Chapter Thirty-Five
“Your arm is now healed, warrior,” the priest said. “You are free to go.”
Borak nodded, then lumbered to his feet. He had been at the abbey far too long and felt the need to rejoin his companions. Granted, his arm had been broken and he had needed time to recuperate, but it had been five days since he’d seen his friends last; five days since the wizards would have learned of the existence of the vampire; and five days during which the vampire could have struck or the wizards could have retaliated. And he had been in the dark for the whole of that time. A great deal could have happened by now, a great deal.
“You are aware of the snow, warrior, are you not?”
Borak glanced over at the young, grey-robed monk, perhaps a year or two less in age than himself. He had a hardened look and a manner which spoke of a steady strength and an indomitable will. A priest he might have been, but a warrior he could have made.
“The road to Drisdak is buried,” the priest continued, “and the snow is still falling. Many of those drifts are deeper than you are. Are you sure you can make it?”
“I’ve dealt with snow before.” Borak reached down to pick up his large axe and slid it into the straps on his back. With the snow as it was, he would need to have both his hands free. It was going to be difficult, but not impossible. Winters in his homeland had always been severe and had always brought with them a great deal of snow. Perhaps not as much as this, but enough. He had spoken the truth; he could handle the snow. It was the vampire that was the problem.
“At least accept this cloak to keep you warm.” The priest stretched forth his hands, proffering a sturdy fur-lined cloak.
Borak hesitated. With his recently mended animal skins, he really didn’t need the extra protection. The priest, however, looked truly concerned. If accepting the gift would provide some comfort and reassurance for the man, perhaps it would be worth the effort. Reluctantly, Borak reached out and grabbed the small bundle. He whipped it up and around, then clasped it at his throat. After securing it, he motioned to the priest.
The robed figure turned and led him from the room. A short hallway brought them to a large dining chamber where the other devoted followers of Drellenor gathered. After several minutes of final farewells, a small contingent of priests led the huge warrior to the abbey door. Two of them grabbed the pulley chains and slid the massive obstruction back.
The howling of the wind rose in an instant and drowned out all sounds of conversation. Several torches along the wall guttered out, and the chilly fingers of winter’s cold clutched tenaciously at the warrior’s cloak. He could feel it gnawing at his bones, trying to bring him down, but he stood strong, unflinching in its gelid embrace. The majority of the priests edged back down the hall away from the razor-like wind. Borak, however, strode forward.
At the threshold he stopped. He now stood on holy ground, one of the few places in the world a vampire could not enter, even if invited. He could be safe here forever. A sudden vision of Coragan and Galladrin trying to fight Lucian alone spurred him forward. He turned once to wave a final time, but the door was already sliding shut.
Drasmyr (Prequel: From the Ashes of Ruin) Page 68
