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

by Mark G Heath

“ No such thing, Traen guided me to it.”

  “ Traen? That god has no interest in white blood, only the glint of coin.”

  “ White blood is coin. Plenty of coin. Chests of coin.”

  “ Well, there won’t be much left if any at all. Were you thinking of selling it?” asked Cerilan.

  “ No, well, yes, I had put in place a contingency in case Thorne was unable to satisfy our need.”

  “ Forget the contingency, we have enough here.”

  “ But if we get more, we can sell it for a fortune.”

  “ We don’t need it.”

  “ You can never have enough coin,” remarked Lancaster as he admired himself in the mirror above the fireplace.

  Cerilan shook her head and took her place on her seat before the large table. She poured the white blood into a bowl, taking great care to ensure that all the liquid was caught in the receptacle. Lancaster stood watching.

  “ So you think I should cancel my contingent plan?”

  “ I do.”

  “ I may not be able to.”

  “ Well, tidy it up the best you can, we do not need any loose ends causing us problems. Not when we are this close to deciphering the tome.”

  Cerilan selected a brush similar to that which an artist would use, save that its handle was made from silver and the brush thistles taken from the hairs of a silver-backed hog. Delicately, Cerilan dabbed the end of the brush in the white blood and carefully lifted the brush over to the open book and began accurately brushing across a section of the page. After a few strokes, she set the brush down and waited. Lancaster walked around to behind his wife and peered over her shoulder. Presently, the arcane symbols began to appear on the page, the succession of lines and dots that meant nothing to Lancaster, but everything to his wife, loomed into view. Cerilan took up the brush once again and repeated the process.

  “ Are you going to stand over me all day?” she asked.

  “ No, I just wanted to make sure that it would work.”

  “ Why wouldn’t it? It is white blood,” snapped Cerilan.

  “ I know, I know, it is just that we are so close now, you know, I wanted to be sure.”

  “ Well it works, you have seen that, you can go and leave me to it.”

  “ Very well.”

  Lancaster let himself out of his wife’s chamber and then stood at the top of the stairs listening. He could not hear any sound of activity below so decided to return to his own chamber and finally eat his breakfast ,which Beatrice had brought earlier. His fire still burned and he picked up the flagon filled with wine before they had been interrupted by the activity outside. He took a hefty swig and stood at the window surveying the still, snow-covered yard below. He pondered whether he ought to attend on Haspengoun and cancel their arrangement. It was evident, with Thaindire very much alive, that Haspengoun had not made his move and if he stopped the agreement now, no doubt he would have to pay something. That did not concern him as the money was not significant to him. He did however like the idea of gaining some additional white blood. He would not sell it in Aftlain, although there would be plenty of takers. No, it would not be sensible to announce being in possession of white blood, not with Cerilan close to completing the deciphering. Instead, he could sell it in Lancester or further afield if need be and attract a handsome price for it. He took another drink from the flagon. At least he now had no need to go to the Simulacrum which he had feared would be his last resort and he dreaded what price would have been extracted from him. Certainly it would not be a price calculated in coin, but rather something far more exclusive to Lancaster.

  He gave a sigh, pleased that he had managed to avoid having to go begging there and be subjected to his inscrutable gaze. Now, it was just a question of time before Cerilan had completed her work and then they would, well, who knows what might be achieved with a fully deciphered tome in their possession, although he knew many across Albion were extremely interested in it. Lancaster picked up a couple of grapes and popped them into his mouth. He wondered if Beatrice had come back to the inn? He would welcome her attention in his room once more. He would finish the breakfast and then go and find her and whilst she pleasured him he would decided whether to halt Haspengoun’s enterprise or not.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  “ It is done,” said Ringthane as, with shaking hands, he managed to close the clasps on the final bottle. The pale green essence swirled within its glass prison as Low Priest Derran picked up the bottle and slid it into the carrying case with the other five bottles. Ringthane remained seated at the table, his breath shallow and laboured. His eyes dimmed and he raised a trembling hand to his temple. His hair was wispy and white, barely covering his balding pate. The magenta tunic and trousers which once had fitted him snugly, now hung on his bony frame, ill fitting and loose. His cheeks were hollow, white stubble adorning them, a couple of liver spots visible, denoting the aging that had consumed him as he had extracted the essence from each of the six emeralds. Despite his repeated protestations, Derran and Acolyte Darmere had pressed Ringthane to continue with his work at a pace that he had never experienced before. Darmere had held him whilst Derran poured some kind of potion into his mouth, which had rejuvenated him with sufficient strength to continue, whilst all the while, he knew the true toll that was being exacted upon him, once the temporary properties of the potion had worn away.

  The clerics had shown no compassion towards him as they remained camped at his home, reminding him that Arch Priest Novac would attend and exact his own punishment upon Ringthane if he failed to deliver the extraction in the soonest time possible. They had allowed him little rest. Instead, after each extraction, they allowed him an hour to eat and drink. Following his meal, they made him drink the potion to accelerate his recovery and then they would return him to the crown for the next emerald. Both the clerics stood wielding their maces, a statement of intent, should he not proceed with the extraction. Two of the extractions had proven particularly difficult for him. As he had sought to remove the fourth emerald from its place on the crown, a bolt of energy had blazed across the table, scoring the oak as it passed before slamming into the far wall of the lounge. The stonework of his house had melted slightly from the impact and Ringthane had given thanks that the bolt had emerged on the opposite side to him, but then cursed his luck that it had not hit one of his tormentors. If it had, he would then have only had one of them to deal with . He most likely could have over powered a solitary cleric straight after imbibing one of the restorative potions. He had on one occasion sought to escape the duo, when they were distracted placing the third bottle into the case, but his attempt had been foiled and they dragged him back to his house, beating him with the butts of their maces to compel him to continue. Ringthane placed a withered hand on his still bruised side at the recall of the assault.

  The fifth emerald had also caused him some consternation. As he had sought to remove it from its place on the crown, a sliver of darkness emerged from it, the segment growing wider, the further it grew from the gemstone. The darkness was total and he had expected the Manfurians to revel in its appearance, but they had sensed all was not well and had backed away, shouting at Ringthane to bring it under control. With supreme exertion he had managed to diminish and then extinguish the darkness, though without it first having swallowed up one of his chairs and a section of his table, leaving it looking like someone had taking a keen-bladed axe to the wood and then smoothed down the remaining edges. Ringthane suspected that the loosing of both positive and negative energies would not have occurred if he had been afforded suitable rest and allowed to proceed at his pace. Of course, the Manfurians were never going to allow that to happen, the strict instructions of Novac ensuring that they drove Ringthane on towards the completion of the task.

  “ The Church of Manfur thanks you Master Ringthane for your excellent assistance,” said Derran as he looked at the six bottles held snugly in their places, the green lights twisting and swirling within. He closed the lid a
nd began to fasten the straps.

  “ Just leave me,” groaned Ringthane.

  “ We are about to, worry not,” answered Derran as he finished with the final strap and gave the case a satisfied pat. He looked towards Ringthane who could barely remain upright at the table.

  “ We are authorised to leave this with you as payment,” said Derran. He and the acolyte reached down to the floor and with a grunt, they lifted a small chest and placed it heavily onto the tabletop. Derran produced a small key and unlocked the chest, flipping open the lid to reveal a sizeable collection of gold marks.

  “ I am sure you will find lots to spend it on,” said Derran with a sneer.

  “ You have what you want, just let me be.”

  “ Shouldn’t we lie him down?” asked Darmere. Derran nodded and the two clerics lifted Ringthane up from his seated position.

  “ What ? What is it now ?” murmured the gem invoker.

  “ Hush, Master Ringthane, we are just going to make you a little more comfortable,” soothed Darmere. Derran was slightly taken aback by how light the gem invoker now felt, compared to when they had dragged him from outside when he had sought to escape. One of them could easily lift him up. The two men steered the now aged gem invoker to the chaise lounge and helped lower him to it. They lifted his legs up and Ringthane, eyes closed, lay down, muttering something..

  “ Should we leave him one of the restorative potions?” asked Darmere.

  “ Whatever for?” remarked Derran, “ He has completed his task and been paid, our arrangement has ended.”

  “ As you wish, Low Priest,” replied Darmere with a slight bow of his head.

  “ Curious place this,” commented Derran as he looked about the living area, admiring the rows of books set with gemstones.

  “ Yes, I would like to have seen what else he could invoke,” added Darmere. Remember, he said that even the smallest gemstone has something that can be extracted and used as there is essence, no matter how little or weak, in all of them.”

  Derran nodded in agreement.

  “ It would be interesting to see what he could do with the diamonds that Arch Priest Novac bears on his rings,” said Derran as he walked over to the book case and ran a hand across the leather-bound book, his fingers tracing around the different coloured gemstones set in the spine of each book.

  “ I should imagine there to be great essences in his eminence’s diamonds,” said Darmere.

  Derran turned around.

  “ Master Ringthane, perhaps you could show us one last extraction, just something small.” Derran began to twist at a silver ring on his little finger, which bore a small garnet. The gem invoker remained silent. Darmere leant in towards the reclined Ringthane.

  “ He’s asleep,” he said.

  “ Pity,” said Derran pushing the ring back onto his finger, “ Watching him work had me intrigued as to what he could do with each particular gemstone, given its type and size.”

  The Low Priest watched Ringthane sleeping for a moment.

  “ Come Darmere, we had best not tarry any longer and instead we had better carry this precious cargo to the Arch Priest.”

  Darmere walked over to the table and waited for Derran to join him. They each took a handle on the side of the solid, heavy carry case and lifted it, steering it past the oblivious Ringthane and out of the door.

  “ Straight to the church Darmere, we stop for nobody,” ordered Derran as they manoeuvred down the steps outside the gem invoker’s house. Darmere backed down the steps, his black boots sinking into the snow on the path. Derran joined him and adjusting their positions, the two Manfurian clerics set off for the church to deliver the essence from the Crown of Mainvere.

  As two black-robed Manfurians made their way through the snow to the church, another two had departed the church and walked into the village. Acolytes Tuelsin and Darkthane crossed Tallow Bridge, the wind that blew along the river, tugging at their robes. They passed the carriage, which had yet to be collected following Lackland’s blinding but other than the parked vehicle, the bridge was empty. The crowd of villagers, which they had seen earlier at the cusp of the bridge had now dissipated, all that remained was the disturbed snow showing the activity of the combatants and the gathered spectators. The cries of battle had been carried away on the frozen wind. Darkthane had the bottle of white blood clasped in his gloved hands as Tuelsin carried his mace, ready to strike anybody who might stop them on their way.

  “ The Thorne woman is a practitioner of herbal arts, both benign and bane,” explained Tuelsin.

  “ I hear she is not to be trusted,” answered Darkthane.

  “ We would do well not to accept any sustenance she offers. Keep a watch on her hands too, lest she tries to throw any of her creations upon us. Mordthos told me that they can take the leaves and fruits of plants and turn them into truly dangerous powders and tinctures.”

  “ She will not be able to resist the might of Manfur, his darkness will consume her if she disobeys,” said Darkthane firmly.

  The pair arrived at the apothecary and saw bright red bloodstains on the snow outside the store. The clerics exchanged glances and Tuelsin ascended the wooden steps to the porch. There he found a man examining the damaged front door of the apothecary. He regarded Tuelsin suspiciously, his eyes drawn to the emblem on the acolyte’s sleeves, but he said nothing.

  “ Is Mistress Thorne here?” asked Tuelsin.

  “ She’s through the back,” answered the man who remained in the doorway, holding the open door.

  “ Thank you.”

  Still the man remained unmoved.

  “ Excuse me,” said Tuelsin and pointed behind him with his mace. The man looked at the heavy metal weapon and stood to one side. Tuelsin entered with Darkthane close behind him, he could see various packets and bandages strewn on the floor of the store, the bandages bloodied. The Manfurians stepped through the gap in the counter and Tuelsin brushed the curtain aside. He saw three women sat in chairs around a fire. They all started when the acolyte pushed the curtain apart.

  “ Alyssia Thorne?” he asked.

  “ I am she, who wishes to know?” said Alyssia rising from her seat.

  “ Acolyte Tuelsin of Manfur and my brother, Acolyte Darkthane,” answered Tuelsin indicating towards the second cleric. Darkthane dipped his head politely.

  “ What do you want?” asked the second woman who had twisted around in her seat.

  “ It’s fine Lyndsey,” said Alyssia to her companion.

  “ Do you require something from the store? You will have to excuse the mess, it has been quite a morning,” asked Alyssia.

  “ No thank you, we do require your services however. We are here on behalf of Arch Priest Novac.”

  “ Come for Campion have you?” asked Lyndsey.

  “ Campion? No, is he here?” asked Tuelsin looking about the room but seeing nobody else.

  “ He is in the basement.”

  “ Why?” asked Darkthane.

  “ He is dead,” explained Alyssia deadpan.

  “ Dead? By whose hand?” demanded Tuelsin.

  “ We don’t know, but somebody has put him to the sword.”

  The two acolytes looked at one another.

  “ If you have not come for Campion then, what do you want?” asked Alyssia.

  “ It is a matter of great importance and one which we may only discuss with you, Mistress Thorne,” said Tuelsin.

  “ Please go ahead, Lyndsey and Ellen have my confidence.”

  “But not mine,” said Tuelsin.

  “ We aren’t leaving Alyssia, she has suffered an injury,” said Ellen.

  “ Ladies, I am loath to be ill-mannered, but this is a matter that we may only discuss with Mistress Thorne,” continued Tuelsin.

  “ We will make you leave, if necessary,” added Darkthane.

  “ There will be no further violence in this house, not this day,” said Alyssia shaking her head, causing her bright red hair to sway about her head.
/>   “ Acolytes, perhaps you would join me on the rear porch?”

  “ Very well,” said Tuelsin. Alyssia walked towards the rear door, the Manfurians following her, watched carefully by the two other women. Alyssia and the two men stepped onto the porch and she pulled the door to.

  “ What is this task that the Arch Priest requires?”

  Darkthane purposefully turned his back to the window of the apothecary, shielding his hands from the view of Ellen and Lyndsey who were stood by their seats, watching the scene outside. Darkthane reached into the folds of his robes and brought the bottle of white blood out.

  “ White blood,” gasped Alyssia, “ where did you get that?”

  “ That is not your concern,” said Darkthane, “ what is your concern is that you are to use this white blood to bring about the Lucerne Berries that the alchemist requires to complete his elixir.”

  “ When?” asked Alyssia reaching a delicate hand towards the bottle. Darkthane moved it away from her.

  “ Now,” said Darkthane.

  “ Very well, if you would give me the bottle I shall set about the growing immediately.”

  “ We must accompany you,” said Tuelsin. Alyssia looked at both the acolytes.

  “ As you wish, I must collect my secateurs and my basket.”

  “ Where are they? I shall gather them for you,” said Darkthane.

  “ Inside, you will find a few baskets on the bench along from this window. The secateurs are hanging on the wall.”

  Darkthane went back into the apothecary, ignoring the stares of the two other women. Tuelsin carefully watched Alyssia on the porch.

  “ Where is the plant that bears these berries?” he asked, glancing at the garden, which was blanketed in snow that stretched from the porch.

  “ In my glade, beyond my garden.”

  “ Is it far?”

  “ Oh, not at all.”

  Darkthane returned holding a basket, which he passed to Alyssia, but he retained the sharp secateurs.

  “ You can direct me where to cut,” he said. Alyssia shrugged and walked across the porch, her yellow flowered skirt, whispering as it brushed across the wooden platform. The three walked through the snow, past bushes that lay disguised by the white covering. They reached the impenetrable wall of brambles, bushes and trees that marked the end of the garden.