by Mark G Heath
The road turned to the right and Vindicta let out a cry of relief.
“ By the One True God, I’ve made it.”
Up ahead was the Queens' Tavern, sat at the apex of the road, before it sloped down the other side of the gentle hill, which it sat atop. The forest loomed around and behind the sturdy construction but the sight of smoke drifting from its several chimneys and the orange lights glowing in the latticed windows lifted Vindicta’s spirits enormously. He managed to sit upright, having been slumped forward for much of the journey. A couple of horses were tethered at the front of the tavern, most likely recent arrivals that had yet to stable their mounts. The smell of beer drifted across the road to him as he steered the horse off the road and up the slight slope to the front of the tavern. Its great thatched roof dominated his view and he could see figures moving inside. The horse halted and with a groan he slid off it, landing awkwardly and almost falling to the ground. He leant against the horse for a moment, steadying himself and then moved to tie its reins to the post in front of the tavern. No doubt the beast would be thankful for the break in its journey too.
Vindicta heard the door to the tavern open and somebody stepped outside.
“ Master Vindicta? Is that you ?” called a voice.
Vindicta turned and saw the landlord Turnmoor stood on the flagstones.
“ Yes it is me,” answered Vindicta wearily. He stepped forwards and grimaced as the movement caused a spasm of pain to jolt his side.
“ Here, let me help you,” said Turnmoor darting forward and placing himself under the left arm of Vindicta.
“ By Avaird’s scythe, you are frozen, come let me get you inside.”
The landlord helped Vindicta in to the tavern, the warmth caressing Vindicta like the touch of a caring mother. Turnmoor ushered a patron out of chair by the large fire and lowered the injured witch hunter into the vacated chair. The heat from the fire washed over Vindicta.
“ A drink, if you please,” he croaked.
“ Of course, of course. Zoë?” called the landlord to a young woman stood serving behind the bar, “ bring some warmed mead for Master Vindicta.”
Vindicta’s entrance had caught the attention of the patrons in the bar and they all looked over to him as he sat, thankful for the warmth of the tavern after so long in the cold.
“ Where have you come from friend?” asked a man dressed all in blue to his left.
“ From Aftlain,” replied Vindicta.
“ Aftlain?” repeated another customer. This revelation prompted a burst of comments from those assembled in the bar. Zoë Turnmoor appeared at her father’s shoulder and handed the mug of warm mead to him. He pressed it into Vindicta’s hands and he took a sip, then another, relishing the warm liquid as it trickled into his mouth. The tavern fell quiet again as they waited whilst Vindicta drank, slaking his journey thirst and generating warmth in his stomach. The witch hunter shifted in the seat, the movement paining him once again.
“ You are hurt?” asked the landlord.
“ My side mainly.”
“ Zoë, fetch our Meya, she will be able to help.” Zoë nodded and moved away to find her sister.
“ You are from the Order aren’t you?” asked the man in blue again, pointing the stem of his pipe at the azure cloak which lay over one side of the chair.
“ I am. I am Steadholder Gabriel Vindicta of the Order of Allsaints.”
“ What took you to Aftlain?” asked a slim man sat at a trestle table opposite Vindicta.
“ Enough with the questions, Harald, please,” said Turnmoor.
“ No, it is fine landlord, they must know,” said Vindicta.
“ Know what?” asked Harald Durncote, swinging his leg round from the trestle table so he fully faced Vindicta.
“ Not to go to that village. It is cursed.”
“ Cursed?” asked a customer stood by the bar.
“ Yes, cursed sir. The inhabitants would have you believe that their village is a sanctuary but I have seen deep within its soul. I have glimpsed through parlour windows and walked its lanes. I have seen its rituals and observed witchery at every turn. The village is steeped in evil and its villagers have drawn deep of its ungodliness and now know no way other than that which affronts the One True God.”
“ You speak with conviction,” declared another man.
“ Yes I do and with foreboding too. There is much malign intent afoot within that village and I fear that if it is not contained, its stench will be detected far and wide.”
The tavern broke out into conversation at this revelation. Vindicta drank again and then looked at Turnmoor.
“ I need lodgings over night Aindrew and my horse feeding and stabling. I can offer no payment now, but I will be returning from my Order and will ensure you are properly compensated.”
“ By all means Master Vindicta, your presence at the inn, as is any of your Order, is always welcome. Your word that payment will be made is good enough for me.”
“ Thank you, you have my Order’s gratitude.”
“ I am bound for Aftlain,” said a tall man leaning against the fireplace.
“ Turn around sir,” replied Vindicta, “ for no good will come of your attendance on that unholy place.”
“ But I have a consignment of weapons to purchase from the smith, Ansell Redway and an order to fulfil in High Quern,” said the merchant.
“ Put it from your mind, abandon any thought of travelling there for you will only become fresh prey for the demons that reside there.”
“ Demons?” cried another patron.
“ Yes, I have looked into their foul eyes and seen the evil that lurks within. Only this day I cut down two of the fiends,” announced Vindicta patting his sword with his gauntleted hand.
“ What are they like?” asked a voice.
“ Are they coming this way?” queried another.
“ Who leads this demonspawn?” questioned yet another.
The tavern filled with the animated chatter of its customers as Vindicta drank more of the warming mead, the feeling returning to his extremities.
“ Are there truly demons in Aftlain?” asked Turnmoor.
“ Yes there are. The whole village is in the hold of unholy witchery. Aindrew, I must make haste for my Order’s seat on the morrow and report on what I have discovered in that forsaken village and rally my brothers to ride forth and address the decay that threatens to spread across the land. I ask that you warn any traveller who attends your tavern, or who you see on the road outside, that they must not head to Aftlain. Ensure nobody goes to the village.”
“ Yes, yes of course. The snows will have caused most to abandon any thoughts of travel but there are bound to be those already on the roads.”
“ Good, nobody else shall fall into their trap.”
“ What if ? Well, what if, somebody should come from Aftlain to here?” asked the landlord nervously.
“ I propose to send an urgent message to the garrison at High Quern and command that a detachment of men is posted her at the tavern.”
“ Soldiers ? Posted here ?”
“ Indeed. They will detain anybody who leaves Aftlain and question their provenance. High Quern is some distance closer than Lancester and we must not risk denizens from Aftlain heading further afield. A detachment of troops from that garrison will suffice until my Order returns.”
“ Of course Master Vindicta, they will be afforded lodging here, most certainly.”
“ I have every faith in you Aindrew,” replied the witch hunter.
Vindicta looked about the tavern. The customers certainly looked troubled by his revelation judging by the expressions on their faces, but it was better that they stood warned. Vindicta cleared his throat.
“ Good folk, please hear me,” he called, his voice cracking slightly. The noise of discussion diminished and Vindicta waited until it had faded.
“ Who amongst you are bound for High Quern?”
Several hands rose amongst the cro
wd.
“ Good. Which of you is unburdened by cart and produce?”
This time just two hands remained up. Vindicta pointed at the woman who was nearest to him.
“ Know you the garrison at High Quern?” he asked.
“ I do sir, its captain is Stevan Hardcastle,” she replied.
“ Most excellent, will you ride there come the morning?” The lady nodded.
“ Very well, on your arrival in High Quern, you must make haste to the captain and hand him my message. I shall write it for you as soon as I have quelled the hunger in my stomach,” explained Vindicta.
“ I shall ensure it is done,” answered the woman.
“ My apologies, Master Vindicta, I shall fetch you food right away,” said Turnmoor. He left Vindicta’s side and approached the bar, instructing Zoë to bring Vindicta food. As he did that, a lady with short blonde hair neared Vindicta carrying a bowl, cloth and a pot.
“ Master Vindicta, I am Meya, Aindrew’s daughter. I understand you are hurt.”
“ Yes, my side is injured,” replied Vindicta indicating where Thaindire had struck him twice.
“ I shall see what I can do. Er, I think we had best get you to one of the rooms as you will need to remove your armour and undress.”
Vindicta nodded.
“ Father, can you help me get Master Vindicta upstairs please?” called Meya.
“ Here, let me help,” said the man in blue standing and offering a hand to Vindicta.
“ My thanks,” replied the witch hunter.
The man in blue hauled him up and slung Vindicta’s arm around his shoulders.
“ Where we headed?” he asked Meya.
“ Top of the stairs, the room on the left will be free.”
“ Off we go,” said Vindicta’s helper as they moved through the tavern and approached the wide staircase besides the bar. Meya followed behind, carrying her accoutrements as the trio ascended the stairs.
Chapter Thirty-Five
Redway strode along the path beside the house of the seamstresses. He remained agitated following the visit from the Keeper of the Well. The smith had returned to his home after his encounter with Grimoult, keen to ensure that the Keeper had not returned. He was relieved to find that the crone had stayed away and his family had set about their usual daily chores. His wife and daughter were busy baking in the kitchen, singing happily, oblivious to the danger that had stood on their doorstep earlier that morning. Redway wondered whose child the Keeper had taken. He would no doubt hear about it in the course of the day, although he had no time to deal with that, as the safety of his family remained at stake. He had checked on his son, Robert, who was stoking the furnace in the smith, the heat a welcome contrast to the chill of the morning. Robert was to spend the morning finishing and polishing several breastplates that Redway had created. The smith had persuaded his son to attend to just the polishing of the armour, insisting that he do so in the kitchen so he could remain warm, rather than at the back of the smithy. Of course, he wanted to ensure that his family remained together and that the old hag would not snatch his son whilst he sat isolated. Redway would much have preferred to remain with his precious family, to keep a watchful eye upon them, but he knew he had to expedite matters in the creation of the key.
He saw two figures approaching, both were clad in black robes and carried a sturdy looking case between them. Their hoods were up, obscuring their identities but he reasoned that they must be the Manfurians that the alchemist had spoken of. Evidently their work with Ringthane was complete and they were retreating to the church with the crown and its gems. Redway stopped on the pathway and took his hammer from his belt. He shifted its weight in his hand as he watched the two figures slow down as they saw the blacksmith blocking their way forward. One of the hooded figures turned to his companion as if to speak and the second nodded.
“ If you would excuse us, we need to pass,” said the first figure to his left. Redway saw him reach for a black mace with a flanged head that swung from his belt.
“ Who are you?”
“ We are from the Church of Manfur,” replied the first figure.
“ I can see that from your attire,” said Redway jabbing the hammer towards the crescent emblem on the side of the figure’s arm, causing the first Manfurian to move to the side slightly.
“ What are your names?”
“ I am Low Priest Derran and this is Acolyte Darmere, to whom do we speak?”
“ Ansell Redway.”
“ Well Master Redway, if you would kindly move aside so we can continue on our way, we shall bid you good day,” said Derran.
“ What’s in the case?” demanded Redway, pointing the head of his hammer towards it.
“ Nothing that need concern you,” answered Derran. Redway took a couple of steps forward.
“ I asked, what is in the case?”
“ And I have told you, in need not concern you.”
The duo carefully lowered the case to the ground as Redway advanced on them.
“ Stand aside, or you will incur the displeasure of Manfur,” warned Derran as he too took hold of his mace.
“ I shall not, not until you show me the contents of your case.”
“ You seek to steal the property of the Church of Manfur?” asked Derran.
“ Ha,” snorted Redway, “ it is you who are the thieves, taking artefacts from the dead.”
“ Let us pass or we will force you aside,” said Darmere..
“ Really?” said Redway his anger rising. “ Show me what is in the case and you can leave. Alive.”
“ You insult our church and make demands of your superiors. You have been warned,” retorted Darmere.
Derran swung his mace at the head of the smith. Redway brought his hammer around and easily blocked the swing. He smashed a large fist into the side of Derran’s head, knocking him off his feet and into a bush that lined the path. Darmere hesitated, his mace held in front of him as Derran slid off the bush and collapsed to the ground. Redway grabbed Derran’s robes and hauled the stunned Low Priest towards him, propping him up against his right leg. Derran groaned as he sat dazed.
“ Open the fucking case now or I will knock his head from his shoulders,” shouted Redway. Darmere hesitated glancing at his unresponsive superior.
“ Do it,” commanded Redway.
“ Very well, but you should know that you have committed a grave error,” said Darmere as he moved behind the case so he could continue to watch Redway. He placed his mace besides him and began to untether the four straps that kept the lid firmly closed. Once that was done he raised his hands.
“ Open it,” said Redway and gave Derran a nudge with his right knee. Darmere nodded and reached for the lid. He pulled it back allowing Redway to see the six bottles firmly held in their respective slots.
“ What are they?”
“ Bottles.”
“ I can see that Darmere. What do they contain?” asked the smith as he watched the green light within them turn and twist, the light illuminating Darmere’s face.
“ Essence taken from the emeralds.”
“ From the crown?”
“ Yes.”
“ Where is the crown?” asked Redway.
“ It is with Master Ringthane.”
Redway shoved Derran aside causing the Low Priest to slump to the path once again. The smith strode forward and Darmere snatched up his mace, knocking the lid of the case shut with his other hand. He started to rise, looking to land a blow on the passing smith, but Redway gave him a firm shove, knocking the cleric aside and into the undergrowth. Darmere struggled up, adjusting his robes as he watched the mammoth frame of the smith departing down the path. He moved to the prone figure of Derran and shook him by the shoulder, calling his name before glancing back along the path in case the smith had turned back, but he continued away from the Manfurians.
Redway reached the end of the path, the icy River Centopani flowing by below him. He turned right and walked in
front of Ringthane’s residence, looking to see if any further Manfurians remained. The porch was empty and he climbed the few steps to the gem invoker’s front door. He pressed his face to the glass of the window and looked inside. He could see a figure, an old man, reclined on a long seat. Redway frowned. Was that Ringthane ? He stared and as his eyes adjusted he saw that it was, yet he looked far older than when he had last seen him. This must be some dark curse administered by the Manfurians. Ringthane appeared to be asleep, his chest rising and falling .Redway cast his gaze about the room and his eyes alighted on the golden crown placed on the table.
“ There it is,” he said. He tapped on the window with the shaft of the hammer, hoping to rouse the old man, but there was no response. Redway moved to the door and reached for the handle just as he saw the red gems embedded in the timber. He pulled his hand back. He knew of the invoker’s craft and how he coaxed the energy from precious stones and turned it his own use, or that of those that engaged him. The wealthy fellow, Lancaster, had been telling him about Ringthane’s gift when he attended on him to commission a pair of fine daggers. Lancaster had been explaining when he asked about placing a pair of rubies on each dagger and how he would be instructing Ringthane to utilise the inherent power of the rubies in tandem with the daggers. Something about how they would create wounds that would prove very difficult to close or such like.
He looked at the gemstones in the door. He was no expert and could not tell if these were rubies or some other similarly coloured gem. No doubt these red gems had been primed to repel unwanted visitors in some way and he was not going to unleash their hidden weaponry, not with the crown so close at hand. Redway toyed with standing to one side and hammering the door down but reasoned that this still might activate the gemstones in the door and he had no notion as to their effect.
He returned to the window. It was one of three at the front of the house. They were too small for a man of his size to clamber through, but if he broke one, that should at least awaken the sleeping Ringthane inside. His wariness heightened by the gems on the door, Redway studied the frame of the window and noticed that a blue gemstone was set in each corner. He lowered his hammer and walked down the steps to the path outside. Kicking the snow aside, he scoured the ground until he found a palm-sized stone and picked it up. He weighed it in his hand and then took aim at the central window. Redway hurled the stone, which struck the window. There was bright blue flash and a crackling noise and he ducked down. He blinked repeatedly, only able to see the blue light as he heard the crackling sounds continue. The light faded and he stood up, to see wisps of smoke drifting from the porch. After a moment, the startled face of Ringthane appeared at the window. Pleased that he had woken the sleeping gem invoker, Redway trotted back up the steps and moved to the window.