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

by Christian Warren Freed

  Death no doubt. It took little imagination to seeing the executioner’s blade swing down for his neck. “Why was I forced to be part of that … filth? I am no killer.”

  “A lesson in the true power our master’s hold,” the second, a portly man with a foul odor snorted. “We each have our part to play. Yours has but begun.”

  “And if I refuse?” Giles dared.

  Darkness swelled, drowning the tiny light thrown off by the candles. Sharp pains, like stabbing fingers plunged into his chest. Giles clutched at his chest. His eyes rolled back.

  “S… stop. Enough!” he begged.

  Normalcy returned. The woman stepped forward, showing him the full horror of her face. Under another circumstance, Giles might have thought her pretty once. But time and service to the dark stripped her of her looks, as well as her humanity. She was little better than a ghoul.

  “The once dead man is returning. He will contact you when he does. You are to do what he says,” she ordered. “There is no leeway in this, Merchant. Fulfill your purpose and you shall be richly rewarded.”

  “Disappoint us again, and I will take great pleasure in stretching your suffering across centuries,” the man added.

  “I understand,” Giles whispered. Closing his eyes, he hung his head in defeat.

  He was alone when he reopened them. The message had been delivered.

  TWENTY

  Jut, Northern Fent

  Nils wiped the sweat from his brow before replacing his helmet. “This is pointless. We’ve been bouncing back and forth between villages so much, I can’t feel the bottom of my feet!”

  “What else is we supposed to do?” Alfar blinked.

  Frustrated, Nils snapped. “One of these days I’m going to cut that stupid tongue out of your stupid mouth! This ain’t what we signed on for. And you know it!”

  “The Captain said this was for securing the duchy,” Alfar reasoned. “How can that be wrong when we’re keeping that dead fella from stealing more children?”

  Defeated by an imbecile. What’s this army coming to? Nils stomped off, leaving the younger soldier lost in thought. The patrol was executing their sixth rotation between Palis and Jut. If any of the soldiers were unaffected by the constant marching in full gear, they refused to show it in front of Sava. The sergeant was on a personal vendetta to hunt down and kill the once dead man. A ridiculous notion, Nils thought. After all, how does one kill a man who is already dead?

  Their first night in the field was spent with him trying to figure that riddle out. Nils failed, and it bothered him since. Brogon Lord. The name had become a boogeyman. A shadow ever out of reach. The squad tired, weakening, whereas Lord remained unchanged. Nils figured a dead man didn’t need to sleep, or eat, or use the privy, or well, anything. For all they knew, Brogon Lord might already be halfway across the continent by now.

  Sergeant Sava neither cared nor was he interested in anyone’s opinion but his own. His private humiliation was enough to invigorate the old man. Time may have slowed him down, for he wasn’t the man he was when he’d first joined, but it made his mind sharper. Each time they stopped for a quick break, he snatched a trooper and went through a series of sword drills. The squad was slowing, breaking down from fatigue, but he wasn’t about to let that be an excuse for a second failure. Sava intended to be ready when he and Lord next met.

  The village of Jut, if it could be called so, was barely larger than an extended family compound. They had a well and a place to worship the light, but little else. The squad was forced to pitch tents and sleep in one of the surrounding farmer’s fields whenever they wound up spending the night. Nils had been here three times already and failed to see any benefit from returning.

  Less than a hundred villagers lived in Jut and many of them were grey beards. Children were scarce, leaving Nils to ponder why they kept coming back. There seemed little chance the once dead man would target Jut, even if it was on his way. Nils shook his head. He’d never met the constable before and didn’t have a high opinion of Captain Thep, but their ideas felt odd. Anyone could see that a man trying to steal children would be better off in a bigger community.

  “What are you staring at, Trooper?” Sava’s voice growled from behind.

  Nils winced at the sound of that damned stick slapping Sava’s leg. “Nothing, Sergeant.”

  “Nothing eh? Good. Grab your sword. It’s your turn.”

  Shit.

  They passed a grinning Alfar, who hurriedly looked down to his gear and began cleaning his sword.

  “Nothing. Six days with no results. I fear we are wasting our time,” Kastus admitted.

  He echoed the frustrations exhibited by the squad, though he was sure none of them thought they were being watched. Not only had there been no sign of Lord, they hadn’t been able to dig any deeper on the crooked councilor. Deana’s report was long overdue, leading him to believe she was either complicit or the guilty party.

  Thep finished swallowing the last of his food, if army field rations could be called such. “We are ensuring the people that the Baron has their best interests and is concerned with their safety.”

  Kastus waggled a gloved finger. “Don’t give me the motivation speech you give your soldiers, Thep. You and I both know the issues at hand, and what is at stake. Failure is not an option, but it seems that is all we are capable of.”

  “We haven’t been recalled,” Thep countered.

  Kastus started pacing. “What are we missing?”

  “There’s nothing significant in Jut. We are wasting precious time here when we could be gathering leads in the south.”

  “Not until we solve the issue in Palis,” Kastus said. He wasn’t sure why, but his feeling that the misdealing of the council was related to Brogon Lord. Proving it was problematic.

  The clash of blades drew his attention, relaxing only when he recognized it was Sava with yet another soldier. How many did that make in the last week? They must be exhausted from his constant harping. Kastus remained in the dark as to why anyone would take up arms for a ruler they might never meet. Working for Einos was different, at least insofar as he was concerned. The constable was responsible for the security of the duchy and in constant contact with the Baron. He wore a sword but used it only on occasion.

  “Perhaps it is time to abandon this strategy,” he said after more thought. Jut was a dead end. There was no point in trying to pretend that wasn’t the case.

  “Should we leave a presence here, just in case?” Thep asked. He was grateful for the decision and knew the soldiers would be as well. No one hated constant marching more than an infantryman.

  Kastus bit back a laugh. “I don’t see a need. There’s barely a child here, or in the surrounding area. Best we consolidate our power and subdue Palis.”

  “Using too much force might cement their treachery,” Thep countered. “An uprising is the last thing we need.”

  “True, but I believe applying the proper amount of pressure will break those guilty parties and ensure compliance with their potential replacements,” Kastus said.

  He found both advantages and disadvantages in having a triumvirate of leadership in a modest village like Palis. Regardless of what happened, he intended on transforming Palis into the most loyal- and possibly rewarded- village in Fent.

  “Excuse me, sir. Are you busy?” a female private, Gemma, if Kastus remembered correctly, interrupted.

  “Not if it is important,” he replied.

  Gemma nodded. “There is a man from the village wishing to speak with you.”

  Kastus and Thep exchanged hopeful looks. “Where is he?”

  Neither could see any but their soldiers in the immediate area.

  “In a shed by the creek,” she replied. “He refuses to come out with the other villagers around. Something about being worried of the repercussions.”

  “Lead the way,” Kastus ordered before Thep could ask the question burning the tip of his tongue. This had better be worth it. Or she’ll march back t
o Palis barefoot.

  They found the man partially hidden behind a stack of early season hay. He was old beyond count. Lines competed for space across his face and hands. A thin beard hung down past the top of his tunic, stark white and fading. Spots coated his exposed flesh. Signs of the merciless advance of time and age. Kastus would have discounted him as just another old man if not for the clarity in his eyes. This was a man with burdensome secrets.

  “My name is Kastus. I am Constable of Fent. This is Captain Thep of the Baron’s army. I am told you have information for us.”

  “Depends on if you can protect me or not,” the old man said, with a voice stronger than his fragile body should have.

  Kastus knew better than to waste time asking his name. He was jittery enough, suggesting the information he had was important. “Any manner of protection would depend on what you have to say. We are not in the habit of trading services. Not when the security of the duchy is at stake. Tell us what you know and if it warrants, we will ensure you remain unharmed.”

  Seeing there was no way around the barrier Kastus erected, the old man sighed. “Rumor is you are looking into corruption on the Palis council. I can help. There’s been shady dealings with Palis for the better part of the last year. Strange people coming and going. Shipments of grain and wheat being diverted to different lands after being scrubbed from the books.”

  “Do you know which councilor is responsible?” Kastus asked. His heart quickened.

  Tugging his beard, the old man said, “If what they say is true. I’ve been in charge of commerce here for decades. Only started turning sour of late.”

  “Why has no one mentioned this?” Thep asked.

  “Folks around here want to live their lives in peace. Don’t think anyone is looking for trouble, leastwise not from the authorities.”

  “Yet here you are,” Kastus mused.

  “I’m tired of holding my tongue,” he replied. “There’s dark tides in Fent, Constable. The council in Palis isn’t working alone either. There’s a merchant from the big village coordinating it all. Some say he’s making a fortune on the Baron’s ignorance.”

  “I need names,” Kastus demanded. His voice was harsher than he intended. “There is more at play than your quiet village.”

  “Huh, has to do with those missing children,” he guessed.

  Thep grew wary. This man knew too much where no one else did. “What makes you say that? No children have been reported missing in this part of the duchy.”

  “Common knowledge. Word got here before your soldiers did. Fine looking men and women, but I hear tell there’s a once dead man doing the kidnapping,” he said. “Hard to beat one of them. I seen a few during my time. Always moving with a purpose. As if their last grasp at life came with specific designs.”

  “Have you seen this once dead man?” Kastus pressed.

  “No, and I don’t want to either,” he said. “There’s enough trouble going on. Why would I want to get involved with one of them, when I’m worried about being knifed by someone I know?”

  The Constable found the entire testimony unsettling and embellished somewhat. He knew old timers who spent long days in taverns, waiting for younger patrons to listen to their stories. The thing about stories was they tended to get more incredulous with each telling.

  “What leads you to think they would do so?” he asked.

  A shrug. “I don’t know who’s in league with this merchant. Could be any of them.”

  Thep asked, “Do you know who on the council?”

  “Not by name, but I can pick him out of a crowd without any problem.” His reply was borderline boastful. “Take me with you and I’ll lay him at your feet.”

  Him. Kastus frowned. He’d secretly hoped to place Deana in shackles. Anyone that haughty deserved to be taken down a notch or two. Humility was a wonderful condition. The potential of being misdirected remained, but Kastus felt the risk was worth it.

  He looked at Thep. “Captain, I believe it’s time to return to Palis and put an end to this nonsense.”

  Nils collapsed beside his gear. He was soaked with sweat and could barely lift his arms. Whatever grudge Sava held against Lord, the squad was being punished for it. He reached for his canteen and had unscrewed the cap when a harsh voice rang out.

  “On your feet, kiddies! We’re heading back to Palis.”

  Groans circulated the squad. Nils wanted to cry.

  Waern sat alone in his private study. A half empty glass of brandy sat at the edge of his desk. The fire crackled behind him, warming his old bones. He was tired. Stacks of unread reports waited, but he lacked interest. Mornings were best for trivial work. Waern leaned back into the crimson leather chair and closed his eyes.

  “We have to talk.”

  “I have nothing to say to you.” His eyes remained closed.

  Footsteps marching across the floor. “Then shut up and listen.”

  “What is this about? I am in no mood for games, Deana.”

  His eyes shot open, surprised to find she had taken the liberty of sitting on his guest couch. Rigid, her right leg crossed over the left, where she placed both hands on her knee. She wore that look suggesting he wasn’t about to like what she had to say.

  “Well? You’re here and I have brandy to drink,” he said.

  Nonplussed, Deana idly picked at a loose string along the stitching of her sleeve. “What have you told Kastus?”

  “About what? I don’t have time for this.”

  “They are ready to cart the three of us back to Einos’s jail,” she pressed. “We are all going to suffer unless whoever it is they are looking for comes forward.”

  He leaned forward. “Are you accusing me of something?”

  “Not at all, but I have no desire to spend my final years rotting in a cell.”

  “You worry too much. Word has reached me that they haven’t found anything amiss. I suspect they will return to Einos with full reprimand,” Waern suggested.

  She wasn’t impressed. “This is not a laughing matter. Kastus is an insufferable man. He won’t stop until he has a prisoner.”

  “Perhaps a sacrifice is in order. There are plenty of rivals who would love nothing more than to see you or I carted away,” he offered.

  “A sacrifice? Give them one of our citizens to make them go away? What would stop them from returning once they got to the bottom of their investigation?” she asked. The idea soured her stomach. Stern, unforgiving, Deana still cared for the people in Palis. Delivering one to the executioner’s axe was wrong.

  Waern spread his hands. “Have you a better idea? Baron Einos’s watchdogs won’t be satisfied until they place guilt on someone. It is the only way to get them to leave.”

  Infuriated, Deana struggled to retain composure. “I will not sit idle while you throw one of our citizens to the wolves, Waern. This is unacceptable.”

  “Give me another solution.” His deadpan expression challenged her.

  “No, Councilor. It is you who need to present a more suitable answer to the dilemma you caused,” she snapped and stormed out.

  “I should have killed you long ago,” he said to her back after she left.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Castle Fent

  Time was running out. Every moment wasted in debate hastened the end. Lizette couldn’t confirm this, for it was a feeling brewing deep in her gut. She watched and listened as Einos made plans and wished for the best, all the while knowing that it wasn’t going to be enough. The once dead man always seemed a step ahead. The war priest and his novice hadn’t proved much advantage either. Lizette continued to sink into loneliness.

  She wanted to lash out. To find the F’talle and exact vengeance for her daughter. Why couldn’t anyone see that they were falling too far behind? Lizette reasoned it was partly due to the fact that no additional children had been abducted. Security lagged in typical human reaction. Frustrated, she paced the length of her rooms. Think, damn it. There must be something I can do to get them to u
nderstand.

  There was always the Baroness. Lizette had formed a close bond with Aneth during her time in the castle, but her pregnancy was moving along and would soon confine her to the bed until their child was born. Memories flashed. She closed her eyes and smiled at clips of the past showing her holding Tabith for the first time.

  “That’s it!” she blurted aloud.

  Embarrassed, despite being alone, Lizette knew the angle she needed to approach Einos with. It was a desperate gamble that might not work, but it was all she had left for options. Tensions rose across the duchy, turning friends against each other as suspicions of collusion grew. Chaos threatened to tear the land apart. But there was a way to prevent such from happening. A way to prove to Einos that the way ahead wasn’t as secluded as he assumed. If only she could help change his mind, they might have a chance.

  Gathering her robes and taking a moment to run a comb through her hair—and frowning upon discovering the first strands of silver peeking through—Lizette went to find Quinlan. She was going to need allies before confronting an already fatigued Einos. The grin etched upon her face was both fierce and confident. Servants and low level functionaries moved out of her way, avoiding eye contact as she swept by.

  Autumn winds swept down the narrow canyons of Fent, preceded by a wave of multi-colored leaves. Winter was coming, faster than any anticipated or wanted. Life, however, seldom cared for the wants of mortals. A sad fact Quinlan learned as a young boy. It had been a dark evening in early spring. He and his best friend ignored their parent’s orders to return home by sundown in favor of playing a little longer. What child could resist the urge to keep playing after the snows melted?

  Wooden wands for swords, they pretended to harry and chase monsters away from their stone castle. Quinlan got turned around as the sky darkened so fast. One moment it was bright. The next it was the darkest night. He halted, calling his friend’s name for what felt like hours. Only the wind echoed back. Darkness fled almost as quickly as it arrived, leaving him stunned and in awe. Village elders claimed foul portents when the skies rebelled against convention. He didn’t know anything about that. All that mattered was finding his friend.