True Masters of the Light

This story is part of 'The Skydancer Chronicle''.
The next installment is here: Into the OutlandsThe previous installment is here: Blood Knight
== True Masters of the Light == 
THE SKELETON ELF’S head erupted, disintegrating into a shower of fragments and dust that blew away in the wind. A bloody mess of what remained of its rotting organs splattered against my outstretched arm, the palm of which was still glowing with the after burn of my Judgement.
“Ninth Ashes, stay close!” I roared into the battle.
We were deep in the Ghostlands, the Blackened Woods of southern Quel’Thalas. Technically we were all still training, all still learning to wield the Light as a weapon and combine it with the combat technique we had learned previously. Yet learning was a steep curve in the eyes of the Order and the Magisterium, and now we were fully fledged Knights, we were put to battle just as those before us.
I strode through the heap of bones that had crumbled around my feet, making a point to crush the skull of a fallen skeletal mage under my plated heel. On my shoulderguard was engraved a large ‘IX’ besides which was a single stamp of Liadrin’s crimson phoenix. Having had a natural aptitude for controlling the Light I had earned myself the place of a unit leader, a group of myself and four others known as the ‘Ashes’ belonged to the larger Ninth Division of the Order’s Knights. Overall we were commanded by one of the Knight-Masters, Talendris Dawnglow, a venerable elf who was getting close to his retirement during the Second War. As he always reminded us, desperate times called for desperate measures, and we were happy to have such an experienced soldier at our head.
Beside me were the ‘Talons’ and the ‘Embers’ as well as one contingent of Farstriders. The tension between us all was thick, as it always was when Knights fought alongside Rangers. There was an unusual amount of distrust between us; the Farstriders not understanding out methods and not believing that they had been knocked from their pedestal at Quel’Thalas’ finest. Us Knights often blamed them for many a failure, and didn’t trust them to watch our backs when we needed it.
“You’d better have this under control, Skydancer!” One of them called at me, his arrow barely missing my head as he shot across my shoulder.
“This isn’t the Invasion, Gladestalker!” I called back to him, spinning my sword in an arc to lop the head from a shambling undead as I turned to give him a nasty smirk. “We won’t fuck up like you did.”
I regretted the words as soon as they had left my mouth, the pained expression on his face as though he had just been stabbed. It was a heavy insult for me to pass, I realised. The heat of battle making me unable to control my tongue and I had loaded the entirety of Silvermoon’s fall on him and his companions. I was painfully reminded of the ranger who had saved my life. The one who had hidden me from danger, most likely at the cost of her own life.
“Hide!” I could still hear her voice clear as day. “Hide and do not move!”
I was ripped back to my sensed by a gnarled, clawed hand in my hair, tugging me onto my back. I kicked on the floor, watching in painful slow motion as the plagued creature loomed over me. Light erupted from my left hand again, a powerful blow of the energy meeting the creature against its rotting stomach, tearing it in two. I rolled aside and retched, shutting my eyes briefly to shake the sight from my head. The smell would have to sort itself out later.
“Scorch the earth!” I cried to my unit, and whoever else wasn’t prudish enough to ignore orders from another unit’s leader. “We need space to breath, for fel’s sake!”
As if controlled by a timer, those not immediately engaged in combat dug their weapons deep into the blighted soil and pulsed the Light through them, the earth in a small radius around each cracking and eventually bursting with streaks of golden magic. The Scourge upon such ground hissed, some intelligent enough to realise they were harmed by it, other ploughing onwards, only to have their brittle legs give way beneath them, causing their bodies to collapse onto the holy ground and writhe in pain.
The effect didn’t last long, but long enough for us to regroup. The Farstrider unit had swarmed between us all, and we formed a perimeter around them, trusting their shots to be true. Our respite was short, a meathook hurtling between our ranks to catch one of the rangers through the shoulder. I noticed, as he tumbled past us through the air, it was the same one I had exchanged insults with not moments before.
I cursed to myself and flicked my sword arm forwards, beckoning two of my Ashes to my side.
“Hold the smaller ones off. Make sure the Farstriders pick off the necromancers, and then we’ll be free of this mess.”
“What are you doing?” They knew me too well.
“I have a favour to repay.”
“A favour?”
“Don’t ask.”
I cast a Seal across my blade and broke rank, the two of them filling the gap I left immediately, calling the orders I had given to the Farstriders behind them. I was soon aware I no longer had any arrows flying past me, all of them now redirected at the living targets that were causing this mess in the first place. I was glad for their compliance, but was beginning to regret going alone as I hurled myself through the small mass of skeletal adversaries, scorching their dead flesh form their bones as my sword ripped clean through them. I could see Gladestrider not far from me now, having fallen from the hook he was in a pile on the floor at the feet of an abomination.
“Gladestrider!” He ignored me, caught up in his own demise. “Hey! Fuck-up!” That made him listen. He began to pull himself my way across the floor, the hulking creature behind him soon to realise its toy was escaping it raised one of it’s giant hands, ready to slam a rusty looking meat cleaver down through the fleeing elf.
I hurled myself the final distance, raising my sword to bring off the hand of that patched up limb. We didn’t have long to make our escape, trying hard to run back through the pile of dead Scourge between us and the rest as I half carried him on my shoulder. The abomination roared behind us, my ears twitched as I heard the chain of its meathook sail through the air. I dropped Gladestrider, thrust my sword upwards to tangle in the rusty chain and let the stupid beast wrench it clean from my hands. By the time we had got back to relative safety I was a sword short, cut up and bloodied across the face, but alive and with a heavy weight off my shoulders.
“We’re even,” I panted, dropping him down between his own contingent. They too had done their jobs, the battle beginning to ease up around is.
“Even?” He asked, trying to hold off the pain of his ripped shoulder as I cast what mediocre healing magics I could across it.
“Even,” I repeated. “Don’t ask.”
“DON’T LET THAT little victory go to your head, Soraya,” Master Dawnglow glanced down to me as we walked to his chambers. “You still have a lot to learn. Such as not being rash and overconfident. Don’t think you would have gotten away with that little display of bravado without me hearing.”
“I saved his life,” I commented back bluntly. I wasn’t entirely sure there was a downside to that.
“We could have lost you both.”
“You didn’t.”
He took a breath through his teeth. I shut up.
“Just don’t do that again, Skydancer. And remember that just because you can throw a spell with some unnatural skill, you’re still a mediocre combatant. How does that work, anyway?”
“How does what work, Master?” We stopped at his door, which he opened for me.
“Ladies first,” he let me step in. I stood stiffly beside his desk as he rounded it and slumped into his comfortable looking chair. “Sit. How are you so capable at manipulating the naaru, despite, from what I have heard, not excelling in any magical field previously.”
I wasn’t rightly sure of the answer to this myself, and to this day it remains a mystery to me. I did, however, have my theories on the subject.
“It’s my vengeance, sir,” I stiffened in my chair, hoping I wasn’t sounding an idiot. “My need to punish the Light for abandoning us when we needed it the most drives me to control it. It feel…” I hesitated. What did I feel? “I feel as though in controlling it, it belongs to me. It doesn’t have the choice to abandon us again now. It’s my tool and I bend it how I choose.”
He nodded very slowly, tenting his fingers like some evil mastermind as he surveyed me. I remained ill at ease, my gloved hands pressed tightly to my armoured thighs, my back straight, not touching the chair. I kept my eyes on him for a period, then flicked them around the room as I became uncomfortable under his gaze. It was of reasonable size, another door in the left wall leading to private chambers. On the walls were lit braziers and weapon racks, holding several swords. Aside from those, he had little decoration.
“Are you aware of Knight-Lord Bloodvalor?”
“Of course,” I brought my attention back to him.
“It is his job, amongst a select few others, to oversee those Knights who show promise. A sort of… personal tutelage, if you will.”
“I see.” I knew this.
“He wants to see you.”
“Now?”
“Now.”
I stood and saluted against my chest. I knew far better than to keep a Knight-Lord waiting. I was about to leave Dawnglow’s room when I realised I had made a near fatal error.
“Master?” I felt too embarrassed to look over my shoulder at my Commander, stopping in his doorway.
“He’s waiting for you in the sparring hall, Miss Skydancer.”
“Thank you, sir.” I saluted again, and hurried on my way.
The circular room echoed with my footsteps as I entered. Usually filled with sounds of clashing swords and shuffling feet it unnerved me to have the place so quiet. I pricked my ears, listening for anything other than myself. Eventually I caught sight of Bloodvalor, standing still as a statue close to the wall. I quickened my pace, the thump of my fist to my breast clattering loudly as I saluted him, my voice bouncing from wall to wall as I addressed him respectfully.
“Chain-mail off, Skydancer,” his voice scared me. It wasn’t loud of particularly powerful, but the kind of voice that you knew held contempt in every word. He disliked me already, I knew. Yet he had summoned me. This paradox confused me for longer than he was willing to abide. “Must I repeat myself?”
“No, Milord,” I dipped my head respectfully and removed my outer layers of armour, leaving me in the leathers I wore underneath. Far more suitable to train in, but they offered little protection.
“I want you to spar with me. I shan’t hold back, so nor shall you. Do we understand one another, Knight?”
“With certainty, Milord,” I drew my blade from my hip, as did he.
We circled one another for half a minute. He seemed casual and at ease, whereas I was tense. I eyed him head to foot almost constantly, clocking his poise, his footwork, in which hand he held his blade and in which way he was likely to strike me. Too wrapped up in the nonsense of my thoughts I barely noticed as he swung at me. I jumped aside, watching as a few strands of my ashen hair fell to the floor. He was on me again, this time we parried and clashed blades often, stepping around each other in small circles. I was panting already, grateful that he too seemed to be strained with the intensity in which we sparred. The difference was that I understood I couldn’t keep this up.
I pushed him away from a clash, giving myself a few moments to catch my breath before again he had his sword to mine. He was leading the fight now, my parries becoming sloppy, my arm aching as each heavy clash of his sword to mine sent painful shockwaves through my bones.
With a final, mighty blow he sent my sword hurtling from my grip to clatter across the floor. In my desperation, I twisted into his body and punched his ribs hard. He grunted in pain, stepping back, his eyes flaring brightly in his anger at the cheapness of my attack. I deserved the backhand that sent me to the floor. I deserved the stamp of his boot against my arm and I deserved the pommel of his sword crashing into the back of my hand, crushing the bones beneath it. He crouched low, breathing the words into my drooped ears.
“Next time, I will not suffer your cheap tricks, Skydancer. This is not the battlefield. Your rash behaviour will not get you rewarded here.”
Stupidly, amidst the pain and deep, stinging shame I felt relief. There would be a next time. I hadn’t ruined whatever he had wished for me already. I pushed myself to my feet as he got off my arm, holding my broken hand timidly to my stomach.
“I apologise Milord,” my voice wavered. I cleared my throat to speak more clearly. “It won’t happen again.”
He sneered at me and turned away, pacing out of the large room. With his back to me, I bent at the waist and seethed in pain through my teeth, trying to be as quiet as possible.
“I hear you’re skilled with manipulation. Time to put that healing magic to good use, wouldn’t you say?”
I hated him at that moment. This was a lesson hard learned.
DESPERATE TIMES CALLED for desperate measures. That mantra rang clear in my head whenever I needed to justify anything that I would usually have considered abhorrent or insane. When I first heard that a group of free-willed undead were offering us an alliance, and a possible path of acceptance into the Horde I repeated that phrase for what seemed like days on end and not once did it make me feel at ease with the decision.
“They’ll betray us,” I spoke my thoughts aloud into my dormitory.
“Want more wine, Soraya? Your glass is half empty.” They joked, I was sure, because they too felt uncomfortable.
“I’m serious! This is a Scourge trick. And that… Horde? What’s gotten into Theron? They’re orcs! You know? Orcs-that-burnt-our-borders-and-killed-our-people orcs!”
“Desperate times cal—”
“Oh shut up! I know that. But this is beyond stupid.”
I huffed and flopped down onto my bed, which creaked annoyingly as I struggled to pull off my boots and get comfortable. My mind was racing, trying to figure out how to make good of a situation where frankly, I felt betrayed. I felt that a decision so pivotal to our people had been made with too little warning. Did I not get a say in working alongside rotting, evil creatures? The very thought of flanking an orc made my stomach churn. I thought of Thaladien, and how he had given up everything to rid the world of their kind. I was stabbing him in the back, with my arm guided by the Order.
“I’m getting high,” I sat up and rolled over to pull my footlocker from beneath my bed.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” one of them warned me. “Ashes have combat drills later, remember?”
“I’m the one leading them,” I picked open the secret compartment I had made in the bottom of the footlocker, pulling free a few dried leaves of Bloodthistle. “Desperate times call for desperate measures,” I smirked wryly at him as I slid my footlocker back under my bed.
“If the Order finds out you’re doing that on duty—”
“They’ll what?” I cut him off again, indulging in a little of my ‘thistle. “Throne of the Sun! You’d think it were unusual for a sin’dorei to treat themselves.”
“You’re on duty,” he reminded me.
“I can handle it.”
“You don’t deal with your problems well.”
“I can’t handle it!”
“I’m just saying…”
“Shut up or my bed is off limits to you.” He shut up. The rest of them grinned knowingly.
I began to busy myself with anything I could find, feeling my eyes begin to flickering behind my eyelids slightly as the ‘thistle ran its course. Bloodthistle had a relatively light feel to it, a tingle around the skin and a dulling of the mind. It let me just wander, drifting through thoughts that didn’t make much sense, but equally, weren’t stressful. To anyone else I likely seemed perfectly normal as I lay on my bed, doing sit ups to pass the time. I even managed to count them quietly under my breath, all the while my mind jumping from one nonsensical thought to the next.
“It’s not good for your back to do sit-ups on a soft surface, Soraya.”
“That’s it!” I swung my legs to the floor and made my way across the room angrily, likely not quite managing a straight line. “No more sex for you!”
The door opened at that moment, Master Dawnglow stepping inside, peering at me strangely as the words left my mouth. I jumped up straight and saluted, my cheeks flushing a deep red, my ears twitching violently with my embarrassment.
“At ease, Skydancer,” he eyed me head to foot, my bare toes curling on the cold floor. “I want the Ashes at Tranquillen before the sun sets. There’s someone we have to meet. Dress uniform, but be ready for combat. You know what the Ghostlands are like.”
“Understood, Master,” I gave him a short nod, my voice surprisingly timid still. I cursed under my breath once he had left the room, the rest of them laughing raucously at me.
He hadn’t been kind to me. Getting into my dress armour and making it look somewhat presentable took me the better part of half an hour. Coming down off a high wasn’t helping. After, I ran around like a crazed hawkstrider searching for the other four of my unit, making sure they were all ready and presentable. A hard ride through Eversong left us with only a few minutes to spare before we would have been late, the last vestiges of light flickering through the burnt, dead branches of the Blackened Woods.
The rest of the Ninth was already assembled, as were various other divisions, all stood in a circle around the broken statue that decorated the middle of the small village. All in our dress armour, we were practically indistinguishable from one another, aside from the odd pieces of personal décor.
Filling around a fifth of the circle we had made were Forsaken. All our eyes were fixed on the rank of dead elves and men. Their glowing, vile eyes were scanning over us with equal distrust. The air hung heavy with tension. Their commander stepped forth, making his way in an unusually graceful gait towards the centre of us all. He paused and glanced around the full circle, before pulling his sword from its sheath and laying it on the floor before him.
“We are the Forsaken,” he began, his voice a strangely powerful hiss, as though he were breathing and speaking all at once. “Men and elves tormented beyond life. Yes, elves. High elves. Your namesake, noble sin’dorei. Many amongst us died for these lands. Do not look at us with such disgust, although monsters we may be.”
There was a faint mumbling amongst us, silenced by the raised hand of a Knight-Lord. I flickered my gaze away guiltily; the forsaken’s words twisting my thoughts almost painfully. He continued on his speech.
“As you, we despise the Scourge for what they have done to us. We are creatures thrice scorned; first to lose our lives, then to lose our wills and now, forever cursed to wander in these broken shells. Now free, all as seek is vengeance. The accord we have made can help you free these lands! Allies should never be turned away lightly. Dark Lady Windrunner wills it.”
“What is this lie?!” The shouts of the living erupted, the palms of several Knight’s hands igniting with holy energy. I gritted my teeth, not quite understanding. Windrunner, he had said. Our most noble hero lost to the war.
“Enough!” We were silenced again by our superiors, the swirling gold energies flickering into nothingness. “It is no lie.”
The forsaken bowed his head. “I would have hoped you kept your people better informed. No matter.”
“They know now,” our representative stepped forwards and turned to face us. “Sylvanas Windrunner, hero of our people, leads these Forsaken. Only she could possess such a will to overcome the Lich King! We will honour her accord, and take advantage of her gracious offers of aid!” He turned again, and laid his sword crossed over that of the dead commander’s.
There was a murmur of voices again, soon silenced by the sound of many blades unsheathing as the rest of the forsaken forces laid their arms to the ground. As if written into our minds, we knew we had to follow suit. Our arms rested at our feet soon after. The silence was vile.
The rotting face of the forsaken commander twisted into the slightest of grins, yellowing teeth exposed to our eyes.
“Death to the Scourge!” he cried.
The call was echoed by forsaken and elf alike, a loud roar filling quiet air of the dead woodlands. I remained silent, wondering just how low we were prepared to stoop for glory.
THE NEWS WAS that these Forsaken wanted to provide the proverbial foot-in-the-door for the sin’dorei to have new allies. New allies amongst the Horde. The orcish Horde.
My blood boiled at the thought. Not only that they were offering us such an offer; an offer that, as I saw it, was insulting to the very nature of our people but also that the magisterium seemed more than willing to accept.
“This is disgusting,” I felt I was speaking to myself, although I strode beside Master Dawnglow as we paced towards his chambers. I certainly wasn’t meaning to address him, but it were as though my anger couldn’t be contained within my mind any longer. It had to come out. “They can’t be serious with this. They’re animals. Murderers!”
“Grit your teeth and smile, my dear.”
I shot him a dirty glance. “Is that what you will do?”
“I will do as I must, for Quel’Thalas.”
His words were loaded. I despised it when that card was pulled against me. Duty. Everything becomes excusable when we do it for the homelands. When the glory of Quel’Thalas is at steak, we can afford to sink our hands into cess pit and get ourselves filthy.
“How long, then, until these green-skinned oafs are walking our streets?”
“I doubt they ever will,” he chuckled. I didn’t understand what was funny. “We may have an accord with the in some months, if all goes well. But I doubt they will feel the need to fill our streets. You worry too much, Soraya.”
“You don’t worry enough,” I mumbled, a little too loudly.
We neared the door the his chambers, and I slowed my pace, dropping behind him as he fumbled to find his keys. There was a clank of metal as my fist hit my breast in a salute to him.
“You’re coming in,” he informed me with a smile. I felt stupid.
I found myself at his desk again. It was becoming more and more of a common occurrence that I would be invited to his chambers for what I always assumed to be briefings, yet usually turned out to be nothing more than idle conversation. I felt almost sorry for him, elderly as he was I somehow imagined that he had no surviving family, and few friends. As I made myself comfortable, watching him pour me some bourbon as always, I tried to imagine who he had been some years ago. A father, certainly. A grandfather, perhaps, if the lines around his eyes were any indicator of his true age. I imagined he loved his family as my father had loved me. They shared a smile; a smile that always managed to make me feel better. It must have been some gift of elder elves.
“To business,” he surprised me out of my thoughts.
“Business?”
“Sadly. There are many things to be seen to, chiefly amongst which is the reclamation of the Ghostlands.”
I swallowed a lump that had found its way into my throat. This seemed a little sudden.
“Simply because we have these Forsaken for aid, doesn’t mean that w—”
He held up a hand to stop me. “You are going to have to put your doubts aside, Soraya, and just work your Ashes hard. A show of true strength to this Horde.”
I curled my lips bitterly.
“There is a silver lining,” he smiled that reassuring smile. “With their help, we will follow Lord Sunstrider to the Promised Land. The sooner this is completed, the sooner our people can find a new, better life. Soraya, my dear, this is just a stepping stone. You do understand, don’t you?”
I nodded, spirits lifted at this news. I understood perfectly what was going on. The corpses, the green abominations and whatever banded with them – they were all stepping stones on our path to a better world. A necessary path we had to take to the Promised Land.
“I’ll have the Ashes training around the clock, Master. You can count on me.”
I felt renewed after that talk. It was easy for me to see a clear purpose again, and there was so much good to look forward to. The Ghostlands would be back in our hands, and finally we would be reunited with Prince Kael’thas. I was determined not to let any bump along the ride get in our way.
THE SOUNDS OF battle where all that could be heard in cursed woodlands of southern Quel’Thalas. For days, coming on weeks on end there had been skirmish after skirmish in an attempt to reclaim our lands from the cold grip of not only the scourge, but also the ever bold trolls.
Those we left to the Farstriders; arrows were better at rending flesh than bone, after all and the undead threat was a knight’s speciality. I felt uneasy around the Forsaken, still. My mind was drawn back to my childhood, watching as the young boys would throw conjured spheres between themselves in some game I never really understood the rules of. They distinguished their teams with some wearing their shirts, other not. Here the ‘teams’ weren’t so clear cut. It was difficult to distinguish one rotting corpse from another, aside from the tell-tale signs that some had a higher level of sentience than others.
I kept close to my Ashes, fighting in a tight pack with a wave of these Forsaken archers not far behind. It was simple but effective as we waded forwards down the scar, our swords and shields clashing with the steel and bone of the undead mass, the well placed arrows of those covering our rear picking off the living cultists who controlled the hordes of shambling skeletons.
“Skydancer!” the voice was male, and wavering slightly. I knew it was one of my fresh recruits. “A little help… please! It’s not working!”
I nodded to my left and right and broke ranks, scurrying across the blighted floor towards Deldorian Sunstrike, still an initiate to the Order sent to fill in the gaps we had suffered in this final push for our lands.
“What’s not working?” I scowled at him. He looked pathetic in armour that clearly didn’t quite fit, his sword hand shaking so hard I could hear the rattle of the hilt against the glove. He winced as I parried a blow aimed for his head, and finished the job with a spell sent down the length of my blade. “What’s not to work?”
“That!” he cried, watching me fire off another damaging spell-cast. “I can’t do that! I’m going to die!”
I could have told him he was right. The chances were, green as he was, he would die out here. He would be overwhelmed by marauding undead and ripped limb-from-limb as he still breathed. I decided not to. It wasn’t so long ago that I had been in his position, fresh to the battlefield and scared for my life at every tick of the clock. Hearing the truth of the matter wouldn’t hep anybody.
“You’re not going to die. You want to know why?” I picked him up by the rugged armour round the back of his neck and took the few seconds I could spare to correct his poise. It was awful. “I’m going to look after you and in return, you’re going to grow a pair, as the humans say. We understand one another?”
He just nodded frantically at me, before letting our a roar that turned heads as he pressed forward with sword raised high, shield forwards to crush anything that stood in his way.
That was the plan, I assumed, at least. No sooner had be begun was he on his backside again, me stepping across him to give him time to get back onto his feet.
“Eyes on me!” I warned him. I wanted him to have a focus; not to be distracted by the crush of bones, or the spatters of blood and screams of agony as we lost our own. The less he paid attention to the cruel truth of the battlefield, the better. He looked pale, unnaturally so, no doubt down to the pungent smell of spilt guts, burned flesh and vomit; vomit which he soon added to.
“I’m s-sorry!”
“Shut up and fight!”
He parried a blow. That was good. “Sorry!”
I rolled my eyes and rounded him again, watching his sides before keeping him behind me once more as we pushed for our goal. We’d spend another few hours locked like this and I knew, as he slowly but surely gained his confidence in the best training-scheme the world could throw at him, that it was to be a few hours well spent.
“YOU WANT TO be a mentor to him?”
Bloodvalor looked somewhat dumbstruck at the suggestion. Perhaps that I had even sought him out to ask if it were possible. We rarely spoke, aside from the times that he requested that I spar with him which were few and far between. The truth was that he terrified me. He was everything I knew I would one day become and, at the same time, everything I feared to be. He was power. He stood no taller or broader than any other, yet somehow in the deep black of his armour he towered above me and drew me in to submissiveness. That I knew, should he want, he could burn me into oblivion with his mastery of Light-magics didn’t help matters.
“He needs guidance on a personal level,” I explained, trying my best to remain professional under his gaze. “With all the efforts on the Blackened Woods he’s not receiving the training he should.”
“And you think you can provide this for him?”
“I pulled him through a few battles so far.”
“Would you like a medal, Skydancer?”
I did. “No, Knight-Lord. I just meant that I can handle this sort of thing.”
“Perhaps,” he mused in a silence that seemed to span forever. “It would require a Mastership trial, for you.”
“A what?” I was off guard, and now sounded a fool. I knew damn well what a trial was. “You can’t be serious,” I corrected myself. “I never meant to imply I was worth of the Masterhood.”
“To be frank, miss Skydancer, you most certainly are not. But this war we are being pressed ever more into is costing us some of our finest, and we need to plug the holes.”
“I’m not sure I’m ready,” I confessed.
“Then get ready. You have a week.”
MY TRIAL IS something I’d sooner forget.
It seemed simple, in theory. Within the Plaguelands lived a paladin, a servant of the Light. He was no real hindrance to us, save perhaps for living a little too close to our boarders. That, however, is the very thing that made him a target.
“Crush him,” My orders had been. “Crush him, and take from him every ounce of faith he has in his false doctrine. His Light is fickle. Let him know how it feels to be abandoned, as we were. Show him that we Blood Knights are the true masters of the Light.”
I found him and I watched. I watched for hours as he tended to the blighted land around his small, wooden house. I watched as he fed his horse, prayed to his deity and trained. He didn’t train alone, however. With him was a young boy, not even into his teens. His son, I gathered. I cursed under my breath, weighing my options. Death was out of the question. I had been trained to despise the Light, to despise the human order of paladins and all they stood for yet still; I did not want to orphan a child. A beating would do, perhaps. A sound thrashing at the hands of the superior wielder of the Light.
I steeled myself and waited for the moment. Humiliation had a lot to play here. To be beaten before his son – that would be his downfall. The shame he would feel would bring his faith crashing like the walls of Capital City. There, with his back turned, I made my move.
There was no time for him to react before my plated fist crashed into the back of his skull. The child screamed and staggered back as his father fell to the dead grass. I lunged at him, turning him onto his back so he could see as I extracted my judgement upon him. I would have delivered blow after blow there and then, but it felt thug-like and wrong.
“Get up!” I ordered him.
“Run, Nathaniel!” he called to his son.
“Stay!” I barked back at him. The kid simply stood, and began to cry.
The paladin was on his feet now, hammer picked off the floor, eyes trained on me; on the blood-red phoenix that stained my breast.
“I had heard rumours of your heresy, elf. Never had I thought I would bring the Light’s retribution to one of you so soon.”
I had no time for a war of words. Every moment that passed filled me with more and more doubt. I couldn’t shake the sound of the child’s tears, more harrowing to me than any scream of war. I rushed him, dropping my shield to grab at his hammer as he swung, bring my knee into his un-armoured stomach. He doubled over, and again I crashed a fist to his face. There was a scream from the child that made me lay off. Instead, I pushed him to the floor and straddled his body, pinning him where he lay.
“That was hardly retribution now, was it, Paladin?”
He spat on me.
“You’ve been beaten! Where is your guiding Light now, hm? I don’t see it coming to your rescue.”
As if I spoke prophecy, something hit me on the back. It jarred me forwards, took the wind out of me and sent me into an instinctive counter. Time slowed as I wrenched my body around. My palm ignited on my unseen foe, a blast of stolen Light pulsing in an glowing wave towards my target. My heart drummed in my ears, muffling the cries of the man beneath me. Then everything went silent.
Everything except from the sound of a body collapsing; the thud of a lifeless head crashing to the ground.
“My son!” he threw me off with ease, dumbstruck as I was at what I had just done. I remained on my hands and knees, shaking in my own disgust as he cradled the body of his child, his sobs ripping through my every fibre of being.
I wanted to apologise. Instead, I stumbled away through the thickets, haunted by the wails of a mourning father that sounded more pained to me than any banshee. I was sick, until there was nothing left to come up. My trial may have been passed, that much was certain, but I couldn’t forgive myself what I had done.
I still haven’t.