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  “We have to stop him,” declared Sir Botha, hand drifting unconsciously to his war hammer’s handle.

  Guide Eben cleared his throat, drawing all attention. “Before you all get carried away, there are several things that need to be considered before we act in haste. Firstly, this is a vision of one possible future. It is quite possible that in a different future Chandor is wearing the white of the priesthood, or blue of the Fistorian army and marching with the kingdom.”

  “That may be true,” rumbled Botha, “But this is this future that the Gods have chosen to show us.”

  Hengel nodded, “Guide Eben, I know your stance against trying to influence the future, but we can’t do nothing.”

  “What will you do, when any action could be the very thing that makes this future a reality?” demanded Eben shaking a bony finger at them. “We should pray, and trust the Gods.”

  High Priest Hengel shook his head. “No, Guide Eben. Things are coming to a head. The Gods have given us knowledge so that we can act. And so we shall.”

  “Yes!” exclaimed Tribon as Botha pumped their fists.

  “Send us, High Priest, we will do whatever is necessary in the fight for good,” growled Botha.

  Hengel smiled sadly, “Guardians, are your hearts filled with love?” He let the silence hang, and when he spoke, it was softly and with compassion. “In the future, Chandor may be corrupted, and it may be that his choices could force us to fight him. But for now, he is an innocent young man in need of our help. A classmate of yours, Tribon, and a student of yours Botha.”

  “What should we do, High Priest?” asked Botha.

  “Anelle was always close to Chandor. She will go and talk to him.” He turned to the young Guardian. “Anelle, you will find Chandor and let him know that we are concerned. I will provide an escort of Guardians to take you to Bronsverj, his home. There you will endeavour to turn him from his current path. Help him see that revenge is evil, and that his quest is not the will of the Gods.”

  “I will try,” she said doubtfully. “You know I fight better than I talk. Growing up I could never win an argument.” She looked sadly at her balled fists. “With words, that is.”

  “You are the one he is most likely to listen to. If necessary, tell him I am prepared to reconsider his application to the Guardians of Mankind.”

  “Surely not!” exclaimed Tribon. “After what we’ve seen?”

  “That way,” said Hengel with a pointed look at the young Guardian, “I can watch him and direct him. Perhaps with our support, he can be kept in white and we can influence the future.”

  “I think it will work,” said Anelle quietly. Her voice was quiet but full of hope and determination. “Being a Guardian is the only thing he wanted more than revenge.”

  CHAPTER 13

  Return to the Undead

  Due to their night time start, they arrived in Ingot so early that they had to wait for the gates to be opened. Chandor spent the time trying privately to make his medallion glow again by praying for light.

  Brooding over the encounter, he was angry with himself for being so scared of the undead. He knew that if they hadn’t been driven away by the Gods’ miraculous intervention, they would have killed him without even a fight. Just like my parents.

  He bowed his head and prayed to Otec, “Thank You for saving my life. Forgive me for my fear. Next time will be different. I will smash them to pieces! I won’t let You down!”

  The gates finally opened and they passed through after a brief inspection. Chandor wanted to go and immediately report the skeletons to the town guard, but Albian insisted that they deliver her cargo safely first. After that, they went to the mercenaries’ hostel where Albian gave her feedback. Chandor received another five-star rating chit, this time for saving the team from the undead. Only after they said their farewells and Chandor had received his pay of eight silver and five copper pieces, was he finally free to go to the barracks.

  The village of Ingot didn’t have a keep, just a barracks by the gatehouse. He told the guard outside what he wanted and was directed to speak to the lieutenant.

  “Sir, I’m here to report that five skeletons attacked us last night,” stated Chandor.

  “Where?” The lieutenant was a burly man with a neatly trimmed beard and equally neatly plaited black hair. His tunic was blue with two horizontal gold bars of Bondor Hold, over which was a personal heraldic charge of a rampant red stallion. The personalised coat of arms indicated that he had been knighted for his services to the town and Chandor eyed it with respect.

  “On the road to Sylverstead, about half way between here and there.”

  “I’ll send out a patrol today,” the lieutenant vowed.

  “I’ll show them where we were camped.”

  The lieutenant looked at him appraisingly. “Are you a mercenary?”

  Chandor nodded.

  “I’m not offering to pay.”

  Chandor shrugged. “I’m not looking for compensation. The undead need to be destroyed and that will be easier if I help.” He wasn’t about to tell them that it was a revenge mission.

  The lieutenant nodded. “It’s a good thing you’re doing for Fistoria, lad. I wish more travellers were as conscientious as you. Meet my squad back here at noon. Bring rations for three days. They won’t return until their duty is done.”

  Chandor purchased three days of travel rations for himself and feed for Sandy, then browsed the second-hand stores where he found cheap a travel mattress. He purchased two simple black tunics, fresh socks, brown woollen bracers and a set of fresh under-tunics.

  Dressing immediately, he packed the spares and dirty clothes into his saddle bags and tied the mattress behind his saddle. Finally, he traded his filthy white leather church boots for simple brown ones, ridding himself of the last traces of the Guardians of Mankind. He still had time to kill and one silver coin, so he had his new chit tattooed onto his forearm beside the first.

  By noon he was waiting impatiently at the barracks. It wasn’t long before three knights in gold and blue rode out. Chandor bowed from his saddle as Sergeant Marnu, the leader, introduced Otto and Dirk. The three knights wore standard issue plate mail, carried shields, lances and longswords, and were seated comfortably on large Vander warhorses.

  Two dragoons, Monica and Roux, joined them. They rode sleek riding horses and had chain armour under their tunics. They both carried light crossbows comfortably across their laps and wore their straight military sabres in scabbards on the left side of their belts.

  As the squad headed back the way Chandor had come that morning, Chandor squeezed his Holy Symbol. I may not have armour yet, but I do have the protection of the Gods.

  The knights talked hopefully about encountering the skeletons during the day when they could use their lances from horseback, but it was not to be, and they set camp in the same place that Albian and Chandor had camped the day before.

  Chandor’s heart rate had been elevated the whole journey, and he felt more scared as evening drew on. The sun set. With his back to the west and face to the fire he tried to pray, but he was unable to focus as his fear of the undead threatened to overwhelm him. He was relieved when Sergeant Marnu called them to all gather around.

  “We’ll have two people on guard throughout the night. Otto and Monica first, Dirk and Roux, then Chandor and I – that way there is always one knight on duty. The other four on can try and sleep, but stay in your armour. I won’t lie to you, we’re the bait tonight. I have little doubt those undead will come for us – it’s just a question of when.”

  Chandor swallowed hard and looked around at the grim faces of the other soldiers, taking some comfort from the steely determination in their eyes. The tension was palpable as they cooked and ate. Chandor had mixed feelings when he realised that the soldiers were as nervous as he was.

  After dinner, the soldiers’ talk turned to the Castle League jousting competition where fresh results had recently arrived. A bard had been in Ingot for the past f
ew days, selling tales of the Lamar Hold vs Fort Dawn tournament.

  “Lamar Hold wouldn’t have gone with a standard peck, if they’d known.”

  “They must have guessed Fort Dawn would throw their donkey.”

  “Yes, but not that they’d pull a slider.”

  “Should have banked their champion,” opined Marnu, kicking off a heated debate about tactics and the implications for Bondor’s own jousting team.

  Chandor shook his head. As a young boy he had been as fascinated by the jousts as anyone, but it now seemed so trivial. Who cares whether Lamar beat Dawn, and if Bondor makes the playoffs? What difference does it make who is the best jouster? He snorted bitterly.

  Leaving the soldiers to their debate, he left the fire and fetched his mattress, looking forward to the padding after weeks of sleeping on the hard, cold earth. He was tired and knew that the skeletons’ attack might not come for hours, or not come at all. Better to get some sleep if I can. He laid his staff next to the mattress, pulled his cloak tightly around him, and lay down with his boots still on. Checking one last time that the guards were on duty, he shut his eyes and tried to sleep.

  The trumpet blasted him from unpleasant dreams. He leapt up, grabbing his staff in one motion. He had practiced the move in his mind a hundred times before he finally drifted off and was glad of it.

  The skeletons were at the edge of the light, rushing forward with their weapons high and their mouths open in silent screams. Chandor heard one of the crossbows being discharged.

  Marnu bellowed, “Form the line!” He waited a few moments for Chandor and Otto to join him next to Dirk. “Now charge! For Fistoria!”

  Chandor was swept towards the incoming skeletons as the shouting knights rushed forward with their shields forward and swords high. He picked an oncoming skeleton and leapt the last few yards. He brought his staff down two-handed on its head, taking all his rage out in the blow. The creature fell back, half of its skull caved in. Then it shook itself and stumbled forward again, lifting its sword overhead.

  Chandor readied himself to block. Suddenly the skeleton’s ribs exploded in a shower of bone. The creature crumpled to the ground in a heap by his feet. Chandor glanced down at his Holy Symbol, confused. It wasn’t glowing. He raised his staff, wondering if the skeleton would suddenly get back up. Then he noticed the crossbow bolt lying amongst the bones.

  Frig – I had it!

  He glanced around to take in the chaos of battle raging all around him. Otto and Dirk were engaged in frantic melee. The two dragoons were standing by the bonfire, reloading their crossbows. Marnu was on the ground, rolling desperately away from two skeletons.

  With the skeletons focused on the sergeant, Chandor could run up behind them unnoticed. He directed a perfect swing at the nearest one’s helmeted head. It smashed the skull right off the neck. The body turned, stepped towards him, and then crumpled to the ground.

  Chandor roared with delight.

  He looked up in time to see Marnu’s longsword slip underneath the other skeleton’s breastplate, and it too collapsed.

  Not waiting to see if Marnu got up, Chandor rushed to help Otto. Blood pounded in his ears. Adrenaline pumped through his system. He rammed the butt of his staff into the skeleton’s chain-covered back. The skeleton stumbled forward, but managed to stay on its feet and hacked at Otto. Quickly Chandor changed his grip to bring the staff down in a Midnight-to-Morning strike. The skeleton moved just as Chandor started his swing and he couldn’t compensate fast enough. His staff smashed harmlessly into the ground.

  Frig!

  Chandor wound his staff back for another swing. To his frustration, he had to check his blow at the last moment because Dirk was suddenly there, in the way, chopping down on the undead creature’s shoulder. The skeleton was driven to the ground in a shower of bones.

  Chandor whirled around, looking for another opponent.

  He felt a mixture of relief and disappointment as he saw that there were no more.

  Breathing heavily, he could barely believe how quickly it had all happened. He was still trying to process the victory when a nearby groan startled him.

  “Help me back to the fire,” said Marnu from his position on the ground.

  Chandor dragged the heavily armoured knight back to the fire, where they were joined by the others.

  Otto cradled a broken arm, while Dirk’s face was covered in blood.

  “Get the medical supplies,” Chandor snapped at Monica and Roux who were standing around helplessly. “Build up the fire, bring me another lantern and then get some water on the boil.”

  He cleaned, stitched, splinted and bandaged the various wounds, thanking the Gods for four years of healing classes at the church.

  As he finished the last one, Roux knelt down next to him, “You’re a much better healer than I am. Are you able to work on yourself, or would you like me to help?”

  Chandor looked at him in puzzlement.

  “The cut on your leg? And your chin might need a stitch or two, although face wounds always look worse than they are…”

  Chandor touched his chin and looked at his bloody fingers in amazement. He didn’t remember being hit at all. He let Roux stitch it and then bandage his leg which he also had no recollection of hurting.

  When they were done, Marnu called everyone around him.

  “Well done squad. I’m proud of you all,” he said, including Chandor in the praise.

  “There are a couple of things I need you to do before we can all get some sleep. Chandor, Monica, gather the equipment from the skeletons. Roux, reset the perimeter lanterns. Dirk, you check the horses are still secure. One guard should be sufficient per watch now that the excitement is over.”

  Chandor walked over to the broken bodies of the skeletons. His shadow stretched out in front him. He stood over the first one he had faced. The bones were once again lifeless. The evil soul that had temporarily driven the skeleton onwards was now banished back to the afterlife. Its empty eye sockets stared up at him and he glared back, feeling like he was still in a contest of wills. After a few moments, he raised his boot and brought his heel down heavily on the skull. It crumpled underfoot. Chandor nodded, That’s for my family. Lifting his eyes to the night sky, he prayed, May this be just the beginning.

  He looked around at the scattered bones and equipment and felt a surge of desire. Armour, weapons, shields. Is this a gift from the Gods to help me in becoming my own Guardian?

  He bent down and grabbed a breastplate. He lifted it and shook. A stream of bones clattered to the ground around his feet. He hefted the armour to his shoulder, gathered a longsword and sabre with his other hand, and carried them back to the fire.

  Once he and Monica had gathered all the skeleton’s equipment, as well as the bolts from the dragoons, Chandor made his way over to where Marnu lay propped up near the fire.

  “What will you do with all this stuff?” Chandor asked, trying to sound casual.

  “It’s the property of the Fistorian Army,” grunted Marnu, wincing as he turned to face Chandor. “Don’t worry, it is usual practice for the Lieutenant back home to allow volunteers to take their share of the spoil. We’ll see what he says when we get back.”

  At the Ingot barracks the next day, the lieutenant was thrilled with the performance.

  “We really appreciate your help, Chandor. Marnu tells me you were instrumental both in the fight and afterwards. I’ve taken the liberty of filling out a 13b for you.” Seeing the look of puzzlement on Chandor’s face he continued, “It’s like a mercenary rating chit except it has the Fistorian Army crest. We use it whenever we use adventurers, mercenaries or specialists.” He handed over the rolled scroll and glanced at the tattoos showing below Chandor’s bracers, “You can add it to your collection.”

  Chandor nodded, “Thank you, Sir.”

  “Sergeant Marnu suggested you might appreciate some of the spoils as a token of the Army’s appreciation. The policy says you are entitled to a proportionate value,
in this case a sixth, so that would be the equivalent of a set of chain mail and either a shield or a weapon.”

  Chandor grinned broadly, “Praise Otec! I’ll take the chain and, uh…” Chandor looked indecisively at the swords. Swords weren’t his speciality, but he could always sell it later if he needed. Until I get a shield, I’ll continue to use the staff anyway, he thought. “I’ll take the longsword.” He looked around, then asked, “Do you mind if I change here?”

  The lieutenant shrugged and Chandor removed his cloak and black woollen tunic. The chain was a good fit, comfortably covering his shoulders and thighs, without being too tight over his under-tunic. He re-donned his black tunic and then buckled the leather sword-belt around his waist. He positioned the scabbard on his left hip as the soldiers did, rather than on his right where the Guardians of Mankind wore their maces. It felt uncomfortable but he was sure he would get used to it. He twisted back and forth a few times to settle the outfit, and then swung his cloak over his shoulders. The chain and sword gave him confidence, and for the first time since leaving the Cathedral Castle at Tinsley he felt like a man, rather than a boy.

  He stood up straighter, put his shoulders back, and his lifted his chin. Undead, beware. He gathered his staff and swaggered into the courtyard, feeling very pleased with himself. Unable to keep the smile from his face, he swung up onto Sandy’s back, “Come on girl, let’s see if there is a caravan heading to Bronsverj.”

  CHAPTER 14

  Miracles

  Chandor sat comfortably in the saddle, guiding Sandy with his knees through the cluster towards the Mercenaries of Kha hostel. The weight of his new chain mail was a comforting presence all around him, as if the wings of Takatifu Roho had enfolded him. For a change, he had not supressed the smile that covered his face. I think I have the right to smile today; I’ve killed my first undead; I have real armour; I’ll soon be home and able to start hunting for clues. He felt purposeful, happy, and at peace. For the first time in years, everything was going right.