Dark Priest
Page 25
Despite being dressed in just leather armour and carrying only a thick wooden staff, only Jurgen had an aura of power that Chandor felt he would fear to face.
His reverie was shattered as Klaus opened the gates and the squad rode out at a canter to get the blood flowing. After a while, they settled into a trot and Chandor pulled up next to Andreas, “Sergeant Andreas, I’m willing to ride point.”
“Not on my watch, Sir Chandor. I know you’re quite the hero, but this is my squadron, and my man will ride point. Understand that you are a guest, and we’ll get along fine.”
Chandor ground his teeth but dropped back to where Jurgen rode.
“Hello, Chandor. Isn’t it a lovely morning?”
Chandor looked around. The rising sun cast the grass in gold, and birds called their joy at the day.
“A lot’s happened since I last saw you leaving the church in Tinsley. I heard the townsfolk calling you Guardian Chandor. Did Hengel change his mind? And what’s with the black outfit and glowing Holy Symbol?”
Chandor shook his head, not sure where to start, or even if he wanted to start. He felt reluctant to tell Jurgen about his idea of the Dark Guardians. It seems so arrogant now.
“Why don’t you tell me your whole story, from when we parted?”
Chandor spent the rest of the morning telling Jurgen everything of his adventures and his quest. Jurgen listened well, seldom interrupting but regularly asking probing questions that drew out every action and reason. It was late afternoon by the time Chandor finally said, “And that is how I come to be heading for Fort West with you and the knights, following a wagon of weapons to Lamar Hold.”
“Amazing, Chandor. Amazing.”
They rode in comfortable silence all the way up the next hill, where Jurgen eventually cleared his throat. “I am so proud of you. It is a worthy cause to hunt the undead and rid the world of their evil. But I do worry about you.”
“I think I’ve proven I can take care of myself.”
“I’m not worried about your life, Chandor. I’m worried about your soul. I’m concerned that your obsession with destroying undead is not based in a calling from the Gods but in your own need for revenge. Are you really serving the Gods, or are you serving yourself?”
“The Sacred Texts say, ‘The Lord is against those who do evil.’ I fight evil. Therefore, I serve Otec.”
“And if evil fights evil, is one evil suddenly holy?”
Chandor had no answer and felt his anger rising up inside him.
“And tell me, Chandor, where do you see love fitting into this crusade?”
“I don’t have love. The Gods have taken everything that I love from me. What I have left is anger and hatred. The Gods can use that.”
“But the Gods are love, Chandor. To become more holy means to become more like the Gods – more loving, more joyful, more peaceful, patient, good, kind, faithful, and more self-controlled.”
Chandor ground his teeth. He knew that exploding would only prove Jurgen’s point. Instead, he took a deep breath and said, “Honestly, Jurgen. I don’t want to talk about love, joy and peace. I would far rather talk about faith, power and miracles.”
Guide Jurgen gazed steadily at Chandor for several heartbeats, and then sighed. “Ask and, if I am able, I will answer.”
Chandor relaxed, relieved to have escaped the uncomfortable questioning of his motives. He gathered his thoughts and then asked the question that had been bothering him for days, “The Texts say all things are possible. Why can’t I do major miracles? Earthquakes, walking on water, turning sticks to snakes? Why…” The words caught in his throat, “Why could I not bring Sandy back to life?”
Jurgen rode closer and reached across to clasp Chandor’s shoulder. He rode for a while, sharing in Chandor’s pain before answering, “Great miracles require great faith. The Sacred Texts say that if you have faith and do not doubt, you can command the mountains themselves to leap into the sea. Notomok has said that if you believe, you will receive whatever you ask for in prayer.”
“So I can’t perform mightier miracles only because I don’t have enough faith?”
Jurgen nodded.
The answer was what Chandor had expected, but it was the next step that truly intrigued him, “So how do I increase my faith? Could I have made myself believe that I could raise Sandy?”
Jurgen shook his head sadly, “I’m afraid not. The way to build our faith and belief in the Gods and miracles is the same as how we build trust and confidence in any other thing; Practice.”
“I don’t understand,” Chandor stated.
“You were taught how to use a sling when you were with the Guides, right?”
“Yes, although I never was much good.”
Jurgen unwound the leather straps of his sling and dropped a stone in the pouch with practiced ease. “I know I can hit that bush,” said the Guide, pointing to a large bush nearby. “I think I could hit that tree over there. I know I cannot hit those birds swooping over there. The basis of my belief is practice and experience.” He whipped the sling around his head once and the stone crashed into the nearby bush.
“But surely miracles are different.”
Jurgen shrugged. “Not really. When I first started with my sling, I couldn’t hit the target right in front of me. I knew it was possible because of what I had seen and heard. But it seemed so difficult that I doubted whether I would ever be able to do it. Anyhow, I tried and I tried until suddenly a stone hit the target! Then I knew that it was possible. I practiced, and over time more and more stones hit the mark until I knew that I wouldn’t miss. I started aiming for the bull’s eye, then from further away, while riding, and trying to hit a moving target. These days I know I can hit a bird on the ground from horseback from twenty yards away. I have faith in my wrist and my sling.”
Jurgen carefully looped and replaced his sling before lifting his Holy Symbol from around his neck. “As a young Guide, I had no belief that my prayers would be effective. Even just praying to hear the Gods, or for peace, or to be able to focus right through my meditations seemed futile. I knew it was possible because I’d read it in the Sacred Texts and heard other priests say it was. I prayed and prayed for all sorts of things until suddenly one day I prayed and I felt the peace of Takatifu Roho. From then on I knew miracles were possible. I prayed to reduce bruises, remove fear, have wisdom and detect evil. These days I know I can heal wounds, cure blindness and remove diseases. I have faith in my prayers and the Gods.”
Chandor nodded thoughtfully. Reducing Fear and Creating Light were classed as First Order Miracles. Speaking with Animals and Blessing Weapons were classed as Second Order Miracles. Calling Plagues and Raising the Dead were classed as Miracles of the Fifth Order. If Jurgen’s philosophy was correct, Chandor would have to work his way up to such great miracles incrementally. There are no shortcuts. “Does that mean I shouldn’t bother praying for Fourth Order Miracles until I’ve performed Third Order ones?”
Jurgen laughed, “If I was starving, I’d try to kill a flying bird with a slingshot, even if I knew there wasn’t much chance of success. There’s not a lot of downside is there?”
“I guess.”
“The bottom line is that if you want to be great with your sling, shoot at everything, all day, every day. Pretty soon you’ll know you can hit a target, and if you keep stretching yourself one day you might be able to kill a bird on the wing. If you want to perform great miracles, pray about everything, all day, every day. Pretty soon you’ll know you can drive out evil and heal the sick, and if you keep stretching yourself one day you might be able to part the seas or raise the dead.”
“One day I will,” Chandor vowed.
“Be careful, Chandor. Just because you’re able, doesn’t mean it is the right thing to do. You already have greater faith than most and I suspect that one day you will have exceptional faith. Be sure you only use it for the purpose it was given.”
“Yes, to destroy the undead,” growled Chandor.
Chandor’s anger flared and he swore, “You’re just like Anelle and Hengel. You always want to block me, don’t you? I have a mission from the Gods, why can’t you just accept that!” Shaking with frustration Chandor heeled Rage into a trot, needing some space.
Once he had gone a good distance beyond the rider on point, he slowed Rage to a walk. His breathing eased and he felt his fury starting to subside.
“Hey! What do you think you’re doing?” The angry voice of Sergeant Andreas called out from behind him. Chandor groaned. The sergeant cantered up and pulled in next to Chandor, “I thought we’d discussed this. My man will ride point, and you will stay safely in the body of the patrol.”
“Frig off,” Chandor mumbled, “I just need some peace and quiet.”
“I will not frig off! I’m in charge of this patrol and you are my guest. I don’t care if you think you’re a great hero because you killed off some undead. This is my territory and I know it better than anyone. The fact that you’ve been knighted doesn’t mean you can do what you like, Sir Chandor.”
Chandor was about to provide a scathing reply when he had a better idea. Hengel had once silenced an unruly class by settling a blanket of silence over the students. Lifting his eyes to the heavens, Chandor prayed for a similar miracle.
“If you think you can just ignore me I’ll-”
Andreas’ rant was cut short as absolute silence descended around Chandor like a shroud. Rage’s hooves made no noise when they hit the ground. The creak of his armour ceased. Even his breathing made no sound in the supernatural void. Sounds drifted to them from outside their bubble, but inside the quiet was absolute.
Chandor laughed, silently. Andreas shouted uselessly. Then he glared daggers at Chandor and heeled his horse into a canter. The sergeant took up point fifteen yards ahead of Chandor, just outside the bubble of silence.
They rode that way for the rest of the afternoon. At some point Chandor’s miracle faded and sounds leached back into his immediate surroundings.
Dinner that night was awkward. Chandor could feel the tension between himself, Jurgen and the soldiers. He wasn’t allocated a watch and turned in early, glad that it was only another half-day ride to Fort West.
Lady ‘Giant Killer’ West, the commander of Fortress West, was even more beautiful than the tales made out. Although she was square jawed and leaner than Chandor usually found attractive, she had an inner radiance that made her glow. She looked to be completely confident, at peace, full of joy, life and power.
It was well known that she had trained with the Guardians of Mankind before joining the army, where she had climbed the ranks and was now a Major, commanding the 2nd Vander Battalion. She had shot to fame a few years prior when she saved her Patrol Squad from a hill giant, and followed up with an impressive Bronze at the Vander Melee Tournament. Of all the people that Chandor admired, only The Cleanser, the legendary Guardian of Mankind, was ahead of her.
“My lady, may I present Sir Chandor, holy warrior and recent saviour of Salanverj,” said Guide Jurgen, his voice full of authority.
“You are young to be knighted, Sir Chandor.”
“Yes, my lady. The Gods have blessed me.”
She was seated on the throne in the great hall. For her personal coat of arms she had chosen to maintain the blue and gold of Fort West, but hers was charged with the crossed swords of Takatifu Roho in iron grey. Two iron stars signified that she was a major in the army, whilst a crown above them showed that she was the ruler of Fort West. A row of medals completed the impressive outfit.
“Chandor braved a plague, and saved the town from an undead army. Bear in mind that for the same mission, I went with eight knights.”
The Lady inclined her head in acknowledgement and Chandor thanked the Gods for Jurgen’s presence next to him.
When the older Guide had apologised that morning Chandor had quickly forgiven him and the tension between them had melted. If Andreas had shown the same humility I would have forgiven him too.
“In addition,” Jurgen continued, “Chandor waived his right to any reward. The town presented him with the Silver Sceptre and the title in lieu of any gold he would have received.”
“Ahh, that makes sense. I’m glad you received a fair reward for your actions, Sir Chandor.”
Chandor shrugged, not sure how to respond.
“So, what brings you to Fort West? Adventure?”
“I’m hunting the vampire that killed my family.”
“Do you believe it to be near here?” Lady West demanded sharply.
“No, I am following a lead.”
She let out a sigh of relief, “Vampires are very powerful monsters. Do you know what you’re up against?”
“Guide Jurgen has given me some background.”
“Well, if there is anything I can do to assist, let me know.”
“Actually,” said Jurgen, “Sir Chandor is looking for one of the weapons wagons from the Earl of Copperstead.”
“Interesting. One left a few days ago. The next one is due here in about three weeks.”
“Thank you, my Lady,” said Chandor, bowing deeply. “I’ll depart tomorrow and try to catch the one that’s just gone. It has been a privilege meeting you.”
The next morning, Chandor had finished his meditation and was pulling his black and silver tabard over his armour when Andreas swaggered up to him.
“How about a little spar to get the blood going before you leave?” Andreas challenged, “Me and my squad are keen to see how a hero fights compared to us ordinary soldiers.”
Chandor breathed deeply before saying, “Sergeant, I don’t think that’s a good idea. One of us might get hurt.”
“Ah, you’re scared that a living target might prove a bit more of a challenge those catatonic zombies you claimed a knighthood for killing.”
Chandor swung his cloak over his shoulders and pulled his hood up, trying to ignore Andreas while he finished packing his saddlebags.
“Aw shame. Does the beardless boy want to hide in his fancy cloak now that there’s a real test ahead of him?”
Anger and pride overrode his common sense and Chandor snarled, “You know what? I have a new weapon I’m keen to try out. You’re on!”
He followed Andreas outside, blood pounding in his head. I don’t know what his case is, but this guy needs a lesson and he’s about to get it. If he wants to see how a real hero fights, I’ll show him. In the cold morning air of the practice yard stood the rest of Andreas’ squad and a couple other Fort West soldiers.
“How about a wager, Sir?” asked a mocking voice.
Chandor shook his head.
“That shiny medallion of yours, perhaps?”
“How about your fancy mace?”
“I’ll take any bet you can afford,” Chandor snapped. Clenching his jaw, he pulled his helmet over his head. He unhooked the Silver Sceptre from his belt and swung it from side to side, getting a feel for the weight.
The soldiers conferred and one of them said, “Five gold.”
Chandor laughed nastily. “Really? After all your talk, that’s your wager? Five gold? Done.” A small voice in his head reminded him that he only had four gold pieces left, but he ignored it. It is not going to matter, anyway. I’m going to destroy this arrogant upstart.
Glaring through the slits of his helm he asked the sergeant loudly, “You ready?”
Andreas nodded and Chandor leapt forward, punching with his shield. He hit the sergeant in the chest, knocking him backwards. Seeing Andreas off balance Chandor tried to finish him off with one massive blow of his mace, but instead missed all together.
Chandor ducked under Andreas’ sword cut, and lashed out again with the Silver Sceptre. The heavy head crunched into the side of Andreas’ helm and Chandor grinned, punching again with his shield. His blow was miss-timed and passed harmlessly in front of the serge
ant, and the soldier lunged. Chandor watched as the sword point rushed towards him. He tried to get back, but he was too slow. He felt the sword impact his breastplate and skid across the metal towards his armpit. He winced in anticipation, but the blade jarred at it was stopped by the metal ridge designed for just that purpose. Retaliating, Chandor brought his shield down on Andreas’ outstretched arm. He was rewarded with a scream from his opponent.
That’s broken, gloated Chandor. Andreas eyes were shut tight with pain so he didn’t even move as Chandor swept the Silver Sceptre up in a full arc with all of his strength. He caught Andreas under the chin. Such was the power of the shot that it lifted the soldier clean off his feet. Andreas crumpled straight to the ground in a heap, neither his legs nor his arms providing any resistance.
For a moment, Chandor stood over the prone figure, laughing. Then realisation set in as he noticed the complete lack of movement and the unnatural way the body lay.
“Oh krak!” Chandor swore. He tossed his sceptre and shield aside, and dropped to his knees. Other soldiers crowded around him.
“Careful!” he yelled, as one of Andreas’ friends tried to get the sergeant’s helmet off.
They eased off his crumpled helm to find a bloody mess. Andreas’ eyes were open and sightless, and unresponsive to the blood that lay on the eyeball.
“Get Lady West!” someone yelled.
Chandor held his hands just above Andreas’ face and prayed for healing. As he spoke, his Holy Symbol began to glow with a warm yellow light. It shone with brighter and brighter intensity. Around him, the soldiers held their breath. Chandor could feel the medallion throbbing with power. The light intensified and heat started to radiate out from the engraved metal. A feeling of peace flowed over them all, and a collective sigh escaped their lips, but Andreas’ wounds did not begin to heal.
“Oh, Notomok! Help me!” Chandor cried.
“He’s gone,” someone murmured.
“Dead,” another choked.
Chandor held his head in his gauntleted hands. It can’t be. What have I done? It is my pride that has done this. Otec, please don’t make this man pay for my sin. Please, give him back his life.