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Twelve Years Later...
Swinging his sword, Godfrey parried the blow of the older knight before him. The man advanced on the young squire, striking a second, third, and fourth time. Narrowly dodging each attack in turn, Godfrey lashed out at his attacker. The man easily sidestepped Godfrey’s blade and struck the back of Godfrey’s head with the pommel of his own sword.
Falling forward, the squire tumbled to the ground. Godfrey silently cursed. This was not the first time this had happened to him today, and Godfrey had no one to blame but himself. Why would he expect a different result if he kept falling into the same trap again and again?
Godfrey breathed heavily, rolling onto his back. Trees reaching towards the sky filled his vision. The ground was cold and wet. He attempted to stand as quickly as he could, but the knight’s sword was at his neck, freezing him to the spot.
“That’s enough for now,” the knight said, sheathing his weapon.
The scent of damp decaying leaves infused Godfrey’s mailed gloves as he pushed himself up off the ground. He removed his spangenhelm, panting as sweat beaded on his forehead. He handed the sword he had been drilling with to one of the men-at-arms who had been watching him spar, but he refused to meet the other man’s eyes. The man-at-arms was an older warrior named Bruno with scars from dozens of battles dominating his features. Though Bruno was a common soldier, Godfrey respected the veteran’s wisdom and had been stung by his keen rebuke more than once.
Perhaps sensing Godfrey’s embarrassment, Bruno withheld his criticism. Godfrey was already silently rebuking himself enough for both of them. Bruno could see that much, Godfrey was sure.
The other man-at-arms observing the sparring match was equally barrel-chested, but a good twenty years younger than Bruno. His name was Fulcher, and if he lived another twenty years he would probably look just as Bruno did now. Godfrey had come to believe that aside from age, the only thing that distinguished Fulcher from Bruno was Fulcher’s uncanny hunting skills.
In front of Godfrey, his cousin Fallard, the older knight he had been sparring with, watched dark billowing clouds approach from the distance. Fallard was a man in his early thirties with dark hair and pale skin who always wore a serious expression around Godfrey. He had grown accustomed to this over the last twelve years, first as Fallard’s page then as his squire.
“Your technique is still sloppy,” Fallard commented distractedly as he watched the clouds slowly grow darker.
“It grows sloppy through fatigue,” Godfrey refuted. “Anyone would begin to feel tired after so many hours of practice.”
“And that is exactly when an enemy sword will find your neck,” Fallard answered. “You must always be on your guard. Training is as much about perseverance as it is brute strength and skill with weapons.”
“You are right,” Godfrey grumbled, bowing his head. “I should have exercised more caution.”
“Try to watch your opponent’s movements more carefully.” Fallard pointed to Godfrey’s eyes. “Anticipate where he will step, notice how he holds his weapon, imagine where he will try to strike.”
“I know.” Godfrey waved his hand in annoyance. “I know. I just get tired. That’s all. I know what to do.”
“Bruno...” Fallard turned to his retainer. “What should a young impetuous squire do in the heat of battle when he grows tired?”
“Well lord,” Bruno replied thoughtfully. “It depends on the course of battle. If the battle goes well, it would be practical for the squire to retire to the rear of the line. Though it may be without glory he will at least be alive.”
“And if the battle goes poorly?” Godfrey asked, rolling his eyes.
“Then he will fight to the last breath,” Fallard answered, meeting Godfrey’s gaze in a stern reprimand. “Neither will he take one step backwards. That is where both duty and glory lie. Understood?”
Godfrey nodded meekly, recognizing his error. Thinking back to all the poems and tales he had been told as a small boy, he knew how closely linked the concepts of duty and glory were. Even as a squire he had witnessed these concepts put to the test. He had seen Fallard in the midst of a group of mounted knights smashing through a horde of shambling zombies. He remembered how one knight fell from his horse and his squire rushed in to the rescue. That squire was knighted the same day at the battle’s end once the necromancer controlling the undead had been slain.
Other images from that same battle against the necromancer made Godfrey’s hand tremble. He wished he could forget those sights. Biting his lip, Godfrey forced his hand to stop shaking, and his mind concentrated on the present. There was no sense in talking about those memories. He needed to focus on the present and the future, not the past.
More than anything, Godfrey wanted to discard the red tabard and shield of his cousin, and replace it with the blue of his father’s line. Though his cousin’s shield and tabard also bore the white griffin rampant like Godfrey’s father, Duke Ulric, Godfrey could not wear the heraldry of his father until he was knighted. As a squire, Godfrey was required to wear the colors of his cousin, signaling his subordinate role to Fallard just as Fallard’s men-at-arms did.
“When shall we know when I have trained enough to become a knight?” Godfrey asked. “I have seen battle. I have even defended castle walls. When will I have proven myself?”
“I think that day will come soon.” Fallard nodded. “You have a stout heart and are coming of age. When a suitable quest presents itself; that is when you will face your final test.”
Godfrey’s spirit immediately lifted. All this time, all this training, and all the journeying across the whole of the Kingdom of Lortharain; Fallard thought Godfrey had learned enough to soon be knighted. All that remained was one final test.
“What will that test be?” Godfrey asked.
“Some things we cannot know until they are upon us,” Fallard conceded. “But we will know when the time comes.”
Godfrey frowned. Maybe he would not be knighted so soon after all. With a sigh, he put the idea to rest for the moment.
“Well,” Fallard said. “The Sun is beginning to set. We should find a place to sleep.”
With that, Godfrey and the men-at-arms began to load up their belongings in satchels, packs, and saddlebags. Putting the saddlebags on Fallard’s horse, they themselves carried the smaller packs and satchels. Fallard mounted his horse as he fastened his own satchel to his belt. Not every aspect of life as a knight and his entourage was filled with romantic adventures, Godfrey reminded himself through these mundane chores.
The group wearily made its way from the outskirts of the woods to a nearby gravel road. The path was well-used, but its paving stones had been broken up through centuries of neglect. It was an ancient ruin from a time long forgotten during the reign of the elves. Though most of the elves had long since retreated to distant forests and the far North, some of the remains of the buildings and roads of their old empire still endured.
Fallard’s horse’s hooves clopped rhythmically against the road as the group moved on. The slow steady beat reminded Godfrey of the breathing of a cyclops he had once faced in a castle siege. He envisioned the creature in his mind’s eye. It was nine feet tall with tusks as thick as spear shafts. Only a ragged loincloth covered any of the beast’s body. Its thick skin was protection enough. The monster had him pinned to the ground with its massive forearms after killing two other men defending the castle. Its putrid green flesh stank of filth Godfrey did not care to think about. Its rancid breath wafted down to Godfrey’s face in short puffs like the clopping of horses’ hooves.
Godfrey was lucky. Just as the cyclops was about to smash in Godfrey’s skull, a trio of soldiers fired their crossbows at the hulking beast. Two of the bolts found their way into the cyclops’ neck as the other stuck harmlessly out of the meat of its shoulder. One would have been enough to bring down the cyclops after striking its comparatively vulnerable neck. It was only through the actions of those commoners that Godfrey was still alive. He would be slow to forget the debt he owed them. Could Godfrey handle such a monster if he was asked to face one alone?
Most squires were customarily given the task of slaying dangerous beasts such as trolls, hydras, or other such creatures as their final quest before becoming knights. There was no shortage of monsters in the world that needed to be brought down. Many squires died in the attempt. Many other squires elected to remain in their positions indefinitely rather than face such trials. Could he succeed where so many others failed miserably or flinched?
A gust of wind picked up, pushing the distant clouds closer and closer. What little sunlight remained disappeared behind the clouds as rain began to patter against Godfrey’s chainmail and spangenhelm, chilling the steel. The cooling rain soothed Godfrey’s aching body after the day’s training.
“Who says the rain god is fickle?” Godfrey sighed, stretching his arms out to catch as much of the rain as he could. “Broxe, shower us with your blessings.”
Thunder rumbled overhead and the downpour intensified. Godfrey lowered his arms and began to sulk as the whole group was drenched from head to toe.
“Well you did ask for it, didn’t you?” Fulcher jibed at Godfrey.
Everyone chuckled at the irony of the moment as they continued down the road.
They walked another hour or so in the dark storm. Though at first Godfrey welcomed the cool rain, he was not enjoying it nearly as much now. His soaked feet were growing cold and numb. His mind turned to brooding, and he only just kept his complaints to himself. Finally, he saw the lights of a town set on a hill not far off, and breathed a heavy sigh of relief.
“Not much farther now,” Fallard assured his cousin.
A wooden palisade encircled most of the buildings of the town. A few huts and shops sat on the outside of the palisade near the road, but the majority of them were crammed inside the walls. Drawing nearer to the town, Godfrey figured that the owners of those few buildings on the outside of the wall must have been brave, foolish, or both if they were not simply too poor to afford housing within the safety of the town walls.
“This place is called Harv, right?” Godfrey asked.
“You have been studying your geography.” Fallard raised an eyebrow. “Can you tell me who the lords of this town are?”
“No, sire.” Godfrey blushed.
“The clergy.” Fallard pointed to a shrine at the top of the hill. “You can always tell who or what is most important in a place by its position.”
“Because the center of the town is most secure,” Godfrey noted.
“Exactly.” Fallard smiled in agreement.
The shrine at the top of the hill did not appear nearly as impressive to Godfrey as the great temples of the Southern duchies of Lortharain. True, Godfrey’s home was in these Northwestern realms of Lortharain, but his travels across the kingdom had opened his eyes to just how varied the wider world could be.
The shrine was built of plain grey stone which lacked the highly polished columns or intricate gilding of the Southern temples. However, the columns, gilding, and statues of the Southern temples only concealed the fact that the structures were ancient, and in some cases in a greater state of disrepair than the more modest rural shrines of the North like the one overlooking Harv. Perhaps things were not better in the South, but each region just had different problems, Godfrey mused.
“But the priests don’t hold lands or titles in my father’s estates.” Godfrey gave Fallard a puzzled look.
“Ah but they do,” Fallard answered. “Maybe not Uncle Ulric’s personal chaplain you’ve seen at the castle, but some of your father’s vassals are priests who command knights of their own. That’s in addition to any lesser priests and acolytes that might also fall under them.”
“It all sounds so complicated,” Godfrey said. “How does anyone keep it all straight?”
“Courtly matters can be complicated sometimes,” Fallard admitted. “Sometimes a knight might even have more than one lord of equal rank. Things can get very complicated should those two lords ever be at odds with each other.”
“I think Lortharain’s lords would do better focusing their energies on fighting monsters than worrying about each other.” Godfrey kicked a rock for emphasis.
“So do I.” Fallard shook his head.
“But some men are monsters,” Bruno cut in. “They need to be dealt with just as much as the orcs do.”
“My father told me that same thing once,” Godfrey said, recalling a banquet back home many years prior.
“Dukes are rarely fools,” Fulcher added. “They usually either serve a monster or have a few monsters of their own in their service.”
Godfrey frowned at this thought. He knew it was true, but he did not like to think that any of his father’s knights or the barons and counts who paid homage to the Duke of Bastogne were bad people. Other barons, counts, and knights in Lortharain might be monsters, but not in Bastogne. Certainly no knight of Bastogne would ever prove disloyal.
The group had reached the gate to the palisade. A pair of sentries atop the wall pointed lantern light down on them before Bruno could knock on the gate. Another pair of guards atop the wall rushed over to the first before Godfrey even noticed their approach.
“Not another step closer!” one of the sentries shouted as he aimed a crossbow down at the group.
“Who goes there?” asked one of the other guards as he drew his own crossbow.
“Sir Fallard,” Godfrey’s cousin answered in a measured tone. “These are my retainers and my squire. Why are you so wary tonight?”
“There have been some disappearances,” one of the sentries with the lanterns started. “A couple of unusual deaths have happened here too. Rumor has it there is dark magic afoot.”
“One of those deaths occurred just yesterday,” added the first sentry with the crossbow. “The Bishop has been called in from Vosg to help investigate.”
“Please,” Fallard said. “I am Duke Ulric’s nephew, and his son, Godfrey, is my squire. Let us talk with the Bishop and see what we can do to help.”
The sentries muttered to themselves for a moment. At the exciting news of death and dark magic, Godfrey quickly forgot how tired he felt. Looking to Fallard, he tried to gauge what his cousin was thinking, but his expression was hard to read in the dark. Fulcher huffed impatiently while Bruno squinted as rain dripped from the brim of his kettle helmet onto the bridge of his nose. They were all beginning to shiver with cold.
“All right,” the lead sentry with the lantern finally said after consulting with the other guards. “They are at the shrine now. Make straight for it.”
The gate opened with a creak, and Godfrey followed his cousin and the men-at-arms. The homes and shops glowed in eerie hues of yellow and orange from the dim light of the occasional lantern in town. The gravel road had given way to a slick muddy path as the group climbed the hill to the top of the town.
Upon reaching the shrine, Fallard dismounted his horse and handed the reins to Bruno. The men-at-arms led Fallard’s horse to a nearby stable, and Godfrey followed his cousin up to the doors of the shrine. As Fallard opened them, light flooded out into the night from the shrine’s interior, and murmuring voices echoed from inside. To Godfrey, the voices were muffled. He was not sure what to expect inside.
“Hail, Bishop.” Fallard announced his presence as he entered the shrine.
Following just behind Fallard, Godfrey bowed his head before he even saw who it was he was bowing to. Upon raising his head, Godfrey saw several people inside the anteroom of the shrine. Some wore fine clergymen’s robes while others wore the armor and heraldry of the town guard. Godfrey thought a third group appeared to be a family, based on their similar appearances. He guessed they must have been part of the local aristocracy, since they were neither dressed as the clergy nor in the uniforms of the town guards. The Bishop, dressed in the most ornate of the clergymen’s robes, beckoned Fallard towards him from beyond the anteroom as he was speaking with what looked like some other clergymen and soldiers.
“Wait here,” Fallard told Godfrey as he brushed past the people gathered in the anteroom.
Somewhat at a loss for what to do, Godfrey stopped in his tracks. He removed his spangenhelm and tucked it under his arm before looking around to the others gathered around him. Most were soberly talking among themselves and paid little attention to Godfrey. After a moment, he caught the eye of a blonde boy in a simple tunic and acolyte’s robes, not much younger than Godfrey.
“What’s going on here?” Godfrey whispered to the boy as he approached him.
“They’re getting ready for a funeral tomorrow,” the acolyte replied. “A girl was killed last night.”
The boy gestured over past the Bishop in the shrine’s chapel. A closed wooden casket lay in front of the altar. An older man and woman stood near the coffin, silently staring at nothing in particular. Wanting more details, Godfrey stepped closer to the acolyte.
“How was she killed?” Godfrey asked.
“I think it was a vampire,” the acolyte whispered.
“Why do you think that?” Godfrey whispered back, turning to face the coffin again.
“I saw a bite mark on her neck,” the boy said, barely able to conceal his excitement. “The Bishop wouldn’t tell me he thought so too. But I’ve been studying undead. Every acolyte has to know about that stuff before they become priests or priestesses; and the mark looked just like the drawings in the books I’ve been reading. I think the Bishop just doesn’t want to cause a panic in the village or something.”
“He might be right about that,” Godfrey replied after thinking it over. “I am Godfrey, by the way.”
“Walaric.” The acolyte shook Godfrey’s hand. “You are a squire?”
“For a little longer at least,” Godfrey answered. “My liege says as soon as I complete my final quest as a squire, I can be knighted.”
“What quest is that?” Walaric asked with apparent interest.
“I don’t know yet,” Godfrey admitted. “I have not been given it yet.”
“Maybe you could find the vampire,” Walaric suggested. “Then you could destroy it and save Harv from any more attacks.”
“Vampires have all sorts of black magic.” Godfrey shifted his weight nervously. “They couldn’t expect a simple squire like me to kill one of those things.”
“It was just a thought.” Walaric shrugged dismissively.
“You said you were studying to become a priest?” Godfrey changed the subject. “What god did you claim as your patron?”
“I haven’t picked one yet,” Walaric answered. “It would have to be one of the celestial gods or goddesses. Nature deities tend to stay neutral in the War in Heaven unless provoked. And I’d rather not be neutral. Fortune is a fickle goddess, and I have been unlucky enough in my life... Do you have a patron deity or do you just worship the celestial pantheon as a whole?”
“My family venerates the whole pantheon but we have always worshipped the Sun god, Loxias, in particular,” Godfrey explained. “He and his sister, Luna, are the greatest champions against evil.”
“I have always liked Luna,” Walaric added. “The Moon is ever a light in otherwise dark places.”
“Amen,” Godfrey and Walaric said simultaneously as they crossed their hearts.
“Perhaps she will be my patroness.” Walaric considered the possibility aloud.
The squire nodded his approval. Fallard signaled for him, and Godfrey turned to join his cousin. The Bishop was talking to the other clergymen with him while the soldiers listened with interest. The older couple had moved towards the group as if to join in the conversation, but they remained passive observers. As he remembered Walaric’s suggestion about destroying the vampire, Godfrey’s heart raced and his hand began to twitch. He tried to calm himself. How could he be sure Walaric actually saw what he thought he did? Walaric was just an acolyte and could not know if it was really a vampire.
“Good to meet you,” Godfrey told Walaric as he briefly turned back to the acolyte.
“You as well,” Walaric answered with a wave.
The squire’s head was still spinning as he approached Fallard, the Bishop, and the others. Fulcher and Bruno had also made their way to Fallard’s side while Godfrey had been speaking to the acolyte, but he had not noticed them until now. How was he going to kill a vampire? The more Godfrey tried to talk himself out of believing he would have to face a vampire, the more convinced he became that was exactly what he would have to do.
“Bishop...” Fallard gestured to Godfrey. “This is my squire, Godfrey. He is the son of Duke Ulric. Godfrey, this is Bishop Clovis.”
“I know your father well.” Bishop Clovis stepped closer to Godfrey. “He was a fierce warrior in his day and is still renowned as one of the most chivalrous dukes in all of Lortharain. Sir Fallard tells me his son lives up to his father’s reputation.”
“My lord boasts.” Godfrey awkwardly bowed. “I am still a simple squire.”
“Not for much longer,” the Bishop interjected. “As you know, I have been called down here to investigate a series of unusual murders. The daughter of Lord and Lady Eist is only the latest victim.”
The Bishop gestured to one of the soldiers, who then stepped forward. In addition to the heraldry of the town guard, he wore the badge of a constable. His grey hair and piercing eyes marked him as a nocturnal predator ever patrolling the shadows.
“Disappearances among the farmers that live outside the palisade are an unfortunate but regular occurrence,” the constable started in an icy, calculated tone. “It’s usually no more than a few every year. A monster wanders out of the forest and eats an unsuspecting shepherd watching his flocks in the night. A bandit sneaks into a peasant’s hut and murders him in his sleep. There’s not much anyone can do about those incidents. But for the last few months, not only have the murders and disappearances outside the wall increased, we have also had about a dozen deaths inside the town. Increasing patrols both in the town and along the palisade have not yielded a culprit yet.”
“Pardon me for asking,” Godfrey inquired hesitantly. “But why hasn’t anyone searched the surrounding woods or marshes and swamps yet?”
“Normally my authority does not extend beyond the wall,” the constable explained.
“We were discussing the possibility of authorizing a patrol to be sent out of Harv,” Clovis added. “Then you came, and Sir Fallard made an alternate proposal.”
“Godfrey,” Fallard spoke up. “Bishop Clovis believes that a vampire is what has been killing the townsfolk.”
“That is what the acolyte I was talking to thought,” Godfrey answered, finally accepting Walaric’s insight.
“Walaric is a smart boy,” Clovis acknowledged. “He will make a fine priest one day. But his future is not what we are talking about now.”
Straightening up to his full height, the Bishop took a few steps back from Godfrey. The entire shrine went silent with a wave of his hand. All eyes were on Clovis. Godfrey’s heart was pounding. He had to focus all his thoughts on his hand to stop it from shaking. Now that the moment was here, he was unsure if he could survive the attempt at all, much less fulfill his quest.
What other response could Godfrey give? Could he refuse this quest? If he somehow could say he was not ready yet, there would not be any guarantee that the next potential quest would be any easier. Then there was the dishonor of turning down the chance to fight against evil. He could not back down. Monsters were to be destroyed.
“Godfrey,” the Bishop pronounced with a loud voice. “Son of Ulric, the Duke of Bastogne, a great evil is upon the town of Harv. A vampire has killed the fair damsel, Gwen, the daughter of Lord and Lady Eist, and is believed to be responsible for the deaths of many other innocents. Do you accept the charge to find and vanquish the monster that has caused so much pain and suffering?”
Godfrey hesitated for a moment; his tongue felt heavy. Words refused to form in his mouth. Everyone’s attention had turned from the Bishop to Godfrey. A moment passed in silence. Then, Lady Eist stepped forward with tears streaming down her face. It was the first time Godfrey had seen her or Lord Eist broken from their trance-like state.
“Please, young squire,” Lady Eist begged. “No mother should have to endure what I have. No father should have to go through what my husband has. If you can avenge my daughter’s death, how many parents will you have saved from such grief?!”
Godfrey solemnly nodded. There was only one response to this charge. He could not back down. How could he have ever thought differently, even for a moment?
“I accept this charge and vow to fulfill the proposed quest,” Godfrey answered for all to hear.
A cheer erupted through the shrine. Lady Eist found her husband’s embrace. The constable nodded approvingly to Godfrey, and Walaric raised his fist with a broad grin. Bruno and Fulcher started a round of applause that filled the shrine. Fallard, however, maintained his sober demeanor even as he applauded Godfrey. Bishop Clovis once again waved for silence.
“Having accepted this quest,” Clovis said, “you will be released from it only upon successful completion or death.”
“I understand,” Godfrey replied. “And I set out for death or glory at first light.”
Another wave of congratulations washed over Godfrey. When it had died down, the crowd began to disperse. The town guard left for their posts and the nobles left for their manors. The small group of priests briefly remained to speak with the Bishop and Fallard before they too retired. Still beaming with excitement, Walaric approached Godfrey.
“I am to show you to your room,” Walaric said. “Your party will be lodging here in the shrine tonight.”
Walaric led Godfrey out of the chapel to a set of stairs. Torches filled the stairwell with the smell of sweet oil. Chattering about how he had never witnessed a squire receive such an incredible quest before, Walaric ascended the stairs at a meandering pace. Those who slew monsters of such power were considered living legends. Godfrey’s mind, however, hovered around one question no one seemed to think to tell him the answer to.
“That’s all well and good,” Godfrey said, dismissing Walaric’s last comment, which he was not really listening to anyway. “But how am I going to kill this vampire after I find it?”
“Oh...” Walaric paused as they reached the top of the stairs.
Caught off guard, Walaric stared from Godfrey to the hallway on the upper level they had reached. It was lit by soft yellow candles. The hall was narrow but long, with several doors leading into bedrooms on either side. The smell of recently burned incense lingered in the corridor. Apprehensively waiting for a reply, Godfrey watched Walaric ponder the question.
“There are loads of ways you could destroy a vampire,” Walaric answered at last. “Anything arcane like a spell or a magic weapon could easily do the trick. I’m not exactly an expert though. I’m still an acolyte.”
“But I’m not a wizard and I don’t have any magic weapons,” Godfrey protested. “I don’t even know anyone who knows a wizard or has ever seen a magic weapon. Do you?”
“No,” Walaric confessed. “But the Bishop knows lots of people in the kingdom. Maybe he knows a wizard. Vampires also fear holy relics. Do you have anything like a blessed medallion or amulet?”
“No.” Godfrey bluntly shook his head.
“That would be a problem,” Walaric said as he started down the hall. “But your lord would not have proposed this quest if he didn’t think you could do it. There must be another way. You’ll see.”
“Maybe he and the Bishop are discussing a plan downstairs right now,” Godfrey thought aloud, following Walaric. “Or they’re searching through the shrine’s reliquaries for some magical item. You’re right. They wouldn’t send me to certain death.”
The thought was desperate. Godfrey was not entirely convinced it was true, but he could not rationalize another alternative that saw him surviving a horror like a vampire. Vampires were supposed to be stronger and faster than mortal men. Each was a practitioner of dark magic. They were rare but rightly feared. Even those well-prepared to face a vampire were still at great risk.
“See...” Walaric stopped in front of a door, ignorant of Godfrey’s troubled expression. “You were worried over nothing.”
Opening the bedroom door, Walaric motioned for Godfrey to enter. The room was small and sparsely decorated with only a single table, chair, and a plain unadorned bed, but Godfrey was not concerned with the austere trappings of the room. With weary footfalls, he stepped into the room.
“I’ll pray for you all the same,” Walaric added while closing the door.
“Right,” Godfrey replied as the door shut in front of Walaric.
Godfrey was alone now. The rain still pattered against the roof above. He stared blankly at the alabaster wall, taking in the evening’s events. He nodded to himself, his confidence growing. He could do this. By the gods, he could do this.
May no one sing a shameful song about me, Godfrey thought.