Dark Priest Page 20

  Why does it bother me so much? Am I scared that what she says might be true? He shook his head, I’m angry because I know she is wrong, but can’t explain why. It’s frustrating to know the truth, but not be able to prove it. Her approach is so typical. He smashed a nearby tree with his mace. I hate the hypocrisy! She argues that I should be open-minded, but will not be open-hearted. If she would just listen to her heart, she would hear the Gods. She tries to comprehend the infinite with her mortal mind, and then wants to use the fact that we cannot explain the unexplainable as proof that the Gods don’t exist.

  He remained alone until he was sufficiently calm. It took a long time. When he eventually figured out what he needed to do, he dismounted and waited for the caravan to catch up.

  “Casanath. I apologize for losing my temper. I was angry because I can’t explain the Gods to you.” She nodded curtly, and he pressed on. “I’ve realised I will never be able to provide you with the proof you need, but I do have a suggestion.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “If you want arcane knowledge; read the Sacred Texts. Wizards take years to learn how to gather power, and spend years more searching for spells. I’ve never studied a single spell book but I can do miracles which you think might be magic. Magicians spend the majority of their lives reading through books, observing cultures, travelling the world and studying monsters in the hope of learning one more spell. You’d be crazy not to study the Texts. If your theory is correct, there are probably hundreds of spells hidden in the words of the Sacred Texts.”

  “And if I’m wrong?” she smiled.

  “Maybe you’ll find something much more valuable; the Gods themselves.”

  Casanath laughed indulgently, “Sounds good. I’ll give them a try some time.”

  That afternoon they travelled through icy rain and hail stones that struck like lead pellets. In the morning, Chandor had prayed over Lander’s wounds, causing them to heal instantly, but despite having plenty of spiritual strength remaining Chandor resisted the temptation to relieve himself from the cold of the storm. Instead he rode in silence, cocooned in his cloak and working through every aspect of his newly unlocked memories. By the time the storm ended he had refuelled his rage against the undead generally and the vampire specifically, as well as finding his frustration with the church, Anelle and Casanath justified.

  Only later that evening, as they sat round the fire, did a comment from one of the soldiers finally pull him from his brooding.

  “Is anyone else’s food rotting?” asked Rolf in disgust.

  “That’s life on the road,” said Erika philosophically.

  Kurt laughed, “Ours was ruined by the river debacle. We’ve been using bruised and soggy ingredients since then.”

  “Hang in there,” said Erika, “I don’t think it will be many more days to Copperstead.”

  Chandor wrestled with his conscience for a moment. Would this just be showing off? he wondered. He shrugged; The Gods had given him power, and healthy companions would better move him toward his goal.

  “Bring your food to me,” he said to Rolf. Lifting his head, he opened the invitation to everyone round the fire. “Bring me anything that is spoiled or turning.”

  Once they had done so he held his Holy Symbol over the trays of rotten food and looked up to the heavens and said, “Otec is our provider. All things happen by His grace.” He took a piece of stale bread and tore it in half. He gave a piece to Rolf and said, “Remember what Notomok did for you. And now, may the Gods be glorified.”

  Rolf looked down and his eyes widened in amazement – the bread he held was fresh again. Exclamations of delight were heard all round as everyone found that the pile of food in front of Chandor was in perfect condition once more. Chandor bowed and pointed to the heavens before withdrawing for his evening meditation.

  It was late afternoon the next day when they finally found a footpath. While it was only single lane, it not only made moving the wagons slightly easier, but more importantly gave them direction. After a week navigating through the wilderness, where distance was impossible to mark and direction was often determined by where the wagons could go rather than following the compass and map, they had only a vaguely idea of where they were. They followed the trail and it soon led to grazing pastures and then to cultivated farms, after which it grew rapidly until it was a well-worn road. Chandor felt the anxiety drain from himself and those around them.

  “Tonight we’ll sleep on real beds,” cheered Viktor.

  “If you’re not rolling in the hay!” chirped Lander. “Copperstead ladies love a man who is living a life of adventure!” A glare from Gelarey made him hastily add, “So I’ve heard.”

  “The ladies might be disappointed,” laughed Viktor, “tonight I just want to go to sleep knowing I don’t have to get up in a few hours for my watch!”

  “After this experience, I’ll never again complain about how narrow and hard my army bed is,” said Rolf.

  “You’re welcome to join us at the barracks, Chandor,” said Erika.

  “I’d appreciate that.” He knew that Lander and the ladies were looking forward to an inn. Kurt and Deborah had already mentioned that they would continue sleeping in their wagon to save costs.

  By dusk they had reached the town of Copperstead. It was much bigger than Bronsverj, although not as a big as Tinsley. As a main stopover between Tinsley and Vanelge it was a busy trading town, catering to both travellers and merchants. It was similar to most of the other towns Chandor had seen on his travels, but being deeper into Fistorian territory its defences were less dominant. Its grey, stone walls were lower than most he had seen. A large paved square for a market and overnight wagons lay outside the fortified gates.

  They presented themselves at the barbican where a friendly soldier read Erika’s letter and welcomed her warmly. He sent an apprentice guard to fetch the captain and another to let the mayor know that the party from Bronsverj had arrived. Then he escorted them to the barracks. Erika paid everyone their first milestone completion fee, and they agreed to meet the next day to discuss plans.

  Chandor pocketed his ten silver pieces and, sighing, returned the shield to the Bronsverj army supply wagon. He didn’t feel ready to start his search for the next clue, and instead spent the evening practicing with his mace, before finding a quiet spot for meditation. Then he went to bed.

  The nightmares woke him, as they had for the past four years. Where in the past they had just been flames and blood, and occasionally pitiless eyes, now his dreams had detail and clarity that he wished he could avoid. Each night was different, although the result was the same. In the latest one he had watched the vampire stabbing his mother, the night before it was the helplessness of trying to stab the creature with his dagger.

  He woke shaking with fear and loss, and struggled to get up from his sleeping sack. His whole body felt tired and weak. When he tried to meditate he couldn’t focus and eventually gave it up. He ate breakfast mechanically, forcing the food in because it was necessary.

  Chandor slowly toured the town alone. He had planned to locate the local smith and demand answers, but discovered to his dismay that there were three smiths in the town. He felt strangely reluctant to move forward on his quest, and hesitant to enter any one of the three buildings. He stood in the square, looking across at the open door of the closest smithy without moving. Am I afraid? he wondered.

  Instead of forcing the issue, he let his feet carry him around the town, through the different clusters. His mind was far away when he realised he had stopped. He looked around and found that he was standing in front of the local church. Its huge windows of coloured glass took his breath away and brought tears to his eyes. He acknowledged that he had missed the peaceful holiness of the Tinsley chapels.

  He started toward the open doors, checked himself, and then forced himself to step inside. The church was quiet and empty. He took a sip of water from the font, bowed deeply toward the altar, and walked slowly down the aisle. Halfway
to the altar he sat down on an empty pew. He let out a sigh, and felt the presence of the Gods wash over him. He knelt, head bowed, and started to pray.

  He did not know how long it was before he became aware of people moving. He looked around almost guiltily. Near the altar stood the priest in his white tunic, talking quietly to two of the congregation. Two more people walked down the aisle to the front.

  The priest saw Chandor looking at him and smiled, “Welcome, stranger. Peace be with you.”

  Chandor nodded.

  “You’re welcome to stay. We’re about to have our music practice.”

  Chandor considered leaving, but he had missed the music at the Cathedral Castle in Tinsley. There were five musicians in total, with three singers, a trumpet player and a flautist. When they started to play Chandor was glad he had stayed. The music filled the church, lifting his spirit and rejuvenating his soul. The hymns tugged at his heart, and when he felt tears threaten, he let them flow. As the music turned from gentle laments of worship and confession to the church’s battle anthems he began to feel alive once more. The righteous anger and single minded objective that had given him purpose flooded back. By the time their practice was wrapping up, he knew what he needed to do.

  Chandor stood and stepped into the aisle. Rather than turning for the exit, he walked confidently to the altar. The musicians and even the priest shrunk back as he approached, but he calmed them saying, “Thank you. Gods be with you.”

  At the altar, he removed his money pouch and emptied the contents onto the white marble. Coinless again, he felt unburdened and free. I will trust in the Gods to provide whatever I need. He turned and strode from the church.

  He returned to the barracks to collect his chainmail tunic and mace. I’ll start with the closest smith and work through each one of them until I have the answers I need. If I have to use force, so be it!

  “Chandor, there you are! We’ve all been looking for you. Erika has asked everyone to meet in the private dining room at the inn where Lander is staying.”

  “What for?”

  Viktor shrugged. “I don’t know, but it’s important. Erika was bursting with excitement, and very insistent.”

  Chandor ground his teeth in frustration. I don’t have time for this!

  “Come on, Chandor. Erika will kill me if I return without you.”

  With a sigh, Chandor thought, I guess another hour won’t make any difference. Out loud he said, “Okay, let’s go.”

  Viktor led him to the inn where Lander and the ladies were staying and they were shown through to a private dining room. Everyone else was already there, the soldiers, the adventurers, Kurt and Deborah.

  “There you are! We didn’t know how much longer we could wait.”

  “We have some good news,” stated Erika. “Using Gelarey’s network and Casanath’s contacts, Lander managed to sell the hydra heads.” She motioned for Lander to carry on.

  “The total,” he grinned, “is two hundred gold!”

  After a moment of stunned silence, there was a cheer and clapping from everyone. “That’s ten times what we’d hoped for!” exclaimed Rolf.

  Calls of “Excellent!” and “Well done” reverberated around the room, and even Chandor smiled in the knowledge that he would be able to resupply and still have enough to buy himself a shield.

  As the noise subsided, Erika raised a hand for silence. “Just to clarify, we have two hundred gold pieces. Each.”

  Apart from a gasp of breath, the only sound Chandor could hear was the beating of his heart. Viktor was the first to find his voice, “That’s almost two year’s salary.”

  “Apparently hydra heads are very, very valuable as they are key ingredients in healing potions,” grinned Casanath.

  Lander was beaming from ear to ear, “This is why people risk their lives adventuring!” He threw his fist into the air, “Yeah!” There were hugs, back slaps and impromptu dancing. While Kurt swept Deborah into the air, Chandor could only shake his head in wonder. The Gods are good. They provide everything. I can get myself a set of plate mail and a shield, and then I truly will be a Guardian, no matter what the church says.

  “Your gold is with the local moneylender. You can either withdraw it here, or for a small fee have it transferred to Bronsverj.”

  Chandor breathed deeply, he had never imagined having so much money to spend. At least I have a good reason to go to the smiths.

  While the others stayed to celebrate, Chandor couldn’t wait to go and soon excused himself. His earlier reluctance was gone and he almost ran to the nearest smithy.

  He expected it to be similar to the one at home in Bronsverj. He entered and found it to be a completely different scale from what he was used to. Rows and rows of armour, shields and helmets lined the walls in an ordered selection of sizes.

  A smiling smith, his beard trimmed short and his leather apron splattered with metal, greeted him warmly, “Good day, stranger! How may I help?”

  “I’m considering upgrading my chain armour, and am thinking about a shield.”

  “You’ve come to the right place, my good man. I am Zyl, master smith of this establishment.” The smith bowed deeply.

  “Chandor of Bronsverj,” said Chandor, returning the bow. Looking around he asked, “Do all the smiths have this much armour?”

  Zyl laughed. “No. Only I sell armour, and I sell only armour. Gerrit is the weapon smith while Una sells everything else. The joy of specialisation.”

  “Even so, this is a lot of armour for a small town.”

  “It sure is. I have two apprentices and we’re still flat out. We supply to all over the Vander Duchy.”

  Chandor was at a loss for words. The smith seemed open, honest and nice – not at all what he had been expecting. He scratched his head in puzzlement, “So, who is your main customer? The Fistorian Army, a mercenary company or numerous individuals?”

  “Honestly, I don’t know. Oswin takes care of all that.”

  “Who?”

  “Oswin. Well, Earl Oswin now. He owns the mines, the smiths, and a trading company. He’s a great salesman, and has contacts all over the Duchy.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “He must do. Since he took over a few years ago there’s been more work than we can keep up with. Before him, we exported a bit to Vanelge, a bit to Tinsley. Oswin has us loading a wagon a month! He’s done really well.”

  “I’ll bet he has. So where do I find this Oswin?”

  “As I said, he’s Earl Oswin now. He owns the third cluster.”

  Chandor almost fell over, “The whole thing?” A cluster normally had six whole houses, each with a family.

  The smith nodded and Chandor smiled. Well, I’ve got my man. I guess I had better get my armour before I confront him. I have a feeling the earl won’t let his employees sell me anything once I’m done with him. “Ok, enough about Earl Oswin, let’s talk about me.”

  Master Zyl laughed, “Indeed. We’ve got a lot of armour here, but not a huge amount of variety. We sell basic chain mail which is what you’ll find many of your soldiers and mercenaries wearing – I’m assuming that ours is no different from what you’ve got on now. That goes for forty-five gold.”

  “That’s almost ten percent more than Tinsley or even Bronsverj.”

  “Well, you’re always free to go elsewhere,” Zyl chuckled. “Earl Oswin can sell everything we make at that price, so I don’t pretend to apologise.”

  “Ok, fine. How much is that?” Chandor asked, pointing to a gleaming shell made of horizontal metal strips tied down the front with leather straps.

  “This banded steel is what the legionaries used to wear, but I’m surprised how much we sell because I don’t often see it being worn these days.” The smith shrugged, “For fifty-five gold it gives you good flexibility and fair protection, but I share the army’s view that you may as well put in the extra ten gold and get this,” he gestured to an armour stand like the one Chandor had used at the Cathedral Castle at Tinsley.

>   “For sixty five gold I’ll kit you out in plate mail like the Vander Knights and the Guardians of Mankind. Solid steel plates encase you your legs, torso, shoulders and arms. Chain for mobility at the armpits, inside of the elbow and knees. You’ll feel like a hero. Let me tell you, any successful mercenary or adventurer has plate. It’s the best investment you can make.”

  “What about full suit armour?”

  The smith was shaking his head before Chandor had even finished, “That’s only for lords and the most elite fighters. I don’t make it because there’s not enough demand, and, to be honest, it takes too much time and skill. Anyhow, I don’t know how much you’re looking to spend, but for most people suit is not even an option. I heard Hans the Destroyer paid four thousand gold for his.”

  “Well, I don’t have that kind of gold. I’ll take a set of plate mail.” He couldn’t help adding, “Like the Guardians of Mankind.”

  “Come boys, let’s help Chandor get suited up.” Two apprentices hurried over and started taking measurements and fetching armour. First they had him strip and put on a specialised arming tunic made of wool, leather and chain mail, as well as long socks and short snug leather shoes. Then they worked from the feet up, buckling on greaves which encased his leg from ankle to knee, then attaching the knee and thigh guards to the arming tunic with buckles and ties. They fitted a mail skirt around his waist to protect his groin. Two mail gorgets were tried before they got the right fit around his throat and neck.

  Zyl lifted a breastplate down easily from its stand, “We do a two-part cuirass, allowing flexibility around your torso.”

  The apprentices fitted and fastened before asking Chandor to twist side to side and then touch the floor. He couldn’t help grinning, it was even better than the armour he had worn when training as a Guardian.