Chapter I: The Beginning

The steadfast wall of shields moved steadily down the hillock and into the darkening valley at its foot. Yard long spear tips protruded from every gap visible between the maroon shields.
The column reached its destination and within seconds, a black tide of Orcs were upon the heavily armoured infantry, fighting with wickedly shaped axes, crudely beaten swords and all manner of club-like objects.
The infantry were outnumbered and in the worst position to be ambushed. Just as suddenly as the Orcs had attacked, Cavalry poured down the hillside, riders yipping and shouting, before crashing into the Orc flanks. The Orcs broke and were pursued into the already shadow-strewn valley, before they could regroup or escape to cause further trouble. 

The shadows seemed to grow deeper, before a lone rider emerged from the battlefield, his face bruised and bloody from the skirmish. He neared the hillock and fell from his mount, a black arrow shaft pointing from between his shoulder blades. Almost as soon as he hit the ground another wave of Orcs leapt from the shadows swarming up the hill, a blanket of green flesh and black Armour choked the remaining light and sent it recoiling back to the heavens.

Ian woke panting, sweat dripping from his face. His hair was mated and messed. This was the third dream like this in as many nights. Ian stared thoughtfully at the grey stone  wall of his room as though it had all the answers, before finally succumbing to restless sleep. In the morning Ian could feel the effects of a night without proper sleep. He goy up yawning as he pulled on his under garments, trying not to shiver at the icy draught emanating from the un-shuttered windows on the far side of the room. Where do these dreams come from? What do they mean? Why am I having them? Ian thought so many questions and yet there was no answer to even one of them. Slipping his blue overcoat depicting the spread wings and two-handed sword chest insignia of the Guardians of light Paladins over his head, he stepped out of the room and into the long corridor.
As a Knight Errant to the Guardians, he was obliged to receive a summons every season, and today he would stand before the Prelate Weisemon and would be judged according to the law of their god Findbara. He would be judged on his faith, actions and the purity of his heart. As Ian entered the corridor to the Prelates chambers, he was flanked by two guards in chain mail and maroon overcoats, who escorted him towards the chambers door.

The door to the Prelates chambers was made of solid pine, with enamel panels rising from the age-old wood. As Ian stepped through into the room he realized that the two-guard entourage, which usually followed a person into the room, were waiting outside with their backs to the wall. What have I done this time? Is it really so bad that the guards had been ordered to stay outside? Thinking to himself Ian walked steadily but nervously across the marble floor. For the first time Ian felt relaxed in the pale walled waiting room to the Prelates chambers. The Prelate was a busy man and could not see every would be knight who got in trouble or wanted to join the Guardians quest for eternal salvation.
 The waiting room was a small but high ceilinged room furnished with four ladder-back chairs for those awaiting an audience with the Prelate. The walls were plain pale white with a few wall hangings whose origins were unknown to all but the Prelate himself. As a knight-errant awaiting his Test of Arms, Ian could just walk through the door without being shown in. On the other hand the Prelate might think he was becoming bigheaded, and set him to swamping out the stables. If there ever was a time to test the Prelates nerve, now was the best you could get. Gulping in air, Ian strode determinedly through the closed door and into the Prelates’ room.
In the small room there was a distinct aroma of burning grass and dewberry scents emanating from four giant incense burners, one in each corner of the room. The walls were deep brown with oak panelling in places. In the centre of the room there was a great mahogany table several feet wide with gilt work on every edge and in the middle of it was the wings and two-handed sword of the Guardians of light Paladins. Apart from two chairs, one ladder backed and the other brace backed, these were the only furnishings in the room.
The Prelate was an aged man with a white reclining hairline and deep set undaunting eyes that commanded attention. He sat on the brace backed chair across the table from Ian. He was dressed in a plain red tunic and blue trousers. The Prelate motioned Ian to sit. I’m going to get the stables for sure. Ian thought as he walked the small distance toward the chair before seating himself. There was a brief pause before the prelate spoke “There comes a time when a farmer loses one of his sheep, either to the hungry wolf or to the pot. Like the farmer I will be losing a sheep. For you, hopefully it is the wolves and not the pot.”
Ian was confused and it showed on his face “ I don’t understand what you mean Prelate. I know that we must all eventually leave this world, but it is not clear what you wish of me.” “Ah, you are ready and will understand in a few minutes when Lord Adrian returns.” The Prelate answered, smiling at the quizzical look in Ian’s eyes. Lord Adrian was one of the Paladins who grants passage into Paladin hood to those who are worthy.

True to the Prelates word, Lord Adrian entered the room several moments later. He was dressed in plate mail with a yellow and red sash swathed around his waist.	    
He was a tall muscular man, with dark hair and deep-set, grim eyes that had seen plenty of battles. He was clean-shaven and had an aura of command about him. In a deep voice that boomed throughout the small room he spoke “ Are you, Ian Knight Errant to the Guardians of Light Paladins, ready to take your Test of Arms this eve?”  
The question stunned the already confused Ian. Why is Lord Adrian asking me if I’m ready for the test? Is he to be my judge this season instead of the Prelate? The questions flashed through Ian’s head. Yet the older Paladin seemed to sense Ian’s confusion “You are to be tested for the place of Junior Paladin. That is all you need know.”
Ian’s heart was in his throat. He had been waiting seven years to be told this and now was the day; the day of his dreams, it was his time to shine.

It was mid-afternoon and in the mess hall sat fifty or so knight-errant outfitted in chain mail, with a blue under tunic. The small hall dedicated to the feeding of all the members of the fortress guard seemed a mild warm place where a dull haze hung over the tired congregation, smoke blew out of several small windows that were fixed near the top of two walls. A whole day of training with recruits master Lloyd had destroyed the would be Paladins resolve, and now they rested their minds and gorged themselves with the few scraps of food allowed by the cooks.

Ian sat at the far end of one of the many tables. He was around friends but wore a solemn look on his face. A wiry person with dark hair and fish like eyes raised his voice in a seemingly polite question “Ere, Ian, why do we ave to sit here looking at that face of yours when we’re the ones who ave an excuse to be glum?”
The question seemed to wake Ian up, and with a sturdy look at the man who spoke, Ian answered “Well my dear Jarles, you may be the ones who had to complete cross-country with all of your chain mail on, but I on the other hand received a summons from the Prelate this morning.” Looking at the smirking faces of his friends Ian carried on his speech “To answer your questions, no I was not sent for punishment, but I was received by the Lord Adrian, and I have been informed that my up and coming test of arms is for initiation into a Junior paladin.” The smirks from his friends had ceased, they now watched Ian with wide eyed wonder. Jarles mouth hung like he had just been punched. Strangely Ian noticed that the whole mess hall had gone quiet. Damn! Had I really spoken so loud that everyone heard me? The hall now seemed bigger, with every set of eyes fixed on Ian. Then a single member of the congregation stood up and started to clap his hands. Gradually, everyone was on their feet clapping and cheering. The applause was so loud that the two guards who were on the other side of the main entrance to the hall entered to see what the disturbance was.

Slowly Ian realised what they were all cheering for. He was the first to be selected for the test to become a Junior Paladin since he had joined seven years earlier. Me? They’re applauding someone who has nightmares and has just been chosen out of sheer luck? Ian’s head swam, he became confused then suddenly he was hoisted up into the air by his comrades and was carried in a chair-like fashion towards the door of the mess hall. Once on the outside he was lowered and his audience became quiet. What do they want? Oh no! not a speech! No, please no!   Contradicting his thoughts, Ian inhaled ready for a long congratulary essay from his friends, when down the corridor there came a scream and then an ear ripping explosion as a door flew off of its hinges and Orcs poured in through the gap.

The knights-errant rushed from the mess hall to engage the foul beats with only their short food knives, Ian watched in dismay as his friends were assaulted by hundreds of Orcs, their black armour and cruelly shaped weapons blocked the passage. Ian ran. Not in armour and without any defence, he fled to his chambers in the barracks.