by Dale Vice
He eyes only narrowed in anticipation as he muttered, “I’m ready for you this time.” He found he was looking forward to the fight.
The orc on his right reached him first. It lifted its wide-bladed two-handed sword above its head. Chandor leapt forward and caught the orc off guard. He slammed his shield into its face. The orc staggered back and collapsed, but Chandor was already pivoting. He whipped the Silver Sceptre from four-to-eleven. Using his legs and torso to increase his torque, he caught the second orc just under its rib cage. Its chain mail did little to stop the heavy sceptre’s momentum and Chandor felt bones give way. From the way the orc suddenly collapsed Chandor knew he had pulverised its heart.
Darkness flashed on his left and right as the shadows darted out and dropped the two humans that arrived next. From the slits of his T-Helm Chandor saw a row of armoured skeletons in the baron’s colours clattering forward with their halberds lowered.
A shout of “Be gone, abominations!” saw them explode in a gout of blue flame.
As the next wave of attackers approached, Chandor moved back. He positioned himself just inside the doorway so that his opponents had to come at him one at a time. A heavily armoured man charged in with his axe swinging wildly. Chandor ducked and smashed the man’s knee with his sceptre. The man collapsed and Chandor finished him clinically with a blow of his shield.
Chandor felt a blow glance off the armour on his back. He swept the Shadow King’s shield and the Silver Sceptre upwards. The two blows landed in quick succession lifting the soldier into the air. He was dead before he hit the ground.
The shadows cut down the next orc before it got to him. Chandor was balanced when its partner arrived. He opened his arms wide, then brought his weapons together in what Sir Botha called The Cymbals. He crunched the orcs helmeted head between the two magical weapons with a crash.
A skeleton and zombie leapt over the orc’s dead body but Chandor destroyed them with a contemptuous, “Perish.”
The doorway stayed empty. Chandor was about to order the shadows to attack when the guard captain shouted, “Burn him out!”
A moment later, a lantern flew through the door, flicking oil in every direction. It hit the ground and shattered, covering the floor in oil. Flaming torches and more lanterns flew in through the open door and windows setting the inn on fire.
As the flames leapt up, Chandor laughed out loud. “Do you think I’m scared of fire?” he shouted as the flames blazed all around him. “I was created in fire when your baron killed my family!”
He dropped to one knee and bowed his head. Remembering the story in the Sacred Texts of the three prophets who emerged unscathed from the fiery furnace, he prayed. “Your prophets were condemned but the fire did not harm their bodies or singe a hair on their heads. Their robes were not scorched and there was not even the smell of fire on them. I know that the Gods that I serve can save me from this inferno.” He drew the sign of Otec on the ground before him with his sceptre.
The scorching heat suddenly subsided. The whole room was still ablaze. Towering over him was a massive, shining messenger of the Gods. Its wings formed a protective circle surrounded him. Chandor stood trembling as goose bumps rose all over his body. Behind the bar, bottles of alcohol exploded, adding to the flames. Near to the door, his saddle bags and everything the shadows had been carrying was alight, but his armour and weapons were not even hot. The shadows had disappeared and he hoped they had gone back into the shield.
He strode to the door, and yelled, “See this and know that I worship the Gods of Mankind, and that they can deliver me from your hand. Glory be to Otec, Notomok and Takatifu Roho!”
Chandor retreated into the flames. He went down on one knee and sent an image for Rage to meet him near the front door of the inn, confident that his prayers would be answered again. He hooked the Silver Sceptre to his belt and slung his shield across his back so that his hands were free. As soon as he saw his black steed galloping into the street, Chandor pointed to where the knot of Nuan’s minions stood and prayed for quiet.
“In the name of Otec, I command you to silence!” A throb seemed shake the air around him. The air around the mob shimmered as if in a heat wave. Confusion was clear on the faces of his opponents as the world around them was suddenly soundless.
Chandor didn’t waste time watching as they tried to shout to each other. He sprinted towards Rage. Without stirrups or a saddle, it took him precious seconds to heave his armoured body onto the animal’s broad back. An arrow clattered off his back and he shouted “Go, Rage, go!” The warhorse took off underneath him. It took all his horsemanship to ensure he wasn’t thrown, but they quickly left the mob behind as they raced for the gates.
They approached the gates at the far end of town where four guards in burgundy and gold stood watch with loaded crossbows. Chandor stretched out his hand to the heavens and prayed for divine aid. The stars seemed to flare and a moment later three celestial owls dropped silently from the sky. Covered in silver feathers that gleamed in the moonlight, they attacked the guards on the wall with their shining talons and beaks.
While shouts of panic and pain drifted down to him, Chandor quickly dismounted and opened the gates unchallenged. By the time the pursuing mob rounded the corner, he and Rage had disappeared into the night.
CHAPTER 29
The Castle
Chandor stayed low as he galloped up the road toward the castle. He gripped Rage tightly with his knees and held the mane with his gauntleted hands. Eventually he checked behind him and, when he saw no sign of pursuit, slowed Rage to a walk.
In the moonlight, stretching branches cast eerie shadows across the uneven ground, and the light from his Holy Symbol only seemed to emphasise the darkness between the trees. As they rode up the steep winding road through the woods the adrenaline of the battle began to wear off. He was drenched in sweat from his exertions, and his under-tunic was soon freezing in the cold night air. His body ached from the pounding it had taken. He felt emotionally and spiritually drained.
The castle loomed bigger and bigger as he neared the top of the hill. It blotted out the night sky. Far away, he heard the call of the wolves and he shuddered. Will they attack now that I am weak? Feeling very alone, he patted Rage’s neck. His usually dependable equine companion flinched as if under attack and skittered sideways.
Chandor paused at the last line of trees. The castle rose above him, completely impenetrable. Massive black walls rose fifty feet into the air. An iron portcullis shielded the huge wooden gates. Chandor realised with despair that even with ladders and battering rams it would be almost impossible to gain entrance. The thought of climbing that high on a rickety ladder in full armour made him ill.
A mob wouldn’t have done any good anyway. We would have stood around waving our weapons and torches like idiots while the vampire sat safely inside and laughed. It would take a full army weeks of blood to breach the defences, and when we did the vampire would just turn into a bat and fly away.
Two heavy square barbican towers covered the door. Seven circular towers stretched up in to the night. Movement along the top of the walls marked the passage of guards who undoubtedly waited with barbed arrows and boiling oil.
Chandor closed his eyes and sighed. He knew he did not have the strength to perform even one more miracle. I can’t do this. I’ll never win. He raised his eyes to the heavens. Why have you brought me so close, only to fail? He sought the anger that usually drove him on but found only fear and despair. I can’t sit here. The guards from the town must be closing in by now. Turning Rage with his knees he despondently nudged him into a trot, leaving the road and heading into the woods, away from the castle and the town.
Without care or thought for where he was going, he rode until at last he came to a clearing from which even the tallest tower of the castle was not visible. Exhausted, he slid from Rage’s back.
“Sorry boy, I can’t even brush you down. I don’t have anything.” The thought of all his stuff going u
p in flames brought tears to his eyes. “My Texts, equipment, my clothes. Eight hundred gold worth of gems and coin! Now I’ve got nothing again! Not even a sleeping sack. Why?” he shouted at the heavens, “Why are you doing this to me? Why will you not let me get my revenge and find peace at last?”
He stripped off his armour, dumping it on the ground, not caring that it would leave him defenceless. If the Gods want me to die, they can kill me. He turned automatically for his saddle bags and sobbed as he realised his stupidity. I’m too tired to make a fire anyway.
Putting his shield in easy reach, he lay down on the hard, cold ground, wrapped his tattered cloak around himself and fell instantly asleep.
He jolted from sleep with the image of the vampire’s fanged mouth rushing towards him. Despite the hard ground and bad dreams, his slumber had refreshed him. He had shrugged off the fear and depression from the night before and felt the familiar anger giving him strength and purpose. He worked through his stretching exercises and then carefully donned his armour, resisting the urge to summon the shadows to assist him. Once he was dressed, he sat with the morning sun filtering through the canopy onto his back, and began to meditate.
Breathing deeply as he had been taught, his awareness of everything around him heightened. The smell of the soil, the brush of the breeze, the sounds of forest and the warmth of the sun on his back. They all reminded him of the life in the world. The weight of his armour and the rhythmic beating of his heart made him feel more alive than he ever had before.
Everything happens for a reason. The thought dropped into his still mind like a pebble into a pond. He realised that it was a blessing that he had not been able to gain access to the castle the previous night. It would have been foolish to try and attack a vampire in the middle of the night, while exhausted from travel and unprepared.
A phrase from the Sacred Texts made sense for the first time, “The Gods use every situation for the good of those that serve them.”
He determined to view the loss of his equipment and food as a blessing. Now my quest is drawing to a close I must cut the ties to materialism and this earth. The future does not matter, the past does not matter, all that matters is the present. He inhaled deeply through his nose and let his breath out slowly through his mouth. I am freed from all earthly bonds. All that remains is my mission. He shook his head at his previous foolishness as a number of other ideas fell into place. When have I ever had to worry about gold? I have everything I need to complete my quest with me. A fast will serve me well as I go into battle.
He knelt on the leafy floor and bowed his head to the ground. “Otec, give me strength. Notomok, protect me. Takatifu Roho, fill me with your power!”
If I hadn’t missed the sign to Sanctuary, I would not have received the Shadow King’s shield. Salanverj strengthened my faith and provided the Silver Sceptre. Each step of my journey prepared me for the next. I have been refined like gold in a fire. Perhaps my whole journey has simply been a process of preparing me for this final battle. If I had come straight here, I would not have had the weapons, the armour, the skills or the faith to accomplish my mission. The fact that I am here now, confirms that I am ready.
He marvelled at how powerful he had become. He felt full of the power of the Gods. I performed nine miracles yesterday! What more will be possible today?
Chandor stood, and brushed the leaves from his armoured knees and shins he marvelled aloud, “I must be more powerful than Guide Jurgen and Sir Botha now!”
“Hi.”
The unexpected voice startled him so violently that he leapt a foot into the air. He landed with the Silver Sceptre grasped tightly in his gauntleted hand. “Who in the afterlife are you?”
A woman stepped into the clearing, her empty hands spread wide, “I’m Jenna. You can relax, I’m on your side.” She was dressed in grey and brown leggings and a matching shirt that blended with the forest, and carried a long bow across her back. A heavy hunting knife hung at her side. Her hair was short, starkly proclaiming that she was not a Vander Fistorian.
Chandor lowered his sceptre fractionally. “What do you mean, ‘on my side’?”
“I’m from the half of the town that wants Baron Nuan dead. Of course, the other half wants you dead and they’re so busy arguing nobody is ever going to do anything. Don’t hold it against them, they’re just scared.”
“And you?”
Jenna nodded. “I’m scared too. But Nuan has taken my sister and I think you’re my best hope of ever getting her back.” She eyed him speculatively, “If I hadn’t seen what you did in the town I wouldn’t have believed you were a powerful adventurer. I could have killed you in your sleep, and again while you were praying. And you succumbed to the castle’s Fear spell like everyone else.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you any idea of what lies ahead?”
“Baron Nuan is a vampire,” said Chandor flatly. “That’s all I need to know.”
Jenna snorted, “Well you know about the baron at least, but it’s not just him you’re up against. The castle had its own protection long before Nuan took it for his own. Before you even reach the walls, its magical Aura of Fear will strike terror and despair into your heart. Legend has it that whole armies have fled without ever reaching the gates.”
Chandor bit his lip as he considered the new information. He had never thought about what it would mean to actually find the vampire. While his quest had always been to kill the vampire, his focus had always been on tracking it down. Now that he knew where it was, he realised there was a mountain of work to do before he could destroy it.
“In addition to the Fear Aura, you’ll have to deal with the gargoyles. They watch from the top of the towers, looking just like hideous stone statues. But anyone trying to cross the courtyard to the keep without an invitation from the baron will get ripped limb from limb…”
Chandor exhaled deeply. A gargoyle was not a creature to be trifled with. Although they were not made of flesh and blood, he had no power to rebuke them since they weren’t undead. “Did you say gargoyles, with an ‘s’?”
Jenna nodded, “There are three of them. North, South and East. Baron Nuan killed the Western one when he took the castle. But don’t think that leaves the Western wall unwatched – North and South watch it too now, as the last lot of adventurers found to their detriment.”
Chandor swallowed. “What else?”
“The baron has an army of goblins, orcs and troglodytes working for him. They are all evil races and love to fight.”
“You don’t need to tell me about goblins or orcs, I’ve fought and killed both. What’s a troglodyte?”
“They’re like disgusting human lizards. Scaled and strong, they’re hard to kill. They can blend colour like a chameleon and emit a stink that is so nauseating it’s hard to fight. Apparently they worship the vampire as a god. You don’t see them around much, so I think they guard the crypt.”
“Frig.”
“And then there are the undead.”
Chandor grunted, “Those, I’m not worried about.”
“You should be. The baron’s got a full army in there. Hordes of skeletons, a number of strong but slow zombies.”
“That is what I live for. My faith will destroy them!”
“And his general, the spectre?”
Chandor knew that spectres were amongst the mightiest of the undead. Ghostly beings of pure evil, their merest touch could drain life like a vampire. Reluctantly he nodded, “You’re right, I may not be able to destroy the spectre with my faith. I don’t know if I would have authority over an undead that strong. But trust me, if you get me inside the walls, I’ll find a way to destroy the vampire. Whether by rebuking, prayer, or steel, I will have my revenge.”
Jenna gave him a long, evaluating stare, but eventually she said, “Very well. Follow me and I’ll show you the other way in.”
Chandor rode Rage, feeling more comfortable bareback than he had the previous night. Brimming with the power o
f the Gods, with his Holy Symbol around his neck and shield and sceptre in his hands, he felt invincible. Jenna walked along next to them, telling Chandor about the passage as they worked their way to the far side of the hill on which the castle was built, “The secret passage is meant as a last resort for the lord to escape if the castle is falling. I don’t know exactly where in the castle it starts, but I do know where in the forest it emerges.”
As they followed a twisting animal path through the dappled shade of the forest, Chandor asked the question that had been niggling at him for some time, “How does the castle know who to attack and who to leave, for the fear spell and the gargoyles?”
Jenna shrugged, “I’ve got no idea. I’ve never thought about it before.”
Chandor’s next question was cut short by a spine chilling howl of a wolf nearby. It was joined a moment later by another and another until the sound echoed around the forest. The calls were no less unnerving just because it was daylight.
Jenna nocked her bow. Chandor tightened his grip on the Silver Sceptre and the Shadow King’s shield as shapes filtered through the trees around them. The howling surrounded them and Chandor felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. He reined in at the next clearing. Wolves started to slip in from their left, spreading out until there were seven of them blocking the path. They formed a semi-circle between them and the castle.
“Frig,” swore Jenna, and Chandor turned to see another group of wolves arriving to their right. They were led by a massive black wolf with disturbing eyes that looked at him with uncanny intelligence. A low growling started. A moment later every wolf had its teeth bared.
Chandor swallowed. Damn. There are too many of them. Way too many. He had hoped to save his spiritual strength for when he had to confront the vampire, but was quickly reassessing his strategy. No point dying with unsaid prayers.
Before he could utter a word, the large black wolf streaked across the clearing, followed by its pack. They passed him, Rage and Jenna, and attacked the wolves on their left. In an instant, the clearing was a churning ball of fur and teeth, and Chandor had no idea what was going on.