Sword of Light (The Knights of the Golden Dragons - Book One) (12 page)

           
Priests bustled around the arena, directing carts that
were collecting the unconscious and tending the wounded. Gregor took in the
remnants of the battle, glad that the trial was ended and no one had been
mortally wounded. Shock froze him as a robed figure mounted the great boulder
where Father Wallin stood. He only had time to take in the danger as the metal
staff the man held glowed with a deep crimson light and swept toward the back
of Father Wallin's skull. The Father must have seen the fear etched in Gregor's
features and he reflexively turned to meet the unseen threat. Father Wallin's
flail wrapped around the glowing staff with practiced skill, but his opponent
had obviously anticipated the countering maneuver. The staff was pulled away
from the priest even as the light surrounding it brightened. The balls and
attaching chains of Father Wallin's flail took the brightened glow of the staff
they had trapped. Moments later Father Wallin's weapon exploded, throwing him
off his perch. The Father's face was covered in weeping wounds, and holes in
his chain mail emanated tendrils of smoke where he lay. Brother Findal and Sister
Nadia ran quickly to tend their fallen teacher. They dropped to his side,
divine light enveloping their hands as they prayed over him. It was all the
opportunity the other robed assailant needed as he moved to flank them. His
staff was glowing with the same queer crimson light as he touched the
unprotected heads of the distracted acolytes almost gently. The effect was
immediate as the pair of healers fell at Father Wallin's side, the healing
light extinguished even before they came to rest.

           
Any fear or doubt Gregor had entertained once the strange
mages had revealed themselves was gone. Gregor was a fury, moving with purpose
toward the attackers, released from his stupor by the assault. The sun’s
radiance began to diminish as the priest who struck Father Wallin began to
speak rapid, brutal words, raising a hand toward Gregor. “Move further one step
and their souls will weigh on yours alone. There is no need for them to die,
knave. Give us the broken blade and we will spare them.”

           
The fledgling holy warrior answered with peace and
purpose, seemingly startling both the individuals he now addressed. “The God of
Light protects this arena from power-wielders such as you. Any magics you hope
to use to escape will unravel even as you think of them.
 
Your threats are in vain. I do not have the
blade and would not give it to you if I did. These servants I call kin are all
servants to the God of Light as am I, and their souls will be called at his
time, and be at peace when they are. There will be no such peace for the two of
you. Agony you cannot imagine will be yours to bear for all eternity once I
separate your tainted souls from your bodies. Kill them if you must, but know
that they are all that stand between you and the bite of my blade.”

           
The robed figure on the boulder hesitated, absorbing
Gregor's words. His mouth formed a sardonic grin, but it was not the man who
felled Father Wallin that broke the silence. The silent smith who watched as
the exchange unfolded could hold his tongue no longer. “Gregor, they must be
spared! I have the broken blade with me now and it is of no use to anyone!”
Firebeard's voice trembled with anguish. “Let these fiends take what they have
come for and be gone. I cannot bear the weight of the loss of these innocent
souls if I have the power to prevent it.”

           
“So there is wisdom here after all.” The priest turned to
address Firebeard directly. “Bring me the blade and they shall be spared.” He
turned to sweep his eyes around the arena. “All the other priests will leave
now, or the innocent within these great walls will know the fury of the Abyss.
Come to me with the blade in your hands." Master Firebeard held out the
blade and walked toward the man at the stone. Gregor nodded to the priests
scattered throughout the arena and the healers moved out of the center ring
through the great doors that had admitted the challengers. The holy warrior's
hands tightened on his black sword as the master smith drew near the boulder.
His body tensed in preparation to strike down the priest near the bodies of his
fallen companions. No one was prepared for what happened next, except Boremac.

           
The priest watched the large man approach as he was
instructed. The plan had worked perfectly and his Master would be pleased. “The
people assembled now know the strength we wield. You owe your lives to this
humble servant, and you should enjoy each breath you draw from this day. The
end is com..." Blood spouted from a ragged hole that appeared in the man's
throat, cutting his words short. A long handle protruded from the back of his
neck where the balanced dagger had entered. Boremac broke the silence with his
words to his brothers and sisters of the Temple that surrounded them, compelled
to explain his actions." Someone had to do something. That man was really
starting to chafe me."

           
The remaining priest’s reaction was immediate." So
the choice is death!" His body drew into the robes the figure wore and his
staff disappeared with it. All that remained was a pile of cloth near the three
unconscious bodies. The mortally wounded priest on the boulder knelt with his
staff in his hand as he was suffused with crimson light that was so dark it
appeared to be black. The sun's rays disappeared and the arena was dropped into
twilight. Unlike his companion’s, this figure’s robes ignited, and the staff he
held dripped and melted into a molten pool at his knees. A great column of fire
burned at the top of the stone, giving birth to a terrible creature Gregor had
never seen before.

***

           
Boremac held out his hands as the two guards came to
collect him. The priests of the God of Light chanted as they rose from their
seats around the rock. His work here was done, and he was prepared to pay the
cost of his actions, unwilling to flee. Even as the demonic form emerged from
the flames at the boulder, the guards remained focused on apprehending the man
of the cloth who had slain the robed figure. Boremac did not blame them. They
had a responsibility to the people in the arena, though they could do nothing
to protect them from the hideous creature that had appeared. This was the
province of divine powers, and though Boremac was immediately concerned with
his own predicament, he knew that Gregor would be the one to pay most dearly
for the rogue's actions. The thrown dagger was guided by skills well-honed in a
life spent committed to self-preservation, but the motivation behind it went
against everything the thief had ever done. Boremac brought his eyes to meet
the two guards as he spoke," I submit to the will of the God of Light. I
trust in the wisdom of the power that guided my actions and will deliver us
from this evil." Boremac allowed the guards to take him, quietly adding
his voice to the chanting of the men and women of the faith. It was then the
rogue discovered peace he had never known, even as the jailers led him out of
the arena.

***

The creature had flesh
the color of obsidian covered in a fine coat of fur. A thick white mane
dominated its head and back. Four grotesquely powerful arms that were layered
with muscle sprouted from its torso, the top pair tipped with pincers instead
of hands and the lower pair ending in razor-sharp claws. Its head was a
blending of a humanoid skull with an elongated muzzle similar to a giant wolf.
Although many people in the arena viewing area fled at the sight of it, most
were mesmerized by its smooth animal grace as it charged from the flames toward
Gregor.

           
Gregor planted the balls of his feet, ready to receive
the beast’s attack. Moments stretched into hours as the demon closed the
distance between them, efficiently pumping clawed arms and legs to increase the
speed of its bounding gait. The pincers extending toward the warrior snapped
repeatedly as if anticipating cutting Gregor's flesh. The swordsman realized
too late that he had tossed away his shield during the previous melee and would
be sorely pressed to face all four appendages with only his sword. At the last
moment, Gregor moved toward the demon. He dodged to one side as his black blade
swept in a downward arc, severing one of the vile pincers. The creature ignored
the wound as it pivoted to face him, digging the razor-sharp claws of its
undamaged appendage into the dirt as the beast came to its full height within
arm’s reach of Gregor, drawing back its remaining limbs and pointing its muzzle
down at the warrior. The demon seemed to take real notice of the warrior for
the first time, rapidly barking at him and snapping his remaining pincer in a
warding gesture. The wounded arm was already regenerating, and Gregor had to
wonder what exactly this creature was capable of as a soft growth of flesh
began to harden. He moved backwards out of reach and tried to think. In the
brief time the demon was replacing its lost limb, Gregor heard a soft chanting
start in the seats of the arena.

           
The twilight enclosing the arena was filled with white
light emanating from the followers of the God of Light. It was a sign of faith
that would conquer the darkness, and Gregor felt his despair leave him. He knew
what he needed to do. Gregor turned from the creature and fled toward the
boulder. The beast pursued him immediately as the reforming pincer became fully
functional once more. The game was over, and the beast moved with remarkable
skill, ready to devour its prey. Gregor leapt into the air to take the high
ground the boulder provided and turned to meet his attacker. A small prayer was
all he could recite as he threw his legs out over the shoulder of the beast and
extended his sword to his side. As Gregor felt the tug of the earth, the
creature's head fell from his shoulders, but the struggle was not over yet. The
demon flailed its arms, blindly seeking the holy warrior who had removed its
head, which was already beginning to reform. Gregor had precious little time as
he moved to strike the final blow.

           
“The God of Light will endure you no longer, and as his
sword and protector, I banish you to the Abyss from which you came!" As
Gregor spoke these words, the blade of his black sword absorbed the white light
in the arena and burned with the divinity of the God of Light. Gregor plunged
the sword into the center of the thrashing arms, causing the demon's body to
convulse and shoot its limbs outward to the sides of its torso. The form
dissolved into a cloud of acrid smoke that smelled of brimstone, and the beast
was gone. Gregor fell to his knees and wept.

           
Chaos swept the arena as the unnatural darkness gave way
to the return of the sun’s light. The brothers and sisters of the God of Light
moved into the arena grounds where the battle had taken place, rushing to tend
the fallen. Divine healing knitted the weeping wounds sustained by Father
Wallin as the priests stripped away his damaged armor, inspecting his body.
Remarkably, only his leg had been broken by the fall from the boulder, and the
minor bruises would heal in time. Sister Nadia and Brother Findal were
unaffected by the magic that rendered them unconscious, though they could not
be awakened. Father Wallin was also trapped in unnatural sleep, marked by
shallow breathing and the slow beating of his heart. None of these three
figures could be roused and were gently carried to the infirmary at the Temple.

           
Firebeard moved to the top of the boulder, intent upon
examining the pool of metal that formed where the priest’s staff melted. The metal
had hardened where it lay and still glowed with the same the deep red that had suffused
the staff as it had struck Father Wallin. "Strange. I should chip away
some of the stone and examine it if I can." Firebeard mumbled to himself,
his curiosity and professional interests held in check only by his good sense.
Too many unknown powers had been revealed to risk touching the metal directly,
and it would be some time before the smith could determine anything about the
alloy's creation.

           
Channeling the forces that Gregor had used against the
demon had taken its toll on the holy warrior. He remained on his knees,
offering thanks to the God of Light for the power to overcome the creature.
Slowly, Gregor felt a measure of strength return to his limbs and was able to
shakily regain his feet. His eyesight had darkened, and even as he stood the
area around him appeared to be no more than a brightening haze filled with
shadows of movement. He felt hands take his arms to steady him as he swayed on
wobbly legs, wondering where his weapon had fallen. "We have you,
Gregor." Gentle words touched his ears. "Are you all right?"

           
"I think I will be fine. The power has taken my
eyesight but light returns. I cannot see much more than a bright blur."
Gregor blinked his eyes rapidly, trying to clear his vision.

           
A light chuckle came with the reply. "It is a wonder
you can see at all, Master Gregor. The prayers of at least a hundred brothers
and sisters poured through you. I would not be surprised if the God of Light
himself empowered your weapon. The power that flowed into the sword you wield
certainly appeared to be a direct intervention."

           
"We should get him to the infirmary before he gets
any heavier, brother. It will take more than the two of us to bear his weight
if his legs give out. Walk as much as you can, Master Gregor, but we will carry
you if we must."