Dark Priest

by Dale Vice

  The orc closest to him remained unbound. It dragged Chandor from his horse and threw him to the ground.

  Chandor was stunned by the impact with the ground. The wind was knocked out of him. His eyes cleared just in time to see the orc raise a brutal looking war hammer above its head. Chandor held up his armoured forearm to ward off the blow. He heard a sickening crunch as metal hit metal. Pain exploded in his wrist.

  The orc raised its hammer again. Chandor pointed desperately with his free hand as he called out a curse. “Be blinded! At midday you will grope about in the dark!”

  The orc screamed. It lifted its hands to its darkened eyes. Chandor rolled away from it and scrambled to his feet. Momentarily safe from the blind orc, Chandor glanced around to take stock of the situation. Seven orcs were still held by the magical bonds. The blind one was swinging its war hammer wildly back and forth nearby. A ninth was disappearing in the distance, its appetite for the fight gone with the freedom of its companions. To his right, Rage was trampling a bound orc to death. To his left, Jurgen was engaged with the last two orcs.

  Chandor scooped his shield from the ground where it had fallen. Wincing, he slid his bruised forearm into the straps. He turned just in time to see Jurgen drop to the ground. The Guide had managed to kill one of the orcs with his staff, but the other had stabbed Jurgen in the stomach. The orc raised its spear again to finish the job.

  “Hey, vermin!” Chandor shouted as he ran at Jurgen’s opponent. The orc whirled to face the new threat, levelling its spear at Chandor.

  Chandor brushed the bloody tip aside with his shield. He swung the Silver Sceptre with all his might. He flicked his wrist to generate extra power as Lady West had taught him. The heavy sceptre caught the orc on the jaw. The orc’s face disintegrated as the weapon powered onwards through the arc, ripping teeth and bone from the skull. The orc slumped to the ground next to Jurgen, its spear rolling away from its lifeless hands.

  Chandor spun, looking for more opponents. Apart from the blind orc, which was now stumbling away down the road, everything was still. Rage and Jurgen’s horse stood quivering. The seven bound orcs glared at him powerlessly.

  Chandor knelt and prayed over Jurgen who had passed out and was rapidly bleeding to death. The fact that he had seen healing miracles so many times removed none of the wonder for him. He wept as the power of Takatifu Roho flowed through him. When the light, heat and song faded, he lifted his eyes to the heavens and thanked the Gods.

  Jurgen groaned and sat up painfully. “What happened?”

  “You killed one of the orcs, but the other one managed to get you with his spear. I repaid him seven-fold. I have just prayed for you to be healed.”

  “Thank you.” Jurgen groaned again. “That was too close.” The big Guide shook his head. “Foolish of me. I wanted to conserve my spiritual strength in case something else came up, and so refrained from additional prayers. I should have trusted the Gods to provide.” He prayed for himself, and his wounds healed further.

  “What do we do about these?” asked Chandor, jerking his head at the bound orcs.

  “We’d better kill them, otherwise they’ll just attack the next people along here.”

  “They don’t even seem able to blink.”

  Jurgen nodded. “The golden ropes, or black chains in your case,” he said with a raised eyebrow, “are purely symbolic. Their spirits are paralysed. But the miracle will only hold them for about an hour.” He looked around, “What’s up with that one?”

  Jurgen asked, nodding at the orc still stumbling slowly away from them.

  “I blinded him.”

  “With light?”

  Chandor shook his head and confessed reluctantly, “I prayed for darkness.”

  Jurgen gave him a long hard stare. “You know the church’s stance on reversed prayers. And black chains to hold them fast? I’ve never seen that before. Can’t you see why High Priest Hengel is worried about you?”

  The two men stared at each other for a moment, then Jurgen shrugged. “You’d better go and kill it. That miracle won’t last either.”

  Chandor nodded.

  He mounted Rage and rode reluctantly towards the orc. The creature heard them coming and turned, its war hammer gripped tightly in both hands. Chandor urged Rage forward, trampling the orc under steel shod hooves. Unlike Sandy, Rage didn’t shy away but actively kicked and stamped as they rolled over the orc. Chandor wheeled around to make sure the job was done. He looked down at the bloody mess and felt ill.

  Back at the road, Jurgen was systematically bludgeoning the bound orcs, smashing their heads in with his staff. He didn’t look as ill as Chandor felt, and went about the gruesome task as if he were just swatting mosquitoes.

  “One escaped,” Chandor said.

  Jurgen shrugged. “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. Maybe it will warn the rest of its tribe that us humans aren’t all as defenceless as we appear. Otec willing, they’ll turn their attention to goblins for a while.” He looked around at the corpses, “Do you have any spiritual strength left?”

  Chandor nodded.

  “Pray for the Gods to open your eyes to magic. I think that spear wielder sipped a potion before he attacked. The others may also have enchanted items on them. As distasteful as it is, we may as well take their equipment while we say the Rite of Remembrance.”

  Chandor prayed and immediately a gourd at the spear-orc’s waist started to glow with holy light. He walked amongst the others, saying the Rite of Remembrance and gathering their swords and armour, but saw no more magic.

  Meeting back at the horses, he offered the potion to Jurgen. The large Guide shook his head, “You keep it. I fear you’ll have more need of it than I in the coming days.”

  That night, they sat around the fire eating their rations, still in their armour and watching over one another’s shoulders for danger. Jurgen had placed three shining orbs around their perimeter so that nothing could approach unseen.

  “There is nothing wrong with black chains and calling darkness in itself,” said the wise guide, continuing the conversation they had been having as they prepared the camp. “The Gods made both day and night, light and dark. The Gods gave us every colour from white and gold through to black and brown. We use light and dark as an analogy for good and evil, but it is a symbol rather than the thing itself. Similarly, white happens to be the colour we have chosen to set apart as holy, but it is not intrinsically any better than black or green or red. One has to be careful not to confuse a symbol with reality, or to slip from using an object as an icon to make it an idol.”

  “Like our Holy Symbols?”

  “Exactly. We use our Holy Symbols as a reminder that the Gods are with us, and as a tangible focus for us to pray for the power of the Gods. But we must never start to believe that the power comes from the Holy Symbol, or that the Holy Symbol itself is important. All power comes from the Gods, and all glory must be given to the Gods. The most powerful priests and prophets needed neither Symbols, nor gestures, nor words to effect miracles when they pray! I personally don’t have sufficient faith for that and still rely on these worldly props to help me believe, but none of it is necessary.”

  “So why are you worried about my black chains, darkness miracle, and new clothing?”

  Jurgen sighed and look up to the stars. He was silent for a long time before answering, “The Sacred Texts say that you can recognise a tree by its fruit. Every good tree bears good fruit, but a bad tree bears bad fruit. Similarly, you can recognise false prophets by their fruit.”

  “What comes out is a reflection of what is within? What we do is a reflection of who we are?”

  Jurgen nodded.

  “You’re concerned about my behaviour?” Chandor demanded, rising to his feet.

  Again, Jurgen nodded sadly.

  “I have destroyed undead. I have healed companions. I killed goblins and orcs! These are all good deeds. How can you possibly be worried about whether I am good or evil?”

  Jurgen s
ighed. “The Sacred Texts also say that the fruit of the Gods is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. It is when I search your actions for that fruit that I become worried.”

  Chandor knew the verse well, and he had no answer to Jurgen’s challenge. He sighed and sat back down with a heavy heart, his anger draining away and leaving him empty.

  Later, as they sat in silence around the fire, the quiet was shattered as a wolf howled nearby. A moment later another answered it from further away, and then the cries of a full pack echoed through the night from all around them.

  Jurgen looked across the flames at Chandor, “Some of those sounded far off, but it might be a testing night.”

  They had just finished building up the fire and checking that the horses were tightly tethered when a grey shape ghosted past at the edge of the light.

  “Chandor, watch and have faith.” Jurgen lifted his staff into the air, pointing it towards the heavens. “If you fight against me with tooth and claw, I will fight you in the name of the Lord Almighty! The Gods will deliver you into my hands, and I will strike you down and crush your head.”

  From the clear night sky, lightening flashed down, its thunder splitting the air. For an instant, Chandor was blinded as the world turned white. He blinked to clear his eyes and saw Jurgen taking up his fighting stance. Electricity curled up and down the length of the Guide’s staff.

  “The Gods have blessed your weapon with lightning,” Chandor breathed in awe, “I like your version even more than Lady West’s!”

  They waited, alert and on guard as the tension built, but still no attack came.

  Eventually, after what felt like an eternity but was probably closer to five minutes, Jurgen stretched. “Maybe the thunder and lightning scared them off?”

  Chandor nodded. There had been no further movement at the edges of the light, and they had heard nothing since preparing for battle.

  Jurgen sat down by the fire, still holding his staff. It continued to arc with electricity. Chandor paced for a while, then also sat.

  “I’ll take first watch,” offered Jurgen. “Take off your armour and see if you can get some sleep.”

  The night passed slowly but uneventfully. Chandor was relieved when dawn finally started to show. Jurgen made strong coffee on the fire. Without having to discuss it, they packed and left as soon as possible.

  They made good time and by the afternoon could see Fort Dawn ahead of them. A walled town like Fortress West, all that could be seen of it were the massive grey outer walls.

  “It might be wise for you to wait out here. I’ll go into town and find out what I can about the Earl’s wagons. I’ll also check if the Wanted posters are out. Meanwhile, if you take a wide detour around the town, I’ll meet you back on the main road to Tinsley tomorrow morning.”

  It was fairly safe so close to a fortified town so Chandor removed his armour and slept well enough in the lee of a low stone wall surrounding a farmer’s field.

  The next morning Jurgen rode up and wasted no time sharing his news, “I’m afraid to say that the posters are up. I sold the orc’s equipment and purchased some more rations. He pulled a simple red tunic and cloak from his bag and tossed it Chandor’s way. “I’d suggest you ditch your coat of arms in favour of this. It might buy you some time, or a chance. You should probably hide your Holy Symbol under your tunic.”

  Chandor shook his head, “I will not hide my faith. Anyhow, I want it close to hand if I need it. What of the wagon?”

  “The one from Fort West comes through here and then heads for Lamar Hold, but the last one passed about a fortnight ago so you won’t catch it. However, I was thinking that you could intercept the other wagon that goes via Tinsley if you ride hard for Goldfield.”

  Chandor nodded. “That’s a good idea. I’ll do that.”

  “Gods’ speed on your quest. I’ll speak to Hengel and ensure your name is cleared.”

  “Thank you, Jurgen. You have been more than a Guide to me, you’ve been like a father.”

  Jurgen nudged his horse close to Chandor and clapped his shoulder. “Travel safe. Try and remember that the Gods are love, not hate. More than anything, Chandor, your challenge is to learn to forgive others, as Notomok forgave us. If you don’t learn that lesson, you will eventually earn the name Dark Priest. Either way, may the grace of Otec cover you and the power of Takatifu Roho protect you.”

  CHAPTER 25

  Ice and Fire

  Chandor watched Jurgen ride away, then nudged Rage into a trot towards Goldfield. As he crested the hill, the sight that greeted him made his stomach clench in fear as he hauled on the reins.

  Lined up on the road at the top of the next hill was a squad of priests in pristine white tabards and cloaks. Three Guardians in full armour sat astride large warhorses, the white pennants on their lances snapping in the cold wind. Between them, on fast riding horses sat two more lightly armoured Guides. A distinctive white charger stood in the middle, its armoured occupant looking comfortable in the saddle as always.

  Tribon. I’m sure it didn’t take much to convince you to come and apprehend me. Chandor could not identify any of the others and took some comfort that neither Botha nor Hengel was with them.

  Chandor took a deep breath as he considered his options. Then he clicked his tongue to set Rage walking towards them. He lifted his shield from its hook on the saddle and strapped it to his left arm. Then he made sure that his helm was securely buckled under his chin. He took the Silver Sceptre from his belt and slipped his gauntleted hand through the leather strap before clenching the handle tightly.

  The ride down the hill and up the other side seemed to take forever. Halfway, he checked that the squad was still waiting for him on the hilltop, then bowed his head in prayer. He asked the Gods for supernatural protection and felt the power of Takatifu Roho covering him as if with an invisible layer of additional armour. He reined in about two hundred yards from the squad.

  “Tribon. Get out of my way.”

  “We’ve come to take you back. You can come peacefully. Or not.” Tribon’s voice suggested he hoped Chandor would resist.

  “Well, I wouldn’t want to be accused of resisting arrest,” Chandor chuckled nastily as his Law classes came back to him. “Which of you is the registered Bounty Hunter?”

  The silence that greeted him confirmed his suspicions and he called out snidely, “One of you must be a member of the Fistorian Army, surely?”

  Visored heads turned to each other and he knew he had them.

  “Legally then, you have no authority to arrest me, let alone impede my journey.”

  “Once you’re found guilty, Chandor, that technicality won’t matter. We’re taking you in, whether you like it or not,” called Tribon.

  “You’re a fool, Tribon. What you’re doing is illegal. More importantly, do you really want to fight someone whom the Gods are blessing?”

  “You are being used by evil forces, Dark Priest! It is only your pride and foolishness that prevent you from seeing what is clear to everyone else. You will not pass!”

  “You think my power comes from The Adversary?” Chandor bellowed. “My allegiance is to the Gods!” Chandor’s eyes narrowed inside his helm. He suddenly knew that did have the faith to imbue his weapon with power. Jurgen’s right! Takatifu Roho is within me. He grabbed the Silver Sceptre and thrust it towards the heavens shouting, “If you come against me with lance and mace, I will resist you in the name of Otec! This day, the Gods of Mankind will deliver you into my hands, and I will strike you down and crush your head.”

  Spiritual power from faith he had not possessed until that moment flowed through him. The earth trembled as if from a quake and a deep rumbling filtered up to them from the bowels of the earth. Frost covered the floor and Chandor gasped as it ran up his armour to his sceptre, covering it in a layer of ice. To the sound of cracking, jagged spikes of ice thrust outwards from his fist, then the shaft and finally the head of the sceptre
. Supernatural cold radiated from the whole weapon. “Ha! Now we’ll see whose mission the Gods are blessing!”

  The Guardians kicked their horses and charged him, lowering their lances as they came. At his command, Rage surged up the hill, angling across the three Guardian’s path to ensure that only one lance could strike him. Chandor braced.

  The lance blow was so powerful it almost threw Chandor from his saddle. He was still trying to regain his seat as he flashed past his opponent. He had no time to swing his sceptre.

  A moment later, one of the Guides was in front of him. He forced Rage to a halt with his horse. The Guide’s club crashed into Chandor’s armour with a clang.

  Chandor lashed out with the Silver Sceptre. Although his blow was weak, when the sceptre connected with the Guide, a blast of frost covered the area in ice. The Guide toppled to the floor with a fading wail.

  A whirring sound made Chandor glance up. A spinning hammer fill his vision before it rocked his head backwards. Blows rained down from his left as Tribon pulled up next to him and hacked at him with his sword. Chandor cowered behind his shield to try and escape Tribon’s onslaught. The other Guide arrived in on his right and slammed his hammer into Chandor’s right shoulder.

  Chandor felt a combination of desperate panic and fury building inside him. He suddenly stood up in saddle and bellowed, “Let me be!”

  He felt his spiritual power release. Black chains materialised in the air. Like writhing snakes, they wrapped themselves around his opponents with a rattling sound that came from the darkest dungeon of his imagination. The holding miracle? How can that be, I didn’t say the words?

  Tribon and the hammer-wielding priest struggled vainly for a moment and then were still as the mystical chains bound them fast. At the top of the hill, where the three knights had re-gathered for another charge with their lances, the black chains locked one tight. The second knight was held momentarily but a flash of golden light shattered the chains. The third and final knight sat on his horse completely unaffected.