The Dark Edge Chronicles - Hardwire

Unleashing the God Fire

But, by the time the appointed hour was upon him, Mordecai found himself looking up at an apologetic Felix, who had just reported that King Jorik, enraged by the fact that a knight-protector had managed to penetrate the Reavers' camp to cause so much devastation and havoc, had refused to let Brin leave his side. He would force the order to send Mordecai into battle, unblessed and sanctified as punishment for Mordecai's boldness.

"I am so sorry, Sir Caiphus," Felix said apologetically, genuinely distressed that he was unable to bring Brin to Mordecai's side. "King Jorik even threatened me with my life, if I didn't leave his presence immediately once I had delivered your request. I did fear for my soul and my life as I stood before him!"

"Understandable, Brother Felix," Mordecai ground out, disappointed that Brin wouldn't be there with hopefully some words of wisdom about the Quaydrim and their usage. "You and I both know that Jorik's a Reaver bootlicker, with no loyalty or honor to our order or the borderlands. I don't think we could've expected anything less than complete betrayal by that fool! No matter; he'll receive his just punishments once we've crushed the Reavers in the tournament."

Mordecai stood from the low table he had been sitting at, leaving behind the crude wooden dishes that had held his midday meal. And then he was falling on one knee before Felix, bracing himself on his other upraised knee.

"So you'll give me a brief blessing before I go into battle, Brother Felix," he concluded softly, staring hard at the packed ground floor of the tent, his nostrils filled with not only his determination, but also with Felix's uncertainty and the unwashed bodies of the other acolytes that were grouped around them as well. Along with a lack of education it would appear that the order didn't consider personal hygiene very high on their list of priorities either.

"M-me?" Felix husked, eyes wide in astonishment as he stared down at the bowed shoulders and head of the lean young knight-protector that now knelt before him.

"Yes, you," Mordecai fired back, unmoving. "You're a cleric, a priest-acolyte with the authority to give blessings. So give me one! I wish the Maker's guidance in my entry into the tournament."

"Y-yes, of course," Felix stammered in reply, reaching out with a trembling hand to sketch the Maker's star over Mordecai's head. "May the Maker guide your hand so you may strike true and deep at the enemies of the land. And may he guide your heart that your intentions may always be pure and honorable! By the authority granted to me by the masters of our order and Holy Mother Church, I bless you in the name of the Maker with victory. Amen."

"Amen," Intoned the circle of acolytes clustered around them, their heads bowed.

"Amen," Mordecai husked softly, mind racing. Time to get ripped!

Vestrun looked over his shoulder and frowned as he watched the lean knight-protector stalk through the wooden gate marking the edge of the tournament grounds, a small retinue of order clerics and acolytes accompanying him. A glance at the sky was enough to tell him that Mordecai was exactly on time. He had hoped that Jorik's gambit to hold the priest, Father Brin, would've been enough to make the superstitious order members refuse to come to battle.

But that hope was instantly squashed by Mordecai's appearance, the knight-protector looking as fatally grim and determined as he had just a couple of hours ago when he had stood in the middle of a heap of bodies he had just killed, staring in defiance up at the Reaver master. He felt his lips curl into a snarl as he watched the grim knight-protector abruptly point at him then slowly draw his thumb across his throat in an unmistakable gesture. That arrogant pup! He would suffer for such mockery!

Dropping his arm by his side, Mordecai turned away from the knot of Reavers standing on the opposite end of the long, narrow tournament field.

"There's well over a dozen Reavers with their master over there, Sir Caiphus," Felix noted, trying hard not to sound nervous.