Chapter 5 (Day 2)
Faith's Final Measure
As the sun began to rise over the ash-covered Blighted Lands, Sir Magnet Grail-bearer knelt in prayer inside the tent assigned to him. The paladin wore a white tunic decorated with a blue cross upon his chest, the sign of the Protectors of the Lightstream, the holiest order within the Water Empire. Beneath the tunic, embedded in Sir Magnet's chest was a purple heartstone, a rare sight; his heartstone had been forged of Fire and, more recently, quenched of Water.
He had arranged a small altar before himself with only a simple, wooden cross – a relic of ancient times, said to have been made by Jesu himself, God's son. Sir Magnet prayed for forgiveness at the altar, hoping that Sir Kristopher the Bold and his other Fire brethren would somehow understand the test God had set before him. Even now, the holy knight could not believe his own betrayal. Yet God has sent him a vision and here he was fighting now on behalf of the Water Empire in this Sixth War.
As he spoke his seventh, morning repetition of the Lord's Prayer, Sir Magnet felt his conviction return to him:
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Our Father, Who are in Heaven
Hallowed be thy name;
Thy kingdom come,
thy will be done,
On Earth as it is in heaven.
Give us this day our daily bread,
and forgive us our trespasses,
as we forgive those who trespass against us;
and lead us not into temptation,
but deliver us from evil.
Amen.
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Finishing his morning devotions, the young paladin turned and picked up a small bundle wrapped in silk cloth, setting it on the woven mat before him and slowly unwrapping it. Removing the cloth revealed a chalice of pure silver, with a lid shut tightly over it and fastened with metal clamps. Magnet knew that contained in the grail was water he himself had collected from the Lightstream in Emperor Lunivon's palace. God had shown him visions a month ago during deep prayer, but they had seemed random images. Magnet has seen himself kneeling before the Water Emperor, swearing fealty to a man he used to consider his enemy. Then he had seen himself in the inner gardens of the palace, scooping water from the Lightstream – said to have been blessed by Jesu's tears – into a cup. The final image had seemed straightforward but perplexed him now when he tried to recall it. He has seen the water being poured from the chalice into a fetid pool near the summit of Mount Fera. He could remember nothing about the hands that held the cup, except that they had not seemed to be his own. He must have misremembered, that was the only explanation.
Through the flap of his tent, Sir Fabflop the Lucky ducked in, stepping lightly into view.
"Pardon me, Sir Magnet. Breakfast is served. In an hour's time, once everyone is fed, we ride for the Cliffs of Despair." The man bowed slightly in his gray smock. As a paladin, Sir Magnet officially out-ranked the monk, yet the unassuming man's blue heartstone shone so brightly that its outline could be seen clearly beneath the gray of his smock. Magnet knew it was the man's job to watch him and ensure he did nothing to jeopardize the Water Knights and their efforts to secure victory at the top of Mount Fera. He didn't blame the Water Empire's High Council for not trusting him. As long as Fabflop did not interfere with Magnet's quest, he was content to travel with the monk up Mount Fera. On the contrary, stories told of how Sir Fabflop was uncannily lucky; Magnet hoped some of that luck might rub off on him for this journey. Still, he wouldn't depend on that; Magnet knew that God only helped those who helped themselves. God did not work his wonders directly but through the efforts of his humble servants.
"Thank you, Sir Fabflop." Magnet rewrapped the chalice hastily and bowed in reverence one final time at the altar before standing. Fabflop approached the altar as well, drawing a cross over his own heart and bowing his head quietly in prayer. His head still bowed, Fabflop spoke again.
"Also, uh, sir…the engineers worked overnight to construct four additional outhouses. Just in case, you…umm, have any need."
The suggestion alone set Sir Magnet's stomach whirling again in memory of the last night. Since the unfortunate events involving two Fire Knights in their kitchen, the outhouses had been in full occupancy. Magnet should have known not to have that second helping; the soup had been delicious – too delicious. His stomach gurgling again, Magnet rushed for the tent flap and out into the open air of the Blighted Lands in search of relief.
Left alone, the tall, solid monk took a moment to study in detail the interior of the paladin's tent. In a corner sat a standard-issue padded bed, made so neatly that it looked as if no one has slept in it. Sir Magnet's suit of plate mail armor, ceremonial tunic, and plumed helmet all hung on a rack in the back of the square tent, the armor polished to a sheen so bright that it dimmed the morning glow. On another rack rested the paladin's spiked warhammer, the steel of the weapon gleaming. Fabflop had already inspected the humble altar, but his eyes rested on the bundled chalice next to it, and for the first time the monk frowned. He had watched Magnet fill it at the Lightstream in Voreaster, the Water Empire's capital city, yet he felt sorry for the man who's calling had forced him to betray his people for it. The Lord certainly did work in mysterious ways.
Deciding he had better go check on the ailing paladin, Fabflop grinned to himself; he supposed he was just lucky he had been fasting last night.
