Dark Priest

by Dale Vice

  Chandor knew he couldn’t afford to waste a moment. “Go Rage, go!” he yelled. The stallion lunged forward. He had closed the gap in moments. He swung the Silver Sceptre with all his might at the knight who had just broken free from the chains. The blow to the Guardian’s chest smashed the knight to the ground, where he landed in a crumpled heap.

  Chandor didn’t have time to celebrate before pain knifed through his lower back. He screamed. He could image how the blade must have slid under his armour and up into his stomach. Oh Notomok, that is bad. He knew the wound might well be fatal depending on the angle of the cut, but had no time to think about it. He twisted in his saddle to find the final Guardian behind him to his left, bloody longsword already poised for another stab.

  Chandor struck out ineffectually with shield and sceptre, but the knight deflected them with his sword before cutting at Chandor again. The blade fell on his well-armoured shoulder. He barely felt the blow. The world looked misty and he struggled to focus.

  He used his knees to turn Rage. The horses strained as they jostled for position. Rage was too strong for the other horse and Chandor was able to manoeuvre into a favourable position. He struck with the Silver Sceptre at the Guardian’s visored helm. A long spike of ice punctured the knight’s helmet as if it were made of tin. Chandor wrenched the bloody sceptre free and the Guardian toppled from his saddle without a cry.

  Breathing heavily and bleeding profusely, Chandor looked around at the destruction. Three bodies lay on the floor. The one that had just taken the ice spike to the head was certainly dead, lying folded backwards with a pool of blood covering his armour and spreading around the helm. The other two were motionless but could still be alive.

  The three remaining priests sat immobile on their horses, bound by spiritual chains. Chandor grunted in pain as he hefted his plated leg over the saddle. He slid from Rage’s back to the still form of the frost-covered Guide. He removed his gauntlets and helm and sagged down next to the cold body. The agony of sitting almost made him pass out. Rattling breath and a weak pulse told Chandor the priest was alive but would not survive long. A weak bubbling cough from the nearby knight announced that he was in a similar position. Chandor put his hand to his back and it came away covered in blood. Chandor shook his head, trying to clear it. Three of us dying, and only enough spiritual stamina for two healing miracles. The three bound warriors watched him from their horses, as if in judgement.

  Stuff you! he thought. You attacked me! Why should I die for you? Chandor bowed his head and prayed for healing. He felt the power of the Gods fill him and immediately his back felt better. The wound had obviously been deadly, because the prayer had not completely healed it, let alone address all the other cuts and bruises that covered his body.

  Even though he longed to use his last spiritual strength to perform another healing miracle on himself, he instead laid his hands on the priest. The familiar golden light and warmth flowed through him. The frost melted under his prayers. The mass of purple bruises faded. The priest groaned and opened his eyes.

  “Don’t move, or I’ll smash you again, and this time I won’t heal you,” Chandor growled. He pushed himself to his feet and fetched some chord from one of the knights’ horses, binding the priest’s hands behind his back. He propped the priest up, and puts some water and some food next to him. “The others will tend to you as soon as the spiritual bonds wear off.”

  He walked over to where the wounded knight lay to see if there was anything he could do, but the man’s breathing had already stopped and his eyes stared sightlessly at the ground.

  Frig.

  Chandor stalked over to where Tribon sat immobilised on his horse. He glared up at his former classmate. “This is your fault. There are two dead people here today because of you and Hengel.” Although he was unable to respond, Tribon’s eyes felt accusatory. In sudden fury Chandor pulled Tribon from his horse, watching in satisfaction as the sanctimonious young Guardian slammed awkwardly into the ground.

  Using his foot, Chandor rolled Tribon over, “I know you’re fool enough to come after me as soon as you’re free, so I’m going to take all your weapons, supplies, and your horses. The town is not too far to carry your injured companion.”

  The lances he smashed with his sceptre, but the maces, hammers, and swords he took with him. From each Guardian he took their pouches, full of coin for the journey, as well as any supplies, helmets and shields. When he had gathered all their equipment and lashed it securely to the six horses, he walked back to where Tribon lay on the ground. Glaring down at his rival, he felt an almost irresistible urge to smash his head in like he had done with the orcs. Instead, he said, “The Gods are with me, do you really think you can stand against me? You tell Hengel that if he wants to stop me he should send a real fighter, like Sir Botha. In fact, tell the High Priest to come himself.”

  Chandor turned and stalked away, but then turned back. “Also, remember that I had you powerless, under my heel. I could have killed you, but I choose not to. I am not evil, but I’ll do what I have to do to get my revenge on the vampire. If you come at me again, I will show no mercy.”

  Riding Rage, Chandor led the other horses in a line along the road towards Goldfield. He could barely believe that he had just survived a fight with six armed men. He knew that the feat put him into a small minority of elite fighters. Perhaps once I’ve had my revenge I will enter the Vander Melee Championship and see how good I really am. He growled even as the thought crossed his mind, I have a mission to accomplish – ridding the world of undead. I won’t be distracted by mindless entertainment that serves only pride and purse.

  The morning sun was still low and he estimated that the entire encounter with the church’s warriors had only cost him half an hour. If I push hard, I should be halfway there by nightfall. I’ll find somewhere to spend the night, and then be in Goldfield by midday tomorrow.

  He was so lost in thought that he barely noticed as the cultivated fields gave way to wild grass and scattered clusters of thorn trees. But as the dirt road cut through two rocky outcrops, movement snapped him from his reverie.

  He looked up just in time to see a flash of grey as a wolf slipped back over the ridge, disappearing from sight. Chandor’s heart rate soared. Could it be coincidence?

  He knew that vampires had an affinity for all the creatures of the night, especially bats and wolves. He had assumed that the wolves he and Jurgen had seen were just one of the many natural predators that roamed the wilderness, but now he realised it was more likely they were agents of the vampire. He swallowed hard and started to scan the countryside for more signs. Soon he had confirmation that he was being tracked. On both sides of the road, he periodically saw wolves watching him, and the road was criss-crossed with wolf tracks.

  At first he was concerned that the vampire knew where he was, but then he nodded grimly to himself, deciding that the wolves were a good omen. You know that I’m coming for you. Good. Know and be afraid. You want to track where I am. Good. You are only confirming that I am on the right path.

  As evening came, Chandor changed horses to give Rage a break, even though his black charger did not seem tired. Thinking, I won’t be able to sleep with these wolves around anyway, he decided to push right through the night.

  Hour after hour he remained in the saddle, stopping only to relieve himself and swap horses. He prayed, dozed and ate. Riding by the light of the moon made him feel alive. The night was peaceful and beautiful. Although the wolves reminded him that he was heading toward a fight to the death, he felt a strange companionship with the ghostly creatures. When their howls rose around him, he was half-tempted to join them.

  The temperature plummeted as it headed into the early hours of the morning. Chandor wished he had enough spiritual energy to pray for protection from the cold, but his heart was empty. When he tried to meditate, he found he was too cold and too tired to focus. He knew he would need a good rest and some quality time in prayer before he was recharged.


  He jerked awake just before he fell from the high-backed saddle of Tribon’s white warhorse. With a start he realised that one of the wolves was watching him from less than thirty yards away. He glared at it and it looked back calmly, before turning and disappearing over the nearest rise.

  Despite the fright he was soon nodding off again. He decided to stop and light one of the Guardian’s lanterns to warm his hands. As he was going through their saddle bags he found a small sack of coffee. He wondered whether it was worth the risk and the time to build a fire. Looking up to the starlit heavens, he felt the Gods looking down at him. He smiled and praised Otec for the beauty of the night sky. He felt his soul starting to fill.

  All our lives, we are afraid of the night. We lock ourselves behind walls because of the predators that thrive in the darkness where we are so weak. And yet, the night is beautiful. We are told that the Gods are light, but as Jurgen said, they rule both the day and the night. Both the light and the darkness was created by them.

  As he turned back to the horses he saw a dead tree a little way off the road. It had fallen over and its dry branches would make building a fire easy. His mind was made up. “I will not be afraid of the dark,” he murmured. Then he shouted into the darkness beyond, “I will not hide and be quiet in the night! I claim this time for the Gods!”

  He tied the horses securely, checked that the shield on his back and sceptre on his belt were easily available and took the tinder box to the tree. His heart was pounding as he headed further off the road and into the night, the glow from his medallion creating just a small pool of light in the surrounding blackness. Despite the danger, a grin slowly spread across his face as his plans changed. Why break off sticks to make a small fire when I can light the whole thing? He set about lighting the small branches and soon had a massive bonfire as the whole tree blazed. Such was the heat that he was forced to move far back. He laughed out loud for sheer pleasure as he admired the flames, feeling reckless and free.

  He was walking back to the horses to get the coffee when a voice called out. “Chandor!”

  He whirled around, his hands grabbing his Holy Symbol and the Silver Sceptre simultaneously. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

  “I am.” The voice came from the depth of the fire and reverberated with power and authority. It made every hair stand up on Chandor’s body.

  Chandor held out his Holy Symbol and took a step toward the flames.

  “Do not come any closer,” the voice said, “for the place where you are standing is Holy Ground. I am the God of your father, and of your father’s father. I am life, power and forgiveness. I am the God of mankind.”

  Immediately, Chandor dropped to his knees and touched his forehead to the ground, “What do you want of me, Almighty Otec?”

  The Lord said, “I have seen the misery of my people in Fistoria, and to the ends of the earth. I have heard them crying out because of the undead, and I am concerned about their suffering. So I am sending you to rescue them from evil. So now, go. Save my people, and know that I will be with you always.”

  The tree blazed and Chandor hid his face again. For long moments the only sound was the roar of the flames. Then something in the air changed and Chandor felt that the Gods had left him.

  He stood cautiously. Ahead of him the tree continued to burn. Above the stars shone in the sky. All around the world was as it had been. He looked for some evidence that the Gods had just been present but could see nothing out of the ordinary.

  No matter, I know the truth. Even if I cannot prove it. Wide awake, refreshed and with a deeper sense of purpose, he untied the horses. He remounted and set out for Goldfield once more, leaving the burning bush behind him.

  If he hadn’t known it, he would have soon guessed that Goldfield was built on mining. There were fewer farms and more mines than any town he had passed. Massive open caste mines dotted the landscape, while towering mine heads peered over gaping holes.

  Heart pounding, he approached the town guards. He was waved in casually. Clearly, the Wanted posters haven’t arrived here yet, he thought with relief. I’ll just have to stay one step ahead of the law.

  “I’m looking for the wagon from Copperstead, that’s heading for Lamar Hold. I’ve some extra supplies that weren’t ready on time.”

  The watchman nodded. “Sure, one passed through here two days ago.”

  “Good. Is there a quality inn, with individual rooms and good food?”

  “Tavern on Tenth is the best – but it’s pricey.”

  Chandor nodded his thanks and nudged Rage into a walk. With the purses from the Guardians, money was no longer a concern. Chandor found the tavern and stabled the horses. He rubbed Rage down himself but gave the stable boys coppers to take care of the other six. He ate well and fell into bed before sunset.

  In his nightmares, powerful hands flung him across the room. He bolted upright, covered in sweat. It was well before dawn, but instead of trying to go back to sleep he built up the fire in his room and washed thoroughly using the basin. When he had finished his prayers, he made his way to the kitchen where the staff were just starting to prepare for the day. He had a big breakfast, feeling that it might be the last good hot meal he had in some time. He was out of the gates and on the road again by the time the sun broke the horizon.

  He knew that if he pushed hard, he would be able to catch the wagon just as it reached Lamar Hold. Then I can ride in with it and see exactly where the supplies go.

  He spent all day in the saddle, accompanied once again by wolves that tracked his progress from the time he left the cultivated lands.

  CHAPTER 26

  The Shadow King

  It took two and a half days to get to Lamar Hold. Each time he crested a rise, Chandor expected to see the wagon on the road ahead of him. Instead, his only companions were the wolves that tracked him day and night.

  He passed three caravans; two travelling the other direction and one which he overtook, slowing down only long enough to greet the riders and guards. Armed patrols of knights waved from a distance as they scouted, making his heart race until they disappeared from sight.

  He knew he was taking a risk travelling a border road by himself. In a strange way he took comfort from the wolves, believing that if they wanted him dead they would have attacked already. He suspected that their presence probably made his passage safer.

  At night, he staked the other horses in a circle around himself and Rage, trusting that if anything attacked, he would at least be roused. The first night, he tried to sleep in his armour, but when dawn arrived he was so exhausted that he decided to take his chances sleeping unarmoured. Instead, he made a large fire and set piles of dry grass nearby. He had decided that if he were attacked he would take refuge in the flames. While walking unharmed through fire was a greater miracle than enduring the cold, it was a common miracle and he knew his faith was sufficient. The irony that he would make his nightmares of flame become real was not lost on him, and he snorted. Let wolves or orcs or spiders join me in the furnace if they want me that badly.

  As it turned out, his sleep was untroubled except for the ever more vivid nightmares of the vampire and the murder of his family. Both mornings he woke longing for the day when he took his revenge and was able to sleep peacefully once more.

  When the nightmares woke him he clambered from his sleeping sack and stoked the fire for coffee. Once he was awake, he dressed in his armour, which had been warmed by the fire, and meditated until the sun came up. Then it was back onto the horses to ride throughout the day.

  When the wolves left him, he knew he was back in civilisation. Farms, herds, and the gaping entrances to mines both working and abandoned, peppered the road. Lamar had massive curtain walls that reached up forty feet and encompassed the entire town. Square towers fortified the corners, a moat surrounded it, a barbican protected the single entrance, and a towering square keep thrust up from the centre.

  Having passed patrols which showed no interest in him, Chandor felt fa
irly confident that the Wanted notice had not reached the city, but his heart was in his throat as he approached the impressive drawbridge.

  The guards ordered him to halt on the far side of the moat, and viewed him through a crystal ball before allowing him to proceed.

  “Welcome to Lamar, traveller. What is your name?”

  After a moment’s pause, Chandor answered honestly, “Sir Chandor, of Bronsverj, Knight of Salanverj.”

  “Occupation?”

  “Mercenary.”

  “Travelling alone? That’s not common, although you look like you can handle yourself.”

  Chandor was very aware of the other guard’s loaded crossbow pointed directly at him. He gestured to the train of horses, “I’m supposed to be with the wagon of armour and weapons from Copperstead, but the final parts of the order were late so I stayed behind. I thought I’d catch up but I haven’t.”

  The guard looked puzzled, “We haven’t had any wagons from Copperstead.”

  “Well, it’s recently from Goldfield. It left there five days ago, probably arrived earlier today or yesterday?”

  The guard shook his head. “We haven’t had any wagons with weapons and armour recently, I’m afraid.”

  “You must have.”

  “Nope. We have our own mines and smithies. We don’t generally import that kind of stuff.”

  Chandor clamped down on the anger that rose up inside him. I’ll bet you’re in on whatever scheme is going on, liar. He forced a smile and said, “Okay. Well, I guess I was mistaken. I’ll just spend the night here and head back to Goldfield tomorrow. Is there a good inn?”

  He followed their directions and found himself at an average looking establishment, so he paid a copper to a local youth to direct him to the best inn in the town. Once the horses were settled and all the equipment delivered to his room, he asked for the innkeeper. Paying in advance for two days, and ordering the most expensive bottle of wine with his meal, he asked the innkeeper to join him.