David Mcintee - The Light of Heaven

The ordinary Ducal soldiers of Kalten looked on warily as the Order of the Swords of Dawn took up positions in twos and threes around the esplanade. The Ducal Captain-at-Arms approached the stocky Preceptor DeBarres, commander of the Knights. Short but muscular, with a greying moustache and a pockmarked face, he was the military leader of the Order of the Swords of Dawn west of the Drakengrat mountains. He didn't look round from directing his subordinates as the Captain approached.

"Enlightened One… My troops have the situation under control."

"I'm sure you have, Captain, and you have my thanks for it. However, the Order will now take charge of security in the surrounding environs, for the sake of the safety of all. We'll try to inform you when we assign your troops to their new positions."

The Captain's face reddened, his lips thinning. "My troops — "

"Captain," DeBarres snapped gruffly. "You have done your duty to the best of your abilities but the Swords are now in charge here."

The Captain's spine stiffened, but, instead of saying anything, he looked towards a large, bear-like figure with a blond beard and aristocratic bearing. Duke Freihurr vom Kalten shook his head slightly, and the Captain stepped back a pace.

"Forgive my Captain's over-eagerness, Preceptor. We are all angered by the outrage that took place today."

DeBarres nodded, and led his men away. Freihurr leaned in slightly to his Captain's ear. "Don't be too offended. Whoever tried to kill an Enlightened One of the Final Faith is probably connected to the Brotherhood of the Divine Path" The Captain nodded, relieved that the Duke was taking his man's side. He was relieved, but not surprised; he had served Kalten for a long time, and appreciated the loyalty that the Duke had always showed to his people.

"Let these religious types handle their own arguments, while we keep out of it," Freihurr added.

The Captain nodded, wondering how, if these Knights were so special, they had failed to prevent the attack.

Gabriella rolled her prisoner over onto his front, and tied his hands behind his back with a rope taken from a nearby block and tackle. During the process, she gave him a quick search. He carried no more weapons. She stepped back, deciding not to tie his legs. She wanted him to be able to walk back to the castle. Waking, he mumbled incoherently for a moment before shouting and swearing. He was covered in dirt and bleeding from his scalp. He was pinched-faced, the sort of person who's features were made for sneering. He was trying that now, but it wasn't working.

She watched him thrash his legs around, trying to get himself free.

"This is an arrest by the Order of the Swords of Dawn, for morality offences contrary to the proscriptions of the Final Faith here in Kalten."

"Morality offences?"

"The consumption of hard liquor in a region where it's prohibited by Ducal law, for starters. Which I'll admit is a technicality. Attacking an Enlightened One of the Final Faith is a much graver charge."

Gabriella could barely keep her voice from shaking; she hadn't had time to really assimilate what had happened at the castle. She wasn't sure whether she should be angry or shocked, and settled for both.

"On your feet. We'll talk about extending the charge to cover the shot at Eminence Rhodon when we get back to the castle."

'The shot.' What else could she say? She didn't even know whether the Eminence was still alive, let alone whether this prisoner was responsible.

"Let's not. Kill me and be done with it!"

"For someone who just tried so hard to get out alive, you're suddenly very keen to die. Conscience troubling you? I think you might benefit from a nice long chat with our Confessors. Come on."

"You must be joking, bitch!"

With that, he lashed out with his legs, sweeping her feet out from under her. She crashed to the floor next to him, and he reacted immediately by wrapping his ankles around her throat, and trying to twist her head. Her neck exploded into fire, and agony flared between her collarbone and her ears. She grabbed desperately at his legs, trying to pry them away. It was like trying to bend solid iron bars.

With a roar, Gabriella drew one sword and slashed at the outside of his right thigh, keeping clear of the artery, and cutting across muscle. The man screamed and his legs loosened.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" Gabriella gasped.

Lightning-quick, he slammed his foot into her head, and her blade clattered away as she slid backwards across the floor.

Gabriella could see the pain explode in the fugitive's eyes as he bounced back onto his feet, but his wounds didn't stop him rolling for her fallen sword.

She lunged for him then, drawing her other sword, but he batted her blade aside with his and head-butted her. She fell back, dropping the sword.

He twirled the blade theatrically as he stood over her.

"This one's with love from the Brotherhood. Give their regards to Ludwig Rhodon when you see him in Kerberos!"

A flying white blur suddenly crashed into Gabriella's assailant from behind and she rolled to her feet as metal clanged beside her. When she had risen, the man's head was staring up at her. His body was still falling, next to a new figure. It was Erak Brand.

Gabriella shivered, and grasped his forearm tightly. Beyond him, six more Knights entered, as did a matronly woman in the white cloak of a Confessor.

"You're a hard girl to find, even after Markus reported you were heading this way." Erak said.

"What… what did you do that for?" she said, gesturing at the corpse.

"He was going to kill you!"

"He was going to try!" Gabriella protested.

"He might have succeeded."

She went over to the headless body and began searching through its clothes for anything that might identify the fugitive.

"Are you saying you go easy on me in sparring?" Gabriella said. "This man wasn't as good as you, and might I remind you who won our last bout?"

"I'm saying it doesn't matter how good a fighter is," Erak said. "You can always have a bad day. Everybody has some bad luck from time to time, and if it's when you're fighting for your life… The enemy only needs to be lucky once."

The Confessor prodded the headless corpse with the sole of her sandal. "Well, if this was the man who shot Eminence Rhodon, he was lucky."

Gabriella looked up at her, feeling a terrible sickening sensation.

"Did the Eminence — ?"

The Confessor shook her head. "I don't know about that. I mean this one died quickly. Lucky for him. I don't suppose he said anything before he left us for the pits?"

Gabriella shook her head. "Just best wishes from the Brotherhood."

Confessor Kamil didn't look very surprised. "Well, if he is the one who shot at Rhodon, I'd expect a Brotherhood link. Unless, of course it's a political game and he's from one of the Pontaine cities, trying to stir up trouble." She glared at Gabriella and Erak. "It would have been nice if you'd left him in a fit state to tell us." She sighed. "Still, perhaps the body will tell us something."

"Let's hope," Gabriella agreed.

Mud spattered up from under hoof as a column of riders passed down a trail at speed. The bridleway was wide, the silver birches set far enough back that no-one need fear being pitched from their mount by a stray branch. The horses were a motley bunch of breeds and colours, and all but one of the riders wore shields strapped to their backs and iron helms, tinted to the shade of blood by the sun.

As the valley widened, and threads of smoke became visible rising from below, a second group of hooded riders waited in a village so small it didn't even have a name. A farm at each end was separated by a few stone cottages and wattle fences. A river of churned mud running parallel to the fencing passed for a road through fields frosted white. A forested ridgeline on the horizon separated the countryside from the cliffs of Kalten. The two groups met in the middle of the village and one man from each side dismounted to meet the other.