Dark Priest Page 17

  It was the first time Chandor had ever seen Varlath show compassion, and it touched him deeply. Feeling tears prick his eyes, he grunted his thanks as he took the vial and hurried from the room. Only when he was outside again did he stop and take a number of deep breaths. He had just composed himself when he heard the others coming, so he quickly left the tower and headed for Thomas’s house.

  Viktor and Thomas had already left for work, but Sandra was at the house when he arrived.

  “Good morning, Chandor. How was your visit to Varlath?”

  “I got what I needed,” Chandor replied, holding up the vial. “I’m going to drink this and fall into a deep sleep which will let me remember the day my family was murdered. Please, don’t wake me. No matter what happens – this is my only chance.”

  Sandra frowned but nodded, and Chandor headed through to the sleeping quarters. Kicking off his boots he lay down on his pallet and looked at the vial. The contents twisted and turned, seemingly as unsettled as his stomach. He moved to take off his Holy Symbol then decided against it. He swallowed hard. Stop procrastinating. Taking a deep breath, he opened the bottle and tipped the contents down his throat.

  “Finish your vegetables, Chandor.”

  “I’ve had enough, mom.”

  “You need to eat up if you want to be a big knight one day.”

  Chandor looked across at his older brother Tiaan who grinned and rolled his eyes. A knock at the door saved him from the roasted beetroot.

  “I wonder who it could be at this hour?”

  “Probably one of the Vanburen kids, sent to borrow some salt.”

  Their mother made her way across the neat room to the door, her long dark hair and full figure crystallising forever in Chandor’s mind his ideal of feminine beauty.

  Carefully keeping the goat back with one foot, she opened the door.

  “Oh!” she said in surprise, “Good evening.” She bowed deeply making Tiaan, Chandor and even Galahan crane to see who it could be.

  “Good evening,” the strangely accented voice drifted through the doorway, “I’m looking for Galahan the merchant.”

  “Of course, come in out of the cold.”

  The stranger that entered was exotic in many regards. Although he wore an expensive Vander tunic of burgundy and gold, his knees and elbows weren’t bare but covered by trousers and shirt like the Southsenders wore. He had unusual pale blue eyes and short-cropped blond hair. He had no beard at all. Although he was broad shouldered, he wasn’t heavyset like a typical Vander knight, and the slender sword he wore hanging low on his left thigh looked too fragile to be dangerous. Perhaps it’s a ceremonial weapon? Chandor thought, eyeing the intricate golden hilt.

  Elsbith closed the door quickly behind him to block out the cold and shooed the animals back to their straw beds.

  Chandor’s father stood and bowed. “I am Galahan, welcome to our home.” Unlike the stranger, his father had a typical honest Vander face with a neat brown beard and long dark hair.

  “I appreciate you letting me in,” the stranger smiled. His pale blue eyes swept across each of them in turn as he said in a voice that was soft but full of power, “You have a lovely home and family.”

  Chandor’s mother blushed while Tiaan beamed with pride, and despite the man’s predatory face, Chandor felt himself warming to the stranger.

  Galahan looked slightly puzzled as he nodded at the compliment, “Thank you. You have an interesting accent, where are you from?”

  “Here and there. I’ve travelled a lot.” The stranger smiled faintly, hardly showing his teeth, “I was directed to you to discuss a range of purchases.”

  “Well, I am the correct person, but I prefer not to do business in the evening as this is family time. Why not join us for coffee so we can get to know each other, and we can discuss your business in the morning?”

  “My apologies. Unfortunately, I have to leave urgently tomorrow before first light and so would greatly appreciate it if we could discuss the matter tonight.”

  Galahan shrugged, “Of course. We can talk at the table. Chandor, off to bed with you. Tiaan, you may stay and listen.”

  Chandor knew better than to argue with his father in front of a stranger. He rose from his chair by the fire, bowed and went to the sleeping quarters. He kicked off his shoes and then tiptoed back to curtain which separated the sleeping area from the rest of the house. He peered out in time to see his mother pouring coffee for the other three.

  “Let me cut straight to the point,” the stranger was saying, “I’m looking for a significant supply of armour, weapons, and other equipment over the next couple of years.”

  Galahan raised an eyebrow. “How much is ‘significant’?”

  The man pushed across a scroll covered in writing across the table.

  Galahan studied it for some time before passing it to his wife. “This is significant. Even if every resource of the village was focused on this, we couldn’t deliver these kinds of quantities.”

  “That’s not a problem. The village of Copperstead has already committed to supplying what they can, and I will draw on a few other villages before I’m done.” The stranger gave an oily smile that sent shivers down Chandor’s spine as he said, “You wouldn’t be alone in this.”

  His father looked to the ceiling and stroked his neatly trimmed brown beard, “Where would we deliver all these manufactured goods?”

  “You don’t need to deliver. I will collect it from here on a monthly basis.”

  Galahan frowned, “Where is it going?”

  “That’s not your concern.”

  “Fair enough,” said Galahan pleasantly. His father’s tone and face gave nothing away, but Chandor knew his father well enough that he was able to pick up the undercurrent of anger. “Who is the ultimate beneficiary?”

  “You’d rather not know,” the foreigner laughed as if sharing an inside joke.

  Galahan’s voice was hard, “Actually, I would.”

  The stranger looked over the table for a long moment, his eyes boring into Galahan’s. The silence stretched almost to breaking, before he licked his thin, dry lips and said with a shrug, “I’m setting up a new mercenary company in Fort Dawn. I’m looking to compete with The Mercenaries of Kha.”

  Galahan shook his head, “Don’t lie to me. The numbers you’re talking would supply an army. Are you selling to the orcs? Goblins?”

  “Why are you making this difficult for yourself?” the blond man growled as he stood, “I’m offering you the opportunity to make your village prosper, and yourself rich. Just give me a price and let’s do business.”

  Galahan also stood, and his voice was resolute as he said, “No. If you would like, we can discuss further in the morning but I don’t think we are going to do business.”

  “What the heck is your problem?” demanded the stranger, slamming his fist down on the table.

  “I don’t like your approach, and your request is suspicious. I’ll not be party to illegal activity.”

  “What?”

  “You heard me. You want to buy enough merchandise to equip an army, but aren’t prepared to reveal the buyer or the destination. It doesn’t take magic to see that you’re either…”

  “Listen you idiot, it is none of your business!” shouted the stranger. “My gold is good and if you knew what was good for you you’d take it.” He dropped a pouch of gold on the table.

  “There is more to life than gold. I don’t trade with people I don’t trust.” His father stepped aside and gestured to the door, “I think you had better leave. We can discuss further in the morning if you change your mind.”

  With two quick steps, the stranger closed the distance to Galahan. He shot out a hand and gripped Chandor’s father by the back of the head. He pulled him close and ripped out his throat with his teeth. Blood spurted and the killer buried his face in it.

  Elsbith screamed.

  For a moment, Tiaan watched in horror, then he leapt forward. The murderer plucked him out of t
he air without removing his face from Galahan’s throat, and threw him through the curtain into the sleeping quarters. Elsbith was still screaming, and the vampire dropped his prey and whipped out his sword. A fluid lunge sent it deep into Elsbith’s stomach. She fell to her knees.

  Instead of withdrawing, the vampire held the blade in her flesh, and Chandor could see his mother’s blood running up its length. Chandor grabbed his knife from next to his bed and ran forward. He swung with all his might and connected with the vampire’s thigh. Instead of sliding into flesh, the blade stopped dead as if Chandor had tried to stab a solid wooden door. The vampire whirled around. He picked Chandor up by the front of his tunic.

  “You foolish weakling,” it snarled, its pitiless pale blue eyes boring into Chandor, “Only magical weapons can harm my kind.”

  It opened its mouth widely to reveal long white canines. Before it sank its’ teeth into Chandor’s throat the door burst open and two men stormed in.

  “Later,” the vampire smiled at Chandor, and threw him into his older brother, who was advancing with a knife of his own. The throw was so hard that they both flew through the dividing curtain, over the sleeping mattresses and into with the far wall.

  The vampire grabbed the oil lamp which hung from the ceiling and hurled it onto the floor between himself and the advancing men. A wall of flame leapt up as the oil caught. Glancing around, the vampire grabbed the two spare bottles of oil from the shelf and smashed them on the floor.

  The inside of the house was an instant inferno. The sleeping quarter curtains caught, as did the hay of the animal pen. Smoke filled the room as Chandor and Tiaan stumbled to their feet, still unsteady from their collision. The animals shot out the door, followed closely by the staggering men.

  The vampire, the edges of his cloak on fire, laughed manically. “This is what happens when you refuse to cooperate!” He bowed his head and raised his arms, seemingly impervious to the fire raging around him. His body contorted and black leather wings grew between his hands and feet. With a scream, his head distorted, ears lengthening, nose and mouth becoming a vicious snout. A moment after it had begun, a giant bat flapped in the air where a man had stood. It hovered for a moment, then darted through the flames and out of the door.

  Chandor looked at his older brother. Tiaan’s eyes reflected Chandor’s fear. The whole house was ablaze, the wood, linen, rope and wool stocks of their father’s merchandise roaring. Chandor could feel his skin blistering from the heat. His eyes watered from the smoke and he could barely see.

  “Quickly,” said Tiaan, “put these blankets over your head.” He piled blankets over Chandor.

  “I can’t see!” shouted Chandor from under the pile.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll guide you!” Tiaan had to shout over the noise of the fire. Chandor felt his brother’s hand grip the front of the blankets and start to drag him. He staggered forward, trying to picture in his mind where he was. He stumbled over his sleeping mattress, collided with a kitchen chair. He could hear his brother’s screams in front of him. He tripped, and was hauled roughly to his feet. He collided with something hard, and then tripped over something soft. The heat started to burn him through the blankets. A few more paces and a big shove sent him sprawling through the door into the cool night air.

  He fought his way out of the blankets and received a bucket of water in the face. Around him, the other families from the cluster were passing buckets from the well and dousing the house with water. Chandor turned to face the house. The heat from inside was that of a furnace.

  Tiaan was lying full stretch on the ground, his face black and his hair burned off.

  Some of the adults lifted him gently onto a stretcher. Chandor looked down. Every inch of skin had been charred.

  Tiaan lifted his head from the stretcher, and struggled to open his eyes. Through cracked lips he managed to croak, “Is Chands all right?”

  “I’m ok, Tiaan,” Chandor sobbed.

  “Tell them it was a vampire.” When Chandor agreed, his brother smiled and let his head flop back to the stretcher. “I’ve done my part. It’ll all be fine now.” He sighed, and shut his eyes. His chest didn’t rise again.

  Firm hands gripped Chandor’s shoulders. “Chandor, come with me.” They steered him away from his brother’s dead body and the burning house.

  “Drink this,” someone commanded, and Chandor passed out.

  Chandor’s scream, when he awoke, was not the usual one of fear, pain or loss. He was sitting bolt upright, screaming with rage. “I’ll destroy him!”

  He leapt from the bed and squeezed his Holy Symbol, “I swear, by Otec, in the name of Notomok, and by the power of Takatifu Roho, I will hunt him down and obliterate anything to do with him!”

  “Chandor?”

  He turned to find Sandra standing by the curtain of the sleeping quarters.

  “Chandor, are you ok? You’re scaring me.”

  Chandor nodded, slowly at first, then with more certainty. “Yes, I’m ok. I’m very ok.”

  “I heard you say you’ll kill someone?”

  “The vampire that murdered my family.”

  “You know where it is?”

  “Not yet. But I know where to start looking. The village of Copperstead.”

  CHAPTER 18

  Wanted

  Anelle and her escort trotted into the Cathedral Castle’s stables and dismounted. She tended to her horse and headed for the baths to deal with the grime three days of hard travel. She longed to soak in the warm water, but instead washed quickly and changed into a fresh white tunic. Praying under her breath for courage and wisdom, she headed up to Hengel’s study.

  She knocked at the door, and waited for the High Priests rich, smooth voice to bid her enter.

  “Guardian Anelle, peace be with you. I hadn’t expected you back so soon.”

  “And blessing upon you, High Priest.” She bowed deeply. “I’m afraid I don’t have good news. I thought I had better bring it to you as soon as possible.”

  Hengel gestured to one of the comfortable chairs beside the coffee table, “Can I offer you some coffee?”

  “No thank you, High Priest.”

  Hengel poured himself water from a jug. He sipped it before carefully placing the cup back on the table, “I take it Chandor will not give up his quest.”

  Anelle nodded, fighting back tears. “It is worse than that, Hengel. He’s gone rogue.” She punched her fist into the palm of her hand, and had to take a deep breath before continuing. “Tribon’s dream is coming true. I would not have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. He’s a mercenary now, dressed all in black. He’s no longer wearing his Symbol and he’s even reneged on the Weapon Sacrifice.”

  Hengel nodded sagely. “You did well to come straight to me. I think we must now take decisive action. Do you mind waiting while I call the others?”

  He summoned a servant by ringing a bell on his desk, and soon the three had joined them: Sir Botha looking powerful and fierce, Eben kind and wise, Tribon righteous and steadfast. When they were settled, the High Priest continued, “Anelle’s journey has confirmed the feedback from the church’s spy network and with it, my darkest fears. Tribon’s dream is proving true. Chandor is consumed by hatred, and has already turned that on the church. He no longer wants to be a Guardian. At the same time, he is growing in power from some source – I had reports that he drove away a clutch of undead near Ingot.”

  “We cannot afford to procrastinate,” said Sir Botha with a glance at Guide Eben.

  “I am afraid the situation is even more urgent and disturbing than you know.” Hengel stood and strode to the far end of the room, where a marble font stood in splendid isolation. It was comprised of two pieces; a waist-high gold-flecked pedestal, and a circular bowl which was half filled with water. “Come gather round. You all need to understand what we are dealing with.”

  They stood in a circle on either side of Hengel, looking down at the water which was still and clear.

&n
bsp; “This is Font of Clairvoyance. It is triggered by either sacrificial magic, or defiled miracles. This sequence I’m about to show you was captured yesterday.” He twisted an inlaid rim of gold anti-clockwise, then intoned the sacred words, drawing the symbols of the Gods over the water as he did so. With a slender rod of white wood inlaid with gold, he tapped the side three times.

  The water started to swirl although the bowl remained still. Faster and faster the water spun with increasing violence until it was rushing around the sides of the bowl, leaving the centre of the bowl dry. Peering in, it was as if they were watching a scene through a hole in the roof, though they could hear nothing.

  Chandor was being held aloft by a ferocious hippogriff, its beak gripping his chain-covered shoulder. As he hung in the air, he appeared to shout something just before he drew back his left fist which began to pulse with red energy. Tendrils of power crawled down his left forearm and over his hand. Then Chandor swung his blazing fist in an arcing uppercut and smashed the hippogriff in the throat. The creature dropped him. When it reared back, its feathers were charred and its beak open in a scream. The water slowed and covered the middle of the bowl once more, hiding the rest of the battle from sight.

  Botha’s face was dark, “The miracle of healing, reversed to cause harm. A defiled miracle.”

  Anelle sighed. “I fear he could become the most dangerous kind of cleric. He truly believes he is working for the Gods. His intentions are good, but he will not hear any voice that challenges him.”

  “The Adversary is giving him strength,” Tribon proclaimed, “I have no doubt that Chandor takes the fact that he can perform miracles as confirmation that the Gods are blessing him – he can’t see that he is being manipulated by evil. He was always blind to any path but his own!”

  Sir Botha turned to the High Priest. “Surely now we must act. The church cannot stand by and do nothing as evil grows.”