Warm sunlight caressed the Abbot’s face, wrapping around his body and illuminating the carved oak desk behind him. Stacks of parchment rolls waited for his perusal. Scattered like an armful of dead leaves dropped to the ground, reports of plague sightings continued to pour in from the five kingdoms. As the head of the Church’s Miracles and Phenomenon Investigation Wing, he was kept abreast of all new plague occurrences. A man of forty, his position had afforded him a comfortable life. Finely woven robes filled his armoire, each one prized for its vibrant color gradient. It was an expensive treatment that left the wearer with a garment of exceptional beauty and prestige.
With the handsome monthly stipend afforded to him by the church, the Abbot ate only the best imported cheeses and meats. Preferring instead to taste the oil fried strips of lamb from the southern Third Fife to the taste of clean and healthy vegetables, his girth overwhelmed his medium height. Heavy set jowls dragged down his face despite the repeated therapeutic treatments at the Healerie, the renowned apothecary and hospital for the local nobility. Beneath his manicured eyebrows and beside the long hook of a nose, his dark brown eyes were more accustomed to spotting the signs of a liar rather than softening with kind words of the Goddess’s grace. He was the alpha dog of the Goddess’s justice and had no room for dispensing her forgiveness.
Red and gold caught the Abbot’s eyes as he bent to sign another document. Four guards entered his office, the two outer ones stopping to kneel in respect. The two middle guards held a man firmly by his shoulders.
The Abbot waved his hand toward the captive. “What’s this?”
“Sir, this is the man who entered the Dry Canals a few night ago.”
Vaguely the Abbot remembered the account. Whatever the details, going into a forbidden area was a crime with heavy penalties. His eyes flickered to the captive for a moment, taking in the swollen scratches extending from the cheekbone down, marring an otherwise youthful appearance. The young man’s blonde hair reached down a few center meters on his forehead and stuck to the sweat there. A muscular frame shifted from beneath the rags he wore for a tunic and the Abbot was somewhat impressed that he had come civilly. It was obvious that the captive could have easily overpowered the two guards that held him.
“Is that right? Well take him to the Inquisitor then, I care not for small trespasses.” He picked back up his pen and began to write again.
The guard who had spoken shifted nervously. He looked to his right and nodded. His fellow set a large leather pack onto the corner of the Abbot’s desk and backed away quickly.
“Sir the contents of that may be of note to you.” He said again, the hesitancy in his words making it clear that it pained him to keep interrupting the highest ranking official in 4th
“Will it now?” The Abbot asked, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. “Would you like to tell me what else I may find of note? How about seeing what happens to an insubordinate guard who cannot keep his mouth shut? Will that be interesting to me?” A cruel grin tugged at the corners of his mouth as the guard shifted in obvious discomfort.
“Forgive me sir, but I was told to take this directly to you.”
His arms uncrossed and he picked up the bag. Turning in his chair so the sunlight would illuminate the contents, the Abbot was rewarded with a stunning collection of jewelry and trinkets. Lifting a large silver bauble inset with tiny ruby chips, he looked up at the thief.
The man’s head dropped slowly, unwilling to meet the Abbot’s gaze. “What do we have here young man?” He stood, waddling over to the guards. The Abbot leaned down so his face would be level with the captive. In his outstretched hand, the bauble rolled over and over again in his palm, the little ruby chips reflecting the light on the man’s green eyes with little red sparkles. “Do you know what we do to thieves in Fairweather?” The Abbot’s voice had deepened taking on a harsh menacing edge. “We string them up by their thumbs and toes in the church courtyard and leave sizeable sticks nearby. Then, when the noon mass is let out, the faithful may take righteous anger out on you. Does that sound like fun, hmm?” The Abbot asked rhetorically. “Now we must decide what we will do with you. Is it the courtyard for a little swinging?” The fat man leaned close to him, the smell of foreign spices oozing from underneath the fine silks. Behind the Abbot, the looming painting depicting one of the Church’s elite guardsmen, the Protectors, looming over the pleading form of a heathen, the Protector’s axe drawn high against the red dawn. “Or perhaps should it be a hanging you would like to participate in?”
That got the man’s attention. His head shot up with a pleading gaze. “No sir, please. I have a family. They’ll die without me to provide for them.”
“Oh yes? Is that why you were sneaking into noble houses to rob them of their only pleasure in our bleak little world? I have so many better things to spend my time on, rather than waste it on listening to a dead man.” The Abbot sneered, walking back to his desk. He threw the bauble down, ignoring it as it bounced onto the floor.
“It weren’t the mansions, Abbot sir.” The man dared to say.
“Mmhmm..” The Abbot replied, engrossing himself in the latest reports.
“It weren’t! I wouldn’t steal from their damned homes! Those things came from the graves.” The man bit back the rest of his sentence, seeing the dark look crossing the Abbot’s face. He wondered if he had said too much.
“A grave robber then, toes and thumbs aren’t in question then. Hanging is all we do for those who desecrate the dead.” His meaty hands slammed onto the desktop, a trill of pleasure running through him as the man flinched and tucked his head down to his shoulder. Fear was something the Abbot understood and inflicted in those around him. It was how he had kept his position for so long, despite of the age limit set on senior members. According to the laws of the Church, he should be retired by now and stuffed away in some hole of a sanctuary. He would not succumb to being thrust into the shadows just yet. The Abbot’s sneer faded as he read the title of the report in his hand. Perhaps he could use this little thief. “‘ The walking dead terrorize Annadell at dusk and disappear in the morning light.’” The Abbot read aloud. “What do you think of that, thief?”
Taken aback by being spoken to, the man felt a glimmer of hope. “I..I think that someone is mistaken ‘bout the creatures.”
The Abbot’s manicured eyebrow rose and he put the parchment on his desk, his hands clasping behind his back. “Continue with your theory.”
“Well, I know for a fact that they come out in the day. I’ve seen it first hand at Haybridge.” The man chewed on his response. “And they come out at night. They aren’t really affected by the light.”
“That may be true in some respects, but we have seen that the older the corpse is, the more vulnerable it is to the sunlight.”
Something the Kelsey lich had said to him came back in a rush and he hurried to put it into words. “They eat people or so I’ve heard. Maybe the ones you call older are.. well.. not older at all. Maybe they just ah, haven’t eaten?” The man cleared his throat, swallowing his nervousness. He didn’t have anything to lose by divulging the information and everything to gain if the Abbot saw it useful. If nothing else, perhaps he could plea for his family to be taken in by the church. He had given up on his own life when he entered the Dry Canals; this meeting just delayed the process.
“That is an interesting theory, young man.” The Abbot leaned forward on his desk in thought. Yes, he could use this situation to his own advantage. The outlying villages had been clamoring for some sort of support from the church. With so few people available who could draw runes properly, he had no one to send. “These graves you stole from, where were they?”
The man shifted, his shoulders straining from being held up. “The Canals, sir Abbot.”
The Abbot smothered his surprise with a knowing look. This man had survived that deathtrap? He was indeed someone to be employed. “Guards, take your leave.”
The lead guard’s expression of boredom went to one of shock. “Surely, you don’t mean for us to leave him here unguarded.”
“That is exactly what I mean!” His voice rising in tone, “Who is it that taught you this disobedience?” The Abbot demanded, his eyes glinting dangerously. A headstrong guard challenging his authority was not to be tolerated. Before the plague the guards would have wordlessly departed at his command.
The guard snapped to attention, his hands dropping the man’s right side. He turned then, and the others were quick to follow. Without the forced support, the man sank to the floor. His shoulders worked back and forth to relieve some of the stiffness.
“I have decided to let you live for now.” The Abbot continued, ignoring the relieved look on the man’s face. “This is on the condition that you serve me on a few simple tasks.”
“What..” The man quieted as the Abbot raised his hand.
“The villages are discontent with the work the church is doing to help them in these difficult times. I need someone to go and help them with their problems. Namely, I need you to hunt down these abominations and destroy them.”
Stunned, the color drained from the man’s face. “I.. I’m no warrior..”
“No and these are not a trained enemy. What is your trade anyway?”
“Ah,, trapper at one time. Before the best grounds were closed outside of Haybridge.” He replied, uncomfortable with the sudden change in situation. Deliberately go after the undead? The Abbot was out of his senses.
“That will do nicely. You do these things for me and we will see about giving you back to your family.” The corners of the Abbot’s mouth rose. “But you fail me, and I will have someone check your progress, and I will have you hanged that very moment. Do we have an understanding?”
What else was he to do but agree? His family needed the help desperately and if the Abbot was true in his promise, this may be the only way he could come by the coin to carry them through the winter. It was a gamble, pitting him against the mindless dead.
“I.. I agree.” He said finally.
“Excellent.” The Abbot picked up the parchment, rolling it into a scroll and tossing it to the floor in front of the man on his knees. “In there you will find details and before I forget, what was your name again?”
“Aiden Spence.” The man replied automatically.
“I see.” The Abbot made a mental note of the surname, it was the only way to find the man’s family and keep them under watchful eye as collateral.
“Abbot sir?” Aiden asked awkwardly. “I don’t have any weapons to fight these things, or materials for traps..”
The Abbot took this in, drumming his fingers on the desktop. “You may take supplies from the Armory. Show them the scroll and they will know you come with my orders. But Aiden, do not tell anyone of your mission. That includes the townspeople, the guards, and your family.”
“But they’ll wonder where I’ve gone to!” Aiden protested, going home had been the only thing on his mind at that moment.
“I will have guards watching them, Aiden. If they see you they will hang you by the rafters of your own house so your wife and children can watch you swing. Do not test me on this, young man.” The Abbot finished, waving his hands dismissively. “Go.”
Numb, but unable to change the situation, Aiden left to find the armory.
No comments:
Post a Comment