progressed, that they could slay him with ease. Master Silverwing was firm at
his back, and Gregor resolved to hold as long as his mentor required. The only
reassurance the young warrior had was a near constant clang of metal at his
rear along with grunts of disgust and pain that were not Master Galant's. The
fight seemed to go on for hours, when all at once everything changed.
 
Silverwing shifted to one side and turned,
bringing his shoulder to meet Gregor's on his weaker side.

           
"This
youngster
 
is
not worthy of your skills, dark ones. Flee into the night or face the fate of
your companions." There was a soft thud behind Gregor and Master
Silverwing, emphasizing his words as the last of the four assassins he had
faced struck the ground. Gregor did not dare to look away from the two men
before him, though he could sense by his mentor's tone that Lord Silverwing was
smiling. The pair considered the offer momentarily before slashing violently at
the ranger and the student, but the killers could not match Lord Silverwing's
skilled blades. The ranger's blades extended expertly and in one smooth motion
stabbed through the leathers they wore, burying a sword to its hilt into each
of the attackers.

           
"As
you wish," Silverwing uttered the words almost conversationally. He pulled
the blades free and shoved Gregor back, driving an elbow into his student's chest.
The movement, intended to protect the young warrior, cost the ranger some
amount of his own protection. The men swung their vile daggers in a final act
of defiance. Silverwing's thrusting elbow forced Gregor beyond the reach of the
killer directly in front of him, but the other facing Master Silverwing drove
his dagger into its intended target, burying the jagged blade in Silverwing's
shoulder. The dagger remained where it had pierced Silverwing's leather
shoulder guard as the last of the assassins fell dead, joining their fallen
companions.

           
"What
are we going to do with the bodies, Master Silverwing?" Gregor felt no
remorse for those slain, but he did not feel it was right to leave them in the
road. "We have to get aid for your wound as well. Your shoulder; should I
remove the blade? It seems the jagged edge might tear it apart and I am no
healer."

           
"Hold,
Gregor," Master Silverwing spoke through gritted teeth as once more he
retrieved his bow. The ranger sighted carefully before
loosing
a single arrow into the darkness with a whoosh of breath and a curse. A
flapping of leathery wings was the only indication that he had come close to
his intended target, and the curse that escaped him told Gregor that his mentor
had missed. "There will be the hells themselves to pay for the lack of aim
in that shot! We are exposed every moment we remain here. Do not trouble
yourself about my wounds. Our God serves us as we serve him, and I can bind
myself readily enough. Cut the shoulder guard away from the blade, and I will
mend the wound. Apply as little pressure to the dagger as possible."

           
Gregor
removed the shoulder guard as instructed, casting aside the ruined chunks of
hardened leather as he cut them away. The wound bled grievously, no longer
restricted by the padding beneath the leathers. Master Silverwing removed his
leather glove from the hand opposite his wounded shoulder, focusing his
strength as he prayed in a whisper for the divine power he required. A gentle
blue and silver light enveloped the huntsman's hand as he moved his palm over
the wound. "I will need you to remove the blade, Gregor, so I can heal the
wound properly." The open flesh began to knit almost immediately as Gregor
drew out the jagged dagger, covering the wound in fresh pink skin. As the bleeding
stopped, Master Silverwing set about cleaning his leathers with a cloth from
his pack. "It is not the worst I have had, but it will take time to heal
completely. The priests will be knitting bone in my shoulder and curing the
wound for some time. It is time for you and me to part company, Gregor. It is
far later that I would have thought, and the price on my head must be great.
The services of the Brotherhood of the Black Hand are much too expensive to be
wasted hunting travelers on the roads." Master Silverwing examined the
dagger closely, pointing out the tell-tale markings on it as he did. "The
obsidian handle and the
fist
carved on the hilt are
unique to each blade. The owners form them when they become initiates of the
Brotherhood. Each weapon leaves a signature mark as it pierces the flesh. They
rarely group into bands of more than two, and I have never heard of this many
working as one before. It is too hard to cover their tracks in so large a
group. Most of the people within these lands never encounter more than rumors
of their existence. These are black times indeed, Gregor, and you must be
constantly on your guard. The mark of the Overseer of the Brotherhood himself
appears to be on me. The bat I failed to slay that flew from the trees is his
servant, and will bring word of the failure. Such interest is curious. Look
here, “Master Silverwing knelt beside the body of the one who wounded him. “See
the ring, here? This man was no novice. Few bear this bit of jewelry outside
the proven members of the evil Brotherhood. Curious that he should lead a band
of so many that were untested. I assume we were to be their final trial before
the rite of passage into the Black Hand. This one must have fallen out of favor
somehow and been seeking to redeem himself. Yes, dark times for us all. The
Overseer is the one who slew one of my students long ago and disappeared into
the darkness. The bastard was little more than the leader of common brigands at
that time. I have spent much coin and many years looking for him. Tales of his
ascension into the higher ranks of the Brotherhood of the Black Hand were
obviously accurate, and it would appear my inquiries have not gone unnoticed.
Gregor, you must take my swords to the Temple of the God of Light in Nactium.
The priests there will recognize them and will complete your training."
With this, Silverwing handed Gregor his swords and took Gregor’s in return.

           
Gregor
was overwhelmed by the words of his mentor. He was honored and confused by the
implications of Silverwing's trust, with the giving of the ranger's sacred
swords into his care. "There must be some other way to send word to the
priests at Nactium. You honor me with your suggestion that I am fit to bear
your weapons, but I feel your faith in my abilities is misplaced. What if you
are mistaken about the target of these killers? Would they not have struck you
down long ago if that were their intention? Even with the final strikes they
made against us, as your blades pierced them, they did not appear to attempt to
kill us. Cutting our throats would have served them better."

           
Silverwing
met the young warrior's eyes before taking Gregor's wounded hand in his own.
"You assume too much, Gregor. Trust my knowledge and I will trust my
faith. There is no time to send word to the priests ahead of you, even if I
reach Travelflor by tomorrow. Let me heal your hand. It seems the dread spikes
have bitten you deeply. You are lucky that they were meant to slow instead of
cripple you." It took only moments for Master Silverwing to restore his
flesh.

           
"How
am I to find the city without you? These roads are no paths I know."
Gregor felt the fear that was becoming his near constant companion return. He
marveled at his bare hand that had only moments before been punctured and
bleeding. Gregor flexed it several times, curling his fingers into a tentative
fist. A slight tingling sensation slowly worked its way out of his joints. He
marveled at the divine healing wielded by his mentor. The stories of great
deeds and acts of healing were one thing; it was very different to experience
it.

           
His
mentor's answer came gently. "Gregor, our God will guide you through this
night to safety, and it will take time for others to be sent. With any luck,
they will be tracking me. Stay off the road and keep a straight path. Travel in
that direction as straight as you can until the sun rises, then follow the sun
across the sky for at least a day before you rest." Silverwing paused to
orient Gregor in the proper direction before continuing. "That should take
you deep enough into the forest to elude any that might follow. You should come
upon huntsmen as your travel these woods, or more likely they will find you.
Mention my name and they will keep you safe, but do not tell them where you are
going. Those who live off the bounty of the forest can be trusted, but there is
no way to know to what lengths the Black Hand might go should they discover who
you really are. I will send word to the Temple once I know what must be done.
Guard yourself against the wild predators in the wood. The can be vicious, but
if you are noisy enough the animals should stay away. I doubt they would find
the smell of you appealing in any case." Master Silverwing paused for a
moment, drawing two leather pouches from his belt, one appearing to be empty,
while the other was heavy with coin. He deftly transferred a few coins and gems
to the empty pouch before tossing a few coins to the ground where the corpses
lay. Silverwing handed the lighter bag of coins and gems to Gregor. "This,
and the gifts of the woodsmen, should take you to Nactium with enough for a
proper inn and a donation to the temple once you arrive. The coin I have left
here should be ample to make sure our friend disposes of the bodies and follows
me."
 
Master Silverwing raised his voice
enough to be heard in the trees as he spoke of the "friend." This
time the arrow sighted flew true, as an unidentified watcher fell from his
perch among the branches. "Don't worry, Gregor, he is not dead, just
startled. The blessings of our God have many faces, and I have little doubt
this man serves some purpose yet to be seen. He won't be following you in any
case." Master Silverwing's smile was infectious, and Gregor found his
heart was lighter for seeing it. "We have no time to waste. Take my swords
and go into the wood, my brother, and know that the spirit guides you. Do not
stop until sunset tomorrow. You should be out of harm's reach for now. Just
follow your feet west until you make it to the walls of Nactium." The two
parted ways, Silverwing continuing down to the road as Gregor moved off into
the forest.