Dark Priest

by Dale Vice

  Chandor’s eyes flicked to the large ox-drawn wagon that had followed him in. The young woman with a wand in her gloved hand smiled at him warmly as she dipped her head in greeting, “Lord Chandor, thank you for your invitation.”

  She was dressed as Chandor remembered her, in thick boots, grey stockings, long dark grey tunic with esoteric symbols sewn along the edges in white and black, a thick woollen scarf, and a fur lined cloak. “Still feeling the cold, Casanath?” he enquired.

  “Occupational hazard,” laughed the magician.

  “I didn’t know if you would come.”

  “Well, few mages can resist the offer of their own tower, and your letter came at a good time. Lander and Gelarey have been getting increasingly uncomfortable with my new direction.”

  “What’s that?”

  She smiled, “I have dedicated my life to Notomok.”

  Chandor nearly dropped his helm. “Are you a still a magician?”

  “Of course,” she laughed, “but through the Sacred Texts I have come to understand that my magic is a gift from the Gods, and that it needs to be used to their glory. I was about to enlist with the Guardians of Mankind when Matwau found me and handed me your letter. I decided that perhaps this is where the Gods are calling me.”

  Chandor shook his head in disbelief. “Well, the Gods work in mysterious ways. I need a magician to support the castle and aid me in battle, so I’m glad you came.” He turned to Matwau, “What about your second quest?”

  Matwau grinned, then turned and yelled, “Burrgh!”

  The wagon shook and a deep voice boomed from the back, “Are we here, then?”

  “Come on out!” called Matwau.

  The back flap opened and the minotaur emerged, blinking in the sunlight. The eight-foot monster leapt lightly to the ground, a huge double bladed battle axe grasped easily in one hand. “I am Bhrrghurgghr,” he said to the nearest orcs, “I come in peace.”

  Chandor turned, taking in all the troops, “Members of the Dark Guard, meet your new captain, Matwau of the Nombu, and our new weapons trainer, Marshal Bhrrghurgghr.”

  Although his plans were coming together, Chandor felt increasingly restless and frustrated as the days went past. Anger burned in his soul. He longed to continue his quest for revenge against the undead. He pushed himself relentlessly, meditating, weapons training, and drilling his troops. Even though he knew that neither he nor his soldiers were ready, his desire to take the attack to the undead army grew daily. He was about to gather a small squad and head into the mountains, when a rider galloped in with news that put his plans temporarily on hold.

  “A delegation of Fistorians are on their way. They have knights, dragoons, and infantry with them. They are accompanied by Guide Jurgen and a squad of Guardians.”

  Chandor swallowed and turned to Matwau with a raised eyebrow.

  “We’ll be able to hold the castle fairly easily, if that’s what you’re wondering,” said Matwau confidently.

  “I doubt it will come to that,” interjected Casanath. “I’d suggest you treat them as visiting dignitaries. It is fairly normal for Fistoria to send a delegation to meet with a new ruler.”

  Chandor nodded thoughtfully, “Send someone to greet them and let them know that they are welcome. A human, mind – I don’t think an orc messenger will send the right message. Offer them rooms in the castle, although I suspect that they will prefer to camp outside rather than share rooms with non-humans. Once they have settled in I’ll receive them in the great hall.”

  Chandor sat on the throne, with Deborah, Matwau, Casanath, Bhrrghurgghr, Shmog’Vawg and the orc shaman arrayed around him on the dais.

  One of Chandor’s servants opened the impressive double doors to the great hall and announced the new arrivals, “I present to you Gregor of Fistoria, Emissary of the duke of Vander, and Guide Jurgen the Wise of the Church of Mankind.”

  The Fistorian diplomat approached the dais and bowed deeply before saying, “Your Lordship, if I may start by stating how pleased we are to have a Fistorian sitting on the throne of Sanctuary. We, the Kingdom of Fistoria, and specifically the Vander Duchy, look forward to a long and prosperous relationship with the Barony of Sanctuary. While, in the past, we –”

  Chandor cut him off. “Let’s cut to the chase, Gregor. I sent a number of letters of utmost importance. I presume they are the reason for your visit?”

  The diplomat nodded and smiled comfortably, “Yes and no, Lord Chandor. In addition to providing a response to your letters, I am here to provide official recognition, negotiate treaties and pacts, and ensure that our two dominions work together smoothly going forward.”

  Chandor frowned, “Okay, but get on with it.”

  “The Kingdom of Fistoria recognises Sanctuary as a sovereign state, and you as a foreign noble with the rank of baron. The duke of Vander himself signed the official letter. If you visit Fistoria, yourself and your delegation will be entitled to state reception and lodgings befitting your status as a ruling noble.”

  Chandor nodded curtly, “That would be a nice change. The soldiers in the last Fistorian town I visited tried to arrest me.”

  “The warrant for your arrest has been withdrawn, of course. The Judges have agreed that in both instances your killings were done in self-defence and therefore justified. Furthermore, since no evidence of treason was found, your name has been cleared. Both the Church of Mankind and the Duchy of Vander have written formal apologies and proclamations have been circulated to restore your name.”

  Gregor beckoned and two aides came forward, bearing a heavy chest between them. “This chest of gold has been sent by way of compensation for inconvenience caused.”

  Chandor snorted. I’ll take your gold, but don’t think my forgiveness can be so easily purchased.

  “Now, talking of gold, Baron Chandor, I’d like to discuss trade.”

  “I’m not interested in trade.”

  “You don’t want to trade at all?” spluttered the diplomat incredulously.

  “No, I’m not interested in discussing trade. You can talk to the Sanctuary Council regarding such matters.” Chandor stood up and started to pace. “Gregor, the only thing I care about is Fistoria’s response to my warning about the undead army!”

  Gregor sighed softly. “Very well, Baron Chandor. Your highly valuable letters were forwarded to the Vander Brigadier himself. In recognition of your service to the kingdom he has awarded you the Silver Fist.” Gregor gestured and an aide moved forward with a beautiful small wooden box. In it was a medal on a bed of velvet.

  Chandor clenched his fists and worked hard not to shout. “Medals and titles are of little interest to me. Honestly, you can take them and-”

  Casanath cut in quickly, “Baron Chandor, whilst you may not care, a commendation like this carries a huge amount of weight with soldiers, officers and mercenaries alike. It’s a great honour.”

  To his left and right Chandor could see Matwau, Deborah and even the non-humans nodding in agreement and he sighed. “Fine. I’ll add it to my other tattoos and pin it to my tabard for formal occasions. Now tell me of Fistoria’s response to the war!”

  Gregor bowed. “Your letters confirmed the disturbing information we have been receiving from other sources. While we’re trying to keep it quiet to prevent panic, the Kingdom of Fistoria is now preparing for the biggest war in its history. The Vander Brigadier has sent a treaty on behalf of the United Human Armies of Fistoria, requesting you as an ally.”

  “That’s more like it!” Chandor exclaimed, pumping his fist. “Tell the Brigadier he can count of the support of my army against any undead.”

  A cough from Casanath made him shrug. “Let me rephrase – I agree in principle, subject to my advisors being comfortable with the terms and conditions. Is there anything else?”

  “Just one final item in which you might be interested. Your letters prompted an enquiry on several Fistorian citizens. While some investigations are still ongoing, Lord Lamar and six of his soldiers
have been hanged for treason.”

  “Good,” said Chandor coldly. “Anyone collaborating with the undead deserves to die. I’m glad I could help.”

  Gregor swallowed hard. “The Kingdom of Fistoria appreciates your support. It has been good to meet you, Baron Chandor. With your leave, I will take up the remaining matters with the Sanctuary Council.” Bowing deeply the diplomat turned and hurried from the room.

  Guide Jurgen, who had been waiting patiently to one side, stepped forward and bowed formally. “Baron Chandor. High Priest Hengel has requested that I come personally on behalf of the Church of Mankind. There are a few items that need to be resolved.” He nodded towards the door as two Guardians in full formal whites entered the room.

  “What are they doing here?” Chandor demanded, surging to his feet with his right hand reaching for the Silver Sceptre.

  “Anelle and Tribon have come to apologise and ask your forgiveness.”

  Chandor glared at the two priests.

  Anelle’s face was pale, her eyes teary as she said, “I’m so sorry, Chandor. Everything I did was because I love and care about you. Please forgive me, and the church.”

  Tribon on the other hand, looked like he was chewing a lemon. He struggled to look Chandor in the eye as he said, “I apologise for any wrongs I may have committed against you. As a person, a priest and a Guardian, I ask your forgiveness.”

  Chandor grunted and forced his fist to unclench before answering. “Your apologies are worthless and I will never forgive you. Now get out before I lose my self-control and undo the good that has been achieved here today.”

  Anelle opened her mouth to say something, but Chandor bellowed, “Get out!”

  Jurgen dragged her and Tribon from the room.

  Moonlight shone through the open window as Chandor sat brooding in front of the fire in his suite. A knock at the door jerked him from his dark thoughts.

  “Good evening, Chandor. Do you mind if I join you?”

  “Of course, Jurgen. You are always welcome. Come on in.”

  Chandor motioned to the other chair in front of the fire and went to the drinks cabinet. He poured two glasses of fine wine and handed one to the wise Guide before returning to his seat.

  “Thank you for getting the warrant for my arrest withdrawn.”

  Jurgen sighed, “People do foolish things because of fear.”

  Chandor nodded, and returned his gaze to the fire.

  “They’re still afraid that you’re The Painbinder. Tribon is utterly convinced. High Priest Hengel is unsure. He agrees that he should have handled the situation better, but he’s still worried.”

  “Stuff him,” Chandor snarled. “What do I care what Hengel thinks? He has no right to judge me, and no authority over me. Just warn him to stay out of my way.”

  Jurgen shrugged. “A number of the prophecies have already come true, Chandor. And now you are building an army of orcs, werewolves, ogres and minotaurs. You have troglodyte priests in your church!”

  “The Church of Mankind is wrong about these other races, Jurgen,” Chandor grumbled. “There is nothing in the Sacred Texts to indicate that Notomok hates non-humans.”

  “That may be so, Chandor, but you killed priests, and your closest friend!”

  “They attacked me!” Chandor yelled, flinging his wine glass into the fire. “Anelle betrayed my trust and tried to murder me. How dare you judge me?”

  Jurgen sighed again, as if a great weight lay on his shoulders. “Chandor, I’m not judging you. I’m worrying about you. You’re angrier than ever. You’re impatient, bitter, and restless.”

  Chandor nodded. He knew it was true.

  “I know Anelle’s betrayal hurts. What she did was stupid and wrong. But she did it to save your eternal soul.” He paused, then pinned Chandor with his eyes, “You killed her because she was in the way.”

  Chandor winced.

  “Hengel almost died, but he managed to miraculously raise her from the dead. Instead of rejoicing, you’re angry. She is so sorry, but you won’t forgive her. You’d rather repay her for hurting you. Is there not a part of you that is concerned?”

  Chandor took his head in his hands. Am I evil? He thought of the castle’s ink-black orb pulsing far below them. He thought of all he had done. I think I might be. A sob escaped his lips. “Help me, Jurgen. I am consumed with revenge, I seethe with anger. What can I do?”

  The large Guide reached across and clasped Chandor’s shoulder. “You have to let go, Chandor. You need to love and forgive.”

  “I can’t,” Chandor cried.

  “You can. Like fighting and performing miracles, loving and forgiving are things that you learn through practice. You just need to start. If you practice hatred you will become better and better at it, until that is all you are. Let go, and your heart will start to fill with love, and you will be on the path to righteousness and holiness.”

  Chandor stared into the fire. Minutes passed. Eventually he shrugged. “Sorry, Jurgen, but I can’t. I don’t have love in my heart, and cannot let go. If that makes me evil, so be it. The Gods have sent me to destroy the undead, and I will obey.”

  Jurgen sighed and drained the remainder of his wine. He pushed himself to his feet and said, “I’d better go. We have an early start tomorrow.”

  At the door, he pulled Chandor into a hug. “I love you and believe in you, my boy. No matter what, remember that you are forgiven by the grace of Notomok.”

  As he pulled away, Chandor saw that the fatherly priest had tears in his eyes.

  “Goodbye, Dark Priest.” Guide Jurgen turned and walked slowly away, leaving Chandor alone with his thoughts.

  The morning sun sent shafts of light through the grey clouded sky. Chandor stood on the battlements in his full armour, his new black and silver cloak swirling in the wind as he watched the Guardians preparing to leave. To his left and right, fifty orcish soldiers with a variety of bows and crossbows watched intently, feeling the tension of their leader. Burrgh and Deborah stood nearby, giving Chandor space but near enough act on any command.

  Dark circles under Chandor’s eyes showed his exhaustion. He had been awake all night wrestling with his conscience. Before first light he had joined the troglodyte priests in the church to pray as they conducted their morning sacrifice. He had dressed as if for battle and declined a meal. He intended to spend the day fasting.

  Below him, the Guardians finished breaking camp and mounted their horses. Chandor clenched his fist. Forgiveness? Anelle and Tribon have no right to forgiveness. They don’t even deserve to be alive after what they’ve done to me. Who are they to label me The Painbinder? I serve the Gods! They might not trust me, but I don’t trust them! They could easily turn the Fistorian Army against me with their poisonous lies. Then I would never complete my quest.

  He gripped the stone battlement. He knew what he needed to do. As the priests rode past in the shadow of the castle walls Chandor called out and they reined in to listen.

  Orcs surreptitiously nocked their bows. In the courtyard below, the ogre cracked its knuckles. A dwarven soldier gripped the handle of his battle axe. The tension rose.

  “This message is for you Tribon, and Anelle, and I hope it gets to High Priest Hengel too! You have falsely accused me, betrayed my trust, slandered my name and tried to kill me. You drove me from the church I loved and blocked my dream of wearing the white of the priesthood. You tried to make me an outcast in my own land. You poison the minds of those around you, whispering that I am evil!”

  He glared at them. Internally he fought his greatest battle ever. He raised his hand. He drew the sign of the Gods in the air in front of him. “I forgive you.”

  There was a moment of stunned silence then Guide Jurgen laughed out loud. His face shone with unfettered joy. Tribon stared upwards in disbelief. Bewilderment and confusion clouded his features as he was proven wrong. Anelle’s eyes widened in surprise and delight. Her face lit up with a smile that was like the sun emerging from behind the clouds.
Around him, the soldiers all relaxed.

  Chandor nodded once before continuing, “I am Chandor, Baron of Sanctuary, Knight of Salanverj, Shadow King and Warchief of the Dark Guard Clan. But above all, I am a follower of the true Gods. I will obey, no matter how difficult the task, even to the point of forgiveness and love. I reject evil, I choose good. No matter my colours, I will fight for what is holy and right. Go in peace.”

  A huge weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He smiled. I am not The Painbinder. Lifting his eyes to the heavens he let out a deep breath. Having taken the first step on a new path, the Dark Priest turned and strode from his castle walls.

  THE END

  MORE

  Thank you

  Thank you for reading Dark Priest. I hope that you found it entertaining, thought provoking and uplifting.

  If you enjoyed Dark Priest, I would greatly appreciate it if you would write a short review, either on the website from which you purchased it, or at Goodreads.

  I’d love to hear from you and welcome any thoughts, questions, comments or suggestions. You can contact me via email (DaleViceAuthor@gmail.com) or on Twitter (@Daleviceauthor).

  Sincerely

  Dale

  Pictures, Music and Ideas

  For some of the awesome pictures that inspired Dark Priest, have a look at my Dark Priest Pinterest Board.

  For more maps and information on the fantasy world of Fistoria, check out my website: https://dalevice.wordpress.com/.

  For the soundtrack to Dark Priest (a song for each chapter), listen to the Dark Priest Playlist on Apple Music (or tweet me for the list of songs).