The Chronicles of Crallick

by Brad C Baker

  “Mindy-kitty?” Vlados asked carefully.

  “She’s the milkmaid for the mistress of the house’s cows out the back. Her mom is a server for the tavern,” the lad said soberly.

  “Thanks lad,” Crallick said. “Keep the coin.”

  The party left the wooden and straw-thatched stable and walked around the three-story stone building that looked more like a keep than an inn. There were arrow slits instead of windows for the ground floor. A heavy wooden door swung open with some effort. Stone stairs ascended the far wall to the second floor. The tavern had a stone ceiling with iron grates pressed into it. This inn could obviously protect itself very well.

  A slender, yet whisker-drooped Nekomin walked up to them. “Please sit where you’d like. I’ll take your order soon.”

  They walked over to a table by the fireplace to take the chill off their bones.

  “You’re despicable,” Vlados lightly declared to Crallick.

  “Why would you say that?” Crallick looked sideways at Vlados.

  “Who lies to a young boy for information?”

  “Who says I lied?” Crallick put to him.

  Vlados fell silent as the Nekomin waitress came over. “May I recommend the steamed grog? We also have a lovely corn liquor that we serve warm or cold with cinnamon.”

  Crallick looked up, “We’ll have a round of grog. And by chance, are you the mother of Mindy-kitty?”

  The waitress blanched. She sat suddenly, weakened with grief. “Oh my, I’m sorry,” she meekly stammered out. “I guess you’ve been talking to Toby. That was his pet name for my Mindy.” She sobbed into her paws.

  “Meree, Is everything all right over here?” came a base voice.

  The table looked up to see a hulking brute of a man. Bald headed, and grim-faced, he held a freshly bandaged stump close to his left side.

  “Yes, Derion,” she sniffled. “I’m all right. These men just asked about Mindy.”

  “Go get the drinks, I’ll talk to them,” said Derion. He then traded seats with the woman and waited for her to leave the public room before speaking again. “Now I’m not sure whether or not you realize this, but Mindy is a rather sore subject around here right now. I want to know two things. Firstly, how do you know about Mindy, and secondly, why is it your business to ask?”

  “Nice compassion, pal.” Vlados hissed to Crallick.

  Crallick shot Vlados a sidelong glance, “It had to be done. May as well be quick about it.”

  “Excuse me, sers. Just what had to be done?” Derion put much emphasis on the ‘sers’ and the ‘what’, to convey a distinct lack of patience.

  Hullaboo spoke up, “Do not worry, these are goodly men. They mean to take revenge on the thieves of tadpoles!”

  Vlados groaned.

  Crallick chuckled dryly. “What he means to say is that we may have encountered the same villains who took her daughter,” he nodded towards the kitchen. “Our daughters were likewise abducted. I’m hunting them down. I plan on exacting revenge upon them, and if I cannot liberate the young women,” Crallick gave a wry smile, “Chessintra, I may exact revenge anyways depending on my mood.”

  Derion nodded, “Okay, let’s say I believe you. Are you just in it to rescue your own daughters? Or are you going to help Meree as well?”

  “If we are able, we will help every last girl we liberate, regardless of where she rightfully belongs,” Crallick assured Derion.

  “In that case, they came through just last night. Never even stayed. They just supped and then pressed on, taking Mindy with them. Meree had said that…” Derion paused as Meree brought a round of lightly steaming mugs and placed them around the table with a sullen grace.

  “Can I help with anything?” she asked.

  “No, that’s fine,” said Derion.

  “Actually, a haunch of mutton for each of us with some bread, onions, and corn would be nice to sup on,” put in Vlados.

  “Of course ser, I’ll be back directly.” She scooted back off to the kitchens.

  “Where was I?” Derion asked.

  “Meree had said something to you,” Crallick jogged.

  “Oh, right. Yeah, Meree had mentioned that while she had been serving them she overheard them arguing about being on time to get a ship.”

  Crallick’s eyes went huge. That was a vital detail. It immediately told him two things: first, he had two tendays to try to catch up with them, and second, their destination had to be Marahaven.

  “There was some talk about sacrificial rites. Virgin counts. Twisted Chessintran type shite,” Derion concluded. “You may want to check in with the Flowwvite, or the Jyslinnic church in Crossroads. They would know more Trixiaxi-be-damned shite that would require sacrificial virgins and such.”

  “Why not just go to a Chessintran temple?” asked Vlados, quite naively.

  Both the other men at the table turned in their seats to look at the dwarf. Hullaboo licked his head and eyes with his tongue. Crallick deliberately answered, “Well, Vlados, it’s like this. The goddess of death, magic, and time ain’t exactly a sweet lady. Her church mirrors her sensibilities. If we went prowling around there, we’d either end up as sacrifices ourselves, or our quarry would soon learn of our pursuit. Get it?”

  “Oh,” Vlados felt chastened.

  Derion stood. “Well, it was good to meet you folk. You get Mindy back, alive if you can… the closure would do Meree good.” A few paces away, he turned and added, “And don’t sweat the tab. It’s on me.”

  “A moment before you go, friend,” Crallick interjected. He nodded at Derion’s stump, “Pretty generous for a bouncer. I also want to know how you got that. It may help. In as much detail as you can.” Crallick rose to meet Derion, “C’mon, over here, by the fire.”

  Derion accompanied Crallick over to the fire and took a stool beside him. “First, I’m the owner, not the bouncer.”

  “I figured,” Crallick’s battle-worn face gazed intently at Derion. “Most owners wouldn’t cough up a limb for a scullery, or a milkmaid.”

  “Mindy is a sweet girl. Meree’s pride and joy. It’s the only thing she took with her from Jherrim. I’m … I’m…”

  Crallick put Derion out of his misery. “You’re sweet on the girl, so you figured that if you could save the day, you could win her heart. That about it?”

  “Yeah,” Derion looked hard at Crallick. “You know, you don’t have much of a sensitive side.”

  “It only gets in the way.” Wryly, Crallick added, “Consider me focused. Now about the arm.”

  Derion sighed. “I came out to investigate a commotion at the stables. They were packing Mindy into one of the two carts. I reached out and grabbed Mindy’s arm. She was crying, yowling at the top of her lungs. I demanded that they release her and go about their way. As cool as you please, someone clad all in furs sauntered up and politely, softly even, said, ‘Ser, please remove your hand from my property. You will be compensated.’ I told him, her, or it to get buggered. Then, as quick as lightning, there was a flash of metal. I felt a burning sensation in my forearm. I looked. Mindy had fallen the rest of the way into the wagon, my hand still holding her arm. She was screaming now. Meree came running out. The person tossed me a bag of coins. Meree fell to her knees beside me and wrapped her apron around my stump. I’m afraid I was in shock. I certainly wasn’t in any condition to take on twenty odd men at arms.” Derion cast his eyes downward.

  “Don’t make excuses. You weren’t exactly trained for that kind of situation, were you?” At Derion’s shake of his head, Crallick added, “Then you did way more than anyone could have asked of you. Now, let me take it from here. Also, for the record, I’m sure your kitty knows just what you risked for her. Have Meree bring some more corn whiskey. The whole jug. I need to think tonight.”

  They each got to sleep in separate rooms that night.

  In the morning, they convened over breakfast, then stepped out into the overcast morning. Crallick was grateful for the muted light, as his hangover was
pounding into his head. The apple cider, bacon, and eggs hadn’t done much to alleviate his discomfort. Still, he figured he should be recovered by the time they reached Crossroads by mid-afternoon.

  Three hours after midday, they rode up to the towering fortress-like city walls of Crossroads. There were four soldiers outside the gate, all clad in emerald and silver adorned tabards with the livery of Crossroads emblazoned proudly on their chests. Twin towers flanked the gateway, with spires that rose twenty feet higher than the thirty-foot walls. This imposing visage gave the sense of formidable confidence. There weren’t any jagged lines or skull-like reliefs to strike fear in approaching travellers. This was a no-nonsense sense of security that it afforded its residents and visitors.

  Crallick slowed his horse to a trot as his company approached the gate.

  “State your business,” the guard dutifully, yet congenially, greeted.

  With almost a sheepish glance to his companions, Crallick fished into his tabard that rested over his ring mail to pull free an oiled leather pouch. “I’m Bannathyrran Knight-ranger Crallick Oakentree, of the order of her majesty’s royal protectors. My business is on behalf of her sovereign majesty, Queen Kieryanna Bannathyr.”

  Vlados glanced at Hullaboo, then leaned over to whisper to Crallick, “What buggery is that? You don’t honestly expect to get away with a load of bull shite like that, do you?” Then he straightened as the guard returned.

  “Everything seems in order, Ser Oakentree. Good luck on your hunt, ser.” The guards parted, then moments later, so did the gate doors.

  Crallick put the returned pouch back into his tabard, then tucked his chin towards Vlados, “Honesty is the only way to get away with that.”

  As the trio rode through the gate and into the city, Vlados couldn’t help himself. He blurted, “Anything else you aren’t telling me? You, a drunk-assed farmer without any friends, killing himself day in and day out, turns out to be a Jyslin-be-damned knight of the realm?”

  The clouds began to drizzle again, slicking the mud in the streets. “Actually, that’s not entirely true,” Crallick corrected. “I’m a Royal Knight-ranger, and I always considered you my friend.”

  Vlados opened his mouth to throw back something about friends not hiding shite like that from each other, but then shut his mouth, considering that there must be some serious damage for Crallick to keep something like this under wraps. He gave a heavy sigh. “Yeah, well, when yer right, yer right,” he conceded. Then he nodded off to his right, “There’s the Flowwvite temple, want to try in there?”

  “Sure, may as well.” Crallick turned his horse towards the street that led to the temple.

  The Flowwvite temple rose a towering three stories among the buildings of the neighbourhood. It was crafted from quarried grey-white marble with chrysoberyl veins running cobalt blue through it. A fountain of water cascaded a waterfall perpetually down the crowning parapet, before splitting off to a trough that ran the roof of the third story, then continuing its downward course from multitudinal spouts that gave the illusion of walls of pure water holding the roof aloft. The whole effect would have been far more striking in the sunshine, although the dwarf in Vlados couldn’t help but admire the craftsmanship nonetheless.

  Leaving their mounts with Hullaboo, they walked up the marble path and stairs that ran between the terraced pools that surrounded the flowing temple. They walked into a cool, refreshing, moist-aired room that was appointed in blue-green satins.

  An elven initiate hurried over to them. “May Flowwe’s love wash over you. Welcome to the Crossroad’s Church of Flowwe. Is there anything I can do to help you?” A warm smile played on his face.

  “I need to talk to a priest,” Crallick snarled.

  “I can send your requests for forgiveness flowing along the river to our goddess,” began the initiate, eager to share in his faith’s sacraments.

  Crallick amputated his enthusiasm, “I don’t follow your pacifist goddess, I have no use for her pissy forgiveness, and you can take your righteous indignation and shove it directly up your arse! I need goddess-damned information. Nothing more!”

  Vlados gazed at Crallick with shocked concern. “Crallick! Easy, friend.” Then, putting a hand gently on his friend’s arm, he addressed the now cowering initiate, “Easy chum, we just need to speak to a high cleric about a matter of some import. It involves rites of some sort that we need clarity on. Go get someone schooled well in other faiths, thank you.”

  “I-I-I forgive you, ser,” stammered out the cowed cleric, who then took off swiftly; more so to be away from Crallick than to fetch someone.

  Turning on Crallick, Vlados cried, “Just what was that all about, you gobtwat?”

  “Relax, I’ve never met a Flowwevite who wasn’t a mewling pacifist. They’re a waste of flesh for the most part,” Crallick grinned.

  Vlados’s jaw hung agape, “I swear I don’t know who you are sometimes. You were never like this piss drunk in my bar… ever!”

  “You are quite a colorful character, Ser Oakentree. I hope I will extinguish your illusion of our worthlessness,” A feminine, melodic voice intoned over Vlados’s comment.

  “Oh just lovely, the High Sister heard you, you lummox.” Vlados tried to run interference, “He’s sorry.”

  “He’s not,” she corrected.

  “I’m not,” Crallick confirmed.

  “You are,” Vlados affirmed

  “…not,” Crallick finished for the appalled dwarf. “You have me at a disadvantage, Sister…”

  Apparently unflappable, the turquoise robed woman said, “Sister Wanda Swells. If you wish to consult with me, then I should request a tithe for the Church, then you may follow me to my office.”

  “Wanda Swells, huh?” Crallick sneered, “I knew an exotic dancer with a name like that once.”

  “Crallick!” Vlados practically shouted, forgetting himself, and startling several clergy and parishioners. “What has gotten into you?” he added in a more befitting whisper.

  “Long story,” Crallick simply told him.

  “I’m sure she must have been a lovely woman. You may leave your tithe in the alms box.” She gestured to a well-crafted box that held reliefs of waves, benign sea creatures, seals, dolphins, and merfolk.

  “This should be more than ample,” Crallick said, holding aloft a sapphire the size of a sling stone between his forefinger and thumb.

  Wanda’s breath caught in her throat. For the first time, an emotion other than blissful serenity passed her face. “My good ser, that is too much for a simple consulting fee. I mean, tithe.”

  “Why? It is just a gift for the poor,” Crallick said coldly.

  “Well, bring it and yourselves to my office. We will discuss matters there.” Wanda turned and practically flew up the stairs in her haste to reach the security of her office. Once there, she ushered the pair inside, then followed, turning and locking the ornate door. “All right now, gentlemen. Why are you waving around enough wealth to feed an urchin for his lifetime? Why are you really here, Crallick? Just cut the shite, and get to the chase.”

  “My daughter was taken, Wanda.” His voice was still gravelly, but the softest since he had walked into the temple. “I need to get her back.”

  “Oh my Goddess, Cral, not Amalae,” Wanda clutched at some turquoise prayer beads. “You know I’ll help you. You don’t even have to ask. But why the …”

  “They took Vlados’s daughter as well; also a few other virgin girls. There was some overheard talk of sacrificial rites. Who, or what does that sound like to you?”

  Wanda paced a moment. Then she shucked her vestments, revealing a pair of aqua dyed leather pants and a light pastel blue tunic that flowed about her torso. Her hair was tied back into a long ponytail. She went over to her wall of shelves and grabbed four volumes from them. She dropped the pile of tomes on her desk. There was a black one with silver chased pages; one that had a red scaled cover, one with gold filigree edged pages and a ruby adorning the spine; one w
hich was two plates of thin slate bound together over reams of vellum, and a fourth which was a white leather-bound book with bone decorations.

  “All these evil faiths run with sacrifices. Particularly of living souls. The desirable option of virginal sacrifices comes from the purity of the spirit. Lack of sin. They’re more for use of particularly vile results.” Wanda was beginning to run through pages while she talked, “Asha Trixiaxie, Goddess of Elemental Fire and Consumption. She likes her sacrifices burned. I don’t find many rites that require more than one virgin, but, who knows?” She gave a nervous laugh, “Maybe they’re stocking up for the winter?”

  “Not funny,” growled Crallick.

  “No, no, of course not.” She cleared her throat, “Kragg, the Elemental God of Earth has little use for sacrifice. Even though he is the god of murder, he is a greedy god and not one to promote sacrifice. Still, if someone was to misinterpret why they were gathering victims, and think that it’s for a sacrifice rather than a religious hunt, then it could be…”

  “No, he wasn’t mistaken. The word sacrifice was assuredly used,” Crallick interrupted.

  “Well then, we can rule out Kragg.” Wanda gave a shudder, “That leaves the Chessintran church. Chessintra is the evil twin of Jyslin. She is the Goddess of Darkness, Death, Magic, and Time. Her sister is of Nature, Light, and Life. They say the Vitani and the Moritani elves are the children of Jyslin and Chessintra respectively.”

  “That’s if you believe in that shite,” Crallick drawled.

  “Of all the times you’ve been healed by divine magic, Crallick, how can you say that with a straight face?” Wanda countered.

  “Easy. Magic is magic,” Crallick grunted.

  Vlados watched the continuing exchanges and interactions with growing interest. He was going to have to talk to Crallick or Wanda about this later.

  “In any event, there are several rites of a forbidden nature in the Chessintran texts. None that directly involve virgins, but as I said, there are rites that work better with virginal sacrifices.” Scanning the black book, she said, ‘The Soliloque of Shadows’ is Chessintra’s Holy text. The Bone Diaries is the high book of forbidden rites.” Wanda was starting to murmur almost to herself. She switched books, suddenly pulling open the Bone Diaries, and scanned the table of contents. “Saint Angellicana preserve us! I found it!”