Fires of Justice

Part 3:  Paladin – Mission

Beginning | Previous | Next

That day was filled with celebration.

Altairen’s birthday, and his graduation, were both cause for celebration.  While the people of the temple did not normally give gifts on birthdays, some of them did give him gifts, to celebrate his graduation to full status as Alethanna’s Champion.

He received many useful things, for a man whose life was going to be lived on the road, as Her Champion was expected to do.  A new saddle (which led to the horse that had been “his” for the last two years being given to him), a cooking set, including eating utensils . . . and weapons.

Gavana, the young priestess whose life he had saved in his first “real” battle, in his first year with the temple, gave him a quarterstaff, cut for his height, and the ends capped in silver.  Verika, who had drawn the tattoos that helped make him human, gave him a morning star, the spikes on the twin weights of the weapon being coated with silver.

And Vexx . . . Vexx gave Altairen a pair of short swords that he had made himself, for the younger man’s hands.  They were plain, unadorned, but beautiful in their simplicity, and the blades silvered.

“There is no magic in them,” Vexx said, grinning fiercely.  “But in your hands, Guardian, they will not need magic, to perform in a deadly fashion!”

And Jenara gave him a saber, of Dwarven make, light, and supple, yet stronger than many heavier blades.  It, too, was plain, though silvered.

And that night, she gave him one more gift, after he went to his small room at the back of the temple.

He had just removed his clothes, when there was a knock at his door.  Having acclimated to casual nudity, Altairen answered the door, to find Jenara waiting for him.

The High Priestess had not changed, visibly, since the day Altairen came to the temple, some four years ago.  Altairen had thought her in her 30s, when he arrived, and had been surprised to find that she was only 29, then.  The responsibility of her position had aged her, in the face at least, slightly before her time.  Yet, she had not changed, since his arrival.  She was still beautiful.

Altairen, courtly as ever, bowed her in, and offered her a seat.  She accepted, and he sat across from her, and waited for her to speak.

“Altairen, I came here, tonight, to ask you . . . to give you something.”  Jenara was slow, and hesitant, very unlike her usual self.  “But, I find myself . . . nervous.  So, forgive me, if I work my way slowly 'round to the reason." 

Altairen, surprised that Jenara could be made nervous, only nodded, and waited.

“The temple is very like a small town, Altairen, in that it is very hard not to know what others who dwell here do, sometimes,” Jenara said.   “And I heard, some two years ago, that you . . . were initiated into manhood, by Priestess Liaran, yes?”

Altairen blushed, a bit, but nodded, smiling at the memory.  Liaran, a tall, voluptuous girl, had been instructed by the Goddess, to move on, to another temple, some two years ago.  The night before her leaving, she had come to Altairen, and seduced him.  She had been aggressive enough to overcome his innate shyness, but not so aggressive as to intimidate him, and they had had a wonderful time together.  With there being no strings attached, it had actually been easier for Altairen to relax, and enjoy what was happening.

“And since then, Altairen . . . there has been no one?”

“No one else, Jenara,” Altairen said, blushing a bit darker.

“May I ask why not?”

“I . . . Jenara, I enjoyed what happened between Liaran and myself,” Altairen said.  “But, hard though I tried not to, I felt . . . guilty, afterwards.

“My mother . . . probably because she was forced, she was very firm that such an act should be between people who love each other, and never . . . never a casual thing.  That night . . . I cared for Liaran . . . but I did not love her, Jenara.”

“That is as I thought,” Jenara said.  “Altairen, I must ask . . . do you love anyone, here, in that way?”

“I . . . I do, Jenara,” Altairen admitted, blushing very dark, now.

“May I ask whom it is?”

For a long moment, Altairen stared at his feet, and she did not think that he would answer her.  Then his head came up, and his grey eyes locked on her blue ones.

“It is you, Jenara,” Altairen said softly – and looked back at his feet.

Then she was in his lap, and her arms were around his neck, and she was kissing him.

After a long time, that felt far too short to them both, they separated.

“I have loved you since the night you came here, Altairen,” Jenara said.  “I never spoke, because I knew that you would have to leave, one day, and I did not wish to make it harder for either of us – but I could not let you go, Altairen of Kavendale, not without telling you, and seeing if . . . if you thought that one night together would be wrong.”

“I have loved you for just as long,” Altairen whispered, holding her against his chest.  “I feared . . . I thought that I would be but a boy, to you.  And that you could not love me, that way.  Foolish, I know, but, I am young.

“Jenara, I cannot believe that one night together would be wrong.  And . . . I think I can leave, in the morning, without too many regrets.  I will miss you, Jenara, but . . . I will treasure that one night all the more, for that.”

Without another word, Jenara stood, and pulled Altairen to his bed, where they made the most of the one night they would have together.

_________________________________________________

In the morning, no one commented on the fact that Jenara came out of Altairen’s quarters with him.  There were some smiles, carefully hidden by drinks, or coughs – most of the Temple had known of the love they felt for one another, and been afraid that they would fail to act on it.  That they had not failed made the Temple a cheerful place, that morning, despite the fact that one of their number was leaving, that day.

After the morning services, and breakfast, Altairen announced that he would leave as soon as his horse was readied.  He had packed the night before, and the Temple groom readied his horse immediately after breakfast.

Altairen found that every member of the temple was lined up to say farewell to him, from most junior to Jenara herself, when he came out of the stable, leading Greywind, his horse.

He hugged them all, and said his farewells, not minding the tears that fell from his eyes, and those of many of the others.

When he reached Vexx, who stood just before Jenara, the older man wrapped Altairen in a fierce bear hug, thumping his back mightily, and said, in a clear, carrying voice, “Altairen, never have I had a better student.  You have learned, and learned well, everything I could teach you.  Go, son, and use it for Her purposes.”

Altairen hugged the man again, and, unable to speak above a whisper, for the strength of his emotions, said in his teacher’s ear, “You have been as a father to me, Vexx.  I will be a man you can be proud of, I swear it!”

“You already are, son.” Vexx said, and hugged him once more.

Then, there was only Jenara.

He didn’t say a word, only pulled her into his arms, and kissed her, taking his time, giving her all that he could in that one kiss, which he suspected would be their last.

Then, he mounted Greywind, and, from the saddle, called, “All of you have been my friends, my family – and I shall miss you!”

Then, he was gone, riding down the low mountain that the Temple was on, never looking back.

Jenara watched, for some time, until she could no longer see him, or even pretend that she might, for the woods.

“Oh, Goddess,” Jenara whispered, as she turned back to the temple.  “Goddess, I shall miss him so!”

*He will become a legend, in all the lands of the Kingdom of Gavronis,* came Alethanna’s voice, in her head.  *And, if that is a cold comfort . . . you will have things to remember him by.  Two things, daughter.  Go to your rooms, Jenara.*

The High Priestess did as her Goddess instructed, almost running, in her haste.

On the dressing table where she sat, twice daily, was a package, wrapped in silver foil, with a note, which said simply, “Remember me,” and was signed by Altairen.

Inside was a necklace, a simple leather thong, with a stone pendant, set in a simple silver setting.  The setting was obviously made by someone with only a little skill at working metals, being a bit rough, for all it’s simplicity.

The stone was the size of a child’s marble, and was a clear grey, flecked with silver – exactly as were Altairen’s eyes.

Jenara hung the stone around her neck, smiling through her tears, then clasped it in her hand, for a long moment.

*He knew he would be leaving, soon,* Alethanna said.  *He has felt it, for some months, now.  And he set about finding this stone, last summer, as a gift for you.  He had Vexx teach him enough of silver-craft that he could make the setting himself.*

“I shall miss him,” Jenara whispered.  She hesitated for a moment, then added, “Goddess, you said I would have two things to remember him by . . . ?”

*I did,* Alethanna said, voice soft, and tender.  *I did, daughter.*

*You shall have that necklace – and his son.*

Jenara’s eyes flew wide, in surprise, and delight, as her hands flew to her belly.

Then she fell to one knee, in the position of deep respect, and offered prayers of thanks to her Goddess, for the life growing within her.

_________________________________________________

Altairen rode down the mountain, not noticing when his tears stopped, until the itching as they dried on his face became too much to be ignored.  He stopped, then, and washed his face in a brook, and stayed kneeling, for a long moment, afterwards.

“Lady Alethanna,” Altairen said, as he knelt there beside the stream, “you have given me no instruction on where I am to go next.  I know that I am to travel, listening for your voice to direct me, going wherever I might find trouble.  Past that . . . I can only guess.

“For now, though, unless you wish it otherwise, I would go home.  I think . . . I have learned much of vampires, since joining your service, Lady.  And I think that there may be trouble at Kavendale.

“I suspect that the creature I once thought of as my father may have made other vampires, before I killed him.  And Kavendale was a quiet place, without much need for warriors, and only a token Town Guard.”

*It is well, my Champion.*

That was all the answer he received, but it was more than enough.  Altairen rode for Kavendale.

Once upon a day, it had taken him most of 10 months, to cover the distance between Kavendale and the main Temple of Alethanna.  But, he had been on foot and meandering, then, only moving vaguely west, towards the setting sun.  Now, he was mounted, on a horse fit for a king, and moving east with a purpose.

It was barely a month, before he reached Kavendale.

_________________________________________________

Olrin, master of the Green Pig Inn in Kavendale, looked up as the door to the common room opened, some two hours before sunset on a cold fall afternoon, and observed his newest customer.

He was a young man, big, a couple of inches over six feet, and handsome enough that Olrin was sure the serving maids would fight over his table.  He wore a medium-grey tunic and trousers, the trousers bloused into grey boots, and a short cloak, of a darker grey.  His eyes, too, were grey, and his features handsome.  His skin was slightly tanned, and his blond hair was pulled back in a neat tail.

He wore a saber at his side, and Olrin could see the hilts of two short swords riding low on his hips.

“Good day, Master Olrin,” the young man said, causing Olrin to frown slightly.  He did not know this man . . . did he?

“Good day, young sir,” Olrin said.  “How may I serve you, today?”

“Stabling for my horse,” the man replied.  “As well as a room for myself, and supper and breakfast.”

“It may be done, young sir,” Olrin said.  “The price would be nine pieces of silver, ten, if you want a bath . . . ?”

The man frowned, a tiny bit.  “I would care for a bath, now that you mention it, Master Olrin.  But . . . is ten silvers not a bit high a price?”

“Perhaps so,” Olrin said, disinterestedly.  “But, the alternative is to camp outside – not advisable, in Kavendale, young sir.  There are . . . troubles, here.  At night.”

I was right! Altairen thought.  He said “Troubles here, at night.”  I was right to come here!

“I . . . see,” Altairen said.  “Very well, then, Innkeeper, here you are.”

Altairen paid the cost, drawing on the bag of monies given him by the Temple treasurer, the night before he left.  He then sat down in the common room, and watched the fire that kept the room warm.  A serving girl, pretty, in a simple way, came shortly, and he ordered wine.

After an hour, or so, the door to the common room opened again, and a woman carrying a child came inside.  She moved to speak to the Innkeeper, and, after a few moments, Altairen heard her voice raise in protest.

“But, sir, I have only two silvers!” the woman cried.  “I do not ask for a room, only for a place near the hearth, for my son and I to sleep.  Surely – ”

“It’s five silvers, woman, for what you ask,” Olrin said, sounding surly.  “If you’ve not five silvers, then begone, for I’ve no time for your whining!”

“But sir, I have heard that there are . . . are undead, here!” the woman said.  “And my son is only five, sir!  You would not ask him to stay outdoors, not here!”

“I would, if you’ve not five silvers!” Olrin shouted.  “Now, get out!”

“No.”

Altairen had moved to stand behind the woman, and her son, and Olrin looked sharply at the young man, over her shoulder.

“I’ll thank you not to mind my business, boy!” Olrin said.  “I set the prices, here, not – ”

“I said, ‘No!’ ” Altairen said.  “You will not turn this woman and her child out to die at the hands of vampires, Olrin of Kavendale!”

“I WILL DO AS I PLEASE!” Olrin shouted.  “You have NO RIGHT to tell me how to run my inn, boy!”  Olrin came around the bar, and reached for the woman, saying, “The woman goes, and she goes n—”

He stopped, then, as the steel of Altairen’s saber touched the base of his throat.

“The lady stays,” Altairen said.  “And she stays for free, Innkeeper.”

“I’ll have the Watch on you!” Olrin said, gulping, and trying to move away from the blade, stopping when Altairen followed him back, and pressed hard enough to dimple the flesh of Olrin’s beefy neck.  “This is against the law!”

“You are mistaken about that,” Altairen said.  “But, by all means – send for the Watch!”

“You, girl!” Altairen said, over his shoulder, at the serving girl who stood at the bar, transfixed by the little drama.  “Fetch the captain of the Watch here, please, and be quick!”

The girl ran out, and Altairen said to the woman, who still held her child, “Sit, please, m’lady.  And do not worry, or be afraid.  Soon, this will all be straightened out.”

The woman sat, and stared at Altairen, as he stood, waiting, his sword never wavering from Olrin’s throat.

A few minutes later, a small, fit man of about forty entered the room, accompanied by a young man in a private’s uniform, and said, immediately, “Lower your sword, sir!  Now!”

Altairen did as he was told, going so far as to sheathe it, even, before turning to bow to the man, who wore the badge of Captain of the watch.

“Thank you, sir,” the captain said, relaxing, as the sword slid into it’s sheathe.  “I am Vareth, Captain of the Watch of Kavendale.”

“Now, Olrin, what in the name of the Nine Hells goes on here?” Vareth asked.

Olrin spoke quickly, and, to Altairen’s surprise, stuck to the facts, coloring them only very slightly.  He was obviously confident that the law was on his side.

“Is this accurate?” Vareth asked, when Olrin was through.

“Yes,” Altairen agreed.  “Save that I sent the girl for you, not him.”

“He is within his right’s, according to the King’s Law, to set his own prices,” Vareth said.  “And, as you drew upon him, for something that was legal, if he insists, I must lock you up, though I admire your thinking.”

“I do insist!” Olrin said.

“A moment, please, Captain.”  Altairen unfastened his cloak, and draped it across the bar top.  As be began unlacing his tunic, Altairen added, “I believe that I can straighten this out, quickly, if you will but grant me a moment.”

Vareth stepped back, but made no move to draw his sword, unsure of what was going on, as Altairen pulled off his tunic.

Then, the people in the room were treated to the sight of Altairen’s tattooed chest, the Silver Star of Alethanna gleaming in the fire light, and the last of the daylight.

“I am Altairen of Kavendale, Captain Vareth,” Altairen said, softly, “And I believe that the King’s Law also says, that the will of Arteneh, God of the White, and Alethanna, Goddess of Justice, take precedence over his Law, does it not?”

“So it does, Priest Altairen,” Vareth said, smiling.  “And I shall be glad to see Her punish this pig!”

“I am not a Priest,” Altairen corrected.  “I am the Guardian of the Silver Star, Alethanna’s Champion.”

“Very well, Guardian,” Vareth said, his eyes widening slightly.  “Regardless, I know that you speak the truth, for no man could wear Her mark like that, and not scream in agony, if he lied about why!”

Altairen smiled his thanks, and turned to Olrin, who was staring in fear, now.

“Master Olrin,” Altairen said softly, his voice still echoing faintly from the huge oak beams of the common room ceiling.  “I find you to be greedy beyond all possible acceptance, willing to condemn a woman and a child to the possibility of vampiric attack, for a few pieces of silver.  And, since you love money, it is your wallet that shall bear your punishment.

“Tell me – and answer truthfully, Olrin – do you use a counting house, to store your money, or do you keep it here?”

“Here, Lord,” Olrin whispered.

“Fetch your savings,” Altairen said.  “Take the Captain with you, to see that you bring it all.”

Olrin did as he was bid, and Altairen knew that he spoke the truth, when he said that the two small chests he brought back held all of his monies.

Altairen opened the chests, to find one filled with silver, with occasional pieces of gold mixed in.  The other, however, was filled with gold, and had a small compartment sectioned off, that was filled with pieces of platinum.

“Your greed could well have cost two lives, this night, Olrin,” Altairen said.  “So, my judgment shall be harsh – but it is incontrovertible, you realize?”

Olrin nodded, mutely.

“Return this chest to it’s place,” Altairen said, closing the one that was mostly silver.  Then he tapped the other, and said, “Tomorrow, I shall take this to the counting house I passed, on my way here.  You worship Coskanik, Olrin?”

The innkeeper nodded, admitting to his worship of the God of the Gray.

“I am familiar with the ways of your religion, and the tithe they expect.”  Altairen looked at the man, his eyes flickering faintly with the Silver Fire of his Goddess.  “Have you tithed, from these monies, Olrin.”

“No, Lord Champion,” Olrin said.

“Very well,” Altairen said.  “One fifth of these monies shall be turned over to Coskanik’s nearest temple, and the remainder shall be divided between the Temples of the White, the Sun, the Earth, the Moon, Justice, and Knowledge.  I will pay for runners, from my own monies, to be sent to the nearest of each temple, with messages to come and pick up your fine.

“In addition, this lady – ” Altairen indicated the woman and her son.  “ – and her son, shall stay here, for three days, as they look road weary, for free.  They shall have your best room, your best food, and you shall treat them as though they were royalty themselves.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Lord Champion,” Olrin whispered.  “It shall be as you say.”

“Greed kills, Olrin,” Altairen said.  “As surely as hatred, greed kills.  Remember that, and remember that if ever your greed causes a death . . . I shall know of it, and I shall find you.”

Then Altairen turned to Captain Vareth, who was grinning, slightly, at Olrin’s discomfort, and said, “Captain, I understand you have a vampire problem.  Come, let us sit – I have a plan to help, but it must be discussed at some length.  Perhaps you could send a runner, to let your subordinates know you will be here, overnight . . . ?”

The next day, Altairen was very busy.  He made arrangement for delivery of the monies of Olrin’s fine – and made arrangements to ambush a group of ten vampires.

The latter was easier than Captain Vareth would have believed, or at least, it was according to Altairen.

“Two skilled archers, two clerics of a friendly sect, one mildly competent wizard, and myself.”  Altairen had claimed that no more would be needed – but, when Vareth had offered to double the number of archers, and add a second wizard, Altairen had not refused.

Night fell on Kavendale, and found Altairen kneeling in the middle of the main street, a blanket draped around his shoulders, and across his lap.  He knelt there, eyes closed, and simply waited, trusting his senses to alert him when the vampires arrived.

Nor did he have long to wait.

It was barely half an hour after dark, when Altairen felt the heat in his chest grow stronger, as the Lady’s fire tried to break free in the presence of evil.  He banked those fires, with an effort of will, and opened his eyes to see a vampire standing directly in front of him.

“Little man,” the Vampire said, in a soft, teasing voice, “are you ill?  Dying perhaps?”

“No,” Altairen said.

After a moment of waiting for further explanation, the vampire hissed in annoyance, and said, “Then you must be stark mad, to be sitting here, waiting for us to kill you.”

“No,” Altairen said.  “Not mad, monster.

“Just very, very angry!”

Then Altairen moved, rising in one smooth motion, right hand bringing his saber out from under the blanket, left clutching the blanket together at his throat.  He lunged forward, wrist turning to bring the blade parallel to the ground, that it might not catch on a rib, and shoving it neatly through the vampire’s heart.

“Foolish boy!” the vampire said, hissing in pain, from the silver coating on the blade.  “Now, I shall – ”

“Burn!” Altairen finished for him – and shrugged off the blanket that covered his torso, revealing the marks of his Goddess, and, at the same time, releasing Her fires that burned within him.

The vampire burst into flame immediately, and died screaming only seconds later.

The street suddenly lit up with magical lights, as the two wizards cast light spells, and Altairen felt the palpable auras of the two clerics that Captain Vareth had found, one from the Temple of the White, and one from the Temple of the Sun, moved to block off the ends of the streets, already praying to their respective gods, putting up barriers that would slow, or perhaps stop, the vampires, should they attempt to leave.

Then the archers, stationed on rooftops, opened fire.

Altairen turned, caught an incoming blow on his forearm, burning the vampire who threw the punch, and rammed the saber into it’s chest, igniting it, before pulling his blade free, and leaping at a third, then turning to a fourth, as a wooden arrow caught that one’s heart, and ended it’s existence, before Altairen could strike.

In minutes, it was all over.  Ten dead vampires, no casualties, save for some minor wounds, for Altairen.

The next day, he hunted down the spawn that the vampires had left behind, with the aid of the clerics, and a squad of Captain Vareth’s Watch.

And the day after that, he left, moving north, following the tiny, barely-felt tugging of the fires of Alethanna.

And so his mission truly began.

_________________________________________________

Almost nine years passed.

Altairen became more experienced, faced evils and trials he would never have imagined that he could stand against.  He grew in wisdom, and his fighting skills actually improved, some.  His love for his Goddess, and his devotion to her, never flagged.

He fought demons, and monsters, and common highwaymen.  He hunted Clerics of Chaos, and the Dark, and wizards performing unnatural experiments, on both humans and animals.  He tracked down and brought harsh justice to assassins, thieves, and murderers.

He led small groups against large, and won the day.  He deposed corrupt nobles, denounced barbaric laws, and even unfair taxes.  On one memorable occasion, he led a fairly large army, against a larger one, and came through victorious, with the help of a particularly militant cleric of the White.

He acted as judge, in many a trial.  And, when necessary, he performed the least favorite of the duties that Alethanna demanded – and performed as executioner.

He never took another lover, after Jenara.

And, in the last year of his life in the Kingdoms of Gavronis, he met a challenge that he was certain would kill him – and he was right.

_________________________________________________

Jaranaset, God of the Black, had done what no other God or Goddess in legend had done.

He had mated with a mortal woman, a highly-placed priestess of his faith – and brought a son into the Kingdoms of Gavronis.

That son had grown with astonishing speed, having grown to manhood – and nigh-unbelievable power – in only 12 years.

Late in Altairen’s eighth year of wandering the Kingdoms, he first heard of the vile depredations of Jaranoris, Son of Darkness.  Shortly after, he found himself allied with the armies of Gavron, capitol of Gavronis.  All the clerics of the seven Gods who were not evil were represented, even those of Garen, God of Knowledge, who was notorious for his neutral stance in the affairs of men.

In three months, Altairen found himself in command of a staggeringly large army, in a kingdom under siege.  He was terrified of making mistakes, maintaining an outward semblance of calm only through the reassurances of Alethanna, and the clerics around him.

Nine days after his 29th birthday, Altairen led his armies in a surprise attack on the sanctuary-fortress of Jaranoris.  He and a single platoon of warriors and clerics took advantage of the mass confusion, and slipped into the fortress unnoticed.

There, in the heart of a place devoted to evil, did Altairen of Kavendale, Guardian of the Silver Star, come face to face with Jaranoris, Son of Darkness.

They battled, as such opposites must, and it was a titanic thing.  The rest of Altairen’s people held off all interference, and witnessed a battle the likes of which they hoped never to see again.

Silver and Black.  Fire and Darkness.

Justice . . . and Evil.

Altairen burned so brightly with the Silver Fires that he could barely be looked on – and Jaranoris, whose skin was as black as a starless night, met the silver with his own blackness.  They were nearly impossible to see, the two warriors, for the contradicting energies that they wielded.

In the end, Altairen, wounded worse than he ever had been before, finally managed to get a grip on Jaranoris’s throat, and he began closing his hands inexorably, not even noticing the penetrating cold that froze his skin.

*Foolish MORTAL!* Jaranoris shouted, in Altairen’s mind.  *You cannot kill me!  Light cannot exist, without Darkness to define it!*

“You are right,” Altairen said, coughing, and spitting blood in his enemy’s face.  “But, you are also wrong, Dark One, for there is another truth, that you have forgotten!

“I can kill you – because the Dark can only define the Light – it cannot withstand it!”

With the last of his will, Altairen summoned all that remained of the Silver Fires within him, and channeled them into his hands.

Oh, Goddess, let it be enough! he prayed – and clenched his hands.

She heard him – and answered with power.

The explosion was a mixture of black and silver, at the start, at least – but the Silver quickly overwhelmed the black, and burst forth with a vibrating shrill of power –

And when it cleared, Jaranoris’s withered body was resting before the Throne of Onyx, from which he had intended to rule the world.

Of Altairen’s body . . . there was no sign.

NOT the End!

Beginning | Previous | Next

1