by Galen Wolf
‘Of course. Let us escort you.’
Fitheach walks with his horse, but I ride Spirit as the soldiers take us to the old church. I dismount and hitch Spirit outside. We enter the church. The peaceful atmosphere floods me as I remove my helm. It smells of incense and Bibles and holiness. There are holy scenes on the walls and the Christian cross stands on the altar in gold. A wild-eyed man enters. He’s got black hair and beard streaked with grey. He’s wearing the same white shift as Fitheach. Fitheach goes to hug him but the other man steps back. ‘Fitheach, what are you doing here?’
Fitheach beams. ‘I’ve come to see you, Cuthbert. It’s been such a long time.’
Cuthbert says grumpily, ‘I don’t like visitors. How long are you staying?’
‘How long are we welcome for?’ Fitheach asks.
‘As short a time as possible. I’ve got used to the quiet life here. The enemy leaves us alone and I don’t want anyone stirring up trouble for us.’ Finally he turns to me. ‘A knight? They always bring trouble.’
I go to shake his hand, but he doesn’t take my outstretched hand and I finally let mine drop. ‘I’m Sir Gorrow, one of Arthur’s knights.’
He nods. ‘I always liked Arthur. Not sure about that Guinevere though, and don’t get me started on Merlin. That man’s a pagan.’
‘Well…’ I shrug.
He has sharp, intelligent eyes. ‘But you haven’t come all this way for nothing. What do you want?’
I didn’t want to blurt it out that he’s supposed to have a Jabberwock on the island. He probably keeps it secret. I was going to build up to my request, but before I can reply, Cuthbert answers his own question. ‘You’ll be wanting my enhancement on your weapons, yes?’
I hadn’t actually come for that, but I won’t turn it down. I smile and nod. ‘Exactly.’
‘Very well. I suppose you do help keep the Evil One at bay. Give me your sword.’
I draw my sword and watch as the multi-coloured flames lick up the blade.
He ponders. ‘It’s got a bleed rune on it. I’m not sure about that. Runes are magic. They’re not very holy.’
I nod. ‘I did think that, but a friend of mine, an alchemist…’
Cuthbert raises his bushy eyebrows. ‘You’ve got a friend who’s an alchemist?’
I nod. ‘Bernard. He’s a good guy.’
He shrugs. ‘I suppose they have their place.’ He studies the blade further. Just from touch he can identify the saintly blessings on it. ‘I see you’ve been to see St Herbert and St Gwynnan and St Ninian.’
‘I have.’
He shoots a glance over at Fitheach. ‘But he hasn’t given your blade his blessing.’
I look at Fitheach. ‘I didn’t know you did blessings to weapons.’
Fitheach blushes. ‘I do, but my blessing is pretty pathetic. I’m embarrassed about it.’
I’m curious. ‘What is it?’
Cuthbert answers for him. ‘It’s Dropsy. If you hit an enemy they then get a 5% chance to drop their weapon for ten seconds after each time you strike them.’
I say, ‘That’s pretty good, Fitheach. I’d like that on my sword if possible.’
He blushes. ‘It doesn’t do any damage. I didn’t think anyone would want it.’
‘I think it’s actually quite cool.’
Cuthbert frowns hard and closes his eyes to say a few words of prayer over my sword. ‘There,’ he says, handing me the blade back.
‘If you don’t mind me asking, what is the blessing?’
Cuthbert looks at me like I’m stupid. ‘It’s demon-slayer of course. A 10% chance to banish any demonic creature back to its own plane on a successful hit.’
‘See?’ Fitheach says. ‘Much better than mine.’
Cuthbert says, ‘And you know if you pray here you can get demon-slayer transferred to your other weapons. I presume you have a lance?’
I nod. ‘Yes.’
‘Then just kneel and pray, then you can be on your way.’
‘I’ll do that, but…’
‘Yes?’ Then realisation flashes across his brow. ‘You want Fitheach’s blessing of course now you know about it.’ He fixes Fitheach with a bossy stare. ‘Take the man’s sword.’
Fitheach begins to protest. ‘You always did tell me what to do, Cuthbert, even when we were young priests.’
‘Some people need to be bossed,’ Cuthbert says, and Fitheach reaches out to take my sword. He too closes his eyes and prays, now my sword has Dropsy and Demon-Slayer on it, which I hadn’t counted on but am pretty pleased about.
‘Get praying to transfer the blessings then,’ Cuthbert barks and I shrug and go over to the altar. I kneel in prayer, bowing my head. If I recall, it takes a few minutes. Then I get a message.
I turn and see only Fitheach is there. ‘Where’s Cuthbert?’
‘He left.’
‘Where did he go?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘We need to ask him about the Jabberwock.’
‘I know. I just didn’t get the chance.’
‘It could be anywhere. We might never find it.’
Then there’s a terrifying scream from some huge beast somewhere outside the chapel. It echoes across the island. It has a quality to freeze the blood of any living creature.
‘That’ll be the Jabberwock then,’ I say.
The Jabberwock
The screech goes out again over the island, shattering the peace in the old stone church. Fitheach claps his hands over his ears, I don’t and have a ringing in them even when the scream dies down. The monks in the church, on the other hand, ignore the noise as if it was normal.
Fitheach says, ‘We’d better run out and help them. It sounds like it’s attacking.’ He turns to one of the monks who’s going about his business as normal and yells, ‘Has it broken free? Does Cuthbert need our help?’
The monks look at him like he’s stupid and I say, ‘Let’s go.’
We run to the chapel’s old wooden door and drag it open to let the grey daylight spill in. We rush outside and stand looking around until Fitheach points to a huge tyrannosaur looking thing with green scales and rattlesnake eyes. ‘There! That must be it.’
The Jabberwock towers over the wall at the far end of the graveyard. We see Cuthbert standing there. He’s within striking range. We need to save him from the Jabberwock. I pull my sword from its scabbard and Fitheach has his staff in his hand as we cross the graveyard at breakneck speed, dodging the gravestones until we’re close to Cuthbert. He’s talking to the Jabberwock — as if he could reason such a vile-looking monster.
I roar and go to shield rush the thing. And then I’m knocked flat on my back, the wind smashed out of me by a force like a fist in my belly. I rise painfully and look to see how the Jabberwock knocked me down. Then there’s a tinkling of jingle bells and an iridescent mist descends on the surroundings like the lights in an opal.
Cuthbert is staring at me. ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’
I’m on my feet now, sword still in hand. ‘Protecting you from that?’ I jerk my head at the dinosaur-like Jabberwock. It’s standing still, regarding me with its reptilian eyes, black slits in amber.
I put up my shield but Fitheach says, ‘It’s okay. Mists of Peace. A high level saint spell. I don’t have it, in case you wondered. It’s Cuthbert’s.’
‘You’re damn right it’s Cuthbert’s,’ the bad-tempered saint says, brushing his grey streaked hair from his face. ‘What the hell were you trying to kill my pet for?’
I gulp. ‘Your pet? That thing’s a pet?’
‘Of course he is!’ Cuthbert goes up and strokes the Jabberwock’s meaty leg and it brings its muzzle down to nuzzle at him like a puppy. It has rows of jagged teeth like a shark and the claws at the end of its feet and hands must be ten inches long and look like they could rip through a steel door. I stand amazed. I must say though that the thing looks docile enough.
>
Fitheach’s standing by me. He shrugs his shoulders. ‘I didn’t know it was his pet. I thought he maybe had it chained up in a cave for the safety of others.’
Cuthbert shakes his head in disgust. ‘Jabberwocks are very rare creatures, hunted almost to extinction because they look so fierce but are so tame. They trust people. That’s their mistake.’ Cuthbert glares at us like it’ll take him a while to trust us again.
I clear my throat. ‘You know some people believe the Jabberwock’s blood has magical properties. Very special properties.’
He regards me suspiciously. ‘Some people?’
I nod. ‘Yeah, some.’
‘Well if they want this Jabberwock’s blood they’ll have to come through me.’
‘Out of interest,’ Fitheach asks. ‘What does it eat?’
Cuthbert’s not taking our line of questioning well. He shakes his head. ‘It doesn’t eat anything. He eats grass and herbs and vegetables.’
‘But he’s got big teeth,’ I say. ‘He looks like a carnivore.’
Cuthbert glowers. ‘He can’t help how he looks. You shouldn’t judge a book by its cover.’
Fitheach smiles. ‘I heard you should.’
Cuthbert scowls. ‘Fitheach you’ve always been on the dim side, ever since we were newbie priests. You know nothing about Jabberwocks.’ He narrows his eyes. ‘Didn’t you ever read, St Bede’s Bestiary? Jabberwocks and Other Misunderstood Monsters?’
Fitheach sucks his teeth. ‘No, Cuthbert, I didn’t.’
Cuthbert sneers. ‘Lightweight.’
Later, Fitheach and I go for a walk round the island. The wind is skimming foam off the wave tops and gulls hang in the air. As we get to the landward side, we see Elizabeth sitting on her horse, way over the sea. The tide is in and the causeway is covered. She looks a lonely dark figure silhouetted against the sand.
‘I wonder what she’s doing over there,’ Fitheach says.
‘Probably AFK.’ Then I joke. ‘I hope she isn’t contacting her evil masters.’
Fitheach shakes his head. ‘No, she’s not like that. She’s sound. I believe that now.’
I change the subject. ‘How hell are we going to get the Jabberwock’s blood, by the way.’
Fitheach gives a hollow laugh. ‘I wonder if we could do a blood-donor programme and just take a pint or two? It’s probably got lots of pints of blood to spare.’
I frown. ‘Not sure Cuthbert would agree with that.’
We make our way back to Cuthbert, and as we go we come across the island’s blacksmith, a heavily muscled man with dark skin and darker hair. Even though I have the ability to mine crystal, I still can’t work it or else I could upgrade my armour and lance. That’s a pity, but not long now until Level 15 and another hundred skill points. I’m definitely putting them into Smithing. But of course Level 15 will present me with another dilemma: from Level 15, I can choose my prestige class. It’s between Paladin and Baron. Fitheach has already indicated he will be my mentor as a paladin. A knight needs a holy man to teach him the ways of the holy warrior. As we stroll round the island I ask him about the Paladin prestige class.
He smiles. ‘I’m glad you’re considering this path, Gorrow. I think you’ll make a splendid paladin. You’ve got the sense of justice, the sense of right and wrong, yes, you’re exactly the sort of man we want as a paladin.’
I don’t mention the fact that I’m still not totally decided. ‘Tell me why I should be a paladin.’
He laughs. ‘Why you should be a paladin? Because you will become an awesome un-killable tank. The healing and the toughness that the paladin skillset gives you is second to none.’
‘For example?’
‘Well, you begin to invest your skill points into the Paladin tree that only opens once you choose the class.’
‘Go on.’
‘The first skill is Heal, which allows you to heal ten health points per level, not just paladin level. It has a three-minute cool-down. The next skill is Heal Friend, which allows you to heal all in your party for the same amount. After that you get Extra Health 10%, which gives a 10% bonus to health points, after that is Regenerate 10%, which gives you a constant regeneration of 10% of your health per five minutes, after that is Resist 10% which gives you a 10% resistance to all forms of elemental and alignment damage, so fire, cold but also unholy and in fact holy. After that is Defeat Evil which gives you a +1 damage multiplier to critical hits against evil aligned enemies, so instead of critting for 3x with your sword, you will hit for 4x, and for 5x with your lance. Think of that?’
It sounds meaty.
He continues. ‘After that is Toughness 10% which gives you a bonus to your armour rating.’ He pauses and grins at me. ‘Interested?’
I sigh. This is making it hard. Those skills would make an awesome difference. I can’t imagine anyone killing a maxxed out paladin, which is what King Arthur is himself. How could even Satanus himself defeat a paladin with full skills? I’m still pondering when we see Cuthbert standing on the graveyard wall. The Jabberwock towers over him, looking strangely shy, despite its fangs and talons and snake eyes.
Cuthbert is gesturing. ‘Hey, come here!’
I look at Fitheach who shrugs. ‘No idea.’
We walk over to Cuthbert.
‘Hurry!’ he yells.
‘What’s up with him?’ I ask.
‘He’s always like this,’ Fitheach says.
Nevertheless we hurry over. The Jabberwock rests its huge head on Cuthbert’s shoulder and he strokes it.
‘What’s up?’ I ask.
‘We caught a spy.’
‘A spy?’
‘One of Satanus’s men.’
‘A player or an NPC?’
‘Oh, a player. Come see.’
We follow Cuthbert into his church. The Jabberwock is left outside because it won’t fit through the door. Nevertheless it screeches its annoyance, or maybe its sadness at being abandoned. ‘He’s in here,’ Cuthbert jerks his finger into the gloom and we see a player dressed in black forced to his knees by two of the Holy Rollers.
The prisoner looks up when he sees us. Cuthbert snarls. ‘You filthy little sneak. What are you doing on my island?’
The prisoner says nothing. I see that under his black cloak he’s wearing the insignia of the Dead Souls guild, a guild loyal to Satanus.
Cuthbert draws back his foot and boots the guy straight in the face.
I raise my eyebrows. ‘Wow!’
‘He’s like me,’ Fitheach whispers. ‘Saints can’t abide evil dudes.’
Still the player says nothing. I watch while Cuthbert rolls up his fist and punches the guy in the mouth. Then he kicks him in the belly for good measure. The rogue coughs and spits blood.
‘Hurt him,’ Cuthbert says.
The NPC to his left takes the heel of his spear and slams it in the rogue’s head. The guy coughs again and spits more blood then he speaks for the first time. ‘You won’t get anything from me.’
‘Yes, we will,’ Cuthbert says. ‘Don’t think you’re the first spy I’ve caught on my island, and don’t think me resisting the Evil One is an accident.’
‘Do your worst,’ the spy mutters.
Cuthbert gives a low chuckle and pulls out a blackjack. He smacks the spy upside of his head and then downside. He’s doing some serious damage.
The rogue spits, ‘Kill me if you want. You’ll get nothing.’
‘Kill you?’ Cuthbert says. ’Oh no. Here.’ Cuthbert then gives the guy some healing. The silvery glow spreads over the rogue and soon he’s healed up just in time to get a spear butt in his face.
I still don’t see where this is getting us.
‘How did you get past the force-field?’ Cuthbert asks. The guy doesn’t speak so Cuthbert kicks him again.
‘I’m not telling you.’ Then Cuthbert turns to one of his monks. ‘Bring me the Holy Book.’ The brown-clad friar goes and retrieves a big thick book from somewhere. It’s bound in leather and looks ancient. It
’s bound shut and had a clasp around it.
‘What’s that?’ The rogue asks through his bloodied mouth.
‘It’s a magical tome,’ Cuthbert says. ‘Not too many of these around.’
I’m puzzled myself. I don’t know what this book is. It’s clearly magic, but what its effect is I have no idea. I turn to Fitheach and whisper. Fitheach shrugs and says, ‘Dunno.’
Cuthbert asks the monk to open the clasp of the book. He seems to take care so that the monk is between him and the book. Then when the clasp is undone, but the tome not yet opened, he says. ’See this tome?’
The rogue nods.
‘Well,’ Cuthbert’s smiling. ‘You know skill tomes? You can find them as loot in dungeons and stuff.’
I know what he means even if the rogue doesn’t.
‘But this one.’ Cuthbert taps the big leather book. ‘This was made by your guys. I just happened to come across it on a quest I did up in Orkney, and I thought it could be useful.’
‘What does it do?’ The prisoner asks sullenly.
‘Well a tome of skill permanently gives you skill points to a subject of your choice. This one on the other hand removes two hundred skill points from a random skill if you read any of the pages.’
‘Ooo.’ I say, standing back. I don’t want to get even a glimpse of it.
‘Of course,’ Cuthbert says. ‘It doesn’t work on NPCs. Because they don’t have any skills.’ Then Cuthbert looks at the guards. ‘Boys,’ he says, closing his eyes tight. ‘Open the pages and open our friend’s eyes for me please to make sure he reads.’
Cuthbert looks at us. ‘Better shut your eyes. You wouldn’t want to read any of it by mistake.’
I clamp my eyes shut and say, ‘So this is a cursed tome?’
Cuthbert says, ‘Exactly. A really nasty trap. It cost me four hundred skill points before I got it in a bag.’
The spy struggles but the Holy Rollers him held with his eyes prised open with their fingers, while another holds the tome in front of him. ‘Open it, boys,’ Cuthbert orders.
My eyes are still shut but I hear a scream and the rogue curses. ‘You just took two hundred points off my stealth skill, you bastard.’
