Medallion of the Undead

by Anthony Rudzki

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.

  Cover Art:

  https://www.fiverr.com/jimmygibbs

  Publisher’s Note:

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, places, and events are the work of the author’s imagination.

  Any resemblance to real persons, places, or events is coincidental.

  Solstice Publishing - www.solsticepublishing.com

  Copyright 2014 Anthony Rudzki

  Medallion of the Undead

  Episode One

  By

  Anthony Rudzki

  Dedication

  This work is dedicated to my loving wife Nita, who believes in this novel possibly more than I do. This is also dedicated to our children Allison and Alfred, who promised not to lock me in the basement if this got published.

  Prologue

  Devane pulled the heavy wool cloth over his shoulders and moved a little closer to the fire. He looked skyward and thanked the gods the weather finally cleared.

  A long week of rain and cold weather with nothing to do but wait. Wait, and keep a fire burning during the night just in case.

  “You asked for this assignment,” he whispered to himself as he finished the last piece of the scrawny rabbit he’d caught earlier. Wiping his greasy fingers on his pants, he tossed the bones into the fire and watched the sparks fly and listened to the soft crackling of the fat being consumed.

  He ran his finger over the small shoulder patch for the Guild of the Silver Dagger on the tunic he wore. He slid down the log he sat on and leaned against it, making himself as comfortable as he could, and dozed off into a light sleep.

  * * * *

  Devane was immediately aware and scanning the dark forest around him, his hand on the hilt of his short sword. Faintly, he heard the whisper that woke him.

  “Guild of the Silver Dagger?” Came from the darkness of the forest.

  Devane scrambled to his feet, casting off the blanket and drew his sword. He held it out, pointing toward the forest and the direction of the voice he’d heard.

  “Show yourself,” he said.

  The bushes on the edge of camp, on the far side of the fire rustled and then a young man dressed in beggar’s clothes stepped out. His face was dirty, his clothes torn and ragged and he looked to be unarmed.

  “Sulstan” Devane cried and leapt across the small fire and hugged his friend, almost bowling him over from the excitement of the meeting.

  * * * *

  Sulstan sat near the fire, a knife and fork in his hands and a metal plate heaped with meat, vegetables and soft white bread. He cut into the food and shoveled it into his mouth, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

  “I’m sorry, I forgot the butter for the bread,” Devane said.

  Between bites, Sulstan waved his friend off, “Butter? I’m just grateful for all this.” He put another forkful in his mouth.

  “It’s for a job well done. You hid it just as you were instructed and no one knows of its location, correct?”

  “No one. I did…” Sulstan started to reply and then stopped. He dropped the plate, which overturned in the weeds near the fire and grabbed his throat. He fell to his knees and slumped to the ground and was still.

  Devane didn’t move for a long time, only looking at the lifeless body of the Guard for the Guild of the Silver Daggers, and his best friend since childhood. When he finally moved, it was all business, a plan he’d gone over in his mind over and over as he waited for his friend to arrive.

  Fortunately, Sulstan only carried a small bag containing another set of threadbare clothes, some dried food and a small bottle of wine. Devane searched his pockets and found them empty. He removed Sulstan’s boots and under the lining, he found what he dreaded.

  Opening his own pack, he removed a bottle of a foul smelling liquid and poured it liberally over Sulstan’s body. When the bottle was empty, he dropped it on the ground. Taking a burning ember from the fire, he tossed it on his friend and his body burst into flames. The fire burned with an intensity that drove him back several steps and the heat washed over him.

  Devane took a quick glance at the parchment he recovered and tossed the map into the fire. It flared and disappeared in curled glowing ash. Thick smoke rose up through the trees in the still air and Devane remained motionless until a gust of wind blew the smoke in his direction, forcing him to his knees, vomiting in the brush, tears streaming down his face.

  Before sunrise, Devane abandoned the campsite and headed back toward the Guild to report to Thomas, his assignment complete.

  Chapter One

  The thunder boomed again causing Kyle to instinctively cringe and take his eyes off the flooded fields that made up his family’s farm. With a mumbled curse, he returned his gaze out the speckled window and scanned the bare muddy mounds, beaten down by the Twenty Year Seasonals. “They’re torrential rains that last six days, cleansing the earth and providing plenty of water for our wells,” his father explained. The rains were now on their tenth day and showed no sign of stopping.

  His father was out there, checking the damage in the Northern fields, but they had both resigned themselves that this year’s crop was rotting beneath the surface of the water-logged farmland.

  He’d never seen such an unending string of rain-filled days, but the Seasonals didn’t run like the clockworks, his father told him several nights earlier as they sat at the dining table finishing the last of the cider. You couldn’t predict them, so you planted your crop and hoped for the best. Hoped that they would hold off one more season.

  They had held off until two weeks past his seventeenth birthday.

  Kyle turned at the sound of the latch being raised on the front door. His father stepped inside, shutting the door behind him and keeping the blowing rain at bay. Stomping his feet, he pulled his waterproofed coat off, shook it and hung it on the hook behind the door. Kyle returned his view out onto the fields once again.

  “Daydreaming about your girl again?”

  Kyle laughed and turned so his father could suffer the smirk on his face, “No, not this time.” He took in a long breath and let it out slowly, “I was thinking about the farm, the fields and all this rain.”

  “Well, it’s just as bad as we thought,” he said with a deep sigh that told Kyle more than his words revealed.

  Kyle looked at his father’s lined face, water droplets from his soaked hair drained over it freely. The farm had been barely profitable in the last five years and now, with the rain and the destroyed crop, the burden upon the man’s shoulders became plainly visible.

  The two of them lived on the small strip of farmland alone since Kyle’s mother died of Scarlet Fever. Kyle cried himself to sleep for almost a month afterward, but his father barely shed a tear. That was something Kyle noticed right away about his father. While he didn’t understand it at the time, he accepted the stony exterior and change as his father’s way of coping with his loss. Gone were the days he remembered of the laughing man who would come home from a blistering day in the fields, take his wife into his arms, filthy from the labor in the earth, and turn her around in the compact, three room house. The smile was infectious and Kyle found himself smiling too as he looked up from the reading and writing lessons his mother gave him each day. Finally, the two would break their gaze at one another and then it would be another round of hugs, this time including Kyle, crushing him in between the two of them. He longed for those days, but resigned himself to the fact
they were over, and with them the lighthearted side of his father. Since her death, the anger at being alone chewed at the older man, making him stolid and withdrawn.

  “The north fields?” Kyle asked.

  “Completely gone. The ground is so soft, I almost lost my boots walking through the fields. The paths are still passable, and I was able to get back to the valley. It looks like there’s been a huge landslide back there.” Jacob pulled a chair out from under the small dining table and sat.

  Water dripped from his soaked pants into small puddles on the stone floor.

  Kyle walked over to the fireplace and stirred the stew simmering in the pot over the fire. He grabbed a bowl from the nearby shelf. “Hungry?”

  “Yeah, as a matter of fact I am. Thank you.”

  Kyle scooped the steaming liquid into the wooden bowl, being careful not to spill any. He settled the ladle against the inside lip of the pot and covered it with the lid.

  “I used the last onion, and there’s a dozen potatoes left in the bin. Now that the rain is stopping, I should be able to get out with my bolo and get us some meat,” Kyle said, his hand on a small pouch on his hip.

  “I think even with your skills…Most of the game has moved deeper into the forest.”

  His father accepted the bowl and set it on the table. He picked up a wooden spoon and slowly stirred his stew. Kyle could see the concern on his father’s downcast face and kept silent, rather than interrupt the older man’s thoughts.

  Kyle jumped at the loud report when Jacob slapped the table with the flat of his hand.

  “Oh.” His father’s voice boomed in the silence of the room.

  “Look here. When I was standing at the entrance to the valley, I happened to look down and found this.” Fishing through his pockets, Kyle’s father pulled out a circular, shiny object and dropped it on the table.

  “A silver button, can you believe it? No idea how it got there, but I looked down and there it was, just lying in a bit of still water. Tomorrow I’ll go into town and see if Conrad will give us a few coins for it.”

  “Conrad? I don’t know,” Kyle said, shaking his head slightly.

  “I know. I’m not happy dealing with that swindler either, but I think we can get more from him than anyone else locally. The road to Allenon would be treacherous travel in this weather.”

  Kyle picked up the button and examined the design. It was heavily tarnished, but the emblem looked like a single sword or dagger lying across a crest. He dropped the button into his father’s palm.

  “Maybe, while you are gone, I can search for more. With any luck, it’ll be worth something.”

  * * * *

  Kyle opened his eyes and closed them again against the beam of bright morning sunlight streaming in through the window near his bed. He climbed out from under his blanket, went to the window, and looked out at the blue skies, basking in the warmth of the light on his face.

  “Hello?” he called out, walking though the cottage in short order and found it empty. He noticed his father’s boots were missing from their familiar spot near the door and remembered their conversation from the evening before. He was probably in town to sell the silver button that he had found. Kyle thought about Jennifer and was torn between heading into town to see her and exploring the damage done by the rain.

  Sitting on the edge of his bed, he lifted the necklace from the rear bedpost. He fingered the hand-polished stones that slid freely on the deer-hide cord and thought about the time he spent crafting it, and how it was worth it.

  Jennifer.

  He hadn’t seen her in several days because of the rain, and now he debated whether to head into town and give her the necklace when the grumbling of his stomach reminded him of the seriousness of their dwindling supplies.

  Better to look for additional buttons to sell and restock their pantry. Jennifer was level-headed and would understand the straits he and his father were in. He slipped the jewelry around the bedpost once again. He had plenty of time to draw together his courage and give the necklace to her.

  Dressing quickly, he thought about the silver button his father found.

  “I wonder if there are more of those scattered in the stream bed waiting to be discovered,” he whispered. He thought about the pantry being filled with dried fruits and vegetables. Enough salted meat to last them until the land dried out and they could replant. Maybe they could try their hand at late season crops using the money from the buttons.

  Kyle chuckled. “Counting the harvest before it’s been sown again?” Kyle chastised himself absently.

  “That is the thinking of a fool,” his father had told him time and again.

  Expecting to wade through the mud and water of the upper stream, Kyle threw an extra set of dry clothes into his bag and slung it over his shoulder. Opening the door, he was momentarily taken by what a change this morning was from the gray string of the last ten. He would head to the northern fields, and follow the stream bed into the valley and see if his luck would change the same way that the weather had done.

  Kyle walked along the paths and found their condition just as his father had told him, passable. After slipping through the flooded fields, he continued on for another ten minutes slogging along the soft soil and losing his footing twice. He finally came within sight of the stream flowing out of the valley.

  The rushing water didn’t resemble the stream he’d fished in at the beginning of the summer season. The muddy water had eroded the banks with its swiftness. He decided against getting very close and risking a good soaking or injury. The dark, silty water, made the reason for his trek a wasted effort. There was no way he was going to be able to see the glimmer of a submerged silver button let alone wade in and retrieve it. Whatever pool of still water his father discovered the button in was now hopelessly muddy.

  The warmth Kyle felt on his back diminished his disappointment. He would have to wait to search for any additional silver buttons until the water returned to its normal levels. He looked up into the blue sky and breathed in the cool air. His eyes followed Widow’s Ridge, the mountain range that formed the valley and settled on the mass of debris clustered at the mouth of the valley.

  It occurred to him the silver button his father found may have washed downstream just as these tree limbs had done. With a new destination in mind he stepped forward, slipped on a wet stone hidden in the stream bed and sank his foot deep into the mud. Cursing, he pulled his foot loose of the blackish ooze and shook as much of it loose as he could and continued on.

  It was not going to be a good day.

  * * * *

  Kyle made his way along the stream and entered the valley. Debris was deposited all along the shore on either side of stream, making a natural, but tremulous path. The valley floor rose up on either side of the stream bed almost two meters in places, exposing rocks and the root systems of the surrounding plants. After a short way, he found a clear spot that was low enough to get a handhold and pulled himself up. He settled into a slippery but easier travel along the soggy meadow that made up the valley floor.

  The lowlands were barely a quarter mile across before either side began a rapid rise into the rocky outcroppings, boulders and stone faces of the Widow’s Ridge. High above, at least thirty meters, was the seldom used Highland Road, a once heavily traveled route that had fallen into disrepair when its endpoint, the castle city of Gnorepenne was overrun and destroyed two hundred years prior to Kyle’s birth.

  “Mind the Pit,” Kyle said, surprised at the sound of his own voice in the still air. The phrase had been repeated to him so often while he was growing up in reference to the sinkhole that formed a small lake three hundred meters across in the middle of the valley floor that whenever he’d entered the valley he’d remind himself of the danger.

  ‘The Pit’ was fed by the stream that ran through the Valley from the North and continued to the South out of the pass. The sides of The Pit were smooth from the moving water and almost straight down five meters, making escape imp
ossible. Two young boys were found floating in the slowly moving water a few months before the rains started, which brought the total to sixteen people who had drown since Kyle was born.

  The few who went in on a dare and managed to survive, were exhausted with tales of strong undertows and creatures who nipped at them as they struggled to escape. From the time he was old enough to play on his own, he was told to ‘Mind the Pit’ and staring at the black, soupy mass filled with drifting shrubs and fallen trees, it was advice that was easy to follow.

  “The gods…” Kyle said, his voice trailing off as he stared at the huge mass of debris resting on the edge of the Pit.

  He turned his head, looking up the hillside. The natural wreckage settled here must have come from the hillside above. He cupped his hands over his eyes to shade them from the sun and looked further up to a ledge some distance below the ridge line. Sitting on the edge of that ledge was another mass of debris that hadn’t fallen yet. He was about to dismiss what he saw when something glinted from the edge of the black mass.

  “I wonder…” Kyle whispered to himself as he thought about the silver button his father found again.

  His eyes shifted downward and slowly climbed as he mentally made his way upward through the loose earth and stone. When he was satisfied that it might be possible to make it to the ledge, he started up the hillside cautiously.

  He climbed upward, following his path as well as he could, but needed to change several times when he couldn’t get footing where he felt comfortable. He dared not look out from the hillside in front of him to check his progress. When he slipped on wet rocks, his stomach leapt into his throat and he whispered to himself until the feeling subsided. When he thought he had a firm handhold on a slick piece of shale jutting out from the ledge, he chanced a cautious glance downward.

  With a jerk, he gripped the rock hard enough to dig into the edges of his fingers and pulled himself close to the hillside. His heart pounded in his chest. He held tight as the view of the valley floor swam under him.