Dark Priest

by Dale Vice

  He leapt to his feet to go and scour the castle for any remaining enemies. He found skeletons in the dungeons, and zombies at the top of some of the towers where they had shambled in their mindless bid to escape the castle’s Fear Aura. He destroyed them all with vicious glee and they crumbled in the face of his raging faith.

  Once the castle was secure, he performed the Rite of Remembrance on the dead orcs, goblins and troglodytes. Then he and the shadows heaved their bodies over the walls by the cliff. He dispelled the miraculous darkness from the centre of the courtyard, then gathered the weapons and armour from the forty dead enemies and returned them to the armoury.

  Backtracking along the secret passage through which he had entered, he found Rage grazing peacefully near the entrance. He rode Rage back to the castle and groomed him in the stables.

  It was only as he returned to the baron’s bedroom towards the end of the day that he noticed the lavish study. On Nuan’s desk a letter caught his eye. He began to read in fascination, then with rising horror, and ultimately furious anger.

  He searched for more correspondence and instead found hundreds of pages of Nuan’s diaries, maps with battle plans, detailed instructions and political strategies filed meticulously in the desk drawers.

  After reading for an hour, Chandor gathered some food and drink and returned to the study. He lit the fire that was laid in the substantial fireplace. As soon as it was roaring he returned to the desk. A while later, he added more wood to the fire and poured himself a glass of wine in one of the crystal glasses. He could not believe what he was reading; Plans for a war on a massive scale showed signs of a brilliant plan, being masterfully executed. There was no mention of where the instructions originated, nor from whom.

  What creature could command a vampire? It must be immensely powerful, perhaps a Nightshade or a Lich? Whatever monstrous evil it was, it had over a hundred thousand undead and monster troops gathering somewhere deep in the Shrouded Mountains, readying to attack the Kingdom of Fistoria. Chandor could barely imagine the numbers.

  Eventually, his mind reeling, Chandor climbed up the stairs to the top of the tower. He stared out at the night sky, covered in stars. In the moonlight, the mountains seemed to stretch forever. The cold wind stung his face he felt despair wash over him. I can’t destroy all those undead! The army will be vast to begin with, and there will be hundreds of powerful monsters and mighty undead. How can I possibly stand against such a tide?

  “Otec, what can I do?” he called, raising his voice into the night sky.

  A still small voice seemed to speak deep in his heart, “You cannot do this alone.”

  Chandor nodded. The Gods were right, of course. His pride had already almost cost him his life and his mission. He resolved not to make the same mistake again.

  I need allies and heroes to fight beside me. He looked up at the sky, and saw the millions of stars, remembering how he had been overwhelmed by the sheer number of goblins and orcs despite his superior training, equipment and divine help. He recalled the battle at Salanverj and had an epiphany. I need an army of my own.

  Knowing exactly what he needed to do, he strode back down to the study. He sat at the baron’s desk and began to write.

  The next morning, Chandor dressed for battle. He pulled his tattered black and silver tabard over his armour and fastened his ripped cloak around his shoulders. He took equipment from the stables to saddle Rage. Then he hooked the Silver Sceptre to his belt, and settled the Shadow King’s shield on his left arm. Gathering his courage, he rode slowly down to the town of Sanctuary, wondering what sort of reception he would receive.

  A horn blasted long before his arrival. There was a flurry of activity along the wall. He swallowed nervously. The town gates opened slowly to reveal a huge crowd. His heart rate soared and his mouth went dry. He prayed for peace and a supernatural calm descended. He approached the gates warily. Humans and orcs saluted or bowed, and he walked Rage through the entrance unchallenged.

  The crowd was strung out in a wide semi-circle. It shrunk back as he approached. He reined in to silence as talking ceased, and he thanked the Gods again for his miraculous calm as he swept his gaze across the assembly.

  He was about to speak when the closest members of the crowd stepped forward. In the middle was a smartly dressed man with a thick gold chain and medallion hanging prominently around his neck. On the man’s right, a richly adorned dwarf dripped with jewellery, while gems gleamed in its beard. On his left a small doglike humanoid of a race that Chandor did not recognise wore an exquisite headdress of feathers and a necklace of teeth of varying sizes.

  “We are the Sanctuary Council,” said the dogman in perfect human.

  “We manage the town on behalf of the baron,” added the dwarf in such a heavy accent that Chandor only just understood what had been said.

  “What news of Baron Nuan?” asked the human.

  Chandor’s grip tightened on his shield and sceptre. “The vampire is destroyed.”

  The man, the dwarf and the other creature each dropped to one knee, their heads bowed. A moment later, starting with the front row, every person knelt before Chandor, their heads bowed.

  Suddenly a voice called out, “Nuan is dead! All hail Sir Chandor, baron of Sanctuary, the Dark Priest!”

  The crowd surged to its feet, cheering, and Chandor sawed at the reins as Rage reared up. When Rage was back under control and the crowd had quietened, the human councillor asked, “Nuan is gone, and you are baron of Sanctuary. What now?”

  Chandor took a deep breath and moment to gather his thoughts. He raised his voice so that it carried clearly to the back of the crowd, “The vampire is dead, but the battle has just begun. War is coming and I need an army. Any soldiers seeking employment may present themselves at the castle this afternoon for inspection.”

  There was a murmur from the crowd and then the dwarven councillor called out, “You are a Fistorian, Baron Dark Priest.” The dwarf glowered at him from under bushy eyebrows, “Will you pursue the same human’s only policy as King Ironfist?”

  The question hit Chandor like a slap on the face. Throughout his life, he had been taught that all non-humans were evil. Nearly three hundred years before, Ironfist the First had driven every goblin, orc, dwarf and elf from the kingdom. Since then the borders had been heavily patrolled and any humanoids found within them were exterminated as enemy soldiers. Chandor thought of the ferociousness and numbers that the goblins, orcs and troglodytes had added to the vampire’s troops, and found that his thirst for revenge overwhelmed his upbringing. Holding the dwarfs eye, it took him only a moment to decide. He called out loudly, “My battle is not against the living but the undead. Any creature willing to fight beside me is welcome.”

  His looked down at the three council members, “I leave Sanctuary Town in your capable hands.” He glanced meaningfully at the castle and added, “Trust me when I say the Gods do not look kindly on any who try to cross me.”

  “Of course, My Lord.”

  “I will require a seneschal, a reeve, and a chief steward. Send suitable candidates to the castle tomorrow. Get the local tailor to start on a new cloak and tunic for me, and fifty more for my army. And ensure that these letters are delivered as soon as possible.”

  With that he wheeled Rage and cantered back to the castle.

  That afternoon, Chandor was meditating on the castle walls when the noise of marching feet made him look out. An orcish army was approaching. They marched under black flags with the Godstar done crudely in silver or grey or white, and many of them wore black and silver, or had painted their faces with his colours.

  He took a moment to pray for enhanced perception. The horde halted. Three impressive orcs approached, stopping just beyond the shadow of the castle. Two wore full battle gear, replete with horned helms, spiked shoulder guards, and huge war axes. The third was clearly a shaman. He carried a staff from which hung bones, feathers and beads. His cloak was made of feathers and the hooked beak of a giant rap
tor covered his head. It was not their dress that held Chandor’s attention, but the fact that they were not glowing with an evil aura. Does that mean that they are not evil, or just that they are not against me? he wondered.

  The leader thumped his chest with his fist and called up to Chandor in good human, “Greetings, Baron Dark Priest, castle taker, vampire slayer, wolf friend, Shadow King. I am Shmog’Vawg, Breaker of Bones. I command of the Blood Tooth clan, fifty strong. Harg!” He thumped his chest twice. “Me and my orcs agreed to become the Dark Guard Clan. We will serve you now, Dark Priest.”

  “Why?” Chandor called back, genuinely interested.

  Shmog’Vawg shrugged. “We like to fight. We like this castle. You will lead us to many battles. With you, we will defend the town, hunt monsters, kill undead. There will be much glory for orcs who follow you. You will help us become Chosen. This is why we follow you.”

  Chandor nodded thoughtfully. “You will have to follow my rules.”

  The orc shrugged again. “Leaders always give rules. Orcs follow the rules of their leader.” Shmog’Vawg stuck a fat finger up his broad nose. “Code is good. Honour is good for glory. You will make us legendary. The Dark Guard Clan, with rules and purpose, will have many epic fights. Orcs like that.”

  Chandor nodded. He watched with bated breath as the orcs marched in. He glanced up at the motionless gargoyles which watched like stone statues from the towers, but the orcs settled into the barracks without incident and had soon started patrolling the walls as if they had always been there.

  Chandor retreated to the baron’s rooms in the keep but was soon summoned by a trumpet call from the guard at the gate.

  “Gawg logar ag lok leshak!” shouted an orc.

  Shmog’Vawg jogged over. “Vilebreath says there are two humans at the gate.”

  Chandor made his way to the main castle entrance and peered through a viewing hole. Standing beyond the castle gates was a dark-haired lady who had a spear held casually at her side. Next to her stood an equally dark haired man in chain armour who clutched his spear tightly with both hands.

  “Open the pedestrian gate and raise the portcullis,” Chandor ordered.

  They entered, and bowed deeply, “Baron Chandor, thank you for opening for us.”

  “Deborah, Kurt! Of course I would open for you. It is good to see you again. Come in.” He turned to Shmog’Vawg, “These are former travelling companions of mine, treat them as honoured guests.”

  The orc nodded, and the gates and portcullis were closed behind them.

  “What are you doing here?” Chandor enquired.

  “Can we find somewhere more private to talk, please?” asked Kurt.

  Chandor nodded and led them to the baron’s opulent chambers, which he had taken for himself. When they were settled in front of the fire with a drink from Nuan’s store, Deborah took a deep breath. “Chandor, I need healing. And sanctuary.”

  “For what?”

  “I’ve done terrible things,” she smiled faintly, “And some good. Don’t you recognise me?” She looked at him intently.

  Chandor looked back blankly for a moment, then realisation hit him. Those eyes! “It was you that saved me in the forest.”

  Deborah nodded.

  Understanding dawned on Chandor as the hairs on his back of his neck rose, “It was your wolves that tracked me up the border, not the vampire’s.”

  “My wolves and I, yes. I promised to repay you for saving my husband,” Deborah smiled.

  “That’s why you don’t wear armour. Why you insisted we stop at the full moon. How you could hunt stone-horn buffalo.”

  “Say it out loud,” she ordered.

  “You are a werewolf.”

  Deborah nodded, then asked, “Can you cure me?”

  Chandor nodded. “I can. Lycanthropy is a potent disease, but my faith is strong enough.”

  Deborah bit her lip and looked at Kurt. Her eyes filled with tears. “Kurt has always told me that this disease is a blessing, not a curse. Since I was first bitten I’ve wanted to be cured, to be able to go home. Now…”

  Chandor waited, a deep sympathy welling up inside him.

  “I’m not welcome anywhere in Fistoria as I am. From the beginning, we’ve been on the run, moving from village to village before anyone finds out about me. With my debt to you repaid, we were about to leave here when I saw you welcoming the orcs. I thought perhaps…” she started sobbing and Kurt leaned forward.

  “Chandor, we don’t believe Deborah needs to be cured. This is who she is!” he said in a voice full of passion. “We just need somewhere to call home. I’m convinced Deborah can learn to control her Change if she just has some time when she isn’t forced to keep moving and hiding. Will you provide us with sanctuary?”

  Chandor took a deep breath and stood up. Frig, a werewolf? What kind of Guardian travels with a lycanthrope? He looked to the ceiling then back at Deborah. I need all the help I can get, and a werewolf will make a powerful ally. He looked down at the two of them, and said “You’ve already shown you’re trustworthy. You two will be my personal guard. Find yourselves accommodation here in the keep.” He paused, then added uncomfortably, “At full moon you can use the cells in the dungeon below the barracks, if you need to...”

  He shrugged uncertainly, but they nodded enthusiastically. “Thank you, Chandor. We can’t tell you how much this means to us.” With big smiles, they bowed and left, holding hands and with a spring in their steps.

  He was sure his surprises for the day were over, but the arrival of a beaming Jenna and her sister caught Chandor off guard again.

  “Baron Chandor!” Jenna grinned. “Thank you so much for saving my sister.”

  Chandor felt a stab of guilt as he looked at the dark-haired woman with whose life he had gambled so carelessly. “I’m glad it turned out well.” It dismayed him to realise that he had not even thought about her after his encounter with the spectre.

  The dark-haired lady, now modestly dressed, made a quick curtsy. “I was a money lender in Sanctuary before Nuan bewitched me. I would still be under his spell, a vapid plaything and intermittent food source, if you hadn’t defeated him. I don’t know what you did to make us all flee the castle, but your actions saved my life. Thank you.” She took a deep breath, “I have a good understanding of how the taxes and castle finances work and am sure I can manage the castle’s treasury and accounts. I’d like serve as your reeve, if you’ll let me.”

  “And I’d like to be your game warden, if there is such a position available,” smiled Jenna.

  Chandor said a silent prayer of thanks to Otec and told them they could both start immediately. Somewhat dazed by the speed of events, he returned to his rooms.

  Over the next two weeks the castle filled with soldiers and servants of various races. While Chandor worried about what his association with supposedly evil creatures would do to his soul, their actions showed them to be not much different to most humans he had known. Hard-working dwarves, war-loving orcs, gnomish engineers, and a diversity of humans from administrators to adventurers, all found their place in the fortress. The deferential kobolds were only too happy to serve in exchange for food and safety. A ten-foot ogre spent most of the day lazily sleeping in the sun, but Chandor decided its mere ferocious presence at the gate house made it a worthwhile addition to his troops.

  The troglodyte priests returned. They struggled with the idea of invisible, intangible Gods. Instead, they wanted to worship Chandor. After a heated argument, Chandor managed to convince them to direct their praises to Otec, Notomok and Takatifu Roho. Although they turned every teaching from the Sacred Texts into a series of complicated rituals, the church was soon clean and ordered, leaving no doubt that it was a holy place dedicated to the Gods. Unable to curb their sacrificial instincts, Chandor eventually compromised by allowing them to slaughter doves and lambs in Otec’s name. The only condition was that the animals were killed quickly and cleanly. With that resolved, the troglodytes were also soon inc
orporated into daily life at the castle.

  Only the goblins were so disruptive that Chandor would not tolerate them in the castle. He eventually drove them out for their stealing and vicious violence.

  Jenna reported that the spectre had fled into the mountains, along with the remaining zombies and skeletons. Chandor immediately led a patrol to hunt them down, but after two days the trail simply vanished, suggesting they had been teleported away by magic.

  Chandor and the patrols earned the taxes that flowed weekly from the town. It seemed that every day there was a monster in the mines, or a giant insect destroying the crops, or a vicious predator attacking the trade caravans.

  He made it clear he had no interest in settling disputes, redrafting laws, mining rights or property, as he snarled at the final petitioner of the day, “My army and I will guard, patrol and take out any threat so that I earn my taxes and blood my soldiers, but I am not in the least bit interested in doing administration or solving your petty problems. Take it to the Sanctuary Council. The next person to waste my time will find themselves cursed to never speak again!”

  In his third week as baron of Sanctuary, Chandor was training with the soldiers in the courtyard when a tall, bald fighter with red tattoos rode in on his distinctively striped black and white pony.

  “Matwau, you’re sooner than I expected,” Chandor called, striding forward to greet his guest.

  The Nombu mercenary’s large battle axe, thick fur cloak, heavy leather skirt and sandals did not seem as exotic with all the orcs around, but he still looked just as intimidating.

  “Is that you, Chandor?” Matwau asked.

  Chandor removed his helm and Matwau shook his head in amazement. “You have grown since I last saw you! You’re almost my height, and your shoulders are wider! Or is it just this fancy armour? I really like your mace and shield!” He clapped Chandor on the shoulder and grinned, “It seems I taught you well, Baron!”