24991116 | 0417

  Temple Church | Armory | City 06

  51°30′28.50″ N

  000°06′22.46″ W

  The scent of incense, and cooling metal lingered in the air.

  Adam stood upon the raised stone dais, stripped down to his white-linen pants.

  His Harbingers stood to either side of him, similarly undressed.

  Around him, the diminutive hooded figures moved in absolute silence.

  Duncan called them the Lesser Ordinates.

  The armorers and weaponsmiths of the Church.

  Their small forms glided between braziers and armor-stands, hands deft and sure.

  None spoke.

  None commanded them.

  They moved in unison, seemingly guided by an unseen voice.

  The rustle of their robes and the soft clink of metal tools marked their passage.

  Two of the creatures stepped forward, bearing a bodysuit between them.

  Adam watched as they approached.

  They presented the suit to him.

  Reverently.

  Adam accepted the suit from them and bowed – unsure of the decorum.

  The hooded ones watched him, their eyes unblinking.

  A tight, charcoal-grey second-skin issued by the Church for all rites involving sanctified equipment.

  “You may don it,” Duncan said simply.

  Seeing that the Chapter Master was waiting expectantly, Adam donned it.

  Around him, his Harbinger followed suit.

  Like a diver suit, Adam slipped one foot and the other, before zipping it up.

  It clung to the musculature like woven carbon-fiber, modest but utilitarian.

  It was strangely and surprisingly, his size.

  It seems the Lesser Ordinates had taken his measure.

  “Receive now, champions, the first blessing of the Church. Kneel.”

  Adam suppressed a shiver as he knelt.

  Four of the hooded figures approached him, unfurling coils of linen between them.

  Each strip was bone-white, soaked lightly in scented oil, and inscribed from end to end with ink so dark it shimmered blue beneath the braziers’ pale fire.

  Scriptures.

  Beautiful written, strangely spellbinding scriptures.

  “Inscribed by Her Eminence herself,” Duncan intoned solemnly. “The Words of the Nine, the First Passages, as entrusted to the First of the Faithful.”

  The Ordinates began binding his limbs.

  Cool linen kissed his wrists.

  Then his forearms.

  Then his biceps and shoulders.

  They took care not to touch him, but carefully administer

  Each turn of the bandage tightened, a snug fit without the sense of constraint.

  Adam exhaled slowly as they wrapped his torso in spirals of holy text.

  He felt the inked words press against scars and old burns, ghostly but steadying.

  Zora grunted somewhere to his left.

  Gabriel murmured a prayer beneath his breath, surrendering himself fully.

  Harbinger 03 made no sound at all, but merely watched the curious creatures’ work.

  When the binding was complete,

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  Duncan approached, bearing a shallow bronze bowl of blackened water.

  Myrrh and iron scented the steam.

  He dipped two fingers and touched Adam’s brow.

  “Et fortitudo fiat manus tuae,” Duncan whispered.

  Let strength be the hand that wields thee.

  Then he stepped back.

  “Bring forth the Armor of Faith.”

  Adam looked up.

  A metallic shimmer rolled through the hall as the Ordinate presented the armor.

  The Armor of Faith.

  Adam regarded the procession.

  It was modern combat-armor, cleverly wrought as ornate medieval plate.

  Adam’s cuirass rose from its stand like a thing wrought from nightmetal.

  Layered plates interlocked with slim cybernetic nodes along the seams, their interior silver lines forming etchings so intricate they bordered on art.

  Each etching glimmered and reflected the brazier fire, dancing along the metal.

  Duncan gestured reverently.

  “Blessed by the hands of Her Eminence herself.” He said solemnly, “these plates bear the Grace of the Nine, may righteous purpose envelope you.”

  The Ordinates affixed the backplate first, locking the spinal couplings with quiet clicks.

  Adam drew a sharp breath as armor touched his skin.

  Cold, a chill, unearthly but quickly faded.

  The chest plate followed.

  Then the pauldrons, each engraved with the sigil of the Lily.

  Then the vambraces, greaves, sabatons, every piece laid on with ritual precision.

  Zora’s armor gleamed crimson beneath the braziers, the etchings sharp as thorns.

  Harbinger 03’s armor was darker than pitch, swallowing light.

  Gabriel’s was ivory and iron, like a cathedral turned to steel.

  His plates bore long scratches.

  “Marks of service, and the scars of battle.” Duncan said, “the armor was wore by Marshal Ephrim Hale in the Reclamation Crusade, recovered and refurbished, at the Siege of City Thirteen.”

  Gabriel bowed deeply, loss for words upon the great honor bestowed upon him.

  “Wear it well,” the Chapter Master said, “be worthy of him.”

  A final coterie of Ordinate stepped forth, each bearing a heavy velvet cloak.

  Shimmering black.

  Trimmed in gold thread.

  Its back embroidered with veiled laws, written in a hand older than the Church itself.

  Duncan fastened it himself to Adam’s gorget.

  “Wear this with humility.”

  Adam bowed his head.

  “And now, your weapons.”

  Duncan next approached the altar-stone.

  Upon it rested four weapons.

  Duncan lifted a heavy black sword and turned to Adam.

  He presented a sheathed blade of unmarked black steel.

  “The Black Sword.” Duncan said as he presented, a hand at each end, to Adam. “You know this sword.”

  Adam stood and stepped forward, regal and noble as the knights of old.

  “Tempered in the sacred forges beneath Temple Church itself.” Adam said, “the scared blade of our Order.”

  “Then it is does me proud that it shalt be wielded by one of our own,” Duncan replied, “a Harbinger, no less.”

  Adam took hold of the heavy blade, and effortlessly, hefted it.

  Duncan took a step back as Adam

  The Harbinger wielded it masterfully, each stroke measured, tempered.

  “Your skill with a blade peerless, I see.” Duncan said, “wield it well.”

  Adam sheathed the blade across his back, bowed and stepped back.

  To Zora, he offered a six-flanged mace.

  “Chainbreaker.” Duncan intoned solemnly, “Forged to Celestine Chapel, wielded by Joanna of the Arc Reborn.”

  Zora stepped forward and received the weapon reverently.

  She hefted it once.

  The air shivered.

  The mace sing.

  “I will honor our Lords with every strike,” Zora said, “I shalt smith the Harlot, and upon my return I shalt present to you, her head.”

  Duncan nodded, “I shall pray for your swift return then.”

  To Gabriel, Duncan lifted a spear.

  It rang hollow, a keening resonance.

  “The Blackspar. Longinus.” Duncan said as he held it forth, “Yours shalt be the speartip, a thrust for the righteous, deliver now our judgment for the heathens within their ivory tower.”

  Wrought of one-piece steel.

  Its blade, a plain elongated blade.

  Then Duncan turned to Harbinger 03.

  The armored figured had not spoken.

  “Harbinger 03,” Duncan began softly.

  Adam stepped forward, his hand upraised, palm outward.

  “Master Duncan,” he said, “my brother carries a weapon of his own.”

  Harbinger 03’s eyes shifted, a faint glint beneath his helm.

  He parted his cloaked slight, revealing a black katana sheathed in a lacquered scabbard.

  Bound in crimson sageo, knotted in precise, traditional loops.

  Duncan hesitated but only for a moment.

  He nodded and bowed.

  “That, is a most elegant weapon.“ the Master-at-Arms said, “No man born of war would deprive a battle-brother the blade he carries.”

  The Duncan gestured to one of the hooded ones.

  “If I may, however,” Duncan said as the demunitive servant came back bearing a lacquered wooden case.

  It presented the box to the Master-at-Arms before wordlessly walking away.

  “I pray you will do me the honor,” Duncan said as he walked over to the Harbinger with the case adorned only with a simple silver crucifix, “and carry this into battle, in the name of Her Eminence.”

  Duncan tipped open the lid,

  Adam watched silently.

  “The Morningstar.” Duncan intoned as he held the chain-whip up, hilt in one hand, chain looped, its length terminating in a spear-tip.

  A moment of silence.

  Duncan held the weapon steady.

  Waiting.

  Zora muttered under her breath.

  Gabriel drew in a quiet breath.

  Adam watched on impassively.

  Harbinger 03 tilted his head, the smallest of movement.

  Then he stepped forward.

  His gloved fingers closing around the handle with a slow, deliberate certainty.

  The chains rattled.

  He bowed, a warrior’s bow.

  Duncan nodded once.

  “You are anointed,” the Chapter Master said. “Now come.”

  As Adam and his Harbingers fell into steps, Duncan saw Harbinger 03 at the corner of the armory.

  His eyes drawn to a weapon mounted on the wall, half-forgotten among relics.

  Adam followed his gaze.

  A sword rested there in dust and shadow.

  Bronze pommel.

  Ridged leather grip.

  A straight, primitive blade.

  Broad, heavy, meant for a warrior of raw sinew and savage strength.

  Adam had studied swords, their history and make.

  But he could not place this one blade.

  Dark-grey and notched.

  Not elegant.

  Not holy.

  Older.

  Adam stepped closer, drawn by something deeper than curiosity.

  He knew swords. Their lineages, their makers, their histories.

  He had seen relics from every crusade the Church had ever recorded.

  But this one…

  Dark-grey.

  Notched.

  As his hand rose toward the hilt, Duncan’s mailed fist closed forcefully around his forearm.

  Firm.

  Respectful.

  Restraint.

  Adam blinked, startled.

  “Forgive me, Master. My curiosity got the better of me. I am well-versed in the lore of the forge, but this blade…”

  Duncan’s expression softened.

  “You have a keen eye, my lord,” he said quietly. “But alas, I cannot enlighten you. The history of this blade was lost to the annals of time.”

  “Lost?” Adam echoed.

  “A crude weapon,” the Master-of-Arms remarked, voice low and distant. “From a more savage age.”

  “Now come.” Duncan said, turning to go, “your quest is most pressing.”

  Adam and Harbinger 03 followed.

  They filed out of the Armory.

  Adam felt the lingering eyes, watching him from the shadows.

  The blast-doors sealed behind them.

  The sword remained entombed behind them.