Dark Priest Page 7
Sandy shied and Chandor dropped his staff to grab for the reins, holding on tightly with his knees. Behind him, he could hear the wagon drivers fighting with the oxen as they threatened to stampede. Chandor pulled the reins in hard and turned Sandy in a tight circle as she tried to bolt. She turned twice and then, with a nervous snort, she submitted to his command. Behind him, the wagon drivers managed to bring the span of oxen under control.
“What the heck was that?” Chandor demanded, aware that he was still shouting.
“Blast spores,” said Matwau who was still looking around carefully, his pony completely under control. His voice seemed to come from far away and Chandor forced a yawn to try and open his ears. “They’re a kind of fungus and can be lethal if you don’t know about them. If they get close, they spray out a cloud of spores which penetrate your skin and grow into new blast spores, sucking you dry in the process. The infection will kill you unless you have access to magical healing. If you hit them, they explode, killing anyone that is standing too near. Head up close and you’ll find the pods squirming around in search of a dead carcass to grow on.”
Chandor shuddered, thinking how close he had come to charging the things with his staff. He looked at three depressions in the earth and knew that he would have died. He slid from Sandy’s back and retched, hanging weakly to the saddle for support. Violent shudders racked his body and he hurled again.
“You ok?” asked Matwau.
“I’m fine,” Chandor lied. He leaned down and regathered his staff, then used it to steady himself as legs threatened to buckle. He shut his eyes and gripped his Holy Symbol tightly as he said a prayer to the Gods, Thank you, Notomok, for your mercy. It is only by Your will that I live.
“Always nice to have a bit of excitement, hey?” grinned Matwau. He wheeled his pony and trotted back down the line, checking that everyone was all right.
Chandor hugged Sandy’s neck to calm her, and found himself reassured. He let out a deep breath and stroked her head. “Good girl. The Gods are with us,” he murmured over and over until both she and he were calm. Feeling steadier, he hauled himself into the saddle.
He had just mounted when Matwau returned saying, “We’ve earned our pay today.” Still grinning from ear to ear, the experienced Nombu fighter turned back to the caravan, “Onwards! There’s plenty of ground yet to cover!”
And with that, the caravan resumed its journey to Bondor Hold.
In the early afternoon a squad of Vander cavalry cantered over from a nearby hill, not using the road. Four knights on heavy warhorses rode up, their lances raised, while four dragoons on riding horses covered them with crossbows from afar. They all wore tabards of Fistorian blue, with two broad horizontal gold stripes marking them as soldiers from Bondor Hold. The lead knight, a sergeant according to the three iron chevrons on his tabard, raised his visor and chatted briefly to Matwau, quizzing him on their route and whether they had seen anything. He was pleased to hear about the destruction of the blast spores, and asked if they had seen any other tracks. When he heard that they had seen none, he seemed satisfied, and told them that the road to Bondor would probably be clear. Then he closed his visor once more and the patrol touched heel to flank and rode off once more.
The rest of the afternoon passed quickly as Chandor found the surroundings increasingly interesting. Soon after meeting the patrol they passed a busy stone quarry and a large open caste mine. After those, the traffic on the road picked up. As they neared Bondor Hold, they saw several mine entrances, although unlike around Tinsley and Lynmith, these were heavily guarded with stone walls and heavy gates which made each one look like a small castle. By the time evening arrived, they were on the road with shepherds and farmers leading their animals back to the safety of Bondor Hold.
Bondor was a huge fortified town, dominating the surrounding lands from its vantage on a hill. A massive curtain wall surrounded the entire town at the base of the hill. Thirty feet high, the grey stone walls were set behind a moat of flowing river water, over which there was only one bridge. The only dwelling outside the walls was a stone mill with its turning wheel. On the far side a gigantic barbican, much larger than Tinsley’s, controlled the entrance. Guards stood watch on top, and the outline of a huge catapult and giant ballista could be seen against the sky. At the entrance, behind the portcullis, more guards stood with their pikes at the ready. At the top of the hill, in the centre of the town, Bondor Hold itself could be seen towering into the sky.
The ugly, square keep with its narrow arrow slit windows, surrounded by additional walls, proclaimed categorically that structure was purely practical with not one thought being given to aesthetics. High stone towers jutted into the sky, each fitted with an enormous crossbow.
“Dragon Bows,” said Matwau seeing Chandor’s stare. “They actually fire huge mesh nets to entangle the bastards. It’s a good idea, but I wouldn’t want to be up there if there was a dragon around.”
There were two queues into the town. Residents flashed a pass and were generally waved through. The merchant caravan was closely inspected but eventually they moved inside.
CHAPTER 6
The Painbinder Prophecies
Tribon strode down the corridor towards the Serenity chapel in his full plate armour, white cloak streaming out behind him. His shield hung on the saddle of his warhorse outside while his longsword swung at his belt. He prayed as he walked and felt the power of Takatifu Roho filling him. He was about to embark on his first mission as a Guardian of Mankind, riding with Botha and Anelle to retrieve a sacred relic from the border near Fort West.
He felt charged with purpose, ready to do the will of Otec. He entered the softly lit chapel where Guide Jurgen was going to bless them before they set off, and Tribon felt as if he were walking on air. The smell of incense filled his nostrils as he tried to hold every moment. This is it!
The three of them knelt before Jurgen. They bowed their heads. Jurgen, who had been purified and cleansed, lifted his hands in supplication. Tribon smiled at the scent of soap and fragrant oils which he always associated with holiness. Jurgen retrieved a vial of consecrated oil from behind the altar and approached them, uncorking the stopper as he walked.
Lifting it above his head he intoned, “In the name of Otec, Notomok and Takatifu Roho, I bless you.”
The air seemed to fill with electricity and Tribon thought, This is a holy moment. The Gods are here with us!
The light from the orbs and nearby candles seemed to brighten. The room felt as hot as a furnace. Tribon’s breathing felt shallow. He inhaled deeply but still felt he could not get enough air. His plate armour was tight and uncomfortable. He tugged at the front of his collar.
As his vision swam he reached out to grab Sir Botha’s shoulder to steady himself, “Sorry. I’m feeling a little light headed,” murmured Tribon as he undid his cloak with his free hand and gave an embarrassed laugh, “I must be a touch over-excited for our mission. I’ll be fine in a moment.”
“Tribon, are you all right?” asked Anelle, turning to him. Her eyes widened and she surged to her feet, hand dropping to her war hammer. “Frig.”
“Peace, Anelle. Everything is fine,” murmured Jurgen.
Tribon felt lighter than air and it seemed as if powerful hands were lifting him up by his breastplate, so he stood. When he looked down, he realised he was floating a foot above the ground. He stared at his hands in amazement as they blazed with light. He turned them over, and more light flashed out from the cracks in his armour.
He opened his mouth, but the words that came out were not his own, “Hear the voice of prophecy, the words of Takatifu Roho!” The voice was filled with power and authority.
“In your time, a great evil has been loosed upon the earth.
His footsteps turn ever from the light to the darkness.
He will grow in power and nations will kneel before his throne.
Fuelled by fear and hatred, he will unlock the arcane secrets of knowledge but shun all wisdom.
In the end times he shall bind their pain, and by their wounds take his power.
At that time his might will be unmatched in all the earth.
These are the words of Otec, the almighty king above all kings.”
Tribon drifted to the ground and the light faded. As the power of the Gods left him, he felt suddenly weak and bereft. He sank to his knees, head bowed as he prayed.
“Anelle, please go and fetch High Priest Hengel,” Guide Jurgen requested softly.
A few minutes later, Hengel and Anelle returned. The High Priest walked purposefully down the aisle, stopping behind Tribon who was still praying. Hengel held out his hands to Anelle and Botha. Jurgen stood in front of Tribon and completed the circle, “Almighty Gods, thank you for sharing your wisdom and knowledge with us through Guardian Tribon, your good and faithful servant. You have authority over heaven and earth, and all things happen by your decree. We offer ourselves to you as living sacrifices to do your will. So be it.”
He laid one hand gently on Tribon’s shoulder. Drawing the symbols of the Gods in the air with his free hand he prayed for healing. When he was done, he asked Tribon how he was feeling.
Tribon nodded slowly, “Strong. Replenished.”
“Good,” said Hengel. “There is much to do.” He looked at Jurgen who gave a decisive nod and said, “Tribon, Anelle, come with me. There is something I want to show you. Botha, of course you’re welcome too.”
Hengel led them through the castle to the library, past the rows of books and scrolls to the librarian’s office.
Below a hanging cord was a sign that said, ‘Please ring once for service.’ Hengel tugged at the string once and the muffled ring of a bell sounded within.
They waited patiently and eventually the old librarian’s muffled voice drifted to them. “Just a moment, please.”
A chair scraped, keys jangled and the lock turned. The door opened to reveal a spry old man with a neatly trimmed white beard. A white woollen cap covered his head while a short white scarf encircled his neck.
“Pardon the delay,” croaked Guide Eben in his precise and educated voice. “I’m almost done restoring an ancient scroll and can’t have some brash youngster barging in and causing me to make a mistake. Come in, come in. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
They crowded into the small room which was mostly taken up by a desk. Despite the cold, the fire in the grate was not lit. Two manuscripts lay side by side on the desk, the inkwell and quill placed far from either. A mostly empty glass of sherry sat on the furthest corner of the desk. The only light was that of the weak winter sun falling through a narrow window, giving the room a gloomy air.
“Our new Guardian, Tribon, made a prophecy in which I think you might be interested.”
Guide Eben’s head snapped up, “Right here, in Tinsley?” he beamed. “That’s fantastic! Let me get organised and then you can start.” Eben carefully tidied away the two manuscripts and removed a moleskin journal from his desk drawer. He sat at his desk, gestured for them to make themselves comfortable, and said “Tell me everything.”
Tribon, Botha and Anelle repeated the prophetic words as best they could, while Guide Eben listened and took notes, asking questions and checking words as they went.
When they were done, the High Priest asked, “What do you think, Eben?”
“Well, it certainly sounds like a new one to me.”
“A Painbinder prophecy?” confirmed Hengel.
Guide Eben’s eyes narrowed as he looked pointedly at the two new Guardians, “Are you sure these two should be included?”
Hengel shrugged, “No. But I think it is time to widen our circle. Anyhow, the Gods have already included them.”
“That’s true,” conceded the old Guide as he stood. “That being the case, I guess you’d better come with me.”
Eben gathered a set of keys and went to a nondescript door that Tribon hadn’t noticed. Unlocking it, he opened and motioned for them to follow him through.
Whatever Tribon had expected, it wasn’t the neat, well lit, warm study that met him. A fire burned in the hearth, and an orb hung above the desk. The shelves were full of books and scrolls. Scraps of parchment and documents were pinned up on one wall, while a wide chalkboard covered another.
When they had all crowded into the room, Guide Eben closed the door behind them, “The door and walls are lead-lined, to prevent magical eavesdropping.”
Hengel sat down in a worn but comfortable chair in front of the fire. “Myself, Botha, Jurgen and Eben come here to discuss The Painbinder prophecies.” He snorted, “For what it’s worth.”
“Come now, Hengel. We’ve learned a lot and much has been revealed,” said Eben.
“Nothing we can use!”
“That may be true – but that may not be the point!” Eben turned to the two new Guardians. “Hengel and Botha are convinced that by collating and studying all the prophecies, the visions, and dreams regarding The Painbinder, they will be able to ascertain the will of the Gods, and thus prevent or lessen the coming darkness.”
Hengel leaned forward in his chair, “Jurgen and Eben on the other hand, are blissfully apathetic.”
Eben laughed, “Our High Priest jests, of course. Jurgen and I also are fascinated by the Prophecies and actively study them. But we caution wisdom and trust in the Gods.”
“What’s the point of prophecies and visions if they don’t enable you to do anything about what’s coming?” challenged Tribon.
“Exactly my point!” exclaimed Hengel.
Eben smiled patiently. “What is the point of anything?”
“A great evil is coming. Guide Eben, would you have us do nothing?”
“No, no. Not nothing. I merely caution that trying to change the future often creates it. The purpose of a prophecy is to attest to the glory and power of the Gods. Once realised, the prophecy reminds us that the Gods are omnipotent, and that they knew the future. The future is not shown so that we can change it, but so that we can glorify the Gods when it arrives.”
“True, the Sacred Texts are proven to be of divine origin through their verification,” conceded Tribon.
“Quite right, young man. Furthermore, when the darkness does come, the prophecies can remind us that the Gods remain sovereign. We can have complete faith that they know of our plight and suffering, knew of it before it happened, and have a plan to turn it to their glory and our salvation.”
Hengel shook his head in exasperation. “This is what I have to put up with,” he laughed, “and that is why this room is stocked with good wine. Many a night the four of us have argued well past midnight.”
“Now, tell these youngsters what we know.”
Eben cleared his throat. “The first Prophecy that we know of came from the Age of Heroes. It talked of the coming of a great evil, who would rise to power amidst pain and suffering, with the signature ‘He shall bind their pain, and by their wounds take his power.” That fragment pulls all of what we call definitive Painbinder prophecies, together. Through that period, there were numerous dreams, visions and prophecies relating to The Painbinder. Some talked to his rise to power, others talked of his fear and hatred, yet others of his arcane knowledge.
“When the Supremacy Wars began in AL200, many believed that the Prophecies were being realised. And as Jaim Ironfist rose to power, some even worried that he was The Painbinder. But, the Supremacy Wars ended and the Time of Darkness began, and it became clear that The Painbinder prophecies were not yet fulfilled. We have very few notes from that time, although whether it was because there were no foretellings, or because they were not recorded, we cannot know. Over the past two hundred years, we have had more and more Painbinder prophecies. The Church of Mankind, as well as the wizards of Southsend have been gathering these texts in centres. Tinsley is the centre in Vander. Other include Siyanda in Nombuso, Zanith Ando, and Southsend Gate.
“Recently, the Prophecies have changed, talking of the present, rather than the future. We believ
e that The Painbinder now walks the earth. Maybe as a child, maybe an old man, perhaps a dragon or an elf? The prophecies suggest that innocence will become corrupted. A young male will be twisted. A desire to do good will become evil.” Eben sighed, “Hengel believes The Painbinder can be stopped. I believe he can be endured.”
“And now, you are part of The Painbinder prophecy,” said Jurgen. “Who knows what role you will play? In the Gods we trust. To them be the glory.”
“Arch Priest Altheor has met with King Ironfist XIV and Arch Mage Del Zanath, and warned them,” explained Hengel. “But the future is not clear – we have only fragments. We are trying to interpret the signs so that we can understand what we are called to do. We are searching for any advantage in this fight against evil,” Hengel smiled ruefully, “while also trusting in the Gods. You two have been chosen to be part of this. Maybe you can help make sense of it. That is why I want you to join Guide Eben in his search for knowledge and wisdom.”
Anelle’s face fell. “Fighting is what I do best. I had hoped to use those skills for the good of mankind.”
“Trust me, you will. In the coming times the church will need Guardians more than ever. You both need to gain combat experience. Continue with your missions as planned. We don’t yet know what your role is, but I remain certain you were both sent to be Guardians rather than Guides. Ride with Botha and the others, develop your faith, strength and skills. In between missions, when you are not practicing, you will work here in the library to try and unravel the mysteries of The Painbinder prophecies.”
CHAPTER 7
Into the Darkness
The mercenaries escorted the caravan to the warehouses and then retired to the hostel where they met the six new members who would join them on the rest of the trip. They were called in one by one to receive their pay. Chandor was given a silver and four copper pieces, one seventh of his one gold weekly stipend. When he left the office, he was invited by Matwau to join them at the nearby pub, but Chandor shook his head.