Judgement Over Judgement | Tales of the Knights V

  The pair of knights - Exemplar Ivorhe, and accompanying him, Vanguard Serahta, champions both of the Order of Drakeslayers - had set out days prior, journeying along the western road to Delin. The path was not well defined, having been dictated primarily by the weight of travel along the route, and the two had to work in tandem to keep themselves from unintentionally deviating along an off-road heading to one of the other minor settlements in this area. Delin itself was a village of no real import to their order, as the duty of the Drakeslayers was to the defence of the northern capital of Breta and the protection of their lord when he set forth beyond its gates. It was only by coincidence that Delin was their destination: the place that their quarry had happened to choose as an improvised sanctuary, out of many near identical options scattered across the wider region.
  On the eve of battle, now weeks ago, the former siege master had fled from their encampment. The loss of a single warrior, even one in an advisory position, had not tipped the scales of the battle, but it was the principle that demanded recourse - even moreso at this time. While it had not been unheard of for groups of knights to come into conflict, in duels over besmirched honour or clashes over differences in philosophy, never before had two knightly orders gone to war against each other in what was effectively their entirety. It was a sight that Ivorhe never wished to see again.
  At any rate, their orders were now to apprehend the deserter and ensure that broken oaths did not go unpunished.

  According to the informant, the target still possessed at least some of their equipment, so they had undertaken the journey fully armed and armoured. In case of the worst. It was uncomfortable to be enclosed within the full carapace for extended periods, but the assistive motors took a lot of the burden off the legs, and meant they would be progressing a good bit faster than the average traveller.
  Serahta carried an unusual but unmistakable choice of armament at her side. A triple-headed weapon that was simply called a threeblade, the design of which had originated from someone who, Ivorhe suspected, had never properly wielded any sort of blade in their life. The chimeric axe-spear-pick combination had been intended for the training of new knights, allowing the aspirant to naturally find their preference in armament from the way they chose to wield it. In actuality, the contraption was a poor match for wielding any one of its components individually: the balance was somehow still right, but the weight was noticeably greater, and the extended footprint of its head made a number of conventional techniques unsuitable.
  Serahta, however, had never deviated from the threeblade's use and, having subsumed many of its martial practices early on, made it her weapon of choice upon ascending to knighthood. Nor was Serahta's any mere training tool; the weapon had been improved with a set of hidden mechanisms which allowed it to be adjusted on the fly, by extending or angling the major components out from the haft or pivoting them into place as counterbalances. The result, in Serahta's deserving hands, was a fiendish challenge to deal with, much like facing three opponents at once without being able to tell which would strike next. Ivorhe had learned this from ending many a bout on the training room floor.

  For his part, Ivorhe had always preferred the longsword. A straight, level shaft of metal that kept him true to his purpose. In answer to his convictions, the blade had never failed him. Never breaking, or warping, or entangling itself at the moment of need. It had never received any modification since entering his hands; if anything it was a slight bit longer than most examples of its kind, but it was by this point a weight that Ivorhe was most comfortable with. He was by no means an expert duellist, certainly not in the upper ranks among the Drakeslayers like Serahta, but he was capable enough to make a good showing in the seasonal tournaments and find practice partners both above and below his own level.
  The core of his beliefs had earned him the informal title of Purewater Knight from his comrades, owing to the transparency and untarnished innocence of his views, but he took no offence at their jests as this was something he took pride in and that carried him forward. His official rank of Exemplar had stemmed from the same source, as those responsible for guiding and tutoring the new intakes to the order were expected to possess impeccable moral character and clear devotion. He could also be confident that it was a factor in his assignment to the task at hand, perhaps even critical to its resolution. Perhaps there was still a chance to guide the disgraced back to the right path.