Forgotten Hero

by Brian Murray

  “Where is this man?!”

  “Relax Zor, I’m sure he’ll be here soon. You know you cannot rush these religious freaks.”

  “And who are religious freaks, constable?”

  Neither man had heard the door open, and standing in the doorway was a woman in a long, black robe. The high priestess was a petite woman who hid her figure inside her flowing robe and had piercing blue eyes and neatly braided pure black, waist length hair.

  “Well, who are ‘freaks’, gentlemen?”

  Neither man could answer the woman, knowing they were in the wrong. “Ma’am, are you the high priest of this temple?”

  “Yes, I am the high priestess. Who are you?” She never offered her name.

  “My name is Captain Zorain of the City Watch, and this is Constable Conn.”

  Closing the door, the high priestess walked into the room and took her place at her desk. As she sat down, an uncomfortable silence filled the room.

  “Gentlemen, either you came here to join our congregation or you have some questions for me?”

  “Yes,” said Zorain finally. “We have three men in our cells who will not give us their names, however, they willingly gave your temple as their residence.”

  “We have cots downstairs for those unfortunate persons who have no homes. You will appreciate that I cannot remember the names of everyone who comes to our temple seeking refuge, but I would suppose they spend their nights with us.” She smiled.

  “Is it possible for us to see your temple?”

  The high priestess locked eyes with Zorain and the man shivered as though an icy draft tickled his spine. “Of course,” she answered finally.

  The woman rose, led the two men from her office, and began a tour of the temple. She walked around the temple explaining what was in every room and hall. To the men’s surprise, the building was large. Even though it had a small facade facing the street, it was very deep.

  The high priestess walked straight past a thick wooden door without explaining what was inside. Zorain stopped.

  “Ma’am, what’s behind this door?”

  “Captain, that’s a sacred room,” she explained. “Only priests of our faith can enter that room.”

  “What is inside there?” asked Zorain persistently, preventing the woman from moving on.

  “It holds sacred artefacts, relics, and writing. As I said, it is only for those who have been ordained. Do you want to break one of our sacred rules and enter the room?” she challenged, reaching for the door handle. “You may destroy all that is held in the room. A person has to be trained for several years before they can enter. It holds our most precious religious treasurers and is not for non-believers.”

  Zorain stared into the woman’s cold, blue eyes and slowly a smile crept onto his face.

  “I understand, shall we continue?” He made a mental note where the door was, as the woman turned and resumed the tour of the building.

  Next the group entered the main temple hall.

  The hall was painted black with several oil lanterns mounted high on ten columns providing light. The columns had black fabric draped down them, forming tents over the congregation’s wooden pews. At the front on a raised platform was a stone altar. As the men approached the altar, they recognised the rusty discolouration as the tale-tell signs of blood. They looked at each other; no words were exchanged, only a slight knowing nod of their heads. Around the table were eight tall cast-iron candleholders, each holding twelve lit candles. A man appeared in a black robe with a deep hood, carrying a long metal shaft with a slightly angled cone on top, which he used to extinguish the candles. The man’s hood slipped back slightly, as he reached for a candle. Zorain sucked in some air. He immediately recognised the man. It was Krondo, the baker.

  The group finished their tour of the temple and arrived back at the high priestess’s office. Now the cluttered table had been cleared, and refreshments set out. More candles had been lit and placed around the room giving it a warmer, friendlier feel. But nothing could take away the chill both the watchmen felt from being in the temple.

  “Thank you for the tour, ma’am, but we didn’t get to see the dormitories below you had mentioned.”

  “Captain, women, and children are sleeping in there now and I do not think it would be appropriate for us to disturb them. Do you?”

  Zorain shook his head in agreement.

  “Perhaps if you come back during the day, I can show you the dormitories.”

  “Thank you. We’ll return during the day.”

  “The men and women in black robes, who are they?”

  “Priests of our temple,” replied the high priestess tonelessly.

  Zorain nodded, realising there would not be any further information provided. “Do you have a register of people staying in the dormitories?”

  “We do, Captain, but it is kept downstairs.”

  “I may have guessed,” said the captain with a knowing smile. “Can it also be made available to us?”

  “Of course, now please have some refreshments.”

  The priestess poured some fresh apple juice, and Zorain noticed there were only two glass goblets.

  “You’re not joining us, ma’am?”

  “No, I am fasting at present.”

  “Why?” asked Conn, instantly regretting the question, which had escaped from his mouth before his better sense could stop him. He wanted to get out of the temple.

  “It has been foreseen that the Dark One will soon return. All the signs are right, our leader will return in triumph. The High Priest of the Path will be arriving here soon and I am preparing for his visit.”

  “I don’t understand,” said Zorain.

  “I must abide by a strict diet to purify my soul, before our blessed high priest arrives. You see, this is the first time he will be visiting us.” The woman glowed with expectation.

  “So who is this Dark One?”

  “He is our leader.”

  “He’s a myth,” countered Conn.

  “A myth to you non-believers, but he will live again, it has been written and then you will see that he is not a myth.”

  “By fanatics,” murmured Conn.

  “Fanatics?” spat out the high priestess. “Explain yourself.”

  “Well,” started Conn, “if he exists, then only fanatics would want the return of such an evil being, a being not of this world or the next. How can you want the return of such a beast to our lands?”

  The high priestess rose, glaring at Conn with venom in her eyes, and hands shaking uncontrollably with anger. “Unless you have any more questions gentlemen,” she said through her teeth, “I will bid you good night.”

  Zorain and Conn rose and thanked the woman for her time. They reached the door and paused. “You will see his power, and see it soon,” she said with absolute conviction.

  Zorain looked back and saw the woman’s face, twisted with hate; hate directed at them as they left the room. He said nothing more.

  Moments later, the two City Watchmen were standing outside the temple.

  “I need a drink,” said Conn, swallowing hard.

  “Aye, that’s a good idea, my friend. That woman is truly insane.”

  Zorain glanced back at the temple and shivered. Her parting words chilled his soul.

  ***

  The small priest shuffled into the office of the high priestess, who was still staring at the door, her eyes aglow with anger.

  “Idiots,” she snapped vehemently.

  “What, the two officers?” asked the priest.

  “Yes, they will feel the wrath of our master soon.”

  The small priest smiled. “He will be arriving shortly, and the ceremony will be held at the sacred place soon after. We have been asked to have priests made available to ready the hall.”

  “You arrange that, please.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the priest, bowing.

  “Have you arranged for the list of junior priests and congregation to join us in the pala
ce for the ceremony? We need to have an offering ready.”

  “That is being taken care of, ma’am.”

  “Good,” said the high priestess, leaving her office with the priest in tow. She walked through the dark corridors to the special room she had earlier stopped at with the City Watchmen.

  “Is everything ready for me?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” said the priest, stopping at the door. Using her key, the high priestess opened the door.

  The priest saw a child huddled in the corner of the darkened room. There were no relics, no books or scriptures inside, only the innocent child and a stained, stone altar. The door slowly closed and the priest smiled as he walked away down the dingy corridor.

  ***

  Ande pursued the noise with Kilde following him, his eyes darting left and right. There was another scraping sound in front of the two constables. Ande stopped.

  “There’s someone in front of us,” he whispered softly. “We will sneak up to them and arrest them.”

  “How many do you think there are?”

  “It doesn’t matter, we’re the City Watch, they will have to stop or we may have to crack a head or two, but this is our arrest. The captain may even give us a bonus.”

  Kilde nodded and the two constables moved silently along the cobbled streets towards the next corner. They closed the shutters on their lanterns, reducing the orb of light and shrouding them in darkness. The scraping noise came from around the corner. Ande looked around at Kilde and put his finger to his lips. Ande then peered around the corner and smiled; three cloaked, hooded men were moving a crate into a storeroom. Ande recognised the storeroom as one owned by the Temple of the Path. Ande stepped around the corner. “Don’t move! City Watch!” he called.

  Kilde followed his colleague and stepped out into the dead-end, gloomy alleyway, staring at the three men. The men stopped what they were doing, turned to face the watchmen, and spread out.

  “Do not move, City Watch!” called Ande again, walking slowly towards the men.

  In unison, the three men grabbed their cloaks with their right hands and threw the material back over their left shoulders, exposing their sheathed swords.

  Ande stopped walking.

  “What are you men doing here?” he asked, reaching for his club.

  The men did not move nor did they answer.

  “You men will speak to me,” said Ande, pulling free his club and taking another step forward.

  Kilde came to the shorter man’s side. “I think we should get some help, Ande,” he said in a low whisper.

  “What’s the matter with you, there’s only three of them.”

  Ande and Kilde stepped further into the alleyway and Kilde called out to the men.

  “Reach for your swords and you’ll make things harder for yourselves,” howled Ande.

  As if that was a command, the three men simultaneously drew their swords, levelling the points at the two approaching City Watchmen.

  ***

  Zorain and Conn arrived back at the City Watch office after a quick drink in the Flying Vessel. Zorain sat restlessly at his desk so wandered into the restroom. He looked around, checking faces and smiling when his eyes met someone he knew. When he could not see Kilde or Ande, he shouted,

  “Conn.”

  “Aye.”

  “What time are Kilde and Ande due back?”

  “They should be back from their first tour now. Why?”

  “Where are they patrolling?”

  “The docks.”

  Realisation struck the constable and he reached for his club. The two men rushed out of the office together, turned right and raced down the street.

  “They probably stopped for an ale somewhere on the way back to the office,” called Conn, jogging alongside his captain.

  “You know they’re to report straight back when they’re patrolling the docks.”

  “But . . .” started Conn.

  “No buts about it, Conn, they’re meant to report back straight . . .”

  A gargling scream in front of them tore through their conversation.

  “Go back and get some more men,” screamed Zorain as he ran towards the shrill sound, pulling free his club. Conn spun on his heel and raced back to the offices to get help as Zorain disappeared into the darkness of the docks.

  Zorain ran past the alleyway and skidded to a stop after glancing down it. He saw three men fighting against a man he soon recognised as Kilde. “City Watch!” bellowed Zorain, as he ran in to help.

  As he neared, he saw the fallen, bloody body of Ande on the ground and charged, swinging his club wildly. Zorain had a simple rule – no one strikes down a constable, especially when on duty. His club connected with the head of one of the attackers. A clanging sound rang out; Zorain realised that the men were wearing some form of armour under their robes.

  “Fall back, Kilde! Fall back now!”

  As he gave the command, Zorain was struck on the temple with the side of a sword blade. He crumpled to the ground, stars dancing in front of his eyes. Kilde stood over and protected his captain – it would be with his life. Zorain saw a blade plunge into Kilde’s chest and watched the man swung his club twice more, striking his attacker weakly before he fell. That saved Zorain. One of the attackers plunged his sword into the fallen man; the blade passed through Kilde’s body and only pricked Zorain’s skin, as he lay beneath Kilde.

  The three robed men fled into the night.

  ***

  Tears formed in Zorain’s eyes as he looked into Kilde’s dead ones. The brave man had stood over his captain and partner, defending his fallen comrades. He could have fled, saving himself, but the man had stayed and fought on. Later, Zorain would have to see both men’s wives and families, to tell them of their deaths.

  Zorain heard Conn calling, but his body refused to move and his throat was tight and dry. He looked again into Kilde’s glazed eyes. Suddenly, Kilde’s head moved and the weight of the dead corpse eased off Zorain, and then he was moved into a sitting position. Zorain could just make out Conn’s words, the volume increasing as the roaring in Zorain’s ears subsided.

  “Zor, Zor are you all right?”

  Zorain’s head rolled around and he felt Conn’s hand holding the back of his head.

  “Zor, you’re safe now, my friend.”

  Zorain attempted to say something, but no words escaped his lips.

  Conn screamed out orders. “Find a healer now!” he shouted to one man, who immediately scurried off. “The rest of you spread out and find the men who did this. I want them alive,” he hissed.

  Zorain felt himself being lowered, his head resting on something soft: a folded coat, he assumed. But as this thought penetrated his foggy mind, he passed out.

  ***

  After the murder of the City Watchmen, the docks became a restricted area for everyone after dusk, including the City Watch. Anyone who did venture into the area was later found unconscious or dead. Conn visited the morning following the murders; Zorain regained consciousness at home, with his wife and son at his side, but a lump on the side of his head remained as a sore reminder.

  A couple of days after the incident, he visited the homes of Ande and Kilde to pass on his personal condolences. Later the same day, Zorain stopped by his offices and sat quietly with Conn.

  “This matter is getting out of hand,” said Conn pensively.

  “I know, those two were good men and they did not deserve to die like that.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  Zorain thought for a moment. “I think we will have all our men descend on the docks tomorrow night and arrest anyone on sight. I don’t care if they have a valid reason for being in the docks at night. Bring them all back to our cells for questioning – no exceptions.”

  “That’s a bit extreme.”

  “Extreme times call for extreme measures,” said Zorain coldly. “I want to get the message out to whoever is heading this that I am no pushover, and I don’t take threats lightly. N
o one tells me to keep out of any part of my city. These people need to be taught a lesson, and I’m the man to do that.” Zorain suddenly smiled. “I need a meeting with Rayth.”

  “Why?”

  “I need a meeting with Rayth to get a message to the Mistress.”

  “What makes you think I can arrange that?”

  “We’ve known each other for a long time, Conn. There’s very little that happens in my region that I don’t know about.”

  Conn bowed his head. “Are you going to have me removed?”

  “Conn, I’ve known about your involvement with them for some time, and it serves our purpose. I also know that her people don’t kill, they may crack some heads but they never kill people. This does not feel like the Nightband’s work.”

  “Right, I will see what I can do.”

  “No Conn, you will go and see Rayth now. You tell him I want to speak to him.”

  Conn left the offices and walked the short distance to Rayth’s tavern. He paused outside in the shadows for a moment, then quietly stepped inside.

  ***

  “Well, if it isn’t my friend Constable Conn,” announced Rayth to the drinkers in the tavern. This announcement served as a warning to them not to step out of line and the patrons obliged by lowering their voices to hushed tones.

  Conn walked up to the bar and sat on a stool.

  “What can I get you, constable?” asked Rayth, rubbing his large, rough hands on a cloth pinned to his side.

  “Ale please.”

  Rayth reached for a tankard and pumped it full with a frothy, dark liquid. Looking left and right, Conn placed his hand on the bar, palm down. Pushing his hand towards the innkeeper, he lifted it slowly. Seeing the note, Rayth placed his hand over the parchment and slid his hand back, crushing the note into his fist. Conn reached for his pouch and placed a copper coin on the bar. Only then did Rayth place the tankard in front of him.

  Rayth stepped into the kitchen, read the note and returned to the bar, frowning. The men were using their own special code language, which they had developed over the years.

  “How’s your ale, constable?”

  “Could be cooler.” (meaning: the meeting was important).

  “Tough luck.” (he was not interested).