The Righteous Whisper of Allsaints (The White Blood Chronicles Book 2)

by Mark G Heath

  Around ten minutes later, Lancaster walked up the stairs inside the tavern to the first floor. He passed the closed door, which led to Kathryn’s bedroom and smiled. He wondered if he ought to try and bed her this day, given that she had but little time remaining alive. He had put in place the acquisition of further white blood from not only the murder of Thaindire but also from his visit to Alyssia and thus felt that he was entitled to some reward.

  “ Duty first though,” he said to himself and made for the far left door. He looked about and content that he was unwatched, he produced the iron key and unlocked the door.

  Lancaster entered his wife’s bedchamber and found that she was not sat at her large desk, but instead was sat in a chair by the window, looking at the cold picture outside. Lancaster closed the door and walked across the room to stand in front of Cerilan.

  “ It looks especially cold out there today,” she remarked.

  “ Yes it is, but invigorating nevertheless.” Lancaster removed the chain holding his cloak in place and lowered the russet garment over the back of a chair.

  “ Why aren’t you working?” he asked.

  Cerilan stood up and walked to the desk, the chain connecting her manacle sliding on the floor. Lancaster followed her. She pointed to the open tome, the collection of symbols causing Lancaster’s vision to swim for a moment. She turned the page and two blank pages lay before them, empty and unhelpful..

  “ No more white blood, no more text to transcribe,” said Cerilan.

  “ Well, we expected this.”

  “ You are remarkably and may I say, worryingly, relaxed about this cessation in my work.”

  Lancaster took a step away from his wife.

  “ That is because a short break will allow you to rest ready for the final push to the conclusion of this magnificent act.”

  “ I don’t need a rest,” snapped Cerilan. “ It is your fault we have no more white blood. It is your fault I have had to stop. It is your fault the translation is not ready.” Cerilan strode towards Lancaster, jabbing her finger at him.

  “ Lessen the fire in your blood,” soothed Lancaster, “ I have made arrangements that shall see us bathing in white blood, such is the quantity that we will receive.”

  Cerilan stopped her advance.

  “ When?”

  “ Tomorrow.”

  “ Are you certain of this?” she asked.

  “ I am. So, may I suggest that you turn your attention to something else today, because you will then have no further interruptions in your work.”

  “ Marvellous,” smiled Cerilan.

  “ Will you stay awhile?” she asked, her tone more contrite.

  “I would welcome talking with you.”

  Lancaster picked up his cloak.

  “ I cannot, I have other matters which require my attention,” he said.

  “ The loins of whores no doubt,” said Cerilan and she charged at Lancaster. He kept walking, hurrying his step slightly and almost at the door turned back to face Cerilan. She ran, fists raised and then jerked as she reached the chain’s length, her progress halted.

  “ Bastard!” she cursed pulling at the chain but all this achieved was the bite of the manacle into her already sore ankle.

  “ Good day dear wife,” said Lancaster and without waiting for the insult, he opened the door and departed. Once outside, Lancaster secured the door and laughed. He could hear the muffled insults hurled by Cerilan from beyond the door. Lancaster turned away and grinning made for the door to Kathryn's bedroom. He paused by it and pressed his ear against the wood trying to hear what was happening inside the room.

  “ That's rather rude,” said a voice behind him. Lancaster started and turned around to see a tall, elegant lady regarding him.

  “ Sorry, what was that?” he said.

  “ I said, that is rather rude. Listening at somebody's door.”

  “ I was checking everything was all right, I heard some strange noises coming from the room last night,” explained Lancaster.

  “ Then why not knock on the door and enquire?”

  “Oh, I didn’t want to disturb them if it was not necessary.”

  “ I see. You are Cyon Lancaster aren’t you?” asked the woman.

  “ I am. Who might you be?”

  “ Vickory Settaran,” replied the lady, holding out her hand. Lancaster took it and shook it.

  “ You are staying at the inn?” asked Lancaster.

  “ Yes, I arrived last night. I was hoping to get some breakfast, although I fear I might have left it too late.”

  “ Oh, not at all. Alyce will be happy to help,” said Lancaster as he allowed himself to admire Vickory's slender body. She noticed his lingering look and her smile widened.

  “ Do you think so? I am awfully hungry.”

  “ Of course, come with me and I shall sort it out for you. Alyce will do anything for me,” said Lancaster.

  “ Most kind of you,” said Vickory. Distracted from listening at Kathryn Dromgoole's door, Lancaster gestured for Vickory to lead down the stairs and she set off, enabling Lancaster to appreciate her shapely rear before he followed her, rubbing his hands together with anticipation.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Talvace placed the two logs on top of the others that he had arranged on the ground. A muddle of foot prints to and fro were imprinted in the snow, leading from the pyre to the gate on the southern edge of the church yard wall. He padded across the frozen ground and pulled open the gate stepping into the forest. Woodcuts lay littered on the ground, a tree lay on its side, numerous branches having been lopped from it by the axe, which leant against the stonewall. A small heap of logs, which Talvace had cut from the fallen tree was stacked up and he grabbed two more, turning and kicking the gate open. The wooden gate sprang back under the assault from Talvace’s boot, giving him enough time to step through the gap as it swung back against the post with a clatter. He trudged back to the pyre and placed the logs down on it, criss-crossing those that formed the base. The snow had concealed the blackened ground, charred from the flames that had burnt Coffyn’s body the previous day.

  “ I wonder who will end up on this then?” remarked the gravedigger to nobody in particular. He looked back across the graveyard, the headstones jutting from the white ground, the worn stones slightly obscured where the snow had landed against them. Various epitaphs to the deceased of Aftlain were engraved on the enduring stone. He used to read each one, even the ones of those committed to the ground long before he held the shovel, which now dug the graves of the village’s recently deceased. Now, the words appeared repetitive and empty. He looked at the church and wondered what the Manfurians were doing. He had headed down into their dormitory just the once, on their arrival and helped them unload the many cases and boxes that had been strapped to the rear of their expensive carriages. Since then, he had seen Novac come and go from the church, always by his carriage. Novac never walked far, despite looking a well-maintained fellow, his Under Priest usually in tow. He had barely had chance to speak with Father Thomas since he was back and forth, always pre-occupied and in a hurry, his normal ebullient nature much reduced. Talvace assumed the importance of the work they were all undertaking was probably preying on the mind of the priest.

  A cloud of snow swirled in front of him, eddying across the ground, a sudden gust of wind appearing from nowhere. More snow rose, the wind increasing in strength and Talvace felt the wind tug at his clothing. The snow struck him, momentarily obscuring his vision as he made for the church wall to shelter from the squall. He heard a swishing noise and instinctively looked upwards.

  “ By Selne's needle,” said Talvace.

  Slowly descending from the dull, grey sky was a winged creature. Two large, leathery wings beat a slow tempo, the downdraft responsible for the disturbance of the snow. The wings were easily the width of two houses, a ridge of bone and muscle, deep blue in colour, ran from the shoulder of the beast, stretching out to each wing tip. Radiating from this ridge were
several thinner, curved lines of sinew, which supported the lighter blue membrane of the wings in between them. Like two great sails, the wings rose and fell, perfectly controlled by the creature. Its body was surprisingly slim, given the substantial wingspan. Covered in dark blue scales, its body flexed as it lowered itself to the ground. Talvace could see the under belly, coloured a similar blue to the material which made up the majority of the wings. Two muscular legs dropped down from the rear of the beast, the powerful limbs ending in three toed claws, each black-blue claw as long as his forearm. A long tail protruded from the back of the creature, also scaled, it wafted through the air, providing balance for it as it came closer to the ground. The tail ended in a cruel pair of barbs, like two scimitars, which would easily slice a man in half. Talvace’s eyes moved to the front of the creature, its thick neck ending in a reptilian head, two yellow eyes either side of its massive head. A snaking, red-pink tongue flicked from the cavernous mouth, the muscle darting across three rows of teeth. On the back of its head was a crested spike to which reins had been attached. These controlling restraints were held by a figure sat in a saddle atop the creature’s back. This figure wore close-fitting midnight blue trousers, which appeared from behind thigh-length boots that slotted into a pair of stirrups. A tunic, also of midnight blue, was partly shrouded by a white cloak, edged in blue once more. The figure wore a helm, which obscured the face, showing only the mouth and chin.

  Lower came the rider and its mount and Talvace overcame his awe at the creature’s appearance to break away from the wall against which he had been cowering and run towards the church entrance. He burst through the door shouting for Campion. He could not see the priest and ran down the aisle, startling two blood maidens who were at the altar.

  “ Where is Father Thomas?” he demanded.

  “ With the Arch Priest, in the study,” answered one of the blood maidens. Talvace cut through the pews, heading for the door that led onwards to the study. Campion appeared in the doorway.

  “ What’s all this commotion?” he asked.

  Talvace ran up to the priest.

  “ Father, you must come, its outside.”

  “ What’s outside, calm down Gregory?”

  “ Quickly, father,” urged Talvace.

  “ What’s going on?” asked Novac as he appeared behind Campion.

  “ I don’t know, something outside has agitated Gregory,” answered Campion.

  “ Please, father, come outside,” said Talvace making back towards the church’s main entrance.

  “ Yes, yes, I am coming,” replied Campion. He set off after the gravedigger, Novac following also. The two blood maidens looked at one another and ceased their work at the altar, making down the aisle towards the doorway.

  The group appeared outside the church. The arrival had dismounted from the beast and was stood beside it. Reaching up, it removed the helm, a blonde bob of hair falling into place and female features now revealed. She raised a hand in greeting but remained by the winged creature.

  “ Who is it father?” asked Talvace.

  “ Sarious Darkseid, she is here sooner than expected,” replied the priest.

  “ Is that a dragon?” asked the gravedigger.

  “ No, she rides a wyvern. It is accorded to her by reason of her standing, by her church,” said Campion

  “ Which church is that? Ours?”

  “ No, the Church of Nimast.”

  “ She doesn’t look like a priest to me,” commented Talvace.

  “ That’s because she isn’t one. Her craft is necromancy.

  “ A bone caller?” remarked Talvace.

  “ Hush Gregory,” said Campion concerned that Darkseid might hear Talvace’s comment. He walked away from the group, across the churchyard, to the waiting Darkseid. The others followed after Campion.

  “ Welcome to Aftlain,” said Campion as he neared Darkseid. The priest was unperturbed by the wyvern, which had folded its wings away and was regarding the approaching group. Talvace remained a distance away from the wyvern, the two blood maidens opting to copy him.

  “ Greetings Priest Campion,” replied Darkseid. She advanced and shook the outstretched hand of the priest.

  “ This is his eminence, Arch Priest Novac,” said Campion turning to the holy man.

  “ Hello, your eminence,” said Darkseid.

  “ We were not expecting you for a couple of days yet,” said Novac.

  “ Yes, do excuse my early arrival, I hope it won’t inconvenience you?”

  “ No, not at all,” said Campion.

  “ We are not ready,” said Novac.

  “ Well, I am early. Do you know when you will be ready?”

  “ Two or three days probably,” said Campion.

  “ Hopefully sooner,” added Novac.

  “ Ah, not long. So, is this the place then?” asked Darkseid looking about herself.

  “ Unusual for a church yard to be a battle field, or even for a battle field to become a church yard. That said, it is on the top of a rise, so I suppose it would have been a sensible place to mount a defence.”

  “ No, this isn’t the place, Sarious. Though you would find plenty here to keep you occupied,” said Campion.

  “ Questionable calibre though,” said Novac.

  “ Oh you would be surprised, your eminence, some notable people are buried here.”

  “ Notable artisans most likely,” said the Manfurian.

  “ True, many are, but this sanctuary for those skills has enabled Aftlain to thrive and has paved the way for what we are doing now.”

  “ Where is the battle field?” asked Darkseid.

  “ On the other side of the village, to the east.”

  “ I should like to see it.”

  “ There’s not much to see, to be frank, “ said Campion.

  “ Still, it will allow me to get a sense of my task.”

  “ By all means, I shall take you. Your eminence, will you join us?”

  “ No, I have my work to attend to.”

  “ As you wish.”

  Novac walked away, returning to the church. Campion looked at the wyvern.

  “ Er, are you wanting to go on your mount?”

  “ No, I need to stretch my legs and it will give you an opportunity to detail just where you and his eminence have got to, in your preparations.”

  “ Very well, will it be safe to leave your mount here?”

  “ Oh perfectly, he is very well behaved,” smiled Darkseid patting the thick neck of the wyvern.

  “ So be it, you may want to move him around the other side of the church. I wouldn’t want one of my flock to visit and be alarmed at the sight of a wyvern in the grounds of the church,” suggested Campion.

  “ Certainly.”

  “ Maigret, would you organise another bed for our guest, please?” Campion asked of one of the blood maidens. She nodded and made for the church, her companion accompanying her, relieved to be away from the hulking wyvern.

  “ Do you need me father?” asked Talvace stepping forward.

  “ This is Gregory Talvace, you should thank him,” said Campion.

  “ Oh yes, how so?” asked Darkseid nodding at the gravedigger.

  “ He puts in the ground what you later take out.”

  “ A corpse collector eh? Well, keep up the good work. I shall try and avoid disturbing your handiwork too much.”

  “ Thank you Mistress Darkseid, I will,” said Talvace.

  “ You can carry on with the pyre, Gregory,” said Campion.

  “ That might be a little difficult,” said Talvace gesturing over Campion’s shoulder. Campion and Darkseid turned to see that the wyvern had laid its head down on the pyre and had its eyes closed.

  “ Sorry about that Gregory,” said Darkseid. “ I will move him.”

  “ Oh no, it is fine,” said Talvace warily, “ plenty of other chores to be getting on with. If that is all, father?”

  “ Yes, we are off to the fields, please ensure his eminence
is attended to.”

  Talvace nodded and walked promptly away causing Campion to laugh at his gravedigger’s wariness of the wyvern.

  “ I don’t think I have seen Gregory unnerved by anything before, despite what he says you had best move him around the other side.”

  Darkseid nodded and prodded the wyvern. Its eyes opened and regarded its mistress. Darkseid beckoned to the creature and set off away from the pyre. The wyvern, like some dog expecting a treat, followed Darkseid around the corner of the church, concealing it from being observed by anyone attending at the church. Presently, Darkseid re-appeared.

  “ Shall we?” smiled Campion.

  “ Lead on, “ invited Darkseid and the pair made for the church gate and the sloping road to the village.

  A while later, Darkseid and Campion stood on the edge of the fields, the ground white and level, save for the solitary huge tree rising up from the cold land. A slight breeze ruffled Darkseid’s hair as she surveyed the field watching the various nooses hanging from the tree, sway and swing.

  “ What is that tree?” she asked.

  “ That is the Regal Tree. It grew on the spot where the Duke was slain. The tree is dead now.”

  “What about those nooses?”

  “Oh, they are more for show than anything else. Serves as a warning if someone happens to come wandering across the fields, rather than along the Widow's Way,” said Campion. Darkseid turned and gave the priest a sceptical look.

  “ I can smell the despair of those who have swung from those branches,” she remarked, “their wretchedness has left quite a stain.”

  “ Ah well, yes, it does serve some function, admittedly,” said Campion.

  “ So, this is where you found the crown?” she remarked. "

  “ Yes. Following the battle that took place here, rumours and reports told that the crown was spirited away from the slain duke. Accordingly, those seeking to acquire it have repeatedly and often looked in the wrong places.”

  “ Except you.”

  “ Except me. It was simple to find, once I knew where to look. It was knowing where to look that required the effort.”

  “ Where’s the crown now?”