Temple Knight - Power Ascending: Book One
Temple Knight - Power Ascending: Book One
CHAPTER ONE - INDUCTION
Spring 1095 SR*
(Saints Reckoning)
Charlaine deShandria stood motionless on the street, her sword resting loosely within its scabbard, ready at a moment's notice. Her fellow initiates were there with her, each dressed in the white cassock of a knight in training, bearing the scarlet waves of Saint Agnes, the colours reversed from that of a full Temple Knight.
Of those gathered, she was the oldest by far. Most joined the order between the ages of sixteen and nineteen, but at twenty-four, she had started much later in life. The Archprioress had assured her that such a thing was not unheard of, but her experience thus far said otherwise.
Charlaine looked to her fellow initiates who were standing nearby, nervously watching the run-down boarding house before them. Their orders had come early that morning. Stand guard and keep any spectators at bay while the knights of the order searched for a criminal.
A Temple Captain of Saint Agnes, resplendent in her plate armour and scarlet tabard, looked their way. “You are only here to keep people back. Do not enter the building, is that clear?”
“Yes, Captain,” they echoed back in unison.
The knight, satisfied her instructions were understood, joined the other members of the order as they moved forward, shields to the front with weapons drawn. The captain advanced, kicking open the door as she led her contingent of six into the building.
The sounds of fighting quickly drifted towards them, the ring of metal on metal, the grunting and yells that accompanied such things. One of the other initiates yawned, but Charlaine remained focused on the front door.
Suddenly, a Sister Knight staggered out of the building and fell to the ground, blood pouring from an arm wound. A large man, easily topping the knight by a head or more, followed her out, his bloodied axe raised for a death blow.
Charlaine acted instinctively, drawing her weapon and rushing forward while the others simply looked on in horror, frozen by the spectacle that was unfolding before them.
The axe came down, but instead of sinking deeply into the flesh of the knight, it scraped along a sword blade, deflected at the last moment. Its wielder turned on Charlaine in shock and annoyance, the rage upon his face now directed solely at her.
She backed up slightly, giving herself some room to effectively wield her sword. As he lifted his axe for another strike, she stabbed forward with the point of her blade, a clean, efficient stroke that punctured his thigh. Her attacker cried out in pain as he continued his attack, but she easily avoided the blow as he stumbled. Charlaine immediately struck again, this time sinking the tip of her blade into his stomach.
Her opponent smashed into her ribs with his elbow, trying to rush past, but she reacted quickly and extended her leg to trip him. He fell to the ground with an audible grunt. Charlaine moved in, placing the tip of her blade against the back of his neck.
“Cease in the name of Saint Agnes,” she ordered, “or I shall be forced to kill you.”
The axeman went still, releasing the grip on his weapon.
Moments later, two armour-clad knights appeared, grabbing his arms and hauling him to his feet. One of them looked at Charlaine. “Good work, Initiate. Do you know who this is?”
Charlaine stared back. “No, Sister, I was only doing my duty.”
“That is Taren Ghul, a notorious slaver. We’ve been hunting him for years. He was the whole reason for this raid.”
“I'm glad to be of service.”
“What’s your name?” demanded the knight.
“Charlaine deShandria, Initiate of Saint Agnes.”
“Well, congratulations, Charlaine. I shall be sure to mention this to your superiors.”
She sat, waiting beside the door that led into Commander Raphaela’s office. As an initiate of the order, it was not unusual to meet with their leader, but she couldn’t help but feel that this was something else. Her last assessment had been a mere three months ago, but to be called here again on such short notice did not bode well.
The door opened, revealing the Commander of the Forge. Charlaine chuckled inwardly at the reference. It was said that initiates were raw material, forged into warriors, but to Charlaine, raised and trained as a smith, the allusion struck her as particularly fitting. A forge heated metal, allowing it to be worked into steel, and this place certainly put the heat onto its initiates.
“Come,” said Commander Raphaela.
Charlaine rose, entering the office and taking the offered chair.
“This will be an informal assessment of your progress so far,” noted the commander as she took her seat behind her desk. Raphaela peered over a stack of papers and books to look her charge in the eyes. “Charlaine, you came to us as a trained smith,” she started. “A background that gave you the physical strength and stamina to master the basics of melee in a short time. You could also ride, requiring only minimal instruction in mounted combat.”
“And what of my religious indoctrination?” asked Charlaine. “Has it been adequate?”
“You know the teachings of Saint Agnes well,” noted Raphaela, “perhaps even better than I do. Your progress has been remarkable, but tell me, what do you know of the other fighting orders?”
“Where would you like me to begin?”
“Tell me about the Order of Saint Mathew.”
“They are dedicated to helping the sick and poor. They wear ancient chainmail rather than plate armour, as a symbol of their poverty, and wield the axe, a commoner's weapon, to show their humility.”
“Impressive. Anything else?”
“They often work in conjunction with our order since our responsibility, to protect women, often overlaps with theirs.”
“Very good,” said the commander, “and let’s not forget that we have cooperated together since the formation of our respective orders. Now, which order is the largest?”
“That’s easy,” said Charlaine, “the Order of Saint Cunar.”
“And why is that?”
“They form the bulk of the Holy Army, which includes the fleet. They are the senior order.”
“Which means?” prompted Raphaela.
“Other orders defer to their wisdom and experience when it comes to battle. Also, when meeting on the road, lesser orders will show deference, moving aside to let them pass uninterrupted. When Temple Knights of mixed orders fight together, it will be under the command of a Cunar Commander, or father general.
“Does that preclude others from commanding?”
Charlaine thought for a moment. “No, a senior sister, say a captain or a commander such as yourself, will still take precedence over a mere knight of any order.”
“I see your education has increased significantly since the last time we met, but let’s see how deep it goes, shall we? Tell me of the Ragnarites.”
“The Order of Saint Ragnar hunts down Necromancers and other illegal practitioners of magic. They will often eschew their green tabards and metal armour in favour of more regional garb, allowing them to carry out their missions in the shadows, where their enemies lie.”
“Anything else you can tell me about them?”
“Only that a sister of our order can spend their entire career without ever meeting one.”
The commander smiled, “That is not quite correct. Chances are you will meet them, you just won’t be aware of it. That’s how secret they are. Now, where was I?”
“We were talking of all the orders?”
“Oh, yes,” continued Commander Raphaela, “the Augustines?”
“They protect the Holy Relics of the Church,” said Charlaine, “and wear white surcoats emblazoned with a black sun, the symbol of their order.”
“You wear white, does that make you an Augustine?”
“I am merely an initiate of Saint Agnes. Augustines also wear full plate armour where we, as trainees, wear only chainmail.”
“You impress me, but tell me, have I missed any of the orders?”
“You have,” said Charlaine, “though I suspect that was intentional. You have neglected to mention the Order of Saint Ansgar.”
“And what is their task?”
“To investigate internal matters for the Church.”
“Such as?”
Charlaine had to think before answering. “I would imagine such things as corruption or malfeasance? Anything requiring a dispassionate third party, really. Oh, and they wear blue surcoats.”
“It appears you have a firm grasp on the organization of the Church, Charlaine.”
“Thank you, Commander. Is that all?”
Raphaela smiled, “No, it’s not.” She consulted her notes once more, then returned her gaze to her initiate. “You came to us later in life than most. I am curious to know how you would rate your own progress?”
“As a smith, I always strived to improve my craft. I see my time here in a similar vein.”
The commander made a note.
“This is more than a simple assessment,” said Charlaine.
“It is,” the commander remarked, though she failed to elucidate further. “Now a final task for you. Explain the ranks of the order.”
“The lowest rank is that of initiate,” said Charlaine. “Once their training is deemed complete, they are elevated to the rank of Temple Knight, sometimes informally referred to as Sister Knight. Knight is the lowest active rank within the order, initiates being relegated to service only in places of training, such as this.”
“And above knights?”
“The next rank is that of Temple Captain, in charge of smaller detachments, typically those of two dozen knights or less. Above that sits the rank of commander, such as yourself. Captains may often be found in staff positions beneath such a rank. Above that is the rank of grand mistress, of which there is only one. She reports to the council of peers that runs the entire Church, along with the Primus himself.”
“What about the regional mistresses?”
Charlaine smiled, “Mistress is a position, not a rank. They are senior commanders that carry on the regional governance of the order under the direction of the grand mistress.”
“And a Temple General?”
“Such a position does not exist. The Order of Saint Cunar has father generals, is that what you mean?”
Now it was Commander Raphaela’s turn to smile. “It is a common misconception that only the Cunars can command armies. There is a doctrine that establishes the position of Temple General for our order, but it has never been invoked, so yes, you are correct, up to a certain point. I commend you for your insight. You have proven to be an outstanding initiate.”
She looked down at her notes once more, moving them around until she found what she wanted. “The weapons master feels you can learn no more here at the Forge, and the riding instructor feels the same." Raphaela paused for a moment before continuing, "What are you still doing here, Charlaine?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“It is my opinion that you are ready to join the ranks of the Temple Knights of Saint Agnes. What say you?”
“Me? Ready to be a knight? Surely it takes years?”
“Ordinarily, I would agree, but you have shown yourself to be more than capable in all your studies, and your maturity serves you well. I think you shall do well within the order, Charlaine, you’ve got a passion for it. The question is, are you ready to accept your destiny?”
“I am, Commander.”
“Good, then we shall announce your ascendancy. The ceremony will be held two days hence. Until then, you are to prepare yourself.”
“Prepare? How does one prepare oneself for such an honour?”
“Make the most of your remaining time here,” Raphaela suggested. “Seek out your instructors if you wish or spend time in quiet contemplation. The choice is yours.”
“Thank you, Commander.”
“No, thank you, Charlaine, for showing us that our investment in you was worthwhile.”
As a soon to be knight, Charlaine had risen early, bathing and eating a modest meal of bread and water, as was the custom. Now she stood waiting in her white initiate robes while Sister Verona, the swordmaster, stood ready as her sponsor.
“Do you know why they call this place the Forge?” she asked.
“Yes,” said Charlaine, “you’ve drilled that into our heads on multiple occasions.”
“Good, then I’ll never have to fear that you’ll forget. Nervous?”
“Does it show?”
“Not really, but I remember my own ascension. It was terrifying, what with all those people watching?”
“Now you’re just trying to make me feel worse.”
“And did it work?”
“No,” said Charlaine. “I admit to some nerves, but I’m not afraid.”
“No,” said Verona, “I don’t suppose you are. You’re fearless, I saw it the first day you arrived. It’s not often we get people like you, Charlaine.”
“You mean old?”
The knight laughed, “No, I mean mature, mentally, that is. You’ve seen the other initiates, they’re all young and timid. You, on the other hand, are fearsome in your own right. You’ve experienced life, you know what to expect, and yet you don’t back down from a challenge. All qualities that will serve you well.”
“I certainly hope so.”
Sister Verona moved to the door, opening it only a little to peer outside. “Looks like everyone’s in place.”
Off in the distance, they heard Commander Raphaela’s voice echoing, “Bring forth the initiate.”
“That’s our cue,” said Sister Verona, throwing the door wide open.
They solemnly walked forward, down an aisle formed by the members of the Forge, both initiates and staff. Charlaine noticed more Temple Knights off to her left, likely those stationed in Eidenburg, itself.
Her commander stood beside a lectern, on which rested the Holy Book of Saint Agnes. Verona led her forward, then halted, with Charlaine maintaining her position behind.
“Who speaks for the initiate?” asked Commander Raphaela.
“I do,” said Sister Verona, then stepped to the side, allowing Charlaine to walk forward, taking her place.
The commander lifted the Book of Saint Agnes from the lectern, holding it before the initiate. Charlaine placed her left hand on the sacred tome, placing her right over her heart.
“Do you swear, by all that is holy, to uphold the tenants of Saint Agnes?” asked Commander Raphaela. “To protect all women, regardless of age, infirmity or religion?”
“I do.”
“And do you promise to put the needs of the order above your own?”
“I do.”
“Do you swear to keep your word and never lie? To show mercy to enemies of the Church and to be kind, brave, and generous to others?”
“I do so swear.”
The commander returned the book to the lectern, then nodded to a nearby knight who stepped forward, a bundle of cloth in her hands.
“Kneel,” Raphaela commanded.
Charlaine knelt, feeling a sense of euphoria as if Saint Agnes herself was looking down on her.
The knight unfolded the bundle, revealing the scarlet tabard of the Temple Knights of Saint Agnes. With Sister Verona’s help, they lowered it over Charlaine’s head.
Verona turned her back for a moment, then faced her again, a sword and scabbard in hand. These she belted in place, a task made all the more difficult by her kneeling position.
“Arise, Sister Charlaine,” said Commander Raphaela. “Temple Knight of Saint Agnes.”
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