The Templar Chronicles: Freedom's Price

The night was a quiet one. Even the creatures of the night seemed staid and cautious. Perhaps it was the stagnant air or the thick humidity. Or, maybe, they could feel what was coming towards their sylvan realm. For all of them grew all the more still as they hid and observed as a creature, loud and noisy, tore its way hard north with a slinky, silent pursuit close behind.

Gawain had escaped. No one he ever had heard or had escaped after they had captured them. They all just disappeared. He did not know what to do, there existed no precedent for this situation, and so he had decided to employ an old standby: run home. Therefore, he ran. Feet pounding, chest heaving, he raced over the hot earth on a straight line back towards Avalon.

He was almost naked with only a pair of shorts to hold back the dangers of the world. This lack of clothes was causing him no end of misery as without shoes his feet had blistered and torn open and were leaving a bloody trail in his wake, and the sweat that poured out of his body only increased the effects of the cold on his tired body, but he could not stop or even slow down. To stop was to die, and he was not about to surrender his freedom again so shortly after reclaiming it. He was young and vibrant having just turned nineteen a month before, and he had already worked in the timber yards of his hometown for a year or two doing hard labor. He was young, in danger, and fit, but he could not so easily steal back his freedom.

There was a hot pursuit closing in behind him. Ten swift, sleek figures were closing in. Though they appeared to be human, they were far too durable to be mere men. They came on steadily, gaining meter after meter on him as the chase drew out over hours. They had chased him over twenty kilometers and still they did not even show signs of fatigue. If Gawain dared to look back, all he could see were their shadowy forms and movements as day had turned to night. If he did glance back, the fear gripped him in an iron embrace, and he pushed for even more speed. He knew if they were to recapture him, he would die. He hoped with no real way of knowing, “it can’t be too far now”.

A little less than a kilometer in front of Gawain was the forest that he had been running towards all night. It represented all the promise of refuge and sanctuary if only his aching muscles would carry him those last few hundred meters. They’ll never go in there; he thought to himself. It was all he held onto as he ran. In the past, they had rarely risked entering the forest guarded by Gawain’s countrymen. But, it did not seem to matter; with two hundred meters to go, his pursuers had closed the gap between them to a mere three. The adrenaline in Gawain’s body had already burnt off, replacing the sugar in his muscles with acid and leaving him barely conscious. He had a sudden thought that if he changed direction suddenly; he could slow them down with momentary confusion. Even if it were only for a few seconds, he would be able to make it to the trees. He turned a hard right, nearly a ninety-degree turn. This proved too much for his wasted limbs and all he accomplished was tripping over his own feet and landing hard on his side.

He looked up facing the inevitability of his fate. They were nearly on him, and he saw the stars reflected in the blades of his tormentors as they flashed out of the sheaths in which they had rested. Gawain looked back over his shoulder to the line of trees. In the last ten minutes, he had come so close to his goal only to die. Tears welled up in his eyes as the hope he had felt upon seeing the trees curled up into the black, hard fist of despair. His vision darkening, he could only listen to the sound of heavy shod feet approaching crashing over the sound of the leaves rustling together in the tree line in the slight breeze.

He took in the sight that he was sure to be his last, the trees tall and comforting, the shadows beckoned to him from within the eaves of the forest with their promise of refuge never to be claimed. The last thing Gawain remembered before passing out was the beautiful star lit sky overhanging his final moments on Earth.

Gawain slipped out of consciousness, as his tired body was unable to stay awake a moment longer. Had he managed to endure a moment or two more he would have seen all that his heart could have hoped for exploding out from the edge of the forest. An entire company of soldiers was charging forth with blood curdling war cries rending the still night air, and spooking the skulking wildlife adding to the cacophony. They covered the distance between the edge of the trees and Gawain before the pursuers were able to collect their prize and make off into the night.

They turned and fled rather than meet the force of a charging enemy which so outnumbered them. Their orders were stealth and capture, not armed conflict. As silently as they had followed Gawain, they retreated through the night. They were faster than the large company of men and were able to disperse and slip away as some of the soldiers surrounded the fallen young man. Looking back the leader made a horrid, hissing sound at their misfortune and turned back to the rest of his prisoners some twenty-two kilometers away to the south.

A few minutes passed when the sound of shod hooves became apparent as a single horse and rider broke out from under the trees. He cantered toward the men who still surrounded Gawain. A figure detached itself from the group and hailed the rider as he approached, “Knight Jericho, we did not expect you till early this morning.”

“It is early this morning, Captain.” Jericho replied with a cordial if tired voice. He had rode all through the day and part of the night in response to reports of another attack on the fringe towns near the city of Dulas, he was tired and in no mood for trivialities. However, he knew better than to upset the local garrison commander with something as trite as fatigue. He dismounted and took in the scene around him. He was a large man standing shoulder and head above most of the people about him. He wore armor, as all Templar Knights did, but his armor was a simple coat of mail overlaying a leather jerkin and trousers. This was lighter gear than most of them wore. He carried a heavy spear in one hand and a shield in the other. Both appeared old worn, though maintained with loving care. The silvery sheen of the knight’s mail shimmered in the night, and if the men around Jericho strained their eyes enough, they could just make out the symbol of the red tree emblazoned on his breast.

As he approached, the captain came to meet him, “Hail, Templar. May the light of truth shine down on you from on high.”

Jericho responded, “May peace live in your heart, and may the works of your hands be forever fruitful.”

The captain shifted his pulse rifle to his other hip, raising his hand as if in benediction, “If there was anyone who needed a Templar Knight, it is this boy here. He is close to death. We fear that he ran through the night and may die from a mixture of exposure and exhaustion. Can you help him, mighty one?”

“I live to serve all believers”, Jericho’s reply was automatic, though his voice contained a hint of surprise. It was the correct response to a somewhat out of fashion style of request for anyone to make to his order. He hadn’t heard it in almost sixty years. Clearly, this garrison commander knew a thing or two about medicine, and courtesy for that matter. Most unusual for a frontier soldier, he mused. This was not what he had been expecting to find early in the morning in a frontier bastion so very distant from the capital. It was encouraging to say the least. Maybe this task would not be so tedious after all.

He moved to the boy and appraised his condition. Ah he is not a boy at all; he is a man. The captain was simply being… patronizing. He bent down to examine the man more carefully. Serious wounds on his feet, and his breathing is shallow and labored. Jericho’s eyes took in the heavy lacerations as well as the nicks and cuts that covered the man from his chest to his thighs. He must have run through briars, the poor lad. He noticed that even though the young man was close to death he was well built and very tall. Very tall indeed! He would stand even taller than Jericho who was an imposing two meters. The boy was handsome in a rugged way, and the sun had tanned him from his many days working outdoors. He is close to death, this will not be simple, and I am already so tired. Jericho let out a sigh and spoke to the captain, “It is not safe to move him yet, but neither can we leave him out here. I will heal his most grievous wounds and as many of the smaller ones that I can but we do not have much time. Have your men fan out and make a stretcher so that we might carry him after my work is complete.”

“As you command, Knight” the captain turned to his men and issuing orders. Jericho turned back to his charge, he chuckled under his breath as he realized the irony of yet another battlefield doctor scattering the men who would have normally gotten in the way with a trivial but helpful task. He prepared himself for the work at hand placing his spear and shield on the ground and removing his heavy helm and mail gloves with a slow determination. He began to whisper and to hum prayers to God.

As he did, a light slowly crept into his eyes. It was a pale yellow light at first, but as he neared the end of his prayer, it had solidified into a solid golden glow emanating from his entire body surrounding him like an aura but concentrated around his head and his hands. The captain had never seen a Templar-healing and stood back, intensely interested. He gazed into Jericho’s eyes that were now balls of amber fire and held his breath as the Knight began to channel the power into the young man and bring him back from the brink of death.

Jericho raised his left hand and placed it onto the young man’s forehead. Immediately his breathing steadied and a satisfied smile replaced the look of anguished fatigue that had covered Gawain’s face as he fled to the point of collapse. For the first time since the soldiers had crowded around him, Gawain looked like he was sleeping rather than merely unconscious. Jericho pulled a flask that rested on his hip out of its holster. Within was holy water from the roots of Zion itself and he had carried it many miles for just such a time as this. He first poured a small amount of the liquid into his patient’s mouth that the harsh treatment his organs and muscles had received would not irreparably damage them. He then poured a liberal amount of the water on Gawain’s feet. The Captain inhaled sharply as he watched the water drip off.

As the water fell away, it seemed to take the wounds with them, leaving only healthy smooth skin in its path. After Jericho had done that, he began working up Gawain’s legs dribbling a small amount of liquid on the nicks and scrapes and then rubbing the liquid against the young man’s skin. The smaller wounds healed over immediately, but the larger ones did not rapidly vanish like the lacerations on Gawain’s feet. Instead, they knit together and scabbed appearing to have accelerated the natural healing process by several days. All told of it happened quickly, taking only a few minutes to complete.

Jericho removed his hand from the young man’s forehead and returned the flask to his hip. As soon as he had removed his hand, the light that had surrounded Jericho began to fade. When it vanished completely, restoring the night’s gloom, he sat back heavily with a deep grunt. The effort of channeling that kind of energy without rest or food had taken its toll on him.

“Are you all right sir?” the Captain asked handing Jericho a piece of jerky from his pack.

“Just fine Captain, thank you for your concern. It is just that I am not as young as I used to be.” Jericho wearily tore off a piece of jerky from a pouch on his hip and chewed with his eyes closed, a deeply satisfied expression on his face. Many of the soldiers returned with their stretcher as he chewed and were looking anxious to depart. Jericho swallowed, “Now I think we shall leave this place. You can move the young man back to your barracks and I will see to him after I have rested a small while.” The captain nodded and repeated the order choosing four men to carry the litter and five more to act as a rearguard ensuring the group’s safety as they removed themselves from the tree line to the relative safety of their own borders.

Once again, Jericho was pleased with the Captain’s sensible and quick thought. This bode well for the future; hopefully they were breeding more of these men down here in the South. God knows the Kingdom needs them. He rose and replaced the helm onto his head and the gloves onto his hands. He picked up his spear and shield moving slowly as one would after having run several kilometers. “Let’s move out,” The Captain’s voice was unnaturally loud in the stillness of the night.

“Captain, a word please,” Jericho motioned that the he should walk with him back to camp.

“Yes, your lordship?” the Captain inquired falling back to walk beside Jericho and his horse as the company set out, with the detachment acting as the rearguard moving to stand ten meters away.

Jericho laughed softly at the Captain’s overstated courtesy, “First of all, I am not a lord. That title is reserved for the Knight Commanders and the Justicar. And second, we have yet to be properly introduced, and I have not yet explained to you why I am in your territory. I anticipate that they only told you that I was on my way, not wanting to jade your thoughts on my appearance. My name is Knight Jericho, and you may call me Jericho, or sir, if you prefer.”

“Pleased to meet you, sir. My name is Grom, Captain of Outpost Eleven, and I am at your service. And you are quite correct that they did not tell me exactly what your task was to be when you arrived.”

“Before we get into that there is something I need from you first. I need your report on the events leading up to this very moment. The attack, the subsequent search, the rescue of this lad, and most importantly the type of enemy we are dealing with here.”

“Do you really want the full report now, sir?”

“Yes better now than later today, we have a long way to walk yet and I want to have all the information that I can.”

“Yes sir, alright. I will start with your last question, as that is the most complicated one. We have been receiving mixed reports for months on the nature of the enemy we are dealing with. Some reports say that they are simply the ‘old hat’: demon thralls, goblins, and things that go bump in the night. We have had some reports of fantastical creatures that have never been confirmed such as a pack of fel-wolves or other such strange demonic beasts. But the most reliable ones up till now have been the reports that a demon is leading a crack squad of human hunters against us. Regardless of who or what they are, for some reason or another they have been attacking our lumber industry. The Southern half of the Kingdom depends heavily on the lumber from this part of the country. To make matters worse, without our lumber to trade we have been having a few food shortages in the smaller towns as the area was poor to begin with. Though for now the situation has not escalated beyond controllable limits. But what I saw tonight made me wonder if anything we have heard or guessed ourselves has been correct.”

“Oh, and what was that Captain?” Jericho stopped walking and turned to face the Captain so that he could better judge the man’s expressions and body language.

The Captain had a look of dark suspicion; as if in his heart he truly believed, what he was about to say, but the inherent unlikelihood would have Jericho respond with derision. He began slowly making sure that he was not being misunderstood, gaining confidence as he spoke when Jericho did not immediately react negatively to what he was saying, “That is not clear, Knight.” He cast his eyes about darkly, “Quite simply, when my men and I ran out of the woods to confront our enemy they were difficult to see. They were wearing all black and very hard to lock eyes on in the darkness. What stood out clearly were their weapons, they glittered in the starlight. Though that was by far the least noticeable aspect of them. What I noticed the most was that it was far too quiet. Bloodthirsty snarls and the joyous shrieks of the thralls have characterized every other meeting I have had with the enemy. These ‘shadows’ did neither. They were too calm and collected. I truly believe that these were hunter-drones created by a demon himself for the express purpose of tracking and retrieval.” The Captain had a closed expression as he spoke these last words expecting either another chuckle or perhaps even an outright laugh at the implications he was making.

“How many engagements have you been in now, Captain?” Jericho inquired calmly starting to walk again.

The seemingly innocuous and unrelated question caught him off-guard, “Sir?”

Jericho kept speaking, as Grom moved to keep pace “How many direct engagements have you participated in against enemies of the Kingdom, either as a commander or as a foot soldier in the Army?” Jericho asked more thoroughly, wanting as much information as he could obtain.

“Well I think it was thirteen as a common soldier, and I have led nine other engagements against the enemy at various points along and outside the border.”

Jericho nodded taking in the Captain’s response. Yet again, this man was proving his worth, his experience both as a soldier and a commander on a constantly contested frontier was not to be ignored. “And what evidence do you have beyond your brief glimpse of the enemy and their reactions to you and your men to tell me what type of creature, or in your specific case androids, you have observed?”

“Sir, I had some men follow the footprints for a short distance while you were healing the boy, and we had a dog or two amongst our company tonight. They could not track the scent of those ‘men.’ In my experience that means one of two things: the undead army from the past wars, in which case I remember the awful rotten smell that always clung about them and that was not in the air tonight. Or, it means the attack and/or reconnaissance drones we have heard of.” The Captain replied curtly.

“Very good Captain, I believe based on this limited evidence that I will be unable to draw any firm conclusions. Though, I trust your instincts on this and will consider your suggestions strongly. Now let us have the rest of the report.”

“Yes sir.” The Captain grumbled. Grom didn’t like how some Templar talked, not dismissing out-of-hand what their inferiors told them but not actually agreeing either. Jericho spoke in that backwards indirect way which left you unable to argue because courtesy and praise were paramount in the statements while also saying they did not believe you. “The attack was a day and a half ago just after nightfall. Outside the village of Kent, there is a lumber operation in full swing.” He paused, “Well… there was before...”

He shook his head as if remembering the scene, “The enemy swept down on the unsuspecting workers, killed half of them, and carried off the others. We received the report too late to be able to recapture those who had been taken. We followed them anyway, but the party that had attacked them had covered their trail well, and, as I said before, the dogs could not track the beasts and the workers’ trail was lost after they had crossed through a small river.” He paused to catch his breath and to switch on his lantern as they passed into the safety of the trees. The darkness was complete under the branches and dawn was still two hours away. “When we had gone eight kilometers from our post we were forced to return for those are our standing orders. Then this evening the night sentinel became aware of a group of figures rapidly approaching the edge of the woods. He roused us all that we might lie in ambush. When we noticed that one of the figures was actually running from the rest, and that he stumbled and fell, we went to his rescue. The enemy fled from us and that is when you appeared. That concludes my report on the situation.”

“Very good Captain, I thank you.” The report was concise and detailed and probably the best he could have gotten given the situation. Jericho stopped as they reached the edge of the camp, taking it in. He had seen many army outposts and this one was little different. Built of concrete, steel, and determination, the outpost was a small ring of squat well-lit buildings. It sat long and low with small outcroppings and sheds s in a small clearing in the forest. Without ever having been inside Jericho knew the layout of the compound. After one entered the building there would be a long room filled with bunks where the general rank and file troops slept. Through a double set of doors was a small hall on the left, which would be the armory, straight ahead the mess hall and kitchens, and to the right the officer’s quarters and medical wing, complete with two beds, one of which was to be occupied this evening. Jericho chuckled to himself once more; he appreciated the squat, ugly building and the simple practicality of the Army. They looked for efficiency and strength of position rather than the artistic aesthetics so common of the Templar architects.

“Is there something wrong, sir?” the captain inquired confused at the Knight’s sudden halt.

“No, no nothing is wrong, but before we enter I must tell you my mission here.” Jericho turned once more to face the Captain. “I have been assigned by the Templar High Command to put a stop to these raids. A simple goal though it may prove to be more challenging than Command originally appreciated. You and your men are to report to me directly. Effectively, I am to take full command of you and your troops until the situation is resolved.” Jericho paused here to take in the Captain’s reaction to these words.

Grom’s face darkened and he grumbled at Jericho, “You Knights always take command as if you had the right to. The Army is the citizens’ militia, not a part of your government.” After a moment’s pause the Captain continued, “Then again I suppose you do have a right as without you the Army is as good as dead anyway, and besides I haven’t the slightest idea where to begin with this investigation.”

“I am relieved to see that you think that way, Captain.” The tension in Jericho’s stance eased; he was pleased that there was not going to be jurisdiction issues with this man. “How will your men respond?”

“About the same as me at first, but that will not last long once they realize the benefits of having a Knight leading the investigation rather than us yokels.”

“Very well than I suggest you return to your men and explain the situation to them.”

“You are not going to come in, sir?” The Captain asked, somewhat befuddled.

“No not tonight I must see to the disposition of my horse and then I will meditate a while to recover my strength. I do suggest however that you get as much rest as you can for after this morning’s breakfast we are to begin.

“Yes sir, the stables are around back. I look forward to working with you on this mission.” Grom then went inside.

“Good night Captain and I look forward to putting an end to the suffering that has plagued your countrymen.” Jericho smiled at the retreating figure. However, as Captain Grom entered the barracks, Jericho’s face darkened, Perhaps right now you look forward to the work… He faced outward towards the shrouded forest for a moment. His thoughts reflected the blackness there, but I truly believe this will get much worse before it gets better. Jericho turned back towards the lights of the compound and trundled towards the stables, leading the charger behind him.