Dark Priest Page 21

  “Tight enough around your waist?”

  Chandor nodded. He knew that it had to be tight to ensure that the weight was carried on his hips, rather than his shoulders.

  “Regular or reverse?” asked an apprentice.

  “Ambi.”

  Zyl grunted, “I should have known from your Symbol that you’d trained with the Guardians of Mankind, but the dark clothes threw me. Let me guess, you use your shield as a weapon?”

  Chandor nodded.

  They took shoulder guards from two separate sets of plate so his suit was the same both sides, rather than having a defensive and offensive shoulder guard like the knights wore. Steel covered leather gauntlets followed.

  “Spurs for your boots?”

  Chandor shook his head, he’d never needed them before with Sandy.

  “Now what about helms? I know conventional wisdom and all the knights will tell you a great helm with a visor is the way to go, but for a mercenary or adventurer I always recommend something more open. You’re going to be wearing it all day, day in and day out. You do lose something in protection, but at least you can hear, see, and breathe easily.”

  “Let me see.”

  Chandor was shown a variety of helmets. He tried a couple of caps and some great helms with and without visors, and some open-faced helmets, but settled on the same as he had worn in Tinsley; a T-face that covered his head in steel but had a T cut out to leave his eyes, nose and mouth open. He could move his head freely, and thin slits by his ears would allow sound and airflow. It had a mount for a plume or crest which stood empty. Whilst he wouldn’t want to joust in it, he would be able to wear it all day.

  “Hold this.”

  Chandor took the medium sized rectangular steel shield without thinking.

  “That’s it,” Zyl smiled. “Now you look like a seasoned mercenary. Fully armoured and ready for battle.”

  The shield felt right, so Chandor didn’t argue.

  “It’s seventy-five gold for the set, shield included, less forty for your chain. That’s thirty-five gold in total.”

  Chandor almost choked. He had never spent so much money in his life, but a small voice in his head said, This is why the Gods have given you gold, so he shrugged and said, “Done. I have an account at the moneylender. Shall we go there now?”

  Once he’d paid the smith and withdrawn the remaining hundred and sixty-five gold, Chandor almost floated back to the barracks despite wearing forty pounds of armour.

  “Chandor! That is fantastic!” enthused Viktor.

  “You look great,” Erika agreed. “Nice shield.”

  Chandor practiced with his mace and shield until his body ached and then reluctantly removed his new armour to have lunch and do some more shopping.

  Feeling light but slightly bereft without his new steel skin he walked to the local scribe.

  “Do you have any of the Sacred Texts?”

  The fat lady with ink on her hands, nodded. “I keep stock of all the popular ones; The Book of Worship, the Scrolls of Wisdom, and all four of the Disciples’ Texts.”

  “Good. I’ll take two of each.”

  The fat lady smiled, “Looks like they will be my best sellers again this year.”

  Chandor reached into his pouch for the coins. “Here you go,” he said, handing over a gold and two silvers in exchange for the stack of holy writings.

  He spent the rest of the morning restocking provisions for himself and Sandy, as well as investing in a well-equipped healing kit. He had the 13b scroll from Erika tattooed onto his forearm, pleased with yet another five-star rating. At dinnertime he joined the others in the pub where he gave a surprised but pleased Casanath her copy of the Sacred Texts.

  The next morning, he packed his saddle bags so he could leave quickly if necessary. Then he donned his armour. He slung his shield onto his back, over his cloak, and hooked his mace onto his belt.

  Heart beating fast, he made his way to the Third Cluster. The peaceful town and crisp clear sky felt at odds with his mission.

  The gates to the Earl’s residence were ornate, and closed but not barred. A brass bell hung outside and he rang it once.

  An officious looking man in a smart purple tunic trimmed in silver opened the door wide. He bowed slightly. “How may I help you?”

  “I want to speak to Oswin,” Chandor stated.

  “And are you a friend of the Earl?”

  “We haven’t met.”

  “In that case, you’ll need to make an appointment.”

  Chandor’s eyes narrowed. “Very well. When is he available next?”

  “One moment please,” the servant disappeared and soon reappeared holding a large appointment book. “Now, with what would this be in conjunction?”

  “Its personal,” growled Chandor.

  “Ah. And what specifically is on the agenda?”

  “Specifically, I want to know why Oswin is selling an army’s worth of armour and weapons to a vampire,” Chandor could feel his face getting red and knew his voice was rising, “More specifically, I want to know where I can find that vampire so I can destroy it!”

  “Um, well, I’m afraid the earl isn’t available,” stammered the servant, trying to shut the gate.

  Chandor shoved the gate back open, “And I’m afraid that isn’t acceptable,” he snarled. “Now where is he?”

  The servant glanced across the cluster courtyard to an extravagant wooden door before lying feebly, “He isn’t here.”

  “When he arrives, tell him Chandor is waiting for him,” Chandor nodded in the direction of the extravagant door, “In there.”

  Chandor strode across the square, sneering at its lavish fountain and fancy tiled floors. He flung open the gilded door. Inside was a luxurious dining room with a long wooden table and twelve chairs. An orb illuminated the two occupants; the jewelled earl in an extravagant tunic of purple velvet decorated with gold thread, and another servant in purple and silver livery.

  “Who are you?” the earl demanded.

  “I am Chandor, of the Dark Guardians, from Bronsverj. I’m hunting the vampire who has been your main client for the past four years.”

  The earl snarled, “Go home, Chandor of Bronsverj, I have nothing to say to you. Get out of my house!”

  Chandor strode to the earl glared down at him. “You’d better tell me where those wagons go.”

  “Or else what, pup?”

  Chandor whipped his mace from his belt and smashed it into Oswin’s plate of food. With his left hand he grabbed the Earl’s tunic and shoved the earl back into his chair. He tipped it up onto its back legs, where he held it precariously. “Or else I’ll beat you to a pulp and question your dead corpse.” Chandor felt power roaring inside him. He whispered a prayer to create fear. He knew that the church would consider it a defiled miracle as he twisted the words from the Sacred Texts to cause terror rather than peace, but he didn’t care. A glare from Chandor sent the servant fleeing from the room.

  The blood drained from Oswin’s face, and he stammered, “Ok, ok. I send two wagons a month to Lamar Hold, one goes via Tinsley and the other via Fort West. I tell everyone that we ship all over the Duchy, but I only have one customer. I don’t even know his name but he pays in advance and more than anyone else!”

  “Don’t you care that you’re providing enough to supply an army?”

  Sweat streamed down Oswin’s face, “I’ve done nothing illegal. I’m just a merchant. Please don’t hurt me.”

  “You disgust me,” Chandor growled. He gave Oswin a little shove and the chair went tumbling backwards, dumping the earl onto the floor.

  Without a backward glance, Chandor turned on his heel and strode from the room.

  He had just exited the gates when he came face to face with a number of the soldiers from the local barracks.

  “Stop right there, Chandor!” ordered the Copperstead captain. Three crossbow bolts were levelled at him. A moment later, two more local guards ran into the square, buckling on their scabbar
ds as they came, followed a moment later by Erika and Lander.

  “What’s this all about, Captain?” panted Erika.

  “Earl Oswin’s servant says Chandor forced his way into the earl’s cluster and assaulted him.”

  Erika and Lander both looked at Chandor, disbelief on their faces, “Is that true?”

  Reluctantly, Chandor nodded.

  “For Otec’s sake, Chandor! Why?” demanded Erika.

  “Don’t answer that!” snapped the Copperstead captain. “You’re under arrest and the mayor can listen to your reasons.

  Copperstead justice was no different from what Chandor knew happened in Bronsverj and Tinsley. He was escorted under armed guard to the town hall which would act as the court. The mayor arrived, dressed in his official Fistorian judge’s tunic. The mayor sat in the town throne with a rod of office in his hand. He called for the crowd to be silent.

  All the witnesses, including the servants, Earl Oswin and Chandor were ordered to tell their stories and were questioned by the mayor.

  While the earl and servants shared their version of events with great relish, Chandor hung his head in shame. He told his version simply and honestly.

  The mayor glared down at him from the town throne. “You admit you forced you way into Earl Oswin’s home, smashed his possessions, threatened him, and threw him to the floor resulting in minor injuries?”

  Chandor nodded.

  “Can you offer any justification or excuse for your behaviour?”

  Chandor gritted his teeth as he considered his answer. Without evidence, he knew his accusation of treason and association with a vampire would fall on deaf ears. If anything, it might constitute slander and cause even more trouble. You have the information you need. Take your punishment and be on your way.

  He shook his head.

  The mayor shook his head too. He reviewed a scroll sitting by his left hand, and then pronounced judgement. “Chandor of Bronsverj, you are found guilty of trespass, destruction of property, and assault. You shall pay two gold pieces to Earl Oswin to compensate for the damage and trouble you have caused. In addition, you shall have three lashes of the whip as punishment for your bad behaviour. This is the judgement of Fistoria.”

  There was a roar of applause and Earl Oswin wore a satisfied expression. Chandor nodded solemnly and waited to be escorted from the courtroom, but the mayor was not yet finished, “I have heard that you are a priest of sorts, though clearly neither a Guide nor a Guardian of Mankind. If you use any kind of supernatural power to thwart this courts’ ruling, or make a mockery of the judgement of the law, I will find you in contempt and punish you again until I am satisfied that you have learned your lesson. Is that clear?”

  Chandor nodded solemnly and was led roughly from the room.

  CHAPTER 21

  Saviour of Salanverj

  “How are you doing?” Viktor asked.

  Chandor nodded, “I’ll survive.” He sat with the rest of the companions from Bronsverj in the inn, drinking coffee and wincing whenever the wool of his tunic caught on the welts on his back.

  “So what was that really all about, anyway?”

  “Answers.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  Chandor nodded grimly, “Totally. I just wish I had hit him while I was at it.”

  Viktor swallowed. “You scare me sometimes, Chandor.”

  “I’d rather be feared than be afraid.”

  Viktor fell silent, and Chandor turned in time to hear Gelarey saying, “I’m afraid we’re already committed. We head back for Bronsverj tomorrow.”

  One of the locals turned and walked away and Chandor asked, “What did he want?”

  “They’re looking for adventurers. They hoped we could help,” replied Gelarey.

  Chandor nodded and returned his attention to his food.

  “I’m not sure I would want to go anyway. Plague is never pleasant, and there’s not much likelihood of treasure from killing undead villagers.”

  “What?” demanded Chandor.

  Gelarey shrugged, “On most adventures the real money lies in the treasure, not the fee, but in this case there won’t be any treasure. You can hardly help yourself to a widow’s possessions because you destroyed her undead husband; it just wouldn’t be right.”

  “But what’s that about the undead?” Chandor urged.

  “The plague wiped out half the village, including their priests. No one was able to do the Rite of Remembrance, so the dead have risen as skeletons and zombies. I’ll admit the whole thing gives me the creeps,” she said, shuddering.

  Chandor wasn’t listening, he was already on his feet and dashing after the man to whom she had been talking.

  “Hey! Hey you! Wait!” he called.

  The local man turned and his eyes went wide as Chandor rushed up.

  “Are you looking for adventurers?”

  “Just passing on a message, but yes.”

  “What is the problem?”

  The local sniffed. “Between here and Fort West there’s a village, Salanverj, which is under siege from the undead. They’ve sent an urgent call for anyone who can help. What of it?”

  “Their prayers are answered.” Chandor turned on his heel and swept back to the table, wounds forgotten.

  “I’m going to Salanverj to kill undead.”

  “What? Now?”

  “Right now. Every moment gives a chance for another evil spirit to come back to earth.”

  “We can’t come with you.”

  “I know. I just came to say goodbye. And thank you.” He bowed deeply to all of them. “It was good to ride with you.” With that, he strode from the pub and headed for the barracks.

  He suited up by himself since the Copperstead guards were no longer being civil, and was torn between the joy of dressing in plate once again and frustration at the time it took. Half an hour later he hefted his fully-laden saddle bag, along with its concealed gold, onto Sandy’s back. He mounted and headed for the gate at a trot.

  He was halfway across the square when he heard a shout and turned to see Casanath running towards him. “Wait!” she called.

  Chandor reined in.

  “I wanted to thank you, for the scrolls. And everything.”

  “Sure.” Chandor tapped Sandy’s flanks and she started to move.

  “Just wait,” snapped Casanath, grabbing the bridle. “Just wait a moment.” She looked up at him searchingly. “Give me your medallion.”

  Chandor looked at her for a long moment, before lifting the chain over his head and handing the Holy Symbol to her.

  “I’ve recently learned how to do a Continual Light spell.” She shrugged, “I thought you would find it useful, and appropriate, ‘You are the light of the world’, and all that.” She smiled, almost apologetically as she quoted the line from the Sacred Texts.

  Chandor felt his eyes fill with tears and he nodded his assent.

  “Sha lakama, rath no boora k’hoth na lom shalan.” She drew intricate signs in the air over the Symbol, her brow furrowed in concentration. With a final snap of her fingers the spell was complete and the Holy Symbol started to glow like a torch.

  She handed it back to him. “May the Gods be with you, Chandor.”

  “If the Gods are for me, who can stand against me?” he quoted back to her. Then he flicked Sandy’s reins and started forward once more.

  As he rode he thought about the passage he had quoted. He had seen it the previous night in one of the many chapters he had read. He could not remember when last the Texts had seemed so open to him and he had spent hours poring over the newly acquired scrolls. He smiled and glanced down at his glowing Holy Symbol, I won’t have to worry about my candle burning down any more!

  Even though his faith was stronger than ever, there was still so much he didn’t understand. He believed that everything in the Texts was true, and that the words were God inspired, but at the same time he often found them contradictory or impossible to believe. The Gods at times were so loving and f
orgiving, and at others so hard and uncompromising. I know that the Texts say “Ask and you shall receive” but clearly the Gods won’t just hand out anything I ask for. When I prayed for the food in the Bondor alley I asked but did not receive. And I know they say that they say, “When you ask, you should have faith”, but how do I get faith?

  Chandor rode through the day, alternately meditating on the Texts and visualising destroying undead. He had food, but decided to spend the day fasting in preparation for the battle he knew was coming.

  The sun set. Soon the only light was his shining Holy Symbol. The town, when he first noticed it, was a dark silhouette on the horizon, barely visible against the night sky behind it. Usually, the swinging lantern of a patrolling guard, and the flickering torches of habitation could guide a weary traveller from twenty miles away. Salanverj looked utterly abandoned without any light to signify human life.

  Half a mile from the town Chandor dismounted and hitched Sandy securely to a tree. “You’re safer out here than in there.” He gave her a pat and said, “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

  He checked that his armour was secure then set off down the road, shield strapped tightly on his left arm. His mace hung comfortably on his right hip. He wanted the reassurance of the Holy Symbol in his hand. My Holy Symbol may be more use against undead than my mace anyway. If I can make it to the main gate and contact the guards, then I can ascertain the situation and plan accordingly.

  A groan from the road ahead of him made him tighten his grip on his Symbol. A moment later he heard the sound of something being dragged and he swallowed as a two zombies lurched into the circle of light. They both had multiple arrows in them. One has its head caved in, while the other walked on a leg so broken its foot dragged continuously on the ground. Chandor knew that while slow, they were supernaturally strong and hard to kill. If I can rebuke them and one flees, it will even the odds. Better still if I can attack them both from behind.

  He held his Holy Symbol towards the oncoming undead.