In Defence of the Crown (The Aielund Saga Book 2)

by Stephen L. Nowland

  As Valennia and Sir William waded forward, the aura of light from Nellise flickered and failed. Free from the power of the heavens inhibiting their actions, the risen priests set to the attack once more. Deep in her battle-lust, Valennia didn’t seem to notice how badly she was being pummelled, while the knight was forced to raise his shield and simply try to survive.

  She responded with her axe, Valennia struck down upon them one after another, crushing bone and severing decaying limbs. Aiden, unable to find a way to be useful, realised Nellise was the key to winning this fight. He went to look for Pacian and found him watching from a safe distance, leaning against the wall.

  “They will not perish!” Valennia called, for the remains that had been cut to the ground were reassembling and rising back to their feet to press the attack against them. Whatever dark magic was animating the cadavers was stronger than their weapons, and it was becoming clear that there was only one way to finish this.

  “We’ve got to get to Corvyn and make him reverse the incantation,” Aiden shouted, encouraging Pacian to follow but unsure if his friend was up to it.

  “How are we going to get past those things?” he asked, nervously.

  “We run. Nel, can you do that thing with the light again?”

  “I… yes, but only for a few seconds,” she warned. Nellise took out her crystal once more and with genuine struggle began to pray. As the light spread over the cadavers, they recoiled as before. Aiden sprang into action.

  “Keep them busy, we’re going to deal with Corvyn,” Aiden yelled as he rushed past Sir William and Valennia, without even waiting to see if Pacian was following him. Pushing through the ranks of the undead was one of the least pleasant experiences in Aiden’s life, and he cringed each time he grazed one.

  Invoking his arcane light, Aiden was able to see that not far ahead was another stairway leading down, past rank after rank of opened caskets on either side of the passageway. The sounds of footfalls behind him alerted Aiden to the presence of Pacian, who had apparently mustered up the courage to follow through the army of the dead. The two friends quickly descended the stairs as the sounds of fighting intensified behind them.

  The sound of a man talking came from somewhere ahead. Pacian put a hand on Aiden’s arm to stop him and crept past, using the ample shadows to move forward unseen. Aiden held his position for a long moment until his impatience won out and he moved forward to investigate.

  He entered a circular room roughly twenty yards across, dimly-lit by torches in wall sconces. A raised dais was placed in the middle, on which sat a simple casket. The lid had been completely pushed aside and to Aiden’s horror, the corpse of Sir Marcus stood before it, clad in ancient armour and a helm which thankfully kept his grisly remains concealed.

  An archaic sword was strapped to its right, and a shield strapped to its left, though both hung as if the creature didn’t know they were there. The cadaver stood completely still with its head at an odd angle, almost as if it were listening to the elderly priest nearby.

  Although he hadn’t heard a description of the priest, the robed old man must be Patriarch Corvyn. His mind was clearly unsettled, for he seemed to be conducting a one-way conversation with the silent corpse. Corvyn didn’t seem to notice this, and continued speaking of strange events that may or may not have happened. A large, leather-bound book was held close to his chest – undoubtedly the tome of reanimation.

  Pacian crept around the edge of the chamber, making his way slowly to the elderly priest. Knowing Pace, Aiden figured he was planning to stab Corvyn in the back, but he wasn’t sure that would release the dead back to their endless sleep so he quickly formulated a new plan.

  “Corvyn, is that you?” Aiden asked in as casual a manner as he could manage. The elderly priest stopped talking in mid-sentence and turned to peer at him. His grey hair was matted and unkempt, and his eyes had a vague look about them.

  “Do I know you?” he rasped.

  “No, but I know of you, Your Eminence,” Aiden replied carefully, ignoring Pacian’s look of disbelief from nearby. “You look tired sir, and your guest is simply dead on his feet. Why don’t you put that heavy book down and return to your chambers for a nap?”

  “What? Oh, yes, well I am rather fatigued, young man,” Corvyn mumbled as the animated corpse of one of the Kingdom’s greatest historical figures looked on impassively. “Sir Marcus has travelled a long way to be here and it would be unseemly to relinquish my role as host to such an esteemed visitor. Perhaps in a few hours I might introduce him to the Archieros and then take my leave.”

  “Why wait?” Aiden pressed, licking his lips. “We can head upstairs to see him now, and you can all sit in comfort while you talk.” If Aiden’s ploy didn’t work, it was quite possible they would have to fight the armoured cadaver. Corvyn’s eyes lost focus for a long moment, and Aiden flicked a nervous glance at Pacian, standing in the shadows gripping his daggers tight.

  “Where am I?” Corvyn muttered a moment later, glancing slowly around at the chamber in which they stood. Aiden looked at him sharply, wondering if this was a moment of lucidity from the old priest.

  “You’re in the burial chamber of Sir Marcus Elward,” Aiden replied slowly, gambling that a dose of reality might snap the old fellow out of it.

  “What in blazes am I doing down here, you rapscallion,” he snarled, appearing aghast. “Did you drag a tired old man down here? For what purpose?”

  “We don’t have time for this,” Pacian muttered, swiftly moving in, ready to take him down. Aiden winced at the thought of harming the poor old chap, but given the situation, he wasn’t about to stop Pacian from trying it either. Just as Pace was about to strike the old priest, Aiden’s worst fears came true as the armoured remains of Sir Marcus sprang into motion with incredible speed.

  Surprised by the sudden movement, Pacian’s instincts kicked in and he rolled backwards, just in time to avoid being skewered by the abomination’s sword.

  “Sir Marcus, aid me against these blaggards,” Corvyn gasped, staggering to lean against the wall as if he barely had the strength to stand. Aiden rushed over to Corvyn and ripped the book from his grasp, knocking him to the floor in the process. The armoured cadaver awkwardly clanked over towards him and swung its arms around, lacking the finesse to aim, but hammering away at Aiden’s arcane shield with each wild swing.

  “Keep it busy, Pace, I need to examine the book!” he cried as he struggled to keep it at bay.

  “Are you crazy?” he called back while Aiden dodged the dead knight’s assault. “What am I supposed to do, slow it down with my own blood and guts?”

  “Think of something! If I don’t figure out how to undo this we’re going to die down here!” That, finally, spurred his friend into action. Pacian threw caution to the wind and charged at the undead knight, skewering it in the back with both of his daggers. It turned around, flailing its arms wildly. Pacian, spurred on by adrenaline and fear, was like a jackrabbit, hardly staying in one place long enough for the unholy thing to hit.

  Seeing the old priest unable to get up off the floor, Aiden turned his attention to the ancient tome in his hands. He flipped it open and scanned the pages for anything relevant. He noticed the patriarch had bookmarked a page with a sliver of red silk, so he turned to that section and found what he was looking for.

  The arcane syllables and runes weren’t all that familiar to Aiden, but he knew enough of it to realise that the patriarch had violated his oaths as a holy man when he invoked this necromancy. Reversing the effects was unnecessary, as the power that sustained the animated corpses was finite. However, if his reading was correct, it would be many more hours before the spirits were released back to whatever dark place they came from.

  “Could you hurry up?” Pacian shrieked from across the chamber. The sounds of metal on metal could be heard as he continued poking and slashing at the brittle, ancient armour with no practical effect. The armoured cadaver was slow, but it relentlessly pursued Pacian around the
chamber and it was only a matter of time before he made a mistake and had his head removed from his shoulders.

  Aiden focused on the incantation, wracking his brain for any knowledge he might have come across concerning the dark arts. One of the runes almost jumped out at him, for he remembered it as being a key component of many incantations. Removing the spirits from the cadavers might not be a matter of reversing the effect, but simply dismissing it. He recalled a brief incantation of dismissal, and figured that if he supplemented this rune, it might just do the trick.

  The clang of a sword hitting the ground interrupted his thoughts for a moment, and looking up, he saw that Pace had managed to sever the hand of the armoured corpse, sending its armoured fist clattering to the ground while still holding the sword. Pacian rolled forward and plucked the gauntlet from the ground, keeping the monster from retrieving it.

  “Let’s see how well you do without this!” Pacian taunted his silent foe, holding the blade by the gauntleted hand that was firmly affixed to the hilt. Sir Marcus responded by thrusting its shield at him, smacking him directly in the face with substantial force and sending him tumbling backwards.

  With trembling hands, Aiden invoked the arcane runes from memory and to his immense relief, the armoured cadaver that was on the verge of once more slamming its shield into Pacian’s head suddenly collapsed, clattering to the stone floor with a tremendous racket. The echoes of similar sounds could be heard from up the staircase, indicating that the fight was over for their companions as well.

  Silence descended in the mausoleum as the dead returned to their natural state. Corvyn seemed to be staring off into nothing, and was lying almost perfectly still on the floor. His lips moved silently, mouthing words that nobody could hear. Aiden stumbled over to where Pacian was sitting against the wall.

  “You okay?” Aiden asked.

  “Intact,” Pacian whispered, his voice drained of energy. “Damn thing cut me a few times while I was saving your backside.”

  “I’m not unappreciative,” Aiden mumbled. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  “What about him?” Pacian said, looking at Corvyn.

  “I’ll take him back upstairs. The poor chap really has lost his marbles,” Aiden sighed, “it’s kind of hard to blame him for this.”

  “I’m not having any trouble,” Pacian remarked dryly as Aiden helped him back to his feet, before heading over to see if he could move the patriarch.

  “Alright Your Eminence, time to go back upstairs,” Aiden said in soothing tones so as not to startle the old man. He proved to be pleasantly compliant as Aiden set down the heavy tome, and with both hands lifted the frail old man back to his feet. With the tome under one arm and the old priest half-carried in the other, Aiden and Pace made their way back upstairs to see first-hand the carnage wrought upon the remains of Fairloch’s ancient priesthood.

  The cadavers were scattered about in various states of dismemberment, and it would take many days of work to put the pieces back together again. Aiden did not envy whoever had that task, though it wasn’t something he was overly concerned about either. Lying in amongst them was Sir William, with Nellise crouched next to him tending to his numerous injuries. Valennia remained standing despite sporting her own injuries.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Aiden asked as they slowly made their way onto the scene.

  “He is strong to still be drawing breath,” the akoran warrior remarked in a tight voice. “But if he had any skill, he wouldn’t be in this position to begin with.”

  “He chose to risk his own life to save ours,” Nellise countered, continuing to work on bandaging the knight’s wounds while she talked.

  “It was the least I could do,” Sir William added in a strained voice. “I have no regrets about my decision.” Upon noticing that Aiden was carrying his old friend, the knight’s expression lit up. “Corvyn! I’m glad to see you’re still amongst the living, so to speak.” Corvyn seemed to react a little to the mention of his name, before drifting away again. “Fear not old friend, you will be cared for,” Sir William added in a melancholy whisper before resting his head on the ground once more.

  With Valennia’s help, Sir William was carefully picked up and guided to the exit. The relief Aiden felt upon finally being back in the sunlight was palpable. Only moments after returning to the cathedral proper, several younger clerics came over to relieve him of his burdens, taking away the old priest as well as the forbidden tome.

  Nellise and Valennia carefully lowered Sir William onto an unoccupied bench, and then the young woman began her whispered prayers of healing. Aiden slumped down onto a nearby seat and stared up at the distant ceiling, trying to process the events of the last hour. Of all the things he had witnessed since leaving home, the dead rising from their graves had been the most terrifying and not something he would care to see again. Indeed, his old nightmare would have some powerful new competition after he closed his eyes at night.

  Presently, he gazed around the cathedral and saw Ashwyn supervising the younger priests as they headed inside the mausoleum to begin the clean-up. Next to the archon was another old priest, clean-shaven and wearing elaborate, gold-trimmed robes.

  Unlike Corvyn, this man’s eyes still seemed vibrant and alert, despite the tall staff he leaned upon. He smiled back under Aiden’s unintentional scrutiny, and walked towards him with Ashwyn following one step behind out of respect. Although he had never met the man, Aiden knew that he could only be looking upon the Archieros of the Church of Aielund.

  “Corvyn, my old friend, you have my deepest sympathies,” he said in a strong voice to the patriarch, who seemed to recognise the high priest.

  “I thought the King would like to see his old friend again,” Corvyn mumbled. “It has been so very long for both of them.” Aiden raised an eyebrow at this statement, but the archieros only smiled with understanding.

  “You are tired and in need of care,” he offered in quiet sympathy. “I suspect in your more lucid moments you may regret the actions you have taken today. Sleep now,” he added with compassion, and touched the patriarch on the forehead with one hand. To Aiden’s astonishment, the old priest fell into the hands of the other priests, who carried the comatose man out of the main hall.

  “Aiden, may I present His Holiness, Archieros Keenan Cormac,” Ashwyn said as the two senior priests turned their attentions to the small group. This close to the archieros, Aiden felt a certain lightness to the air, as if merely being in his presence was a blessing to those around him. From what could be seen under the white hood of his robe, the man was completely bald and his weathered features seemed to indicate his age was somewhere in his seventies. In spite of this, he still had a spring in his step.

  “Hello,” Aiden stammered, feeling awkward and out of place. The high priest sat down across from him and looked around at the small group. He waited patiently until Nellise had finished her prayers, and she gasped as she looked up and saw who had been quietly observing her.

  “Your Holiness,” she breathed, taking off her helmet and smoothing down her hair.

  “Do not trouble yourself with appearances, sister,” Keenan assured her. “I wished to thank you all for returning our wayward brother back to us, and for having the courage to face such darkness. Had we waited until the inquisitors arrived, who knows what turmoil might have come to pass.”

  “Thank you,” Aiden replied quietly, “although the archon didn’t seem enthusiastic to receive our aid.”

  “I will speak with him at length, at the appropriate time,” Keenan remarked evenly, and Ashwyn flinched visibly at his words. “Had I been made aware of the situation, I could have aided you myself, though I am not the vigorous young man I used to be.”

  “I suppose saving face is important to some people,” Nellise observed, somewhat caustically. A fine crease of disapproval appeared on the archieros’ brow, and he seemed to ponder something for a long moment before speaking. His gaze inadvertently drifted to Pacian, and his pensive exp
ression was replaced by one of surprise.

  “I hope you were not planning on keeping that sword, young man,” he remarked, looking at the ancient blade Pacian held. The dessicated hand of its previous owner was still inside the tarnished gauntlet.

  “This old thing?” Pacian replied in mock astonishment. “Well, it’s not really worth much, judging by its age, and well, we did save your church just now…” An amused grin creased Keenan’s face.

  “The blade you hold in your hands is Solas Aingeal, the Angel of Light, once wielded by Sir Marcus against a terrible evil on the blackest day in the history of our Kingdom,” the elderly priest explained. “It is no mere trinket, nor has age diminished its power so do not be fooled by its appearance.”

  “His Holiness is telling you that you hold in your hands one of the most venerated relics in the Church,” Sir William explained dryly. “So no, you cannot keep it.”

  “Hey, if this is a holy sword, then why was that undead monster about to use it?”

  “Well… it wasn’t really touching the handle, since it was locked into the gauntlet,” Aiden answered after a moment of thought, gesturing at the armoured hand Pacian was grasping.

  “Still almost took my head off,” Pacian grumbled, relinquishing the sword to the archieros. The holy man took the blade and delicately removed the withered hand from inside, handing it reverently to the archon by his side. As soon as the archieros touched the handle, however, he froze in place, his blue eyes staring at nothing. It reminded Aiden of the look Corvyn had when his mind was drifting, and Aiden hoped that the head of the Church wasn’t experiencing a similar affliction in his advanced years.

  “What is it, Your Holiness?” Nellise breathed, captivated by the moment. Whatever was happening, she clearly didn’t draw the same conclusion Aiden had. The old priest seemed to snap out of his trance, and his eyes turned to Sir William.