The Templar Chronicles: Freedom's Price

Gawain looked at the digital clock inside the APC. It was 1:58 pm. He sighed at that. So much had happened in only an hour and a half that it blew his mind. It did not seem fair that so many people could die so quickly without the world taking notice of it.

He winced in pain for the hundredth time as the man cleaning his wound poured alcohol into the gash. Gawain gritted his teeth, “Damn, that stings.”

“Yes, but it is better than getting an infection and possibly losing your leg.” The medic said without hesitation or pity. He had already treated the other soldiers and Gawain was one of the last, being only slightly wounded. The medic was tired and touchy because he was effectively the only “doctor” in either command. The larger garrisons always had a doctor on hand, but these outposts never did. They were too remote, and the medical profession had seen somewhat of a decline since the Templar Order started healing people with unconventional methods. The medic stitched the wound together after applying local anesthesia to the area around Gawain’s calf. Once he had finished he began wrapping the wound in a clean white bandage.

While he was doing, this Gawain thought about the aftermath of the brief but bloody battle that had ended only fifteen minutes ago. Of the thirty-five men and women who had defended the base, sixteen were dead, and the rest were wounded some seriously, others like Gawain, not so much.

He remembered seeing Jericho moving through the soldiers who lay upon the ground in pools of blood to see if any were still breathing. He had found only one, a man who had been stabbed in the lung and was drowning from the blood pooling inside his chest. Jericho had removed the offending blade and before the man could bleed-out or drown, performed one of his miraculous healings on him. The glow of battle that had burned in Jericho’s eyes had hung about him like an aura, as he had wandered through the barracks. Gawain had marveled at it at the time, thinking that he was witnessing the dual nature of the Templar Order: the warrior and the healer. The previously dying man had stood up a moment later completely restored. The soldier had touched the bare skin through the hole in his vest in astonishment and dumb gratitude.

Gawain thought about how the soldier had not had the time to thank the Knight. The big man, despite his obvious fatigue, had already stood up and moved on to helping others in less critical condition. He had healed Captain Grom next who was needed to help sort out the horrible mess around the camp even though he was not in any true mortal danger. He saved the man months of recovery time, and probably saved the base hours and hours of hassle. Jericho sealed the wound in Captain Grom’s calf removing the bullet with a word of command. He then reset the bone in Grom’s right leg and healed that too. At that point, Jericho was almost faint and sat down hard. Gawain had been watching in astonishment.

Gawain mused over the image of Jericho healing the drowning soldier again, had this been what it looked like when he brought me back that night? His admiration for the steadfast warrior had grown more and more throughout the ordeal, and had reached a new level as he had watched the knight struggling with unconsciousness and fatigue while still attempting to assist the weak and helpless who had fought alongside him. Gawain winced as the medic, tired from long hours of work, fumbled and accidentally touched Gawain’s tender wound. Gawain wanted to curse the man out but bit his lip instead. The medic apologized hurriedly and returned to the task.

Gawain allowed his thoughts to drift back to the fight as he continued to sort out the deluge of sensory information. Gawain concluded, Jericho is unbreakable. Even after all the fighting the knight had done, he had managed to alleviate most of the injuries. Almost the entire company of troops who were garrisoned in the base had been wounded. Though most of them were not as seriously injured as the drowning soldier or Captain Grom, Jericho’s weariness had slowed him down considerably, the overall time it took to heal the wounds increasing the more he treated. Finally, when Jericho could do no more and simply sat down on the floor, his eyes distant, the medic from Captain O’Riley’s company had stepped in to patch up the lightly wounded. Gawain and the others had been helped outside to the APC to bring them closer to the medical equipment.

“You can walk on this if you take it easy.” Gawain snapped out of his reverie and looked at the fine job the medic had done.

“Thank you very much.” Gawain meant it. The dressing was professional and the pain had eased significantly.

“Just doing my job,” the man shrugged and gave Gawain a handful of pills, “These are serious pain relievers do not take more than one every eight hours or you might slip into a very deep sleep. It could be dangerous. You should feel fine as long as the anesthesia lasts, and you may not even need those. But just in case.”

Gawain moved to stand. The medic helped him to his feet allowing Gawain to feel the amount of weight that he could put on his injured leg and still walk comfortably. He looked out of the door before stepping down shortly dazzled by the brilliant sunlight shining lovely and warm on his face. The day’s weather had been and was flawless. A warm breeze tickled his skin, and he smiled in contentment at being alive. As his eyes adjusted to the brilliant light outside of the comparably dark APC, he noticed someone was walking towards them. It was Jericho.

The knight walked up to the entrance to the APC with slow measured steps. He moved slowly and painfully like an old man suffering from arthritis in all his major joints. Painful though his motion seemed, the worst part was just how awful Jericho looked. Much of his exposed skin and hair was covered in dried blood and, what appeared to be, entrails with the concentration being around his hands and wrists. However, his clothes and armor for some odd reason still seemed to be immaculately clean.

Gawain took all this in quickly, and concluded that the most disturbing change he could see in the knight were his eyes. They were distant and empty and so heavy with fatigue that Gawain was amazed the knight was standing let alone moving. Gawain did not think that he had seen any other person in the world look as tired as Jericho did in that moment. Still, he was immensely pleased to see the Knight, but his concern come out first as he questioned the knight, “Jericho are you all right?”

Jericho’s eyes slowly returned from wherever they had been and focused on Gawain. His voice was subdued and quite different from his usual cadence. The words came slowly, his tone low and tired. His voice was leaden, filled with regret and sorrow at the deaths of even more soldiers of Avalon, “Yes, I am fine, much better than many of the good men and women who served gallantly today. I am here just to get inspected before I collapse into my bed for at least a few hours.” He moved towards the mouth of the vehicle, and absurdly, helped the medic to ease Gawain down to the ground. Once this was done, he climbed into the APC to take over the seat in which Gawain had sat.

The medic looked at Jericho with deep concern creasing his eyes and forehead. He clucked his tongue and turned to his equipment. He clearly he disapproved of the way the knight was treating himself. Gawain agreed with him, but a new question had arisen in his mind as he watched Jericho sit quietly.

Gawain knew it was going to be rude even before he asked it. But, he felt that his curiosity would not let him walk away without asking. So, he just did it. Tentatively, “Jericho,” Jericho turned his horribly empty expression back in Gawain’s direction, “how old are you?”

Jericho’s expression did not change. But there was a whisper of his usual smile about his lips for a moment. He responded, his voice a shade lighter than before, “Before I answer that question you must promise me something Gawain.”

Gawain did not like the sound of that, but he went along with it quickly because he really wanted to know, “What?”

“That for every personal question, such as this one that you ask of me, that you allow me to ask one in return.”

It was a simple request but the implications for Gawain were larger than for most other people. Gawain did not like talking about his past, what could Jericho want to know? He hesitated to respond as he attempted to view from all angles the motives this man might have. He finally decided upon the only likely conclusion that he could come up with, maybe he is just curious too. Gawain nodded, “That sounds fair.”

Jericho smiled for real this time, the expression spreading slowly and painfully across his face reaching his eyes and restoring some of their usual warmth. Even this small movement seemed to cost the knight a serious measure of effort, “I am three hundred and ten years old, I will be three hundred and eleven in two months’ time.”

Gawain stood mouth agape. He had been told that the knights lived well beyond the years of normal folk, but Jericho only appeared to be beginning his middle-aged life. Gawain thought in a sudden rush of curiosity, how long do Templar live!?! He was about to ask Jericho when the knight interrupted, “And on that note I will see you tomorrow where I will get to ask my own question for a change.”

Gawain stood there a moment longer as the medic began to clean the wounds around Jericho’s neck and head hearing the man scolding the knight for exhausting himself before he turned and began limping back towards the compound. Three hundred years and still fighting like a crazed bull, Gawain could scarcely comprehend the number of years that he would have to exist even to come close to Jericho’s age. Do the Templar age, or do they stay young forever? Why does Jericho always seem to be joking about being old when he could clearly destroy anyone around here with a single blow? What held the knights of God together for so long?

With these unanswered questions ringing in his head, he reentered the blood soaked barracks. Captain Grom and Captain O’Riley were there having a discussion over what the cleanup procedure should be and how to go about the redistribution of forces in Granada now that they were down more than a dozen able bodied soldiers.

“Well clearly we need to get the thralls’ corpses out of here and burnt before their diseases can infect as all.” Grom’s tone was tone practical, though his expression was one of repulsion as he thought of the task.

“Naturally” responded O’Riley. Her voice was rich, smooth and creamy like whipped butter, and it was so warm and inviting that it made one think of picnics in the park on fine summer days. The comparison with Grom’s rumble of a voice was almost comical. Gawain paused waiting for an opportunity to ask what he should do next, and while he waited took in this newest soldier.

She was short only around one and six-tenths meters she only came up to Grom’s chest, but the way she carried herself, and the authority with which she spoke made her seem much taller. She had brown hair and dark eyes and olive skin to complement them both. She was not a traditional beauty but she had something that made one take a second look, as if she were only hiding the secret that made her special behind some wink of her eye or some flash of her smile. It was clear that she was somewhere in her early thirties, only a few years younger than Grom, and that time had been kind to her. The way the two of them spoke was as if they were old friends, Gawain would not have been surprised to learn that they had dated at some point; their relationship with one another was so natural and easy, it intonated a long-term acquaintance that was probably more than it appeared on the surface.

It was evident, not only from their words, but from the change in Grom’s demeanor and expression. This smooth talking gentleman was not like the stiff collared Grom that Gawain had come to know over the past few days at all. This man was a man at ease, comfortable and at peace with the world. He seemed genuinely happy for the first time since Gawain had encountered him.

“I guess I will have to recall all of my troops supporting the SLC, but they will not get here for a while. Do you think headquarters can spare you and your men for a day or so?”

“I think that could be easily arranged, there is no simple way that twenty injured and fatigued soldiers could dispose of this many bodies in quick order. I will radio HQ and apprise them of the situation and submit both your and my own formal requests for the rapid aide of this outpost.” She smiled and touched him on the shoulder ever so slightly.

“Thank you Emily, as always it has been a pleasure.” Grom’s eyes bored into hers; clearly, there is something going on there that I am sure Grom wouldn’t want me eavesdropping on. Gawain turned a little to the side and pretended to study the wreckage lined on one side of the wall.

“James,” Gawain grinned internally it was the first time he had ever heard Grom called anything but Captain or Grom by those around him, “you know that I am always ready to help should you call.” She nodded to him once and stepped away breaking the contact that they had held for many seconds. She moved out towards the APCs through what was left of the main doors. Grom’s eyes followed her as she left and so did Gawain’s, she has one rocking body for a woman her age, Gawain thought. It may have been inappropriate given the situation, but he was still young and was not fully in control of his impulses.

Turning back to Grom, “What can I do to help you and your men, sir?”

It was a moment before Grom tore his eyes away from the empty space left behind in the doorway in the wake of Captain O’Riley. He looked at Gawain and recognition flared into his eyes, “Gawain, good, I am glad to see that you are still able to walk. You should know that I saw how you fought today; you did well as far as newbies go. First off you survived, but far more significant is the fact that when the fighting started you did not freeze up. That lack of hesitation in the face of the enemy is rare in first-time soldiers. Moreover, the fact that you made sure to help your fellow soldiers.” Grom shook his head and continued, “You were a credit to your country this afternoon.”

Gawain was caught off guard. He had expected a single sentence response not praise from this commonly gruff individual. He stammered out a few words, stumbling over his surprise, “Well, I uh…thank you, sir.”

“As for what you can do to help, there are many, many dead here, ours and theirs. It would be a great help if you could see to the disposition of our own fallen. They are scattered around here. If you are able it would be a great help if you could bring them all in here to the main barracks so that we can provide them a proper service once we have cleaned out the, um,” he cleared his throat as he searched for an appropriate euphemism, “rest.” Gawain nodded and began to turn away. “Oh and Gawain,” Gawain turned back towards the Captain, “I would fight by your side any day.” With that, Grom walked back towards the kitchens and Lieutenant Smith who was talking quickly with several soldiers.

Gawain stood rooted in place for a moment as he reacted (or did not) to these words. After a moment he decided that he was not going to understand and simply accepted the moment with the question, what is with people today?

He moved to the nearest corpse wearing a military uniform. He knelt down beside the still body and turned the man over. Gawain immediately recognized the deep basset hound eyes of the cook who he had fought alongside earlier. He stopped a moment his hand outstretched about to pick up and move the body. He considered how odd it would seem for a second. In the end, he decided he did not care and spoke to the body anyway, “Well my friend, I told you I’d find you. I just wish it were under different circumstances.” He sighed and slipped his hands into the corpse’s armpits to give himself sufficient leverage.

He dragged the body over to the area that was already cleared of wreckage and corpses setting the cadaver with its head towards the wall. He folded the cook’s arms over his chest and closed his eyes. Before he stood upright, he opened the man’s shirt revealing the horrible wound that had caused his demise. He reached inside the jacket cautiously until his hand found what he was looking for. He ripped the duplicate of the man’s id tags off. He read the name Benjamin Martin and stowed it safely in his pocket, he doubted that he would ever forget that name, but there were many more bodies and many more tags to collect before the day would be over.

He stood up and began towards another corpse in uniform, his head hanging down staring at the red speckled linoleum floor as he moved across it. A pair of combat boots entered his downcast vision as he approached the next body, arresting his motion. He looked up and into the piercing blue eyes of the unknown private who had looked on him with such disdain earlier, but yet who so fit to drag him to safety. Her expression had not softened much. Now there was less annoyance and anxiety. Instead, her expression was locked into one of outrage and barely contained fury.

Despite the obvious levels of agitation that marred her expression, her voice was distant and cold when she asked airily, “And just what do you think you are doing?” Gawain focused on her body language instead of her tone, which was clearly off. She stood feet spread shoulder width apart hands on hips, her shoulders tense, her neck pushed forward towards Gawain’s face.

Gawain was infinitely more familiar with this form of communication than that which he had exchanged with Grom. This woman behaved like the hundreds of other people Gawain had grown up with, he knew how to handle them. He spread his stance and drew himself up to his full height completely dwarfing the woman who stood against him, he folded his arms across his chests and placed his balled fists under his biceps to make them stand out even more than they already did. He glowered at her, his expression one of grim determination. When he spoke his voice came out deliberately calm and controlled, his tone laced with tension and defensiveness, his response purposefully terse, “I am following orders.”

The woman’s eyes flashed with sudden violence at these words, and Gawain could see her muscles twitching with tension. She only stood up to his diaphragm but she did not seem intimidated by Gawain’s bulk. Gawain could tell she was only the wrong, or the right, word off from taking a swing at him. Her voice was filled with venom and vindication as she spat the words at Gawain, “And do your orders, that you conveniently seem to possess, include looting the corpses of fallen soldiers?”

The question shook Gawain, who had not expected it; why in the hell does she think I am robbing corpses? All I did was move Martin’s body over towards the door just as Grom had told me to. Then it came to him in a sudden rush. The piece of metal in his pocket was suddenly felt large and obvious as if it were something stolen. Anyone who had been watching Gawain closely would have known what he was doing, but if that person had instead only seen the motion of Gawain reaching into a dead man’s jacket, removing something and placing it into his pocket… I would have thought the same thing if I were her. Gawain was angry and indignant about the false accusation, his first reaction being; well she is being a Bitch! He wanted to jump down this uppity girl’s throat for berating him. However, years of confrontation with irrational people had made Gawain savvier than most in these situations. He knew that to get as angry as the person accusing you not only makes you seem guiltier, it only served to cause the conversation to devolve into physical force. He would have to try another approach.

“No in fact they don’t,” Gawain’s response was sarcastic and she knew it. His response did not ease the set of the woman’s shoulders and she took a half step forward with all the intent of slapping Gawain across the face for his flippant attitude. Gawain smiled and then stopped her with his words, “though if you could please explain to me the proper procedure of removing a dog-tag, I would be much obliged.” She stopped with her hand raised. The fire and rage in her eyes slowly dimmed and is it did she lowered her hand. Gawain reached into his pocket and handed her the ID tag with the dead man’s name on it. She looked at it with a knowing expression. She did not read the name or the information presented on the tag, instead she looked quickly up into Gawain’s eyes her expression changed.

Her eyes now held something that seemed like sorrow, or maybe pity, Gawain could not tell; but the alteration was startling. Her shoulders slumped and her stance relaxed as she realized that she had accused him falsely. When she spoke, her tone was soft and tender. The sudden change in her voice was interesting. Up until that point, she had only spoken to him with fury in her tone. Now her voice was low, calm, and sultry. Gawain felt something stir in him as she looked away, “It seems I owe you an apology. I had no idea that you were assigned to grave detail. I feel like such an ass.” She crossed her arms across her body, hugging herself. Gawain could not decide if she was simply reacting to the intensity of the fight or if she was uncomfortable with apologizing to him.

The stirring in Gawain’s chest gained the dominate place in his emotions. His anger evaporated, as he fully understood her swift and fierce wrath towards him. He sighed as he ran through the scenario quickly in his mind; she has probably known and worked with these same men and women for months, if not years, on end. Now they’re gone, her friends and allies torn away in a single hour…and the first image she had after their deaths was a stranger stealing from their bodies and ruining their memories. Gawain felt an unfamiliar lurch in his heart. He wanted to comfort her, to take her into his arms and promise her that the world was not as dark as it seemed and that everything was okay. He wanted her to look at him with those blue eyes and see them filled with an expression of trust and love on which he could rely.

This rush of images and emotions hit Gawain like a tidal wave. He caught himself, his hand already extended to touch her on the arm. He quickly withdrew the offending limb, and instead thought quickly. He suspected that if he were to touch this high strung woman would probably earn him a justified slap across the face.

Instead, he went with a more logical step; he unfolded his arms relaxed and smiled at her. He extended his hand once more, only this time to shaker hers. He made his voice jolly even though the sound of it was forced, and they both knew it, it was the thought that counted in this instance, “Hello, I am sorry that we have not met up until this point, my name is Gawain. I am a simple working man from the town of Kent and I think I owe you a thank you more than you owe me an apology. You saved my life.” The statement was simple and it was true. The words were the easiest and most direct that Gawain could manage. As it turned out, it was the best Gawain could have said or done in that instant to make her relax.

She looked up slowly into his smiling face and realized that Gawain was not going to judge her horribly for what she had done. This granted instant relief in her heart and mind and she smiled back at Gawain as the awkward moment passed away. As her full supple lips spread and exposed her even white teeth Gawain’s breath caught in his chest; like the sun breaking over the cold sleeping earth on a fresh spring day, it brightened everything about her. Her blue eyes lost the frost that had existed on them previously, the skin around them crinkling in a cute and fetching way. Her beauty was painfully pronounced when she shared her genuine smile, and Gawain found himself being swept up in that simple expression. She put her hand lightly into Gawain’s, and waited. For three whole seconds Gawain could not remember how to move, but his senses returned swiftly, and as they shook hands, “Happy to help Gawain, I would expect you to do the same for me had our positions been reversed. My name is Angela Frost.”

Gawain’s smile deepened as he thought of how appropriate her name was to her. He ended the handshake quickly as to not allow the contact to distract him overlong. As he broke the contact, his palm burned with desire to return to hers. Her skin was smooth and warm and more than a little inviting. To defeat the screaming voice of his rushing hormones, Gawain focused on his words, “Angela, may I call you Angela, or would you prefer Private Frost?”

“No Private or Private Frost are much too formal for one who is outside the military. Please call me Angela.” Her tone had become light and conversational, and Gawain felt himself relaxing into the situation.

Gawain had to struggle to keep his mind organized; her smile was muddling his brain and staring into her eyes not helping. In a desperate attempt to prevent himself from appearing moronic, he looked towards the next body that he had to move. He glanced back briefly at those ensorcelling blue eyes to let her know he was still paying attention to her, “Well Angela it has been a pleasure to meet you but I really must be getting back to work.” He did not allow his eyes to settle on hers for long, and allowed the sobering carnage of the barracks to hold his attention.

She sighed, and turned to look at the bodies with him, “I understand that Gawain, we all have our orders to carry out.” Something in the way she said the words made Gawain glance at her again. Her expression had darkened again and she was looking off somewhere into the distance. Gawain turned back to the bodies wondering, why the sudden shift in mood?

Not really sure of what he could say to help, he offered the only thing he could in that moment, “If you would like you could help me instead.”

Her gaze drifted back to his own, the expression in her eyes unreadable, “That is very kind of you Gawain. But I think I better report to the corpse-burning detail I have been assigned so that I do not receive an insubordination sanction on top of everything else that has happened today.”

He looked back into those eyes afraid to see anything like the pain that he had seen a moment before, “Are you sure, I don’t think Grom is going to be hard on anyone today if you wanted to switch details?” He sounded desperate and pleading even to himself. He was embarrassed at his transparency and thought fiercely at himself, come on Gawain! I can’t believe you are making this big of a fool of yourself! She will see right through it and just crush you with that condescending attitude of hers. The alternative to this reaction, which had not even occurred to him, was even worse.

She turned on that heavenly smile again this time with a laugh in her sapphire eyes, dazzling Gawain at the same time that he grimaced in reaction to her amusement. Her voice was blithe, threatening laughter at any moment, “No, that is quite alright Gawain,” As soon as she finished, the damn broke and she did laugh then. Gawain found the sensation odd. The sound of her laugh was like birdsong, he felt his cheeks reddening in his embarrassment.

She did not let the moment stretch on for too long though. She stopped laughing, and while her voice still contained the traces of it, she spoke seriously, “I think that I will be just fine with the duty assigned me, I will see you some other time.” With that, she turned and headed out the same way that Captain O’Riley had just a few minutes before.

Gawain stared out after her trying to understand what had just happened to him. To an outside observer his expression would have been the same that had been on Grom’s face a few minutes before as he had watched Captain O’Riley leaving the barracks. His eyes stuck to the spot where she disappeared around the corner for almost half a minute. After that time, Gawain shook his head and turned back to the work at hand. His thoughts as he worked were foggy and slow, his mind reeling from the bloody violence and the dazzling effect left in the wake of Angela Frost.

҂ ҂ ҂

Jericho’s eyes snapped open three hours after he had laid down his head. He had not moved at all in his sleep, and he would have kept sleeping had he not had to be present funeral service for the soldiers. He heaved himself into a sitting position and rubbed at his eyes. He did not question the action; he knew that it was his duty as the man who had led them to their deaths to be there when they were laid under the ground. Jericho stood up, and as he did, every major joint in his body popped and cracked in protest.

He smiled at the sound; he was glad that he was still at least a little human. Sometimes it was easy to forget as a Templar Knight, but age catches up to everyone eventually. Jericho sighed and stretched his weary muscles. He had been no exception to this rule, and he looked forward to the day when he could relax and work in the Templar Archives that were his love. He moved towards his gear, the individual pieces of which were still immaculately clean even though they had been through such terrible close-quarters violence. Jericho smiled again. He was immensely pleased once more. The Templar scientist who had invented quick-cleaning, auto-repairing nano-bots that inhabited the fabric and metal that made up the Templar uniform saved them countless hours of cleanup after a battle. His armor and clothing would never rust, and, when he was not working actively against it, smelled of fresh laundry. So, once again, his armor would look and smell fresher than he. Jericho put his gear back on, and made ready to face the world.

Before he could move out of the tent and to the service, he had to complete a serious of ritual ablutions which were required of all Knights we were to inter the dead. Once it was done and he had stepped outside, he inhaled deeply of the evening air. The links of his armor sparkled brilliantly despite the descending sun. He smiled contentedly at the world around him. He never grew less grateful for the great bounty that the Lord had created for all to enjoy. Instead of his spear and shield, which he normally carried, he toted a large leather bound copy of the Regalo de verdad y honor in one hand and in the other rested the Rod of Judgment, a simple brass bar roughly a meter in length. Each time a Templar attended or oversaw a funeral he was to carry these two items, the law of God and the Templar, and the symbolic power to carry it out. Jericho had once read about how the tradition started when he was a student in the Archives, but he had forgotten the exact details over the long years of his service. He simply knew that it had something do with the period in which the Kingdom had been so militarized and devout, that to tell a knight apart from the general population at military funerals required additional symbolic differentiation.

He walked towards the rear of the compound where the troops from both companies were gathered in a semicircle with a place at the center of it where the chaplain stood. Jericho would be overseeing the ceremony and would be running the majority of it, but every company had a Reverent or a lesser Acolyte who would commence the ceremony and officially inter the fallen. Though a separation existed between the Army and the Knights, when a Knight was present, it was considered proper to have them conduct the ceremony. The group of soldiers had been mumbling to each other in hushed tones, but as Jericho walked up, they fell quiet. His approach inspired the knowledge that the ceremony would soon be beginning.

Jericho moved to stand next to the Reverent. He was a part of O’Riley’s command, and he seemed glad that he would not have to conduct a ceremony for soldiers he had not known. The Reverent in Grom’s command was numbered with the dead, and the Reverent had told Jericho that he was not sure how he would be received. He nodded to the man as he drew up to him, Jericho’s expression was somber and tired; he still needed many more hours of sleep but would be unable to get them until at least the ceremony was over, and events were never that simple in an investigatory mission like this one. The grave had already been dug, one long and deep channel for all of the soldiers who had died. It was hardly fitting for the sacrifice they had made but the traditions mandated, that if it were possible, they had to be laid to rest while the sun was in the sky, and this was the best that they could do with the hours they had unless they wanted to wait until the next day. Jericho looked at his wrist readout, 5:13 pm, and then he looked at Grom and O’Riley who stood away from the group by the main doors. Two more minutes and then we shall begin.

The time ticked by slowly and Jericho counted off the time in his head. When it was five fifteen exactly he turned to the Reverent and nodded. The chaplain cleared his throat and every soldier’s face turned towards him. “Hear me Lord that we might commend to you this day the souls of sixteen brave men and women who died in service of your people.”

The crowd and Jericho murmured together in response, “May God rest their souls.”

Jericho spoke loud and clearly so that Grom, who stood just inside the compound’s doors, would hear him from where he stood, “Captain, bring out your dead.”

Grom motioned to the people who were standing inside the compound with the bodies of the dead swathed and wrapped in white cloth, which rested upon their shoulders. The procession moved towards the gathered soldiers around the grave. As they approached, Jericho listed their names and their years of service by order of their rank from least to greatest. As he spoke, the procession reached the grave and each pair of soldiers burdened with one of their comrades stood in front of the grave waiting for the time when they should place them into the ground. Each pair joining the crowd after they had deposited their burden into the fresh earth.

Jericho spoke again, “Each of these that we place into the ground this day has died valiantly in service of not only you, oh God, but of the people that we have all sworn to protect. May you see fit to allow them to enter the halls of Heaven where the brave who have died in battle may feast and celebrate with you till the time of the last great struggle.” The Reverent and Jericho then moved forward towards the first of the corpses beginning on the right and moving one by one to the left. They placed on each of them the Cross of the old Christian faith, on which the ceremony was based, and a sprinkle of holy water that their bodies might never be used as an undead soldier in service of their enemies. After Jericho and the Reverent had placed the final blessing on a fallen soldier, the pair supporting the corpse placed it into the grave. All sixteen went into the ground and Jericho and the Reverent returned to the space where they had begun.

Jericho bowed his head and closed his eyes, the congregation did likewise, “And now Lord we return their bodies to your earth. May they not be forgotten by those who loved them, may all benefit from the memory of their goodness, and may the soil bloom evermore from their final gift.”

He looked up as the assembled men and women whispered, “Amen.” He nodded to the soldiers who held shovels in their hands at the ready. They immediately began to fill in the dirt over the dead. It took several minutes for them to complete their task and once they had, they returned to their positions standing at attention. Jericho moved forward followed closely by the Reverent. Jericho scooped a small hole out of the top of the mound that had been formed over the dead, the chaplain handed him a sapling. Jericho placed the young tree into the earth and patted the dirt down around it. Jericho smiled sadly, as he thought once more, the ambition and message of the Templar was everywhere. Even here in a dark hour, the rituals of the creed stressed life over death. Life must continue so that darkness did not consume the whole world. Jericho stood, and once more addressed those assembled, “May this redwood forever grace this ground, that all who pass through here will know that someone on some distant day and on some distant battlefield, has made the ultimate sacrifice for their freedom.” With those words, the ceremony ended and the soldiers turned away and began to disperse.

Jericho looked around the small area behind the compound, there was only one other such tree growing nearby. He smiled, pleased, if not quite happy, that tragedy had not visited this place too frequently. The entire ceremony had only taken half an hour but he had to return to his tent to report this latest development to the Templar High Command. He began to move towards the tent but was stopped by the pair of Captains who had caught up to him in the crowd. Grom’s face was somber and he seemed to be leaning towards O’Riley for support, she had her hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you Jericho for seeing to the disposition of my men.” Grom was sincere, but he had clearly stopped Jericho for some other purpose than this simple pleasantry.

Jericho responded with the Templar creed, “I live to serve all believers.”

Grom nodded sharply, at once accepting the platitude and wishing to move beyond it, “Jericho we must know what the response will be to this attack on our border. We have waited long enough, and the men I have scouting the incoming drones report that they are two days away. Are we to experience another attack on our border without doing something in return?”

Jericho sighed. He understood the nature of Grom’s concerns but wished that the man would trust him to do the right thing, “Rest assured Captain that in twenty four hours’ time we will be moving to strike the enemy in return for the fallen here, and that before that occurs you will know the full extent of the plan that I am going to carry out.”

Grom did not seem satisfied and looked about to speak again but O’Riley squeezed his shoulder for a fraction of second, killing the words in his throat. She spoke instead her tone understanding and mellow, “Of course Templar, we trust in your command and look forward to hearing of the nature of your counter attack.”

Jericho smiled widely at the woman and the power she had over her companion, he was happy for them both they seemed to complete each other with one stronger while the other was weak. “Thank you Captain I will see you both tomorrow in the afternoon when the arrival of our shipment is expected.”

Jericho then turned away from the pair and moved as swiftly as his tired limbs would allow back towards his tent. He entered quickly with an anxious glance at his wrist readout worried that he may be late for his appointment. Once back in his tent, he set the book and rod aside carefully before moving over to the holo-pad at the far end of his tent. The machine was already humming indicating that there was someone waiting to speak to Jericho on the other end, oops, now I have gone and made myself late again. I am sure Pax will understand. He stood on the platform directly in the center and hit several of the buttons on the board on his left side.

Immediately following this, a hazy flickering occurred and a few seconds later the image of Paladin Pax was standing in front of him. The hologram was flawless and it appeared that the man was actually standing a meter away from Jericho in the tent, though he was several hundred kilometers away in Zion. It was Jericho’s obligation as the subordinate to initiate the conversation, “Hail Paladin, may the Lord cause his fire to burn in your heart.”

“Hail Knight, may he keep you steadfast in his refuge for all time.”

“And may God almighty bless our meeting and give truth to our words.”

The formalities aside Pax was very interested as to know why Jericho had missed the meeting that they had scheduled for early this afternoon instead sending only the cryptic message, “5:50 pm.” Pax’s voice came out as a sharp retort, though Jericho knew it was out of concern and not anger, “Report!”

Jericho was expecting this and had prepared himself for Pax’s annoyance, who was the head of all investigations in the southern provinces. “There has been a new development in the case of the attacks against the SLC. If you recall, there was an unprecedented escape by a prisoner in relation to the collection teams that had been patrolling our southern border. The young man, Gawain, managed to break away from his captors and return safely to our lines. The demon who is in charge of this operation clearly did not want this ‘crime’ to go unpunished or set any kind of precedent.”

“What was the extent of this ‘response’?” Pax asked his concern deepening the lines on his forehead as his eyebrows drew closer together. As most Templar knew, demons had a tendency to use forces that most would consider overkill as they seemed to have an endless supply of bodies to throw at Avalon.

“A force of around seven hundred demon thralls was sent to eradicate the outpost and all who were in it,” Jericho was using clipped speech which was not his custom, but Pax was a busy man.

“So few?” Pax raised a single eyebrow in confusion, “What do you make of that Jericho, were they not expecting heavy resistance?”

“I am led to believe that the demon in question had no idea that the Templar were present here, lest he probably would not have wasted the effort. I am sure that the news of this failure will send him into a towering rage burning especially bright due to his curiosity. He will want to know why and how a small force of soldiers was able to beat back such a ‘large’ number of thralls.”

“No doubt, and what do you anticipate his next move will be, will the demon attempt to investigate himself?”

“That seems unlikely, sir.” Jericho shook his head, “This demon has been content to hide well outside of my reach thus far, and it would be odd for him to change tactics now. I do not believe he knows of my existence, but I believe that he will not come near the base for fear that Avalon has developed some new and powerful weapon to eliminate so many thralls unaided, fearing that it might even be harmful to him. But should he come anywhere near the compound, I will be prepared for him.”

Pax was nodding, Jericho’s report was coherent, clear, and it had evaporated his annoyance, “Do you still intend to go through with your original plan then?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Even though Command is still against it and would have you seek alternative methods?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well, is there anything we can do or supply to help you in your endeavor Knight Jericho?”

“Yes sir, I would like to formally request that Captain O’Riley’s company be reassigned to my investigation for the next four days. With their additional numbers I believe that I can bring this case to a close in that time.”

“The Army had already the Captains’ individual requests for the same and was going to deny them on the grounds of the long standing conflict of interest that the two of them share in common,” Pax looked for a moment at Jericho both of the men silent. He finished his statement seeming to reach a conclusion based on evidence that only he could see, “but I do believe your own request will change that determination. If you believe that their relationship will not be a detraction to their effectiveness we shall see to it that the Army reassigns her and her command to you for the next week.”

“Thank you, sir. And for the record, having read the reports on this region, I believe that their relationship is a strength not a weakness, that their love and affection should be encouraged rather than stifled. Now that I have met them both, I see it as only beneficial. And in fact, I believe that their relationship would make them a cogent pair should they be allowed to work together. They are more in tune with each other than any other pair of officers that I have ever encountered. Their teamwork could benefit the nation should we employ their efforts carefully.” As always, Jericho was hoping to help the soldiers of Avalon where he could. The Templar sometimes forgot how short and brutal the lives of soldiers in the south could be. Moreover, Jericho was a senior member of the Knights Templar and he rarely employed the clout his opinion carried.

“We will take the matter under advisement, and review it along with your debriefing when the time comes.” Pax’s tone was a firm, indicating that the subject was closed for the moment.

“That is all I ask.”

“Very well Jericho, may the Lord watch over you.”

“And over you, sir.” The image of Paladin Pax faded and disappeared altogether, leaving Jericho standing alone in his tent once more. He stood in thought for a moment trying to gauge the reaction he had gotten to both his report and his suggestions about the couple. He decided that both had gone rather well as far as Pax was concerned. His reactions had not been negative and the Paladin was not known to be a liar or a double dealer. It was part of the reason why he was not higher in the Order than he was.

A sudden wave of fatigue washed over Jericho. He moved to his bed and set the fine steel links of his armor on to the rack along with his helmet and his gauntlets. He removed his heavy steel boots and placed them on the ground close to the rest. He looked at his shield, which was dented and smashed from the fearsome blows that he had both received and dealt. It would have to be repaired tomorrow. Jericho looked at the complete set of his armor with great affection, it had saved his life more than once and he never failed to appreciate the beauty of the craftsmanship and design, both of which were excellent if archaic.

He turned, now only in the jerkin that he wore under his mail, and climbed into his bead. He sighed, content as he pulled the covers over himself; at last, he would be able to get a real night’s sleep for the first time in weeks. He tapped his wrist readout setting an alarm but also switching off all other low-level alerts to allow him to sleep uninterrupted until he had to wake up early the next morning when the laser rifles would be arriving in Kent from the central armory in Granada. Jericho drifted into the realm of dreams as soon as his head hit the pillow and he needed the rest, it was going to be a long couple of days after he woke up.

As Jericho drifted into unconsciousness, Captains O’Riley and Grom stood next to the com-station awaiting the word on whether or not she and her men would be leaving that very night or whether they were going to have to find temporary lodgings for seventy or so persons and an additional ten horses. The colonel who was based in Dulas and who was in charge of the southern forces of Granada, and their immediate superior, was soon speaking to them. He informed them that O’Riley and her men were now under the command of Templar Knight Jericho and they were to cooperate with him fully for the next week, and they were to then report back to their original standing orders. A brief warning on the etiquette followed this the two Captains were expected to demonstrate throughout the entire operation. They had heard it before but they listened closely without interrupting as was proper of the soldiers of the Army of Avalon when being addressed by a superior officer. When the colonel’s broadcast was over, they turned towards one another in the empty com-room.

James bowed his head and brushed his cheek against her hair as she moved forward to embrace him. He whispered softly his voice passionate and soft, “Emily, how I’ve missed you.”

“And I you, James.” Her whisper just as lonesome and dejected as his had been. They kissed softly and meaningfully the meeting of long lost lovers who had found each other again. The kiss ended and they held each other for an entire minute in silence. She broke the moment first, looking up into James’s eyes a smile on her face, “We have seven whole days together. I didn’t think they would allow it, after we finally disclosed our relationship.”

“Yes and they promoted you out of here so fast that I barely had time to say goodbye.” James’s expression and tone were light though his words were dark.

She punched his arm, “Hey now. I earned that promotion as much as they did it to separate us! Plus, I was promoted again after that. So there.” The playfulness ran out of her expression as she thought, the curiosity creasing the skin of her forehead and eyes, “Why do you think they let me stay?”

He smoothed her hair with his hands and smiled at her and at his thoughts, “I get the feeling that we have only one person to thank for your extended stay here.”

Her smile faltered as she thought hard. Half a second later, she smiled again this time in a knowing fashion, “Jericho?”

James laughed softly and crushed her against his body rocking her back and forth, “Jericho,” it was a statement of agreement and fact. “I may have misjudged that man. He’s as good as they come.”

“That he is, I am surprised that you were so hostile to him this evening after the service.” She broke their embrace and moved towards the com-station to broadcast the all-points bulletin informing the troops to hunker down and park the APCs for the evening.

Grom took a step back and leaned against the wall. “I am just tired of sitting on my hands waiting for him to act. We should be striking back at our enemies not just hiding in our borders and behind our walls.” His tone was hard and frustrated.

After finishing her message to the troops in and around the compound, she turned back to Grom. Her face was concerned and little judgmental, her words flowed out like a mother scolding her child “James I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you again. You know as well as I that the Templar have only our best interests at heart and that we cannot simply sally forth and meet the demons on the fields of battle willy-nilly! We would get crushed faster than grapes in a winepress!”

James stared for a second at her vehemence his eyes blank, and then laughed aloud, “That is the first time in many months that I have been chewed out by anyone.”

She did not laugh in return, but instead looked at him searchingly, “But do you understand?”

He crossed the space between them quickly picked her up in his arms twirling her around and setting her back down with a swift peck on her lips. She laughed at him this time and smiled, “I understand honey, I understand that we are together again, and I hope it takes Jericho three years to work this out so we can be together that much longer.”

She pouted her lips, her tone mockingly sad, “Only three years? I would have hoped we were a little more serious than that.”

His smile deepened, “Oh that we are. Though of course we have to be careful, what we’re doing is not exactly legitimate in the eyes of the Church.”

She frowned, why did he have to make this light and happy time serious? “You know that if we got married now they would make at least one of us resign our post and return to civilian life, the law demands it. Neither of us wants that, we’re stuck right where we are for now.”

“You know I would give up my whole career for you, why won’t you marry me?” His question was desperate and fierce he wanted nothing more to be with her for the rest of his life, and she knew it. But she had always insisted that they keep with the current status quo, and that was not about to change now.

“I am not about to let you throw away a career that you have spent ten years building on something as trivial as me. Furthermore, I will not have our borders and our nation weekend simply because it would make us happier. You belong at your post Captain Grom, and I belong at mine.”

He smiled at her again; she never would budge on this point. She was a patriot, and she thought the world of him. He pulled her to his body once more, “You know that I just want to make you happy, I love you so much Emily.”

She sighed and buried her head in his chest, “I know, I know, I love you too James.” They left the com-room a minute later and returned to their duties redistributing the forces under their command working together as little as possible as to not tax their tenuous respite in military order and discipline. Nevertheless, careful observers like Gawain were able to see the joy that they carefully concealed beneath the surface of their actions and words. They were some of the happiest people he had ever seen so shortly after a funeral.

Gawain had finished grave detail for the soldiers well before the funeral. Now he worked with the incineration crews three kilometers from the compound, piling more and more bodies of the thralls onto the fires whenever they burned low enough to permit it. Handling the mangled and festering corpses of the demon thralls was disgusting and unrewarding work, but every mother’s child of them knew that it had to be done. To tell the truth, Gawain had volunteered for this detail and was here just to be close to the mysterious Angela Frost again.

She worked with another crew about ten meters away and Gawain was studying her to see how she interacted with the people around her. She was distant and awkward with almost everyone she worked with but not unkind. She seemed to prefer being alone, as if a career as a soldier was not really what she had wanted out of life but that she had resigned herself to the position that fate had chosen for her. Gawain was startled to find that he wanted nothing more than to be the one to break through that wall of ice she maintained around her heart and mind. That it would make him happier than he had ever been to see that smile shine forth once more, and doubly so if he was the one to put it there, but he had no idea how to go about it. Gawain smiled to himself, things were getting more and more interesting and complicated in the Province of Granada, maybe things are looking up for a change.