The Children of Never: A War Priests of Andrak Saga (The War Priests of Andrak Saga Book 1)

by Christian Warren Freed

  Donal asked, “Why are you helping us?”

  Good lad. Quinlan approved of his squire’s curiosity. The order went far to develop initiate’s critical thinking skills.

  Oonal bobbed his head. “The Majj are split. Some believe all outsiders to be threats to our way of life. Others think that we should join forces, for the betterment of both species. I stand in the middle, forced to hear all complaints. There was a plot to kill you this night. I could not allow that to happen, for I have not yet made up my mind about you.”

  Donal’s stomach lurched.

  “There is … something about you, war priest. A light most cannot see. I believe you are important to the coming days.” Oonal shrugged. “As I said, war is coming. We must all choose sides.”

  He stalked off, leaving priest and squire to ponder his words while making the arduous climb free of the Indolense Permital. Donal’s desire to explore the lost places of the world faded after his experience at the hands of the Majj. He was starting to think the world was more dangerous than his youthful mind entertained.

  Hand over hand they climbed. Quinlan set the pace, knowing that at any moment their absence would be discovered and a pack of Majj would be after them. Gain the summit and they stood a chance of escape. He climbed faster, urging Donal on. They were halfway to the top when the first bloodcurdling howl broke the night still. They’d been discovered.

  “Quickly, Donal! There is no time!” Quinlan urged.

  The war priest took great strides, feeling his legs burn from the effort. Additional howls arose. The hunt was on. Quinlan wasn’t a man prone to fear, but the primal demeanor the Majj exhibited told him all he needed to know of what would happen if they were caught. For every step up, the surface appeared farther away.

  TWELVE

  Village of Palis

  Sergeant Sava was a cruel man out of necessity. Hardened as only a noncommissioned officer could be, he drilled his platoon relentlessly through day and night, regardless of the weather. Two days of drill brought most villagers out to witness the spectacle. Seldom had entire units of soldiers occupied Palis. They were in awe of the uniforms and polished steel.

  Sava snarled with each miscue, though in truth, it was difficult to tell if he was angry or if this was his natural state of being. Puddles of crimson colored spit marked his passing. Every step taken rang across the cobblestones of the main avenue, for he made a show of stomping the iron ferrule tip of his walking stick. His soldiers knew too well that the stick had little to do with walking. All of them bore bruises from being cracked at one point for some infraction they weren’t aware they’d committed. Sava laughed with each hit.

  The sound grated on Nils. He bore his share of bruises over the last two years and liked to think he was evolved beyond the punishment. There was a time when he viewed Sava with abject hatred, but time proved a valuable teacher. Nils learned that, despite Sava’s gruff appearance, the sergeant had only the best intentions for his platoon. He was a consummate professional, if angrier than most. The company benefited from his experience. They were the best of Fent’s ten companies.

  None of that mattered for the men and women grinding away in the sleepy village of Palis. Nils had never been this far north and after spending a pair of days here, didn’t see much reason to return after their mission ended. The crack-crack of Sava’s stick echoed somewhere behind him. Nils cringed at the thought of another soldier being knocked. Maybe he wasn’t used to it after all.

  “Does he ever stop?” Alfar asked. His voice was low to avoid being overheard.

  Nils sighed, already tired of the conversation. They’d drawn the lucky straw and were assigned guard duty at the southern entrance. Thus far, not a single traveler had come calling, making for a pleasant afternoon.

  “Have you ever heard that speaking about someone usually draws them near?” he asked.

  Alfar blinked. Clearly not.

  “Keep talking about the sergeant and he’ll find a way to come over here,” Nils warned. He almost hoped Sava arrived and knocked sense into Alfar. The boy was driving him mad with innocuous questions.

  Alfar shrugged. “Too late.”

  Nils reluctantly looked down the road and watched as Sava stomped toward the guard post. So much for a quiet afternoon. Nils braced for the storm and ordered Alfar to tidy their area up. Anything to prevent Sava from erupting.

  “Sergeant Sava,” he acknowledged.

  Sava spat. Thin ropes of red-brown saliva trailed down his chin. “Trooper. How goes it?”

  “All quiet, Sergeant,” Alfar chimed in.

  Nils winced.

  Sava turned his predatory glare on Alfar, withering the young soldier. “Wasn’t speaking at you, soldier. You’d do well to remember your place in the future.”

  Alfar gulped.

  Sava returned to Nils. “Not so bright, this one. Is he?”

  Nils stood at a crossroads. He wouldn’t mind seeing Alfar get cracked, but they were a team and he wasn’t the sort to abandon a comrade when moments grew tense. “Sergeant, what can we do for you?”

  The stick twitched.

  “Captain wants all hands on full alert. He’s leading a patrol out to scout those low rocky hills to the east. No sleeping till we come back. Understood?”

  The realization that they were going to be trapped on guard duty for much longer than their original shift sank in. Nils was starting to think Alfar was a bad luck charm. So much for a quiet day and a night off. He watched Sava storm off. The man was in a perpetual hurry, as if some battle loomed just over the horizon. The crack-crack of his stick made Nils flinch.

  Kastus paced the length of the mostly empty hall under the waiting gaze of Captain Thep. Close to half of the garrison was deployed on patrols in the surrounding countryside. Discourse was yet to develop among the citizenry and neither man anticipated problems. None of this managed to calm the rising doubt in the back of Kastus’s mind. The longer he spent in Palis, the more he suspected something sinister lurking beneath the friendly façade.

  “Constable, you’re going to wear a hole in the floor,” Thep commented when the constant repetition started to annoy him.

  Kastus scowled and kept walking. “Captain, why can’t I shake the feeling that we are missing a vital component of this task?”

  “Everything about this feels surreal,” Thep answered. “We are dealing with the supernatural. If this Brogon Lord exists.”

  “It would be easier if you had seen the grave site,” Kastus stopped. “Some matters are inexplicable. Unfortunately, it is not Brogon Lord that worries me.”

  “The elders,” Thep concluded. They’d bothered him as well, enough to prompt his doubling of the guards and presence patrols.

  Kastus nodded. “Yes.”

  Nerves getting the better of him, Thep began pacing. “Which one? I suspect Deana of hiding something. Her actions are too hostile. She poses a problem.”

  “She does, but Deana is typical of many of these small villages. A bitter hag by most accounts. I shouldn’t worry too much about her. She is what I expected,” Kastus admitted. “No, Thep. It is the others who worry me.”

  The other elders were already in the twilight of their lives. Time was catching them. Death but a step away. Thep thought Mugh already had a foot in the grave, whereas Waern was obstinate for the sake of. How progress was made in Palis was beyond his comprehension. Many of the villages he’d visited lacked the central infrastructure of the capital, despite established trade routes and government assistance. Thep figured that far too many people were content with the old ways when each village stood alone. That archaic form of self-governance had long since proven ineffective.

  “How do you wish to proceed?” he asked. The prospect of interrogating his own people felt wrong, despite the growing necessity.

  Kastus mused at the reflection Thep presented. Interesting how one mimics the other. “Divide and conquer. It would be easier if we got them alone. Together they are too conflicting to be useful. We q
uestion them one at a time and keep the other occupied so they cannot corroborate stories.”

  Thep agreed, deciding there was prudence in allowing Kastus to exercise judicial authority. Use of the military in this setting was fraught with peril. “We should be able to accomplish that with minimal effort and manpower. Who shall I summon first?”

  The grin he showed was hollow. “Bring me Deana.”

  It had been a long time since he felt cowed in the presence of a woman. The last one to bring him to heel had been his mother. Memories Kastus neither appreciated nor enjoyed. The overly stern look Deana bore as she was escorted into the hall left little doubt as to whether he was going to enjoy what came next.

  “Lady Deana, please do be seated,” he gestured to the empty chair on the near side of the table.

  Her look was one of disdain, as if the low-quality furniture was unworthy of her grace. She sat anyway. “What is the meaning of this, Constable? I grow weary of your presence, and only after two days. Perhaps it is time to conclude your investigation and move on.”

  The thought of slapping her smug look away was the only thing calming him. “We will leave once our business is finished. As of yet, there has been no sign of our quarry. I am pleased, however, to say that the villagers have proven most helpful.”

  They’d only been forced to detain one older man when Sava and a squad attempted to search his home. Other than that, the occupation was proceeding smoothly.

  “Let us stop mincing words, Constable. What is your true purpose for being here?” she asked.

  He thought he detected the slightest hint of caution in her tone. A good sign if true. “Very well. I have never been one to dance around the heart of the matter. The Grey Wanderer has risen a man from the dead. His name was Brogon Lord and we have tracked his movements in this direction. It is plausible that he may strike here at any moment.”

  “You mentioned this earlier,” Deana was unimpressed.

  Kastus nodded. “I did, but I did not understand the politics of what was transpiring here. There is something amiss with you elders. Captain Thep and I have concluded that one or more of you are possibly in league with the F’talle.”

  Her stunned silence was the reaction he’d hoped for but did not expect. “Who do you suspect?”

  “That is what we are attempting to discover. If our belief is true, the once dead man will either be alerted to our presence or move up his schedule,” Thep interjected.

  “Is it you?” Kastus asked.

  Her bottom lip quivered as she began to speak.

  Stepping outside after several hours of interrogation was a welcome blessing. Kastus was good at his job. Baron Einos enjoyed the confidence of knowing any task would be performed to standard with Kastus in charge. That did little to assuage his gnawing doubts the deeper into this mystery he became entangled. He almost wished he smoked.

  “That was … difficult,” Thep said after joining him.

  The last of the elders was escorted away, leaving the pair with more questions than they had to begin with. The only certainty Kastus came away with was madness gripped half the kingdom, making his desire to catch Brogon Lord that much more powerful.

  “I think we could get away with chaining them together and throwing them into the river. Obstinate fools the lot,” Kastus agreed. “What was your impression?”

  That it was time to depart Palis was his initial thought. Their leaders were ineffective and clearly harboring secrets none were meant to know.

  “I am starting to think we are wasting time here,” he said. “The elders aren’t ready to break, though I suspect Deana will crack first. She seems to love power and will go to great lengths to preserve it.”

  “That was my thought as well. Mugh and Waern are more problematic. Of course, they are also bordering senility,” Kastus chuckled. “We keep the pressure on Deana. One of these bastards will talk. Has there been any word on the patrols?”

  A clouded look marred his face. “None. I admit that I am growing concerned. They should have reported in by now.”

  “What would your fearsome platoon sergeant have to say about that?” Kastus asked. There were very few men he could think of that inspired genuine fear. Sava was high on that list.

  “He would have already sent another squad out. Losing people doesn’t sit right with him,” Thep said. “If it were bandits I might agree, but not against the supernatural.”

  “Agreed. Has there been any movement around the perimeter?” The words felt awkward rolling off his tongue. Kastus was no soldier and seldom had reason to use their language.

  Thep shook his head. “All is quiet. Do you think our dead man decided to strike the other village?”

  Kastus had considered the possibility. “He might have, but we should have received word by now if he had. The platoon in Jul is no less capable than the one we have here.”

  Discoloration on the horizon drew their attention. Near enough to spy, yet just far enough away to blur it

  “What do you suppose that is?” Thep asked.

  Thunder rolled across the grassy plains, yet no clouds filled the sky. Arcs of lightning followed by flashes of bright green light raged. Kastus suspected he knew but was loath to tell the young captain. After all, he still wasn’t sure if he had seen the sclarem or whether it was but a dream. One mystery at a time. It was all he could handle.

  THIRTEEN

  The Once Dead Man

  Resurrection awakened previously unknown desires. Brogon Lord once lived honorably. A true knight in every sense. His last thoughts, as he lay dying from a stab wound to his stomach, were only of having lived as well as possible. Death held no regrets. Awakening, trapped in his decaying body, vilified all he once stood for. Necrotic impulses spurred him. He was locked in a realm that shouldn’t exist.

  If his masters found irony in any of this, they failed to display it. Brogon never saw who controlled his strings. Never spoke with those in command. All orders were issued through the mouths of his children and he was powerless to disobey. Worse, he was discovering that he enjoyed stealing children. The world was such an awful place. They deserved better than to be trapped in a mundane existence until their bodies stopped working, or worse. Better to leave the land of the living behind and embrace a higher calling.

  The clock tower was progressing on pace with his masters’ wishes. He wasn’t privileged to know what it was for. The masters never spoke of that. Only that they needed more children for the construction. Brogon wasn’t the only child thief. Several others came and went, delivering fresh souls for the great labor. One day, his purpose would end. He knew that. What he didn’t know was what the masters would do with him.

  Northern Fent was unremarkable. Brogon stalked across the night landscape. Always at night, lest the living see his true persona. Muscles drooped from bones. Holes, created by an army of insects, pockmarked his body. Yellowed bones showed through. Brogon was disgusted with what he saw, yet marveled that he managed to function. And with greater strength than in life.

  Remnants of clothing, once finery fit for a king’s court, clung to him in tattered rags. His station had fallen. Brogon spared no thought for loved ones still among the living. They meant little. Paramount was the desire to accumulate more children. That desire fueled him in unimaginable ways. Some primal instinct he failed to understand sent him to the children’s homes. He liked to think they felt no pain. Just a snap of the neck and they were free.

  Why the masters chose Fent mattered not. One duchy was the same as the rest. The people were the same in every village. Oh how he imagined mothers wailed upon discovering that empty bed. Worried in the doorway when their child did not return home. He wished he could help them. Reassure them that their children were now safe and fulfilling a greater purpose. He might even take the parents with him, but the masters were adamant about him taking children only.

  The moon had yet to rise, leaving the land blanketed in the haunting state trapped between light and dark. It had rained
earlier in the day, leaving the ground cleansed and with a fresh smell. Did he ever take the time to enjoy the little things in life? He doubted it. Brogon was a warrior. His every thought was bent to the task of becoming better.

  Brogon slogged through a small brook, where the water came up to his shins. Much of it seeped into the cracks in his flesh, adding unnecessary weight. He came up the slope on the opposite side and halted. Danger was nearby. An enemy he did not expect to confront.

  “You should not walk this world.”

  Brogon stared up at the green skinned monster looming over him. He grinned, or would have, if he still had lips. It had been too long since his last true battle. Brogon Lord attacked.

  Sava was born for walking. His people came from across the sea. They were ever on the move. Nomadic. The how or why was lost to time. All he knew was that a great diaspora occurred, forcing his parents to make the fraught-filled voyage to a distant land where assimilation was next to impossible. Sava didn’t mind. He enjoyed roaming the world, for there was so much to see. The colossus of Apocalon was by far the most intriguing sight. A one hundred twenty foot statue of a forgotten warrior from lore. It inspired Sava, giving him hope that one day he, too, might become immortalized.

  The mood among his platoon did not reflect his personal preference. Grumbling echoed through the ranks when they thought he was out of earshot. Sava was no fool. He knew his reputation among the men and did everything within his control to foster that illusion. Soldiers, in his estimation, needed to be hard. Softness was weakness that got people killed. He had no plans for dying anytime soon.

  The squads branched off shortly after leaving view of Palis. Sava wasn’t pleased by having half of his force outside of his operational control. These were his men and women. It was his duty to bring them all home, alive and in one piece. He watched them for as long as he could stand, as long as mission could broker a delay. Their squad sergeant was junior but had more experience than Captain Thep. Sava begrudgingly admitted they were in good hands and ordered his squad forward.