Knight Templar in Training - 1. Warrior-Cleric

James bade farewell to the caravan master, and then watched as the train of wagons continued east, toward the docks and warehouses of the city of Arcadia. The caravan master had been glad of James’ sword and his skill as a healer. James had been glad of the food and shelter—however rude—offered in lieu of payment for his services. He was also glad of the safety that came from traveling with a large band. There had been only one encounter with brigands during their journey from Bowling Green. James had used his sword to good effect. After the battle, he had bandaged several wounds and removed an arrow from the arm of the caravan master, himself.

When the last wagon was out of sight, James reviewed the directions to the Temple. Straight to the square, and look for the fountain. South on the widest road leading that way from the square. Left when that road meets the prince’s palace. You can’t miss it.

James made his way through the bustle of the largest known city on World.

The directions proved to be accurate, as had the assurance that “you can’t miss it.” After turning at the palace, the road dead-ended on Temple Square. The Temple was not a single building; rather, it was a complex of buildings. There was a high wall around the complex, but the gate was wide, and open. An old man in unadorned clerical robes stood at the left side of the gate. James watched as a woman, followed by two armed tweens, walked past and dropped a coin in the alms box. The old man raised his arm in blessing.

Wow, James thought. I felt that from here. He clucked to his horse, and led the animal toward the old cleric. “Light to you, Brother,” he said, somewhat nervously.

“Light upon you, young…young cleric?” The question was apparent in the man’s greeting. “I’ve not seen a cleric wearing a sword in more than a hundred years.”

“My name is James. I was trained at the Temples in Tipsy Green and Bowling Green. I have a letter…but I don’t understand. How can one fight for the Light without a sword?”

“My name is Rassan, youngling. In my youth, we all wore swords. Knew how to use them, too. And quarterstaff. Not here, though, and not now. Too much involved in politics, we are. This new breed of clerics; the only weapon they have is their tongue. That’ll change, though. The new Senior, Alten…”

The old cleric’s voice stilled as he caught sight of a figure walking across the courtyard toward the gate. Turning his head, Rassan said for James’ ear alone, “Senshen…don’t cross him, but don’t trust him, either.”

“What have we here?” the cleric asked. “Looking for a handout, are you?”

James’ eyes absorbed the figure in an instant. Senshen, as Rassan had named him, was about a foot shorter than James, and plump. His hair and skin glowed with oil… expensive oil from the aroma. His robe shone in the sunlight. Silk, I’d guess, James thought, although he’d never seen that material. The robe was bordered with heavy, gilt brocade. The man’s leather belt sparkled with semi-precious gems. At least I hope they’re semi-precious, and not real, James thought. “No, Master,” James said, bowing, “I’ve been sent from the Temple at Bowling Green to be trained. I have a letter—”

Senshen interrupted, “Another ignorant rustic from the furthest marches of the realm. Oh well, I suppose we need strong backs as well as good minds. Give me the letter.”

James hesitated.

“Well, quickly, boy.”

James pulled his credentials from his pouch, careful not to remove the other letter, the personal letter from his mentor.

By compline, James had been assigned a cell, fed supper, and ordered to report to the Senior immediately after breakfast the next morning. In his cell, by the light of a small candle, James wrote to his father.

James, son of the Constable of Bowling Green, to his father.

I have arrived safely. The caravan was attacked on the tenth day from Bowling Green. The attackers I saw were Human brigands, although at least one may have been an Elven archer. They did not seem to expect the kind of resistance they encountered, and retreated after a short battle. It was only later, when the caravan master discovered that several bags had been cut from one of the pack mules, that their strategy became apparent. I fought but briefly, and later was able to perform healing on wounds that were—I am happy to report—not too severe for my skills.

The remainder of the trip was uneventful, the only unpleasantness being the condition of some of the quarters in which we were lodged! They were, however, better than sleeping beside the road.

I was greeted by an older cleric whose power rivals any I have known, and who greeted me kindly. I think he will prove to be a friend.

One of the senior clerics, Senshen, then welcomed me as the town boys welcomed Cooper’s friend, Gary, and saw to it that I was assigned a cell and a place at the table.

I will have to sell my horse, as we anticipated. While the expenses of my training will be borne by the Temple—including food and lodging, as well as clerical garb—I would have to pay to board the horse. I’m glad you helped me to select such a fine horse. He will bring a profit, here, I’m sure. I will be able to return his original purchase price to you, and have enough remaining for incidental expenses.

I was surprised to learn that weapon training is not considered important at this, the main Temple of the realm. There is a master of arms, and I will see him tomorrow after my appointment with the Senior.

Please give my love to Mother and to Cooper. I miss him. I miss you all.

James folded the letter, but did not apply a seal. No reason to signal that it might contain a secret, although I doubt that Senshen could understand what was meant by how the other boys treated Gary. They were very cruel to him. I wonder how he’s doing. I wonder where he is.

The next morning during breakfast, a very handsome and self-assured tween came to the table where James sat. The boy’s smile, which seemed genuine, took the edge off his air of supreme confidence.

The boy introduced himself. “Brother James? I’m Arne, the Senior’s acolyte.”

“Yes, I’m James, and glad to see your smile this morning. I’m a little nervous about meeting the Senior…”

“You mean after meeting Senshen, yesterday?” Arne said softly into James’ ear only. “Don’t worry; they’re not at all alike.”

Alten read closely the letter that James had brought from his mentor in Bowling Green. When he looked up, there was a look in his eyes that James would have interpreted as hunger in other circumstances.

“Welcome, Brother James. Your mentor wrote some very strong words about you. Stubborn was a word he used several times.” Seeing the look of consternation that flashed across James’ face, Alten chuckled. “Stubborn in his determination to master both the craft of healing and the skills of a swordsman, was one of the references. The others are just as kind.

“Arne told me you’d been assigned a cell and that you want to meet with the weapons master. He will arrange that meeting, and will show you around the complex. I would like you to spend the remainder of the month exploring the Temple complex, and meeting other Senior Clerics before determining to whom you will be apprenticed for further training.

“James, you come to us highly recommended. Nevertheless, this, the central Temple of Arcadia and the city in which you find yourself, are quite different from what you’ve been accustomed. Please be careful.” With that cryptic remark, Alten raised his hands in blessing and dismissal.