“They have ten children,” he said suddenly after minutes of silence.
“Yes,” Sarrac replied.
“Well,” the young man continued, taking a deep breath. “That seems almost horrible really. What about the harvests?”
“Thaelen's a carpenter,” Alena replied, “and Anne is a seamstress. They both do work for lord Casslan. He's the vampire in control of this village. In exchange for their labor he promised them that none of their children would be harvested before the age of twenty.”
“And he's kept that promise?”
“He has,” Sarrac replied. “Like any other lord he wants his people's cooperation. He's kept their services for a long time now by not breaking his agreement.”
“I see...” Paul said thoughtfully. “And how old is their oldest?”
“Nineteen,” Alena replied.
“I don't think I could deal with that,” the young man said.
“Nor do they plan to,” Sarrac replied. “They'll flee before the boy's birthday. That's been their plan since before he was born. Lord Casslan probably suspects something of the kind, but he hasn't reckoned on the Warriors of Dawn.”
“You said that at the door,” Paul pointed out. “What does it mean?”
“We're Warriors of Dawn,” Alena explained. “It's the order we belong to, the order fighting to bring about the prophecies and destroy the undead.”
“How many of you are there?”
“A lot,” Sarrac replied. “But we don't know exactly how many. We all work rather independently most of the time. Of course, summoning you was coordinated years in advance.”
“I see,” he nodded. “And you'll help Thaelen escape?”
“We will,” Sarrac replied. “In fact, we started long ago. They already have a place to go, but they're waiting until the last possible minute to leave. It will be a long and difficult journey and they may not make it. Plus, of course, if you manage to kill Myra before they flee they might not have to.”
“That would be worth trying to do. I mean, those children don't deserve...”
The young man's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by a heavy pounding from outside the building. They could hear Thaelen rush to the door and start opening bar and bolt. Sarrac and Alena each dropped to the floor and began gazing through the cracks in the paneling. Paul instantly followed their example. As he lay watching, a man burst into the chamber below. He was armored in polished chain-mail, had a large steel helmet on his head, and wore a sword on his side. As he entered, four zombies strode into the room a short distance behind him.
“Captain Sallen,” Thaelen said nervously, “to what do we owe this honor?”
“Spare me,” the captain replied coldly. “Unlike some, I desire no pretense of respect. I'm just as certain that you hate me as I am of the fact that I'll enjoy devouring what's left of your carcass when our Lord is done with you.”
Having said this, he reached up and removed his helmet. The man's skin was a putrid green, his face torn in several places, revealing the decaying brown flesh beneath. His eyes, which Paul could see from where he lie, were yellow and his pupils seemed to glow with a pale, unholy light. The monster's teeth were covered in bright red blood and it seemed to lick its lips almost uncontrollably. The stench of rotting meat that surrounded the monster almost made Paul retch, and he found himself wishing he had a swamp-root handy.
This creature extremely unsettling to the young man. Something about this image of death was far more disturbing than mindlessly swarming zombies. And its desire to feed on the living seemed even more disgusting than the unnatural hungers of the hag. This being, this creature of darkness, was the grave itself in human form, risen to hunt down and devour life itself. A cold sweat formed on Paul's brow as his heart pounded in his chest; his breathing became quick and shallow as he wondered if the thing might be able to spot him through the cracks in the ceiling.
“Earlier this evening strangers were spotted making their way into Jannac,” the captain continued. “I've been sent to find them. There were two men and a woman. And one of the men was wearing rather unusual clothing.”
“I've seen nothing of the kind, sir.”
“I see,” the creature replied with a tone of suspicion. “And how could you overlook such an unaccustomed sight?”
“I couldn't say, sir,” Thaelen said, swallowing as he spoke. “We were locked in before the dusk, as is the law.”
“Don't tell me the law!” the captain yelled. “You're a sympathizer, Thaelen! And you always have been! You may have Lord Casslan deceived, but such is not the case with me! Now where are they?!?!”
Paul began to feel light headed at the thought that Thaelen might hand them over to this monster. He wondered exactly what kind of creature it was, whether the three of them could kill it, and if there might be more nearby.
“I don't know, sir.”
“Very well,” the captain said, taking a deep breath. “Perhaps harvesting a few of your children will remind you of whose protection you enjoy.”
“No, sir! Please!” Thaelen cried, taking the monster by the hand.
In response the captain jerked back and slapped the man to the floor. He then bent down and grabbed him by the face.
“Never touch me!” he screamed. “The hunger is almost uncontrollable! The only thing standing between you and death is my fear of our lord! If you ever touch me again, I'll eat you alive and take my chances! Do you understand me?!?!”
“Yes, sir!”
“Good,” the monster replied, slamming his head to the floor. “In any event, Thaelen, your congenital cowardice has saved you once again. You may be a sympathizer, but you haven't got the guts to do more than give them lip service. And you had better thank the gods such is the case.”
“Of course, sir,” the man replied, kneeling at the captain's feet.
“If you do see anything you'll report it immediately. Do you understand?”
“Of course, sir.”
“I'm glad,” the monster replied, returning its helmet to its head. “It's always a pleasure to see you. It whets my appetite for the future. Oh, and have a very pleasant evening, Thaelen.”
Having said this the creature left, followed immediately by the zombies that accompanied it. As soon as the monster departed Thaelen raised himself from the floor, grabbed his jaw and moved it around vigorously, before chuckling and giving a quick wink to the ceiling above.
“Thaelen is one of the bravest men I've ever met,” Alena observed, gazing down through the floor with a smile.
“Yes he is,” Paul agreed wiping the sweat from his brow. “What was that thing?”
“A ghast,” Sarrac replied. “It's kind of like...”
“A really nasty ghoul,” Paul interrupted. “D&D 102.”
“If you say so,” Alena said, gazing at the young man from beneath a single raised eyebrow.
“Could we have killed it?” he asked.
“Oh yeah,” Sarrac said. “No problem. In fact, even though the good captain doesn't know it, Thaelen could probably rip him to shreds in a one on one fight. He's pretty handy with a sword. Plus, of course, we have The Blade. He'd have been dead before he even hit the ground.”
“Then why didn't we just kill him?”
“Well he certainly wasn't alone,” Alena pointed out. “And even if he had been, we don't want Casslan's hounds on our scent, do we?”
“Absolutely not,” the young man agreed. “So should we leave now? You know, to make sure Thaelen's family doesn't get in trouble.”
“No,” Sarrac assured him. “Thaelen did his job perfectly. Sallen's convinced that we're not here. We can get a good night's rest and head out just before dawn tomorrow. That'll be the best way to keep from getting caught. Which is far more important for Thaelen than it is for us. So, for tonight we stay put.”
“I got ya,” Paul replied. “And tomorrow onward to... Wait, where are we going?”
“A fairy spring,” Alena replied, stretching herself ou
t on her cot.
“Oh, of course,” the young man said, following her example. “Onward to the fairy spring then I guess...”
Chapter 4: If Just A Cup Of Water
“You sure Thaelen will be alright?” Paul asked, as the trio slipped out of Jannac just before dawn.
“I am,” Sarrac replied. “His home has been one of our safe houses for over a decade. Most of the villagers are sympathizers and none of them tell what they've seen or repeat what they've heard.”
“We've had as many as ten members there at once,” Alena added, “and lord Casslan has never been the wiser. The fact is that the people are more than ready for revolt. They just need a leader.”
“And weapons,” Sarrac observed. “At the moment they don't have the tools to fight the undead.”
“Hmmm,” the young man hummed thoughtfully. “If this were D&D, and I realize it's not, but if it were then the priests and clerics could pretty much eat undead for lunch. Metaphorically I mean, obviously.”
As soon as Paul said this Sarrac and Alena glanced at one another silently.
“What is D&D?” Sarrac asked. “You keep referencing it, but it doesn't mean anything to us. Just like cow.”
“It's a game from Earth,” he explained. “In order to play a bunch of guys get together... Well, normally it's guys... Anyway, you pretend to be running around in worlds filled with undead and monsters, casting spells, killing bad guys, and saving beautiful woman.”
“And that's a game?” Alena asked.
“Yeah.”
“And you like playing it?”
“Yeah.”
“Well you don't seem to care for it much in real life.”
“In real life you can really get your face bit off by a ghast,” he explained.
“I can see that,” she admitted.
“Either way,” Sarrac continued, “in D&D there are things like vampires, and liches, and priests and things like that?”
“Yep.”
“That's very interesting,” Sarrac said. “And clerics can just kill undead?”
“Sure,” Paul replied with a grin, very pleased to have a subject to discuss where he was more knowledgeable than his companions. “They have all kinds of spells and things to kill undead and can do something call turning which makes undead run away or just blows them up.”
“Blows them up?” Alena asked.
“Utterly destroys them,” he replied.
Again the two glanced at one another in silence.
“That is very interesting,” Alena replied. “And what's a cow, again?”
Having called Alena a cow a few times, the young man decided not to answer that question. Instead he began regaling his companions with tales of his more exciting D&D adventures. His ploy worked perfectly; in less than half-an-hour they were more than ready to change the subject.
“So where is this place?” Paul asked as they marched along across a meadow filled with long green grass.
“What place?” Alena asked. “Where we are now?”
“No,” he replied shaking his head. “I mean, where's the fairy spring?”
“About three days from here,” she replied.
“Three days constant march?”
“Basically,” Sarrac said.
“Oh well,” the young man sighed. “At least the scenery's a lot more pleasant around here.”
“Don't get used to that,” Alena replied.
“Dark lands?” Paul asked.
“You're learning,” she smiled.
“That figures,” he replied with another sigh. “So why are we going?”
“To get water,” Sarrac replied.
“There's more to it than that,” the young man asserted. “There's water all over the place.”
“You're right again,” Alena said.
“Well then?”
“The realm of the fair folk is a holy place,” she explained. “And so is the water that springs from it. Not even the corruption of the undead can change that.”
“So the realm of the fairies can't be corrupted?” the young man asked.
“Right,” Sarrac nodded. “But that realm isn't in Zanoth. Fairies come from another world, another plane of existence; much like you do.”
“So we're going to walk to another world in three days?”
“No,” Alena laughed. “We're going to walk to a fairly spring. It's a place where their world touches ours. Holy power protects their realm and that protection extends a short distance into our world.”
“I think I get ya. So what we're actually after is holy water then?”
“Yes.”
“Then why don't we just get a priest to bless some water?”
“You get that idea from D&D?” Sarrac asked.
“Yeah,” the young man replied. “And Lost Boys and a few other places.”
“Lost Boys?” Alena asked.
“Never mind,” Paul replied. “Why can't a priest just hook us up?”
“There are no priests left,” she explained.
“Ouch...” the young man replied. “Well that explains that, I guess. But why do we need holy water? We gonna throw it in some vampire's face or something?”
“Something,” Sarrac replied.
“And the prophecy says!” Paul laughed.
“What?” Alena asked.
“I mean,” he explained, “you guys don't do anything without some prophetic reason. So, what's the prophecy say?”
“Wow,” she replied. “You really are learning. Sarrac.”
“The prophecy of The Shrine states:
What long has been corrupt, again must be made pure,
Water of the fairies, shall wash away our tears,
Against eternal night at last there is a cure,
Finally there is power, to drive away our fears,
Faultless, just, and holy, stands he amongst his peers.
When the hero of our world has done what he must do,
And cleansed away corruption, by way of righteous task,
Then child that was chosen must bow his head, tis true,
And for the aid of god, sincerely must he ask,
For in righteous glory, dare not the dead to bask.”
“I caught fairy water in there,” Paul replied. “But you'll have to explain the rest.”
“During the wars the undead corrupted all our places of worship,” Sarrac began. “Temples, shrines, etc, act as conduits through which the power of the gods can flow...”
“The gods?” Paul asked incredulously.
“I suppose it depends on your point of view,” Sarrac replied. “What makes a god a god? In any event, beings of great and terrible power live among the heavens. And they offer some of that power to their followers, channeled through places of worship. The undead managed to cut every tie between the living and their gods.”
“And that's where the water comes in?”
“Indeed,” Sarrac smiled. “As the prophecy explains, fairy water, that is holy water, can wash away the corruption and purify one of these shrines. Once you've done that...”
“Me?” Paul interrupted.
“The it,” Alena replied.
“You,” Sarrac continued. “And once you've done that you have to pray for help at the shrine.”
“I'm supposed to pray to one of these gods?”
“You're supposed to pray to a god, yes.”
“Well I'm a Baptist,” Paul replied, raising one of his eyebrows, “and there ain't but one God I pray to.”
“You have to do what you feel is right, of course,” Sarrac smiled. “And the prophecy doesn't say what god you pray to or exactly what you ask for. It only states that you do pray.”
“Okay,” the young man nodded. “Then what happens?”
“We're not sure,” Sarrac admitted. “But we think it has something to do with turning.”
“Is that what you guys call it?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn't you just say that?”
; “We didn't know that you would know.”
“Yeah,” Paul nodded. “That makes sense.”
The rest of the day was spent marching up hills, down dales, across plains, and through forests. As they traveled, the landscape became more and more drear, returning to the sickly shades of the dark lands. As life slowly became more muted, so did the companions. The entire world around them seemed sullen and silent.
Just before the sun sank below the horizon the companions stopped for the night. Paul was ready for a rest, but he didn't feel the same sense of exhaustion he had before. It was obvious that the exercise was doing him good, whether or not it was enjoyable. The young man even felt up to Alena's impending training session, which was good because she was determined to keep him at it for at least three quarters of an hour.
Once again fortune smiled on the heroes, and the watches of the night passed uneventfully. The following morning, each of the trio seemed somewhat subdued, and what little conversation they shared was carried on in hushed tones. The path also proved somewhat more difficult than they had hoped, so they decided to march on for an hour after nightfall in the hopes of making up for lost time.
Paul volunteered to take the last watch and Alena decided to give him the opportunity to redeem himself. This time, however, the young man had no trouble staying awake whatsoever. A sense of danger seemed to fill the air. They were in a land of death and well he knew it. One mistake could cost them all their lives.
The following morning the young man watched as a pallid sun rose above a pale plain. The sky above seemed steeped in a dark gray mist that filtered what little light was bold enough to break through it. Shorty after dawn, the three companions were once again on the move.
“It's time to put these on,” Alena said, drawing a light gray cloak from her pack as she spoke. “We absolutely do not want to get spotted here. Oh, and wrap this around your face, Paul. It'll help with the dust.”
As she said this she handed a roll of gray cloth to the young man. Paul immediately did as she suggested, covering his mouth and nose with the cloth before covering himself with one of the cloaks.
“I take it we're heading into enemy territory,” the young man speculated.
“All of Zanoth is enemy territory,” Sarrac pointed out. “But this is still a bad place to be. On the other hand the undead won't expect us to be here.”
The Tower of Daelfaun (The Tales of Zanoth Book 1) Page 6