Page 1 of The Tempest
PROLOGUE
Year of Our Lord 1223
The Blackchurch Guild
The rain wasmerciless.
Standing at the edge of Lake Cocytus, the enormous lake that ran through the heart of the Blackchurch property, those on the shore were convinced that, at some point, a man named Noah and his giant ark would soon be appearing because the rain was truly that heavy and it had been for about a week. But this was the day scheduled for this particular exercise, so the men of Blackchurch were ready.
Rain or no rain.
The Viking was on the move.
Not a true Northman in the literal sense, although he had been one at one point in his past, but the Blackchurch trainer known as The Viking had come to the conclusion that his class of recruits was ready for their final test in the landing and conquest module, something they’d been working on for the better part of six months, so it was the job of the other Blackchurch trainers to try to prevent Kristian Heldane’s class from making it not onlyto the shore, but to the top of the rise where a small rock shed stood.
That was the goal.
To reach that crumbling little shed.
“Kristian has some enthusiastic recruits, you know,” one man said. He was enormous, with black hair and dark eyes, taller than the rest of the men around him. Tay Munro, a trainer known as The Leviathan, was thede factoleader of the Blackchurch instructors. “By the time they hit his class, they’re almost finished with their training here. You know they’re going to do everything they can in order to get to the old cottage.”
Lightning lit up the sky, dancing across the dark clouds before disappearing to the west. Thunder rolled, following it. Everyone looked up, watching the sky, feeling the tension. Though this was only a test, that didn’t mean it wasn’t dangerous.
It meant that it wasreal.
“We’re allowed to disable,” another man rumbled as water ran down his face. He had a big club in one hand, one that usually held a sword. Sinclair de Reyne was known as The Swordsman and was deadly no matter what weapon he armed himself with. “We can disable and we can break bones. We just can’t kill them.”
“More’s the pity.” A thick Scots brogue entered the conversation, causing the others to grin. More lightning lit up the sky as Payne Matheson, a trainer known as The Tempest, tightened the fist-shaped leather wrappings on both hands that were covered with iron studs. When he saw the men around him smiling, he held up those studded leather gloves made specifically for fistfights. “I’m going for throats and heads with these, lads. Let me be the first line. Anyone who gets past me belongs tae ye.”
As he grinned and nodded enthusiastically, a shorter, well-built man came to stand next to him, his dark gaze fixed on the turbulent lake.
“You only want to disable them, Payne, not permanently cripple them,” he said in accented speech. “These men are not our enemy. They are men striving for perfection.”
Payne glanced at Ming Tang. He had not been born in England, but far to the east, where he’d been raised in the Shaolin religion. It was a strict religion of great philosophy, making Ming Tang a man of many talents with a mind constantly seeking knowledge, and that curiosity was what had brought him to Blackchurch. He brought a great deal of wisdom to teach others and was wise counsel in any situation.
Even at the onset of a fistfight with an overzealous Scotsman.
“Of course they are striving for perfection,” Payne said. “And they shall meet it in the trainers who have worked hard tae get them tae this point. If they are not perfect, they willna get past us.”
“Are you truly going to use those iron-studded gloves on them?”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
Ming Tang didn’t have an immediate answer for him, but he did smile. Sort of a “you are incorrigible” smile that Payne took as a compliment.
“I would suggest you take a defensive stance rather than an offensive one,” Ming Tang finally said. But he sighed heavily almost as soon as the words left his mouth. “Or am I expecting too much?”
Payne shrugged. “If they come at me, I’m ready,” he said. “Stay here with me and we shall face them together.”
“I think I’d better so you will not kill someone.”
Payne laughed. He clapped Ming Tang on the shoulder, meant to be a gesture of camaraderie, but he nearly threw MingTang off balance with the force of it. As they stood there in the driving rain, a shadow of a ship began to appear through the clouds and water.
The Viking and his trainees were approaching.
“I’m with you, Payne.” Creston de Royans, a trainer known as The Avenger, came up beside him. The man had a club in his hand and he held it menacingly. “I’ll help you with the onslaught. Remember that I had these recruits last year, so I am well acquainted with their tactics.”
Payne looked at the big, blond knight. “I had them two years ago,” he said. “I spent an entire year teaching them what I know best.”
