Soldiers of the Crown

by Stephen L. Nowland

  “It is a rather delicate matter, sir knight, and I would beg your indulgence. Olivia? Come and speak to Sir William, if you please?” Ashwyn called to another robed priest nearby, who walked over and conferred with him in whispered conversation for a few moments. She was a plain looking woman, thin, with brown hair and small brown eyes.

  “I demand to know what is going on here, at once,” Sir William barked. “Your conduct is reprehensible sir, and I shall take this matter to the highest office if I this veil of secrecy is not lifted immediately.”

  “Sir William,” the priestess named Olivia addressed him delicately, “you will understand the nature of our reluctance when I tell you of what has happened. Please, step this way and I shall tell you in private.”

  “That’s more like it,” the knight replied gruffly. “Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, while I get to the bottom of this nonsense.” As the two of them walked away to speak in private, Ashwyn motioned for Aiden to walk with him in a different direction.

  Curious about what was happening with this patriarch, Aiden gave Pacian a meaningful look. Pacian nodded slightly, then began sauntering innocently over to where Sir William was engaging in a quiet yet heated discussion with the Archioness.

  “So, Aiden,” Ashwyn began, probably wondering how to start a conversation that involved asking ‘did you meet God?’ “Nellise tells me that during a terrible fight, you were mortally wounded.”

  “I prefer to think of it as ‘knocked down’,” Aiden replied. He was attempting to dispel Nellise’s opinion that God had sent him back from heaven.

  “Although I am rather unfamiliar with battle, it is not so difficult to believe that an axe lodged into one’s forehead would indeed be fatal,” Ashwyn countered. “Nellise’s companions saw you fall, so I am left to ponder the implications of you standing here before me, drawing breath.”

  He leaned in closer and looked carefully at Aiden’s forehead. “I see a slight scar running vertically down from your hairline, which would appear to be compelling evidence that you did indeed take a mortal blow during the fight. Can you tell me what you experienced after that moment?”

  “Darkness,” Aiden replied flatly. This was a surprisingly unpleasant area of discussion for him. “Then I awoke on the cold ground, in pain but determined to rescue my friends.” Ashwyn rubbed his chin thoughtfully, pondering Aiden’s words.

  “A curious recounting, Aiden. I sense no duplicity from you, yet I cannot help but feel you are holding things back.”

  “If it helps at all, one of my other companions believes I am in the thrall of a dark, extra-dimensional entity that eats souls,” Aiden confided sarcastically.

  “Such things are not beyond the realms of possibility, but let us restrict ourselves to the facts from your perspective, shall we?” Ashwyn replied smoothly.

  “When I awoke the axe wasn’t lodged into my head,” Aiden explained, playing with the truth a little, “so I’m certain the blow simply knocked me out. Honestly, I don’t know what happened, but I definitely did not run into God while I was unconscious.”

  “That, I can believe,” came the reply, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “Tell me, have you had much contact with the Church in your life?”

  “A small chapel in Coldstream held services once a week,” Aiden explained. “I found myself up to my nose in books for the most part and never seemed to find the time to attend.”

  “I see,” Ashwyn nodded sagely. “The loss is yours, but I must confess that we are still having difficulty getting our message out to people in the frontier towns. The old religions such as the druidic worship of Gaea hold much sway with country folk, so I can’t really blame you for your indifference.” The priest glanced around briefly then took a step closer to Aiden. “Before I let you go, I wanted to ask you about Nellise.”

  “What would you like to know?”

  “I am concerned about her attitude,” Ashwyn began, “especially since her recent experiences. Have you noticed a change in her personality of late?”

  “Very much so, though it’s perfectly understandable,” Aiden replied. “She did tell you everything, right?”

  “I’m afraid so,” the priest sighed. “It must have been terrible for her, and this is the reason I ask you for your perspective on her conduct.” Aiden considered this for a moment.

  “When we first met, she was very pleasant and compassionate, almost to a fault,” he told the priest. “Ever since that foray into Akoran lands, she has been more pensive, but more confident in a way too, particularly with the idea that she must protect the innocent. How is that a bad thing?”

  “The fear explains her increasing interest in weaponry,” Ashwyn mused. “Unfortunately, when one is clouded with doubt, anger and fear, one is less likely to channel the power of the divine, as well.”

  “Are you saying that a priest’s ability to heal can be compromised?”

  “One must be in a state of complete peace when communing with God, to allow the divine light to flow into the world,” Ashwyn said. “We must push aside doubt and anger, and above all, we must have faith. This is one of the reasons we of the Resolute Heralds frown upon taking up arms, Aiden. The destruction of another life, even in the cause of good, stains the soul. Other chapters feel differently about this, of course, and there are even those in our own ranks who question the path we walk, but I believe it is a righteous one, regardless of those who might seek a return to a more… militant approach to the faith.”

  “I take it you are referring to the situation a little over a hundred years ago, when the church had more power than the King,” Aiden stated, and received a nod from the priest in reply.

  “You have no idea of the magnitude of our shame,” Ashwyn said quietly. “The clergy at the time abused their power, and many suffered needlessly as a result. It took years for the people to trust the Church again after that, and we cannot squander that trust by taking up arms, for whatever reason.”

  “Have you told her this?” Aiden asked.

  “Of course,” the priest confirmed. “She has been somewhat difficult to read, as it were, and I needed more information in order to…” Ashwyn’s voice trailed off as his attention was drawn to a scene across the hall. Aiden turned to look, and saw Sir William and Pacian, along with the priestess Olivia, at a stone door. It seemed that Olivia was trying to prevent Sir William from opening it, and the old knight was having none of it.

  “Good heavens, they’re trying to enter the mausoleum,” Ashwyn breathed, and quickly rushed across the hallway with Aiden following closely behind. As they closed in, the heated discussion going on with hushed voices could be heard.

  “Sir William, please,” begged the priestess, “this door must remain closed.”

  “If my old friend is being kept in there, then that is where I am going,” he said stubbornly. “Stand aside, madam, or I shall be forced to remove you.”

  “Wait a minute, what’s going on here?” Aiden asked as Ashwyn moved to stand by the distressed Olivia.

  “Patriarch Elward is ill, and for some reason the Church is trying to keep it quiet,” Sir William complained. “I honestly don’t care about the need for discretion, as I have given my word of honour that I shall not discuss whatever secrets are being kept, but trying to prevent me from seeing my old friend in a time of need is intolerable.”

  “I thought you clerics could heal anything,” Pacian inquired. Aiden had wanted him to be discreet, but the situation had obviously gone far past that point.

  “Unfortunately, the patriarch is neither diseased nor wounded,” Ashwyn replied, attempting to placate the enraged knight. “His affliction is that which affects so many of his age — a gradual erosion of his faculties beyond our ability to treat. We do what we can for such people. Often we can only care for them until the end comes. This case, however, is different.”

  “How so?” Aiden asked.

  “For the past few months, Corvyn’s mind has been slipping,” Ashwyn continued. “He would oft
en forget where he was, and even believe that he was reliving some of his youth. Lately though, he began speaking of his ancestor, Sir Marcus Elward, with remarkable single-mindedness.”

  “I’m not familiar with the name, is it relevant?” Pacian inquired.

  “Sir Marcus was squire to Alaric Roebec, the first King of Aielund,” Ashwyn explained. “He went on to become an important ally of the king, and the first knight of the realm. Later in his life he was blessed by the angel Kylaris with a sword of light, Solas Aingeal, which he used to battle a demon that had been loosed upon the world by an insane sorcerer, at the cost of his life.”

  “Oh that Sir Marcus,” Pacian exclaimed facetiously. “Yes, who hasn’t heard that story and been influenced by it. Inspiring stuff.”

  “What has this to do with Corvyn?” Sir William asked, ignoring Pacian. Ashwyn exchanged a hesitant glance with Olivia before responding.

  “It is the patriarch’s twisted belief that King Alaric Roebec is returning from a long journey, and that he will want to see his old friend Sir Marcus once more,” the priest said in a low voice. “He has locked himself into the mausoleum beneath the cathedral to… ‘talk’ with his dead ancestor.”

  “And you’re allowing this to continue?” Sir William exclaimed loudly, garnering the attention of everyone in the cathedral.

  “We will get to him in due course, Sir Knight,” Ashwyn informed him curtly. “A missive has been sent to the Holy Inquisitors, who will send a team to go in and retrieve Corvyn. And with respect, sir, this is an internal matter that we will handle ourselves.” Sir William pushed the priests aside and tried to open the door via a heavy metal handle. It was indeed locked, and it appeared the knight was about to consider breaking down the door when Pacian put a hand on his shoulder.

  “Before you do yourself an injury trying to smash through a stone door, allow me to try,” he advised. Sir William stepped aside, keeping the priests at bay with an outstretched hand while Pacian retrieved some small metal tools from a pouch on his belt, then set to work on the lock. A satisfying click could be heard from the mechanism shortly thereafter, and he quickly operated the door handle and pulled the heavy door open.

  “I was considering retaining the services of a locksmith to get that open,” the knight breathed with surprise, “but I see you are more than qualified for such tasks.”

  “Yes, because as it happens, I am a professional locksmith,” Pacian replied smoothly. “It’s what I do. I… smith locks.”

  “What is going on over here?” Nellise asked as she and Valennia approached, peering over Aiden’s shoulder. He gave her a quick rundown on what had transpired.

  “Respectfully, Archon,” Nellise said to the priest, “the situation should never have been allowed to progress this far. The poor man obviously needs constant care.”

  “I don’t disagree with you Nellise, yet he proved to be quite a handful to deal with,” Ashwyn replied, his hands fidgeting nervously, a giveaway that not everything was as they were being told.

  “We can assign blame for this fiasco later,” Sir William interrupted. “I shall go into the mausoleum and retrieve the old chap before he hurts himself.”

  “You might want to hold off on that a moment,” Aiden suggested. “The Archon has something important he’s not telling us.” Ashwyn’s calm exterior gave way to his inner feelings, as his face turned drained of colour.

  “What’s do you mean?” Sir William asked gruffly, impatient to be off.

  “Close that door at once,” the Archon demanded in a shaking voice.

  “Not until Corvyn has been safely retrieved,” the knight replied obstinately.

  “You don’t understand. On his way to the mausoleum last night, the patriarch stopped by a secure room and retrieved one of the relics kept under lock and key.”

  “Just a moment, Sir William,” Nellise interrupted. “Archon, are you referring to the Vault of Damnation?”

  “Of course, I am,” the priest replied curtly. “The patriarch, in his deranged state, has taken one of the forbidden tomes from the vault and locked himself into the mausoleum.”

  “Stop talking in riddles!” Valennia blurted suddenly. “Speak plainly, so that we might understand what in the hell you are talking about.”

  “The patriarch has taken the Tome of Reanimation,” the Archon spoke quietly, “a vile work containing unspeakable rites, created by the necromancer Aeldrith nearly two hundred years ago. His intent was to raise the dead from their eternal rest and create an army with which to destroy the realm.”

  “That is only a legend,” Nellise protested. “There is no coming back from the dead, save for the intervention of God.”

  “From what our scholars have deduced, whatever is brought across from the other side is not the same soul that once resided in a given body,” the Archon explained. “This tome merely substitutes another entity to use the remains as a sort of unholy puppet — the undead. The Church confiscated the tome after vanquishing the necromancer, and it has lain here in the vault ever since.”

  “Why would you not destroy such a vile relic?” Sir William balked.

  “We’ve tried,” Ashwyn explained. “As far as we have been able to determine, it cannot be destroyed. And given the patriarch’s mental state, I fear the worst.”

  “I may regret asking this,” Aiden inquired, licking his lips in consternation, “but what exactly do you mean by ‘the worst’?”

  “He has, in that tome, the power to reanimate every one of the dead priests in the mausoleum to do his bidding, as well as the body of Sir Marcus himself,” the priest said, each word heavy with conviction. The entire group turned to look deep into the darkness of the mausoleum and Aiden’s imagination started to run wild.

  “We have to stop him, immediately,” Nellise breathed. “I’ll get my equipment.”

  “Nellise, wait!” Ashwyn said, snapping out of his horrified trance. “It is not your place to fight, even against horrors such as this. Your companions are more than capable of meeting this challenge — you merely need to support them, as is our place.” Nellise stopped walking and turned to face the Archon, a look of incredulity on her features. Aiden, who had come to know Nellise quite well over these last few weeks, knew with some degree of satisfaction that Ashwyn wasn’t going to like the response.

  “I will not ask others to risk what I would not face myself,” she stated with intensity. “Too many have died because of our pacifist ways, Archon, and I will not stand by while my companions walk into danger.”

  “This is not our way,” the priest warned darkly. “You risk expulsion from our chapter with your actions, Nellise. Think of our history — think of why we chose to step back from military actions. Do not throw away a promising future because of your recent trauma, Sarient,” he advised, referring to her rank within the church. “Have faith that God will put the right people in the right place at the right time.”

  “I am where I need to be, and I will do what my conscience demands,” the young cleric said, appearing resolute and calm in the face of adversity. “The Church is responsible for what is about to take place. We need to ensure the safety of the community — that is all that matters.” With that, she strode purposefully out of the front doors of the church, to the astonishment of most within the cathedral, but the admiration of Aiden and his companions.

  Chapter Nine

  “Everyone, please remain calm!” Archon Price called to the dozens of people milling around inside the cathedral who’d overheard most of what Aiden and the others had been discussing. Half a dozen acolytes arrived to help calm the crowd, and slowly began herding them towards the entrance.

  While that was happening, Sir William had drawn his sword and shield and was limbering up in preparation for a potential fight. Valennia had drawn her weapon as well, a lochaber axe with a huge, single cutting edge, mounted on a shortened handle that did little to diminish its impressive size. The demeanour of the two warriors was one of cool detachment, in stark cont
rast to Aiden and Pacian’s barely controlled fear.

  Taking out the scrolls he’d “liberated” from Alan Leonson’s drawers, Aiden flipped through them to see what sort of incantations he’d stolen. A quick study of the runes indicated that the first one he looked at was basically the same as the spectral armour he’d used before, back in the Akoran cave.

  One of them was imbued with powerful runes of destruction, which would summon lightning in the same way that he’d seen enemy wizards do in the recent past. This was the sort of thing he was hoping to eventually find, since his swordsmanship was barely adequate and he needed an edge.

  “Perhaps I should close the door while we wait,” Pacian mused, catching Aiden’s attention. It wasn’t what he’d said though, it was how he said it — the blond rogue was deathly afraid of something, and looking at the darkness beyond the door, Aiden could see what it was.

  A pair of pale blue eyes was looking out at them, glowing faintly in the dark. Light from the cathedral reflected off them, which stared without blinking and contained no life. The echo of shuffling sounds could be heard from the mausoleum, and it was clear that their worst fears had come to pass — the patriarch had enacted the rites to bring his deceased brethren back, though only as a pale mockery of life.

  “Close it, quickly!” Aiden breathed, his pulse racing and his hands clammy from the tension. Pacian stood unmoving, frozen to the spot, staring back at the approaching horror until Valennia slammed the door shut and leaned against it to hold it in place.

  “We should not wait for Nellise,” she advised, “let us enter this pit of horrors and slay the mad priest without delay!”

  “We are not slaying Corvyn,” Sir William protested. “We will get him out of that tomb and return him to custody where he can be cared for.” A heavy thump at the door almost knocked Valennia from her feet. Sir William added his weight, leaning against the stone door in an effort to keep it closed. The crowd of people making their way out of the cathedral saw this and panicked, stampeding out the door and almost crushing some unfortunate priests in the process.