The Power Of Ten: Sama Rantha 128 Chapter One Hundred And Twenty-Eight – A Knight Returns

Humans had finally come to join the cause, under the leadership of their captain, who was staring at the small woman before him with undisguised awe in his eyes.

Their captain was a man who bowed reluctantly to anyone, who carried himself with the aura of someone who had ridden through a thousand battles and treated Death as an idle companion to salute and send on its way. They had never seen him look at anyone like that.

"S-Sage Sama," he murmured, finally looking on her with his own eyes, and without any hesitation went down on one knee.

Three other knights went down with him. The others glanced at one another, at once annoyed that he knelt before someone who was not their liege, and wondering if they should do the same.

Her eyes lifted from the forge she was working at, swept across them, silver on black, wrapped by a Tattoo Mask. Any words they had to say were stuck in their throats.

"Only these four have earned the right to kneel before me. The rest of you may withdraw."

It wasn't very loud, but it carried like a knife to the ear. Despite themselves, the other knights found themselves withdrawing quickly and quietly, bowing as they did.

Sama looked over the kneeling knights, and put down her hammer. She went over to a Cabinet as they raised their eyes, opened a drawer, and took out The Book.

All four sighed at the same moment.

She carried the weighty thing over as if it were a toy, laid it on a Disk floating there, and flicked up her hand, holding a pen there.

"Sign your names. It was the only thing I would not do."

Their breaths hissed out, and they rose, crowding to The Book.

They knew where their names and faces were. Gauntlets were removed, the pen was grasped, and as each turned up the page, they paused despite themselves as hundreds, thousands of days of memory surged back, brighter then before, harder, harsher, and even more cruel.

How many times had they died?

How many times had they come back to her?

They breathed to calm themselves, and not sign with shaking hands. Thunder rumbled in their souls as they set pen to paper, and that dark ink wound across the pages.

Sir Orm Trommel, the Hunting Lancer, a challenger of champions.

Sir Percean Alayn.

Sir Trosmore Alyan, Percean's younger brother.

Sir Harold Gnostmore, "Cudgelmore", a master of the greatmace.

She waited and watched silently, sternly, her mind like iron there in front of them, belying her stature.

When they were done, they stepped back and watched her as she gathered up The Book, and put it back in its drawer.

They would see it later tonight, remembering their comrades again.

When she turned back, her Mask was gone.

They inhaled together. The heaven's-blue eyes that could swallow the world, the face of a child old beyond her years, the scarring of the Hag's Curse... it was all there, exactly as they remembered it.

She came forward again, reaching out with her hands. They extended their own, two to one, and she laid her fingers atop them. Her soul thrummed against them, diamond lightning against their spirits, so d.a.m.n strong...

"Thank you for coming back to me," she said, the words echoing through ear and mind at the same time, filled with the only level of sincerity that could match those eyes.

Their legs quivered, and they almost fell down. They thought themselves hard men, warriors who'd killed and seen their own killed, but at this moment tears started falling down their faces despite themselves, just feeling a whisper of the soaring emotions behind those words.

Sir Trommel was the first to kneel, bringing him down to her level. "My lady, all the hordes of the Warp would not keep us away," he swore sincerely.

She reached out, and thorked his head promptly. "So sentimental," she said, but her eyes were shining, and on seeing that, Sir Trommel knew he would follow her forever. "Up now, and to work. We've horrors to fight, and that means killing them in the downtime, and in the uptime!"

How many times had they heard those words? All four surged back to their feet, wiping their faces and recentering their thoughts. Sama's Mask swirled back into existence as she stepped back to her Forge, grasping the hammer there.

"Tell me of the men you brought here, what you want done, and how we are to go about doing it." She glanced over the three of them. "Tomorrow, I expect all four of you to step into Seven, and Human/3."

Her voice held no option for them to fail. They all straightened despite themselves as they began to report.

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"All right, you snooty-nosed highborn thugs, listen up."

The back-handed words somehow sounded like a compliment, and the a.s.sembled two hundred knights did indeed quiet down. Not that they needed to, as her voice cut right through their conversations like a knife, not leaving them much choice.

"Sir Trommel here has told me that you're all good men, here to fight, not to dawdle around and pretend you're actually worth something." Despite themselves, the knights straightened up, feeling her silver eyes looking over them, through them... and a few of them felt cold sweat rolling down their backs.

"That's good, because you're going to be fighting. Fighting every single day, if we can arrange things to do so." Her eyes somehow held them all at once. "Go ahead and groan. You're going to be busy, working harder then you've ever worked in your life. Ahead of you is an enormous amount of killing... and also a chance for you to break the First Ceiling."

There was a murmur as the knights wondered what exactly she was talking about. She went on.

"The greatest human warrior is a Six." Words to refute that rose, stuck in throats as she glared. "It is a self-defining limit! If you make Seven, you are no longer human, but superhuman!" she went on coolly. "You can do things humans simply cannot do! You can perform feats from the old tales, you can fight like a demon born, you are better, stronger, faster then a mere human can be!"

Her voice dropped down. "But breaking the First Ceiling and becoming a hero from the tales is not easy. If it were, it would not be a Ceiling, it would be a mere step.

"The best and easiest way to exceed that limit is to fight things that are more then human. Demons are a wonderful choice, as are those affected by demonic arts. Because you can look at them, and say to yourself, 'Self, look at those goony b.a.s.t.a.r.ds there. Anything they can do, I can learn to do without selling my soul to some d.a.m.n Warp G.o.ds. They are showing me the way to power, and I'm going to kill them, and walk that road, crushing them under my boots.

"And those demons... those demons are nothing but d.a.m.ned souls. I have a soul, but I'm not some vicious twit consigned to d.a.m.nation. I'm a living, breathing mortal who has the whole world in front of me, not eternal slavery to a t.w.a.t. Anything their d.a.m.ned, dead end souls can attain, I can do, I can trump, and I can Feed those useless sc.u.m to the Land.'"

Her eyes scanned all of them. "Ahead of you is fighting. Sometimes in the past, you've fought for purposes that, eh..." She made a flip-flop motion of her hand, and grim smiles arose despite themselves. "You can let go those doubts about WHO you are fighting. The enemy before you has sold their souls to the demons and G.o.ds of the Warp. They have no desire other then to destroy all that you hold dear, and laugh while they do it.

"You do not need to doubt who sent you here, and their motives. The G.o.ds that are opposed to the Warp have begun to act, and the fact you are here so soon, and so early, with servants of the Divine with you, means that you are indeed swords of the G.o.ds, and today, possibly more then any time in your lives, you act with the G.o.ds behind you."

The ring of belief, of utter certainty in her voice, was devoid of fanaticism, devoid of zealotry. It was simply steel-clad belief, and all the more impressive for it. Even the priests who had ridden with the company were impressed.

"You who stand here are the start of a grand alliance. You are the Order of the Golden Hart. Your rivals and peers, the Order of the Lion, are only a couple hours away from joining you. The elves of the Sidhte and the Rockborn of Klintskun are already at war, as you have all seen. The blood of the Warped has been spilled across the forest, thousands of them slaughtered... and more are on their way, an endless tide of corruption and savagery, ravaging out from their Rift to the Realm of the Warp G.o.ds, in Yle Tyorm."

Some men swallowed despite themselves.

"You are far from the Empire here. There will be support, there will be food, there will be healing. But more importantly, there will be the chance to get strong... stronger then you ever imagined you would."

Eyes sparked, lighting up. Talking with the elves and the dwarves, the knights knew what she was talking about. The Marks, and Soul Magic!

"If you trust me, I will Mark you all with a Tattoo that will increase your strength, and grant you access to the Marktell, a telepathic communication network that will allow you to talk with one another and coordinate as you never thought possible. In doing so, you will fully join the Alliance that we are building here, and realize just how great what you are a part of is.

"I will also Open your souls, punching a hole in your basic Chakra points to enable you to truly tap the energy of your souls. Once you do so, you will have a very good idea of the power that demons have, and how you don't need any of theirs... it is all there within you, waiting to be built up in strength, just like all those pelts you had to smite when you were mere squires."

Only smiles, no laughs.

"There is another warband, similar to what you fought yesterday, just over ten miles from here. The Rockborn and the elves are already moving out to deal with it.

"You will be waiting, and getting Marked. There will be more for you to kill, rest a.s.sured!

"Now turn, and we will Salute the Morning! It is a new day for you all, and your lives are going to change!"

As one, the knights turned to salute the rising sun just as it broke the horizon, and then the voice of Sage Sama washed over them, making them quiver as they heard it.

Clear, bold, sincere, expectant, thankful... it rang in them, and the bold knights felt their hearts quivering despite themselves, unable to break free from its spell..

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At the sides, the four Marked knights sighed, and greeted the morning besides Sage Sama.

This time, it was not in dream, and they could thank Aru with their own eyes...