by Adam Watson
“Brother wake up, it’s me Greegan.” Aiden stirred and groaned as if coming out of a deep sleep. Greegan smiled and laughed. It was all just some kind of freakish nightmare. The very thought itself consoled him. It was just a bad dream, a figment of the mind, an hallucination … or was it? It had to be. He couldn’t have really brought himself to kill his own brother, could he? “By the gods, I’m glad you’re alive.” ‘Keep telling yourself that Greegan … wash your guilt away.’ Greegan shut his eyes tight and smothered the voices in his mind.
“W-What happened?” Aiden was coming around, regaining consciousness. Greegan examined his brother. There were no bruises, no cuts, and all the blood was gone, in fact, he looked completely unharmed.
“I’m not sure Brother, but I think we walked into some kind of trap.” Greegan eyed the impaled corpse in the middle of the room; the rusty axe still protruded from its head. “I’m pretty sure the danger has passed.” Aiden looked around through squinted eyes as Greegan helped him to his feet; it was still bright after sleeping for so long.
“What is this place?” he asked. “And how did we get here?” He was still disorientated and confused, but he was quickly regaining his senses.
“I don’t know brother.” Greegan looked at the dead body again. Just a crazy, old man. “I think it was some kind of magic.” Aiden nodded as if to say ‘That makes perfect sense.’
“Can we go now?” It was a simple request, but Greegan smiled like it was the best idea he had ever heard.
“Yes Aiden, we can go now.” The two brothers turned the handle of the big wooden door - the only door in the room. It opened, and they walked out into the darkness beyond.
9. THE CREED: GETTING ANSWERS
Ingrid thought back to her childhood. It had been happy for a time, until her father had lost his job. He had been fighting for improved working conditions; he was an idealist and was convinced that castles could be built with fair working conditions and pay. There was more than enough money in the budget, the labourers would get a fair wage and would only have to work ten hours instead of twelve - the idea was so popular that the other workers rallied behind him.
The only problem was that Lord Belsavis disagreed. Peasants were peasants and lords were lords, and they were put on this world to do very different things. There was no empathy or sympathy on Belsavis's part - just the execution of six good men. Ingrid's father could never forgive himself for that, and his answer was to drink himself into a nightly stupor and then take it out on his family.
Ingrid thought back to the beatings her father used to give her mother. The look in his eyes, it was as if he could see Lord Belsavis himself in those moments of rage; the look in her mother’s eyes was that of fear. She never fought back, not even once, she just took the pain, all the while sobbing and wailing. Her mother was a good cook, her mother was a good housekeeper, but her mother was weak. Ingrid sneered. Yes, her mother may have been weak, but in her mind, her father was even weaker.
Ingrid was seven years old when she received her first beating, but even back then, even that young, even when she watched her siblings getting beaten in front of her, she knew she would not be the one who was weak.
Oh, he had broken her in the beginning, but that was short lived, for a funny thing happened in her mind. Instead of fear coming into her mind like it did with her sisters and her mother, there came only resolution; a resolution to become stronger than him. No, she would not be weak like her mother and her sisters, she would not be weak like her father. She would be strong - stronger than them all.
By the time she was twelve, she had learnt how to overcome the pain her weak father inflicted upon her. She no longer shed a tear, even when bruised and bloody. She watched him in silence. That enraged him, that staring. She knew he hated it, she knew that it made him weaker.
By the time she was fifteen, the pain had somehow turned into pleasure. She liked the pain, it was now an old friend; every time she endured it, it made her stronger, and she liked to be strong.
Her father knew she liked the pain, and he began to act differently. He began to touch her in a way he never had before, but she didn’t like that; letting him do that made her weak. Not long after, he was dead, killed by her own hand, and he would never hurt her or her family again.
No-one ever found out that it had been her; it was her secret. She had beaten him. The fortitude she had gained over the years gave her the strength to fight back; ending the darkness that had descended upon her family. Her mother and her sisters were happy once again, and that made her smile.
At the age of seventeen, Ingrid left her happy family and her hometown, and travelled three hundred miles to live in Candelier City, where she joined the clergy. Her new life as an Acolyte of Tempus filled her with much joy and happiness.
She quickly rose through the ranks and became known for her unrelenting will. She knew the others in her order were not as strong as her, and they never would be; no-one there had her will or her determination. She silently thanked her father for making her strong but cursed him for the vile creature that he was - over time she became a legend of her order.
Despite her strength and all that she had overcome in life, her biggest test lay ahead. A creature stood before her, wanting to break her will. She knew this and smiled; she knew that would never happen. What chance would he, a demon, have to break her will? She had withstood the will of the mightiest clerics and mages in the world, she had even withstood the torture of a Karite Inquisitor - she had not confessed then, and she would not confess now. No, she would not break to this pathetic individual.
***
‘CLANK, CLANK, CLANK!’ The sounds of heavy gauge, black and crimson armour reverberated through the room like metal thunder. General Vuko Vlad walked back and forth contemplating the five women in the room; his blood red cape flowed behind him, his snow-white hair tied back. His horns cast dark shadows on the walls around, and his eyes glowed like fired jewels in the night.
He studied each of them carefully, determining their weaknesses and strengths. His hatred for humans filled him with rage, he wanted to kill them all, but their minds contained the information he needed.
He knew that these women were all clerics of Tempus and that each one of them was strong-willed and resolute; they would not give their knowledge willingly. He had known before he even walked into that room that there would be only one course of action - he would have to break them.
Three looked to be in their early twenties; one of them may even have been a teen. One had long brown hair, one had short blonde hair and the youngest had long dark hair; they all wore robes of azure blue. He examined them closely, each looked more useless and repugnant than the last. He could break them easily, but these young scamps wouldn’t be able to tell him what he needed - they were useless to him. That left him with the two old crones.
The oldest one, the one that looked like she had been hauled up from the bottom of the abyss, she was going to be trouble. He could feel it from the way she looked at him; with steely-eyed determination and an unwavering, unblinking gaze. This old battle-axe has seen war a hundred times. Her life is almost over; death does not scare her as she has already made peace with her god. Breaking her before killing her could not be guaranteed.
The middle-aged one was his best bet; still young enough to value life, but old enough to have gained experience and knowledge in the order. This one had the look of a veteran with a sharp angular face and cool blue eyes. She had the look of a leader and seemed very calm; she seemed almost blasé about the situation - he knew that was an act. The hierarchy of the Tempurian Clerics had schooled their students well, as even the young scamps showed no outward fear. Vuko nodded to himself as if to acknowledge the achievement of their teachers.
General Vuko Vlad stared deep into the eyes of the middle-aged one, he could see the reflection of his own eyes in her pupils. She showed no fear, no perspiration, no quickening of breath or widening of eyes. Vuko Vlad smiled his wry, sard
onic smiled; his lips drawing out into a thin line, like a dark cut across his face - he knew that would soon change.
“What is your name witch?” he asked, trying to get his tongue around the soft, flowery language of the humans.
“My name is Sarna, and I am not a witch.” Vuko’s sardonic smile crept across his face again; his eyes gleamed. They all defy in the beginning.
“All blasphemers are witches in the eyes of the Drakhar, My Lady.” Sarna looked at the General with calmness and great serenity - she would not be so foolish as to take that kind of bait.
“I am neither a witch nor a lady, nor am I a blasphemer. Tempus is the true god of this world; thus the worship of him cannot be considered blasphemy." Oh yes, she was defiant, wasn't she?
"Then where is your god now, Witch? Is he here with us, watching you writhe?" Sarna's eyes flicked towards the General for the briefest second before turning away and looking calmly ahead once more.
"I am not a witch … and I am hardly writhing," she replied, positioning herself more comfortably in the chair. "Tempus is here with us ... Demon." Vuko narrowed his eyes in contempt, humans were always turning things they didn’t understand into something evil.
"Are you so sure about that?" He turned towards the three younglings. "And what about you young scamps? Do you think Tempus is here with us in the room right now?" Three young heads nodded bravely, but their eyes betrayed their certainty. "Let's hope you are right, because if Tempus were here with us in this room, then you would surely have nothing to fear." He turned and began to pace, spreading his arms apart as if giving a great lecture. "But on the other hand, if this room were indeed the realm of Solus Bal, then five blaspheming witches would have something very much to worry about."
"Your god is dead and has no realm!" Vuko Vlad turned his head in the direction of the interruption. So the old hag has finally woken up, has she? He smiled his wry, sardonic smile, his mouth drawing out into a thin line across his face; his eyes seemed to intensify as he neared. He approached the old woman like a serpent approaches prey.
“Do you have a name, Witch, or should I just call you ‘Old Hag?’” The old woman didn’t bat an eyelid at the insult.
“Many young men and women in the Order have called me both a witch and an old hag over the years; although they did have enough courtesy not to say it to my face. You may call me either, but my name is Ingrid.”
“Ingrid is such a pretty name for a bag of bones,” answered the General, briefly contemplating the name. “Perhaps there are no gods here, perhaps we are all on our own. If this were the case, then one would have to rely on one’s own strength and will to get them through life’s hardships.”
“I can hardly argue My Lord, strength and will have taken me very far in my life.” Vuko stared intently into the eyes of the old woman.
“Sometime in your life, you chose to take fate into your own hands,” he stated. The woman cast her eyes down and stared at the floor as visions of herself taking her father’s life flashed in her mind.
“I did,” she answered. Vuko nodded, he was the greatest general the Drakhar had ever produced. He knew the hearts and minds of men and women who dared to dream of greatness.
“You gained great power, but at a personal cost.” Ingrid nodded but then looked back into the eyes of the General.
“And you General, do you know this because something happened to you in your life ... or are you just good at judging such?" Vuko turned and stood with his back facing her; his crimson cape filled her view.
"Would it be such a surprise to find that a warrior, a general or even a demon-king was motivated by the same thing as a pasty, white bag of bones?" The cleric thought for a moment, completely ignoring the insult.
"And what would that be … that motivates us?" she asked calmly. The thin, black, sardonic smile slowly crept across the face of the great Drakhar; his eyes burned like furnaces. The game had finished, and now it was time to get what he wanted. He spun around in a flash, grabbing the old crone around the throat with a vice-like grip.
"NEED!" he hissed in her face. "It is our needs that drive us to do the things that we do." He shook her as he talked. Ingrid struggled, she tried desperately to draw breath but bound to the chair she couldn’t even raise her arms, all she could feel was the pressure of his iron grip digging into her throat. She knew in that moment that he could kill her in an instant. "Sometimes we have to do things, not because we want to, but because we need to - we have to! It can fill us with great guilt and remorse after the fact, but we will always think back to the time and know that it was necessary to do the things we did and because of that … we will have no regrets."
Ingrid opened her mouth trying to gasp for air, but nothing would come in. She knew what he was doing, trying to fill her with fear. She wanted to remain calm, but her air deprived body was about to betray her. As Vuko stared into her cold blue eyes, he could almost see the life draining from them. "You have something I need," he continued, as the young acolytes look on in horror. "Tell me how to unlock the azure bonds binding my brother." He released his grip, Ingrid gasped deeply; sucking the life-giving air deep into her lungs. She looked up panicked by the ordeal, but when she saw the three young acolytes watching her, she immediately calmed herself.
The General started to pace the room, nodding his head in approval. This Tempurian Witch had been trained well. He had seen grown men piss themselves in a similar position. "Do you still think Tempus is with you, Witch?" Ingrid looked towards the General, she desperately wanted to rub her neck. She felt like there were deep gouges there, but ignoring the pain as she had so many times with her father, she acted as if nothing had even happened.
"I'm still alive, aren't I?" Vuko smiled his thin black smile again, his eyes glowed at the possibilities; if only his own mages were as strong willed as this old hargraven.
"But for how long who can say?" he answered, as he turned to the youngest. She had piercing blue eyes and beautiful black hair. He leant down and took her chin into his hand. "What about you precious? Do you still think Tempus is here with us? Do you still think he will protect you from me?" The young acolyte nodded confidently, but Vuko could smell the fear in her.
"I'm not afraid to die." Vuko turned his head back to the old woman. Oh yes, this old hag is quite the mother hen isn't she, perhaps the younglings have some use after all. One word dominated his mind – leverage. He let the scamp go and approached the old woman again.
"You're not afraid to die because you are old. Your life is almost over, and you think you have made peace with your god. You think that he will greet you when you die, and that your life of dedication and servitude will be well rewarded. That is why you are not afraid to die, you wizened old hag."
"So be done with it then, kill me if that is your wish. Get it over with, I haven’t got all day." Vuko stared deep into the eyes of the old woman, the reflection in her eyes was so bright that he felt he could almost read her mind.
"That is not my wish," he stated softly. “You know, there was a time, many years ago, when I was a young Drakhar. People would describe me as having a volatile nature.” Ingrid stared ahead wondering where this was leading. “In fact, back then I would have sliced your throat and disembowelled you in a rage by now … needless to say, leaving you very dead.” Ingrid stared into the eyes of the huge Drakhar … unblinking … unwavering.
“Is that supposed to scare me?” The General smiled before continuing. Solus Bal himself probably wouldn’t scare you sea-hag.
“Back then, killing made me feel better in the moment, but I soon learned that it was a mistake … death didn’t always get me what I wanted … or what I needed. Death was their release, but it was my loss. I was left with nothing but a corpse.” Ingrid could almost feel heat coming of the General’s intense gaze. "And do you know what the problem with a corpse is Ingrid?" The cleric blinked but did not answer. "It won't answer your questions."
Is this fool going to kill me or is he going to stan
d there stating the obvious all day? In her mind, Ingrid knew all five of them were dead whether they told him what he wanted to know or not. And he will use the others to get the information out of me. He thinks I will break when I start to hear their screams. She knew that wouldn’t happen; perhaps the girls would scream and cry and beg for mercy, perhaps the girls would curse her heartless soul before they died, but no matter what, she knew she would not reveal how to find the Oracle.
If she had the chance she would have cut all their throats; her own included. At least it would be a quick death. She knew that none of them would have a quick death, they were only alive now because the General needed them to find the Oracle. How he shielded them from Tempus was a mystery, but somehow he had. She knew that if she had use of her full powers, they would not be sitting there, and the General would be dead, but she didn’t have use of her powers - any of them.
Yes, she knew how to find the Oracle, in fact, they all had the power to find her; it was actually quite simple for anyone who had performed the proper Tempurian rites. Luckily or unluckily for the girls, the exact incantation of the location spell was privileged information. The Oracle was the most valued member of the Tempurian Order, her safety was an utmost priority, and the fewer people who knew her exact whereabouts, the safer she would be. Novices were never taught the location spell. No doubt for situations like this.
Ingrid assessed the situation. No-one had given the General any useful information yet, and as long as they were all together, she was confident she could keep it that way. She had an iron will and was resolute beyond measure; she knew she was strong enough to withstand his pain and that she would sacrifice them all before she would ever let the Creed know where the Oracle was. There was too much at stake, not only would they kill the spiritual leader of her own order, they would unleash their god Solus Bal into the world and threaten the destruction of the human race. She could not and would not allow that to happen - no matter what this fool did to them.
