The Second Generation

Steel shrugged, tried to laugh. “I stole it from the corpse of my father, at the same time I stole his sword. The knights were furious. I struck fear into their hearts!”

His words were bold, but they echoed too loudly, hollow and discordant, in the silence of the temple.

The priestess placed her fingertip gingerly on the jewel.

A flash of white light, a sizzling sound.

The priestess snatched her hand back with a shrill cry of’pain.

“It is an artifact of good!” She spat the word. “I cannot touch it. No one who is a true servant of Her Dark Majesty could touch that cursed jewel. Yet you, Steel Brightblade, wear it with impunity.”

Steel, deathly pale, stared at her in dismay. “I’ll forsake it! I’ll take it off,” he cried. His hand closed over the jewel, shrouding its brilliant light in darkness.

“If s just a bauble. It means nothing to me!”

He made ready to yank the jewel from its silver chain.

The priestess stopped him.

“Wear the cursed jewel. It is the Dark Queen’s wish and pleasure that you do so. May it serve to remind you of this warning. Think of my words every time you look upon the jewel, Steel Brightblade. She-of-Many-Faces has many eyes. She sees all. There is nothing you can hide from her.

“Your heart is hers, your body is hers. But not your soul. Not now....

“But it will be.” The priestess pressed her wrinkled face so near the young man’s that he felt her fetid breath hot upon his cheek. “And, in the meantime, Steel Uth Matar Brightblade, you will be of inestimable value to your queen.”

The dry and withered lips kissed Steel upon his brow.

Shivering, sweating, he forced himself to hold still beneath the awful touch.

“Your helm and breastplate lie upon the altar. Both have been blessed by the Dark Queen. Stand, Sir Knight, and put them on.”

Steel stared at the priestess in astonishment, then dawning joy. The priestess, with that secret smile, turned and left him. Parting the black curtains, she disappeared back into the innermost regions of the temple.

Two boys, in their teens, entered through the front temple doors. From now on, the younger would be his page, the older his squire. They stood silently, respectfully, waiting to assist the knight with his armor. Both boys gazed at Steel with admiration and envy, no doubt dreaming of their own future investiture, seeing it embodied in him.

Shaking, barely able to stand, Steel reverently approached the altar. One hand, his right, rested on the black breastplate, adorned with the death lily.

The other hand, his left, stole to the jewel around his neck. His eyes closed.

Tears burned beneath the lids. Angrily, he started, once again, to the rip the jewel from his neck.

His hand slid from it, fell limply upon the altar.

The trumpet call sounded, twice more.

In the courtyard of Storm’s Keep, Lord Ariakan stood, waiting to knight the dark paladin with his father’s sword.

Steel Uth Matar Brightblade, Knight of the Lily, son of Sturm Brightblade, Knight of the Crown, son of Dragon Highlord Kitiara Uth Matar.

Lifting the helm, with its skull-like grin, Steel placed it on his head. Then, kneeling before the altar, he offered a grateful prayer to his queen, Takhisis.

Rising proudly, extending his arms, he motioned for his squire to buckle on the black and shining breastplate.

Book 2: The Legacy