Medallion of the Undead

by Anthony Rudzki

  * * * *

  Kyle called for Kalaldi several times but got no response. The candles that sat on the table in the hallway and lined the spiral staircase at regular intervals were all extinguished. A dark feeling came over him as he looked up the darkened stairs and saw that there was sunlight streaming out of the open doorway that marked the wizard’s workshop. He slowly made his way up the stone steps being careful in the scant light from the slit windows. In short order he made it to the landing and stepped to the door leading to the workshop. He poked his head inside before trespassing any further.

  He called out again, this time in a quieter voice the stillness of the workshop seemed to command. Kyle stepped through the doorway and into the room lit by the sunlight from the open balcony and several smaller windows that Kyle hadn’t noticed from the ground level the day before. He carefully walked through the maze of tables heading toward the worktable where he had left Kalaldi the night before.

  When Kyle cleared the final workbench, the first thing he saw was the top of the overturned stool, lying on its side several feet from the workbench. Two steps later, and he saw the body of the wizard Kalaldi lying on his side in a pool of blood.

  “Kalaldi!” Kyle dropped his pack and stepped to the side of the body, avoiding the blood and the shards of broken glass as best as he could. Ink dripped from the tabletop from an overturned bottle and formed its own puddle on the floor. Kyle turned the wizard toward him, the dagger plunged into his chest now visible along with the blood that soaked the front of the elder’s robes.

  The stench of death and the coppery smell of blood filled the air. Without thinking, he grabbed the handle of the dagger and pulled it free of Kalaldi’s chest, releasing a thin stream of blood which lined the front of Kyle’s shirt.

  “Kalaldi...” Kyle whispered. He pressed on the wound with his hand to stop the flow of blood, but felt no heartbeat, only the cool fluid leeching between his fingers onto the floor.

  “What is going on here?” The sound of one of Kalaldi’s assistants pierced the air. Kyle looked in the direction of the voice, the dagger still in his hand and surprise on his face.

  “What…What have you done to the Master?” The voice cried out again. Without waiting for an answer, the assistant ran to one of the open windows and began screaming.

  “Murderer. Assassin. Come quickly. Someone has murdered the Elder Kalaldi. Murderer.”

  Kyle panicked, dropping the dagger to the floor and releasing Kalaldi’s body. He stood, grabbed the strap of his pack and looked again at the body. In the dead man’s clenched hand was a scroll of parchment. He retrieved the paper and thinking quickly, scooped up all of the materials on the workbench as well. Not knowing what was important and what wasn’t, he continued his looting of the tabletop, sliding several small bottles with dark liquids inside, a half dozen carved stone and ivory objects and finally a glass orb the size of a robin’s egg into the gaping opening of the pack.

  In what seemed like minutes, but were in fact only a few seconds, he closed the pack, slung it onto his shoulder and ran through the workshop, crashing into piles of stacked books and papers and sending them crashing to the floor. He cleared the doorway and nearly tumbled down the flights of stairs as he cleared them, thinking only of speed and not of safety. He found the front door to the tower still hanging open and passed through it and into a small group of men clustered in the street beyond.

  “Up there. Someone has murdered the Elder. I fought him off and now he is attacking the Elder’s assistant. Hurry, get up there before it’s too late…hurry.” Kyle screamed, pointing to the open doorway. The men charged into the tower and began the trek up to the workshop.

  When the last of the men were safely inside and climbing the stairs, Kyle began running again, this time toward his farm and hopefully a moment of safety before he would have to face the authorities and explain the situation. The pack, filled with the bloody loot from Kalaldi’s workbench bounced against his back as he ran down the road, out the massive front gates and along the tree lined path toward his farm.

  Chapter Five

  The Shadowrider’s mount pawed its smoky hoofs at the sodden mud, but left no trace behind. The Rider signaled to the figure that had reached the farm first and soon the two were close enough to speak.

  “Why haven’t you taken her to the Master?” the one standing on the muddy ground said, pointing at the dark sack laid across the saddle of the one still mounted.

  A raspy laugh erupted from behind the black cloth that covered the rider’s face. “Eventually.”

  “No, not eventually. Do not harm her. Know this. If we fail, the Master won’t kill us. What he’ll do will be worse than that. Much worse.”

  The rider rummaged through the bag tied to the saddle. He pulled out what he was looking for and asked, “Did the father tell you anything?”

  “I don’t think he appreciated the importance of my questions. He held his tongue until I relieved him of it, and then I sent him off on his eternal journey.”

  “Well, I expect the son will be more cooperative.”

  The dark figure on the mount tossed the object he’d retrieved to the other man.

  “I don’t think she’ll need these,” he said, and with a kick, the smoky beast took to the air, leaving a dim cloud and a faint sooty smell behind. Moments later, the winged creature was a spot in the sky.

  The assassin watched him go and then headed back into the little stone farmhouse to wait.

  * * * *

  When Kyle finally reached the cottage, his chest pounded and his breathing caused a knifing pain in his side. He staggered as he approached the door and began to feel lightheaded. Falling to one knee, he breathed deeply until his vision cleared and the pace of it returned to a ragged appearance of normalcy. He stood, found his footing much steadier and opened the front door.

  Kyle stopped, the door swinging open and springing back unnoticed. In the center of the dining room floor was his father. His body carelessly discarded, an angry group of flies buzzed around his lifeless eyes.

  “No,” Kyle dropped his pack and rushed to his father’s side. He was limp, the blood draining from his dead body, sinking into the packed earth that was the cottage’s floor. He held his father’s body against his, rocking back and forth, tears streaming down his face and whispering, “No,” over and over again.

  “Who would…?” Kyle whispered, and then a feeling of uneasiness swept over him. The memory of Cain sitting at the dining room table flashed though his mind, followed by the dream that very morning.

  “Father, what have I done?”

  The creaking sound of the front door closing startled and brought him back into focus. He caught the movement of a shape hidden behind the door.

  Rage coursed through his body. He rolled to one side, beneath the wooden table and kicked one of the legs, spilling the contents all around him. Lying near his head was a bundle of colorful wildflowers.

  Jennifer’s flowers.

  He jumped to his feet on the other side. The shadowy figure lunged at the crouching boy. Kyle leapt toward his father’s body in a fake movement, and dodged back.

  The lunge caught his attacker off guard. He slipped on the bloody floor, falling over the body of Kyle’s father and crashing into the chairs and table as he fell.

  Kyle leapt to his bed. He flung the mattress at the assassin and reached for the sword.

  It was gone.

  Grabbing his pillow, the only object within reach, he turned and faced the cloaked killer of his father clutching a dagger, still coated with what he assumed was his father’s blood.

  “Where is she? What have you done with her?” Kyle screamed.

  “She is on her way to my Master. And you will be coming with me.”

  The assassin slipped the dagger back into a sheath at his belt and reached for something hanging behind his back. When his hand came forward again he held a short weighted leather bag. Kyle kept his eye on the bludgeon that the assassin slowl
y swung back and forth as well as his other hand which he held out in defense. Feigning to the left, Kyle hoped to draw the assassin into another misstep, but instead, his attacker lunged forward, grabbed the pillow and swung the bludgeon in a wide arc.

  Instead of releasing the pillow, Kyle allowed the assassin to pull him forward. He rushed toward his attacker causing the weighted bag to strike him on the upper back, rather than across his head. The pain was intense. Pins and needles coursed through his right arm as if it had fallen asleep.

  He crashed into the assassin and they both fell to the floor. Kyle tried to land a punch, but his right arm only managed a feeble attack which the assassin easily blocked. He pulled his hand back for another attempt. His glove slipped off by the assassin’s grip.

  The assassin pulled a dagger free from his belt.

  The hilt slid past Kyle’s chest as it was drawn free of its scabbard. He rolled again, shoving at the attacker’s face and fought to get some distance between himself and the man that was intent on wounding him.

  Kyle felt the energy drain from the fight. Instead, of attacking, the assassin scrambled to his feet and stumbled backwards, his eyes wide in terror. He crashed into a chair, over turning it and slumped against the table. The dagger in his hand fell with a clatter to the floor.

  “What?” he whispered.

  Falling to one knee, the black-cloaked assassin held that pose for seconds, tried to get back up and fell to the floor. Several long moments later, his body was still.

  Kyle darted forward and snatched the dagger from the floor. He stood there, holding the weapon, and watched the assassin’s body for movement. After several moments, he leaned forward and pressed the tip against a patch of exposed skin. No response. Taking a deep breath, he knelt down next to the man and turned him over.

  The body flopped over without any resistance. On one side of his face was a ruddy mark shaped like five outstretched fingers.

  Kyle looked down at the glowing runes on his hand. Had he done that? Had the runes…the power they possessed…had he killed the assassin with a single touch? The medallion had cursed him with the power to kill?

  Kyle found his discarded glove and pulled it on again. He thought about his father as well as the man who lay on the same floor, less than two paces away. Even in defense of his own life, he had never taken anyone’s life before, and, it weighed heavily upon his heart.

  “Oh father, what am I going to do now?”

  * * * *

  A heavy knock on the door caused Kyle to start and instinctively, he raised the dagger. He noticed his missing blade leaning between the door and its frame near the hinges. How it got there he had no idea, but when the knock came again, he realized it didn’t matter. He sat quietly, not wanting to give away that he was in the cottage.

  “Kyle? You there?”

  Kyle frowned and went to the door. Leaning close, he whispered, “Adam? What are you doing here?”

  “C’mon Kyle, Let me in.” The voice on the other side of the door called to him.

  * * * *

  Kyle opened the door. Adam stepped in and closed it. He opened his mouth to speak, but his voice died in his throat when he saw the bloody bodies of Kyle’s father and another man lying on the floor in the dining area. He looked back and forth between the bodies and Kyle, his mind trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

  He stepped back and bumped against the closed door. “The Gods, Kyle, what happened?”

  Kyle opened his mouth, but Adam cut him off, “A mob from Whiteforge is headed this way. They’re looking for you for the murder of some wizard in the tower.”

  Adam’s eyes settled on the dagger gripped in Kyle’s hand. Kyle looked at his friend and followed his eyes to the weapon.

  “Wait.”

  Adam fumbled with the latch and yanked hard. The door opened several inches and slammed shut again. Adam looked up from the latch to the back of Kyle’s hand on the door.

  “Adam, please listen to me.”

  Adam turned and slid against the wall away from his friend, his eyes on the dagger.

  Kyle tossed the weapon to the table and held his hands up in front of him. “Adam, you know me. You know I wouldn’t intentionally kill anyone. You’ve got to believe me.”

  Adam paused and looked at the bodies, then into the face of his friend. “Alright.” It came out on an uneasy breath. “But what happened? Kyle. Your father.”

  “I know. Quick. Sit down.”

  Kyle gave his friend the shortened version of the story from the time he left the house two days before in search of additional silver buttons until Adam knocked on his door. He left out the information about the medallion’s powers and simply told his friend he’d gone to speak to Kalaldi about the origins of the silver button and the short swords.

  Kyle stood up and paced the floor. “I’d understand if you didn’t believe me. This story is too fantastic to believe. Wait.”

  Kyle removed his glove, revealing the palm of his hand, the runes glowing faintly blue. Adam sat in the chair, speechless while Kyle turned his hand back and forth and then put his glove back on.

  “I believe you, Kyle. I don’t know anything about magic or assassins, but I believe your story. But those men, the ones from Whiteforge?” He raised his thumb up over his shoulder, “They aren’t going to sit down and listen. Not after they come here and see…this. I think you better get out of here while you have the chance.”

  “What about Jennifer?”

  “What about her?” Adam asked, confused.

  “They took her. The one I killed said that they were taking her to their master. Did you pass any horsemen on the road?”

  “No, the only commotion on the road was coming from town. Maybe they took her through the fields and into the forest south of here.”

  Kyle thought about the options he had and made his decision. “Somehow I’ll find Jennifer’s trail and get her back. Look, I’ll pack up my things and leave before they get here. Can you tell them that you came here, I was already gone and you found the bodies? Can you do that?” Kyle asked as he crisscrossed the rooms of the cottage throwing clothes, food and other essentials into his pack. He rolled a blanket and tied it to two of the straps along the bottom edge of the bag.

  “Well?” Kyle asked.

  “I don’t think so.” Adam said.

  “What? I thought…”

  “You’re not going alone. I’m going with you.”

  * * * *

  Kyle went to the door, opened it slowly and peered outside. Far in the distance he could see a scattered line of dimly lit figures. Several were mounted on horseback. He had five or six minutes at the most before escape would be out of the question. He closed the door and grabbed the short sword. He thought of his father’s words and placed it in his pack. If violence was going to come his way, he’d better be prepared for it.

  “I don’t have time to argue with you. Grab a sack by the vegetable bin and start filling it with whatever food is left. There’s some money in the wooden box over the fireplace. Grab that. Get another blanket for yourself from my father’s bed.”

  Adam did as he was told and soon had a bulging sack hanging over his shoulder. Kyle put his pack on his back and opened the door. The men were closer. He was almost out the door when he stopped and went back in. Kneeling next to the assassin’s body, he slipped the dagger’s scabbard and several small pouches free from the man’s belt. He grabbed the dagger from the table and stuffed everything into his pack. He fought the flap and slung the bag over his shoulder. Grabbing a burning splinter from the edge of the fire, he tossed it onto his bed. Seconds later, a healthy fire was burning. He paused at the door and looked at his father a final time.

  “Let’s go.”

  The two slipped out the front door and across the open farm fields keeping the house between themselves and the approaching mob. They entered the edge of the woods and the land quickly dropped downward into a sloping hill. They increased their pace as well as they c
ould in the slippery conditions, and soon the thick woods swallowed them both.

  After an hour of traveling through the forest with barely a word spoken between them, Kyle called for them to stop near a large cluster of stones. Kyle leaned against them while Adam squatted nearby.

  Adam let out a quick laugh as he caught his breath.

  “What?”

  “These woods. Remember us playing explorers? We were about twelve? I got that red rash from the Creeping Sorrow plant? I think that was the time you got cut falling from the tree?”

  Kyle laughed. “Oh, my father was upset, but he laughed so hard at your scratching.” Kyle’s voice trailed off and his eyes filled with tears.

  “So what is your plan?” Adam peered over the stones and into the woods, the way they had come. The only sounds were of calling birds.

  “My plan? I think we should stop in Allenon. Maybe get some sleep and examine the things that we gathered from Kalaldi’s workbench. Maybe we can figure out what he was looking at right before he was killed,” Kyle said.