Eros

Men of Light and Shadow - 14

"You got some booze on you?" Kaido asked, a cigarette held loose between his lips.

"Did you already forget I just came out of a prison cell?" Alora asked as she lifted a hand to clear a branch from her way.

"You managed to smuggle in a knife, but not a little flask of rum?"

"Even if I had any, does it really seem like a proper time for a drink?" She glanced at him with a frown.

"I can't see why it isn't."

"Because we're being hunted by Veramorian soldiers?"

"I am not worried," Kaido informed her with a light heart. "We've got the roots and branches on our side."

Alora might have missed the taunt if she only took the tone of his voice for it. But surely couldn't when she spotted the smirk across his face. "Look who's talking, you can't even use the sword you carry."

She thought her retort had him silenced, but he had just paused to smoke.

"If only your knife had hit the soldiers as much as the nearby furniture did."

Alora couldn't decide what irritated her more: What he was saying, or the nonchalant tone he was saying it at. She clenched her fist, but took in a deep breath before opening her mouth to speak. Relax, he's getting under your skin way too easily.

"Gotta' give it to you," Before he got to the end of the sentence, Alora already had the nastiest curses of both Elven and Velsarian gathered atop her tongue. "You do know your way about a forest."

Good job not letting him get under your skin. She scolded herself. He was peering out to the distance at the top of a small hill. The woods thinned out in the next hundred steps. Farther, where the forest's growth withered, crawled a dusty road.

-

None could deny the splendor of the Light Hall. The ceiling loomed high, held by great marble arches. Windows trimmed with gold stretched across the tall walls, bathing the awesome space with sunlight. White marble sprawled across the floor, rising into a stage at the end of the room. Behind it, a sun surrounded by tangled rays of light was embossed in gold. Adonael's Sun.

Men and women dressed in silks of white and jewelries of gold sat on cushioned seats before the stage. Tariel Marrow, the Archlight himself, occupied it, standing tall in his flowing white robes. Age whitened his hair and rooted in his features, but it never bent him.

"Let us all take a moment to pray for our lord; the greatest of the seven gods; the bestower of life and light; Adonael." Tariel pressed his palms together, lifted his chin towards heaven, and let his eyes fall shut. He mouthed the words of his prayer for a long while of silence. A clear of his throat let the crowd know pray-time was over, and he looked upon them.

"You present here are respected and influential loyalists of the Divine Church of Light. Know that if you have found yourself here today, your service to Adonael did not pass unnoticed." Tariel paused, allowing the murmurs of gratitude rising from the crowd to subside.

"The Holy Executioners," Tariel called out, and the name snapped the crowd to attention. "Commoners would consider this order a legend. But those of status know and fear the mightiest hand of the Divine Church's will.

"The true talents are tracked amongst our youngest. Two hundred of them are put through the fiercest, most superior training in all of Aros for a period of no less than twenty years. Quitting is not an option. Survival is not guaranteed. Whilst all of those to graduate become extensions of Adonael's will, only the top five are considered fit to serve as His Executioners."

"So without further ado," Tariel peered down, his hand gesturing towards a man who rose from his seat at the front row.

"The best in his cycle of chosens. An Executioner with a flawless record of success at countless missions during his few years of service..."

The Executioner paced to the stage with swift and quiet steps. At first glance, he was disappointingly average. A lean man, dressed in simple, white clothes.

"And my very own son..."

The Executioner halted beside his father. A set of skin-tight cheekbones gave him a vulturine appearance. His jaw was clean shaven, and his dark hair cut short.

"Peter Marrow."

An emotionless expression was nothing rare amongst disciplined soldiers. But every man who met Peter's gray eyes as they surveyed the crowd knew it wasn't just another façade. Hollow to their cores, their gaze resembled that of a lizard more than a man's.

"And the acting High Executioner, the Slayer of Shades..." Tariel's beckoning hand moved to another man that left his seat at the front row and took the Archlight's other side. "Saar La'el."

The High Executioner's face was stern, and his clothing was identical to Peter's but for the gold-ornamented scabbard at his hip. His fifty years ran beside a few scars along his face, though you couldn't spot them on the grace of his movement, or muscular frame.

"For eleven years, Saar has served the Divine Church as the most powerful of its agents. His contribution to our causes is greater than words can describe. Yet it is time for him to be relieved of his duty, step down, and allow the next generation to continue in his path."

As Tariel spoke, Saar parted his jacket. His chest bore an amulet shaped like Adonael's Sun with twin swords crossed over it. Lowering his head, he let Tariel remove the necklace from his neck.

"Peter." Tariel turned to Peter with the High Executioner's necklace in hand. "You have excelled through the many challenges of your training and duty." Peter bowed his head ever so slightly, and the Archlight donned the necklace about his neck. "You have proven yourself worthy of being the next High Executioner."

Peter straightened, and a wave of applause rose from the crowd. Saar unsheathed the sword strapped to his belt. Adonael's Sun shone in gold at its pommel, and the honed blade glinted in the sunlight. It was a legendary weapon, passed from one High Executioner to another for over a century. Laying it over his palms and stepping towards Peter, he offered it to him.

With the faintest tilt of a head, Peter declined it. Saar's mouth twisted in ire, and the crowd tensed still.

The Archlight stepped between them, laid a reassuring hand on Saar's shoulder. Tariel then looked to Peter, and gave a brief nod.

Peter met his eye, and raised his hand. Hot white light seared in his grasp. Threads of golden glow wrapped around it as it reshaped, stretching long and narrow. He clenched his fist upon the it, and the light blazed brighter, simmering white between his knuckles. Then it died out to reveal the sword beneath.

The High Executioner remained impassive to the gasps of awe rising from the crowd, the glow of pride in his father's eyes.

From pommel to point, the sword was seamless white steel, etched with runes that glowed in gold. While the crowd cheered, Saar stood and stared, dumbfounded. The former High Executioner eye came across many blades. But never one of such perfection.