Protector's Curse

by Keith Walsh

  “Using the power this place grants you to interfere with the living is… frowned upon, Sister,” came the reply and upon hearing the voice, she knew that her senses had served her well. “Dallious’ mind is fractured right now,” she said, turning to see the white robed and floating figure of Ramous, her guide within the realm of the passing.

  He smiled at her warmly but she looked away, knowing he intended to berate her and not wishing to engage in false pleasantries beforehand.

  “I understan—”

  “I don’t want to hear it,” Sister interrupted. “All I did was grant him some mental strength.”

  “That is all you did today.” replied Ramous. “What of the first time he came here? And of the man Kalen just last night?” Sister locked eyes with her guide. “You know about Kalen?” Ramous’ expression softened and he smiled at her again. “You cannot hide what you do here Sister.”

  “I only awakened some closed memories within him,” she said, by way of defence for her actions. Ramous’ eyes narrowed and his expression intensified. “No. That is all you thought you did. What you actually did was cleanse a very small part of his soul. Kalen will be forever changed because of you.”

  Sister scoffed. “His soul will return to its usual blackened state when next he kills.” Ramous took a deep breath and Sister could see that he fought for calm. “You do not know that,” he said at last. “Interfering with souls beyond saving is not frowned upon… it is outright forbidden.”

  “Then I am to be stripped of my power?” said Sister, defiance in her eyes. Ramous sighed. “You intervened when Dallious first crossed to this realm and I offered you Guidance,” he said. “Then you interfered with Kalen, for reasons I do not wish to know because I granted you anonymity. Now, you give Dallious mental fortitude where he should have none, and this time I am forced to give you warning.”

  Sister’s expression eased. She felt a little ashamed by the admission of Ramous’ patience. She believed her use of power was hidden. However, she had been the one to convince Dallious he needed to go back to the living and she couldn’t abandon him now. Seeing him sit crying so openly and broken in front of those other men melted her heart and she just had to help. It was only a small emotional boost…

  “And yet he almost rounded on the man Magnus,” said Ramous. Sister’s eyes blazed at him then. “Stay out of my thoughts Ramous,” she said, her shame replaced with anger. Ramous bowed his head and placed a hand on his chest by way of apology. “You served your Faith completely in life, Sister,” he said. “Even resisting the ever-powerful pull of true love. It is for that reason you have such pure power here. But as in life, power – even here – can corrupt. And I would truly hate for you to become ‘Fallen’.”

  Sister sighed, allowing it to take her anger with it. She locked eyes with Ramous and smiled warmly and he returned the gesture. “Thank you for all you have done for me here Ramous,” she said and he bowed his head ever so slightly in response. “I do not mean to be ungrateful.” Ramous looked at her like a doting father. “No need to apologise Sister. I understand this is difficult for you bu—”

  Sister cut him off once more. “May I have a moment alone?” Ramous was a little taken aback by the interruption but he also understood Sister’s desire for privacy, considering his earlier violation of her thoughts. “Of course,” he replied and with that his image disappeared in a veil of mist.

  Sister felt torn. Of course she didn’t want to fall foul of corruption or to become a ‘Fallen Angel’. Ramous insisted on calling them ‘Fallen’ because in his view once that happened they no longer deserved to have the word ‘Angel’ associated with them. She understood his point of view but didn’t agree with it. She believed in redemption. Of course considering what she currently contemplated her ideals on redemption were somewhat biased. Kalen was off limits, and she would abide by that.

  In truth she had wanted to fracture his mind by opening up old memories in the hope that they would awaken his long-lost empathy and perhaps, just maybe, give Dallious some even ground. However flawed her logic or hope regarding that, she couldn’t ignore Dallious. He would need guidance.

  She never thought he would lose so much time in the town of Tinnisvale and now that he was so far behind the trail of Kalen or Gallant her interference would be needed once more. She thought back over Ramous’ words. Kalen equalled forbidden. Dallious equalled frowned upon. Okay, so they weren’t his exact words but…

  She had no choice. Her power would be abused at least once more.

  Chapter 16

  Tray in hand, Dallious walked along the hall until he reached the second room on the right as per Grott’s instructions. Once there he leaned against the door and listened carefully, but hearing nothing he gently tapped his stump against it. “Come in,” he heard a voice on the other side say and he made to open the door but cursed in frustration upon realising he had no way of doing so while holding the tray.

  “I’d like to,” he said after a moment, allowing his frustration to pass. “But I have brought some food and I only have one good hand,” he added, leaning toward the door to listen for any movement. He heard a giggle mixed with some hurried shuffling and then the door opened to reveal a smiling Lucy.

  “I’m so sorry,” she said, still smiling but obviously a little embarrassed. “I thought you were my husband, Durok,” she added, one hand on her chest and the other cast out in an apologetic manner. “That’s quite all right,” responded Dallious with a smile of his own. “I brought you some food,” he added, raising the tray slightly.

  “Oh, thank you,” said Lucy, tilting her head and beaming. “Please, let me get that for you,” she offered, reaching out and gently taking the tray from Dallious, who gave no protest. “Thank you,” he said, relieved to be rid of the burden.

  “Please come in,” offered Lucy over her shoulder as she moved to the back of the room to a small table by the wall. Dallious watched her place the food upon it then scanned the room. It was almost identical to his in layout, just slightly bigger. On a single bed by the wall he saw Beth laying on her back, a white cloth resting on her forehead, her eyes closed. “How is she?” he asked in a soft voice.

  Lucy, finished with her previous task, looked to him before replying. She could see the concern in his eyes and also noted the redness around them. Looks like he’s been crying, she thought. “She’s doing well,” she answered at last, deciding not to press any query about her thoughts. “She had a bit of a fever throughout the night but she is much better this morning,” she continued, moving to Beth’s side and lifting the cloth to feel her forehead with the back of her hand.

  “That is good to hear,” responded Dallious, venturing a little closer to the bed and gazing upon the sleeping Beth, seeing the deep gash on her head. “She will be left with a nasty scar,” said Lucy, following Dallious’ line of sight. Dallious didn’t respond right away and Lucy could see him thinking. “Better to live on with a scar than only in the memory of others,” he said, finally.

  Lucy couldn’t help herself smiling upon hearing Dallious’ words and she felt a warm fuzzy feeling come over her. She had misjudged this man – there was clearly more to him then she had given him credit for. “Still…” Lucy began, waiting for Dallious to look at her. “Such a beautiful girl, she is bound to find it difficult to deal with,” she continued, satisfied she had his attention and knowing full well she was baiting him a little.

  “She’s still beautiful,” replied Dallious, his eyes flicking over Beth. “And that scar will only add character,” he finished, smiling warmly at Lucy now, apparently ignorant of her ploy. “She likes you, you know?” revealed Lucy, her smile fading. “I know,” replied Dallious, his demeanour matching Lucy’s. “But my heart belongs to another,” he added, looking away momentarily.

  Unnoticed by Dallious, Lucy slumped a little with disappointment at his words. “…and besides,” said Dallious, straightening, “I am much more her senior,” and with that he turned and started walk
ing towards the door, unsure why he felt the need to say such a thing.

  “You don’t look it,” said Lucy, realising he made to leave and desperate to make him stay because she sensed the doubt in his last statement and knew how much Beth liked him. Dallious stopped but did not turn around. “I mean, you have grey hair and all,” continued Lucy, “but you are a handsome man and your skin does not match that of someone who is old,” she added, still hopeful.

  Dallious stood silently for a moment, his back to Lucy. He looked to his stump and thumbed it with his left hand, then let out an audible sigh. “You are kind to say so,” he said at last, turning his head ever so slightly to speak over his shoulder. “But as I said, my heart belongs to another.” Lucy stood silently for a moment, considering whether to press the matter any further.

  “Thank you again for the food,” she said eventually, her decision made.

  “You’re welcome,” replied Dallious, walking from the room and closing the door gently behind him with his left hand.

  No sooner had he entered the hall he heard his name being shouted and knew instantly that it did not come from the room he had just left. With that realisation he rushed down the hall towards the stairs and as he reached the top he could hear a loud banging coming from below followed by more shouts of his name. Taking two steps at a time he dashed into the tavern bar to find Grott, Magnus and Durok all standing around the main door, listening to someone on the other side knocking feverishly.

  “I think it’s them,” said Grott, looking at Dallious, wide-eyed and fearful. Durok too seemed tense but Magnus just nodded at him and said, “It’s time.”

  “Everyone just relax,” ordered Dallious, taking hold of himself and trying to do the same for the situation. When he heard his name being called he did not think of anything except getting to the caller. Now, seeing everyone okay, he concentrated on regaining his composure. An excited mind does not see things clearly, he told himself.

  “Grott,” came a voice from behind the door as the knocking ceased. The landlord thought he recognised the voice but wanted to be sure. “Shaper, is that you?” he asked, his head moving instinctively towards the door in anticipation of a reply.

  “Grott… yes it’s me,” responded Shaper. “Why the hell did you take so long to answer?” he continued. Upon hearing the name, Durok cast his eyes to the ceiling and shook his head with a rueful smile. Grott acknowledged the blacksmith’s reaction with a flash of his eyes. “What the hell do you want?” asked Grott, clearly agitated now. “You nearly scared us half to death,” he added, before Shaper could offer any explanation.

  “They’re coming,” said Shaper. “Open the door will you?” he continued, urgency in his voice. Grott hesitated for a moment, eyeing his companions to not only gage their reactions but to see if they offered any objections. Durok and Magnus just nodded but Dallious spoke, “Let him in.”

  “Are you alone?” asked Grott, choosing to err on the side of caution. “No, I have the whole Watch with me…” answered Shaper in a sarcastic tone. “Of course I’m alone. Now open the damn door,” he added, his frustration clear. Grott thought for a moment. Most of the town knew Shaper but Grott never found out the man’s real name despite being friends. In truth he didn’t know of anyone who did. He acquired the nickname based solely on the fact he was usually up to no good and knew things he shouldn’t about everyone and everything in regards to the town. But in saying all that, he had no love for the Manson brothers or the Watch so in this case he could be trusted… probably.

  “Grott?” said Shaper, impatiently. With his decision finally made, Grott slid back the top and bottom bolts of the door to the tavern and then opened the main lock using his key. Then he pulled it slightly ajar and peered out to find only the cloak-wearing slight figure of Shaper. “What the hell is the matter with you Grott?” said Shaper angrily, while pushing the door fully open and barging past Grott.

  “I came here to help you and you leave me standing out there long enough for someone to see me,” he continued, while closing the door and bolting it shut. Grott stood in bewilderment for a moment before finally responding, “I thought you were the Manson brothers…”

  “Yes, because I clearly sounded like them,” answered Shaper sarcastically, still rising from securing the bottom bolt and locking eyes with Grott briefly before turning on his heels and making towards the bar. He completely ignored the other men in the room who all stared at him in silence. The man pushed open the door to the kitchen and disappeared from sight.

  Magnus and Durok just looked at each other, hands thrown wide, clearly confused. Grott hobbled as quickly as he could towards the kitchen, eager to see what Shaper could be getting up to but guessing he most likely just helped himself to an ale from one of the barrels there. Before he reached the kitchen door, it opened slightly and Shaper’s head appeared from behind it. “Keys,” he said, moving half his body out from the door and gesturing to Grott.

  “What are you up to Shaper?” asked Grott suspiciously, making no move to hand over any keys – a lack of action that clearly frustrated Shaper who moved towards him now. “We don’t have time for this Grott,” said Shaper, snapping the fingers of his right hand in front of Grott’s eyes, causing the tavern keeper to blink, while his left snaked the keys from the man’s belt.

  Grott stood still for a moment, his hands searching for his keys, before not finding any brought realisation of what had just happened. “You sly git,” shouted Grott, making angrily towards Shaper, who used the keys to unlock the back door from the kitchen to the alley beyond. Could have just used a lock pick, thought Shaper, but why risk breaking one when the keys are so readily available?

  Grott spotted a wry smile appear on Shaper’s face and noted the fact the little man ignored his protest. Door now open, Shaper lifted a tied bundle from the alley and moved it into the kitchen before closing the door swiftly and beginning to lock it again. Then he felt Grott’s powerful hands grab a hold of him.

  “What the hell are you playing at Shaper?” asked Grott, spinning the little man around and grabbing his cloak roughly, pinning him against the door with both hands. “Easy Grott,” replied Shaper, with some difficulty, while holding up the keys he had acquired and waving them in front of the tavern keeper’s face. He knew full well it would take Grott’s attention away from strangling him to getting the keys back, but it was a ploy that did not immediately work.

  “This looks interesting,” came a voice from behind Grott, and he turned his head to see it was Dallious. Only then did he release the submissive Shaper. “Stole my keys,” offered Grott, as if that explained everything. He then snatched them back from Shaper, who was still holding them high. No sooner had the acquired keys been returned then Shaper bent down, picked up the tied bundle he had taken in from the alley and started back towards the tavern bar.

  Dallious gave the tavern keeper an incredulous look. “Don’t ask,” said Grott, noting the expression and rolling his eyes. Glancing quickly at the door to the alley and satisfied that Shaper had locked it properly, Grott turned once again to Dallious and gestured for him to return to the bar. Dallious obeyed and entering the room he saw Magnus and Durok standing beside the figure of Shaper, eagerly watching whatever the little man had put on the table in front of him.

  Close enough to peer over Shaper’s shoulder now, Dallious could see a selection of weapons from the bundle that now lay open on the table. “I thought you might have a use for these,” said Shaper, tucking the dagger he had used to cut the bundle open back under his cloak. “These are from my forge,” said Durok, being the first to pick up one of the weapons on display and inspecting it carefully before glaring at the little man.

  “Ah yes,” replied Shaper, trying sheepishly to avoid the blacksmith’s fierce gaze. “About that…” he continued, searching for the right words. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about your… security,” he decided on finally, moving slyly around to the other side of the table from Durok, knowing it could buy
him vital seconds to avoid the blacksmith should it come to that.

  “The table won’t save you Shaper,” warned Durok, noting the movement, eyes still blazing. “You better not have caused any damage,” continued the blacksmith. “Well… the iron bars on the windows caused a small problem,” replied Shaper, “but I only had to remove two of them and you are a blacksmith after all,” he added quickly, examining the reaction his words were having on Durok and choosing to get to the point as quickly as possible.

  Durok made towards Shaper for a moment but Magnus’ laughter stopped him. “He has a point,” said Magnus, smiling. “You are a blacksmith, the repairs should be easy and we do need weapons,” he finished, noting the somewhat wounded look on Durok’s face. “Aye, I suppose,” replied the big man, accepting the logic but still visibly annoyed. “But make no mistake – we shall be having that chat, Shaper,” he added, staring at the little man and pointing his newly acquired sword menacingly.

  “Of course,” said Shaper in a less than convincing tone, while half-bowing. “So what have we got here?” queried Grott, eager to interrupt and to see what weapons had been brought. He had always liked a good weighty club. Crowd control was often needed in his profession, but killing people didn’t help business so he had grown fond of a good daze-inducing instrument. He thought it a shame that the Watch didn’t allow any weapons other than a dagger in town, other than what the Watch themselves chose to use. It was a fact their little group had failed to remember when setting up to defend against the Manson brothers this morning.

  Shaper really had come through for them, and without being involved or asked. Knows everyone and everything in town and has no love for the Manson brothers, thought Grott briefly before spotting and reaching for a studded mace. Magnus lifted a one-handed axe from the table and eyed it with some disapproval but seeing nothing better decided it would do.