Chapter 3

Heat warmed the skin on their faces while the chorus of pounding hammers and grindstones filled the air. Barrel-chested men walked without shirts, carrying piles of wood, coal, and metals while aprons and belts held a multitude of small tools. Manning the forges were several dwarves and two Elves, slaves to Sanctuary put to work where their talents would benefit the Holy Empire. Iron collars were locked around their necks while shimmering chains ran through the loops and anchored to the floors near each forge. The overseer, a massive blob of a man with a great belly and short, squat legs, lurked nearby, a long whip coiled at his waist and a massive meat cleaver dangling from a loop on his rope belt, eyes always on the slaves who worked the forges of the High Templar.
The dwarves were beardless, a notable mark of pride and stature within their society, and it was forbidden by slaves to the High Templar for them to grow one. Each bore scars on their faces from where once glorious bushels of facial hair had grown for years, but upon their capture the servants of the High Templar had pulled them out one handful at a time, their punishment for serving Arcanite. The Elves, oldest of all peoples, were not spared their dignity either. Long had they served Arcanite and as with the dwarves, they were stripped of a great source of pride and care: their hair. Shaven bald upon capture, their torsos were marked with tattoos and their arms were branded. They were then distributed amongst the nobles, offered up for sale to the highest bidder. Both men and women were subjugated and stripped of any pride they could muster, and frequently their mangled bodies were found in alleys and gutters naked and bound, the men castrated and the women raped. Such was the hatred for Arcanite and the sport the pious of Palanthos extracted from his servants.
One of the Dwarves weathered a quick glance toward Eriadon, his mallet stopping briefly before the overseer began making rounds, and he soon took up the chorus of the hammer once more looking busy even when Eriadon approached him without fear. He paused in his smelting, running a hand through his cropped hair. “Got some fire in your satchel, boy?”
Eriadon neared the forge and the Dwarf returned to his work, hammer pounding away on some metal. The Paladin-knight offered an inquisitive look, and the Dwarf motioned toward a small glowing circle visible within the leather satchel before returning dutifully to his work, the Overseer crossing nearby.
The man pulled free the medallion given to him by Aliquem, the glowing disc intensifying for a brief moment and then went dull and lifeless once more. “By Paladine’s beard…” The Dwarf looked up to Eriadon expectantly, the Paladin surprised by the Dwarf’s expression. “I’d take that over to the Elves, Paladin,” He said quickly, casting a look over his shoulder at the approaching Overseer. “It don’t seem like no trinket just anyone gets here.”
A thick whip cracked against the Dwarf’s back as the overseer noticed him speaking. He went to strike the dwarf again, but his whip stalled as Eriadon shot him a look of warning. The overseer said nothing to Eriadon, knowing the Paladin-knights that descended into the armory were petitioners for knighthood and far above their own stature. He shot a look of warning to the Dwarf, making a motion with his hand that caused the Dwarf to expedite his work, his features grim as he hammered out a sheet of metal ore.
Eriadon took his leave of the Dwarf, walking toward the trio of Elves. His eyes found Moradrim; the man gripped a massive halberd in his hands and let loose a satisfied howl, swinging it back and forth to test its balance and poise. Triannon, meanwhile, was eying a large two-handed sword with satisfaction and both men quickly turning on one another and engaging in a quick sparring match, the sound of steel striking with each skillfully parried blow.
The Elves looked up when Eriadon stopped just before their forges, bowing their heads slightly and quickly returning to work as the overseer came near. “Off with you, I’ll have a word with these two here, grunt.” Eriadon snapped haughtily to the overseer, “Go on, least I send you up to the Praetor.”
The overseer fled from him then, rolls of fat jiggling as he rushed away not wanting an appearance before the Praetor. Not many did. The Praetor and his council would not tolerate the overseer’s interference with the business of a student, especially one about to depart Sanctuary. One would have a better chance pleading life out of death than turning the mind of the Praetor if a student was challenged by a servant, and breaching that code of conduct frequently led to the servant being sent into the sewers or worse. Worse, in the case of a servant overstepping his bounds was a swift departure to the regulars on the western front.
As the forge master retreated to a small room, Eriadon stepped toward the Elf that had looked his way upon entering the forges. A woman next to him, naked from her waist up, eyed the human suspiciously, her lean and muscled body glowing in the light of the forge. “I was told by the fellow over there to come here and speak with you about this,” Eriadon showed them the medallion. “I received this from brother Aliquem.”
“A gift from Aliquem, hmm? You must be the student he told me about a few days back…the tolerant one.” The Elf said with a slight smile, motioning the woman away, but not before Eriadon saw her brilliant green eyes light up and a smile flash on her face. “Not like being tolerant is a difficult task in this place, just a rare ability amongst the noble trash – begging your pardon for my words, Paladin.” He corrected himself immediately, Eriadon shaking his head dismissively.
“I won’t fault a man for speaking the truth.” Eriadon replied with a smile.
The Elf seemed a bit more at ease, even the presence of the woman nearby seemed altered, and the Elf motioned for the Paladin-knight to hand him the medallion. “I haven’t seen one of these in many years … a seal of Paladine. Not since I was a Warden, but that’s not something I’ll go into...a long, boring story, probably get you hanged for hearing it. This seal…did Aliquem tell you anything about it?” Eriadon shook his head, “No? Pity. It was forged years ago during the second darkness. These were held by the leaders of Paladine’s armies.”
He took the seal into his hands, studying it for a moment before casting it into the fires where the medallion began to glow brightly once more. Satisfied, the Elf fetched the seal with the tongs and dropped it into a bucket of water, a squealing hiss and steam lifting upward from the pail.
The Elf waited a moment before reaching into the warm water, taking the medallion from the container, the surface of the seal devoid of the grime it was covered in when Aliquem had given it to Eriadon. The Paladin-knight studied the shining metal as the Elf polished it with a cloth, the brilliant shield on one side and the tree, sword, and shield as radiant as if it had just been crafted. The Elf handed it back to Eriadon. “Quite the artifact here…doubt if even your High Templar has seen one of these.”
Eriadon studied the medallion in a new light. Perhaps it would bring him a little luck in the days to come. The Elf pointed to the decorated buckle of Eriadon’s belt. “That is the new seal, adopted by High Templar Mathos after he put down the uprisings. See the gauntleted hand, the clenched fist and the sword? It was a shift in the thought which went into those declared to be Arcanites…the hard fist and the blade, quite oppressive if you ask me…but what would a slave know of oppression?” He returned briefly to his work. “They don’t even hold a flame to the glory that the seal in your hand possesses…quite the history lesson that could be told based on it alone, but once again it would only accompany a hanging.”
“Indeed,” Eriadon commented softly, “Surely these are documented somewhere; someone still has to know about them. If they were the old symbols of Paladine, it should be in one of the books of records.”
The Elf shook his head. “Few knew what the original seals of Paladine looked like, much less if they even believed that they were real. It is possible that they have all been forgotten...the Tree, the Shield, and the Sword have long been standing representations of Paladine, but not since the death of Kathos when they went missing did any know just exactly how they looked. That was when the upturned sword was adopted by Erathan, Kathos’ son, though I believe that each High Templar has just started adopting a new seal to mark their period as the lord of the Faith.”
A yelp ripped their eyes from the seal and to the she-elf, the overseer having returned and taking a moment to grope and fondle the female Elf, her protests going unheeded while the obese forge master took pleasure from her struggles. Eriadon took a step toward them, “Unhand her.” He ordered directly, and the overseer tossed the Elf at him, her chains rattling as Eriadon caught her against his body. She shrugged away from him, covering herself against the unwanted violations.
The overseer laughed, his eyes falling to the small trinket and staring at it momentarily. He took a handful of steps toward them, but Moradrim and Triannon appeared beside him, both holding their new weapons and looking for a bit of sport it seemed. “Seems you’ve overstepped your bounds, fatty.” Moradrim said as he lowered the halberd. “Why not move aside and let the man place his order.”
“Come to think of it,” Triannon echoed, flicking free a small punch dagger and pressing it against the man’s left buttock. “I don’t much enjoy seeing a woman handled as such, slave or no…if you touch her again and I hear of it, I personally guarantee that your death will not be so pleasurable.”
Triannon gave him a hard shove and the two Paladins led him away, leaving Eriadon and the Elf to their conversation. “Thank you, Paladin.” The Elf said. “Not many who’d stand up for a slave.”
Eriadon eyed the woman, her hands visibly shaking as she returned to work. “Slave or no, she shouldn’t have to endure that.” He glanced down to the seal in his hand. “Why would Aliquem give this to me?” He asked. “If he’s trying to put it in the hands of someone who will be seen and perhaps return our Faith to what it once was, why not give it to someone more widely known or at least someone of nobility? As this place likes to remind me each day, what am I but an orphan? He called it a lucky charm but you seem to think differently about it.”
The Elf shrugged as he took the medallion from Eriadon’s hand and placed it in on his anvil, quickly taking a clay bowl resting in the coals of the furnace before proceeding to pour a small amount of liquid metal into a notch in the center of a gleaming hilt belonging to a blackened, soot-covered blade. The Elf pressed firmly on the seal as it made contact with the molten metal, the shield facing upward. Beneath his thumbs the seal flared and pulsed, and the Elf seemed satisfied with its positioning before dropping the hilt into the cool bucket of water on the floor.
In moments it was fused into the hilt of the sword with a final hissing, and the Elf pulling the weapon from the waters. “That’s the key question then isn’t it? Why give it to you if it were something more than a simple charm?” The Elf asked as he began sharpening the blade on a grinding stone, pausing to wipe at the blade with a rag that pulled away the soot and grime. “I will tell you that this seal was one of three crafted at the same time. Maybe if you find the other two in your journeys outside this place then perhaps why Aliquem saw fit to give it to you will become all the clearer. It couldn’t hurt to look after all. I mean, they are relics of your faith.”
The Elf took his hammer and pounded loudly on the blade, smoke and sparks flying from its surface. He pushed the blade into the fires once more, shaking it loosely in his hand. “Come back in a few moments and I’ll have this finished for you…thank Aliquem for letting us know you’d be down this way, otherwise this could very well have taken days to complete.” He motioned toward the Dwarf. “Head back over to Stumpy there, he can set you up with some of the better armor in this place…believe me, there’s very few pieces he puts all his skill into.”
Eriadon moved back across the smithy toward the Dwarf he had spoken with earlier, the latter hammering away at a curved sheet of metal. Sparks flew as the hammer crashed down again, and his gnarled hands gripped the pliers tightly, dunking the metal into a bath of water. He cast the ends of the tools back into the fire, turning to the returning Paladin-knight. “Saw your friends roughing up the overseer for what he did to the she-elf. Can’t say anything good will come of it for us, but least there are a few of you not as bad as the others…did Tree Huggers give you anything good?” He asked softly. Eriadon nodded his head, looking around toward the armor stands. “They said you could help with some things that aren’t nearly as shoddy as what’s hanging.”
“Shoddy!” He spat, tone of his voice noting the insult therein. “My work is hardly shoddy; uninspired perhaps, but let you spit out chain of rings and plate armor as a slave and see what you’re willing to cloth your oppressors in. Findalin!” The dwarf tossed a scrap piece of iron across the forges toward the Elf, latter smirking in return. “If my work is shoddy than yours ain’t fit for a goblin to pick its teeth with!” He kicked a stack of metal and armor piled next to the forge reveling beneath it a woven suit of chain. “Here” He said, handing Eriadon the tightly-knit armor of chain. “This will hold up better than much of the plate stuff we send out.” The Dwarf shrugged, looking harmlessly side to side. “What do I care if these dogs die?”
Eriadon said nothing, frowning slightly at the Dwarf’s admission, but the man had a point and Eriadon agreed with him to an extent. He cared little if something happened to Pharazon, but if something happened to his friends...
The Paladin reached down and took a few armored shirts from the pile. “For my friends.” He said with a smile as he motioned toward Triannon and Moradrim, the pair leaving the small room adjacent to the forges. Before the door closed, they could see the unconscious overseer leaning against the back wall.
“You’ll want the leather overcoat too.” The dwarf pointed toward the leather jerkins piled in the corner. “Will help absorb the blades should they strike you, but you all ready know that I am sure. Now get ye gone, and I hope never to see you back in here again.”
Eriadon spent some time rummaging about the leather hides in the corner of the room, the striking and pounding of hammers on anvils ringing in pitched refrains to which he dutifully selected what would fit his comrades. Even to his untrained eye, he could see the subtle flaws that could cause a catastrophic end in the leather working, and while a growing part of him wished to speak to the Praetor of Sanctuary about the quality of the work being done in the forges, both the Elves and Dwarves within the forges seemed to know Aliquem, and they had actually helped him more after that admission. For Eriadon that gave pause to his suspicions and decided to give Aliquem the benefit of the doubt, knowing that the monk would have reported it himself if he thought there was any true harm behind less-than optimal weapons and armor.
“What you got there?” Moradrim asked as he and Triannon returned, almost missing the chain shirt tossed his way. “Better quality than the plate armor; put this on and ditch the other stuff.”
Moradrim looked over the new material skeptically, tugging on the chains and eying the leather carefully. “Well, can’t say I trust it to deflect an arrow, but if you trust your life to it, then I will too.”
Both men soon tossed aside their plate armor in favor of the lighter chain, placing it and the leather coats on overtop before returning their Paladin-knight tabards to their bodies. “Not bad.” Triannon admitted as he turned and stretched. “But it really doesn’t seem like it will stop a blade.”
“It will do that at least.” A voice said from behind them as the Elf Eriadon had spoken with appeared, stretched to the limit of his chains with a sheathed blade in his hand. “Your weapon, Paladin-knight Eriadon…may you wield it well in Paladine’s name against the darkness of the Arcanite.
Eriadon took the blade and drew it from its sheath, the cold steel reflecting his youthful face in its mirrored surface. Deep runes were cut into the steel, and Eriadon pointed toward them. “What’s with the runes?” He asked.
“Not sure…they appeared shortly after the seal was set into the hilt. Could try reading them myself, but then again why would I if I could?” His last hostilities were a far cry from his earlier words, almost as if he realized upon handing over the blade that he had outfitted his oppressors with a valuable weapon.
The Elf sulked back to the forges, casting a wary glance over his shoulder, and Eriadon watched him move away, a twinge of guilt rising in him for his situation. “Didn’t see that kicking around.” Moradrim commented, his own weapon looking less than spectacular now. “Who’d you bribe?”
“The High Templar.” Eriadon replied his voice stern and serious as he sheathed the blade. The others looked to him flabbergasted, jaws parted slightly in awe. “Well damn, Eri, if he’s just handing things out now point me in the right direction!”
Triannon laughed and tapped his blade against the pole of Moradrim’s halberd. “The High Templar is handing out weapons…yah and my mother’s the Priestess of Paladine.” Triannon said with a laugh, his eyes passing back to the female elf. Moradrim caught his drifting gaze, and the man’s smile went from ear to ear. “I warned you didn’t I, Eri? And now look, Triannon’s gone all doe-eyed for an Elf without her ever saying a word to him!”
The human snapped his gaze away from the scarred and tattooed body of the Elven woman, immediately jumping on a nervous defensive. “Hardly. I was just making sure she was all right after that.”
“Yah and I’ve heard that people have to pay women to leer at them like you were.”
Triannon launched himself at Moradrim, the youngest member of their trio grabbing Moradrim and dropping him into a headlock, squeezing against his neck and laughing. “You give up?” He asked, Moradrim beginning to sputter and spit. “Mora?”
The man fell lifeless to the ground, and Triannon gave a horrified look to Eriadon, kneeling beside his friend. “Mora? Moradrim can you hear me?” He tapped the man’s smooth cheek, and found no response.
“See if he’s breathing.” Eriadon offered.
The worried face of the man deepened as he lowered his ear to Moradrim’s lips when suddenly the other man let out a terrifying scream that sent Triannon reeling from the body gripping his ears, the other man laughing hysterically. “Y-you should have seen your face!” He said, rolling over onto his side with tears forming in his eyes. He mocked the face Triannon had made. “I had you!”
“Sweet Paladine Mora,” Triannon wriggled a finger in his ear. “I’m not going to hear right for a week.”
Voices echoed from the stairwell ahead of them, Moradrim shaking his head and taking Eriadon’s hand to help him up as Pharazon’s voice lifted above the others. “Here comes the throng.” Moradrim stated dismally, securing his halberd to his back.
Pharazon appeared on the final stair with Lord Ralis, Falastar, Wert, and the final Paladin-knight, a man named Remus. Ralis spoke lightly of the reward of the Templar of Taringor, the others all talking and joking with smiles and confident, boisterous laughs trailing like hounds looking for scraps behind Pharazon, an obvious frontrunner for the position.
“Ah, Eriadon, Moradrim, Triannon, good to see you’re all ready to go.” Ralis greeted them eying their gear somewhat dismally. “Must say I pictured each of you as the more statuesque Paladins: gleaming white plate armor with the fist and sword boldly displayed across the chest piece…but to each his own. Chain armor is sure to garner you a few copper pieces from the masses who will surely think you squires to these men here.”
Rousing laughter followed from Pharazon and his lackeys, the latter moving immediately toward the armor with the greatest shine and polish. Behind their jeers and taunts toward them, Eriadon felt the desire to warn them about the subpar armor quickly slipping away, and turned his thoughts to more important matters. “Excuse me, Lord Ralis, but I need to speak with brother Aliquem before our departure.” He asked, the urge to consult his mentor about the seal overwhelming his better judgment.
Ralis lifted his hand and shook his head. “Afraid not, Paladin-Knight Eriadon, brother Aliquem is meeting with the Praetor and the council and will be quite engaged for a time long after we have left this place. But if you wish, I may answer your question.”
“Arrogant bastard…” Moradrim mumbled out loud, realizing his error and looking to Ralis with wide eyes. Eriadon stepped in quickly with a laugh. “What he means, Lord Ralis, is that he believes the smiths here to be arrogant in their works, thinking they produce the finest of arms here in Sanctuary than can be found across Dunvunion. Is this true? I could think of no other smithy to rival it, though some say your own in Taringor is quite elaborate.”
“Yes…” Ralis gave a hard stare-down of Moradrim, and the Paladin-knight wisely avoided his gaze. “Well, Eriadon, unlike many other Overlords in the service of Paladine, the Arcanite followers we face are more terrorists to our people, and such actions require better arms and armor. The forges in Taringor were constructed by the Dwarves themselves hundreds of years ago when Taringor was first built, why the city predates even the Second Darkness! My forge masters are the finest in the lands, not some grouping of slaves.” He motioned toward the Dwarves and Elves, looking busy in his presence and ignoring his words. “You see Eriadon, where the Holy Army in the West faces a great host such armies will come at you head on. The foes we face are of a less than savory nature and would sooner kill you in your sleep than stand boldly in the light. Better arms and armor are simply a necessity.”
Ralis looked to Triannon, the man still wriggling a finger in his ear attempting to regain his ability to hear after Moradrim’s prank, completely unaware of the Overlord’s curious gaze that settled over him. “What in Paladine’s name is the matter with you?”
Triannon caught sight of him, his words a hollow blur to him. “What?” He shouted, the Overlord taking a step back in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”
The Overlord looked away slowly, his hand coming to rest on Eriadon’s shoulder which he tapped gently. “Ah…a bit slow in the head is he? Well good for you Eriadon, not many men would take such a…oddity under their wing.” He paused, licking his lips. “If, by chance, you wish him to remain behind…”
“No, Lord Ralis, he will be fine.” Eriadon narrowed his gaze at Triannon and then at Moradrim who was digging at his nose. “Sometimes they simply forget their manners, but in a pinch I’ll have no one else at my side then these two.”
“Well, it’s your life, not mine.” Ralis’ eyes moved slowly from them, waiting impatiently for the others to finish collecting their armor.
From a room at the end of the forges, Pharazon strode forward in the splendor of his family’s name and title, his armor obviously not made within Sanctuary as it bore both the crests of his house and of Paladine, his sword and shield were of flawless steel, complete with a cloak that tucked beneath the shoulder guards emblazoned with another large family crest across its back. With deliberate poise, he slipped a pair of leather gloves over his hands, completing his armor and looking to Ralis with a confident smile.
“Ah, sister-son!” Ralis embraced Pharazon warmly. “You would do even your father proud. Perhaps soon you will join him in the Holy Army of the High Templar and fight at his side.” Ralis looked up to everyone. “But for now, you and everyone else fight for me in the defense of Dunvunion and the southern marches. Come, our horses await and Arcanite does not sleep!”
“Sister-son?” Moradrim said quietly as the others walked away. “Ralis is Pharazon’s uncle?”
Eriadon nodded, slapping his back and following after the others with a smile. “See Mora, things just got interesting.” He said over his shoulder as Moradrim looked to Triannon with a slack jaw and a loss of words.
Triannon grinned silently, trailing slowly after Eriadon and Moradrim, giving one last look to the Elven woman who worked her forge, his mind a mess of contradiction and conflict.