Chapter 2

Practically thrown from the room, Eriadon slung his leather satchel over his shoulder and placed the trinket in one of the side pouches, two figures rising from a nearby bench to join him as he exhaled softly and walked toward them. “What did Aliquem want?” A tall, solidly built man asked. “You’re usually in there a lot longer.” He said with coal-black eyes peering curiously at Eriadon.
Eriadon pulled the rolled scrolls from his pack and handed one to the curious man and another to the silent one. “We’re in the running to become Templars in service to Ralis.” Eriadon replied, his voice holding a subtle sarcasm to it. “Looks like you didn’t get sent north with Sasha, Mora. Hate to say it, but I don’t think you ever really had a choice in the matter.”
Moradrim, Mora to his friends, hastily broke the seal and read his orders, a soft curse emitting from his lips before scratching his head in frustration and crumpling the edict. “I didn’t even petition for this position.” He stated. “I’d rather have been sent to the western front than south with Ralis. What of you, Triannon?”
Triannon looked down at his orders saying at first, and he soon tucked the scroll into his belt and shrugged his broad shoulders. “I don’t really care where I go.” He said. “Just whatever gets us out of Sanctuary and into the world…I’m tired of this place: twenty years of training on how to be a brute.” Eriadon elbowed him sharply, an open door nearby containing several congregating Templar-Hunters. “Sorry, how to enlighten others with our actions.” Triannon corrected himself. “You’d think they’d rather send us west to the frontier with the bulk of the Holy Army and not to some tedious clerical position where the most excitement we’ll have to look forward to each day is signing a death warrant for some heretic. Isn’t that what they want for us orphans?”
“Well,” Eriadon began, stairs dropping down before them leading another floor, “I could be to blame for your orders. Aliquem knew where I’d be sent and told me he wanted me to have some company…of course with Ralis’ little game, he wanted me to have a few people watching my back.”
Moradrim slapped Eriadon on his back. “Hey, if you want to be a Templar that’s fine with me, I’ll keep some Arcanite from sticking a knife in your back if that’s what it takes.”
“Ha! Eriadon? A Templar?”
Heads turned toward an approaching group, the lead clean-shaven and handsome. His eyes were a bright blue and hair a golden blond; tall and lanky with an arrogant gait about him. As he came closer, Eriadon throat burned, bitter bile welling up, such was the offending nature that Eriadon felt toward the man known as Pharazon.
“It will come down to who knows who, and both my parents have seats on the Praetor’s council…what do your parents have?” Pharazon stopped and smirked. “That’s right…I guess that’s why they let you in: they’re land owners after all.”
Laughter erupted behind him, and Pharazon folded his arms across his chest as a shorter, more rounded man beside him nodded his head in agreement accompanied by loud, obnoxious laughter, “Because they’re dead, right Pharazon? Because the only land they own is what they’re buried in?”
Pharazon’s smile faded as he looked to his fellow reluctantly, raising his hand prepared to strike. “Yes you dimwit. Geez, you’re almost as bad as they are Falastar.”
Falastar’s face turned a deep shade of crimson, causing the mole on his cheek look almost ready to pop, “Though I suppose since you’re not a charity case Falastar, such can be overlooked. Not sure what is worse…being an orphan, here only by the kindness of Paladine, or a simple charity-case to make the rest of us look better.”
Several of the nearby students looked down to their pale yellow robes, shifting uncomfortably within the garments reserved for those from the peasantry. “Charity case?” Moradrim growled, stepping closer to Pharazon. Eriadon quickly placed a hand on his chest to stop him from advancing further toward the noble, holding his friend’s anger in check.
“That’s right Eriadon; put a leash on your dog.” Pharazon said to another chorus of laughter, his friends slapping hands gleefully.
“You forget, Pharazon,” Eriadon stated as a crowd began to gather around them, whispered words of warning directed at Pharazon as Eriadon stepped closer. “With more than half of this place being ‘charity cases’ or orphans, it leaves you and your lackeys at the shallow end of the pond with little to stand on if we choose to act against you. I am sure very few would find you in the deep recesses of this place if we wished to hide the body of some arrogant son of a-”
Eriadon stepped forward before he felt a strong hand on his shoulder, and instantly he gripped the arm and turned to dispose of the aggressor when he came face to face with Lord Ralis. Hushed words followed excitedly in the crowd before they all wisely dispersed, all save the ten that had gathered near an open doorway, each holding a scroll ordering them to accompany Lord Ralis. “I’ll ask you not to raise your hand in violence within these hallowed halls, Eriadon.” Ralis said roughly, releasing Eriadon’s arm. “I trust you to remember that: unwarranted violence is not something I will tolerate.”
“Violence?” Eriadon asked. “I was trying to stop it from happening. Pharazon, on the other hand, seems to want nothing more than to lose his teeth.”
Ralis looked over to Pharazon and his eyes narrowed sharply as the latter folded his arms and merely smiled, puffing out his chest as he did. “Pharazon,” Ralis said with a shake of his head. “Try to behave among the orphans…they still have a lot to learn of civilized conversation.” He lifted his hand to silence Eriadon’s protests. “And you and your kind will have to come to terms with the truth someday…if a few words will boil your blood, you won’t last long in trying to spread the word of Paladine to the infidels, especially when their threats are those of murder…perhaps I was wrong about you, Eriadon. Maybe you are not ready.”
No one said another word on the matter, and the Lord Ralis motioned toward the empty room nearby. “I will say this one last time…put your differences behind you from this point forward or you will be a liability both to yourself and to those with you. Besides, you will all need your strength for the days to come. Enter, and I will explain to you the situation.”
One by one they filed into the small room and slid into creaking chairs, many of the Paladin-knights leaning rather complacently on the wooden surfaces of the desks as Lord Ralis moved to a rather decrepit projector in the center of the room. He flipped a few switches before stepping past the projector and wiped down the chalk board to clear the surface. A small stone resting on a pedestal behind the lens flared to life. The lights around the room mystically grew dim, and a picture appeared on the chalk board at the front of the room, distorted and out of focus. A few quick twists of the knob by Ralis, and the portrait of a powerful-looking man with a strong chin and jaw line, dark eyes and stubble came into focus.
“This,” Ralis said as he paced the floor, stepping through the beam of light. “This is Cid Blackwell, self-proclaimed Lord of Dunvunion. He is calling himself the true vessel of Paladine, an absurd notion if ever I’ve heard, but he seems to be dredging up more trouble of late…apparently the murdering of my last Templar and his Paladin-knights has given him the quaint notion that no one can stop his heresy.”
A few hissed a condemning phrase beneath their breath while others, like Eriadon, remained stone-faced, studying the man on the board before them who, even captured in a drawing, seemed incredibly lifelike and determined. “He has been spotted in the southern marches rallying others to him under the guise he follows Paladine – though his choice of companions would state otherwise. He has been seen in the company of Elves and Dwarves, even a scant offering of Gnomes and brutish half-Orcs.”
Moradrim leaned over and gave Eriadon a nudge, “Elves huh? Better watch out…their women are supposed to be more beautiful than any human. You remember brother Gibraltar? Said he had actually met an Elf and she seduced him without ever saying a word. Could you imagine, just a look and she’s got you.” Moradrim said with a soft laugh. “Course knowing Gibraltar, that fat bastard, probably wishes someone would seduce him, and the butcher is all ready married-“
“Something funny, Moradrim?” Ralis demanded impatiently, his explanation having ended at the disruption.
“No sir, just a little anxious to go bring a few Elves to the justice of Paladine.” He replied with a serious expression on his face.
“Indeed.” Ralis commented doubtfully before slowly leading back into orders. “The High Templar has requested that since the Holy army wages war in the west and the recent death of my entire core of Paladin-knights that I should take the best that this place has to offer and charge them with his capture. You all are among the top recruits here, skilled in combat, diplomacy, and well versed in our history and beliefs. Most of you have been eyed by the Templar-hunters for assignment or my counterpart in Lord Inviolate, but such is the nature of this mission that I could select my team regardless of petitioning rights.”
Falastar leaned back in his chair, exposing his hand toward Pharazon and the man took it with a confident smile, shaking it in self-recognized greatness.
“I have been instructed not to bring him to harm, yet,” Ralis paused as he rolled a small dial on the projector causing a map to appear on the board. “But as I said earlier, my Templar and his Paladin-knights were slain after trying to bring him in for questioning some months ago. Some of their bodies were not even found such is Blackwell’s villainy. I will not comment further on the bodies we did find…just know that both I and the High Templar view this mission as one of great risk.”
“Now then, with great risk comes great reward.” Ralis said with a firm nod. “The one who apprehends Blackwell will become the new Templar for the southern fiefdom and Taringor. It is not a duty to be taken lightly, for my realm is full of dangers that you will face each day. Just as the reward should be taken seriously, Blackwell should not be taken lightly…he knows what he is doing, and the fear he promotes makes his followers extremely dangerous. We believe that his strength lies in his words, the forked tongue of Arcanite is strong in him, and he leaves his dirty work to his allies.”
He turned his gaze back to the map and adjusted the dials once more, the slightly blurred picture rapidly coming to focus. When the knobs stopped turning, the picture dropped out of alignment once more and Ralis struck the projector violently, the picture coming in clear. “Now then, Blackwell and his followers were last spotted here, in the village of Gren. We believe he is operating out of the Derchin forest north of the Argyle, but he has also frequented a Dwarf settlement near the Cloud Peaks and his roving band moves across the Seldanine robbing and kidnapping at will. Each of these areas will be thoroughly searched, and I tell you now that aside from the position of Templar, there are many great rewards to be had from the High Templar himself.”
There were excited words exchanged between Pharazon and Falastar, their companion, a stick of a man with rat-like features named Wert joining in their excitement. Eriadon merely rolled his eyes, the sentiment echoed by Moradrim. Three women looked over their way and smiled, neither Moradrim nor Eriadon missing the look of annoyed disgust as Pharazon snapped his fingers and brought the gazes of the women back to him.
A stifled snore caught Moradrim’s attention as Triannon was sleeping in his seat, the large man nudging Eriadon to rouse him before Ralis looked their way. “Any questions?” Ralis asked, the projector going dim.
“Overlord,” Pharazon started boldly. “So this position and chance is open to all here? Why not leave the dogs here and take the proper nobility? Leave the three mongrels over there…let the seven of us take care of it and send them back to their monks.”
Moradrim shot out of his chair, closing the space between himself and Pharazon in two steps, and landed a solid fist against Pharazon’s jaw, desks and chairs flying backward as Paladins scrambled to break up the scuffle. Moradrim landed a few more blows as Pharazon covered himself from harm, his cries for help filling the chamber, and it took Eriadon, Triannon, and all three women to hold Moradrim and back him away from Pharazon’s fetal-positioned body. Ralis’ voice boomed out over the chaos to little effect, and both Wert and Falastar knelt next to Pharazon while calling for Moradrim’s head.
Eriadon’s turned on Moradrim once he was restrained, “Moradrim, you idiot!” He started, but where his friend had begun to calm down, the situation deteriorated further.
Pharazon shot up from the ground spitting insults and charging across the room toward Moradrim, Eriadon and Triannon exchanging looks wondering if Pharazon was serious in his efforts. His face was red and nose bloodied but Pharazon drew nearer, hurling foul language at the orphan while drawing a dagger from its scabbard on his waist and lifting it menacingly toward Moradrim.
Eriadon rushed at him then, releasing Moradrim in quick order and tackling Pharazon to the ground, sending the dagger skipping across the floor as Pharazon threw a few weak punches against Eriadon as they tussled on the ground, the orphaned Paladin wrapping his arm about Pharazon’s neck and squeezing as the other’s thrashing quickly began to subside.
Seeing the situation deteriorating in favor of the nobles, Ralis intervened. He crossed quickly to Eriadon, reaching down and releasing the hold the man had on Pharazon and tossed him to the side. A sputtering and gasping Pharazon was hauled back to his feet by the Overlord, and Ralis slapped Pharazon hard when the man continued to throw insults toward the orphans. An infuriated look crossed Pharazon’s features, but his objection ceased as Ralis lifted his hand once again, a final warning.
The Templar Overlord wheeled around to Moradrim, his hand waving menacingly. “Your final warning, Paladin-knight. Next time, you will stand before the Triumvirate for your transgressions, and only the gallows will wait for you after that. You have struck a noble, granted he deserved such, but regardless: outside of these walls, Paladin-knight or no, you will adhere to the laws laid down by Paladine himself. You are by station the lowest level of nobility; beneath those of the same title should they have birthing. Do not forget this, Moradrim.”
All eyes were fixed upon the Overlord who straightened his tunic and belt, his breathing heavy and labored, waving the gathered Paladin-knights dismissively toward the door. “Triannon, take your troublemaking friends to the armory. The rest of you will wait for me outside. We will depart in one hour from the stables – do not be late.”
Eriadon practically shoved Moradrim from the room, the latter stumbling as he fought to regain his composure. Triannon fought hard not to laugh, shaking his head and cracking frequent smiles to Moradrim’s unyielding cursing and insults, the latter moving down the hallway and kicking a bench in frustration. “Are you trying to get sent to the Triumvirate?” Eriadon demanded in a harsh whisper. “Calm down Mora, he’s nothing but an inbred scab. Leave him and his ilk to their positions and titles. We are one step closer to being free of this place to see what the High Templar has been shielding us from all these years, one step closer to having control over our lives.”
Triannon looked up, one of the woman from the chamber passing before them and giving him a soft smile, flipping her dark brown hair in his direction. The two remaining women called to her, giggling as they passed by the three men and Triannon’s gaze stared at their backs, following them down the corridor taking more than a little pleasure in ogling the noble-born women that would be traveling with them.
His eyes were peeled from the retreating forms as voices lifted from the room, he snapped suddenly to Eriadon and Moradrim and they all moved quietly toward the room. The voices spoke in hushed, secretive tones, Pharazon receiving what seemed like alternate orders from the Templar Overlord. “I don’t care who you think you are. You’re not near capable enough to take on any of those three yet. Keep your blade sheathed unless you’re certain you’ll strike a killing blow, otherwise it’s your body they’ll be sending into the Temple and believe me you better hope your dead if you’re sent there. You are no match for them: let the orphans do the dirty work and you keep your eyes open for your chance.”
“Why bring them with us?” Pharazon hissed irritably. “I don’t trust them, you shouldn’t either. And Eriadon, he’s been training with that monk in the north tower for years now, nobody knows what goes on in there. That old codger should have been sacked years ago, for all we know he’s a damn Arcanite.”
“Aliquem has his uses, and the High Templar and the Templar-Hunters have been watching him for years. Let us worry about Aliquem and the other monks. As for the orphans, stay your temper and your insults. You’ll be no good to anyone dead, and they might find killing you a well-warranted trade off. Paladine teaches us to respect and understand all aspects of life, even that of our personal enemies. Remember that: you never know who might save your skin one day…perhaps even be one of those bastard children.”
The trio scattered as their conversation continued on another subject, Moradrim fuming. He trailed after Eriadon, the man leading them down the hall when they passed by Wert and Falastar. They leaned against an open window that looked out into the courtyard, and their conversation stopped when Moradrim passed, resuming once they were out of earshot as Eriadon and his fellows descended down the corridor toward the armory, Triannon casting a wary glance over his shoulder, the men staring at him with murder in their eyes.