by Dale Vice
King Ironfist turned to the High Priest. “Althior, I would appreciate it if you would send word to The Cleanser. If our enemy is truly a potent undead creature, we will need a powerful priest to defeat it.”
Althior smiled grimly. “The Cleanser departed last month with his squire and three of his most promising acolytes. They were heading for St Paluthers Church.”
“Where exactly is this St Paluthers?” demanded the king.
Althior’s smile broadened, “In western Fistoria, in a little village near Carreg Kanor. At the time, I thought two complete suits of armour and a full array of weapons was a little extreme for someone who had planned a month of meditation, fellowship and prayer.”
For the first time that day, King Ironfist XIV laughed, “The gods alone know how he is always one step ahead.”
“Yes, they do,” smiled the high priest. His face grew serious, “My king, do not think that he has anticipated your needs. The Cleanser is a true warrior of the gods. If he is in western Fistoria, it is because he feels the gods want him there.”
Ironfist waved his hand dismissively, “It is enough that he is there and he is prepared. I have never known him to fear a battle against evil. As for the rest of us, it is clear to me now that this is going to be a serious campaign, perhaps the biggest war in our lifetime. We need to be there. We have a duty to the people of Fistoria.” There were murmurs of agreement from around the table. The king snapped his fingers and another messenger appeared at his side. “Alert the high seneschal. Tell him to prepare the mounts, servants, supply wagons and my personal guard. As soon as is possible, we ride west for Carreg Kanor.”
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