“You have been summoned sire,” the initiate
kneeled before the old templar. Godhart closed his book, the
afternoon sun filtering through the stained glass windows of his
spartan lodgings.
“Have you seen her initiate?” he asked.
The initiate lowered his head.
“Yes sire.”
Godhart stood up from his bed, and walked to the
window that looked down into the courtyard. Down below, sworn
acolytes were practising, their wooden swords clacking against each
other.
“Well, what does she look like?”
“Sire?”
“Describe her to me.” He watched a boy in the
yard get knocked over, holding his arms up he yielded to his
opponent. Godhart remembered his own training, but back then it was
much harder. He was an old man now, well past 40... well past
adventures and battles.
“Well sire, she is like no woman I have ever
seen. Her skin is dark like the foreign sailors at the docks, and she
bears scars all across her body, she even has a scar across her eye –
and her eyes, the colour of ice.”
The boy spoke excitedly, like he was relating
something rare and fantastical.
“That's not even the half of it sire, her hair –
red as fire, and she wears it like a man, short cropped.”
Godhart didn't doubt it was her. No respectable
woman would look like that.
“Are you smitten boy?”
The initiates cheeks flushed, he bowed down
apologetically.
“Where is she?”
“She is waiting in the patriarchs foyer, sire.
Pater sent me to summon you as soon as she arrived.”
Godhart turned around. The boy kneeling before him
was small and scraggly. Godhart knew that he would never become a
templar with a body like that.
“What was your name again?”
“Paul sire.”
“Have you seen this book Paul?” Godhart
motioned to the leather bound book he was holding. Paul shook his
head.
“No sire.”
Godhart ran his finger lovingly down the books
spine.
“This is no ordinary book,” he read the gold
embossed title. “Litanies of Alleman.”
He opened the book and held it in front of Paul.
“Can you read, boy?”
Paul bowed again.
“I am still learning my letters sire.”
Godhart sighed. He was a boy like that once, young
and unable to read. If it wasn't for his fighting abilities he would
never have been accepted into the templar's brotherhood.
“You don't need need to read to appreciate this
book. Here,” he showed him the lettering. “What do you notice
about these letters?”
Paul took the book gently, like it was a priceless
artefact.
“Sire, these letters aren't written by hand.”
Godhart beamed. There was some hope for this
initiate yet.
“Very good boy. This book was printed on a
machine, a printing press they call it. With this invention a
thousand books can be printed in a day. In a hundred years every man,
woman, and child in Deutzreich will own their own books.”
Paul nodded vigorously, but Godhart knew he had no
concept of numbers over a dozen.
“Here, take it. Look after it for me.” he
said.
The young boys eyes became wide with shock.
“B-b-but I can't – this book must be worth a
fortune sire.”
Godhart smiled, the boy was right, it was a first
edition and cost him five silvers, which was about his monthly
stipend.
“Do you know the Litany of Charity?”
“I do sire.”
“Recite it for me.”
Godhart closed his eyes, listening to the monotone
recitation.
“Alleman bless those who give freely and ask
nothing in return. Alleman bless those who renounce wealth and are
pure in spirit. Alleman bless those...”
The litanies of Alleman were music to his ears,
there was nothing more beautiful in the world. Paul recited all six
verses perfectly. When he finished Godhart opened his eyes again.
“Well done. Let's not keep the pater waiting any
longer.”
Paul stood up hastily, clutching the book in his
arms. Godhart let him lead the way. The sandstone halls of the temple
of Alleman were alive with templars and their subordinates.
Everywhere Godhart looked there were templars and acolytes attending
to their tasks, templars teaching fighting arts and strategy or
acolytes sitting quietly in the study halls and reading. Their order
had come along way since he was an initiate. As they passed the
martial practise courtyard, he caught sight of brother Luka,
resplendent in a templar's full battle dress. His steel plate armour
was polished and on the breastplate was an oak tree, the symbol of
Alleman. Godhart listened to the lecture Luka was giving to the
acolytes, as he walked by.
“When you take your vows and become a brother,
this,” Luka pointed to his armour. “Is what you will wear to
battle.” he pulled his sword out of his scabbard, the steel chafing
against the hard boiled leather sheath. The acolytes around him took
a step back.
“Don't be mistaken. A templar is more than
armour.” With a quick thrust and slash he demonstrated his skill
with the sword.
“A templar of Alleman is a holy warrior...”
Godhart wanted to stay and listen, but letting the
elderly pater wait would be disrespectful. He hurried along after
Paul, his simple sandles scratching across the flagstone hallway
leading to the pater's offices. The pater's study stood at the heart
of the temple compound. The main corridor leading to his study was
lined with the statues of the patriarchs that had led the order.
Godhart looked in awe as they passed each stern face, bearded,
scarred and wise. At the very end of the hallway, presiding over the
long line of patriarchs, was the founding father, revered pater
Konrad. Paul stopped ten paces before the statue, letting Godhart
ahead to pay his respects. Godhart got on his knees, bowing so low
his forehead touched the ground. In quiet contemplation he paid his
respects.
“Please madame, you cannot go any further.”
Godhart's silent prayers were interrupted by a
young man's voice.
“Madame, please.”
The cool marble floor hid Godhart's scowl. Coming
up behind him were the loud footsteps of an initiate who had not
taken off his walking boots. The hall of pater's was a sacred place
and he didn't take kindly to initiates or guests that disregarded the
rules. Lifting his head from the ground he looked back to see an
acolyte desperately trying to stop a woman. She walked with a cool
determination and was heading straight for the pater's study. Godhart
noted that she was tall for a woman and muscular, like no respectable
woman should be. She wore knee high leather boots, white tunic,
tarnished gold breastplate, gauntlets, pouldrens, greaves, and around
her shoulders hung a green travel cloak. What Paul neglected to
mention were her oddly long ears, ears that did not look human. He
had to admit, she looked every bit like the alien warriors spoken of
by the traders who came from the deep south.
“Madame, I must insist, you cannot carry weapons
here.”
Hanging loosely from her hand was an ornate spear.
The woman ignored the acolyte, like he didn't exist. She was almost
at the dais of the founding pater. Godhart stood up and turned on her
as she walked towards him. The acolyte behind him shrunk back when he
saw Godhart's face. With her way barred she stopped in front of the
old templar.
“Acolyte.” He said.
The acolyte behind the woman dropped to his knees,
pressing his forehead to the ground.
“Why do you defile the hall of paters?”
The acolyte trembled in fear.
“Sire, please forgive me, she just rushed in, I
couldn't stop her.”
Godhart's gaze shifted to the woman, her eyes met
his. In those icy blue eyes he forgot himself for a moment.
“Sire?” The acolyte spoke to him.
“What!”
“Your punishment sire?”
He felt like he had lost a moment in time. Godhart
cleared his throat.
“Well, um... write out the litany of piety 100
times. I will deal with the guest.”
“Yes sire.”
The acolyte bowed again, before standing up and
hurrying off. Godhart dropped his head low, showing respect to the
woman.
“I'm very sorry madame, but you will not be able
to see patriarch Daniel while carrying a weapon.”
He looked up to see her reaction. Her expression
did not change, while her eyes bored into his very being. For a
moment he thought she hadn't understood him, but like a summer breeze
she nonchalantly walked around him.
“Madame.”
She didn't listen. Godhart started forward.
“Madame.” He shouted, grabbing her by the arm.
The woman froze.
“Madame, please, we have rules in the temple.”
She turned around slowly, the eyes that had once
been cool and calm now blazed in fiery anger. For a moment an
irrational fear enveloped him, but it was broken by a shout behind
him. Pulling away from the woman he turned to see pater Daniel
shuffling hurriedly towards them. The elderly pater was hunched over
and his long white beard reached down to his knees. His white robe
dragged across the ground, the hems dirtied by dust. Godhart
immediately kneeled down, next to him Paul prostrated himself,
touching his forehead to the ground.
“Venerated Lynian Pallatai.” Pater Daniel said
with a smile on his face. He bowed as low as he could and raised his
hand to his forehead as a sign of respect.
“How long has it been old man?” The woman
said. Godhart was surprised, she spoke in a silvery tone, which was
in direct contrast with her appearance.
“Have you been teasing my templar's again?” He
said with a throaty laugh. She laughed as well, looking the old pater
over.
“You need a walking stick Daniel.”
“The day I get a walking stick is the day I die,
madame.”
He motioned to a set of heavy oak doors to the
left of the hall.
“Shall we?”
Lynian walked ahead, pushing past the oak doors.
Pater Daniel shuffled in front of Godhart and Paul.
“Paul”
“Yes pater.” The boy answered in a squeaky
voice.
“Please go to the treasury and tell brother
Niklas it is time.”
Paul stood up quickly, hurrying off to complete
his task. Pater Daniel placed his hand on Godhart's shoulder.
“Come my boy. We have an important matter to
discuss.”
Godhart bowed. Supporting the pater they entered
the study together behind the woman.
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