Dark Priest Page 5

  He closed his eyes and prayed to the Gods for power and vengeance. He felt the touch of Takatifu Roho. Clean, pure emotion flowed through him, fuelling him for the day ahead.

  As the light of dawn started to warm the world, he heard the first sounds of the camp coming to life. Grumbles and groans, protests and movement started slowly at first before spreading out all around him until the entire camp was a hive of activity. He sat locked deep within his soul, barely aware of his fingernails cutting the palms of his clenched fists.

  “Priest? Priest?” asked a gravel voice near him.

  Chandor opened his eyes and glared up at the lined face of the guard from the previous day.

  “I’m not a priest,” Chandor snapped.

  “Well sorry, boy,” replied the guard sarcastically. “I had assumed what with the white tunic, the medallion, and the meditation…” The guard shrugged, “Anyway, I thought you may want to travel with us.”

  “Not unless you’re going to Lynmith,” stated Chandor firmly. He hadn’t specifically decided where he was going until he said it, but as the words left his mouth he knew that it was the right direction for him.

  “Travel alone then. We’re bound for Langstund.”

  The guard stomped toward his caravan, clearly irritated. Chandor warred with his conscience as he realised he had been unnecessarily rude. He stood and called out, “Uh, guard!”

  The guard turned and fixed Chandor with an angry glower.

  Chandor forced himself to say what he knew was right, “I just wanted to say sorry. For being so rude.”

  The guard held his gaze for a moment, then nodded, his face softening as he turned back for the caravan.

  Chandor looked around for the girl from the night before, but could not see her. He felt unsurprised that he would be travelling alone, as if he had somehow expected it, but he did want to say thank you and good bye. Remaining vigilant for a sight of her, he headed for the wood pile. He knew what he needed to do first.

  His stomach growled with hunger and he first frowned and then shrugged, There is nothing I can do about it, so food will have to wait. I’ve fasted before to the glory of the Gods. He selected the longest, straightest branch he could find, and picked up the axe. He worked carefully until he had a stout wooden staff about six feet in length. Standing, he swung it experimentally, nodding to himself in satisfaction. It was good despite its crudeness and he felt much better that he was armed once more.

  While the caravans continued to pack up, Chandor worked through stretching exercises and practice moves he had been taught by the Guides of Mankind. Then he headed over to Sandy and saddled her, keeping his eye on both caravans for any sign of the girl.

  He swung into the saddle at the same time as the last of the guards. The bars were lifted from the gates and the first caravan headed out, guards in their chain armour going first down the road towards Tinsley. While the other caravan finalised its preparations, Chandor walked Sandy through the gates, pausing at the intersection of the roads. He turned and looked back, still searching for the girl. When he did not see her, he pulled off to the side of the road and waited. Final checks were completed and the caravan bound for Langstund got underway, the lead guard giving Chandor a parting wave, to which Chandor replied with a nod.

  The caravan wound through the gate and set off down the road away from Chandor. There was still no sign of the girl. The final pair of guards closed the large wooden doors behind them, propping them shut from the outside with a stone. Chandor scratched his head in puzzlement, wondering where the girl had gone.

  “Fare well!” called the last guard, as he remounted.

  Chandor nodded back absently, his eyes still glued to the wagons. He watched as the guards kicked their horses into a trot, hurrying to catch up with the rolling wagons. He waited, watching, until he could no longer see detail, then turned Sandy and nudged her into a walk in the direction of Lynmith.

  The road felt safe and quiet, completely unlike it had the night of his ride. As he rode he saw signs of potential danger all around, and once again thanked the Gods he had made it safely. He clenched his jaw and thought, I’m not the stupid kid I was two days ago, and I won’t make the same mistakes. To the right of the road, a thin trip wire of a giant hunting spider glinted with dew in the early morning light. Broad feline footprints suggested that a lion had used the road in the night and he knew that he would not have survived an encounter with either of the fearsome predators. Around him, birds and insects made their morning music, while he pondered the path he found himself on.

  He had woken with a clear purpose in his mind. It was as if his unconscious had worked out a plan while he slept, and his spirit had accepted it while he meditated, without either thinking to inform his consciousness. The fact that the church didn’t know what the Gods wanted no longer seemed strange. After all, they are just people, and fallible. He knew the Gods demanded justice and the destruction of abominations like the undead, and he knew that he would be their tool to achieve that. In doing so, he would make a positive contribution to the world and get his revenge.

  To achieve his goals, he would need to head back to him home town, Bronsverj, via Lynmith and Ingot. At home, he was sure he would be able to find out what had gone wrong. The church and army had lost the trail of the vampire that had killed his family. Chandor intended to restart the hunt. He hoped that in the process he would also answer the question that had burned in his heart since it happened. Why? Nobody had ever managed to explain why the vampire had attacked and killed his family. His hand tightened on his staff, gripping so hard that his knuckles turned white. If I can find out why it killed my family, and where the church lost it, then maybe I can track it down and get justice. Whether the church recognises it or not, I have a purpose, and I will fulfil it.

  The day continued to warm as the winter sun rose, but it was some time before Chandor stopped feeling cold. With the sun up and the crude but heavy staff in his hand, Chandor felt much more secure than he had previously. The miles slipped past, as Sandy steadily crested hill after hill. In the distance, Chandor saw herds of buck grazing peacefully, but otherwise the day was quiet. He and Sandy drank at the occasional stream they crossed. When his stomach growled with hunger, he used it as a reminder to pray, although it became increasingly difficult as the day wore on.

  Just after midday he noticed with dismay that storm clouds were gathering on the northern horizon. As the day progressed the sky became darker and darker. Driven towards him by the wind from the north, the clouds towered higher and higher. They soon blotted out the sun, setting him up for a typical winter thunderstorm. As the wind plucked at his tunic his heart sank.

  He prayed that the rain would hold off until he made it to Lynmith. The Sacred Texts told of prophets with great faith who could command the weather as Notomok had done. But Chandor didn’t expect his prayers to be answered, and his doubts were soon confirmed. With a peal of thunder, lightning streaked across the sky. The downpour began with a torrent of heavy rain. Moments later, the first pellets of hail struck his head.

  Chandor raised his face and hurled abuse towards the sky, “Curse you Hengel! It’s your fault that I’m here. You and the vampire! Curse you both!” At first, his anger kept him warm, but soon the icy deluge and stinging hail beat him into submission. There was nothing for it but to keep going. Sandy plodded on and Chandor hunched his back. Trying to shut out everything, he rode in his own personal hell as jagged bolts of electricity arced across the sky. Within an hour it was over but Chandor was soaked, bruised and frozen. He was unimpressed by the spectacular rainbow that glittered across the sky.

  It was late afternoon by the time he spotted Lynmith in the distance, a haze of smoke hanging over its stone walls. Slowly, grass and shrub gave way to grazing herds of sheep and cows, tended fields, and the gaping holes of the mines of Vander. The road steadily became busier, until eventually, he topped a rise and found himself on the final downhill to the main gates.

  The
re were guards at the gate in chain armour, pikes in hand and crossbows resting against the wall. Cloaks and tabards in Fistorian blue divided by two horizontal gold stripes reflected the colours of Bondor Hold, the nearest castle. The entrance wasn’t a full barbican like at Tinsley, but rather a stone wall with wooden doors wide enough for a laden wagon to pass through easily.

  Chandor rode up to the gate, slowing as he approached, and one of the soldiers walked to meet him with a scroll.

  “Purpose here?” asked the guard, not bothering to hide the boredom in his voice.

  “Passing through.”

  “Length of stay.”

  “Overnight.”

  “Ok. Remember that the day after next is tax day. Wanderers such as yourself need to present themselves at the town hall and declare any income.”

  “I don’t earn income.”

  “Whatever. I have to remind you. I’ve reminded you.” He looked Chandor up and down, smirking at his damp clothing, “Where will you be staying?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “The church is through the Main Cluster, and left into Founders’ Square.”

  “I’m not going to the church.”

  The guard smiled nastily, “Well, the whorehouse is just after the Brown Onion pub.”

  “Are there stables? A tavern?”

  “Of course. Just go through East Arch, you’ll see ‘em soon enough.”

  Chandor rode through the town, looking at the market. Fruit, vegetables, livestock and staples were on display, along with clothes of all varieties. I’ll have to get a cloak sometime, he thought, and a tunic that doesn’t make me look like a priest. His stomach grumbled, But first I need to get Sandy and I some food and shelter.

  He swung down from Sandy’s back, and caught the attention of a passing stranger.

  “Excuse me, Sir.”

  The man smiled. “Yes.”

  “Is there anywhere I can get some food for myself and my horse?”

  “Oh yes, there is a tavern with a stable just over there,” the main pointed further up the street. “We also have two fine churches here in Lynmith.”

  Chandor had to stop himself growling. Instead he rolled his shoulders and tried to relax. “Thanks.”

  He led Sandy up to the tavern, and tethered her to the post. He eased his way inside through the heavy wooden door. Low ceilings, few windows, and smoke from the fire made him long for the airy lightness of the Cathedral, but at least it was warm. He made his way to the counter.

  “I was wondering if I could get some food.”

  “We have a special on our famous potato skewer with grilled lamb. It comes with a pint of ale for just three silvers,” declared the young man behind the bar.

  Chandor swallowed. “Could you give me anything for free?”

  The man laughed. “You’re pulling my ear.”

  “Just one meal. I’ll be gone tomorrow.”

  “Not even for a priest. If you’re not paying, you’re not staying.”

  Feeling embarrassed and irritated, Chandor left and tried the pub across the road with similar results. He stalked outside again, furious that he’d let himself get into such a situation. Here I am, starving to death, while my money pouch sits uselessly in my bedside drawer in Tinsley. The thought of the copper and silver coins made him want to scream. If I weren’t such an idiot, I could have even withdrawn my inheritance gold from the Tinsley moneylender before I left.

  Grinding his teeth in frustration, he was about to untie Sandy when he saw a box of rotting food in the alley behind the pub. He gazed at it longingly. It was dusk, and it had already been more than a day since he had wolfed down the charity breakfast at the stop-over. He checked to see that no one was watching him, then slipped into the alley. The smell was awful. The food was obviously off. He knew that if he ate it, he would be ill.

  Chandor took a deep breath and decided to test his faith. If I believe with all my heart, this food will be purified. He knew it was possible. The previous year a fungus had ruined the castle’s entire grain stores, but Guide Jurgen had prayed over them and they had been miraculously restored. My prayers can be answered. He shut his eyes, and held his Symbol tightly in his right hand. He stretched out his left hand, drawing the sign of the Gods over the disgusting pile of rubbish while reciting words from the Sacred Texts. Hoping against hope, he opened one eye to see if anything had happened. His shoulders sagged at the sight of the unchanged scraps even though he hadn’t really expected them to be transformed.

  A door opened further down the alley. “Hey, what are you doing?” a voice demanded.

  “I, uh…”

  “Get lost, you! I’ve already sold that to Jana.”

  Chandor fled, feeling dirty, ashamed and angry. He mounted Sandy and quickly trotted up the road.

  “Hang in there, old girl. I’ll make us a plan,” he promised, patting Sandy’s neck. He looked up and saw a tavern sign, depicting a priest in a white cloak with a staff. He smiled, “The Holy Wanderer, I’m sure we’ll get lucky here.”

  The proprietor greeted him with a hearty welcome, “Ah, a Guide. Welcome to my establishment. What can I do for you? Ale, wine, fruit juice?”

  Chandor smiled his best smile. “Actually, I was wondering if you could do the Gods a service, and stable my horse for one night.” He took a deep breath, thinking a prayer as he did so, “For free.”

  The tavern owner looked at him sceptically, “What are you on about?”

  “I have found myself without coins. I’m here for one night. Please, can you look after me?”

  The man was already shaking his head, “Look, that’s just not the way it works, lad. The church hands out charity, not me. Here, if you want something, you buy it. If you’re hungry, sell your horse. If you need money, go work for it.”

  “Can’t I do something for you?” pleaded Chandor.

  “What’s the matter with you? Do I look like a recruitment agency?”

  “Damn it! Just one night.”

  The barkeeper’s eyes hardened, and his hand dropped below the counter. “Listen you, the only reason I’m not yet pointing my crossbow is that you’re dressed like a Guide. But now you’re starting to sound like a beggar. If you want to sleep and eat here, you will pay for it or you will leave peacefully. If you want something for free, go to the church and try your luck. You can always work for the king if you need a minimum wage and you can’t get paid for your skills elsewhere. So make up your mind which it will be, or I’ll be forced to draw on you.”

  Chandor’s heart was beating hard. He had been in plenty of practice fights, but it was the first time in his life he had been threatened for real. He wanted to rant, to tell the barman what to do with himself, but instead he raised his hands in surrender. He clenched his jaw to prevent himself from saying something stupid, turned and stepped from the pub.

  Outside, he threw back is head and screamed at the heavens, earning questioning looks from passers-by. He kicked the ground in frustration. He knew he could get work. That wasn’t the problem. But he didn’t want to be delayed. Sure, I can offer myself to the local magistrate, but then what? Throughout the land, the king offered a minimum wage for work so that no one had an excuse for stealing, but Chandor knew that if he took that path he would be trapped in a menial job, either working on the road, or the mines, instead of heading for Bronsverj. Anyhow, the king’s charity jobs are the worst possible solution. They pay next to nothing, while generally requiring hard and boring work. That’s not a solution I’ll consider at this stage.

  In addition to his aching stomach, he felt guilty that he wasn’t looking after Sandy properly. He knew that the most sensible thing would be to sell her, but he couldn’t face that. I’d rather present myself at the church!

  He un-tethered Sandy and turned her round. He looked up and down the road, hoping for inspiration, but saw nothing. Around him, lanterns were being lit as night fell. He walked up the road, leading Sandy by her reins. He could feel that she was tired, and
knew that he needed to rub her down, water and feed her. He swore again, trying not to curse the Gods.

  A magnificent aroma hit him like a war hammer, wafting from a doorway just to his left. The smell of hot food washed over him, making his saliva glands work over-time. The scent was so good he could barely think and he turned involuntarily, looking for the source. A large sign, above the door, read:

  Mercenaries of Kha,

  est. 255AL,

  Registered member of the Guild of Mercenaries.

  His stomach rumbled, with a jab of pain to remind him that it was empty. Is this a sign from the Gods? he wondered. Weak at the knees, he quickly tied Sandy up and hurried for the door. It opened into a tiny office, with just enough space for him to stand in front of a desk with a large ledger, behind which was sitting a young woman in a dark tunic. To his left and right were doors. Behind the woman, was a wall of cubby holes, many with scrolls in them. On one wall was a large map of the Vander Duchy, the North-West quadrant of Fistoria.

  “Evening,” smiled the woman.

  “Evening,” Chandor nodded in return, barely able to think over the heavenly scent of food wafting through the door.

  “Are you looking to hire or sign up?”

  “Um, sign up, I guess.”

  The woman nodded. She pulled out small blackboard and a piece of chalk. “I’ll run you though the checklist and then see if anything is available. Do you have any references?”

  “No.”

  “This is your first tour?”

  “Yes.”

  “Any experience or training.”