Chapter 1 - The Order of Dawn

The Sanctum of the Order, the innermost temple of the fortress belonging to the Order of Morning, was more impressive than Edmund could ever have imagined. In his mind's eye, he had seen a grand hall of stone and gems that rivalled any lord's manor, one-hundred yards to a side and lit by a thousand candles burning in golden chandeliers, but the truth was breath-taking for its modesty.

No more than twenty yards wide and barely twice as long, the temple was lit by the rising sun which streamed through stained glass depicting the glories of the Order and of their patron god. The only gold on view was beaten leaf, adorning the twelve alcoves to each of the holy virtues. He stared at the simple wooden benches which would seat the one-hundred knights of the inner circle and the bare stone altar upon which sat the sword of Roland, their founder.

To his left and right, nine other squires entered with similar expressions of awe. To his left was nimble Katya, the only squire to have scored a touch on the weapon-master in practice for a decade and the only female squire to reach the rite of initiation this year. To his right stood dour Erik, as tall and as broad as any grown knight despite his youth, whose eyes seemed fixed and glazed with faith or fear.

In accordance with tradition, each of them shrugged off their winter cloaks. Edmund could not say how, but he was managing to stave off the shivering which might have been mistaken for mortal terror. The rite of initiation was a test of mortality as much as faith; to fail in any one of the virtues, from simple faith to cast-iron courage, was to invite death.

Together with his fellows, Edmund walked calmly to the dais and pulled off his fur-lined boots, stripped to the waist as an act of humility and discarded his thick trousers. He stepped up onto the cold flagstones and knelt upon the ground. Warmth was leached from his legs where they touched the stone, but he knew that the rising sun would bring warmth to the temple if he were but a little more patient. It was the night, he reflected, that would really test his mettle.

The first hours passed in silence, ten squires kneeling in humility on the cold floor and suppressing their sense of discomfort. Edmund reflected on the twelve alcoves, considering the twelve virtues and the twelve squires that once made up his training class. Always it had been thus; twelve squires would arrive as youths, some as young as four and none as old as seven, to be trained up as knights in the Order. Those who made it to the end of their training sixteen years later would undertake the rite of initiation if they felt that they were ready.

There were two spaces, two missing squires who had not completed their training, but this was not unusual. The first had been Lucas, the seventh son of a great lord. He had been sent to find his fortune as a paladin, as he stood little chance of inheriting any estates. When war came to his father's lands, he listened to the tales with great interest, but little fear that he would ever leave. Ten years of news came and went, as his brothers died brave knights and his father vowed ever-greater revenges. Finally, the time came two years past that Lucas became his father's only surviving heir and set out sadly from the fortress with a promise of funds for the Order if he should survive.

The second space belonged to John, a slender and acrobatic young man who had been the most agile squire of Edmund's group. He had often been known to test his skill by climbing to the roof and displaying his preternatural sense of balance for the amusement of his friends. One day, his balance failed and he fell from the spire. It had later been remarked that he might have survived a fall to the courtyard below, that the gifts of the paladins might have saved his life had they arrived in time, but his luck was against him as he plunged two-hundred yards onto the rocks of the mountains below and his body was never recovered.

More time passed in silence and Edmund realised that the sun was setting in the sky. The mourning bell chimed once, the customary call to prayer as the sun dipped beneath the horizon, and he heard a grumbling sound from some distance to his right as one of the squires' hunger overcame the stillness of the air.

Edmund began to recite the twelve virtues to himself, but found that his mind was wandering. Hunger and cold started to take their toll, distracting him and forcing him to begin again. By gently flexing and relaxing his muscles, he managed to keep his limbs from stiffening, but the first signs of cramping haunted him right up until the mourning bell chimed once more in praise of the lightening dawn.

Footstep sounded behind the squires as the inner circle filed into the temple and took their seats. A rustle of heavy robes indicated that the Lord-Commander had taken to the stage with nine other hand-picked officers of the Order. The chant began to sound across the temple and they all knew that their vigil was coming to an end.

Edmund knelt, his head bowed in reverence. Through thin cotton breeches, his only remaining clothes, he could feel the chill of the stone beneath him and his bare feet ached in the icy air of the temple. He resisted the urge to brush away his over-long hair, left to grow to a man's length at last only six months past, and forced his attention to the chanting of the Lord Commander and the knights of the Order.

He could feel the eyes of the Order on him, knights and hopefuls alike. It had taken sixteen years of martial training, of self-discipline and of devotion to the Lord of Morning. Every prayer and every injury, every day of self-denial and service to the order would be paid back today.

He fought back a smile as Lord-Commander Jared reverently placed the golden chalice before him and unsealed the diamond flagon. Each of the squires here would be served by a high-ranking officer of the order, but to be tested by the hand of the Order's commander himself surely showed that he was favoured above his fellows.

“Rise, free men and women, no longer squires.” the Lord-Commander intoned, “Rise and take up the challenge laid before you.”

Each of the squires rose from their knees, fighting back groans and gasps as cramping muscles were called upon to drag them from the ground. Edmund allowed himself a sense of pride in the silence, hearing the tell-tale complaints of ten pairs of knees and yet not a single murmur of discomfort escaped from his lips or those of his companions. As he rose, he took up the chalice and stared down into the deepest red of the liquid within.

The poisoned wine troubled Edmund for a moment, a fleeting fear that the gods would find him wanting and deny him their gift, but he easily quieted his doubts. For better or worse, his life was in the hands of the Lord of Morning. If the Lord accepted his sacrifice, the poison would be turned to wine and he would turn the face the Order as a knight. If the Lord did not, he would travel to the lands beyond the stars and dwell in peace as a squire of the gods.

A cheer rang out from behind Edmund, as the knights called their welcome to Sera Katya. He allowed himself a glance at her relieved expression and glimpsed tears in her eyes. She had survived. He saw her subtle nod in his direction and drained his cup.

The sweet liquid burned warmly through his chilled body and he felt his fears and doubts drain away. This must be what it feels like, he thought. The pains in his legs faded, cramping muscles relaxing as the warmth spread across his tired and abused body, while the fatigue of a full twenty-four hour vigil drifted away to leave his mind shaper than ever before.

Edmund turned to face the Order as a new brother, only then realising that the strength was draining from his muscles and he found himself falling instead. Strong arms, slender and warm, moved to catch him even as the lights faded from his eyes. Gentle darkness embraced him, a comforting sanctuary from the pains of his life, and then a voice from across a great gulf.

“No, Edmund. Not today...”

* * * * *

Edmund woke to pain. Fleeting impressions remained of darkness and release, of life beyond the physical world, but he found that he could not grasp them with his conscious mind and reluctantly let them fade.

“Ah, you are awake.”

The Lord-Commander's voice cut through the pain and confusion.

Edmund opened his eyes to see a small cell within the Order's hospital, stone walls covered with insulating tapestries depicting the bravery of knights dragging wounded comrades (and sometimes foes) from battle. Lying supine, the wooden ceiling seemed strangely low and claustrophobic compared to the great vaulted halls typical of the Order's fortress. Muscles aching and head spinning, Edmund fought to sit up. He found gauntleted hands helping him, propping him upon firm pillows, and turned to see that his bed was flanked by two knights whose helmets hid their features.

“You are a lucky man, it seems.”

“Lucky? Then I am a knight?” Edmund retorted.

“No. You are lucky to be alive. Sera Katya risked her very knighthood to save your life.”

It made sense at that moment; the poison that should have killed him could only be held at bay by the power of a true paladin, but it was forbidden for a knight to interfere with the rite of initiation. It had not happened in living memory, not since Ser Garrol of Nordheim had tried to save his son more than a century ago, and certainly no records existed of such an attempt ever succeeding.

“ What is to become of her?” Edmund asked at last.

“Nothing can be done to censure her if she does not choose to do penance voluntarily; she broke no laws, it seems. She had not taken the oaths yet and so she could not be held to have violated them, since we lay no compulsion on squires not to use powers they do not have. Sadly, this still leaves you in a difficult position; by rights, you failed the rite of initiation and cannot join the Order, but as the first to survive such a failure, there is no precedent by which to judge your fate.

“We cannot set you loose in the world; with your training, you would be a target for every dark cult who thought they could gain favour with the deep gods by killing you or converting you to their cause. You are at constant risk of being tempted from the true path, which is why the rite of initiation is fatal; a failed squire is almost as dangerous as a Fallen knight.”

Edmund blanched at this. He knew the tales of the Fallen, knights who forsook their vows and were stripped of the Lord of Morning's blessings. They all ended in swift suicide or slow descent to madness and death at the hands of their former brothers lest they join the adversary.

“Then I am to die?” he asked, surprised by the lack of fear in his voice. So soon after returning, Edmund realised that he might almost slip back into that place forever without regret.

“No. Instead, we kill two bird with one stone. Despite the fact that we cannot punish her, Sera Katya has been encouraged to atone for her lapse of judgement and you must be taken to where you will be safe. She will take you to the monastery south of the fortress and there you will both stay for a year and one day. Afterwards, she will be free to return and take her place within the order. For your part, the council believes that you will be safe from evil influences there and so you must stay there until such time as the council decides what to do with you. Some, myself included, hope the monastic life might even suit you. It is a simple life, but I am told it is rewarding in its own way...”

It would be wrong to say that Edmund was glad that Katya would be following him into exile, if only for a year, but some part of him was happy that he would not be going alone. He considered the proposal, quietly noting that he was to be given no choice in the matter; he was still alive and the price for this and his failure in the rite of initiation was his future. A life for a life, he mused, and my freedom for my future. A bitter thought surfaced.

“You think I should have been allowed to die, don't you?” Edmund asked.

“Well yes, but no... I mourn every squire who fails the rite of initiation, since not one of them would have even been allowed to take it unless they were paragons of chivalry, but... I must accept that the poison-chalice is a blessing too. It serves to deliver the weak from temptation, you see.

“As I said, the flaw that prevented you from being chosen, whether it be pride or fear or any other sin, would always be a temptation to evil and the Lord of Morning is not the only god who might accept your fealty, merely the most worthy. What if a lustful squire were offered his pick of women, the power to bend their minds to his will, by the Lady of Forbidden Pleasures? Would you really want an incubus with the martial training of a paladin? Your death as a squire would have delivered us from this terrible indecision and brought you to his grand halls. In many ways, it would have been easier if you had simply died.

“And yet we are taught that only the Lord of Morning can heal, that he works through us and we are simply his instruments, without any true power of our own. If he allowed you to be healed, here in the fortress of his faith where none may pass but those walking in his grace, then perhaps you were meant to live.

“It is a puzzle though; why withhold his gifts if you were to live and yet allow his paladin to save your life?”

Edmund nodded, troubled by this paradox.

“Are you sure that I am not a paladin, that at least some part of his gift has not been granted?”

The Lord-Commander smiled sympathetically, “The gift is not given piece-meal.”

“How can you know if you will not test me?”

“There is only one test of the paladin and failing it should have cost you your life.”

Edmund bowed his head, recognising the truth of those words.

“Rest now, worry about theology later once you are healed.”

As if the Lord-Commander's words carried weight beyond his mortal frame, Edmund found his eyes closing and sleep quickly over came him.