by A J Dalton
‘You speak like a believer, Scourge. The way you have sneered at the temples before now, I thought perhaps you were not a religious man.’
‘I have seen enough to know greater powers than us exist, lad. It would be strange not to believe in Shakri when I use water blessed by her priests in my work. No, the question is whether I believe any of the gods within the pantheon are worthy of worship. Enough of your prattle! This is not the place for it.’
The Scourge tested the small door to the temple and found it open, as was customary. The temple of Shakri could ill afford to turn away any who sought it out, but it was principally because the priests of Shakri held all life as sacred and welcomed it in all its guises that the portal was unbarred.
They stepped inside and Scourge peered around until he found a bell affixed to the wall. He prepared to strike it when a croak came from the darkness.
‘There is no need, Guardian. I sleep lightly these days. I heard your horses in the street and have been awaiting your visit. The Bloated Corpse sent word you had returned. The supplies of water are ready.’
‘And I must leave again tonight.’
‘So soon?’ rasped the voice as sparks were struck and a taper lit.
A red face flickered to life, a face that was kindly despite the long shadows that shifted across it. It was the most lined face Young Strap had ever seen, like a map to the past, if only it could be followed.
‘Yes, so soon, priest. It appears a hero has been raised by a necromancer. The King wants them hunted down immediately.’
‘Well, you are the best of your kind, Guardian. Long have you punished necromancers for their sacrilegious acts against Shakri’s holy creation. You are a faithful servant of the goddess, Guardian, and she protects the righteous.’
‘Not that again, priest. I have told you almost as many times as I have visited you over the years that I serve the King and carry out His orders. I offer no obeisance to Shakri.’
The taper lit a lamp and a gentle light blossomed revealing a small room of worship, which was empty except for a low altar and a few thin and unkind looking prayer cushions on the floor. A life-sized statue of a beautiful, naked woman reclined on the altar and, to his embarrassment, Young Strap felt his loins stir. What was wrong with him? It was just a piece of stone, no matter how artfully crafted.
The priest, almost bent double with age, smiled. ‘She has that effect on most men that come here. It is one aspect of her power. Touching the statue and offering the right prayer will cure a man of impotence and quicken a barren woman’s womb.’ He turned back to the Scourge: ‘Shakri does not count how many obeisances one worthy man offers her compared to another worthy man. She is more concerned about those who offer her no worship at all or harm her creation. Your acts are worship enough, Guardian.’
‘They are the King’s acts, I tell you!’
The priest stared at the Scourge. The silence stretched uncomfortably and the room became claustrophobic. Young Strap scraped his foot and faked a cough in an effort to disrupt the tension. The priest shook his head and said: ‘You disappoint me. Look around you! If the King were faithful to Shakri, He would not have let her temple fall so far. The only reason he was not thrown us out of Corinus completely is that he needs the blessed water to combat the necromancers that plague his kingdom. But he does not fight necromancers on Shakri’s behalf. No, he has his own reasons.’
‘What reasons?’ Young Strap dared to breathe.
‘This is treason!’ the Scourge said quickly, but without any real conviction.
The old priest’s rheumy eyes watered and lips quivered, but his voice was firm: ‘You do not actually need me to tell you, do you? You already know inside yourselves. It is there for all to see in what has become of Corinus. The city is a charnel house. Even those that remain alive are dead inside, are they not, Guardian?’
The Scourge ignored the question. ‘It is the war with Accritania that has brought us to this pass.’
‘You do not believe that. It is not the war that has reduced the value of a life to nothing in Corinus. If anything, the war should cause people to value life all the more.’
‘Enough of your preaching! What do you want from me, priest?’
‘Ah!’ the old priest said sadly. ‘You are right. The temple and the goddess must ask a service of you. We have never asked before, and we will never ask of you again. It is strange for a temple and its goddess to play the role of petitioner, but these are desperate times for us. Will you help us?’
‘What is it you want, priest?’ the Scourge asked, incapable of making his tone as hard as the words of his demand.
‘It is something within your power to grant, or must I ask another?’ the priest wheezed, allowing his gaze to drift in the direction of Young Strap.
‘Leave the lad be! He has already had one potentate extract a pledge from him tonight. Tell me what you want and I will give it just consideration, so long as it does not compromise my oath to the King.’
‘Good. Then come through to the chamber at the back and I will lay things before you. I think there is a measure of ale to be had. Your young companion can shoulder the water there as well because I am too weak to bring it to you.’
Suddenly tired, Young Strap struggled to keep his eyes open. The voices of the other two echoed and boomed even though he was sure they spoke in lowered tones. He swayed on his feet and almost started to sleep where he stood. He managed to drag his heavy feet after the bobbing lamp the priest carried, and then gratefully slumped into a chair in a mean, low-ceilinged kitchen. There was a table in front of him. He leaned forwards, put his head in his arms and let go.
The Scourge regarded the snoozing youth in surprise and then looked at the priest suspiciously. ‘Magic, priest?’
The old priest shrugged and smiled. ‘A simple healing spell. The recipient invariably falls asleep while the body rejuvenates. He will awake feeling refreshed. And if any potentate has him in their thrall they will not be able to listen to us while we speak.’
The Scourge nodded, and then became alarmed. ‘It may be that a sorceress who sits with the King has worked magic on Young Strap here, I don’t know. If we have been overheard by her, then the things you have said tonight will put you and your temple in great danger. Even I may not be safe.’
The priest poured them a tankard of stale ale each, slurped at his and then said casually, ‘I am not concerned for the temple anymore, for there is little left of it in Corinus. I have had a longer life than most, thanks to the beneficence of Shakri and the magic she allows her priests. But what I am concerned for is the life of my young acolyte, Nostracles. He is ready to leave this place and go to found his own temple. I would ask that you take him with you, Guardian.’
‘Take him with me?’ the Guardian asked in confusion, sitting back in his chair. ‘Where does he intend to found this new temple? We are likely heading north for Accritania.’
‘He will travel wherever the road leads and await a sign from Shakri. That has always been our way. If he travels with you, he will have some measure of safety until he reaches the destined spot. If you leave him here, you will be leaving him to his death, because we now know the wardens are likely to be coming. If he sets out alone, I do not think he will last long.’
The Scourge tried to think of reasons not to agree. ‘So how much of a burden will he be to us? Can he protect himself if we are waylaid?’
‘He is handy enough with his staff to crack a skull or two. He then has enough healing magic to repair those skulls if you want.’
‘When I crack a skull, I usually want it to stay cracked. Still, it may be of use to have a mendicant priest of Shakri with us while we are hunting necromancers. We’ll never want for blessed water when he’s with us. I suspect even his piss would be of use if he were to get scared and lose control during a fight.’
The priest let the blasphemy pass. ‘And he does not eat much. In fact, he can entice Shakri’s creatures to you. You will not want for fresh
meat while he is with you.’
‘I have to concede that would be welcome. But, tell me, does he talk a lot?’
The priest frowned but answered, ‘No. He is softly spoken. He reads a lot.’
‘Good, I am liking this fellow more and more. It almost sounds like your temple is doing me the service, rather than vice versa.’
‘Yes, I will miss young Nostracles. He has been a great help to me and seen us through difficult times.’
‘Why do you not come with us?’ the Scourge asked, wondering at his own rashness. Was the ale stronger than it tasted or was this more priestly magic?
‘I am too old to survive the sort of journey you are undertaking. And, anyway, we do not have another mount. We spent the last of the temple’s funds on a humble horse for Nostracles.’
‘Well, as long as he doesn’t preach at me, it sounds like we’ll get on just fine. You wouldn’t like to keep Young Strap here, would you? He’d be good company for you, especially if you can keep him asleep most of the time.’
‘That’s not worthy of you, Guardian.’
The Scourge sighed. ‘Dawn can’t be far away. Let’s rouse this Nostracles fellow then. Don’t worry, you needn’t wake Young Strap. I’ll tie him to his saddle. He’ll be fine.’
***
Voltar looked down from his throne on the giant, disfigured creature below him. It crouched and hunkered in an attempt to bow, but only ended up on all fours like some animal. His skull was huge, so that his face was all humps and hollows. His small eyes were nearly always in the shadows of their sunken sockets, except in bright daylight, which was too much for his sensitive sight anyway. To compensate, he had a powerful sense of smell that could track anything, tell him where someone had been and with whom they had been. He didn’t care that his nose was almost a muzzle, because it gave him pictures of the past that he could use to tell if someone was lying to him. He could virtually smell the truth sometimes. He had an unfortunate, large lower jaw that extended beyond his upper jaw, sometimes made him dribble and made it hard for him to talk clearly. Still, it was ideal for tearing flesh and crunching through bone.
People thought he was stupid because he found some words difficult, but they quickly learnt how smart he was if he had to hunt them. He always made them apologise before he ate them because then he knew he’d been right all along.
‘Ahh! Chief Warden! Brax, my friend, rise. Stand up and tell me how you are.’
The man-creature rose and stood nearly as tall as the King on the raised dais. ‘I h-am well, Sire! I h-am h-always hungry, h-of course, but have come h-as you commanded.’
‘The Scourge was here.’
‘Yes, I scent someone knew. H-Is he h-a friend?’
‘Not a good one, but he tries his best. He is the first among the King’s Guardians. He tells me one of the dead heroes from the army has been stolen by a necromancer. Which heroes have failed to return to Corinus with the army?’
‘Two, Sire. Balthagar and Vidius.’
‘Hmm. Vidius led a troop. Are they within the city?’
‘No, Sire. The troop h-of Vidius stay h-on his holdings h-outside the city.’
‘Brax, do you feel up to some hunting?’
‘H-Oh yes, Sire! Thank you, Sire!... Who should I hunt?’
‘I want you to find this necromancer and whichever hero he has raised. Kill them if you must, but bring the bodies back here to me. Do you understand?’
Brax looked upset to be denied the meat from the kill, but ponderously nodded his big head. ‘Sire, I do not know the scent h-of Balthagar h-or Vidius. How will I hunt them?’
‘Follow the scent of the Scourge, my friend, for he also hunts the necromancer.’
‘What should I do with the Scourge?’
‘Nothing, unless he gets in your way. You might wish to start your hunt at the temple of Shakri here in Corinus. Take five of your wardens with you. You may do what you want with those who get in your way, but I want the bodies of the necromancer and the hero brought here, understand?’
‘Yes, Sire!’ Brax drooled. ‘Shall I go now?’
Voltar nodded and watched the eager creature leap from the room. ‘Chamberlain, you heard?’
‘Yes, Sire!’ hissed the Chamberlain and crept out from behind the throne. He came round to the front and sketched a delicate, controlled bow, no doubt intended to contrast with the lumbering clumsiness of Brax. ‘What is your command?’
‘Go to the holdings of Vidius and discover if he is there. If he is not, go to the battlefield and return with the body of either hero you find there. We must learn if it is Vidius or Balthagar who has been taken.’
‘Of all the heroes, let it not be Balthagar!’ the Chamberlain trembled.
‘Yes, but it would provide us with some momentary diversion, some passing amusement.’
‘Of course, Sire, of course!’
***
CHAPTER FIVE: And much beloved by all
The dampness seemed to have sunk into his bones. They felt soggy somehow and as if they might give way as he struggled to carry his weight across the sucking ground. He’d tried tucking his robes into his belt, but they’d eventually fallen free, become sodden and begun to drag him down, as if he stood in a peat bog. All he needed now were leeches to complete his misery.
He had to lead the horse instead of ride it, of course, since it was having trouble enough with just the weight of the baggage in the mud and because the branches of the surrounding trees grew too low for any riders. The horse was far from happy, as usual, and would every so often attempt to tug its reins free of the necromancer’s tired grasp. Mordius was tempted to ask Saltar to take control of the beast, but it seemed that the horse and the animee had come to an agreement to have nothing to do with each other unless absolutely necessary. He would have got angry about the horse having more say in this group than he did, if it weren’t so absurd to be jealous of a horse.
Saltar strode on relentlessly up ahead of them, clearing the trail where necessary. Occasionally he would break away thick branches that snaked across the path, occasionally he would sweep giant cobwebs aside. One time, he had to slap away a spider whose body was as big as a man’s head. It tumbled to the forest floor, its longs legs whirling. Quickly righting itself, it span and regarded Saltar beadily. It remained still while it considered the wrecker of its home, and then scuttled away into the trees.
They had been travelling like this non-stop since they had entered the Weeping Woods. Nowhere had they found fuel dry enough to burn. They hadn’t even found anywhere dry to stop and rest. Mordius was so tired that he wanted to lay down where he was in the cold, wet mud. Its coolness was particularly inviting now that the hot waves of fever had succeeded his earlier shivering. His arm throbbed uncomfortably where the arrow had nicked it. It’ll probably get gangrene and drop off, he thought morosely.
Mordius dimly remembered Saltar having promised him some hot food. How long ago had that been? He’d lost all track of time. Surely it wasn’t more than a day or so ago, but it was hard to tell in the perpetual half-light of the woods. Who knew how long Saltar was capable of walking without respite? Weeks, months… whole lifetimes? Just as his thoughts swam, Mordius felt he was having to swim his way through the Weeping Woods.
The horse snorted and Mordius looked up. Off to his left, just through the trees at the side of the path they currently travelled was a floating, blue-white light. It bobbed a few times and then began to move deeper into the woods. From the glimpses he got, it seemed to some sort of ghostly figure.
‘Saltar!’ Mordius gasped, but the animee was too far away to hear.
Mordius closed his eyes, fought through the fog in his head and deliberately interrupted the flow of magic that sustained the animee. Saltar stumbled and turned around to see what troubled the necromancer. Mordius raised a shaking hand and gestured after the spectre. Saltar’s lifeless gaze searched the woods for a while and then the animee strode over to Mordius.
‘Marsh gas, Mordius
, nothing more. In these fetid woods, I’m surprised we haven’t seen more of it ignited by fire worms and what have you.’
‘It seemed a ghost,’ Mordius murmured.
‘Why would a ghost appear to us and then disappear?’
‘Perhaps we are meant to follow,’ he slurred.
Saltar’s slack face loomed closer. ‘You are not well. I had hoped being on the move would warm you and distract your mind from its recent shock. We should cut back towards the road and leave these woods.’
Mordius shook his head.
‘Are you as stubborn as this horse? Did it learn its unreasonable habits from you, necromancer? Forget what you saw. If it was a restless spirit, it was one trying to lead us away from the road and into a part of the woods where we would get turned around and wouldn’t be able to find our way out. Its purpose could only be selfish or evil. Let me help you leave these woods while I still may. If you continue to deteriorate and become delirious, I’m sure you will not be able to keep me animated.’
Mordius staggered against Saltar and only just remained upright. The animee took most of the weight of the dark magician who was keeping him “alive”, and felt a strange pity for the small man. Or was he actually experiencing Mordius’s own self-pity, since the dead were not meant to have their own feelings? Was his desire for life not a feeling then, or was it something less than that?
Mordius’s movements were sluggish and his eyes seemed to have trouble focusing. There was a distant roar from the forest in the direction they had been heading. With a terrified wicker, the horse pulled free, stood surprised for a second at the sudden loss of constraint and then cantered in the opposite direction.
Cursing, Saltar released Mordius, who swayed but kept his feet.
‘That didn’t sound like a fire worm to me,’ Mordius said fussily. ‘Forget the horse for now, it’s more trouble than it’s worth. It’ll come back when something else frightens it and it wants the reassurance of our company. You go see what the ruckus is and I’ll be along presently.’
Saltar wasn’t happy about leaving the small man, but knew as a soldier that the most immediate threat should be met first. He span away and glided towards the trees from which the sound of an enraged beast had issued. His feet made soft squelching noises but otherwise he managed to co-ordinate his stiff limbs well enough. He left tracks of course, but his footprints quickly filled with water and became less distinct.