“Agnes, were you able to find Ellyssa?” Azerick asked the cook.
Agnes shook her head. “I called for her, Master Azerick, but I didn’t see her. Would you like me to carve the roast now or wait for her to come?” Agnes asked, holding a large fork and a carving knife.
Before Azerick could answer, the dining hall door flew open and banged loudly into the wall.
“Die rat!” Ellyssa shouted as she charged into the room.
She whipped her arm forward and an object flew down the length of the table in a blur, embedding itself in the roast.
“Nice shot, little missy!” Ewen shouted and began laughing.
Azerick looked at the steel dart protruding from the roast. “Ellyssa, I believe that roast is about as dead as it is going to get, and we do not throw things in the dining hall, particularly at our food. Now, what is this?” Azerick asked as he looked at the projectile sticking out of the roast.
“It’s a dart! Ken the blacksmith made it for me and Wolf put the feathers on it so it will fly straight. He used hawk feathers that he found because hawks fly fast so it makes my dart go faster. Wolf made glue out of tree sap, glued the feathers onto the dart, and tied them with sinew so they wouldn’t fall off. What’s sinew? It looks like string but it comes from animal guts but it must only come from bigger animals because I didn’t see any sinew when I squished the rat. Can I use string next time? I don’t want my darts to be held together by something that’s made out of animal guts.”
“Ellyssa, take a breath and go wash your hands,” Azerick ordered as he removed the dart from the roast.
The dart was eight inches long and sported a narrow, three-inch blade that came to a needle-sharp tip like a small stiletto. The shaft and blade were one continuous piece of steel instead of the blade being fastened to the shaft like an arrowhead. The fletching was made of three large hawk feathers split lengthwise much like an arrow’s fletching but were easily twice as large.
Azerick looked at Ewen who was still laughing as Agnes led the girl away to go wash her hands in the kitchen. “You really should not encourage her.”
“It was a mighty fine shot, lad, you got to admit,” Ewen chuckled. “Oh, every father prays that their children have children that are as troublesome as they were.”
“I was never that much trouble,” Azerick replied defensively.
“Kids never think they are when they get older but I know better. You had me and your parents pulling our hair out at times,” Ewen shot back. “You were too smart and too independent for your own good and that’s why you’re getting yours back now.”
“I could not have been that bad,” Azerick protested.
Ewen pondered for a moment. “She certainly has her own flavor, but if you asked that etiquette teacher of yours, I bet he would agree with me.”
Azerick was saved from further assault on his childhood character as Ellyssa and Agnes returned. Agnes poured Ellyssa a cup of milk and carved the roast. As the dinner meal progressed, Azerick noticed that Ellyssa was going through a substantial amount of milk and food. He knew the girl had an appetite, but this was far beyond the norm. He kept an eye on her and finally caught her slipping food under the table.
The moment Azerick bent down to look under the table, Wolf popped up on the other side, grabbed the roast by the exposed bone, and darted through the kitchen door laughing like a lunatic with the ever-present Ghost on his heels.
“Wolf, you filthy little creature!” Azerick heard Agnes scream as Wolf ran through her kitchen and out the door that led onto the keep grounds.
“That one belong to you too?” Ewen asked, laughing once more.
“Wolf belongs to no one. He is more a force of nature than a boy. You just have to let him blow through and pick up the mess when he is gone,” Azerick replied. “Ellyssa, how did Wolf get under the table?”
The young apprentice shrunk down in her chair. “He snuck in through the kitchen when you were all watching me when I came in. It was a trade for helping me make my darts.”
Azerick shook his head in helplessness. Ewen finally told Azerick that it was time that he head home as Agnes was clearing the plates from the table.
“It was really good to see you again, Ewen. You will come back and teach the kids some martial skills from time to time?” Azerick asked.
“Definitely. If I slow down I’ll end up grinding to a halt, and I’m not ready for that yet. It was good to see you too, son,” Ewen replied, shook Azerick’s hand, and clapped him on the back.
“Do you have a horse?” Azerick asked his old friend.
“Naw, I never planned on traveling beyond the city walls when I moved here unless it was on a ship.”
“Would you like one of mine? It will make the traveling a lot easier,” Azerick suggested.
Ewen thought a moment. “I don’t rightly know. I traded my sea legs in a long time ago but I never did much riding.”
“Peck, are there any horses that you think are calm enough for Ewen to ride?” he turned and asked the boy.
“Oh yes, Master Azerick. There’s one I call Star because she is all black except for a white star on her forehead, she’s real nice. She makes Horse look like a wild stallion.”
“Go saddle her up for Ewen please,” Azerick told him.
“Peck,” Ellyssa called to him, “you want go kill rats with me and Grick when you’re done?”
“Okay,” Peck shouted back as he ran from the dining hall to saddle Star.
Azerick, Ewen, and Ellyssa were waiting in front of the keep by the time Peck came back with Star. She was a beautiful horse and Azerick was glad to give her to his friend.
“She is a beauty,” Ewen whistled. “Are you sure you want me to have her?”
“Absolutely, you helped me in Southport and have always been family to my father and me, Ewen. Besides, I don’t want you making any excuses for not coming back.”
“I’ll be back, you can count on that. You take care of yourself and those kids,” Ewen told the sorcerer as he mounted.
“I will, Ewen, and you take care of yourself and let me know if you ever need anything,” Azerick insisted.
“Ok, Peck, you get the stick since you are used to having gross stuff on your shoes and I’ll use my darts. Let’s go find Grick,” Ellyssa said and both children ran off into the keep in search of the goblin.
CHAPTER 6
General Baneford stood before the men he commanded. The soldiers were formed by platoon and numbered nearly one hundred—a full company and all cavalry. The General wore the depthless black and gold-trimmed breastplate, greaves, vambraces, and gauntlets of Dundalor, an artifact that when complete, would provide absolute protection against all weapons and magic, making the wearer essentially invulnerable.
Although the General lacked the helm and boots to complete the suit, the pieces he wore made him more than formidable. The armor was beyond black, seeming to pull the very light into its liquid depths and trimmed in gold that never scratched, flaked, or tarnished.
“Men, today we embark on a new journey, a new destiny for us all,” he addressed his troops in his powerful command voice. “No longer will we be under the thumb of an arrogant, cruel, and capricious lord. No longer will we sell our lives for his personal gain. From now on, when we risk our lives it will be for our own gains and our own profits instead of filling the already rich coffers of the duke!”
General Baneford allowed himself a small smile as his men cheered loudly at his proclamation.
“Our primary goal now is to enlarge our ranks and carve out our own little country where we will be the lords and masters! If we can complete the suit, so much the better. We can create and control a larger piece of land with it, but no longer will I risk your lives just for the armor with nothing else to show for it.
“Any men who feel an overwhelming sense of loyalty to Duke Ulric are free to leave now without fear of hostility. I begrudge no man for his loyalty, but keep this in mind. Does the duke return that loyalty t
o you? I say he does not! However, if any man wishes to leave he may do so now, but this is the only time you may do so freely. After this, any man who leaves will be considered a deserter from Baneford’s Brood.”
Although many of the men looked around, none broke ranks and departed.
“Very well, welcome to Baneford’s Brood. Our first target is a small town three days ride to the southeast. I already have scouts placed within and I will brief your platoon leaders tonight. This is a raid for food, gold, horses, and resources, not wanton slaughter. We are not a mercenary group, nor will we degenerate into savages. We will conduct ourselves as the professional soldiers that we are. Dismissed!”
***
Samone rode her destrier down the hard-packed dirt road, resplendent in her shining silver armor. Her raven hair shone brightly in the sun, swinging just over her shoulders with the cadence set by her trotting charger. As a paladin of Solarian, she was one of the three holy warriors that comprised this unit of the Solarian’s Light.
On her right, wearing halfplate, was a large man named Griff. Unlike Samone, Griff was not a Chosen of Solarian and could not directly wield their god’s divine power. However, as a Sword of Solarian, he was a devout follower and dedicated his battle prowess to extinguishing Solarian’s enemies.
Griff was a big man but affable and friendly. He was an unrepentant jokester and was quick to laugh. Some people mistook his quick humor and pleasant nature as softness; big, but slow and soft, like a domesticated cow. Even when confronted with hostility, Griff would often be laughing right up to the point he brought someone down for good.
Riding to Samone’s left was Brother Charles. Charles was a quiet and contemplative man, usually immersed in his Book of Radiance despite having committed every passage and verse to memory long ago. He wore chainmail and leather under his holy vestments, and as a Chosen of Solarian, wielded the power of their god to smite down evil and heal the sick and injured.
The fourth man was not a usual member of their group and rode a short way behind the three holy warriors and felt as out of place as he looked. He wore only short robes, soft leather breaches, and was considerably younger than even Samone, who looked to be a woman in her best years. If he was truly a graduate of The Magus Academy, he was just barely.
Not being a regular member of their group, not being a devotee of Solarian, and being not just a wizard but a young wizard, the three Light of Solarian did not go out of their way to be inclusive. Griff tried, but he usually just ended up teasing the young man and hurting his feelings.
Young Kyle was on loan from The Academy and tasked with providing aid to Samone’s group as they went from town to town, rooting out undead and helping the priests tasked with sanctifying the kingdom’s burial sites.
So far, the group had yet to encounter any undead of significance. A few skeletons or zombies had clawed themselves out of the earth before or during consecration rites, but Samone and Brother Charles put them to rest easily enough. So far, it seemed the reports of an undead plague were greatly exaggerated.
It was late afternoon by the time the squad of Solarian’s Light reached the middling-sized town of Hoffsteader. The party rode straight to the burial site and found several priests already performing the consecration ritual. A man of middle years separated himself from the others as the group approached and began dismounting. He hailed them with a wave as he approached.
“Hail, Chosen, good of you to come and help, though I fear we are nearly done already.”
“Father Flavin,” Samone addressed the local priest, “I apologize for our late arrival. A damaged bridge forced us to take a longer route to get here but it looks like we were not necessary.”
“No, Solarian was with us throughout the day and our ritual has gone well. It was a great task, considering the size of the land needing cleansed.”
“I am surprised Hoffsteader possesses such a large burial ground for such a modest town,” Griff commented.
Brother Charles broke in. “Hoffsteader was the site of a virulent plague just over a century ago. Many of the outlying towns carted their sick here for quarantine, some even as far as away as Brightridge. After the sickness ran its course, the Church had the town put to torch and the one you see now raised a short distance away to be resettled.”
Father Flavin nodded along with his church brethren’s recitation. “Quite right, brother, you know your history.”
Samone looked at the long shadows cast by the rapidly waning sun with a weary sigh. “Father Flavin, I know you have all been doing the real work, but we are weary from the long ride and I fear we would likely just be in the way at this point. But if you don’t mind, I think we will head into town and get our rooms ready and our horses put up before we return to lay any final prayers.”
The priest smiled warmly at the pretty, young paladin. “Of course. I am certain we can finish up on our own while you see to your stay. We should be just about finished and ready for your final prayers by the time you get settled in.”
“Thank you, Father, we’ll be back shortly.”
“I’m looking forward to a good glass of ale to wash down the trail dust I’ve been chewing on for the past few hours,” Griff declared boisterously as they remounted and walked their horses down the town’s wide avenue in search of a good inn.
“Amen to that,” Charles agreed. “How long have we been riding anyway?”
Griff laughed loudly. “The shadows say about eleven hours, but my arse says about four days!”
The three warriors of Solarian’s Light turned in their saddles to look at the wizard as he gasped audibly.
“Oh come on,” Griff told the young mage, “lighten up. Even Chuck here thought it was funny.”
Kyle shook his head. “The shadows. Look at them.”
They all looked at the shadows stretching from the buildings and other structures.
“Okay, maybe it’s closer to ten, ten and a half. For crying out loud, do you wizards have to be so damn precise with everything?” admonished Griff.
“No, I’m talking about the shadows back at the burial site!” Kyle practically shouted, his face going pale.
“What about them, Kyle,” Samone asked as a deep feeling of dread crept through her body.
The mage swallowed deeply then replied, “They were pointing the other way!”
Samone cursed in a very unholy manner as she and the others wheeled their mounts around and raced back to where they had left the priests performing their sanctification rites.
They had barely made it halfway back before the screams of dying men reached their ears even over the loud pounding of the horses’ hoof beats. Samone drew her sword with another curse and pushed her mount even harder despite knowing in her heart that they would never be able to save the defenseless priests.
The scene that met them was horrific. Skeletal claws sprouted from the ground like macabre plants in a garden as they clawed their way out of the earth, pulling down and interring two of the clergymen to rest alongside them. Others had exhumed themselves and were tearing two other priests to pieces.
Father Flavin and another of his clergy lay with a rictus of agony and terror spread across their faces. The men looked to have died months or years ago and set out to dry. Their skin was sallow and dry, their bodies skeletal as if all the liquid in their corpses had simply evaporated.
Shadows detached from the trees and tombstones and rose out of the ground. The shades moved with the swiftness and silence of a strong wind, attacking the living that mocked their undeath.
Samone barely had time to slip her feet from the stirrups as the shades raked incorporeal claws through her mount, rolling as the poor warhorse whinnied in terror, bucked, and fell to the ground. The shadows continued to attack the poor animal even after it ceased moving, drawing every bit of life out of it they could before seeking fresher prey.
Samone rolled to her feet, slipped her shield onto her arm, and shouted a prayer to her god. Her sword burst into a radiant
white light, driving back the oppressive cold and fear the shades emanated with their presence and opposition to all things living. The paladin lashed out at the death spawn, fury powering her strokes over the loss of her faithful mount. Her holy sword, blessed with the light of Solarian, hewed down the shades as they left the dead horse and focused their attack on the humans.
The other three members of the group, who were slightly slower in their charge and response, dismounted, knowing that fighting these kinds of creatures from horseback was not to their advantage.
Brother Charles wrapped himself in the protections of his faith as he rushed to aid Samone who was seemingly oblivious to the tide of undead creatures rapidly bearing down upon her. The Chosen of Solarian raised his holy amulet made of gold surrounding a large sphere of purest amber and shouted a rebuke empowered by his faith at the advancing hoard.
The nearest zombies and skeletons, along with several of the shades attacking Samone, crumbled as the holy symbol burst into light, illuminating the graveyard in a brilliant yellow glow. Many of the undead monsters not destroyed outright fled from the power of the light, unable to stand in the presence of the power of a god that considered them anathema, and put as much distance between themselves and the holy power as they could.
Kyle saw that despite the cleric’s effectiveness, there were still dozens, even scores, of the monstrosities still advancing with evil intent. Unable to use most of his spells in such close combat, he elected to deal with those further back and let the warriors deal with the ones up close.
The wizard spoke arcane words of magic and raised a towering wall of flame that stretched twenty feet high and practically bisected the huge cemetery. The wall of fire caught at least a dozen of the creatures in conflagration, incinerating them instantly. Those were the lucky ones. Those near the edge of the roaring flames combusted and flailed about, sometimes grappling with their own in their mindless panic.
The undead not caught in the inferno backed away and sought to go around the flames to attack the living humans. Kyle was about to unleash a powerful explosive fireball into the next thickest ranks of undead when something hit him hard from behind.
The Sorcerer's Legacy (The Sorcerer's Path) Page 9
