Dark Priest

by Dale Vice

  Theunis smiled as he nodded, “Yes, Sir. Come with me, and I’ll explain on the way.”

  They walked just two doors down to another lavish home. “A few weeks ago, the moneylender’s son bought an expensive Bondor warhorse, sight unseen. The main reason, I believe, was to show off and impress the girls. It’s a magnificent creature – a massive black beast, fully trained for battle and worth every one of the two hundred and fifty gold pieces he paid for it. Except that it is also vicious, mean and strong.” Theunis chuckled, “The youth never managed to ride it. Since the horse broke his arm he’s been trying to sell it.” Theunis paused at the door, “Unfortunately, no one else in the village has been able to ride it either, except the stable master, and he doesn’t want it.”

  Chandor swallowed. I’m not sure I want it. If I can even afford it.

  They pushed open the gate to the stable. It was dark except for the light of Chandor’s Holy Symbol.

  From the far end, in the shadows, he heard a violent snort. Then the sound of metal shod hooves pawing the ground. Chandor edged forward as if he were going into battle. He felt glad of his armour and wished he had his shield with him.

  “The horse is chained to the far wall,” said Theunis from the doorway.

  Chandor called back over his shoulder, “What’s his name?”

  “Rage.”

  Figures. At the edge of his light, Chandor saw an unmoving human body. “Theunis! I think he’s killed someone!”

  “Sorry. I should have warned you. Several undead were trapped in here with him.”

  “By Notomok! He must have re-killed them every night since the plague.”

  Chandor looked at the massive charger with admiration. A gift from the Gods perhaps? A soul mate for my journey?

  “Easy, boy, easy,” Chandor murmured, reaching out towards the huge beast. He was only just quick enough to leap back as a flashing hoof almost broke his arm.

  “Bastard!”

  By the light of the Holy Symbol, he looked across at the blazing eyes of one of the biggest horses he had ever seen. He must be fifteen hands!

  “Get me a battle saddle and bridle,” he called to Theunis. “Also, can you please bring my helm?”

  Chandor sat cross legged, out of reach of Rage’s hooves. He waited patiently until Theunis returned. He laid the tack out on the ground and then meditated until his heart rate slowed. He stood slowly and said, “Otec gave men dominion over all the beasts of the earth. Notomok promised that his followers would speak in new tongues. Come down, Takatifu Roho, and help me communicate with this animal.”

  Speaking to animals was classed as a Second Order miracle, and Chandor felt confident his prayers would be answered. He just didn’t know how.

  “What are you so angry about, boy?” he asked.

  An image exploded into his mind. It was like a dream, a feeling as much as a picture. Sounds and smells completed the idea. He saw himself being kicked, then trampled. He saw the chain snapping and Rage running free across golden grassy hills. The idea was so strong it almost knocked him over and Chandor took a step back.

  Chandor thought for a second and tried to create an image of his own. A thick, unbreakable chain, holds Rage day after day, year after year. The chain holds for eternity no matter how hard the horse strains against it. Chandor puts on a saddle and bridle, removes the chain, and the two of them gallop across golden grassy hills.

  Another image flashed into his head. Pain bloomed in his sides as if he had been stabbed. Agony streaked his back like when he was whipped in Copperstead. The sounds of clinking spurs and the whistle of a crop were even more vivid than the hazy pictures of the same objects. He could smell the steel and leather. Overlaying it all, the smell of sweat and blood. The next image was of Rage bucking and biting, then trampling a Vander knight.

  Chandor took a deep breath, and thought about his response. Ignoring any times when he had struggled to get a horse to behave, he shared a series of memories of riding Sandy and the warhorses at Tinsley. He focused on the pleasure of riding; the feeling of being one with the horse at full gallop; the simple click of his tongue that had usually been enough to get Sandy moving; the change in posture that took the Tinsley warhorses to full gallop; memories of the loving rub down he had given Sandy.

  He waited for a response, but his mind remained empty. Slowly, he picked up his helmet and fitted it onto his head.

  “Theunis,” he called softly. “Please go and make sure that the main gates to the village are open.”

  Heart pounding, Chandor picked up the heavy battle saddle and moved closer to Rage. He couldn’t help but slow as he moved within range of the lethal hooves. He forced himself to keep moving. He edged past Rage’s head, swallowed hard, and lifted the saddle onto Rage’s back. He let out a long ragged breath when he wasn’t smashed against the stall wall. He tightened the straps, then put on the bridle.

  The moment of truth, he thought as he walked past Rage and undid the chain that bound the horse to the wall. The massive warhorse rolled its eyes at him, but apart from a twitching leg, stood still. Chandor swung clumsily up into the saddle, caught off guard by the extra height on the horse and the high back of the battle saddle. He settled himself into the seat, then clicked. Rage started forward and Chandor marvelled at how powerful he felt. “Good boy.”

  He felt the horse’s steps lengthen as they reached the end of the stable. He let Rage transition into a trot as they eased out into the square. He guided Rage gently towards the main gate, feeling like a king as he looked down on everyone else. As they approached the open gates, he could feel Rage’s hunger to run and he gripped with his knees even as he shouted “Gee-yaaa!”

  One thousand five hundred pounds of muscle exploded beneath him. Rage shot forward as if he was starting down the jousting line. They blasted through the gates at a canter and kept accelerating. Both Rage’s stride and Chandor’s smile kept growing until they were at full stretch. Chandor laughed out loud, amazed at the power and smoothness of the ride.

  He led Rage in a wide circuit of the village, keeping to the broadest roads and avoiding any obstacles. He was astonished at the warhorse’s stamina and he flew past the gates at a gallop to begin an unexpected second lap. When he eventually felt Rage tiring, he let him slow at his own pace and guided him back to the gates. They returned to the stable and Chandor rubbed Rage down and made sure he was fed and watered. I am so blessed!

  When Theunis arrived, Chandor asked the question that had been gnawing at him, “How much for Rage?”

  “I’ve negotiated down as low as I can. One hundred and twenty-five gold, which is almost half price.”

  Chandor let out a sigh of relief, “Done! You can pay with the gold from my saddle bags.”

  Once again, he was virtually broke, but he had everything he needed for the next leg of his journey.

  Theunis cleared his throat. “There will be a feast in your honour this evening, Sir. I have taken the liberty of having some clothing made for you, since I found nothing suitable in your saddle bags.”

  Chandor nodded, not sure what suitable clothing would entail. “Could you find me a tub for a bath, Theunis?”

  The steward looked slightly perplexed for a moment but then brightened. “Of course, Sir. I’m sure the old priest, Gods bless him, would have one. I’ll have it brought here directly.”

  Chandor looked at the new clothing with a mixture of awe and uncertainty. “Are you sure I’m allowed to wear this?” Chandor asked. The tunic in his hand was made of black satin, with silver trimming the edges. Dominating the chest were three thick silver lines forming a Godstar.

  “Oh yes. The tailor checked with the herald before sewing it. The Church of Mankind reserves the right to a white field, but the symbols of the Gods cannot be owned, which means anyone can use them. Salanverj is famous for its silver and a black field charged with a silver Godstar has apparently never been claimed. We thought it appropriate for a Dark Guardian. I do hope you don’t mind…”
r />   “I don’t mind! I just thought that this kind of outfit was reserved for nobility.”

  Theunis smiled and Chandor picked up the under-tunic. The black wool was softer than anything he had ever felt. His black woollen bracers had a silver trim. A thick hooded black cloak had the silver Godstar on the back. The line of silver that ran from the neck to the base was as wide as his hand, while two more equally thick lines crossed from his shoulder blades to his hips.

  “We’ve taken the liberty of also doing two tabards for wearing over your armour, and a caparison for Rage.”

  Chandor could only shake his head in disbelief. Praise Otec! I’ll look like a real knight. It is better than I could ever have dreamed.

  Once he was dressed in the formal outfit, Theunis led him out into the cold evening air. They passed through the quiet main square. The town gates were closed for the evening As they approached 2nd Square, Chandor heard the murmur of voices.

  A trumpet blasted and a crier announced with a voice that carried across the huge crowd, “I present to you Chandor of Bronsverj, member of the Dark Guardians, saviour of Salanverj!”

  The crowd roared and cheered. As Chandor approached they parted to reveal a red carpet that ran to a raised platform, where Mayor Scholz sat on the village throne.

  The mayor stood as Chandor joined him on the platform.

  “Chandor,” he called in a voice that was clearly used to carrying. “On behalf of Salanverj, I welcome you. Tonight’s feast is held in your honour. Without you, this town may not have survived. No amount of gold could repay you for your heroic deeds. We will not demean your feat with money. But we do hope that we can provide you with some small tokens to show our appreciation.”

  The mayor nodded, and a servant brought forward a silver sceptre on a red velvet cushion. “This is the Silver Sceptre. While it has been a symbol of office for many years, it was originally used as a mace by our town’s founder, Lady Salanne, of the Guardians of Mankind. We believe it appropriate that it now be given to you, to be used once more as a weapon as you guard mankind from the darkness.”

  As the crowd cheered, the mayor leaned over to Chandor and said quietly, “It is enchanted. It guides the wielder’s hand in battle and inflicts greater damage than ordinary maces. It is especially effective against lycanthropes, which was Guardian Salanne’s personal crusade.”

  Chandor could only nod, overwhelmed. He had read of Lady Salanne and her crusade against were-creatures. In her time the disease of lycanthropy had been common. Although she had focused on hunting werewolves, she had also killed men who could turn into bears and lions. She had financed silver mines and sliversmiths to mass produce specialised weapons needed to harm the creatures. Most Fistorian castles had at least a few silver weapons thanks to her. And I thought after our conversation that the mayor was looking for a way to short change me.

  Chandor bowed deeply and said with heartfelt passion, “This is a great honour. This gift is worth far more to me than any gold could have been.”

  The mayor smiled as the magical mace was put to one side, and said quietly, “Please kneel.”

  Puzzled, Chandor knelt and the mayor drew a ceremonial sword from his scabbard. Calling out loudly so all could hear he said, “Our other gift, while free, cannot be bought and may be considered priceless. By the authority given me by King Ironfist and the duke of Vander, it is my right as mayor to bestow upon you the honorary title, Knight of Salanverj. This scroll validates your right to your own heraldic crest, to be called ‘Sir’, and confers upon you Fistorian Nobility.”

  Chandor could scarcely believe what he was hearing.

  “Arise, Sir Chandor, Knight of Salanverj! Let the feast begin.”

  The crowd cheered its appreciation, and a brass band began to play. The food and drink stalls opened.

  As the dancing started, Theunis approached and bowed deeply, smiling broadly, “May I bring you some refreshment, Sir Chandor?”

  CHAPTER 23

  Consolidation

  The late night, food and wine did not prevent nightmares of flames from waking Chandor before dawn. With burning eyes, he grumbled to himself as he washed and dressed. That will teach you for losing sight of your mission. You don’t have time to celebrate. Who are you to dance and sing while undead roam the earth?

  He spent an hour reading the Sacred Texts and praying. As he meditated, his spirit both stilled and focused. He felt spiritually armed once more.

  He devoured three slices of toast with eggs and bacon to the delight of the multi-talented Theunis. Then he attended to Rage. When he had finished feeding and watering his stallion, Theunis helped him into his armour.

  Chandor couldn’t help but shake his head in amazement as he donned the black tabard with its silver symbol. His wonder increased as he lifted the Silver Sceptre. It was larger than any mace he had used but beautifully balanced. The crown-like head looked delicate with its slender curving flanges and milky white moonstone, but he had been assured that it was more sturdy than his own steel mace’s head. The whole construction was silver and gleamed more like a jewel than a weapon. It was engraved with animals running down the shaft; wolves, bears, rats and even a shark.

  He hooked the sceptre to his belt and was about to go and practice with the soldiers when there was a knock at the door.

  As soon as the door opened, a young boy said breathlessly, “A squad of Vander knights and Guide Jurgen have arrived from Fort West. Mayor Scholz would like you to come to the audience.”

  Chandor swallowed. He wasn’t sure he was ready to face Jurgen. Feeling a strange mixture of pride and guilt at his attire, he followed the boy to the mayor’s town hall.

  He entered to see Jurgen and eight knights fully dressed for battle. They were standing in front of the mayor’s throne. Each knight wore a blue tabard with the single horizontal gold strip of Fort West. Jurgen was in the customary plain white tunic and cloak of the priesthood.

  “Salanverj is still recovering from the feast we held in Sir Chandor’s honour, so please excuse us if your arrival is less enthusiastically received than usual.” The mayor smiled as he saw Chandor enter, “Ah, here he is now.”

  Jurgen and the knights turned, and Jurgen’s eyes widened in surprise, “You’re Sir Chandor?”

  Chandor nodded.

  Jurgen’s smile was broad and open, showing such honest pleasure that Chandor wondered why he had had any reservations. “That’s fantastic! The mayor has been telling us of your heroic deeds. It is good to see you.”

  A stern-faced knight in full armour stepped forward and bowed, “A pleasure to meet you, Sir Chandor.”

  Mayor Scholz nodded. “This is Sergeant Andreas. He brought a squad of knights from Fort West as soon as they heard of our situation. Jurgen happened to be at the Castle at the time and so joined them.” He turned to them, “As I was saying, I am sorry that you have journeyed in vain, but I am not sorry that the problem is already taken care of.”

  “Nor are we,” smiled Jurgen. “I wish every battle were won before the army arrives!”

  The sergeant nodded, although his face said that he wished he had been part of the solution.

  “What of the plague?” asked Jurgen. “I have some skill in healing.”

  Mayor Scholz shook his head, “It seems to have passed. It all happened so fast, one day there was nothing, the next half the village was sick and died overnight. Since then, no one else has been infected.”

  “What about you, Sir Chandor?”

  Chandor shrugged, “Honestly, I haven’t thought about it.”

  They stared at him incredulously, “Everyone worries about the plague!”

  “I worry more about the undead. Anyhow, it hasn’t affected me and I didn’t see any signs of it, so I assumed I was safe.”

  Jurgen raised his eyebrows but said nothing further on the matter. “It hasn’t affected any of the knights so far. I’ll keep a close watch for any signs of sickness. But, if there is nothing for us to do here, we will depart f
or Fort West at first light tomorrow.”

  “I would like to travel with you.” Chandor blurted out intuitively. There is a wagon I need to catch.

  “Of course. It would be our pleasure, Chandor,” Jurgen laughed, “or should I say, Sir Chandor!”

  Chandor spent the rest of the day preparing for his departure. He purchased provisions and visited the local scribe to have his scroll of nobility tattooed on his right forearm.

  When he returned in the evening Theunis approached diffidently. “I believe you’re leaving tomorrow, Sir?”

  “My work here is done. We ride for Fort West at first light.”

  “I was thinking, Sir, that you need a squire. I would like to come with you.”

  Chandor was tempted. He thought of the benefits of having breakfast made, someone to clean and help don his armour and take care of Rage, but it only took a moment for him to shake his head sadly. “Theunis, if I were settled I would leap at such an offer. But I will be on the road, riding hard and fighting. That is not the life for you. Have faith, have hope, you will find a new purpose in due course.”

  Chandor went in person to say farewell to Klaus, Nadja and a few other townsfolk. He was pleased to hear that Symon had been officially accepted as a Church of Mankind novice by Guide Jurgen.

  He packed his saddle bags in preparation for the next morning and went to bed, appreciating the soft mattress in the knowledge that the next night he would be on the ground once more.

  He met Jurgen and the knights at the gates at first light. The breath of both men and mounts steamed in the frigid air. The knights were all in plate, wearing fresh blue and gold tabards of the Fistorian Army, lances held upright, swords across their backs and shields hung in easy reach.

  Seated on Rage, dressed in full plate with his own shield and magical mace, and wearing his personalised black and silver tabard and cloak, Chandor met their gaze steadily. Even as they assessed him, he weighed them and found himself thinking, I could take you.