ONE:
TARTHYS
Scarcely a day after Loriel’s Day, the harvest celebration, a young runner had died to deliver a message. Carthys found it tragic: ‘Foul magics at Tarthys,’ the lad had cried before falling to the king’s feet. None of the physicians were able to revive him. From what the knight had been told, it had been a good deal more exciting than watching for common pickpockets.
Now he was on the road to Tarthys, his sword brother at his side. Under King Almyr’s orders, they were to survey the town for magicians. If possible, they were to dispose of it themselves. Otherwise, there would be a regiment of knights waiting back at Lortain Keep, less than two days gallop from the village. Marik, as usual, was confident the task was beneath their stature:
“We’re Knights of the Shimmering Court, Carthys. Not common witch hunters. How can you not see this as an insult?”
“Because I don’t care what the King needs of me. I exist to serve the Crown and the Cross. Right now, that means investigating a threat to both.”
“It’s scouts' work!”
“He who serves shall be served in heaven.” The scripture that rolled with practiced ease from Caryths’ tongue did little to bleed the red from his brother’s cheeks. However, it did manage to end the conversation, and for that he was grateful. It gave him time to collect his thoughts, time that ended when he noticed the smoke that spiraled off the horizon. They urged their horses into a trot, dread filling the silence between them. Camp smoke wouldn’t make that large of a trail, and it wouldn’t be nearly as dark.
It took nearly an hour to reach the source. Walls of daub lay in smoking heaps where houses stood, timber frames lay in scattered piles like charred bones. The village of Tarthys was gone. Carthys shared a look of shock with his brother before they rode down into the town. No manner of magic that Carthys had heard of could have caused the carnage before them.
Blackened, twisted bodies lay strewn about mingled with others that looked to have survived the fire only to fall to beasts and hunger next. Bodies found whole were rare. The stray limb gnawed to the bone was an easy, if unwanted, find. They separated, combing the area in search of some sound or movement that could lead them to a survivor.
Marik was twenty yards off when he shouted for Carthys. He had dismounted and was pushing aside rubble. A groan, low and pained, reached his ears as he brought his mount in close to the debris pile. He swung off his saddle and hurried to grab hold of a particularly large timber beam that Marik had grabbed.
“I heard someone. They must have been – Grace!”
The woman, if she could still be called such, lay limp beneath the remnants of her home. Her skin was green with death, her eyes hollow save for the maggots. Yet she moaned. They leaped back. Marik, in all his great stature, was too slow. In an instant, the undead had wrapped her arms around his leg. By the hem of his tunic, the monster dragged herself up his body only to be thrown back into the rubble.
“Move. Now!” Carthys barked over the squeal of the horses. Another corpse twitched nearby. He reached for the reins, only to grasp empty air as the horse reared and fled. Dark magic had awakened in the town, and the horses would not stay a moment longer, not even for their riders.
Marik cursed and took off for the edge of town, Carthys hot on his heels. More of the dead were waking. Groans of the undead echoed from every street, corpses writhed before running or dragging their mangled bodies in pursuit. The chances of their escape seemed slimmer with each passing second.
TWO:
ANGELS ON THE ALTAR
“Faster, Carthys!”
He didn’t need extra encouragement. The foul creatures were gaining on them. They didn’t dare stop. Their boots pounded on the cobblestone; the barefooted slaps of the undead feet close behind. Like a ray of hope, the tower of a chapel rose above the destruction. The trumpeting angel atop was still intact. They headed for it instinctively, relieved to find the Lord’s house in one piece.
“Watch out,” Marik shouted.
Distracted by salvation, Carthys missed the shambling monster to his left. A shove from Marik sent him sprawling onto the chapel steps. Marik’s sword flashed with a grim determination, cleaving the corpse in two. That pause was enough for the fastest to reach them. Marik screamed at Carthys to get inside as they leaped on him. The scream of pain that followed was cut short.
Carthys scrambled up the steps. He slammed the door shut, dodging the heavy wooden beam that fell into place. The undead scratched at the door. There were no sounds that indicated Marik was still struggling outside. He was alone, surrounded by the products of evil magic.
With a curse, he slammed his hand into the stone beside the door. They should have been more careful. He should have held fast to the horses. He should have paid more attention to his surroundings. The metal of his shin guards clanged against the stone floor as he fell to his knees; his fist slid down the wall to his side.
“God let him have passed quickly, and the black magic that resides here have no hold over his body.”
He didn’t know how long he kneeled there, paying silently for Marik’s soul. Shadows grew to encompass each pew as the sun peaked in the sky. Silence fell over the courtyard as the undead sought prey elsewhere. With the silence that followed, Carthys picked up a new sound, a soft rasping breath. Hand on his sword, the knight leaped to his feet and searched behind for the source of the disturbance.
Fine layers of ash and soot coated the wooden pews. Where the sole survivors would have sat, blackened skeletons remained. At the altar, a man lay sprawled out upon the steps before the congregation. Four opalescent wings cradled him. Golden ichor splattered the steps. Carthys knelt beside the figure, his heartbeat pounding unevenly in his ears. If even an angel had fallen here, hope was truly lost.
The angel’s chest rose and fell with a slow but steady cadence. He reached for the shoulder, hesitating briefly. How did one respectfully wake an angel? He let his hand drop to his side. If this was truly an angel, he would need to be in its good graces to get out of this mess.
“My Lord? Can you hear me, my Lord?”
The angel started awake, his eyes flashing golden before changing to a gentler blue as he registered Carthys before him. “You’re not one of them.”
“No, my Lord. Andre Carthys at your service.”
“Undead are out there.”
“Yes, we couldn’t find any living among the rubble before the undead swarmed us.”
“We?” The angel watched as Carthys bowed his head in sorrow. Blue eyes flicked to the barred door. “I see. There are no living here. If they didn’t die to the Liches Plague, then they died to my flames.”
Carthys started; an agent of god wouldn’t resort to such measures. The guilt in the divine’s eyes as he looked over the skeletons and ashes said otherwise. He took an unsteady step back, lest the angel decide to end him as well. He saw little hope in survival here, but that didn’t mean he was ready to meet the Father just yet. The angel didn’t look at him as it explained:
“Lord Greysteel was once a herald of the Father, same as I. His lust for power drove him to fall from the courts in search of a domain to claim as his. This small town had no way of protecting itself against him. The elders fell first to his magic, too weak to fight it, then the children. From them, it spread among the healers and mothers and eventually to everyone else in the town.
“Those of strong will gathered here to plea for mercy, but it was too late. He Who Listens sent me to unleash the purifying flames. What you see is the result. The toll was heavy on this temporary body.” Those clear blue eyes turned on Carthys once more, the guilt turning to determination. “We need must Greysteel before he gains any more power.”
“We?” Carthys’ heart hammered against his chest and his hands trembled at his sides. “My Lord, it’s an honor, but there are only two of us and an army of undead.”
“Faith will guide us, Sir Carthys. We cannot let Greysteel continue. He seeks to carve a portion of your kingdom out and name himself Lich King. I will not lay down and accept the loss of souls. I would rather risk immortality for even a chance of saving them. And you will join me. You will serve as a champion of Light and together we will save the people of your kingdom from Greysteel’s schemes. Can you do it? Do you have the faith to serve your god?”
Carthys wasn’t sure the Angel fully realized it had been unconscious scarcely a minute ago. What he was sure about, however, is that regardless of how much faith he had, he wouldn’t back down from service. If the Lord needed it, then he would lay his life in this angel’s hands. “What’s your plan?”