ARC 3 - HALLOWED

CHAPTER 4 - SERVE IN THE LIGHT

Caelan grabbed a wooden pole and took a shield from the rack before returning to sit on the long bench that ran the length of the room. Everyone was permitted a shield, but only one weapon. He watched as many took a wooden sword or club. A foolish decision if they wanted to keep their opponent at any distance. Darren, too, seemed to watch the others. The boy held his hands clasped tightly in front of him and his head darted between each rack when someone else made their choice.

The boy was smart, but weak, and judging by his nervousness had no fighting experience. A dockhand wouldn’t, Caelan supposed, except maybe for some scuffles that would occur in taverns late at night. The boy seemed too young for that type of activity, though. Perhaps they might get lucky and be paired with a group that was more seasoned. Don’t count on it, he told himself.

Caelan rose and approached the boy. “Take the pole. You’ll be able to fight with greater range.”

“But I’ve only ever used it with both hands. Like a quarterstaff. I want a shield so I don’t get hit.”

“Take both.”

“I don’t think I can—”

“I’ll show you.” Caelan turned and walked to the end of the room where few others sat. The boy followed reluctantly, shield in one hand and the pole in the other. The end clacked off the ground once or twice before Darren found the middle of it and was able to hold it level.

Caelan hadn’t ever taught anyone else, but he could remember the first time Ulrich had allowed him to wield a weapon in training. Every movement was criticized down to the placement of individual fingers on the shaft of a spear. Unfortuantely, they wouldn’t have time for that level of instruction here.

“First, tighten the straps on your shield.” Darren complied, setting the spear down and pulling on the leather band that held the wood to his arm. “When we’re out there, keep it up high,” Caelan instructed. “You should barely be able to see over the top.”

“But what about my legs?”

“If you see them swing low you can either block it or strike them first. If their weapon is down like that it should be an easy hit for you. Now,” Caelan continued while guiding Darren’s hand, “you’ll have to hold your weapon higher up. You’ll lose range, but it’ll be easier to thrust.”

Darren set his hand somewhere near the middle of the wooden pole and gave a practice thrust. It had some force behind it, but still wobbled.

“When you push out, rotate your arm over top, like this.” Caelan gave a sharp thrust of his own. “And make sure to set your feet like mine. You don’t have a lot of weight, but even what you do have will put more power behind it.”

Darren gave it another few repetitions before Caelan had the boy stop to save energy. The form was far from perfect, but it ought to be good enough to make someone raise their shield. Then with some luck it would give him time to step and dispatch the foe before the boy was overwhelmed.

“Were you a soldier in the Elysian Army?” Darren asked as they sat down the bench.

Caelan glanced around at the other nearby Initiates. They were all either wrapped up in their own conversations or staring ahead, focused. He doubted any of them would recognize him, but it never hurt to be careful. “No, I’m a farling,” he answered quietly.

Darren’s eyes widened a touch. “That makes sense. Most Elysians have blonde hair or lighter brown, like mine. I’ve heard it’s cold in the east and that it snows most of the year.”

Caelan chuckled. Darren was smart, but apparently not all that worldly. “It snows, but only for three or four seasons. It does get cold in the mountains, but probably not as bad as what you’re imagining.”

“It snows here, too!” The boy seemed to be returning to his energetic self now that he wasn’t in discomfort from his lack of martial ability. “The sea never freezes, though. Still, working on the docks when they get covered in ice is dangerous. I had a friend slip into the water and he almost died from the cold.”

Caelan gave a grunt of acknowledgment. He recognized this energy. It was all nerves. He became torn between letting Darren continue to talk or forcing him to listen to a quick lesson on strategy. Landon’s mangled face flashed before Caelan’s eyes. No, he told himself. Nervous habits are a distraction. They lower the chances of survival.

“Darren, listen. When we get out there, we should—”

The door at the end of the room slammed open. “Initiates! Assemble in the training yard immediately! Do not speak!”

There was a bustle as everyone rose and made their way out the door. The group was nudged and moved about as they had been last time, though now their pairs were joined to another, creating a group of four. The bands of leather wrapped around a coin that had inhibited Caelan’s ability to reach the Light were also removed and replaced by a colored cloth.

“The rules are simple,” Crusader Swann yelled. “There are training dummies in pairs throughout the courtyard. Your group will earn one point for every dummy you destroy. The color of the cloth on your arm matches that of your dummies. Protect your ‘citizens’ at all costs.”

Caelan began to search the yard, but it was impossible to see through the gaggle of Initiates. There were more Templar this time and these ones wore full armor and wielded training weapons.

“You will lose three points for each of your citizens that are lost,” Crusader Swann explained. “At certain intervals I will lower that value down to two and then one. My Templar will guard groups of unmarked dummies. You may continue to fight until you are no longer physically able or all dummies have been destroyed.”

The instruction was almost over, Caelan could feel it. He began to shuffle backwards toward the edge of the gaggle. He gave Darren a soft poke with his quarterstaff and nodded his head for the boy to follow.

“You may use your affinity, but Heaven’s Law applies—if you manifest the Light against an opponent you will be held accountable. Again, you are competing against the other groups. Observers on the walls are watching each team and we will compare the scores at the conclusion. Begin!”

The training yard erupted into chaos. The armored Templar surged outward in groups of four toward their dummies while the Initiates scrambled to find their own. Some pairs capitalized on the disorder and took free strikes against those simply running to locate their teammates.

Caelan took Darren around the edge of the yard along the wall and scanned for the purple that matched the strip of cloth on his arm.

“There!” Darren yelled and took off inward. Caelan saw their dummies…and the pair of Initiate’s that closed in on the boy.

The embers lit and heat poured into his legs. He caught up in time to ram the first attacker away with his shield and forced the other back with a thrust of his quarterstaff. Darren had stopped and lifted his shield, but stood several paces behind. The two attackers spread wide and began to circle around. One found a sudden club to the back of his head. The other, now outnumbered, turned and ran.

Their savior shouted in victory and thumped his club against his shield. Caelan noted the purple cloth tied around his arm. One of their group.

“Where’s your partner?” Caelan yelled over the chaos. The Initiate shrugged and ran off, either to find their missing fourth member or some other unsuspecting target. The latter, by the looks of it. “Shit,” Caelan muttered.

“What do we do?” Darren asked.

“Stay near the dummies. We need this to thin out. Maybe he’ll get us a few points while we defend.”

While Caelan scanned the yard in anticipation of the coming attack he ran through the rules in his head. Swann had said that the battle wouldn’t stop until all the dummies were destroyed, so they were going to lose points regardless. Everyone was. But if the longer they defended they fewer points they would lose—and the easier it would be to make up the difference.

Caelan was able to repeal the few attackers that dared approach. It seemed that most teams were only sending out one or two to attack while the rest stayed back. Their team was doing the same, he reasoned, although it wasn’t an intentional plan by any stretch of the imagination. Swann’s voice called out like the crack of a whip. Each dummy was only worth two points now.

A bit longer. Those hunting for dummies to destroy were looking for easy prey and two shields raised high were enough of a deterrent that none were willing to engage in an even fight. At Swann’s next shout the chaos returned. Everyone else had reached the same conclusion Caelan had. Rather than a fight to defend, every skirmish became a race of who could get to a target first.

Caelan dashed through the courtyard, hoping that Darren would understand and follow. He found two dummies unguarded and struck them down with ease. At least now we’re guaranteed to be at an even zero, he thought. But there have to be more. He canned the yard, trying to peer through the dust kicked up by dozens of scrambling feet. The groups of Templar still held their ground, though two of the groups were engaged by a mob of Initiates vying for their share of the remaining points. And where had Darren gone? The boy had been right behind him. It doesn’t matter, he convinced himself. The young dockhand wouldn’t be much help in an attack, anyway.

Taking on a group of Templar would be difficult, but he managed to sneak in to one of the engagements and crush the head of a dummy while the armored defenders were overwhelmed by the sheer volume of Initiates. The attack left him exposed, however, and another Initiate looking to thin the crowd cracked him on the back of the leg with a wooden sword. Caelan’s knee buckled, but he spun and brought his shield up in time to block the second blow aimed at his head.

His attacker raised their sword high to deliver a finishing blow with a wild grin. Sindri. Caelan roared and leaped forward, crashing into his attacker. A fist or two to the face and the attacker released his hold on his sword to cover a bleeding nose. No, not Sindri. Just another Initiate. Caelan shook his head to clear the vision from his mind.

Another hit struck him squarely in the back and nearly knocked the air from his lungs. He rolled off to dodge the next and tried to rise, but a club impacted his hip and knocked him back into the dirt. The whole group must have turned on him. He raised his shield to cover his head from the pummeling and searched for a way out.

Instead, through the shuffle of countless legs, he saw Darren lying on the ground and attempting to use his shield to protect himself against blows raining down from four other Initiates. The boy was tired. Nearly defenseless. A foot found Darren’s face and his head snapped back. The shield was abandoned and the boy curled into the fetal position while clutching his mouth.

A vision of Raelle strewn upon the mountainside, her gray hair stuck to her forehead in a mix of dirt and blood, filled Caelan’s thoughts. He rose in a shockwave of Light. Empowered strides carried him into Darren’s attackers like a beast uncaged and for every blow that had hit the boy he struck back twice as hard. The four Initiates were systematically dismantled by his sheer violence until they all lay sprawled out and moaning from their bruises.

A hand on Caelan’s shoulder violently spun him around. He rolled through the attack and swung his quarterstaff at the head. The wood stopped short, held still by a single, meaty hand while another punched him in the throat. The Light abandoned him and he fell to his knees grasping his neck and sucking air.

The thick hands half drug him to the archway at the end of the training yard while Caelan tried to keep his legs beneath him. He was thrown into the dirt in front of a pair of boots.

“When you can breath, stand. Take no other action.”

Caelan heard footsteps fade back into the sounds of clacking wood and shouts behind him. The boots to his front remained. When air was finally able to make it past the spasming of his windpipe he found the strength to rise. The man staring him in the face was of similar height and had a long, pointed nose like a beak. A crimson sash broke his otherwise gray outfit and black hair was slicked back cleanly despite the humidity.

The man offered him a shirt. “Put this on and follow me, Initiate.”

Caelan allowed himself to be led through empty halls with his head hung low. The others had been permitted to fight on, but he had manifested the Light against another. He had been disqualified. But they were going to kill the poor boy! How could the Order even let someone so weak take the trial when combat was to be expected?

“Wait here until you are told to enter.” The hawkish man slipped through one of two large wooden doors at the end of a wide hallway. The two Templar on either side of the doorway stayed still, eyes forward.

Caelan waited, but no instruction was given. The ache in his legs from hauling the supplies earlier and the beating he had just taken settled in deeply. He hadn’t been told he couldn’t sit, so he rested his sore muscles by taking a seat on one of the nearby benches and rubbed his throat. It must’ve been Swann that had hit him. He doubted any of the Templar would be that quick.

“Initiate, you may enter.” The voice was muffled from behind the door, but startled him all the same. Caelan rose and entered through the same door the hawkish man had, though this time one of the guards opened the large entry.

The room inside was decorated with well-carved mahogany furniture and tall curtains to match the height of the towering windows. Caelan’s eyes wandered and found that every part of the room held intricate details. Small decorations lined shelves, paints were hung on every bit of wall not hidden by furniture, and even the chairs were upholstered with cloth stitched in beautiful patterns. Behind the large desk at the far end of the room sat a man with a short gray beard and matching hair. He wore a long blue cloak that was fastened in the front by a golden chain and his clothing underneath was of royal quality.

“Raegn Edelgard,” the man behind the desk declared. Or accused. It was hard to tell. Raegn gave no response, holding the man’s gaze. “That is your true name, is it not?”

“Answer the Highlord,” the hawkish man standing over the Highlord’s shoulder added when Raegn remained silent.

Raegn eyed the two of them. If the Order had learned of his identity there was little he could do now. They would ship him off to Bulwark and he would be executed.

“Yes.”

“We were told you were dead.” The Highlord gave a questioning look up at the hawkish man over his shoulder through the corner of his eye. The man gave no indication that he saw the movement and the Highlord turned his attention back to Raegn. “Why are you here?”

A rather plain question. Still, Raegn got the impression he was under heavy scrutiny. “It seemed like the best option,” he answered.

“Why not go to Bulwark with the other survivors?”

Bait? No, this man, this Highlord, seemed no-nonsense and straight-forward. If there was to be an accusation it would be stated as his name had been, not come after he was misled by deceitful words. Perhaps the Order didn’t know everything about Bastion’s fall. “Of the few survivors I interacted with immediately after the battle, it was my opinion that I may not have been...well received,” Raegn said.

“I see.” The Highlord looked up to the hawkish man next to him again. “Arnulf, please assemble the Council of Seven. Lord Raegn and I will be in the Church shortly.” The hawkish man nodded and left.

“Am I being put on trial?” Raegn asked.

“I have no idea,” the Highlord replied. “Wait here. Sit, if you’d like.” The Highlord rose from behind his desk and disappeared into another room through a door to Raegn’s right.

He did wait for quite some time before the Highlord returned and led him out of the room. In the hall outside several armored Templar had arrived and walked in two lines on either side of them as they left the Citadel. An escort, Raegn surmised. But was it for him or just the standard detail that accompanied the Highlord? The former would certainly indicate that he was being detained and headed to trial despite the fact that he hadn’t been restrained.

The street that connected the Order and the Church was straight as an arrow and one location was easily visible from the other despite their distance apart. It was later into the evening, but the formation marching through the city with the Highlord at its center caught every eye that was out.

Raegn kept his head high. If we was to be sentenced he would meet his judgment with pride. The Order had failed the Far East. No reinforcements had been sent. Were it not for his actions the Void would be laying waste to the highlands and bearing down on Elysium itself.

The procession entered the Church beneath high arches of marble and paused in a large antechamber.

“I recommend you hide nothing from the Seven,” the Highlord stated. “Let the Light do with you what it wills.”

Raegn kept his eyes ahead. The Light was little more than a weapon against the Void. He had joined the Order to start a new life, not become a zealot. Perhaps the caravan would have been the better choice after all. At least Joyce had been understanding of his situation.

The doors opened and he followed the Highlord to the center of a large rotunda. A curved row of pulpits stood on a platform taller than Caelan and behind them stood seven men in long robes of white and gold. The gaunt man in the middle of the seven was the first to speak.

“Raegn Edelgard, son of Aerich Edelgard, and current Lord of Bastion. We are happy to see you still alive. We have many questions.”

Raegn glanced to his right but found that the Highlord had abandoned the center of the room in favor of a place next to the hawkish man along the circular edge. He was to do this alone, then. There was little sense in wasting time.

“Is this a trial for my actions during the Templar assessment or during the battle in Bastion?” Raegn asked.

There were murmurs between the men behind the pulpits. The gaunt man in the middle raised a hand and the other’s quieted. “While the Church oversees the actions of the Order, we allow them a certain autonomy. We do not interfere with their internal assessments. And this is not a trial. We simply wish to hear of the events in Bastion as you lived them, though, should you admit to breaking any laws we will issue punishment accordingly.”

Raegn scowled. Nothing he had done had broken Heaven’s or Common law. He hadn’t killed another human with the Light. Even the death of his father should be acceptable in the Church’s eyes. He glanced at the Highlord, but the man simply stared back. Hide nothing? Fine.

Raegn recounted the tale in extreme detail, giving words to the nightmares that still plagued him. He told them of how the Void had demonstrated unit and army-level strategy. That his people had been blown apart by Voidborne. That portals had opened in their city and the innocent were torn apart by an enemy that had never before crossed Bastion’s walls. Time had indeed dulled the pains of loss, but he struggled through his last moments with his father and leaving Raelle on the High Road.

“And you interpreted Camael’s charge as instruction to join the Order?” the gaunt man asked at the conclusion of the tale.

Raegn clenched his fists. The Archangel had been so brazen as to call his actions mercy. “Camael offered my people nothing but death. I see no reason his judgement of me would be any different were I to ignore his order.”

One of the bishops in the middle-left smiled. He had a large, round nose and sagging cheeks that weighed against his jaw. “Careful, child. It is best for us all to not make assumptions about the actions of the Divine. Still, I think joining the Order fits quite well. The entirety of the Church is indeed a banner for the Light, heralding its majesty and mercy for all.”

The others nodded in agreement before the center bishop spoke again. “Raegn, the obelisk you were able to activate was a relic left by an Angel after the Void War. A protective measure, if you will, should we ever need the assistance of the Heavens. The Church did indeed have it listed in our archives, though it was not something we were acutely aware of. The Seven will admit we also had no notion that the Void had grown powerful enough to overwhelm one of the Shield Cities, but we are in agreement that you did the right thing.”

The right thing? These clergymen had no idea what battle was like. The chaos. The death. Were they not listening to him? There hadn’t been enough of a plan and they had failed because of it. “No,” Raegn said firmly. “If we had scouted more we might have been better prepared. Or if reinforcements from the Order had been underway we might’ve—”

“Had the Church known,” the bishop in the middle interrupted, “we would have asked the Order to assist you. But we never received such a message. By the time a rider arrived the battle was long over. The messenger even reported the star on the horizon behind him, which thanks to your testimony we can now confirm was Camael. You would not be wrong were you to place blame on the Church for this failure, but it would reflect poorly on your character. We are already aware our old view of the Realm was too…narrow.”

So the carrier pigeons hadn’t reached them. But why? Bastion had communicated with the Church twice a season for years. There were always regular messages sent to report mundane things like weather and crop harvests. The birdmaster wouldn’t have picked a weaker animal to carry such an important message. And what did they mean by…“Narrow?” Raegn asked.

“Yes,” the gaunt bishop in the center explained, “the events at Bastion have forced us to reconsider our posture. At our instruction The Order has dedicated a Templar legion to assist in the defense of Bulwark and our Oracles are more actively pursuing all rumors about the Void throughout the Realm.”

Raegn shook his head in disbelief. Where was this aid when Bastion needed it? It was the Church’s job to see to the safety of the Realm from the Void and they had been resting on their laurels. Only now, after thousands were dead, did they meander into action.

“That you managed to prevent the Void from spreading into the Realm has given us the time to prepare,” the bishop on the left said. “You have done well, Lord Raegn.”

He didn’t bother to look at the man, instead keeping his eyes on the gaunt one in the center. The back and forth between the two was causing a stiffness in his neck. Sure enough, the middle one was the next to speak.

“We can understand your hesitance to return to Bulwark. We cannot not force you, though some will likely criticize you for what they see as an abandonment of what’s left of your people. That is your burden to bare, if you choose to.”

“It is fitting that you end up here, as part of the Church,” the bishop with the sagging cheeks said. “We look forward to seeing how you might serve the Light.”

“Highlord Orgeron,” the gaunt bishop looked to the Highlord at the side of the room. “The chamber is yours.”

The Council of Seven left in a single file line and the Highlord stepped in front of Raegn.

“As Highlord of the Templar Order, I, Dulius Orgeron, hereby grant you, Raegn Edelgard, the rank of Templar.”

Raegn frowned. “I thought I was disqualified.”

Highlord Dulius gave a fatherly smile. “Normally you would have been, but as Highlord I hold certain authorities within the Order—namely that I can do with my people what I see fit. You demonstrated martial prowess, an ability to work with a weaker companion, and overcame great odds to reach some level of success. I expect my Templar, whether or not they have fought or worked together in the past, to adapt to any situation and act in a manner befitting of those charged with the preservation of the Light.”

With a gentle hand on the shoulder Highlord Dulius guided Raegn back toward the antechamber with the hawkish man in tow. “The Church may understand the truth, but I’m sure the Far East still feels the pain of loss. The rumors about you will persist, Raegn. You will be safe here, though I will preemptively wave the requirement for you to serve five years should you leave to lead your people. In the mean time, there is still your punishment to consider.”

Raegn stopped. “Punishment?”

Highlord Dulius turned with a furrowed brow and sly grin. “But of course. You lied about your identity when you joined. You also struck down a Templar while still an Initiate. And let’s not forget you manifested the Light against another, although you skirted Heaven’s Law by not killing, wounding, or otherwise maiming them.” The Highlord grinned. “For your actions I sentence you to one season’s work in the kitchens.”

“The kitchens, Highlord?” For the first time Raegn saw a small amount of emotion on the hawkish man’s face. Little more than a movement of the brow, but a break in the steady gaze.

“Yes. I think he and Erkan will get along well.”

Arnulf nodded. “I will let him know to expect Lord Edelgard, then.”

“I think we’ll do without the title, don’t you?” Dulius asked, looking to Raegn.

Raegn shrugged. It wasn’t like he was leading his people from here. He hadn’t used his title for over two seasons now. The weight absent from his mind had been…pleasant.

“Very well. Templar Edelgard, then,” Arnulf said and strode out of the rotunda.

Highlord Dulius stepped toward Raegn and reached into a pocket near his waist. He pinched a small piece of Raegn’s shirt together near his left breast. Raegn looked down to see the emblem left behind in his clothing. It was a thick golden halo with a spike at the top, larger than the two smaller barbs to either side and the mid-sized point at the bottom. The Templar crest.

“Serve in the Light, Raegn.”