The Warder

by D K Williamson

  “He knows,” Muriel said.

  “Durham?” Dech asked. “You married?”

  “I did. Eight years ago.”

  “I must assume he is a good man.”

  “He is. Bran Durham, a merchant. You know, I have seen Gerald and Allan several times over the years since your apparent death, the last about a year ago when I visited the greve shortly after he lost his wife. They have never mentioned you.”

  “They’re not supposed to,” Dech said. “The circumstances concerning my entry into the order were far from ordinary. A great many hazards make it a sensitive topic.”

  “You know Dech from that far back?” Dealan said.

  “I met Dech, Gerald, and Allan when they were young knights errant.” She smiled at the memory. “A trio of true gallantry, even though they were not even two decades old. I was overwhelmed to have three such knights seek me out at such a young age. Gerald, the brash and formal one who didn’t know he would become greve. Allan, faithful and of irrepressible good cheer and resolve. And Dech… but you know him well do you not, Abbess? It seems so.”

  “I do, but never the young knight errant. He’s been the dour leader burdened by responsibility for as long as I have known him,” she said with a mischievous smile.

  Dech nodded with an irritated glare. “And we are delving into the past with one I should not be speaking to.”

  “Dech!” Dealan scolded.

  “I was about to say the same thing,” Muriel said. “He is correct. It is no different than the sisters here. I will see you in a few weeks, Abbess.” She walked to the door and stopped to look at Dech. “Rules are important. That said, know I am delighted to learn that you live.” At that, she left and closed the door behind her.

  Dealan walked to the window and looked out without saying anything for a few minutes. Dech held his place near the door.

  “Did she know your wife?” Dealan said without turning.

  “She did, but not well.”

  “Is that why she didn’t ask after Ceresia?”

  Dech glared at the abbess’ back. “How am I supposed to know that? It’s a topic we should not be discussing.”

  “Muriel had strong feelings for you, did she not?” Dealan asked forging on.

  Dech sighed with continued irritation. “It was a girl’s infatuation from our first meeting. She was very young then.”

  “Is that so?” she replied as she turned and walked back to the table.

  “Despite her youth and with little training, she possessed enough skill to heal my two comrades and me after a rather nasty fight where no other aid was available.” He rubbed the scar along the left side of his jaw. “She healed this.”

  “Based on her reaction, it was an infatuation that never passed, despite your marriage… or hers I suspect,” Dealan said. “Another part of your past come to visit. Are you still concerned about convergences?”

  “I am. Since we last spoke, more have occurred, more than I can easily recall.”

  “We should talk about that, but first, what did the king send you here about. I received a message from Lord Arundel yesterday stating you would be arriving and asking that I provide any aid I can.”

  “There is growing evidence Malig Tancar is mounting an earnest effort to reclaim his throne. Among his retinue is a mage who practices a magic called derkunblod. The mage claims to be Olk Mirkness.”

  Dealan’s face tightened and paled at the mention of both the magic and the mage. “I see why they sent you. This is part of my past come to visit. Sit, Dech,” she said with a gesture at the chair Muriel had used. “You see, I have a considerable knowledge of derkunblod. I once served on the mage council when William Tancar was king. I learned of dark and blood magic when I was a child, but never pursued it in earnest until much later. It is an ancient form, one ultimately evil and corrupting.”

  Dealan took a seat across from the warder.

  “King William sent me to aid a force tasked with bringing a rebellious earl to heel near the border with Nevar. Mirkness was aiding this earl and was suspected of instigating the rebellion. I was arrogant, as power and talent tend to make a person as young as I was. I fought Olk, just he and I, and soon found he was the better mage. Facing defeat and most likely death, I turned to derkunblod in desperation. He had little to counter it. Grievously wounded, he fled, never to be seen again. If this mage you speak of is him, our assumptions of his death were wrong.”

  “His body was never found?” Dech asked.

  “No. Not much effort was expended to seek it. He fled into the forests toward Nevar and you know what they are like. The power I unleashed upon him left me shaken at first. The shock soon gave way to elation and then arrogance and hubris with all of the praise that came my way for defeating a Grandmage such as Olk Mirkness. I was one of the luminaries among Arataine’s magic circle until King William passed. His two eldest sons had died and left Malig to take the throne. He had little use for a mage council and abolished it, but he did little to suppress mages. Even so, I knew we would clash if I stayed in Cruxford. I went to Calad and its vibrant culture. Many of us who served on the council did.

  It soon became apparent Malig was a vicious tyrant. When word reached me that Harold sought to usurp his brother, I gladly joined his cause… and then came Sintar. Held by Malig’s forces, the town had fended off several attacks and Lord Arundel wanted the place taken soonest, so I was sent to help.”

  Dech recalled hearing about the town during the Throne War and how most of it was burned to the ground during the fighting, but he said nothing in reply to Dealan.

  She paused as tears began to flow from her eyes. “I destroyed the better part of the place. I didn’t just kill Malig’s fighters, I killed anyone in my path. My arrogance consumed me. Paired with derkunblod, that consumption killed hundreds. Much of it was not direct, but by the fires that took the place, caused by my actions. The town fell and I was once again viewed with awe, but I knew what I had done. I had reveled in the power I held when I defeated Mirkness. I was mad with power by the time I went into Sintar, but after I realized what I had done, I retreated from it. The screams of the dying drove me. I realized I didn’t hold the power, the power held me. When Harold took the throne, I told him of my crime. He was willing to overlook it, but I was past the point of accepting bargains. I was beyond asking for forgiveness. I had killed innocents by the dozen. I faced the headsman’s block without knowing Harold had directed that I be admitted into the order. At first, I considered suicide, but eventually I came to realize I had been presented the opportunity to atone for my misdeeds and I have striven for that ever since. If Olk Mirkness has returned and wields the power I suspect he can, much of the responsibility lies at my feet. He must be stopped.”

  “It’s not just Mirkness and his use of derkunblod,” Dech replied. “It looks like anyone with knowledge of it is being targeted for assassination. Conway Wace and I just returned from Andre Fillister’s tower. He is among those who have died. Might you be one with a target on your back? If so, we can protect you within the fortress or assign knights to the abbey.”

  “Such action is unnecessary. Few know my former identity. Just as Muriel presumed you dead, more believe me to be long deceased. My execution was like the two we brought from Ploene, out of the public eye. Even if they did know, I am quite capable of defending myself. Do we know why those with knowledge of derkunblod are being targeted?”

  “We do not. The council of mages is looking into it as am I, hence the letter from Lord Arundel. There’s more to it than just dark magic. Notes Fillister left seem to hint Mirkness might be seeking to unleash the Cataclysm.”

  Dealan’s brow furrowed as she leaned forward. “One man might do such a thing? I am skeptical, but if so, we must ask why? I understand his pursuit of derkunblod, but why would he initiate a Cataclysm if he can? With the power available to him via darkness and blood… why?” she said with a baffled shake of her head.

  “I do not have an answer for yo
u.”

  “The why of this is important. I will look into this as well before I join you.”

  “Wait, you’re coming with me?”

  “If the numbers of those with knowledge of Olk Mirkness and derkunblod are dwindling, you’ll need me.”

  Dech nodded. “We might at that.”

  “We? You have a force?”

  “You could say that. Irregulars though, not knights. The king did say I might gather what force I may require. Companions from my past have been crossing my path with regularity. I have a feeling they will be joining me—us.” Dech canted his head. “Despite the rules.”

  “Convergences, I thought as much. That is why I pressed earlier. These convergences, do you understand them now?”

  “I can’t say that I do.”

  “The past does not always stay in the past. Our deeds echo forward in our lives and beyond. If Mirkness has returned with derkunblod as his method, that is my past returning. I’m the one that revealed it to him. Your past may be sounding for you as well, but not the resurgence of an old foe.”

  “Allies?”

  “Perhaps. Time will tell. At some point it will become clearer.”

  . . .

  Dech departed and rode the short distance to the Fortress of the Order intent on returning to the abbey in about two weeks and rendezvous with the abbess.

  He rode straight to the Great Keep and left his horses in the care of one of the knights on duty there before traversing the long upward course to the Grand Master’s office. The clerk showed him in immediately.

  “You almost outpaced word from Cruxford of your current mission, Warder,” the Grand Master said when he walked in.

  “I made haste, Grand Master. Time seems to be a factor.”

  “That it does. Missives from King Harold, Lord Arundel, and the His Majesty’s Mage Council arrived just this morning. A credible attempt by Malig Tancar to reclaim the throne underway. Assassinations, dark magic, and even a mention of a Fourth Cataclysm. Arataine’s enemies seem to have a preference for a madman at their throats again rather than a strong and nonbelligerent nation. Malig is reported to be in western Byrmont. Headed for Megium and then Destria to recruit more to his cause and purchase Destrian steel as well I would guess.”

  Dech nodded. “A sound supposition I would say. Do you have orders for me?”

  “None. Pursue the mission King Harold tasked you. Pursue it with your usual doggedness. I am sending some of our brothers to the borders and beyond in hopes we might uncover what transpires. I suggest you rest here tonight. Obtain fresh mounts if needed and depart tomorrow.”

  “My horses are sound, Grand Master, but I will stay here tonight. They, and I, can use the rest.”

  “Bilden Kurt has his charges out on training, but he wanted you to know your efforts with the supplicants bore fruit. All six you worked with survived the Brem Forest. Two were injured, but successful in overcoming their foes and will continue when recovered. A mercy you provided, Warder.”

  “I merely provided instruction. They succeeded because they performed well enough. Their actions saw them through.”

  “An answer I expected. You have my thanks for your efforts. Six that might have perished did not. Six that might serve and atone themselves for their misdeeds. Six that might aid us in days to come. Go rest, Warder, and may the Creator go with you on your task.”

  . . .

  Malig led a long procession of people, animals, and wagons through the gates that marked the borders between Byrmont and Megium. Glaring at the stone-faced guards who watched the motley file of Malig’s would-be invasion force pass by, he soon smiled and then laughed.

  “It’s not long in coming,” he said to no one in particular. “Not long at all.”

  One of the men-at-arms nearest the deposed king asked, “Megium knows of our intent, Sire?”

  Malig threw his head back and laughed again. “They know only what I told their representatives. Grand Duke Peter wishes a port on the Southern Sea, landlocked as he is. For but a promise we ride through and recruit as we please. Queen Alix of Destria is a different matter. She simply wants Arataine’s ruin which she thinks will come when we fight Harold, though she believes me too mad to see.” He laughed loudly yet again. “She shall be disappointed. Later, she’ll regret her aid to us, but she can ponder that from the grave.”

  “When does the Grandmage rejoin, Sire?” asked another of his knights. “Don’t mind saying, Mirkness is a frightening creature.”

  “He is at that,” Malig agreed. “For quite some time I suspected he sought power. He does, but not what you and I might consider it to be. His glowing eyes gaze upon the planes beyond us where he has been for so long.”

  “It’s true, Sire? He dwelled beyond here?”

  “It must be so. Look upon him and doubt it if you will. It serves my purpose. He has his preparations for the coming fight, we have our own. We gather the worst Megium has to offer and acquire Destrian mounts and arms. We gather more fighters in Nevar and prepare our baggage train. We hire mercenary companies. We have the gold and my throne in Cruxford awaits.”

  . . .

  Dech kept to a slow but steady pace, not wishing to push his horses. With many days of travel behind and many more to come, keeping hard and fast trips to a minimum was important for both man and horses. Croton was an easy two days travel north of Creator’s Rock. The most populous town in what was largely a farming area, Croton sat astride a busy crossroad and serviced travelers and locals alike.

  With no city walls or local castle, a King’s Legion contingent, the barony’s knights, and the occasional contrition knight patrol augmented the town guard as the main deterrent against trouble.

  As expected, the King’s Legion personnel were happy to stable the warder’s horses while he was there. After learning the legionnaires had no knowledge of anyone named Granum, Dech left Otto in the care of the legionnaire hostler and headed for the town hall.

  A short, pudgy, smiling man greeted him as he stepped inside, a town alderman named Calen. After Dech asked about Granum, the man’s demeanor changed to one of obvious discomfort.

  “I do not wish to speak ill of the man, so do not think that I am. He lives out of the town proper. Just over the hillocks north near the river. Too many mishaps and other things for his residency within Croton to be… tenable. Most do not like him, but he’s not a bad man, just dangerous. A passable alchemist though.”

  Dech’s look prompted the man to continue.

  “It is my understanding he was once a hedge wizard of some sort, a hermit for some time. Lost his wits eating grubs and toadstools, or so I guess. He has his eccentricities and did conduct some wildly irresponsible experiments when he lived in town, but I hold—”

  “He’s a terrible man,” a passerby said when she overheard the alderman. “A wizard that corrupts the mind and soils the virtue of many a young girl.”

  A man stopped as well and added, “Lives out on the edge of the wilds for a reason. He’s not wanted here.”

  “He caused the sky to rain rats!” said yet another man. “Seen it meself.”

  Calen cleared his throat loudly. “As I said, I hold that he’s not a bad man. He’s just… dangerous.”

  . . .

  Dech rode north and found Granum’s place about two miles from town. Situated between a small lake and a lazy river, the man’s thatched cottage was compact and surrounded by plants of many species edged with a white waist high fence.

  The warder tethered Ridan to the fence after dismounting and entered the gate. As he did, a young woman burst from the cottage in tears and sobbing. She ran past Dech without seeming to notice him.

  A short but stout man with a wild and white mane and beard appeared at the door with an irritated look on his face.

  “What did you expect?” he yelled in a crisp voice. “Next time be prepared. I’m not easily pleased.” His glare shifted from the receding form of the girl to Dech. “And what might you be?”

&nb
sp; “A contrition knight.”

  “Ah, been some time since I’ve seen one of your sort. A leader of some form? Is that what the star means or is it supposed to impress the impressionable?”

  “I am a warder,” Dech said calmly with a tap on the insignia on his chest. “This denotes rank and nothing else.”

  “Thought so. So, Warder of the Contrition Knights, are you here to pass judgment on what you think I did to the girl?”

  Dech shook his head. “I’m neither judge nor priest. What did you do to her?”

  “I told her the truth. It has long been my experience people hate you for such an offense.”

  “Are you Granum?”

  “I am unless you plan on drawing your sword against me.”

  “I have no plan, just questions I hope you might answer.”

  “I have many answers. Perhaps some of them fit your questions. You’re not here to learn magic?”

  “No.”

  “Not here to blame me for failing crops or missing pigs?”

  “No.”

  “Not here to seek education expecting me to do the work for you?”

  “No.”

  “Refreshing, come inside then. Most who visit—like the girl you briefly met—come for one or more of the reasons I mentioned. I was thinking of brewing an herbal infusion. Also refreshing in addition to being quite tasty and rejuvenating as well. Would you like a cup?”

  Despite the comments he had heard in town, Dech found the man appealing. He accepted the offer and followed the man inside. Much like Fillister’s place, Granum had a small area where he could prepare and cook food, and if the various containers, mortars, and retorts that lined shelves and sat on counters were any indication, was also where he created alchemical products.

  “What questions does a warder of contrition knights have for the likes of me?” he said as he snapped his fingers and ignited a small flame beneath a metal framework.

  “The likes of you?” Dech asked.

  “Yes. Misfit and outcast alchemist, scholar, and hedge mage of ill-repute and questionable character,” he said placing a pot of water over the flame. “Name’s Adelbert Granum by the way. Well met.”