The Children of Never: A War Priests of Andrak Saga (The War Priests of Andrak Saga Book 1)
Page 5
Kastus flinched, despite knowing the blow was coming. His time spent with the grieving mother assured him of two realities. The first was that they were indeed missing a key element necessary to stop Brogon Lord from stealing more children. The second, and in his opinion more severe, was that Lizette was teetering on losing herself to the madness of vengeance. Losing your only child would have that effect, he supposed. Not that he had any way of knowing. His wife had died many years ago to the pox and he refused to remarry. Nor had he sired any bastards during his occasional indiscretions.
He drank deeply from the pewter mug, twisting his face at the bitterness of the late winter ale. “We lack the resources required to canvas the entire duchy. Finding a dead man in the middle of such a large area is problematic. Anger won’t solve anything, Lizette.”
The wounded look flaring at him suggested he’d taken a step too far. “You have no idea what anger is, Kastus, though I would be more than happy to demonstrate for you right now.”
He quickly surrendered. “There’s no need for that. We are on the same side. Besides, I was just making a point. We’re missing something and until we figure out what it is, we’re going to be a step behind this monster.”
Satisfied, Lizette lowered her gaze until she managed to regain composure. Until the abduction and murder of her daughter, she had seldom raised her voice or allowed the slightest inkling of anger to overcome her carefully constructed façade. Like Kastus, she suffered from the loss of her spouse. Her husband had been serving as a caravan guard from Fent to Mistwell. A normal occupation for the peasantry and one he was quite good at. They were returning from the floating city, when a pack of Ig’lakelli ambushed and slaughtered every man, woman, and beast. The Ig’lakelli were monsters worthy of the name.
She shuddered at the thought of running into the bipedal lizards in the open areas of the world, where no one heard your screams. Scholars claimed the race was left over from an ancient time, when the world was young. Lizette didn’t care. All that mattered was they murdered her husband and by some accounts, devoured him before his flesh cooled. Brogon Lord was a monster, too. He just took lives in a different way.
More than one night she awoke to rabid screams and cries of anguish. Lizette was horrified to learn they poured from her throat. Each time was the same. She saw her husband’s torn and bleeding body in the morning light, while the monster Brogon Lord dashed off with her daughter, laughing with wicked intent until they disappeared in the mist. Each night provided livid moments of terror leaving her weakened and tormented.
Einos insisted she stay in the castle until the resurrected man was found and destroyed. He couldn’t help but feel obligated, considering all she’d been forced to endure. Maids came to her room daily with fresh sheets and towels, knowing her bedding was drenched in sweat through the preceding night. Lizette turned down their offers to remake her bed and wash her linens. Stubborn pride clashed with embarrassment to prevent her from accepting charity. She slipped off to the laundry when she thought no one was paying attention and washed her own soiled linens.
“Are you well?” Kastus asked after too many uncomfortable moments of prolonged silence.
Trance broken, she offered a false smile and shook away the demons of the night prior. “Fine. I apologize for snapping. My emotions no longer seem within my control.”
“I understand.” Though he wondered if he did.
Satisfied he wasn’t going to pry, Lizette changed the subject. “Has there been any word on the war priests?”
“None the baron has given. He may be keeping the information private until one or two arrive. There is no need to shock the countryside prematurely,” he replied.
A thought sparked and Kastus hung his head. “Of course! The countryside.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
He grabbed his tattered leather jacket and said, “We need to find Einos.”
“We’ve been focusing our search efforts in concentrated areas of population, when we should have been sweeping the countryside with places for him to hide. No one has reported seeing him in daylight, which means Brogon Lord needs a lair to wait out the day,” Kastus explained.
Einos scratched his chin in thought. “If he has a lair, we have a way of tracking him down.”
“And putting the bastard back in the grave,” Lizette finished.
Excitement rippled through the trio for the first time since combining forces. Every attempt at finding Brogon resulted in disappointment and another child missing. The Baron remained unconvinced the resurrected man was killing them, however, for no additional bodies had been found and his efforts produced no other ghostly sightings. His wife worried about him spending countless hours roaming the darkened halls in the hopes of confronting Lizette’s daughter again.
“There is one problem, Kastus,” Einos suggested. “We lack the manpower to search every meter of this duchy. And even if we had the resources, there is every chance Brogon would return to his lair after we’d swept through. Still, your conclusion has merit. Can you conscript any of the peasantry to assist your efforts?”
“It is possible, though I am not sure how many men are available. Most of the men would want to stay home to protect their children,” Kastus replied.
“We could always secure the village first, thus ensuring their peace of mind,” Lizette said.
Einos shook his head. “Would you accept having to go out in search of this monster while other, better armed men stay behind to protect your home? I can think of no quicker way to foment rebellion. Especially considering the losses we have sustained. No, deploying squads into the villages is fine, but our men will need to take the lead if we are to form adequate defenses.”
“What if we trained the villagers? Basic defense measures. Give them limited weapons,” Kastus suggested with hesitation.
An eyebrow arched. “Do you have any idea what you are asking?”
“What’s wrong with ensuring your subjects are safe from predators?” Lizette demanded. Since arriving two weeks ago, she had grown accustomed to being around both Einos and his wife. The natural reluctance separating royalty and peasant was dissolving.
“I much prefer maintaining my office,” Einos smiled weakly. “While I have no doubt my leadership is generally viewed positively, current events are no doubt driving my popularity down. How much more can our people take before they decide removing me is in their best interest? An armed revolt is not on my agenda, Lizette.”
Rebuked, she sat back in her chair. Policies and strategic planning were beyond her scope, leaving her disadvantaged when speaking of the possible courses of action involving the future of Fent. Lizette lowered her eyes, studying the intricate patterns woven into the crimson rug covering most of the office floor. Rich blue and warm yellow blended with crimson and deep green in intricate designs, reminding her of the borders of the wall tapestries depicting scenes of those responsible for ensuring the security of the duchy in battles past. A far cry from her modest home.
Lizette groaned with self-chastisement. Her home was only an empty frame, bereft of the mirth once consuming it. Dreams died within with the loss of her husband and her beloved daughter. She refused to go home again. Not until they caught Brogon Lord and made him divulge what he had done with the missing children. Peasants and those working in the castle whispered about her. She was fast becoming a hero to the commoner.
The aroma of mint scented candles tickled her nose, allowing her to draw restorative breaths as the world continued to spin out of control around her. Lizette would never have been able to afford scented candles before joining forces with the Barony. Did she join or force her way into the inner circle she wondered? She no longer recalled, but she knew that this was what all her life had built up to. She was meant to make a difference.
“That still leaves us with the problem of deciding where to begin looking,” Kastus said, interrupting her thoughts.
Einos stared at the map of his small kingdom. Fent was
no larger than a few hundred square leagues, most of it open plains or lightly forested. Searching even that small area would take manpower and far too much time. Small dots marked the locations of the disappearances. Each was accompanied by a number underneath, showing him the progression of the crimes.
“We follow the numbers,” he said after much thought. Einos continued after noticing the confusion on their faces. “Each of these children has been taken at roughly the same time of day and at least according to the way they are displayed on the map, in geographical progression. Look here.”
He went to the hanging map and began tracing a line from the first to the last incident. “While not entirely in the same direction, this Brogon Lord seems to be operating in a linear pattern.”
“Meaning we have a means of anticipating where he might strike again,” Kastus finished.
“Precisely.”
Lizette followed the line on the map. “What is to say he will continue this pattern? Surely he must know his actions have not gone unnoticed. Won’t he expect us to come after him?”
Einos approved. She was clever and a fast learner. She might end up proving a valuable asset to his leadership once this matter concluded. “Weeks have passed since his reported resurrection. Weeks in which nothing has changed.”
Kastus stepped closer to the map. “If what you suggest is true, there is still a lot of territory to cover. It is possible we will miss him.”
Villages lay on either side of the current trajectory, substantiating Kastus’s worry. Brogon’s course often zigzagged without apparent reason, but always moved forward. His targets had been standalone farmsteads to small villages. Preparing the wrong target was far too viable and until Einos was able to find more information about Brogon, they needed to act with caution.
“We have enough men to screen the villages of Palis and Jul. Deploy roving patrols to cover the main and secondary roads,” Einos said.
“Which leaves us with his lair. He may not be staying in the same place twice as his hunting ground changes,” Kastus suggested. His revelation shattered his previous theory.
“Putting us right back where we began,” Lizette finished. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.
Einos said, “Not necessarily. Kastus, take a hundred men north to secure those two villages. I will follow with another hundred, hopefully we’ll flush Brogon out into the open.”
“What of me?” Lizette asked. She refused to sit back and watch as others fought her personal battles.
“Lizette, I appreciate your fervor for aiding the duchy, but this is a matter best left to men at arms. What we will face out there is no place for a …”
“A what?” She rose, hands balled to fists. Her cheeks flushed crimson. “A woman?”
Einos quickly moved to defend himself. “I was going to say someone inexperienced in the ways of war. These are modern times. Trained women fight alongside men. Many serve in my defense forces. In fact, I …”
“Baron, you have defended your statement adequately, but I need to be part of this….”
Kastus snorted.
EIGHT
Fent
Dawn found a company of soldiers marching out of the village of Fent. They were heading north, on the trail of Brogon Lord and the dangers associated with him. Thus far, only children had been hurt. The once dead man was selective and elusive. Kastus prayed that the former remained so. Taking his responsibility more seriously than before, the Constable of Fent was determined to end the threat of Brogon Lord, thus eliminating the necessity of having a war priest snooping through the duchy.
Kastus, like so many across the lands, was raised to be leery of the mythic priests. They dealt with the unnatural, forcing them into self-imposed exile in their fortresses at the ends of the world. Kastus based his opinions off old stories and rampant rumors. Hand-me-downs from generations past. More often than not, the war priests created issues for the people left behind. He did not want Fent devolving into chaos. Leastwise no more than this bastard knight is already creating.
One hundred men marched at his back, a sizeable portion of Fent’s defensive capabilities. It was a calculated risk, but with no active war anywhere close, one both he and the Baron were comfortable taking. The black and purple banners waved in the morning breeze, offering flickers of the royal standard, a gilded eagle, to those onlookers already going about their daily life.
Men and some women bowed their heads, casting their eyes downward as the soldiers marched off to the unknown. They knew, of that Kastus was certain. Word spread quickly in a small town. Even when the Baron insisted on operational security. He snorted at the irony of failed secrets. How many of these people would insist on joining me, if for only a glimpse of their child again? Surely they must understand their children are never returning?
“Sir?”
Jarred, Kastus glanced at the young captain on his left. Lightly bearded with youthful eyes, the captain looked out of place. Kastus doubted the man had any field experience, not that it was a bad thing. Going to war was an act of failed consequences. A last resort any responsible ruler sought to avoid. “Captain?”
“I asked to our destination,” he asked.
A stain, no larger than a fingernail, drew Kastus’s attention. “What is your name, Captain? It feels foolish referring to you by rank alone.”
“Ah, Thep, sir. First Company.”
A nod, clipped. “Captain Thep, we are heading for the village of Palis. What have you been briefed of our mission?”
“Not much, sir. Command suggested we were heading out to find this child stealer,” Thep supplied.
Kastus quickened his step, forcing Thep to follow to get out of earshot of the front ranks. Soldiers talked. More than they should, in most instances. This close to Fent proper, Kastus required secrecy. “We are trying to secure the duchy, find this monster, and prevent the war priests from securing a foothold. A most ambitious task, though one I suspect we are capable of executing.”
Thep forced his jaw shut, lest he appear a drooling idiot in front of one of the senior-most men in Fent. “Sir, my men and I will do everything within our power to accomplish this.”
“I’ve no doubt, Thep. No doubt. However, not a word of this to the rest of the men. Not until we are well underway and about to make our move.”
Any reassurance meant by the deliberate subterfuge left Thep feeling cold. He turned back to the long road stretching away before him. His thoughts should have focused on developing plans to find Brogon Lord. Instead they centered on the war priests. Are they as powerful as legend says? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to meet one or not.
Nightfall saw the column several leagues from the security of home. The soldiers marched at reasonable pace, stopping in accordance with active military regulations. Thep used his sergeants wisely, knowing their proclivity for exacting the most out of the men. Their growls and curses were the only sounds heard above the stomp of marching boots.
Nils dumped the dirt from his boot, scowling as the small pebble that had been giving him grief since leaving Fent dropped out. “Bout time!”
Across from him, Alfar got the most out of his yawn. “You are the unhappiest person I’ve ever met, Nils. What are you whining about this time?”
“Eh? Mind your business, pretty boy. This is grown folk talk over here,” the dark-haired soldier scoffed and threw a rock at his peer.
The rock bounced from Alfar’s chest armor. “You throw like my sister.”
“You mean my daughter?” Nils countered. He broke into a toothy grin, the off-white of his teeth peeking from beneath a thick moustache.
Alfar brushed the dust from his chest. Golden hair on the backs of his hands reflected in the building firelight. “Where do you suppose we’re headed? Not like the Capt’n to be closed up.”
“Don’t suppose it matters. He ain’t been in a real scrape, so it can’t be that. More like a presence patrol,” Nils replied.
Alfar’s blue eyes pinched. “A what?”
“Oh. I’m hungry.”
A second rock, thrown harder, missed his head.
“What are you lubbers quipping about?”
Nils winced. Alfar tensed, unsure whether to go to attention or not as Sergeant Sava stomped up to them. As wide as he was tall, his sun bronzed skin lent Sava natural menace. A fact not lost upon the men.
“We was just speculating about our mission, is all,” Nils answered before Alfar managed to get them in trouble.
Sava rubbed his jaw and spat a mouthful of juice from the kaappa leaves he constantly shoved in his mouth. They’d long since stained his teeth red. “The Baron don’t pay you to speculate, soldier. We go where the Captain orders. Do what he says. Anything less and it’s treason.”
Alfar opened his mouth to speak. This time the rock struck home. Nils quickly followed up, “Won’t happen again, Sergeant. Me and Alfar will keep it quiet.”
Satisfied, Sava spat again. “Good, and just to make sure you do, you both got first guard shift. Move out.”
Nils waited until Sava was out of earshot before snarling, “See what your mouth got us into?”
“I was just…”
Nils pointed an angry finger. “You was just about to get us cracked by an angry sergeant. Come on. Collect up your gear. We got work to do.”
His stomach growled angrier than before as the pair began their guard shift. It was going to be a long night.
Kastus lay looking up at the stars. He’d never been comfortable sleeping outside and the life of a soldier proved disagreeable with his finer senses. No dandy, he was a hardworking man with an iron rod down his spine. A compliment to the people of Fent. He just despised sleeping under the stars. The ground was always too hard, making it impossible to find a comfortable spot, and the nights grew cold enough to leave him covered in dew by morning. No. No soldier life for the Constable.