Dark Priest

by Dale Vice

  “Stand back,” said the calm and authoritative voice of Lady West. “You cannot heal him, Chandor. He is dead.”

  Chandor groaned, and Lady West knelt down next to Chandor and the prone body. She held her hands over Andreas and started to pray using the language of the Gods. The air around them shimmered and every sound was muted. Light seeped from the world until everything was painted in grey and black. The air tasted stale. The moment seemed to last forever, as if he were frozen in time.

  Lady West flickered, as if for a moment she had disappeared, then she said, “The Gods breathed life into this world. I invoke the precious and life giving name of Notomok.” Suddenly, light flooded back making everything shine with abnormal radiance; rainbows and auras flickered around them. The air smelt sweet and throbbed with life. “The kingdom of the Gods is near. Andreas, I say to you, wake up.”

  Andreas groaned and everyone was filled with awe.

  “By Otec! She has brought him back to life!”

  Chandor gaped. The miracle of resurrection. Right in front of me, I can’t believe it!

  Lady West stood gingerly. She raised her hand to a rapidly colouring bruise on her cheek. Wincing, she brushed dust from her knees. “Take him to the infirmary. He will be weak, and magical healing will not be able to help him.” As she limped away, she called over her shoulder, “Chandor, meet me in the throne room.”

  The walk was the longest of his life as he dragged his unwilling feet to where Lady West was seated on her throne.

  “My faith is strong enough to raise anyone from the dead,” she said quietly. “But it is very seldom that I feel the Gods calling me to do so. Do you know why resurrection is so rare?”

  “Because you must go to the afterlife to open the portal,” Chandor murmured, his eyes downcast, “and if you die there, you own soul could be lost forever.”

  Lady West nodded. “That’s part of it. I had to fight off the twisted souls that wanted to pervert Andreas’ gateway for their own use. It was not an easy fight,” Lady West touched the bruise on her cheek. “But the main reason resurrection is rare is that it creates more resentment than rejoicing.

  “My soldiers can’t understand why I raised Andreas today but did not raise Sergeant Nathan when he was killed by the orcs last month. Or why I resurrected this difficult man but let a young boy remain dead. Frig, I can’t even understand!

  She rubbed her temples as she continued, “People aren’t as happy about the one that is raised as they are unhappy about all the ones that weren’t. In most cases, resurrection destroys more faith than it creates.

  She glared at Chandor. “What on earth did you think you were doing?”

  “I am so sorry.” Unable to look up at her, his eyes focused on the ground at his feet.

  “I am really disappointed in you. You are wiser than that.”

  Chandor had no answer but just hung his head in shame.

  The moment drew out, the silence burning Chandor’s ears. Then Lady West sighed, “To be fair, Andreas needed a beating. He’s been getting too big for his boots recently. He is increasingly bitter that he hasn’t been knighted already. He’ll be fine in a few weeks and will hopefully have learned a good lesson, too. But this wasn’t about him. It was about you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I saw you fight. You’re not ready to face a vampire. It would be like sending a lamb into a lion’s den.”

  “But I won!”

  “Bah,” she spat. “You missed blows you should have landed, and he should never have cut through your defences so easily.”

  Her brutal assessment felt like a punch to his stomach and it was all he could do to croak, “The Gods will protect me.”

  She shook her head, “No, they won’t, Chandor. Otec expects you to do your part in every battle, and you can’t do yours.”

  “This is a holy quest.”

  Lady West shrugged, “It may be. But you are not ready yet. You need more experience, more faith, and more training. Vampires are supernaturally fast and supernaturally strong. Only magic weapons can harm them, and even if you damage them they heal almost instantly. Most terrifying of all is their ability to drain life. The slightest nick, whether with tooth or claw or sword, and a vampire will suck your physical, emotional, mental and spiritual strength from you. Most people don’t survive a vampire’s drain. Even powerful adventurers who have built up a resistance to such things still dread it. If you want to have any chance of defeating the abomination that murdered your family, you need to improve your speed, accuracy, power and tactics.”

  Chandor met and held her gaze. “I hear you and thank you, Lady West, but I must try no matter what. I intend to follow that wagon to Lamar Hold.”

  “The next wagon will be here in three weeks. Stay here. Train. Then leave with it when the next wagon comes through. Three weeks won’t make a difference to your quest. Anyhow, I need a replacement for Andreas until he has healed. You’ll gain some valuable experience and I’ll coach you personally when you’re not out with the soldiers.”

  Chandor stood indecisively for a moment, before realising that the Gods were guiding his path. He bowed deeply, “Of course, Major West.”

  Chandor was signed in as a private on a short-term contract and moved from the castle’s guest suites to the barracks. His nervousness about how he would be received by the other soldiers proved unfounded. They philosophically handed over his winnings and ruefully conceded that he was a better fighter than they had expected.

  The next day, Chandor rode out with C Squad on their patrol. It was made up of three other knights, one of whom was Acting Sergeant, and three dragoons. He was placed with the knights, although he was the only one without a lance. They set off and spent the day on patrol crisscrossing the wilderness near the border.

  When they returned, the rest of the squad went for training with their lances and swords, while Lady West called Chandor aside.

  “Like you, I made the Weapon Sacrifice, so I’m an unusual soldier in that I don’t use a lance or sword, but rather my shield and war hammer. You have good basic technique; your feet move well, and your grip and balance are good. We’ll focus on some additional moves and combinations. I think over the next couple of weeks you can easily take your skills to a new level.

  “There are two areas for you to now master and they go together. You need to use different angles of attack to confuse your enemy, and you need to build combinations so that attacks flow into each other.” She swung her war hammer in a dizzying combination of loops and arcs to demonstrate. “Did they teach you using The Clock at Tinsley?”

  Chandor nodded and she grinned, obviously recalling her own training.

  “At the moment, most of your strikes are the same. With your mace you swing from three-to-nine, or two-to-eight. Then you pull back into Open Stance to strike again. It would be better to start with three-to-nine then drop and reverse so that you come back from seven-to-one, or raise and reverse so that you come back with an eleven-to-five. That way you’d increase your blows per minute, while also reducing the amount of energy you waste getting into position to attack. See?”

  Chandor traced the blows with his mace head. He felt the change from repeatedly swinging and pulling back, to a flowing figure eight.

  “Good, but you’re wasting too much energy on the loop. The power still needs to be maximised at point of impact.”

  Chandor nodded and tried again.

  “Good. Now with your shield, it’s a bit different. You have a good straight punch and uppercut which both use the leading edge of the shield. To that you can add a slap, which uses the face of the shield.”

  Chandor tried and she nodded approvingly.

  “Now want you to chop using the bottom edge of the shield, and elbow using the trailing edge. Watch.” She lowered her shield and executed an uppercut. It was similar to what Chandor had done on Salanverj skeletons, catching them under the chin with the leading edge, but she carried on upwards until her arm was straig
ht and momentum almost lifted her feet off the ground. Then she chopped downwards so that the bottom of the shield would crack open her opponent’s skull.

  Chandor shook his head in awe.

  “Using the elbow is difficult because it requires footwork to get into position, but it is highly effective in very close combat.” She slowly traced a haymaker across Chandor’s face, stepped closer, and pulled the shield back to his face again.

  For the next two weeks, Chandor practiced every moment that he was not meditating, eating, sleeping or patrolling. He fought shadows, wooden dummies, single and multiple opponents. He fought with light and heavy maces, infantry and cavalry maces, the Silver Sceptre and wooden cudgels. He used small square Vander bucklers and massive triangular Talgan tower shields, light leather practice shields, heavy jousting shields that were never meant to be wielded, and bags of sand.

  Lady West watched, corrected and sparred with him. At the end of a morning session at the end of the second week she hooked her war hammer to her belt and removed her helm to wipe the sweat from her brow. “Chandor, you’ve progressed immeasurably over the past fortnight. You’re still not ready to take on a vampire, but I’ve shown you what I can to hopefully even the odds a bit.”

  Chandor bowed deeply. “Thank you, my Lady. I’m much better for your teaching.”

  “So now I have a different question for you. Have you ever seen the Gods imbue a weapon with elemental power?”

  Chandor nodded. “Sir Botha showed us once.”

  “Pray for it now, on your shield.”

  “It won’t work. I don’t have enough faith.”

  Lady West smiled, “You can do all things by the power of the Gods. Watch and learn. You will need more than good moves if you are to kill a vampire.”

  She lifted her shield and tilted it so she could look down its face. “We go to battle in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of good. All those gathered here will know that it is by His might that the battle is won!” She blew softly over her shield. It burst into flame, forcing Chandor to step back from the heat.

  “Now you do it,” Lady West commanded.

  Chandor stared at the awesome holy weapon she had created. It would be devastating in battle, but he knew that such power was beyond him. He shut his eyes anyway and said, “We go to battle in the name of the Lord Almighty, the God of the armies of good. All those gathered here will know that it is by His might that the battle is won.”

  He blew down the face of his shield.

  Nothing happened.

  His shoulders sagged. “I knew it wouldn’t work.”

  “You of little faith,” she said, “why do you doubt?”

  Chandor was saved from an answer by the approach of Guide Jurgen.

  He had a furious look on his face. “I must talk with you, Chandor. Now.” He turned to Lady West, “Will you excuse us for a few minutes?”

  When they arrived at Jurgen’s room, the older Guide shut the door firmly and spun.

  “What is this?” Jurgen demanded, thrusting a parchment towards Chandor.

  The face in the picture was unmistakably Chandor’s, while the writing left no doubt as to its purpose.

  Wanted: Dead or Alive

  Chandor the Dark Priest.

  For murder and treason.

  Armed and extremely dangerous.

  Practitioner of defiled miracles.

  Reward: Gp 2000.

  Chandor stared at it in bewilderment.

  “What is this all about, Chandor? Have you killed someone? Are you plotting against the crown?” Jurgen demanded. It was the first time Chandor ever remembered seeing Jurgen truly angry.

  “Honestly, Guide Jurgen, I have no idea. I have never murdered anyone. As for treason, I have always been a loyal Fistorian. I have no clue where this is coming from.”

  “This is from High Priest Hengel, Chandor. He must have cause!”

  Chandor shook his head. “I don’t know, Jurgen. That’s the truth. You know everything I have been up to. I have done nothing wrong!”

  Jurgen looked at him intently for a long time, his face stern but no longer as angry as it had been. “I am generally a good judge of character and truth, and you have the sound of sincerity. Allow me to bind you to the truth, and I will know for certain.”

  Chandor bristled at the implied lack of trust, but managed to override his anger and say through gritted teeth, “I have nothing to hide. Go ahead.”

  Jurgen laid his hands on Chandor’s head and prayed, “Lord of light, bind this son’s tongue so that it can speak only truth.” He removed his hands and looked at Chandor intently. “Chandor, have you ever stolen anything?”

  Chandor tried to say, “No,” but no words would come. “Biscuits with my brother when we were children. A lead figurine from a boy in Bronsverj. That is all.”

  Jurgen heaved a sigh of relief. He sat heavily on the bed. “Have you killed anyone?”

  “Just Andreas, but he was resurrected and no-one has pressed charges. It certainly wasn’t murder.”

  “Are you plotting against the crown of Fistoria or King Ironfist?”

  “No.”

  Jurgen’s wiped his brow. He looked at Chandor intently, “What do you believe this is about?”

  The words, “I don’t know,” would not come, surprising Chandor and making him think. “I can only guess that High Priest Hengel desperately does not want me pursuing the vampire that killed my family.”

  Jurgen nodded. “He said as much to me. He is concerned for your safety, both your life and your soul.” The large Guide stood to pace, “But this is insane. I will come with you to Tinsley, and we will resolve this.”

  “No. I am on a quest for the Gods.” He was compelled to add, “And I do not trust Hengel.”

  Jurgen’s look was bleak, but he nodded. “Since you are telling the truth, this scroll is at best a serious mistake, at worst a lie. I will go to Tinsley on your behalf and speak to the High Priest.”

  “Thank you, Guide Jurgen,” Chandor said, hoping that his tone conveyed the vastness of the gratitude he felt which words could not capture.

  Jurgen pushed himself to his feet. He drew the sign of Notomok over Chandor and said, “I release you from your binding.” He started packing his bags. “You need to move fast now. You will be hunted by the Fistorian Army and the Church of Mankind as a criminal. If the Gods are with you, you will make it to Fort Dawn and Lamar Hold before this message does.” He strode to the door. “Come quickly. Gather your things and saddle your horse. Hopefully I can get you past the guards at the gate before this is circulated. And may the Gods grant that this scroll is not a prophecy of things to come.”

  CHAPTER 24

  Dawn

  Chandor’s heart was pounding. He smiled at the gate guards, praying that the Wanted poster had not yet been circulated. He and Jurgen were waved through and immediately urged their horses into a canter.

  “If we push hard we can make it to Fort Dawn by tomorrow evening. There we can part company – I’ll head for Tinsley and you can continue on your quest to Lamar Hold.”

  “What if they send men after us?”

  Jurgen shrugged. “We’ll have to play it by ear. Maybe we can reason with them, or bluff. I don’t really want to fight. If Lady West herself comes us we’ll just have to surrender.”

  Chandor’s gaze swept the countryside. As if travelling along a border road wasn’t enough.

  As if reading his mind, Jurgen commented, “We’ll have to keep our eyes open for animals and monsters. But at least we can go around anything in the road which you can’t do with wagons and a caravan. There are lots of goblins around at the moment, even with the patrols killing them wherever they find them. Orcs too. At least this close to Lady West it is unlikely there will be any giants.”

  They both chuckled.

  At first they rode in silence, pushing hard, but eventually the horses tired and they slowed to alternate between trotting and walking. To pass the time Jurgen to
ld Chandor of his experiences travelling as a Guide. They ate in their saddles, and nodded warily to a passing caravan which reported a clear road ahead.

  “Although they will carry news of our progress to any pursuers, the fact that those mercenaries didn’t take a particular interest in you suggests that the news wasn’t at Fort Dawn when they left.”

  “Otec’s hand guides us. I will not be afraid.”

  “Your faith is great, Chandor. At least as great as mine, if not greater. There is no reason you should not be able to do anything I can. When –”

  Out of nowhere an arrow smashed into Chandor’s breastplate. It rocked him in his saddle. From both sides of the road, orcs leapt from hiding places. Similar in height to humans, they were more powerfully built. Muscles bulged under tough, green, mottled skin. They had animal-like faces. They roared in with swords and axes.

  One hurled a heavy spear at Jurgen. The missile toppled the big man from his horse.

  Pain exploded in Chandor’s leg. He didn’t have time to wonder what had hit him as two orcs charged, screaming battle cries. One leapt at him with a blade that was more curves and spikes than sword. The other grabbed his gauntleted leg and tried to pull him down. A third stabbed at him with its long spear. The flat blade found a gap in his armour and sliced his arm.

  From the corner of his eye, he saw three more yelling orcs run at Jurgen. The Guide staggered upright, his staff in his hand.

  Jurgen bellowed out a prayer. “Be still and know the power of Otec! I hold you for judgement in the Holy Name of Notomok!”

  Golden ropes materialised from the air and twined themselves around the orcs converging on Jurgen, wrapping them so tightly that they could not move.

  Chandor shouted his own version of the prayer. “The evil deeds of the wicked ensnare them; the cords of their sins hold them fast.” He felt the power flow out of him. Black chains materialised out of the air, binding three orcs so they could not move.