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  Thomas was breathing heavily. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, as if he could feel the heat of the fire. “The house became an inferno, as the straw, table, curtains, all caught alight. There was smoke everywhere. He stood in the middle of it all, calm as you like. It was so hot, like a forge. Me and Vanbelsen, and the animals, we stumbled out. By then, other people had arrived. We shouted for water, but we waited for him to come out. Our weapons were ready, but it didn’t help. He had turned into a giant bat, and flew out right over our heads! Neither of us even swung at him. Later, we learned that it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. Only magic weapons can harm his kind.”

  The silence hung over the table, while the cold whistled at the door and the chimney.

  In the end, Chandor broke it, “What about my brother and I?”

  “People were throwing water in the door but the flames kept us from going inside.

  Suddenly, we heard more screaming; it was your brother.” Chandor nodded, he had heard this part. “A few moments later, you both burst out of the door, your brother in the lead. He was burning alive, his hair and clothes were on fire, his skin already black. He had thrown all the blankets over you and led you out, but he was virtually dead.” Thomas was weeping openly and tears flowed freely down his face. “You were covered head to toe in blankets, and the outside ones were on fire. Tiaan had pulled you along even as he burned to death. As soon as he realised you were away from the house he fell to the ground.” Thomas wiped his face and took several deep breaths. “He asked after you, you know?”

  Chandor nodded, “Yeah, I know.”

  “Then he simply let go and died.” Thomas shook his head. He pushed himself to his feet and stumbled to the door mumbling, “I need some fresh air.”

  When he returned a few minutes later, Chandor had also recovered enough to ask questions.

  “Why didn’t anyone go after the bat?”

  “Of course they did!”

  Chandor was stunned, this was new to him. “Really? I thought the vampire got away.”

  “It did, but not for lack of trying. Something like this doesn’t just get dropped. As soon as Captain Erika realised the murderer was a vampire, she called Guide Uldo. They agreed that an ordinary priest and whole the town guard together would be no match for such a powerful undead, so they sent out an urgent message for mercenary adventurers, offering a large reward.”

  “How large?”

  “Big enough, evidently. A group of four arrived. Do you remember?” Thomas asked his wife.

  “All too clearly. Chin-yan the Southsender, that big fighter from Ingot, what was his name?”

  “Mariboth,” supplied Thomas.

  “Yes, that’s right. He was just starting to make a name for himself. And then two priests, Hengel and-”

  “Hengel?” demanded Chandor. “As in the High Priest of Tinsley?”

  “Well, he wasn’t High Priest then. Just an up and coming adventurer, although even then you could see he was a natural leader. Didn’t you know?”

  “No.” Chandor stood up and started to pace. “That bastard! How could he not have told me?”

  Thomas shrugged. “Maybe they thought it wouldn’t help, maybe it was too painful. Anyway, you couldn’t have asked the church or the army to do more. The adventurers arrived within two days of the murder. Guide Uldo had blessed your family, but Hengel himself did the Rite of Remembrance so that your parents would not themselves become undead. As soon as that was done, the four adventurers set off to find and kill the vampire.”

  “Three days later, no wonder they lost the trail.”

  “Oh, they found the trail, and the vampire too. Better that they hadn’t.” Thomas, sipped his coffee. “The damned thing ripped them to shreds. Three of them were killed, their bodies...” the miner shook his head sadly. “It was terrible. Only Hengel made it back. His faith saved him, but only just. As soon as he could, he led the army out into the wilderness to re-gather the bodies for the Rite of Remembrance and try to pick up the trail again. But then the vampire was truly gone. Hengel spent a week here recovering, and then left. That was the end of it.”

  Chandor stared into the fire, his knuckles white as he gripped the table, “What was a vampire doing in our town?”

  “No one knows. We’ve all asked the same question, Chandor.”

  Silence descended over the table. After a while, Chandor looked up.

  “Was my father…” he choked on the words, but forced himself to go on, “My father, was he involved in anything…” He looked each of them in the eye. “I need to know, if he was involved in anything underhanded.”

  Thomas held his gaze. “Chandor, your father was one of the best men I’ve ever known. He had a good heart and a wise head. He was scrupulously honest, and walked close to the Gods. As village merchant, we all turned to him to sell our goods at the best price. The whole village mourned the day he was killed. I promise you, your father would never have been involved in anything dishonest.”

  Chandor swallowed hard. He had been terrified to ask the question, afraid of what the answer might be. It was an overwhelming relief not to have his memories of his father tainted.

  “Come on, I think its bed time for everyone,” stated Sandra.

  In the early morning when the usual nightmares of flames woke him, Chandor slipped quietly outside. The air was bitterly cold and his breath steamed in the dim light. He looked at the courtyard in which he had grown up and at the house that had once been his. I will avenge my family, he swore. I will find a way.

  CHAPTER 16

  The Quest and the Weapon Sacrifice

  The sun had just risen when Chandor met with Erika, the Captain of the Guards, at the gatehouse.

  Chandor inclined his head in greeting, “Captain Erika, I’d like a few words about the events surrounding my family’s murder.”

  Erika bowed deeply, “Chandor, I’d heard you were back. Of course I’ll make time.” She turned to a large guard standing at attention nearby, “Private, please apologise to Sergeant Rolf and let him know that I have some urgent business to attend to and that I’ll meet with him later.” Turning back to Chandor she said, “Let’s talk on the wall, it’s brighter and more private than my office.”

  She led Chandor up onto the stone wall that surrounded the village, walked some distance past the guard on duty until they were out of hearing range, and leaned against the parapet. Despite the gusting of the cold north wind she rolled and lit a cigarette with practiced ease. After taking a long drag she blew the smoke upwards where it was immediately dispersed, and asked, “What’s on your mind?”

  The calm series of practiced questions that Chandor had prepared flew right from his mind. He leapt right to the heart of his challenge, “You’re the best fighter in the village, why didn’t you and the local guards go after the vampire with the adventurers?”

  Erika took another drag on her cigarette. “Chandor, you trained with the Guardians of Mankind, you know what a vampire is. We can handle orcs and goblins, but the army isn’t equipped to deal with supernatural powers or fearsome monsters. Our non-magical weapons wouldn’t even be able to harm it. That’s why we hire adventurers.”

  Chandor kicked the ground. He knew he had no right to be angry with the Captain, but he was anyway. “Do you have any idea what the vampire was doing here?”

  Erika shook her head, “None, I’m afraid. He just arrived with his wagons, looking like a human, and asked to trade. We introduced him to your father.”

  “Frig!” Chandor swore. “I don’t have a thing to go on. The evil bastard is going to get away with it.”

  Erika took the cigarette from her mouth and looked at it regretfully. Dropping it to the floor she carefully ground it out with the heel of her boot. “Chandor, I’m really sorry. We all are. But there is nothing you can do. What’s past is past.”

  Chandor glared at her. “Not for me it isn’t. I’ll find a way.” He turned and started walking.

  “Why don’t you
ask Varlath?” the captain called after him. “He remembers everything.”

  Chandor shuddered. All the children had been terrified of the old wizard Varlath when they were young. They had steered clear of the square stone tower that loomed menacingly in the furthest corner of the town. He turned back, “That’s helpful, thanks. I’ll give it a try.”

  “Be warned, he never gives anything for free.”

  Chandor nodded and retraced his steps to the main courtyard before setting off slowly for the tower, gritting his teeth. I am not a child any more. I have faced goblins and skeletons, blast spores and even a dragon. I will not be afraid of a mere village magician. He checked his armour; the chain was heavy on his shoulders but it felt good. He pulled the black cloak more tightly around himself as he made his way across town to where the three-story tower squatted.

  He ignored the questioning gaze of the villagers working in the sun of the courtyard and knocked heavily on the door, refusing to be intimidated. After an age of waiting, he raised his fist to knock again.

  “I wouldn’t do that, Chandor.” An old man pointed his walking stick up at the tower. “Old Varlath will have heard you. He just likes to keep people waiting, it’s part of his mystique. He’ll open when he’s ready and the more you knock the longer he’ll take.”

  Chandor nodded brusquely and prepared himself for a long wait, but it was only a minute before the door opened. The wizard stood in front of him, a heavy wool blanket pulled tightly around his tall but sleight frame. His beard was long and unkempt, as Chandor remembered it. His long, grey hair stuck out at all angles from the drooping pointed hat.

  “Chandor of Bronsverj, son of Galahan and Elsbith. You used to be young and light, now you are old and dark. Why are you bothering me?”

  “Do you know anything that could help me track down the vampire?” Chandor demanded.

  “Why are you asking me? You were there. Closer than me,” Varlath scowled.

  “I can’t remember anything of that day.”

  Varlath snorted. “Well, there’s your problem. Instead of asking everyone else you should be asking yourself.”

  “Do you think I haven’t?” Chandor snapped. “I’ve tried to remember a thousand times with no success. My mind is friggin’ blank! All I have from that stupid day are the nightmares of fire.”

  Varlath nodded. “Come in.” Without waiting to see if Chandor followed, he turned and headed into the tower.

  Chandor followed, surprised to find that a short corridor opened into a warm and light room, where padded chairs faced a fire which roared in a large hearth. Glowing orbs hung from delicate silver chains and illuminated a normal if expensively furnished room. “And so I conclude that you’re experiencing a classic case of memory suppression,” Varlath stated as if they had been talking all morning, “It’s fairly common in the event of extreme trauma. I could help, but it would be expensive.”

  “How?” asked Chandor, hope and suspicion warring within him.

  Varlath gestured impatiently to one of the chairs, only continuing once Chandor was seated. “Your memories have been locked away from your conscious mind. But they are still there, coming through at night when the unconscious takes over. I can brew you a potion of dream clarity that will help you remember. But it will cost two hundred gold.”

  “What?” demanded Chandor, leaping up from the chair, “I can’t afford that! No one can.”

  Varlath’s shoulders shrugged under the blanket. “Not my problem.”

  “That’s robbery!”

  Varlath shook his head. “It’s a standard charge for First Level spells.”

  Chandor’s shoulders slumped, and a sly look entered Varlath’s face. “Alternatively…”

  Chandor looked up.

  “I do need some help on a little project I have going. I won’t lie to you, it is risky, but if you helped I would waive the fee altogether.”

  Chandor looked into Varlath’s scheming face. He knew he was being manipulated, but he couldn’t see any alternatives. Unlocking his dreams was the only lead he had. He straightened his back and rolled his shoulders. “Tell me what it entails.”

  They walked in single file, making their own path across the grassy hills, heading north-east along animal tracks. Nothing but unsettled wilderness stretched ahead of them until far-distant Mertein Hold.

  Lander led the way wearing a breastplate and chain, steel bracers, greaves, and a helmet. He carried his two-handed sword over his shoulder. Behind him Gelarey walked quietly with short quick steps, her head moving constantly as if she hoped to find a target for her loaded crossbow. Casanath and Varlath walked together, the two magicians chatting as if they had been friends their whole lives, highlighting a surprising other side to Varlath’s personality. Their constant murmur was mostly swept away by the chill breeze that enabled Chandor to walk in silence at the back of the adventuring party.

  His cloak was open and the hood down. The walking had made him hot. He carried his staff in one hand. The sword he was still in two minds about using bumped comfortably at his left hip. His mind was churning as he thought about weapons, the conversation with Anelle, and the Weapon Sacrifice.

  He was tempted to use the sword because it was the best melee weapon available. A longsword could cut, thrust, and more importantly, its better balance meant that it could be used to parry, deflect and disarm opponents. All round, a sword was a great weapon. That was why most of soldiers, mercenaries and adventurers carried one.

  However, many priests in the Church of Mankind renounced the use of edged or pointed weapons. The decision, and accompanying oath, was called the Weapon Sacrifice. It was like a fast. The intent was to remind Guardians that they were fighting for the Gods rather than themselves. It was the Gods’ power that would win any battle rather than their own strength or skills. The Weapon Sacrifice was severely restricting as it meant that arrows and bolts, swords, axes, spears and lances were all unavailable to those priests that chose to put their faith in spirit rather than steel. The Weapon Sacrifice was the reason that Guides typically used clubs and staves if they needed to fight, while Guardians used hammers and maces. In addition, most Guardians of Mankind learned to use their shield as an extra weapon.

  Chandor had always found it particularly strange that this led to the church’s fighters being in many ways the most brutal warriors, literally beating opponents to death. No clean slices or stabs which left the victim dead but intact. When a priest killed something, the victim looked dead – their head smashed in, their bones broken. Bludgeoning damage was not pretty.

  Chandor faced a dilemma; He had made the Weapon Sacrifice oath expecting to be a Guardian of Mankind. Now he had to decide whether it was a meaningless ceremony done for a church that had betrayed him, or if he had made a promise to the Gods.

  When they topped a slight rise and saw their destination for the first time, Chandor had still not reached a decision.

  Perched on a hill on the bend of a river were the castle ruins. The stronghold was different from anything Chandor had ever seen. Where the Vander towns and castles were generally square or rectangular, this was circular with five graceful turrets that ended in pointed spires rising from curving battlements. The windows, and even the main gate, were elegantly arched, and the whole edifice was tall and narrow rather than low and wide. The central keep, also circular, had been partially destroyed and was barely visible above the walls. Even in ruins it was one of the most beautiful buildings Chandor had ever seen.

  The remains of the massive wooden doors hung rotting on their hinges. They entered cautiously and found themselves in a wide courtyard.

  “Where do you think we’ll find them?” Lander asked Varlath.

  The old wizard shrugged his bony shoulders. “I’m sure their nest will be in one of the towers, but which one I don’t know.”

  “Let’s start with the keep, we’ll be able to check out all five towers from the top,” suggested Gelarey.

  Everyone agreed and they vigilant
ly made for the double doors which were shut but not locked. Despite creaking terribly, the doors opened easily. Inside was a main hall that was empty but tidy. The fireplaces were bare. The dais where the throne should have been, stood empty. Patches of marble hinted at the grandeur that must have existed before it was looted. Twin staircases curved up to a second-floor landing.

  “Humans. Welcome in peace.” The deep voice boomed from the top of the stairs, carrying a mixture of pleasure and mirth. A huge shape loomed out of the shadows, startling everyone. Every weapon rose and Gelarey swore under her breath.

  The minotaur was clever. It stood behind the stair banister, open enough to be welcoming, but easily able to duck for cover in case the humans attacked. A ferocious double-bladed battle axe was grasped easily in one hand.

  “I not do talk yous language good. Do all of yous speak Minotaur?”

  A quick glance revealed only shaking heads.

  The minotaur laughed. “Therefore, my human talk will do.” The voice carried such warmth that Chandor found himself struggling to maintain his racial prejudice against the evil creature.

  “Well met, minotaur. I am Lander. What do you want?”