They looked at him as though he were mad. Sometimes he forgot that he had kept his past steeped in mystery. He looked at them, being sure to catch their eyes.
“I am a Nightblade, or more accurately was a Nightblade. I have lived amongst you these past few years, hoping to enjoy my retirement, but alas it seems fate has other plans for me.”
Walking over to the door, he pressed an ear to the wood. The banging had stopped. Just as he had predicted, the Ghouls had shambled off to seek shelter from the sunlight. Carefully, he unbolted door and pulled it open.
“Whatever you see or hear, do not stop. Get out of town and raise the alarm,” Alther said as they slipped out of the inn.
Together, they hurried to the bridge that marked the fork in the road. Erin hugged Alther tightly and wished him well before she joined the others in hurrying down the road that led out of town. Taking a deep breath, Alther took the road into town, Oscar close at his heels.
He moved cautiously towards his house. As he passed a house standing at the edge of the stream that flowed through the town, he heard the unmistakably disturbing sounds of something or someone being devoured. Foul slurping noises were coming from the other side of a smashed in the doorway. Oscar stared at the door and began to growl. Alther reached down and patted the dog.
“Not now boy,” he whispered.
The last thing he needed was to antagonise any Ghouls. Even though the sun was growing in strength, a Ghouls desire to feed would often outweigh its fear of the light.
Alther gripped the dog by the collar and scooped it up into his arms. He picked up the pace and passed by more houses with broken doors and windows. Eventually, he reached the small island with the rune stone. Bloody handprints were upon its stony surface and the body of one of the villagers was lying face down in the river. The sense of unease grew as he turned up the path to his cottage. The front door was ajar. Alther swore under his breath and placed Oscar back down on the ground.
“Stay here, boy, and bark if anything comes down the road,” he said as he tied Oscar’s lead to the gate post.
He loosened his shoulders as much as he was able and cursed his old age. Back in his heyday, a Ghoul would have been little trouble, but now even one weakened by the sun would likely prove a challenge. He had to get his Tourmaline sword; with it he would be able to dispatch them with relative ease. The magic that powered the blade was the bane of such creatures. Cautiously, he walked up the garden path and carefully pushed open the front door. He winced as it made its characteristic squeak. He cursed himself for not getting around to oiling the iron hinges.
The small living area was bathed in shadow as the light filtered in through the windows. He glanced to his left and then his right. It was empty. He took a step forward and froze. A soft moan came from the kitchen, the room next to the bedroom where his sword was. He closed his eyes and muttered an incantation. Magic flowed through his body and soon the muffle spell took effect. The alteration spell would allow him to move quietly through the house without disturbing the Ghoul. He opened his eyes again and almost staggered. Casting spells was exhausting at his age and he was out of practice. As quickly as he dared, he moved into the bedroom. To his relief, the sword was where he had left it. He scooped it up from the chest at the end of the bed and offered a prayer to Niveren in thanks.
Suddenly, Oscar started barking loudly from outside.
Immediately, the Ghoul that was in the kitchen began to move. A loud clattering noise echoed throughout the cottage as the creature knocked a pan off of the stove and onto the stone floor. It moaned loudly as it was drawn to the dog’s yapping. Alther waited for the Ghoul to pass the doorway and watched as it pawed the front door open. From the clothes it was wearing, he could tell that the Ghoul had been a man, probably one of the tanner’s apprentices. Oscar’s barking grew more panicked as the dog spotted the danger, the noise only excited the drooling undead more. The Ghoul stepped outside and recoiled as the sun’s light struck its skin. Now was Alther’s chance.
With it momentarily stunned, the Nightblade summoned his blade to life and dashed forward. With a savage thrust, the magical sword pierced the Ghoul’s torso and sent it to its knees. Alther swung again, this time removing its snarling head from its shoulders. With the Ghoul neutralised, Alther looked up to see another Ghoul shambling up the road towards Oscar. It was hungry, and even the light would not stop it from sating its hunger. Fortunately for the little dog and the old Nightblade, the sun’s ability to weaken the undead meant that the Ghouls could only move at a slow walking pace. If it was night time, then it would have been a whole different story.
Alther quickly unhooked Oscar’s lead from the post and headed back down the road. He had to reach the building that had been sending signals the previous night. If the town of Midlake was to stand a chance, any survivors would have to band together. It would take least two days for Erin and the others to reach the nearest Legion outpost, and that all depended on them not falling foul of anything on the roads. Bandits and other foul things dwelled in the forest.
Circling back the way he had come, he once again reached the rune stone. The body of the villager he had passed previously had gone. He sighed sadly. The cursed magic within the Ghouls had no doubt reanimated the corpse. A splashing confirmed his fears. The poor thing that had once been a woman was staggering about like a drunk in the flowing water. Its skin was smoking where the light touched it and it was disorientated. Alther noticed that its right foot was trapped under a stone – it wouldn’t be going anywhere in a hurry. He moved on until he arrived at the crossroads that led to farmer Sammi’s fields in one direction, and into the town in the other. He chose the latter route and moved as quickly and as quietly as he could. The main street was a scene of utter carnage.
Shop doors had been smashed down, windows had been shattered and bloody footprints led off in all directions.
Alther tilted his head to listen. Sure enough, he heard shuffling sounds coming from within the buildings. The Ghouls were hiding from the light. Ahead of him was the large stone building of the town hall. He moved over to the heavy oak doors that were covered in marks where the Ghouls had tried to claw their way inside. He gently knocked on the wood and tensed. No Ghouls emerged from their hiding places, but he’d also not had any response from within.
He tried again. This time, a moan emanated from one of the buildings. Another sounded and then another. The moans grew in volume until they reverberated around the town square. Panic filled Alther as Oscar began to bark. He began to bang loudly on the doors. Shambling figures began to emerge from the damaged shops and buildings. He pressed his back against the doors and with a snap-hiss, the Tourmaline blade came to life. He’d never be able to fight them all. The moaning had now reached a near deafening pitch.
“Let me in! It’s Alther!” he shouted, all pretence at stealth now forgotten.
Grasping hands were raised out in front of the undead as they moved like an unstoppable tide of death towards him. He lashed out with his sword, slicing off the nearest Ghoul’s arm at the elbow. He slashed again, sending another tumbling to the ground. The moaning was now deafening.
But then the heavy doors opened and strong hands grabbed Alther by the shoulders. He felt himself being pulled backwards. He lost his footing and fell with a thud onto the cold hard stone.
“Get those doors closed now” shouted a strong voice.
Oscar darted inside just as the doors were pushed shut.
Alther gasped in relief and took the hand that was offered to him. He looked up at the Marshal. His two deputies barricading the door, and the mayor and a group of petrified townsfolk stood further inside the hall.
“You’re a crazy old man, Alther,” the Marshal said with a smile.
“The crowds fell silent as Aljeron spoke. ‘A plan I have, one that all men must help me fulfil. I shall close the rift and these centuries of darkness shall end.’ No one believed his words then, much to their shame.”
– a
passage from Aljeron the First Wizard.
15.
Ferran and Sophia had been on the road south for most of the day. The sun was beginning to dip lower on the horizon and large black roiling clouds promised rain. Their cloaks were covered in dust from the road and their horses were panting heavily from the fast pace of the ride. They had covered twenty miles in one day, and both beasts and riders were close to exhaustion. Fortunately, they were close to the rune stone at the mounds of Dunil. Ferran led the way down the well-worn dirt track that led off the paved road and towards the mounds that had been a mystery to the denizens of Delfinnia for centuries. Some scholars from Caldaria had excavated the mounds a few years previously, and their findings had only added to their mystery.
Strange artefacts belonging to a long-lost civilisation had been discovered, artefacts that had been found nowhere else on the continent. Some of the mages had suggested that the builders of the mounds may have come to the world via magical portals and were stranded long ago. Ferran had only visited the mounds a handful of times over the years; he had no idea who or what had created them, and he didn’t particularly care. All he cared about was that the rune stone there would offer them protection from the Beasts of the Void.
They tethered their horses to one of the boulders that lay scattered on the mounds and set up camp at the base of the rune stone. Attacks from Fell Beasts in this part of the realm were rare thanks to the regular patrols of the Legion, Knights of Niveren and Rangers of the Westerlands.
Ferran soon had a campfire blazing and sat down next to the warm flames. Sophia, meanwhile, tended to the horses. He watched her.
“How can the daughter of Elias Cunning be so kind?” he wondered. Sophia was singing a song to her horse as she brushed its hair. Her eyes were full of life and kindness, a sharp contrast to those of her father’s.
Ferran wasn’t sure how he felt about her. She was the daughter of the man who had burned his mother at the stake and forced him to flee his homeland, and yet she had saved his life several times. He wondered if she knew who he was. Had Elias ever told her of what he did to Blackmoor and many other towns and cities? Had he ever told her of the hundreds of innocent people he had condemned to death simply because they possessed some magical ability?
She glanced over at him and smiled as their eyes met through the flames. He smiled in return. He’d noticed her looking at him as they had ridden throughout the day. There was an attraction, of that there was no doubt. She was beautiful, but it was her personality that intrigued him. When they had first met and she told him who she was, he had instantly been wary of her, but as the length of time they had shared together had grown he felt himself become more relaxed. For the first time in many years, he had felt at ease. She was kind, and yet fierce when provoked. Her skills in healing and combat had surprised him, but above all it was her sharp wit that he found most attractive. He coughed as he realised that he’d been staring at her, then chuckled as he felt his face flush hot from embarrassment.
“Ferran?”
He looked up to see Sophia stood over him. Before he could respond she was on him. Her soft lips pressing hard against his own. The initial surprise he felt was quickly replaced by a fierce passion as he kissed her back strongly. Soon her hands were pulling at his clothes and his did likewise to hers.
In the long grass of the mysterious mounds, the Nightblade and Witch Hunter made love. His moans of arousal mixed with hers throughout the night.
* * *
Ferran winced as he opened his eyes. The world swam before him as his vision blurred. Panic filled him as he realised that his hands were tied. He was lying on a large comfortable bed in a room that looked as though it belonged to some lord. He had never seen such an impressively decorated place before, and the feeling of the bed was an alien one. His years on the streets had seen him and the other children sleep on cold, hard floors. A heavy door made of what looked like highly expensive Retbit pine opened with a clunk, and in walked one of the men who had abducted him. Upon seeing him, Ferran began to struggle against his bonds.
“Keep away from me!”
The man in black ignored his request. Instead, he pointed a finger at the bonds and muttered something under his breath. To Ferran’s surprise, the bonds loosened until they fell away from his wrists.
“My name is Alther. I am a Nightblade. You are in the mage city of Caldaria, where you will be tested.”
Ferran glared at the man. Caldaria? Was he mad?
“What do you mean, ‘tested’?” he asked nervously.
Alther sighed and sat at the end of the bed.
“I will explain everything to you in time, but what I can say is that I believe that you possess the gift.”
“What gift?”
A thin smile crossed Alther’s lips. Ferran thought he could see a hint of sadness in the Nightblades eyes.
“The gift of magic. Magic flows through bloodlines and I believe that you have it within you. Magic Wielders are safe in Caldaria. Outside, however, is a very different story. Witch Hunters terrorise those with the gift – even those people unaware that they even possess it.”
Alther rose and headed for the door. Before leaving, he looked at Ferran.
“Get some rest. Your test will begin in the morning.”
“What happens if I pass this test?” Ferran asked.
Alther fixed the boy with a hard stare.
“If you pass then you will become a student of the mages. You will learn to control your magic and will live out the rest of your days in this city.”
“… and if I fail?”
Alther’s expression darkened.
“If you fail, you will be cast out of this city and will be returned to your life in the slums of Ridderford, where you are not likely to live for long.”
* * *
Ferran opened his eyes. It was now dawn. Birdsong greeted the rising sun, and a thin layer of mist that would soon be burned away by Esperia’s sun lay over the mounds. The smell of cooking bacon filled his nostrils and his stomach growled. The night’s activities had given him an appetite the likes of which he had not felt for a long time. Slowly he rose into a sitting position and smiled. Sophia was stood over the campfire with a pan in one hand and a skillet in the other. She wore a thin blanket over her otherwise naked body. Upon seeing her long legs, Ferran felt his appetite for something other than food rise.
“You’re awake at last,” Sophia said with a coy smile.
“Awake and famished.”
“For food or for me?”
“Both”
Sophia laughed and brought the now cooked bacon over to their makeshift bed. They had made love under the stars; it was a moment neither of them would ever forget. She scooped out the cooked meat and handed Ferran a fork from her travel bag. She then joined him, and the two of them ate as though they were both famished.
“I wish we had time for both,” Sophia said as Ferran kissed her neck.
“Well, then we’d better solve this mystery of ours quickly so we can get back to it,” Ferran growled.
After they ate breakfast, they both got dressed. Sophia helped her new lover put on his leather armour. It was still early by the time they got back onto the road south.
“I reckon we should reach Midlake by evening if we match the same pace as yesterday,” Ferran said.
“With sword and magic, they fight, these Hunters of monsters both Fell and cursed. The gift of Aljeron were they – his Nightblades.”
– A History of Esperia, Volume ii
16.
The sun was low in the sky by the time they reached the Lakelands. In the distance, Ferran could see the huge lake of Estran, its waters shimmering orange as the sun set. To the south were the lesser lakes and the small town of Midlake.
Smoke was rising from burning buildings, filling the Nightblade with concern for his old mentor. Seeing the look of worry on his face, Sophia reached over to squeeze his hand. He smiled weakly at her, before narrowing his eyes and
focusing on the town. From this distance, all he could see was the rising smoke. He reached into a pouch on his belt and took a phial containing a green liquid out of it. He popped the stopper and drank the bitter-tasting contents. Almost immediately, his eyes began to sting as the magnification potion took effect. The world spun for a moment, before his vision became as clear as that of the pure waters of the nearby lake Estran.
Ferran often described the potion’s effect as that of gaining the eyes of a falcon on the hunt. Focusing his gaze on the burning town in the distance, he could now see all that was occurring. He could now see the horrendous damage that had befallen the town’s buildings, and observe the shambling figures that now roamed its streets.
“Undead,” he muttered.
At hearing the word, Sophia loosened her silver knife in its scabbard and strapped a quiver full of silver-tipped arrows to her back.
The figures were all slowly heading in the same direction, towards a large stone structure located in the town’s square. He pointed to the building.
“Judging by the numbers, I’d say most of the population has been turned. There must be survivors in that building. All of the undead are heading that way. If Alther is alive, then I would bet fifty Delfins that the old sod will be there,” he added.
“Ferran,” said Sophia in warning.
Coming up the road were three people: a woman and two men. All of them looked exhausted, with dark rings under their eyes. At seeing Ferran in his black armour and the heavily armed Sophia astride their horses, they cowered slightly and raised their arms to show that they were unarmed.
“Please don’t hurt us!” cried the woman.
Sophia raised her hand’s palm outward to show she meant no harm, a reassuring smile on her face as she dismounted.
“It’s alright. We’re not here to harm you. In fact, we’re here for the opposite. I take it you are from the town over yonder?” the Witch Hunter asked, pointing to the smoke rising from the distant town.
The Nightblade_Tales of Delfinnia Page 12
