The Bloody Eye dad-5 Read online

  The boar snorted and charged, but Jozan sidestepped without missing a word of the summoning ritual or even compromising a sacred gesture. As smoothly as if he were speaking the sacred prayer at a dawn mass, he watched the words come to life. Alluvial-shaped lightning danced on the flanks of the boar and two celestial hounds appeared, lightning and thunder announcing their presence. Jozan immediately dropped the bag and candle and retrieved his mace as the boar charged half-heartedly. The priest gave thanks for the confusion provided by the two new and otherworldly scents.

  This time, Jozan's mace smashed across the snout of the boar. The familiar vibration assured the priest it was a solid blow. The enraged boar did not turn aside, however, and its tusk struck glancingly against Jozan's armor. Then the beast learned the threat posed by the two newcomers. Both of the golden haired dogs snarled and bit at the boar, tearing away fur and blood but not distracting it as Jozan had hoped. Celestial hounds or not, the angry boar focused its single eye on Jozan and Jozan alone. When the cleric's mace scraped across the animal's matted hide, the beast retaliated so fiercely that one of its tusks wedged between pieces of the cleric's leg armor. Jozan felt the flesh tear and knew his fresh blood would only arouse the beast more.

  With measured relief, Jozan saw one of the summoned hounds rip past the boar's hide. Canine fangs opened a portion of his foe's neck as cleanly as would a butcher's knife. Still the boar did not let up. Even with the second hound pestering it, Jozan felt the wedged tusk gouge deeper, causing his knee to give way. The man crumpled to the ground. In desperation he swung the mace and it smashed through the boar's skull, driving shards of shattered bone deep into the primitive brain.

  Even that terrific wound would not stop the boar. Blinded by pain, spattering blood and gray matter with every shake of its massive head, the beast fought on with a perverse, unearthly ferociousness.

  The hounds pounced again. Their fangs slashed into the boar's ribs and neck, opening new wounds and clamping down on bone and muscle. Still, the boar thrashed on. In spite of his awkward position and damaged leg, Jozan's mace struck again, crunching sideways through the jaw to splatter brains and tusks against a nearby tree trunk. The deadly beast tumbled onto its side from the force of the blow. Jozan watched the carcass shiver with the last tremors of life and he exhaled heavily in relief. He lay on his back for several moments more until his celestial allies shimmered and returned to their home dimension.

  "Calmet!" he cursed, telling himself that if it hadn't been for that foul apostate, the pain would not be searing his thigh and he wouldn't be on this reckless quest. "How am I supposed to face an evil priest who knows everything I know and more?"

  In anguish he removed his armor and gingerly massaged the wound. Jozan breathed a prayer for healing. He even uttered an obligatory hope for Calmet's redemption, though he sincerely doubted its likelihood. A glow mirroring the beams of the sun shone from the young priest's hands and pulsed around the wound. The entire thigh glowed with the healing radiance of Pelor as Jozan breathed a psalm of gratitude.

  He knew there was no chance of catching the mare. She would still be running in fear, her blood and panic making her a tempting target for wolves and other scavengers. He couldn't help her. Worse, he couldn't help himself very much. He had his weapons and a few pouches at his belt, but most of his equipment was in the pack strapped to the mare's rump. Here he was without gold, bedroll potions, scrolls, or even his flint and steel.

  With few other options, Jozan struck out on foot, a painful sting in his thigh reminding him that he needed more healing before continuing his quest. To date he'd found no specific evidence of Calmet's location, but he know that the enemy was aware of his pursuit. Everywhere the cleric turned, he faced one-eyed monsters. They could only be coming from him.

  Jozan plodded onward, hoping beyond hope to see signs of the little mare, or even bits of scattered equipment or a lost saddlebag. But the horse undoubtedly had plowed through the forest. The man needed to keep to the trail in hope of finding a settlement. The ache in his thigh grew worse with each furlong.

  Fired by his imagination, the young priest trudged along the trail until he caught a glimpse of a temple. At least, he thought it was a temple. It was so dilapidated that Jozan thought for a moment it might be a barn.

  "No," he reasoned aloud, "no one builds ceremonial pillars in front of a barn." Please let it be Pelor's, he added silently as he turned up a footpath leading to the temple.

  The old temple wasn't dedicated to Pelor. The carving on the door portraying a fist holding a lightning bolt showed that clearly enough. Still, Jozan was relieved that the temple was consecrated to a good deity, even if he considered the priests of Heironeous the Invincible to be somewhat arrogant. He hesitated before entering, meditating upon Pelor's goodness and asking for his guidance before seeking another deity's aid.

  The doors creaked as they opened, a mournful protest to their neglect that audibly interrupted the elderly priest praying before the altar. In one fluid motion, the priest raised the holy hammer from the altar and turned to face whatever bold intruder had entered the sanctuary. Jozan couldn't help but be impressed. There was no flaw in the old priest's martial technique. The intruder smiled, recognizing a fellow pilgrim who tried to practice what he preached.

  The armed cleric immediately recognized the wooden sun symbol around Jozan's neck and lowered the hammer. As calmly as though interrogating a novitiate in a familiar catechism, the priest queried Jozan. "Why does one who serves the sun seek the hammer?"

  "My name is Jozan," answered the young priest. "I serve the Soldiers of the Sun." He paused, but when the old man said nothing, he felt uncomfortable and rushed to fill the disconcerting silence. "I haven't actually attained full rank in my order." When the old man merely waited for him to continue, Jozan tried to summarize his story. "My training was interrupted when King Ingemar the First heard of the wealth of our order. He declared us to be state criminals and commanded our gold to be confiscated."

  When the old man only nodded to inform Jozan that he was paying attention, Jozan explained how his Master General divided the treasury in half and sent the two groups in opposite directions. He spoke of their charge to establish new monasteries beyond the boundaries of their homeland, the Kingdom of the Schnai.

  "And you were with such a group?" suggested the older priest.

  Jozan shook his head. Then, feeling defensive, he hurried to explain himself. "I stayed with the Master General until he was arrested. When he knew that his death was imminent, I was sent here with messages for the Prior who had led the expedition to this land. I sought out this Prior, Augustin Calmet, my former tutor and chaplain, but learned that there was no new monastery. I was directed instead to the burned ashes of a house. Underneath the house was a cavern warded by malformed monsters and the twice-used skins on which Calmet had written a diatribe against Pelor."

  "Is that all you found?" queried the older man.

  "No, your grace, but all of it was the work of a madman," asserted the younger cleric. "The writings proclaimed that Calmet no longer serves Pelor and that he has tied himself to another apostate named Guillaume Laud. He has stolen our order's gold and is apparently using it to rebuild the power of Gruumsh in the mountain settlements."

  "And what else?" asked the older priest, in his direct and simple manner.

  "After I left the cavern, I tried to pick up the trail of Calmet. I've had no luck, but I have been assailed by monstrous creatures and mutilated animals. There is a bizarre sameness to all of them. All are missing their left eye, as the writings claimed Calmet and Laud do, and as did Gruumsh before them. Even the beast I fought this morning, and which drove off my horse and wounded my leg, was blinded in the same way. Its left eye was entirely gone."

  "Ah," sighed the older cleric, "you are on a quest?" Jozan nodded. "Then do you seek revenge, restitution, or reputation?" asked the old priest.

  Jozan was confused. When he paused, the old priest continued, "Think
on it. Pelor's radiance preserves the figs placed upon the rocks to dry, but the same heat rots the figs that fall to the ground. The anvil of Heironeous can temper a blade for battle or transform it into a shovel. Dried figs and rotten, shovels and swords, all have their place in this world. Still, I'd rather eat dried figs than rotten ones, and I'd rather carry a sword than a shovel into battle. So, again, I ask whether you seek revenge, restitution, or reputation?"

  Jozan proudly responded that his quest was for justice.

  "Justice?" beamed the older priest. "Then you've come to the right temple." He smiled enigmatically and went on to ask, "Did you not mean to say Grace rather than Justice? After all, this fallen cleric is one of Pelor's own. Are you not all children of Grace?"

  "What do you mean?" retorted Jozan. "Even though Pelor chose Calmet, Calmet has chosen against Pelor."

  "But is it possible to choose against Pelor?"

  Jozan's head reeled. The old priest's philosophy, the ache in his leg, and the heavy incense swirling near the altar pounded in the younger cleric's brain. His vision blurred and he swayed slightly on his feet, then reached out a hand to steady himself against a pillar. When Jozan's vision cleared, he was surprised to see that he and the priest of Heironeous were not alone. A third person rested within the much-neglected chapel. Whether she had been there all along, hidden in shadow, or had just entered, Jozan didn't know. She reminded him of stories of the eternal warriors of Ysgard, a perfect blend of strength and well-toned beauty. Jozan couldn't understand how he could have missed her. Had she been kneeling at the altar, or did she suddenly appear like a Celestial?

  The cleric had a discomfiting feeling as the woman raised her eyes and moved her hands with palms facing up. Her outstretched arms formed a semicircle encompassing both priests. Jozan felt as if he were being scrutinized with waves of divine energy, as if someone or something was peering into his soul looking for evidence of goodness or evil intent. After a long minute of concentration, the woman seemed satisfied with her divination and spoke. Instead of the melodious chimes of the supernal voice he expected, he heard the quiet, confident voice of a human.

  "I am Alhandra. I serve Heironeous."

  Jozan knew he should respond, but he felt his normal calm and confidence desert him. Any word would come out as a stammer.

  Mercifully, the woman continued, "The one you seek may be nearby. The locals tell of a one-eyed cleric, sometimes seen in the hills beyond the village of Pergue. He is said to wear the solitary eye of Gruumsh, deliberately fashioned from what was once a silver sun symbol of Pelor."

  "That's him," shouted Jozan with excitement, "it must be!"

  "Take caution, soldier of the sun," warned the old priest. "You may be trained in the secrets of your order, but Calmet will bend the very brightness of Pelor into your eyes. He will blind you with questions against your own faith."

  Before Jozan could ask what the old priest meant, Alhandra spoke again. "I was journeying toward Pergue. Along with the tales of your tutor, I have heard rumors of orcs forming slaving bands and stories of mass mutilations. When I prayed to Heironeous for guidance, I was told that the source is 'one who seeks that which shines like Pelor, but burdens like stone.' I've seen with my own two eyes that an evil is spreading through the mountain towns and clans."

  "Something besides Calmet?" asked Jozan.

  The woman nodded and continued speaking in a way that simultaneously aroused curiosity and slight embarrassment in the cleric. "The mountain clans have a fierce pride and a distrust of the civilization our lord sovereign has brought them. We think of it as civilization. They think of it as conquest. Gruumsh represents the old ways. Even with all of its abominations, with all of its evil and cruelty, it has become a rallying point for all who feel wronged."

  "Or powerless?" suggested Jozan.

  "Or hopeless," responded the woman. "The trouble is that the ointment is worse than the wound. This return to Gruumsh must be stopped before the people jump out of a cookfire and into the fires of Baator itself."

  "How can it be stopped?" asked Jozan, some of his evaporated confidence returning to his voice. For the first time, he noticed a spot of color on the woman's cheek as she responded.

  "I intend to recruit a citizen army to chase down the slavers. Heironeous is sure to help me trace the source through any slavers I capture."

  "Is that why you were praying, just now?" asked Jozan.

  "I asked Heironeous for an ally. You appeared and spoke about the same source of evil that I want to destroy. It seems we have a common cause, Jozan. You can seek justice against this Calmet and I will seek justice on behalf of the enslaved. Together, we may save many from a hell of their own making."

  As Jozan listened with a combination of comprehension and bewilderment, the old priest slid into a prophetic rhythm and spoke louder, with even more assurance than before. "Take heart, soldier of the sun. Heironeous joins Pelor in seeking this justice, though justice may well be Grace." The monk's eyes rolled back and a voice as cold as steel recited, "The radiance shines upon cold metal. Judgment shall burn like molten metal and illuminate like the sun at midday. Revere the day, revere justice, and beware the Black Carnival!"

  As Jozan pondered those words, the old priest stepped toward him. The cleric pounded his fist against his chest in a martial salute to the young cleric and began to sing, "Bound in faith, bound in blood, bound in power!"

  In the midst of the hymn, Jozan found both healing and the assurance that Pelor could speak, even in the Temple of Heironeous.

  3

  Yddith felt safe with the four priests of Pelor beside her. The first time they were attacked by the skeletons, she'd gasped in panic, but Pere' Doubert changed all that. He faced the five skeletal soldiers and fiercely castigated them in Pelor's name. Three of them immediately shattered into dust, eerily dispersing in the wind. As though providing violent counterpoint, she watched the maces and warhammers of the other clerics accomplish the same result at a slower pace, pulverizing the remaining skeletons into a similar, moldy grist.

  She was surprised when Pere' Doubert believed her story without question, immediately recognizing the description of the undead caravan and calling it the "Black Carnival." Doubert fed Yddith and gathered three brothers to make the journey back to Pergue with them. Only a few miles from Pergue, they were ambushed, but they fought their way through. Then, attacks came more frequently as the five neared the town. With the forest so crowded with undead, Pere' Doubert ordered his colleagues to quit calling on the power of Pelor to turn or destroy the skeletons. He reasoned that the abominations were so thick that if the quartet of warrior clerics attempted to turn them all, they risked trying Pelor's patience and using up his benevolence before reaching their goal. And Pere' Doubert well knew that they would need all of Pelor's benevolence when they reached the town and confronted the Black Carnival.

  By sunset, the small group was on the outskirts of Pergue. They moved as silently as possible to a copse of trees with a relatively clear view of the town square. Quietly, they watched with a morbid curiosity as zombies and skeletons pushed wagons together to form a stage. They observed with horror as the foul, moldy fiends dragged unwilling victims to the town square, building a captive audience in every sense. Gradually the stage was illumined with the same sanguine glow as that surrounding the wagons on the previous night.

  As darkness fell, the performance began. A hideous, pockmarked female zombie played the title role in the most famous forbidden play ever, The Maiden's Blush.

  Doubert whispered an explanation to Yddith, "Our priests banned this play over a century ago because it celebrates the worst of the old ways: human sacrifice and sadism."

  Yddith found herself becoming increasingly uncomfortable as the play progressed, especially during a scene in which a priest of Gruumsh disguises himself as a druid in order to seduce the maiden.

  "The priest," intoned Doubert in hushed tones, "believed that if the maiden conceived during the exact moment
of the solstice, she would bear the avatar of Gruumsh."

  The faux druid spouted blasphemous aphorisms and capered lewdly, clumsily, across the stage. As the play progressed, the maiden was caught up in a succession of lusty dances and ritual tortures. Yddith winced as the lash tore bits of fetid flesh from the maiden's back and flung them dripping across the stage or into the audience.

  "The torture was necessary," Pere' Doubert gently explained, "to get Gruumsh aroused enough to pay attention to the ritual." The priest paused solemnly. "I'd hate to believe that suffering was the only way to get my god's attention."

  Suddenly, Pere' Doubert could restrain himself no more. As a chorus of skeletal dancers gyrated with lurid, suggestive motions, the priests made their move. Casting Pelor's daylight upon his sun symbol, Doubert rushed into the midst of the crowd with a glow like a miniature sun shining from his chest.

  "In the name of Pelor," he shouted, "stop this foul production!"

  Yddith smiled with grim satisfaction as she watched half a dozen skeletons in the chorus and the guard shatter into calcium mist as the light from Doubert's holy symbol played across them. The three other priests of Pelor emulated Doubert's action and Yddith's confidence soared as she watched more than a dozen skeleton sentries and zombie guards rush away from the square, routed as surely as the orcs at the Battle of Couredon.

  Yddith knew better than to wade into the fray with the four clerics, but she couldn't stand idle, either. With all of the furtiveness of a thief or assassin, she managed to slink closer behind the statue of St. Cuthbert. There, she watched and waited for her opportunity.