The Children of Never_A War Priests of Andrak Saga

by Christian Warren Freed

  “Why have you summoned me? Why can’t you let me die!” he bellowed to the priest.

  Brogon stalked closer, the other still seemingly unaware of him. Head down, bathed in pale light already fading, the priest looked spent. Brogon snorted, disappointed with the ease of the kill. A boot sank into the dirt of the grave, followed by the other. Brogon crouched before the priest and lifted his head. He wished to look into the priest’s eyes before robbing the life from them.

  “No!” Donal shouted and crawled forward. His ribs ached.

  Brogon ignored him, for he had already proved his worth. Advancing boots came from behind. Focused on his prize, Brogon stared deep into the priest’s eyes. Was there a chance this was the one? He doubted it, all while holding on to hope. As if in response, the priest’s eyes flashed open.

  “Fear no darkness,” he whispered and placed his palm on Brogon’s chest.

  Blazing white light erupted from contact. The once dead man flew through the air, crashing through headstones and grave markers to land at Lizette’s feet. She screamed and jumped back, but not fast enough. Brogon, sensing he lacked the strength to defeat the war priest, snatched the woman around her waist.

  Both priests were on their feet now and closing in. The third man stood nearby with sword drawn. Brogon recognized the danger. He began retreating, step by painful step until he was at the edge of the graveyard. He’d sorely underestimated his foes. These priests were keepers of the Flame, an undying tribute to the holy light of creation. Without sufficient strength to defeat them, Brogon was left with little choice. He must retreat, back to the Other Realm where the pain would fade.

  Clutching the woman tighter, he uttered a single word and flashed from the world of the living. Quinlan struggled to remain afoot. He could only stare at the space where Brogon and Lizette had just occupied. Tiny flames sprout up in a loose circle. The ground was charred, leaving no visible trace of either. They were gone.

  “Lizette,” Quinlan whispered. “What have I done?”

  TWENTY-THREE

  Palis

  Kastus winced each time Sava slapped his stick on his thigh. “Do you suppose he feels what he’s doing?”

  “Sava?” Thep asked with a wry grin. “I doubt it. He’s been smacking himself with that stick for as long as I can remember. I suppose that’s better than the alternative.”

  A far cry from being a soldier, Kastus failed to understand the point in striking oneself. There was no motivational factor involved. Just the sharp sting and a possible bruise. Fascinating as that was, he studied the soldier’s reactions. Men and women, veterans and fresh faced recruits alike, snapped to whenever Sava came around. He doubted it was entirely out of respect. Kastus noticed a healthy fear ran in undercurrents among the lower ranks. That was good, for morale and discipline.

  “What’s the alternative?” he asked, even as the answer came to him.

  “No one wants to get caught by that stick more than once,” Thep explained.

  “Seems excessive, even for a sergeant.”

  “Sava is one of the best I know. I’d put him up against anyone else in the duchies.”

  Impressed, Kastus couldn’t help but wonder what had invigorated Sava since arriving in Palis. Aside from one minor skirmish, their time had been ill spent. “The only problem is we haven’t found anyone to put him up against. He grows harsher as the days progress. Should we speak with him?”

  Thep gave him a look suggesting that he could if he wanted to. “Constable, Sava is a proud man. Getting beaten by the once dead man in the manner he did is beyond insulting. All he wants is another crack at the beast. I have no qualms of his training methods, so long as they reinforce the soldiers. We cannot be caught unawares again.”

  Deciding he would never understand the mentality of a soldier, Kastus changed the subject. “Do you think the old man will be good for his word?”

  They were less than a league away from Palis, returning from an otherwise wasted trip to nearby Jut. Despite the bold predictions of the old man, it still rankled Kastus that the man refused to give his name, inferred there was something off about the situation. He’d served as Constable for many years now and had developed a talent for sniffing out a rat.

  “We shall see,” was all Thep had to offer. His experiences were far different, normally ending with the flash of the blade.

  Kastus yawned. Days of constant riding and searching left him more tired than he liked. His mental acuity was slipping, and that aggravated him the most. He needed that sharpness, especially now that he was plucking apart the strands of conspiracy.

  “I don’t trust him,” Kastus continued. He glanced sidelong to the old man.

  “You suspect a trap?”

  “Not per se. I believe he is duplicitous. Why else would he come forward, claiming to fear retribution should he be identified, and then offer to show us the guilty party? It feels wrong, Thep.”

  The young captain turned to study the old man who remained oblivious to their scrutiny. “He doesn’t look out of the ordinary. Just a plain villager who’s had a tough life. I never understood farmers. So much work, only to give away most of their labor.”

  Kastus concealed his grin. “Not everyone is adept at a blade, Thep. We each serve a purpose. I only wonder what purpose he holds.”

  “I’ll have Sava detail some soldiers to watch him,” Thep offered. “For his security, of course. Are we going straight to the Elders when we arrive?”

  “I think that best,” Kastus said without thought. “Might as well get this over with and head back to the Baron. I’ve a feeling our quarry has fled back south.”

  That was fine with Thep. He was growing tired of being confined to the general hospitality of Palis. Soldiers were meant for tougher conditions. Too much longer being catered to and there was bound to be trouble.

  The old man fidgeted in his chair in the corner of the room. Excessive flesh bunched up across the back of his hands as he wrung them repeatedly. Alfar watched, impressed and slightly revolted, with the way his flesh manipulated with each motion. He’d been hungry before Sergeant Sava assigned him and Nils this detail.

  “Why are we here?” he whispered to Nils.

  The older soldier scowled, believing his being here was pinned squarely on Alfar’s inexperience. How he ever got saddled with the recruit was beyond comprehension. “Not supposed to talk on guard duty.”

  The last thing they needed was Sava circling back.

  “There’s no one here, Nils. What’s the harm in it?” Alfar asked.

  “Your stupidity continues to amaze me,” Nils snapped back. “Haven’t you learned nothing since we got here? Sergeant Sava is a …”

  The door opened. Swift. Sure.

  “Is a what?” Sava asked. “I’d very much like to hear what I am.”

  Nils swallowed the sudden ball in his throat. “Sergeant, we was just …”

  “Answer my question, soldier.” Each syllable came out a slow growl.

  Deflated, Nils swallowed again. “Yes, Sergeant. Alfar, Sergeant Sava is a god. He’s always around, even when you think he’s not.”

  A bead of sweat popped out of Nils’s hairline. He stiffened, looking straight ahead.

  Sava’s laugh made the old man flinch. “A god, am I? That’s the funniest thing I’ve heard. Most folks call me a bastard. Guess I been promoted, eh, boys?”

  Alfar made the mistake of breaking into a grin. Youthful, inexperienced. It was a fatal mistake. Sava crossed the floor faster than young Alfar could blink. He grabbed the soldier by his collar, twisted enough to choke him and lifted.

  “You listen to me and you listen good. I’m no damned god. I am your sergeant. You do as you’re told, when you’re told, and how you’re told. Understood? When I say no talking on guard duty, I mean no talking on guard duty. The next time I hear either of you utter a single noise, I don’t care if it’s a burp, I will personally relieve you of several teeth. Am I clear?”

  Alfar struggled to nod. Sava
’s glare shifted to Nils. “I expect better out of you.”

  He released Alfar and stepped back, making a show of snapping his stick to his thigh. Alfar, to his credit, remained standing, though he struggled to breathe.

  “Are we missing anything, Sergeant?” Thep asked as he and Kastus entered.

  “Nothing at all, Captain. Just educating these two on proper guard procedures,” Sava beamed.

  “What’s this about guards?” the old man asked. “Am I a prisoner?”

  “Not at all,” Kastus answered. “I have requested Captain Thep detail two of his finest soldiers to protect you during our time here in Palis.”

  “I doubt protection is necessary,” the old man said, too slowly to avoid suspicion.

  Kastus smiled. “Surely you understand that if the matter is as grave as you suggested to us in Jut, there is the potential for counter actions. These soldiers are here to keep trouble from coming to you. At least until we manage to escort you home again.”

  The old man swallowed. A simple gesture Kastus had witnessed many times before. A tell. One suggesting there was more to this tale than he was willing to divulge. Different possibilities came to life. Kastus imagined it might be as simple as a rival merchant, though he suspected the truth was much more severe.

  “The Elders are arriving, gentlemen,” Sava interrupted from his new position by the door.

  Two squads flanked either side, waiting outside for the order to move in. A half squad was detailed to escort the Elders, lest one of them should decide it was not in his or her best interest to attend. Thep motioned for Sava to send them in and rested his hand on his sword. Kastus placed his hands behind his back. He wore his official tunic of office, the black raven proud upon purple background.

  Deana entered first, dour and proud as ever. Waern came next. If he suspected anything, he didn’t show it. Remind me not to gamble against him. Last came Mugh, a man of inconsequence in the Constable’s opinion. Nothing Kastus found during his investigation suggested the man had interests in anything, despite exhibiting an overbearing presence.

  “Welcome, lords and ladies!” he announced after Mugh crossed the threshold. “Please, be seated. This will not take long.”

  “What is the meaning of this, Constable? We are busy people. Once again you interfere with our daily business,” Deana accused.

  “Your business is also the Baron’s, Lady Deana,” his smile was anything but pleasant. Still, he begrudgingly admitted she had cooled somewhat since he forced her into a corner. Maybe she wasn’t so bad after all. That and she seemed to embrace her role in his little scheme. If it worked, she stood to gain the most.

  Waern cast a sidelong glance, barely a moment, at his counterpart. I’ve got you. Kastus caught the movement and knew he held the advantage. “Does anyone else object to being delayed on this fine autumn day?”

  “Get on with it. I have little tolerance for theatrics today,” Mugh snorted and took a seat at the large table dominating the center of the room.

  Kastus wasn’t sure where it came from, but he was assured by Sava that there was no wrongdoing involved. The other Elders followed suit, delivering the floor to him.

  “I would like to inform you that we are preparing to leave. There is no evidence of the once dead man in Palis and after careful investigation, I don’t believe there is any threat. A small garrison will be left behind, naturally, in the event that we are wrong.” Kastus paused to absorb the varying degrees of anger flashing across their faces. “While there is no reason to think your village is in danger, we did uncover … other aspects both Captain Thep and I found disturbing.”

  “Go on, what is this nonsense?” Mugh demanded. “You and I both know the Baron doesn’t know the first thing about Palis. What could he possibly find uncomfortable enough to leave soldiers?”

  Kastus folded his hands in front of his waist. “I have learned of an illegal trade operation originating here. Not only does this contradict every law we have in Fent, but it is suspected that the guilty are in collusion with the once dead man.”

  Waern tapped his fingertip on the table. “Utter nonsense. What benefit would come from partnering with a dead man? One who steals children no less.”

  “The destabilization of the duchy. There is no doubt that a great evil is at work in our land. Why or how remain inconclusive, but it is clear that Palis bears much of the weight. You, Elders, have a rot in your village,” Kastus announced.

  Deana shifted, uncomfortable. She’d known this was inevitable, but hearing the accusations aloud inspired true fear. The suggested crimes were punishable by death.

  “Palis is a loyal community,” she said. “We have no reason to betray the duchy. What proof do you have, Constable?”

  He gestured to Thep and the old man was brought forward. Kastus watched the Elders, eager to find displays of recognition. Deana’s face relaxed as the man came closer. Her lack of reaction told Kastus she wasn’t complicit in Waern’s treachery. Mugh stared at the man, wondering why an outsider should be brought before him. Nothing to worry about there either. It was Waern who offered all the proof Kastus needed. Waern, who made an extra effort to appear disinterested. Waern who presented the calmest demeanor. Guilty.

  “Tell them what you told me,” Kastus gestured to the old man.

  He looked around the room as if unsure of his course of action now that the time had come. His eyes finally settled on Waern and he licked his lips. “This man is working with other Dukes to undermine the Baron and rob his duchy.”

  Waern leapt to his feet. “Lies! I am no traitor! Kastus, who is this man, this outsider you bring before us? I’ll not stand a moment longer in this charade. Open the door. I am leaving.”

  “Stop!” Kastus bellowed in his most commanding tone. “Take one step toward that door and the consequences will be more severe. If you are as innocent as you claim, there is nothing wrong with hearing him out. Is there, Elder Waern?”

  Sava burst through the door, his cheeks red and eyes alight. “Captain, you need to come quick. There’s a fire in the village’s storage building.”

  Thep hurried away. Kastus pointed at Nils and Alfar. “Do not let anyone leave this room until we return.”

  Nils looked at his charges and felt comfortable for the first time since arriving in Palis. After all, how much trouble could four old people be?

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Castle Fent

  Quinlan sat on the edge of his bed wondering what happened. How his efforts could go so terribly wrong. No answers were forthcoming, despite hours of self-induced misery. He replayed every moment, trying to find his error. The F’talle was strong, but the magic infused in Quinlan’s armor should have been sufficient to stop him. Instead, all he did was lose yet another member of his team, while nearly dying in the process. What went wrong?

  Inevitably, thoughts of his time in Castle Bedris during the fall surfaced. He’d been young, barely a decade of service when the Omegri overran the defenses and forced the war priests into full retreat. Quinlan couldn’t confirm, but he long suspected he was the only survivor. That loss, combined with the futility of his initial attempt to destroy the F’talle, sent his mind reeling down empty corridors without exit.

  He refused food and drink for the better part of the night and the following day, even then only quenching his thirst. Trips to the privy were equally infrequent. Quinlan hadn’t lost heart, or the will to carry on, but his confidence was shaken. Perhaps irreparably. Sleep teased but didn’t come near enough to grasp. Life had taken on the cold, emotionless aspects of the castle’s grey walls. So it was he spent the day.

  His isolation was not to be, however, for Baron Einos could stand it no longer. Along with Donal, he stormed in to Quinlan’s quarters shortly after midday. Einos was neither angry nor disturbed. He just wanted answers. Seeing the war priest frozen in misery rattled him somewhat, for the Order was renowned for their ability to stare down the dark things lurking just out of sight.

  “Bro
ther Quinlan, how much longer will you remain secluded in this room?” Einos asked. His tone was firm, yet considerate. “Good gods, man, there is a monster out there and now he has Lizette.”

  Quinlan didn’t stir. His head hung low, hands wringing in frustration.

  Einos sighed. He hadn’t expected this to be easy, but always believed a war priest to be made of sterner stuff. “We must conceive a plan to get her back and end this threat. Fent needs you. I need you.”

  “I was not worthy of the task,” Quinlan whispered. “Lizette is gone because of my arrogance. Hubris is a foul companion.”

  “This world would have fallen long ago without the hubris of men and women like you. There is no shame in your actions, Quinlan. We all fail from time to time.”

  At that Quinlan raised his head. “At what cost? How many more innocents need to die to satisfy my, or your, conscience?”

  “Failure is how we grow. This conversation is pointless,” Einos grew frustrated. “You do not know that Lizette is dead. There is still hope.”

  “Hope is a fragile construct,” Quinlan replied.

  Einos remained stiff backed. “Hope is what we have left.”

  Quinlan acknowledged the comment for truth but failed to find a way through his misery. It wasn’t until he looked into Donal’s eyes that Quinlan found renewed strength. Doubt still lurked, but the knowledge that he was not alone, that there was yet hope for tomorrow, offered fresh inspiration.

  “I ask your forgiveness, Donal,” he said. His voice was flat, yet sincere.

  Donal jerked back. “For what, Brother? I failed you. I was unable to kill the F’talle when you were exposed. None of this would have happened if not for me.”

  Rising, Quinlan placed his hand on Donal’s shoulder. “No, my friend. You are brave and loyal as any priest. The F’talle was stronger than either of us anticipated. It will take much more to finish it before Fent is secure.”