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

by Christian Warren Freed

  The bodies of the guards horribly slain during Quinlan’s mishap had been interred, but without a Tender, remained at risk of being reanimated. Einos had sent for one from their academy to the north, but it might be weeks yet before one arrived. Guards were stationed at the graveyard in the event the Grey Wanderer was seen again, though what they could do about it was largely inconsequential. As Lord proved, killing the supernatural was next to impossible.

  “Brother Quinlan, I feel this is pointless,” Donal blew his frustration out.

  He wasn’t wrong. Every time they rummaged through the pile of antiquated scrolls and manuscripts from generations long past, they felt further away from the solution. So far, there was nothing to connecting Fent to the Other Realm.

  Quinlan appraised his novice. The young man continued to grow, developing into a potent war priest and a fine man. He couldn’t ask for a better assistant in this trying time. “It is in the darkest hours where we often prove ourselves. The way ahead will become clear. We must have calm minds and steady hearts.”

  “But after what the F’talle did …”

  “Trouble yourself no more over it. The matter is done. We were caught unprepared and paid for it,” Quinlan said. “Einos continues to give us his support and we must not disappoint. Brogon Lord is our sole focus and I believe there is a way to defeat him. We just haven’t discovered it yet.”

  Donal snorted. “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because lad, the Flame seldom creates imbalance. Look about. Everything has an opposite. Night and day. The seasons. Time itself is mirrored.”

  “Good and evil.”

  “Exactly!” Quinlan praised. “There is always a way ahead. Finding it might take longer than we anticipate, but it will happen.”

  A knock disturbed them. Wind curled under the bottom of the door, flickering the candlelight.

  “Enter,” Quinlan said.

  A page entered. Young. Nervous. He shook from being in the presence of such high ranking nobles. Never in his days did he imagine bearing witness to a war priest. Much less service notice to him.

  “My lords, Baron Einos requests your presence at once,” he said.

  The tremor in his voice was born from awe.

  “Thank you, lad. Inform the Baron we are on our way.”

  Grinning to one another, the war priests left the records chamber.

  “Quinlan, good you’re here,” Einos said upon seeing them stride into his study.

  “We came as soon as your summons arrived,” he replied. “What is it?”

  “News from the north. Kastus appears to have uncovered a plot that might lead back to the F’talle, though he remains cautious in his accusation,” Einos said.

  Quinlan nodded. He looked forward to meeting with the constable and learning what was discovered during the expedition to Palis. “I assume there hasn’t been any sightings of our prey?”

  “One, but his missive was clipped. Kastus is on his way back as we speak, in pursuit of the man responsible. We must be prepared.”

  Quinlan was confused. “Baron, our job is to stop the Other Realm from breaching this world. Your duchy is yours to rule. It does not fall under war priest jurisdiction in that manner.”

  “Not even when the suspect is accused of collaborating with the enemy?” Einos countered. “Kastus is seldom wrong in these matters. I fail to see how the war priests are able to enter the duchies at will to conduct operations in the name of humanity yet refuse to lend assistance for internal crimes. That is a remarkable double standard.”

  “I did not say I wasn’t going to help,” Quinlan countered. “Only that it is most unusual. Our rules are strict. The Lord General would admonish me for acting against orders.”

  “But?” Einos asked, hopefully.

  “The Lord General is not here.”

  “Good. We must move fast. Fent is not overly large, but there are many ways to get into this village. No matter how tight the net we cast, there is the possibility he evades it and makes contact with his people. This is a dangerous game we play. One I can ill afford.”

  Einos began to pace. “Brogon Lord has not been spotted since the … incident in the graveyard. Tender Cannandal is dead. Slain by who knows. I can’t help but feel my eyes are being stripped away. Quinlan, I am blind against the growing darkness.”

  “There is yet hope. I have struggled with what we’ve seen and done. Enough that I sent for aid from Castle Andrak,” Quinlan admitted.

  “Additional war priests?” Einos, like most, was under the impression the priests operated alone outside of their precious walls. “Is that orthodox?”

  “Not per se, but these are unorthodox times,” Quinlan said. “It is my hope that the priest dispatched will be better educated against the threat we face. I was caught wanting during my first encounter with the F’talle. I will not be so again.”

  “That is enough for me.” He hoped it would be enough for Lizette as well. If she still lived.

  The nights since the incident were spent restless and laden with foul dreams. Aneth cried more than once, for she’d grown close to the woman. The loss would be felt for a long time to come. Of that he had no doubt. He prayed for her safe return, while steeling his resolve with the unproven knowledge that she was dead and gone.

  “What do you require of me?” Quinlan asked. He watched the confusion play out behind Einos’s eyes but knew better than to inquire. A man with that much weight on his shoulders was already stretched thin. How much more could he stand before he snapped? Best to tread cautiously.

  Einos licked his lips, suddenly unsure of his plan. “It is rumored that the magic imbued in your armor has the ability to force a man to tell the truth.”

  “It is an aspect of the Purifying Flame,” Quinlan confirmed.

  “Use it on this Waern. We can get to the bottom of the entire affair and end it before it gets worse. That Lord hasn’t returned for more children is not a sign that we are safe.”

  “My task remains incomplete until the F’talle is destroyed and the children are returned,” Quinlan said. He wasn’t sure where Einos was going. That he knew about the war priest’s magic was unsettling.

  “Naturally,” Einos seconded. “I also believe that capturing this village Elder will hasten our objectives. There is a plot at work here, Quinlan. Of that I am certain. Help me. I cannot do this without you.”

  Faced with conflicting interests, Quinlan’s mind was already set. It would take time for the assistance from Andrak to arrive. Perhaps enough to complete the Baron’s task. That was enough for him. Sitting idle wasn’t productive. He already feared he was sinking farther behind the F’talle. This might be enough to shift the tide.

  “I will accompany you, but I wish Donal to continue searching for anything we can use to combat the F’talle,” Quinlan told them.

  “Let us hunt our enemies and restore order to my duchy,” Einos roared with confidence he hadn’t felt in weeks.

  Donal rolled his eyes at the prospect of spending another day trapped in the dusty confines of ancient histories. Life was downright cruel at times.

  The thunder of hooves vibrated deep in the ground. Dust kicked up with each stride. Horses and riders stormed across the fields. Hundreds of soldiers marched behind, spread out in five meter intervals. Spears and pikes lowered. Dogs brayed, sniffing the grass and dirt for signs of their quarry.

  It had been decades since the soldiers of Fent last deployed in such a manner. All for the sake of one man. A coward and a traitor to the crown. This was as close to war as they’d come, minor border skirmishes with outlaws and bandits aside. A grand event that drew throngs of citizens to bear witness.

  The passing of the storm left a trail of devastation across the countryside. Downed trees and washed out roads slowed progress for much of the western approaches. Einos frowned at the delays as wagons became mired and soldiers were forced to find alternative paths through the countryside. Irritating, there was no way around it.

  Thr
ee similar units were deployed across western Fent in the hopes of finding and catching Waern. Einos believed Kastus and his soldiers were in fast pursuit and hopefully, forcing Waern down roads of their choosing. Hope wasn’t enough. He needed actionable intelligence if he was going to succeed.

  Sometime midafternoon Einos called a halt. It was well received by one and all, himself included. Swirling water around in his mouth and spitting, the Baron took a moment to rise up in his saddle. He’d forgotten how sore it left him.

  “There isn’t much daylight left,” Quinlan remarked. He left off mentioning the odds of missing Waern in the dark.

  “We will find him.”

  Quinlan wasn’t sure if Einos was actually that confident or if he was playing it up for the sake of the soldiers within earshot. What was clear was Einos had a different perspective since receiving word from his constable. There was a growing atmosphere of hope. Despite the setbacks suffered. The war priest was reluctant to join in, for he had seen too many wrong turns during his misadventures in the world.

  A horn bleat to the north. Heads snapped up. A dog barked. Horses snickered. Einos nearly dropped his canteen. There. A second horn blast.

  “That’s it!” he roared. “Our foe has been spotted! Mount up. Form ranks. We head north!”

  His army rallied, cheering as they obeyed orders.

  Einos, filled with pride, broke into a wide grin. “Brother Quinlan, it appears our fears are delayed for another day.”

  They headed north as fast as they could manage. The beginning of the end was at hand. Einos and his soldiers readied to reap vengeance for the sake of all the missing children. And for Lizette.

  Vengeance for their losses.

  Quinlan gathered his reins and pondered the impetuousness of Einos. The Baron waited for no man. The war priest rode north.

  TWENTY-NINE

  Fent

  Waern failed to think of a time when he’d been more afraid than now. All his carefully wrought plans were collapsing and he was trapped in the open. Baron Einos’s men were slowly drawing the circle to a close. The noose threatened. He’d made it almost all the way from Palis without detection. The capital village was in sight. The tallest spires of Castle Fent poking up into the skyline.

  Any illusions of escape dwindled the moment a patrol surprised them. Infantry swarmed out of a thicket of tall grasses along a stream where Waern and his men paused to rest and relieve themselves before continuing south. Neither group expected to find the other. A skirmish ensued, resulting in one of his men being wounded before they managed to withdraw and escape. Decades of experience told Waern it was but a matter of time before the Baron’s forces picked up the trail and renewed the hunt.

  He’d argued for keeping their current course, suggesting to move at speed to avoid further entanglements. The others resented that but kept their tongues. For now. Gold was a powerful motivator. They crossed a wide gully and entered a thin forest of tall pines. Enough to distort their silhouettes but nowhere near what they needed to screen them from searching eyes. The village was still just under a league away, and on flat terrain.

  Waern called for a slow trot, knowing they’d escaped the present threat. He calculated the odds of reaching the village intact. They weren’t in his favor. Surprising the patrol was happenstance and he assumed the noose would grow tighter the closer he got. The Elder cursed his luck, as well as his lack of foresight. He should have expected Kastus to send word back to Einos. Expected resistance upon his arrival.

  Woe be unto the fool who didn’t prepare. Waern was caught in a trap. He couldn’t go back to Palis. Einos’s dogs had the village under control. Nor could he continue forward without drastic changes. There was but one course of action that didn’t result in him losing his head immediately.

  “Bartus, we must split up,” he said, after glancing about the forest.

  The bigger man snorted and placing a finger over one nostril, blew his nose before wiping it with the back of his sleeve. “Split up. Why not order us to turn around and lead a suicide charge? I’m beginning to think you don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “Einos is clearly hunting me. We cannot reach Fent without help.” He chose to ignore the comment. Alone, and in the wild, there was no help for him should his handsomely paid henchmen decide they weren’t happy.

  Bartus knew he held the upper hand. “Sure. We can split up. Only, I’m not going with you. There’s not enough gold in the duchy for that. Hask, Thirl, you’re with our esteemed village Elder. See that his pretty little head reaches Giles and get paid for it.”

  Disgruntled, they nodded acceptance and moved their horses beside Waern.

  “Thank you,” Waern said.

  Bartus waved him off. “Don’t waste your breath, Waern. I expect to be paid for this endeavor and when it’s done, I don’t ever want to see your face again.”

  The Elder grit his teeth. Should he reach Giles, he planned on contracting a hit on Bartus and his men. After all, there could be no loose ends if he hoped to escape.

  “Move out,” Bartus barked.

  His group peeled away and headed north. Their part was done. Waern was on his own.

  “We’re getting closer.”

  Kastus gave Thep a skeptical look. He hadn’t seen any indications of such. Then again, he admitted he wasn’t a tracker. Any telltale signs might have easily gone unnoticed to his untrained eye.

  “I wish I shared your confidence, Captain,” he said.

  The soldier grinned. A look of satisfaction. “Constable, Sergeant Sava is one of the best in the duchy. If he says we are close, we are close.”

  Ignoring the subtle differences between confidence and arrogance, Kastus took Thep’s word. The race continued. Half a day later, they came upon the same infantry patrol Waern crossed. Greetings were exchanged before Kastus, growing increasingly impatient, decided to cut to the point. He feared Waern might disappear once he reached Fent and whatever network of villains awaited.

  “You’re certain he continued toward the city?” Kastus asked the ranking sergeant.

  “Positive, Constable. We even wounded one.”

  “That means a blood trail,” Thep said. “Sergeant Sava! Search the area for blood. We’ve got wounded.”

  Kastus would recall the savage look Sava gave for the rest of his days. Never before had he known true fear and he prayed he never found so again. Weeks of anger and pent up rage were surfacing, and Sava was a man Kastus never wanted to cross. He had no doubt the sergeant would rip Waern’s head free should he reach him first.

  Death was too rich a reward for a traitor like Waern. Besides, Kastus needed him alive if he was going to expose the network. “Can we catch him before he gets inside the city?”

  “If I have anything to say about it, yes,” Thep replied.

  They thanked the patrol and passed a message along for the rest of Einos’s forces spread out across the northwestern part of the duchy. Most of Fent’s terrain was flat. A featureless landscape suited for crops and farmland. Opportunities for hiding were scarce, leaving Waern with few options. Kastus felt his blood warm. The hunt was on and it was but a matter of time before he captured his quarry.

  The squad raced ahead, knowing the end was approaching. At their front was Sava and who had become his two favorite soldiers: Nils and Alfar. Both continued to lick their wounds, embarrassed by being caught off guard. Never one to miss an opportunity, Sava snatched them by the necks and pushed them forward. After all, the best way to get over a thrashing was by catching the bastards responsible.

  Brother Quinlan rode alongside Baron Einos. He was silent. His mind lost in events years in the past. Was it ten? Twenty? He’d lost count. Enough that the grey hairs peeking through his head weren’t imaginable. Memory was a tricky creature, for the edges blurred with time and events became confused. Quinlan longed for this memory to fade but knew it wouldn’t. There were times in life when fear was that strong.

  He was an apprentice the last time he knew
true fear. Gripping his soul and nearly rendering him helpless. He and Brother Garan, his master, were trapped by a pack of stone wolves. Vicious creatures the size of ponies, with scales and fangs as long as his hands. Garan sent Quinlan in first, eager to see how his novice would perform.

  Terror gripped him once the stench hit. Rotting flesh and feces, mixed with urine. Quinlan retched. A mistake. The wolves circled on him with the intent to kill. That moment of hesitation was enough. Young Quinlan watched death stalk near. He forgot the incantations for his armor. His one protection against the creatures of darkness. Garan stormed in, saving him by driving the wolves away.

  “Always keep your mind. Fear is a powerful foe but can be defeated through the strength in your heart. There is darkness. There is evil. We, as war priests, do not have the luxury of suffering their trespasses. Remember, Quinlan, fear no darkness.”

  Fear no darkness.

  The mantra of the war priests. A lesson he learned long ago and it had stuck with him ever since.

  “Are you listening?”

  Jarred back to reality, Quinlan covered his embarrassment. “I was thinking of how to defeat the F’talle.”

  Unconvinced, Einos grunted but said nothing on the remark. Brogon Lord was a high priority but capturing Elder Waern took precedence at the moment. “I was saying we should be on him before long, if the scouts were accurate.”

  “Do you believe this Elder will have answers?” Quinlan asked.

  He hadn’t crossed half the continent to become embroiled in local political issues. Each duchy was responsible for policing its own matters. The war priests were above that jurisdiction and designed to operate outside of modern constraints.

  “It’s possible. Whatever he knows, I’ll have it ripped from his tongue before I’m finished. There are too many irregularities going on in my duchy. The sooner this affair is finished, the better,” Einos admitted.