by Jena Rey
He stood and, after dusting himself off, made his way to the main door, hearing her follow with only a whisper of sound – that was one advantage of being barefooted. It wasn’t any easier to open the door this time, even though he’d only wrenched it partially closed. The effort strained already sore muscles, making Darian swear under his breath. It would take someone replacing the warped hinges and the damaged door to make the temple fully accessible again.
Outside people were in a hurry, talking to each other and wandering toward the main gate. The witch of the hills and the outsider that had questioned the Mayor were forgotten in the rush of someone new. Once they were out of the temple, Darian kept out of the main crush of the crowd, motioning toward the gate.
“It’s a lot faster than I expected, but it’s possible my brethren are the cause of this commotion.”
“Maybe.” Ephema watched the people rush by, a wry amusement in her eyes. “Certainly someone is at the gate. It may be your friends, or a wagon of tinkers. Either is exciting, especially so near to the white of winter.”
Her tone was light, almost humorous, and Darian missed a step in surprise. She was a remarkably adaptable person, perhaps she’d already forgiven him his trespasses of only a few days ago. “Do tinkers come this way often? It seems far out of the way of the main roads.” He fell in step beside her, letting her guide him through the town. She didn’t avoid other people, but they seemed to instinctively move out of her way without incident.
“It could be tinkers, yes, but it is not very likely. They usually come in the fall and spring, bringing whatever they could not sell to others and collecting whatever the town has to be taken to the bigger cities.” She paused as they got a glimpse of the open gates through the crowd and pushed a piece of hair out of her eyes. “It is not tinkers today. I see black armor, and I smell magic.”
“Smell magic?” Darian had heard of people who could feel a magical presence. Higher Priests in his order had divine insight or could foresee a small degree into the future, but he’d never heard any claim they could smell magic. Then again, if you didn’t have formal training how would you describe what divine power felt like? Smell might be as descriptive as anything.
Before Darian could question her further, two men broke through the crowd and strode directly toward them. The men led enormous war horses that looked like they’d been ridden hard, their nostrils flared and red rimmed from the exertion, sweat glistening on their sides. All eyes were on the Knights, and no one tried to stop them from going anywhere they liked. There might have been doubts as to Darian’s association with the Knights of Osephetin, but there could be no doubt with these new visitors.
The men wore full field plate armor adorned from helmet to boot with various bits of polished human bone. Their helmets were wrapped in elongated skulls, the shoulder pieces enhanced with skulls and jagged edges of broken bone. Each joint of the armor was reinforced with stacks of layered bone and the more vulnerable sections studded with more bone wrapped in black iron.
One Knight carried a large kite shield that was ringed with finger bones. Two skeletal hands grasped each other around a thick iron spike in the center of the shield. At his waist he carried a heavy, curved spiked hammer that was also layered in strips of bone, sometimes pulled so thin it could be seen through.
The other Knight carried a massive two-handed maul with a shaft assembled out of tibia and fibula sections, fused together with dark strips of metal. Even in the wan light of day the weapons glowed blue, tiny sparks of divine power occasionally spitting from the enchanted bone. The unknowing might expect the bone weapons and armor would splinter and shatter, as most bone did; but these were sworn Knights of the Dark Lord and these were the bones of their fallen brethren. The metal would fail before the consecrated bone.
As they approached, Darian dropped to one knee, bowing his head. He recognized both Knights and thanked Osephetin in silent prayer that they were the ones who were closest. Not that he couldn’t have explained the situation to any of the faithful, but the familiarity put him at greater ease. Especially since some of what he had to explain was at the edge of belief. “It is my honor to see you, my brothers. I am glad you came so quickly.”
“We were not far as the raven flies.” The larger of the two, a Knight named Tabor, offered his hand, hauling Darian to his feet with easy strength. “We were dispatched to accompany your convoy, but arrived too late. We found those who remained.”
His voice was thick, and Darian knew they’d discovered the fallen and sanctified or destroyed those who had risen or might have risen. Unlike the sworn Knights or fully trained Disciples, the journeymen were vulnerable to the Lich’s power over the land. Those who were unsworn would have risen as the soul-less undead. Darian knew now who had accomplished that terrible task, and was grateful it wasn’t something he’d been asked to do, though the gratitude came with guilt he did his best to push away.
Tabor cleared his throat and continued. “We were surprised to receive your raven and learn you had survived. We thought all lost and their task with them.”
“None were more surprised at my survival, than I, Knight Tabor.” Darian sighed, pushing back the complicated mixture of anger and sorrow that came with remembering his fallen comrades. He knew the crowd was listening, but he reported anyway. Maybe it would be good for them to be reminded of what evils the Knights faced. “We were beset by a type of undead I’ve never seen before. The creatures came at us at a full run down the side of a mountain. They were upon us before the alarm could be raised. They were stronger than anything I’ve ever heard of, much less encountered. Knight Jagor, our Knight in attendance, was cut down first.”
Darian shook his head as though he could shake away the terrible memories. “They knew, Sir. They focused all their efforts on him from the beginning. He fought so hard and destroyed many, but they just kept coming and things went sour very fast after that. Bishop Ton told Journeyman Iara and I to run, to do what we could to complete the mission, but Iara was intercepted soon after we broke from the convoy. The Priest called down Osephetin’s fire on the scourge, but it only slowed them.”
Tabor listened attentively as Darian spoke, his dark eyes attentive and piercing. He nodded at Ephema. “And this woman with you. Was she in the convoy as well?”
Darian stood slightly to the side so the Knights could see Ephema better. “No. This is Ephema. Without her I would be dead, too. She sheltered me from the undead and took care…of my wounds.” He motioned to the town. “As I recovered, she informed me that this town was without disciples and the Temple was unattended. People claiming to be Followers of Osephetin were here a few months ago and made a mockery of our Lord before being cast out. I came to speak to the Mayor about it and other concerns. He didn’t like that very much. Any of it.”
“There are, indeed, many things we should speak about then.” Tabor’s dark features clouded, and he looked over the crowd before his gaze came back to Darian. “Where is the Knight in Residence?”
“Gone, Sir. From what I’ve learned, the last Knight was called from here several years ago. Most of the disciples left soon after, and the last Priest in residence died here. His body is still residing where he passed. I have not the training to give him the proper passing rites, but as he retains Osephetin’s blessing, he can wait a little longer. I do not know why no one was sent in the interim.”
The smaller, though only in comparison to Knight Tabor, Knight sighed. “I’ve been to this town before, and I remember the Priest in Residence well. He was a kind man and a stalwart follower. I hope his trip to the Hall of the Faithful was painless.”
“I believe it was, Knight Ianel.” Darian motioned in the direction of the temple, though he knew they couldn’t see it. “When we found his body, he was knelt in prayer. It appears the false followers came sometime after the temple had fallen into ruin. The doors are damaged from someone trying to force them, but the temple was protected. They are the ones who have made the people of
the town leery of the true Disciples, but the blame falls on us all.”
“Then he left this life as any of us would wish. Now then,” Knight Ianel turned to the gathered folks with a grim frown. “What governing council has allowed the Sanctuary to remain unmanned and unguarded? Who blames the true Knights for the actions of imposters? Where shall the judgement fall?”
“I think I can help you, sir.” A young man strode out of the crowd, which parted for his coming. He was dressed in the colors of the town guard, though the closer he came the less confident he seemed. He stopped a few feet away from the Knights, nervously shifting his attention between the two men. “Er. My a…apologies, good sirs. I’ve never been this close to a true Knight before.”
“Only the corrupt or the undead need fear the Knights of Osephetin.” Knight Tabor’s deep gaze hung on the young man before the corner of his lips quirked ever so slightly. “Speak your answers that the Truth might be witnessed by all.”
“The words aren’t mine, but I am a messenger sent to the temple this morning. Sergeant Markany is prepared to address everything in the main meeting hall, good sir.” The guardsman managed to keep his wits about him. “He has interrogated the Mayor on a number of concerns and made some additional arrests last night that would be of interest to you. He thanks the Knights for giving him opportunity to serve the town as he was sworn to.”
Knight Tabor inclined his head, a spark of blue light skipping along the top of his helmet from one unseeing eye socket to the other. The light made his dark skin seem even darker. “It seems to me that your Sergeant Markany is well on the path to restoring justice, but Knight Ianel will accompany you in your search for Truth. I do not believe this issue will require the rest of us. Brother Darian, you may show me to the Temple and complete your report.”
Darian nodded, grateful to be able to return his focus to the mission. He believed helping the town was the right thing to do, but he needed to return to Hawthan and deliver the precious cargo he carried even more. “You might regret not assigning Knight Ianel to the Sanctuary, Knight Tabor. The door is jammed, and I’m not sure you’ll be able to get inside.”
Tabor snorted and tapped the pommel of his maul. “I suspect we can manage just fine, Journeyman Darian.” He saluted Ianel as the crowd, faintly disappointed that the questioning had been moved out of sight, started to disperse. Knight Tabor gathered the reins of the warhorses and looked at Darian. “Lead on.”
Chapter Four
Darian’s concerns about the temple door had not been without merit. It had been easy to get lodgings for the horses at the Tapper, but opening the entrance wide enough for a man of Tabor’s size seemed impossible. Darian and Tabor tried to free the hinges so they could lift the door down, but when that failed a few strikes of Tabor’s maul sped up the process. With a sigh and a crash, the door folded to the ground, finally giving up the fight to the invaders. It had done all it was designed to do, only this time it faced a force its builders had never imagined.
Once inside, Knight and Journeyman both shed the bulk of their armor, sweat dripping as they sat in the outer chamber, regaining their strength. Ephema disappeared into the back of the sanctuary, returning with a wide basin full of water. She walked carefully, to keep it from sloshing onto the floor. A little water wouldn’t do any harm to the worn stone surface, but it would make everything very slick. She set the basin and a wad of fabric where the two men could reach them before settling on the floor nearby.
Darian nodded his thanks, looking toward the outer door with a sigh. “I wish we hadn’t had to do that.”
Tabor grabbed one of the rags, dipping it into the water and rubbing it across his face and brow. “My thanks. Once the Temple is staffed and ready to function again, we’ll worry about it. We can brace the inner chambers when we leave. That gods’ damned door can stay in a pile for all I care.” He sighed in relief as the cool water dripped out of his very short, curly hair and down his back. “That is better. Now, Darian, I assume there is far more to the story that I need to know than what you told back there. Let’s start at the beginning.”
“Of course.” Darian ignored the water for the moment. He was tired, but he hadn’t been the one swinging the maul. “You know what our mission was, yes? The things that happened before the ambush?”
“Yes. We know what you went seeking for and that at least the first stages of that seeking were successful. What happened then?”
Darian sighed, leaning back on his hands and closing his eyes. He’d not looked closely into his memories to this point, focusing on going forward, but it was time to tell all and hope Knight Tabor might see something in the telling that would help them. He was silent for a time, putting his thoughts in order, before he opened his eyes and began. “The night was still young when we were attacked. Knight Jagor was on watch duty with Journeyman Lanna. I was sitting near the fire and could hear them clearly; he was instructing her on some of the finer points of advanced combat. She was supposed to take her oaths when we got back. Several of us were.” He swallowed, his throat tightening. “That’s when we heard the first howls.”
“Where did the howling come from, do you remember?” Tabor watched Darian carefully as he asked his questions.
“I do. It wasn’t one source, but three. They came all at once from three different places.” Darian sat up straight and motioned as he explained. “There was a ridgeline above the camp, about forty feet above and to the right. There. Then it echoed immediately farther to the right, this time only about ten feet above us. The third call was nearly atop us, and behind us to the left. The attack was coordinated. I’m certain of it.” He shook, remembering the surge of fear and adrenaline the attack had caused and trying to remain calm now. “The span of time between the three was less time than it takes for me to clap my hands twice, my Brother. They were so fast, so certain.”
“That is troubling, indeed.” Tabor stood after dipping the cloth into the water again. He began to pace the hall, listening to Darian talk as he did so. “Continue. Did you get a good look at the attacking creatures? Did they retain any flesh, or were they fully skeletal?”
“I’m not sure. I couldn’t see them very well. They wore scraps of armor and some carried weapons in addition to their claws. Weapons! The undead just… They don’t carry arms and armor except in stories.” Darian shook his head, his hair flopping into his eyes. “It’s impossible, but I swear it’s true. I ran to defend Bishop Ton with Journeyman Iara, as I’d been instructed to do upon any threat. When I turned around, Journeyman Lanna had already been killed, and Knight Jagor was fighting like a man possessed, but there were just so many of them. He couldn’t get ahead of the surge. Then the torches went out. All of them at once.
“Bishop Ton ordered Journeyman Iana and I to escape. He pressed the scroll into my hands and told me to guard it with my life. I… I heard him calling on Osephetin’s might and then, after the explosion, there was nothing, only silence as we ran. We went without a light to try to keep the undead from tracking us, but it didn’t stop them.
“They picked up our trail quickly and Iana split off to try to divert their attention from me. I did not witness her death, but I heard it.” He swallowed hard, staring down at his hands. He didn’t want to see sympathy in Tabor’s face. He just wanted to get the story out. “I managed to evade the monsters for a while thanks to her diversion, though I took a gash to the leg which slowed me far too much. I went as fast as I could, but they found me soon enough. I’ve never heard of a pursuit lasting so long. Every time I thought they were gone it was not so.”
Tabor’s voice was gentle as he spoke, encouraging Darian’s tale. “And then?”
“Then things get a bit hazy.” Darian glanced at Ephema, who didn’t quite meet his gaze, though her cheeks were flushed. “They found me again and attacked. I clearly remember taking a claw across my face. I fought back. The stone around me crumbled, and I fell. That’s when Ephema found me. I hit hard, and I’m certain my leg was broken
. They should have killed me. I should not be standing before you, whole and healthy, yet I am. I can’t explain how it is possible, but Ephema healed me. She called on magics that have been lost for over a century, and the healing Goddess answered her.”
Both of the men looked at her, and Ephema rubbed her hands together, raising her gaze to look beyond them to the fallen door. “You are not wrong. I saw you fall. When I found you, you were gravely injured. My parents raised me to help others, even as they told me to keep my gift from the Mother secret. It is very difficult to do both of these things at once.”
Tabor frowned, his brow furrowing until he looked like he was much older than his true age, nearly twice Darian’s own. Darian could almost see the same shock and doubt going through the older Knight’s mind as had gone through his. Healing wasn’t possible. The Daughters of the Mother were insane, all of them. But Ephema sat there before them, calm and not in any way mad. Simple perhaps, but not mad.
Tabor drew a knife from his belt and studied it in his hands. “Our Lord trusts us to have Faith.” He muttered. Darian half rose, worried Tabor might turn the weapon on Ephema, but the Knight made no move toward the woman. Instead, with a grim, determined look, Tabor slashed a line down his forearm. The cut was deep and blood immediately welled from the gash, dripping down his dark skin. He thrust the arm before Ephema whose eyes were wide with shock. “Show me.” He didn’t yell, but his voice was raised in suffocated pain and demand.
Ephema shot a look at Darian, filled with uncertainty, but it didn’t last. She pushed quickly to her feet and gathered Tabor’s bleeding arm between her hands, ignoring the blood that dripped down her arms and clothes and onto the ground. She closed her eyes and whispered divine words over the wound, the incantation almost a song as it fell from her lips. A soft white glow ran over Tabor’s flesh and the Knight let out a surprised gasp. Over several minutes, the glow pulsated rapidly, then slowed and dimmed until it was gone. Sweat showed on Ephema’s brow, but she didn’t blot it away; instead she released Tabor long enough to wet another rag. Gently she wiped the blood from Tabor’s arm. The gash was completely gone, leaving not even a scar behind.
