Heir of Iron

"An' I've been keepin' busy. Naima has lots of learnin' layin' about. She's a good teacher." the little cutpurse said, and Bart's eyebrows went up over the rim of his cup, the girl blushed, stammering a little. "Ah... jus' want to be better prepared. No way we're done with those monsters, right? She had an answer for er'ry single damn one o' 'em. And she took care o' ye and meself so well..." she said, peeling back the wrists of her gloves to the now-healed cuts on her wrists — the last memory of their first, unfriendly meeting. Bart looked down at her hands, frowning a little.

"Lidia... I'm sorry for that... I wasn't totally myself, I was..." Bart started to explain and found himself choking on the words again, the phantom of the Wendigo appearing in his mind, strangling the words in his throat. Thankfully, the little sidheborn gave him a playful shove that rocked the cart lightly.

"Oh shut up, ye were angry. I was lucky ye were the kind o' man ye were. I'd earned more than a wee cut-up wrist and some scuffed elbows from ye by then." she said, frowning a little and wincing. "Ye... think the poof is still mad at me?" she asked. Bart, furrowing his brow before he realized she meant Nazir, winced too, teeth showing as their gazes met.

"You did step directly on his face. He seems a bit protective of it." Bart observed and she grimaced and slapped her knees, sitting up straight.

"Right then, Ah should go give him a talkin' to then, not right tae 'ave bad blood wit' travelin' companions." she said, smiling back up at him, the cart rocking back and forth gently as the road carried on beneath them; "Ye take it slow... an' I'm glad ye're back wit' us," she said, leaning up and giving him a brief, sisterly kiss on the forehead. "Ye tell anyone ah' did this an' I'll slap ye nuts up 'twixt ye ears," she said quietly and then bounced nimbly from the cart — its movement failing to even slow her down.

Bart peered out the window, it was past midday and they were moving at a decent pace. He tried to draw up his mental map of where they were, between Lachheim and Fort Ivory there was not much to speak of, small nameless burgs and hamlets, farm folk mostly. Nothing so large as Fairharbour nor so established as any city. He resigned himself to advise pressing on with all due haste, the smaller settlements would have seen the fires and know what they meant by now, it was the men at Fort Ivory and the Lady who mattered.

The Lady... Bart's mind drifted back to the dream and he felt himself color despite himself, what an admission to have in the throes of madness — but it struck a chord inside him even awake and aware. He curled his hands closed, feeling them shake unnaturally with remaining weakness, and found his bag. With his clothes, shaving kit, and armor stood his copy of the Oath of Gold. Made for travel with a durable girdle-binding, a leather sleeve that covered the book and cinched around a belt, or well — a girdle, thus the name. Undoing the clasp from the humble-looking book, the inside was anything but. The pages were hand-inked, illuminated in color and gilt — one of the gifts given to Pilgrims on their leaving the abbey, only Paladins of the Radiant order or those on pilgrimage to become them had a book like this, he turned the pages, the brilliant text speaking the truth of their histories, struggles and their creed in fine verse. Shame touched his heart, he knew that it had been but a few days — but it felt as if he had not touched this holy tome in ages, even when his body and mind ached with doubt and the invasions of dark things... he'd seemed to pointedly avoid the libram. The cart rattled beneath him as he turned the pages in silence, finally stopping as he turned to a beautiful engraving of gilt and ink.

It was a full page to itself, a dedicated illustration rendered with divine care. It was the Lady in her aspect, standing in perfect statuesque defiance, a pale dawn cresting geometric mountains behind her — a golden star blazing at the tip of her horn — itself and her eyes gilt in gold leaf. He'd seen it before, in lesser tomes and readings. He knew it well, it drew the breath from him as it always did. The opposite page was tight, heavy-block text — and in it, or so they said, were her own words:

To thou, I swear an Oath of Gold. Absolute and unalloyed. To each of thee I will look upon, to each of thee I will make whole and sure. For thee are my most beloved souls, my consorts of heart, and my guardians of spirit. I entreat thee to embrace mine love, my succor and take it to thy breast in place and time with thy own heart — to pour that succor out like wine for the needy. To give thy love utterly and without hesitation. For I give thus unto thee, without hesitation in totality. I love each of thee as mine children, mine lover, mine eternal guardians. Be thou valorous, be thou true, be thou all that thy can — carry mine light to the dark places, carry mine love to those with hardened hearts, carry my succor to those in pain. Thy art beloved as thou art — thy art mine, and I art thine. Give unto thy charges the last fiber of thy self — be just and fear not, for thou art courageous. I shall see it so.

I entreat thee, thou that hear these words — carry thyself before mine eyes. Walk the Earth. Speaketh earnestly to thy neighbors near and far. Tread the path of struggle, tread the path of turmoil. Embark in thy spring of life upon thy journey unto me — and show of me thy works, great and terrible both. Look upon mine eyes, mine heart so that I might look upon thine in return. Know me and know thyself — and return within thee a Golden Blessing to give unto thy kin — for in this do thy make brothers and sisters of all Man, and put thyself in service to thy greater host. Make of thyself a blade, a shield, and an open hand — and I will grant thee a boon everlasting.

To thou, I swear this Oath of Gold.

Bart found tears in his eyes, dashing them with shaking, palsied fingers — daring not to stain the image of the Lady with his weeping. His heart thrummed with remembered feelings, he hadn't truly understood them before... and now he felt childish. Touching the engraving, running his fingers along the outline of the beautiful mane... he'd had dreams of such his entire life. Ever since he'd been given a copy of the Oath as a novice, he'd been enthralled by her — by her promise. Even now, in the aftermath of such nightmares real and imagined, he felt the love in those words as if she'd spoken them directly in his ear.

"Who am I to claim such love?" he asked the rocking cart, only getting the creak of boards as answer; "Who am I indeed... surely it is untoward... surely she meant it in the pure, abstract sense... " he said, but his mind was drawn to the dreams... the touch of her silky mane in his fingers, to look into her golden eyes... did she have eyes like Sikha had? Would he feel the same sense of beauty? He had not felt the tug at his heart looking upon that beautiful creature as he did this mere, mortal engraving of the Lady. He closed the book with a shuddering breath as his pulse had quickened and his body rose eagerly to the idea of such intimate closeness — he denied himself such thoughts, resting his brow against the leather spine, eyes screwed tightly shut.

"Am I wrong to wish it so... to wish to be with her forever... just from words in a book?" he asked no one. He received no answer. No answer was to be given, not yet.

CHAPTER 2

Bart's recovery turned out to be more protracted than he expected. The time on the road was quiet, dragging at his mind with uneasiness, seeing monsters at the edge of his vision, ghuls in every shadow. Anxiety was a quiet companion, any time he began to doubt the rationality of the fear, he needed merely look to the south — to the black, sooty columns of smoke that still rose days later.

"Again, come now Brother Bart." Rashid's voice rumbled, before him stood naked steel, held ready at hand, carried with the ease with which a snake might poise its fangs. Bart stood in full harness, sweaty and holding his axe steady. They'd been sparring on and off all day, but it all felt... off to Bart's senses, he'd never gotten so much as close to the older warrior, which itself wasn't a problem — Rashid's swordsmanship was immaculate, he felt even Master Bowen would find him a match, no... it was the fundamentals.

The charge he gave was sudden, digging his heels into the turf once more; thundering towards Rashid with all the ferocity he could muster, axe sweeping in a half-moon arc before slamming down at the burly Akali's midsection in a savage angled chop that would break a man's stance and open him up for a killing stroke, it played through his mind with textbook precision...

His body had other plans.

His feet stumbled as a jolt of weakness and pain shot through his chest and spine, he faltered mid-swing, the axe's haft twisting in his hands, falling short of the mark — and Rashid's answering cuts rang off his helmet — the burly fighter's swings so precise that he struck him to either side of his helmet with the flat of his wicked curved blade in a whip-quick motion that left Bart dazed as his axe slipped from his grasp, and he fell to his knees in a clatter of plates.

"DAMNATION!" Bart spat, slamming his fist into the soft loam, the hand shaky and unsure as his body wracked with the spell of weakness, Rashid knelt beside him suddenly, concern on his stony visage.

"It is fine my friend, we all stumble-" Rashid said softly, Bart slammed another fist into the ground, cutting him off with a hiss of frustrated rancor.

"I do NOT get to stumble! Not I!" he snarled at the elder warrior, still shaking under the suddenly immense weight of his armor; "Not I! Not now!" he spat the words like venom, aimed at everyone — but no one more than himself.

"Brother Bart..." Rashid began slowly, his hand on Bart's shoulder, the Knight-Brother stiffened and pushed it away, the trembling fit slowly passing as he dragged himself up from the mud.

"Spare me, Rashid. You mean well, but I have no time for platitudes. Again." he said, taking up his axe in shaking hands.

"I do not think-"

"AGAIN!" Bart roared, smashing his gauntlet-clad hand into his armored chest; "Stand up and face me, or GET OUT OF MY FACE!" he snapped in a sudden outburst of fury that set Rashid back on his heels. Their eyes met for a long moment, and Rashid nodded, standing with his blade in hand, he reached out, beckoning Bart forward.

"Once more."

Bart hurled himself forward, the images of the dead assaulting him, Naima's sweet face streaked with tears, Salim's agonized cries over the death of his brother, all of it drove him on. He didn't realize he was screaming at first, a roar of defiance as he ran through the stances and motions, his mind willing his body to action along the well-trod lines of practice, his axe sang like a choir of vengeful angels.

Then it flew from his fingers.

End over end it tumbled as his legs gave up the ghost, a fit of shaking stealing the strength from them, pitching him forward at full tilt. His helmet-clad face dug a furrow into the turf as he hit the ground in a heap, rolling and clattering to a still tangle of limbs on his side — cold fear clenching his insides as the faltering loss of strength robbed him of his might, his fingers unable to close. He tried to drag himself upright and failed, the weight of his armor too great, pinning him on his side like some steel turtle in the sun. He gritted his teeth. Tears stung his eyes.

"No... no... no..." he slammed his fist into the dirt, but his palsy-stricken body could muster only an ineffectual slap at the soft ground before giving up entirely, a sob escaping his lips.

"I cannot... I cannot be... be weak..." he gasped to no one. "Not now... please, O God not now..."

Rashid's strong hands rested on his shoulders, and he tried to push the burly man away — robbed of even the strength to deny that, he was wrested to a sitting position, the older man's face grave with concern.

"You cannot push yourself like this Brother, you will destroy yourself." He rumbled, his gaze flicking to the distance near the stopped wagon and cookfire, where Lidia and Naima sat over a tome, Nazir nearby — alert and aware. Bart's sob turned to a snarl;

"Then let me be destroyed, better to be done with it than be... this!" he spat bitterly, raising shaking hands before himself; "I am unmade, Rashid... I am a soldier, there is nothing else I have ever been — I can be nothing else!"

The Akali took the vehemence in stride, his face its usual subtle mask of emotion. He squeezed the offered hand. Rashid did not wear armor as he did, his breastplate and mailcoat were light in comparison, yet his presence was just as solid and immovable as if he were wrapped in steel, his hands strong and hard — the grip stopped the trembling.

"My friend, my brother... you are what you make yourself. Perhaps you are right, perhaps you are no longer a soldier — but your heart is still that of a warrior, it is still beating for justice. There is a path forward — you just have to find it." he said, drawing Bart up by main strength, the big knight staggering to his feet — shame on his face. He left the visor down.

"I am not so blessed with such luxuries Rashid... I have a mission, It is a mission for a warrior, not a cripple." he breathed, voice barely above a whisper. He looked over where his axe landed, buried to the eye in the soft turf, his hands began to shake uncontrollably. He turned away, leaving it behind as he left the field in defeat.

~ ~ ~

So it went, days on the road. Bart lost track as he struggled along, some days in the wagon trembling as his body shook with uncontrollable palsy, other times atop his horse, the wind in his hair and his mind troubled, his heart heavy. His beard began to grow out in earnest, thick and full as he abandoned shaving after slashing his face during a fit. Despite Naima's offer to shave him, the blade was put away and forgotten. The columns of smoke grew longer at their back, spreading wider. The whole city put to the torch, the surrounding fields and hamlets as well. Bart could only hope the poor common folk had escaped the monstrous press.

His body grew stronger, he felt familiar power in his arms but recoiled from it in uncertainty. The fits had no rhyme or reason, driving cold spikes of indecision into him as he went through everyday tasks, from shaving to feeding himself, every interaction he had was given pause. He felt himself grow distant from his companions, felt the darkness within him grow — the Wendigo perched just out of sight, just beyond the edge of his vision like a vulture. His armor soon joined his razor and axe; pushed away out of sight. He feared what may happen if he wore them, what he may do with a weapon too close at hand.

The Scripture was his only comfort, the girdle-bound tome never leaving his side as they journeyed, often in silence save for Salim and his worker's quiet, musical chatter, or Naima's continued efforts to teach Lidia, not the deep secrets of the sciences — but simple letters, the peasant-tuned-thief illiterate beyond a few key words and phrases for her survival.

"You cannot read?" had been the conversation, some days after Bart had collapsed during training. Rashid had chosen not to speak of it, yet Bart felt that his friends knew.

"Nah, why would I? Readin' was for Kull and his penny-pinchers. I had more practical skills tae work on." she'd said, her gleaming green eyes otherwise occupied, her hands twisting and clicking through a large, heavy padlock she'd found among Nazir's effects. One he'd agreed to let her practice her picking on after some protests — and a lecture about personal space.

"Remarkable," Naima said tersely, producing a sheaf of parchment. "Put that away, we'll start with your name. I refuse to teach someone willfully ignorant."

Lidia would have made an effort to protest, but the steel in Naima's eyes silenced anything. They'd early on made a pact that when Naima spoke, she would listen. It was not an easy pact, and they often went from quiet discussion to strident invective, Naima's adamant tone ever clinical and calm, and always the winner. Rashid's expressions were always the gauge of how any one argument would go.

"Little one is learning." the big man murmured to Bart as they rode at the head of the small caravan, Bart grinned through his rough growth of beard.

"She is quick on her feet, quicker with her tongue — but Naima always beats her brain off the line." Bart agreed, getting a chuckle from the burly Akali as they rode. He had the Oath open in his lap again, studying the pages, the words... but he always found his way back to the Lady's Pledge, losing himself in the lovingly illustrated image. Rashid's black horse reigned up close to his, the big man oddly out of place on the southern-bred animal, a hot-blooded, fleet-footed beast.

"Your Lady?" he inquired of the illumination on the page, and Bart was stricken with a sudden pang of guilt and shame, a desire to put it away... unnatural, he swallowed it. Glaring inwardly at the monster just beyond his sight — yet another way it tried to tempt and entrap him.

"Yes, the Lady's Pledge. Scholars say she demanded of us parchment and pen and dictated this — her own words for historical consideration," he said, turning the book for Rashid's eyes, the big man's solemn gaze softening a grade as he looked upon it.

"Her beauty even translates to the page. Truly, all of the Holy Ones are a step beyond," he said calmly, and a burning curiosity struck Bart.

"You met the Couatl yes? The Beast of Wisdom?" he asked, and Rashid grinned ruefully.

"Met would be an understatement my brother, I have crossed harsh words with her and been firmly rebuffed and stridently scolded many a time," he said, and Bart's jaw fell open.

"You argued with the Holy Beast?" he asked incredulously, and Rashid laughed softly.

"Of course! How does one learn if one asks no questions? If one never questions his teacher, how is he sure of the facts? I learned the sword from other Akali but I learned of myself from her teachings. She schooled all of us, in philosophy and meditation." he said, a fondness in his voice that put a rare, almost child-like gleam in his stony eyes.

"What is that like?" Bart asked wistfully.

"Challenging. Intimidating. Terrifying if I am truthful." Rashid said in a placid tone, lost in his memories for a moment, the rapid flick of his eyes on distant scenes, distant places, and distant people. "She is enormous, not just in size but presence. To speak with her is to be filled every nook and cranny with her," he said, reverence in his voice... but a sort of comfortable kind. Bart's eyes stole to the image, his heart quickening at the thought of being so casual with such a creature.

"She is beautiful, I often lie awake at night thinking of her golden eyes meeting mine. Even when I challenged her proclamation, her demand I marry Naima — I could not get her from my mind." Bart almost dropped the book, twisting in his saddle to look Rashid in the face.

"She arranged your marriage?!" Rashid laughed at him as he said it, shaking his head.

"You northerners always react so. Yes, Akali and alchemists are all wed. We are raised cradle to grave by the Learned One, and she guides us together, knowing our hearts as well as any tome in her library. I fought her, Naima was a willful, stubborn... and honestly, at the time? Ugly little brat of a woman." Bart couldn't believe that, looking sharply back at the darkly beautiful, iron-skinned woman copying down sentences with Lidia at the head of the wagon. Rashid grinned at him.